Scratching The Itch

Scratching The Itch – H/Hr NC-17

By Anne U

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’s note: This is the companion piece to The Snitch by napalmnancy. I started out as Nancy’s betareader/sounding board on that story, and when she was about halfway through it I begged her to allow me to write the flip side of it, telling it from Hermione’s point of view. Nancy’s story is absolutely brilliant and before you read even one word of my story, you MUST read hers first. So go there, read hers first and then come back and read mine J .

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Now that you’ve read Nancy’s story, I’d like to thank my beta readers, Jori and especially Molly Moon, for their wonderfully helpful suggestions. Mostly though, I want to thank Nancy for drawing the wonderful art that inspired her insanely wonderful story and for allowing me to try to give Hermione’s point of view. As for what belongs to whom, the overall plot is Nancy’s but I wrote one extra H/Hr scene (*cough*) at the beginning of the last part of the story. Other than that scene, all dialog that includes both Harry and Hermione is Nancy’s. Otherwise, any scene where Harry isn’t present came completely from my somewhat addled brain. Also, scattered through the story are occasional turns of phrases that are Nancy’s handiwork (from her story); she’s seen them all and is okay with them. In those instances I simply couldn’t find a way to phrase something better than she had.

Now that you’re thoroughly confused, please read and, I hope, enjoy Scratching The Itch.

~~*~~~*~~~

Part 1 - Marking

They were all insanely drunk. This was certainly as drunk as Hermione had ever seen any of them, and she’d seen all of them pickled in the past year. Ever since Ron Weasley had – finally – been signed to play reserve Keeper for the Chudley Cannons, she and Ron’s other best friend, Harry Potter, had been fixtures not only at the team’s professional Quidditch games but also at the parties that inevitably followed them. Ron’s team mates didn’t seem to care about two extra revelers, but the fact that both Harry and Hermione came to support Ron at virtually every game seemed to tick off the Quidditch Girlfriends no end.

Hermione didn’t have much use for any of the Quidditch Girlfriends. They spent much too much time talking about Quidditch statistics and team politics and apparently had little interest in anything else. They were all a little too blonde, a little too perky, a lot too slinky and bitchy and high-maintenance for her taste. They pranced around in their too-tight outfits, flashing a bit too much of their tits and arses at the players and anyone else who offered to buy them a pint of butterbeer or a shot of firewhisky. No, Hermione really didn’t have much use for any of them, and apparently, they had very little use for her either, and they made sure she knew it.

"Are you Ron’s girlfriend?" she was asked on more than one occasion.

Hermione would laugh and say. "Oh goodness, no, I’m his best friend. My name is Hermione." This always seemed to draw titters from whoever asked the question, but she always ignored that response. After all, it wasn’t her fault if this pack of bints couldn’t understand how two young men and a young woman – who’d known each other since they were eleven – could be best friends without sex entering into the picture at all. These young women were groupies whose lives revolved around Quidditch the way rock groupies’ lives (and love lives) revolved around certain musicians. They could assume whatever they wanted, but they couldn’t possibly understand what she and Ron and Harry had been through together or what they meant to each other.

"That’s a very interesting top," a blue-eyed young woman snickered at Hermione one evening, a glass of wine tipped to the blonde’s lips while her blue eyes roved over Hermione’s frame.

"Oh," Hermione looked down at her lavender gauze peasant top and pushed up the elastic wristbands. "It’s just something I bought for a night out."

"Of course." The smile on the girl’s face didn’t quite reach her eyes. "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." The girl looked Hermione up and down again and tilted her head prissily. "It works with you wonderfully. Must be that natural look you have. Almost charming in a mousy sort of way."

Hermione felt her face tighten with annoyance. After seven years of dealing with Slytherin snideness, she could spot a putdown a kilometre away. She’d just bought this top a month ago and rather liked it, and she didn’t much cotton to the other woman’s tone of voice. And why would this tart assume that Hermione cared what she thought about her appearance?

Hermione’s lips formed a thin, tight line. "Aaah. Must be wonderful to have the time and energy to invest in your appearance," she chuckled softly, shaking 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?"

"I work for the Ministry," she answered with a note of glee.

"And what do you do?"

She glared a bit at the other girl and held her gaze a few seconds. "I hunt down Dark Wizard…and the blonde cows that follow them."

"Oh."

Needless to say, after that conversation the other girls wrote Hermione off and never approached her again. Hermione didn’t care, though. She’d always thought they were a fussy, snooty, annoying pack of bints, and she neither wanted nor needed their approval. She had the company of her two best friends and that was all she really needed.

While he’d always seemed more attuned to her emotionally than Ron had, Harry in particular had become very solicitous toward Hermione during Ron’s year with the Cannons. He apparently had decided she couldn’t look out for herself at these parties and always seemed to keep an eye on her whenever they hung out with the team. She hated him doing that and tried more than once to talk him out of it, but his mind was made up, and knowing him as well and as long as she had, she knew that once he got an idea, even she had difficulty talking him out of it. She couldn’t really say he cramped her style or interfered with her love life, though, because she didn’t exactly have one these days. She was too busy with her job, researching the organization and business ties of the remaining Death Eaters, to put much effort into dating. Besides, she had a very stable and happy life these days, sharing a flat in London with her two best friends. She really shared it much more with Harry, of course, because Ron was frequently gone on road trips with the team. No, she really didn’t have time to waste time thinking about boyfriends, or sex, or any of that distracting rubbish. At least that’s what she kept telling herself.

The post-game celebration that night was vastly more rowdy than usual because, for the first time in many years, the Cannons had made it to the last round of the semi-finals. Despite their loss to the Falmouth Falcons, the team had exceeded everyone’s expectations grandly, which caused tremendous good spirits among players and fans alike. So even though the Cannons had been knocked out of the playoffs, the mood in the pub was mostly upbeat and Hermione was happy to help them celebrate the end of their better-than-expected season. She liked to believe that Ron was the main reason they’d done so well this year. His passion for the game and his head for Quidditch strategy had served him well as reserve Keeper, so much so that the team’s captain now sought his advice. Hermione was thrilled for Ron, who had followed the Cannons since he was a little wizard in knee pants, and she knew that Harry was thrilled for him too. As his best friends, they truly enjoyed attending his games when they could, helping him celebrate the team’s victories and drown his sorrows after their losses. Putting up with the Quidditch bints’ put-downs seemed a small price to pay to support one of her best friends, though it didn’t always help her mood.

This was one of those Quidditch bint nights. Hermione, scowling, nursed a butterbeer while Ron chatted with his teammates and Harry stood further down the bar rail, keeping an eye on her. Harry had watched out for her for years, of course, but now his vigilance seemed to go a shade beyond the caring eyes of a close friend. Lately there was something infinitesimally different about how he watched her, almost a quantum leap in the way his eyes seemed to linger whenever she looked at him. Her cheeks burned as she sucked down some of the clear liquid in her mug. Since when did Harry looking at her make her blush? Hermione shook her head as if to shake the silly thought – and the paths it could lead to – out of her mind. There had long been an unspoken line between her and Harry, a line that had never been crossed and that she hadn’t really considered crossing until recently. She shook her head again at the mere thought of considering it. Harry had been her best friend for more than ten years and even the suggestion of going beyond that line gave her a flicker of panic she couldn’t fathom.

Before she could ponder this further, however, a commotion in the pub interrupted her thoughts. Hermione’s friend and former dorm-mate, the inimitable Lavender Brown, had just arrived making her usual grand entrance. Hermione and Lavender had never been close at Hogwarts, and through fourth year, Lavender had seemed a bit of a space cadet, a silly (so Hermione thought) girl who cared only about boys, fashion and the strange whimperings of her Divination teacher. But when Lavender chose to join the Defence Association in fifth year, Hermione began to look at her in a new light and to understand why she’d been placed in Gryffindor House. Lavender wasn’t book-smart, but she was very sharp about people and profoundly loyal to her friends. These qualities served her well in the D.A. and after they all finished school.

Once Voldemort was defeated, Lavender had joined the Daily Prophet and worked her way up the staff ladder, first as an astrologer, then as a gossip column editor and now as a social commentator dealing with serious issues. She’d disappeared from the trio’s lives for a couple of years, but once she started writing about serious topics she began to come round for their opinions, especially Harry’s, on issues like Wizarding politics and hunting bad guys. In addition to their professional relationship with her, they re-discovered Lavender’s love of a good party. Her job kept her much too busy for frequent partying, but when she did have time to let down her hair, she partied as hard as anyone they knew. She was also tremendously fond of Ron and didn’t miss an opportunity to let him know how much she enjoyed his company. She was smart, well dressed and didn’t take any guff from anyone. The Quidditch girlfriends seemed to dislike her even more than they disliked Hermione, which made Lavender all the more endearing.

All in all, Hermione was glad to discover how much she had underestimated Lavender when they were younger. She now saw Lavender as an ally as well as a friend. And that was really how the whole thing started…

~~~*~~*~~

"Where’s Hermione? And my Ronnie friend?" Lavender’s bright voice floated over the crowd in the pub. She’s just put down a minor insurrection led by Sandra Levine, the self-appointed queen of the Quidditch girlfriends, who’d bristled at Lav’s suggestion that the team should’ve gathered at the Leaky Cauldron after the game rather than at this out-of-the way pub that no one in the press would think of visiting.

Ron blushed as Lav gathered him into a hearty hug then dragged him down to the end of the bar where Harry and Hermione were nursing their butterbeers. Lav sat down next to Hermione, who squeezed her hand and smiled.

"So we’re drinking already?" Lav inquired.

"We’ll need it with this bunch," Hermione replied.

"Bunch of snobs," Lav agreed, waving at the bartender. "The hell with them."

Ron sat next to Lavender, a sullen look on his face. "I would have the friends nobody likes."

"But Ronnie, the boys like me," Lavender countered, lifting a brow in the direction of Ron’s teammates, who were so drunk they wouldn’t have noticed if the Hogwarts Express had steamed through the pub.

"Blokes always like a pretty girl, Lav."

"That’s so sweet of you to say," she smiled at him. Ron returned her smile, a hint of the Cheshire cat in his expression.

Harry, meanwhile, was keeping his own counsel. He looked relieved that Hermione finally had a friendly female to converse with and could now feel free to ignore the unpleasant glares from the other end of the bar. Actually she’d had no trouble ignoring those glares, but Hermione was happy for Lavender’s company. Lavender almost always made any night out more fun, and Hermione had a feeling this night could end up as one of their wildest evenings yet.

She finished up her pint and glanced at Harry, who was regarding her with a somewhat wistful expression. Hermione used to feel that she could figure out what Harry was thinking just by looking at him, but lately he’d become a lot harder to read. Something about his expression made her cheeks burn.

Bollocks, blushing again.

Fortunately Lavender distracted her from the impossible road this might have gone down. "Shots all around," she ordered, slapping the bar. "Tequila first! Come on!"

Already feeling a bit tipsy, not to mention knackered from a very long day, Hermione groaned. "We’re not going to repeat Harry’s birthday, are we?"

"Oh no, of course not," Lavender admonished her. "This will be loads better." Hermione groaned again and attempted to push away the shotglass full of tequila that Lavender shoved at her. This drew an amused smile from Harry, who soon had a shotglass of his own, while Ron obediently took the shotglass Lavender fixed for him.

"Everybody ready for some tequila?" Lavender asked them.

Not that we have any choice here, do we? Hermione thought, hoping for the best.

"One, two, three…down the hatch!"

As quickly as she could, Hermione swallowed the tiny glass of sharp, clear liquid. Though it didn’t have much taste going down, it made her throat burn and her eyes water. It also made her even tipsier very quickly. She’d rather drink butterbeer, thankyouverymuch. Lavender showed her appreciation by smacking her lips and yelling at the bartender for more booze.

"Oh yes! Yes! More for everyone! Anyone want a slippery nipple?"

Now the party was really starting to rock. The other players left the gaggle of Quidditch Girlfriends and came down to the Hogwarts end of the bar, enticed both by the booze itself and by the drinking games Lavender loved to get going. The room and its occupants seemed to wiggle a bit as Lavender led the crowd in one bawdy song after another. When they sang one about Voldemort having a "shrivelled pin-dick and a foetus for a head," Hermione chose to sit quietly and not sing along. She’d been there when Harry finally killed the bastard, so singing a drunken song about Voldemort’s anatomy didn’t seem nearly as funny to her as it did to the Chudley Cannons, but she did manage to down another shot of tequila in time with everyone else. And the thought that she, Harry and Ron and their friends were still around to joke about it brought a smile to her face.

The room was spinning now, but Hermione didn’t care. Lavender was plying everyone with booze and they were all high as kites, Hermione included. She didn’t understand why, but being around Lavender always made her feel more adventurous than she would on her own. A conversation from another drunken evening suddenly flitted through her brain. She and Lavender had somehow got on the topic of kissing techniques, which veered off toward whether either of them had ever kissed another girl. Lavender had said that if Hermione were ever interested in taking a test drive, she’d be more than happy to oblige. Hermione remembered blushing at the offer and smiling at Harry, who was nearby and had probably overhead them talking. If the bulge in his pants was any indication, he’d been very turned on by what he’d heard. For some reason, this hadn’t bothered her at all.

Hermione’s mind snapped back to the present. Lavender was chatting with her again, this time going on about wizard politics, which intrigued her very much. Without knowing when it had happened, Hermione realized she was leaning up against Harry, his side against her back. His body felt solid and oh so comfortable against hers, and as she leaned against him, she felt his fingers drift into her hair, playing with her curls. Perhaps she really was too drunk now but she found that she liked how his hand felt in her hair and really wouldn’t mind if he never removed it –

Suddenly Harry pulled away from her, his free hand flying out as a tiny flitter of gold zipped toward him. Reflexively his fingers wrapped around the Snitch, which fluttered helplessly in his grip. A roar erupted from the other end of the bar; one of the players chortled, "Once a Seeker, always a Seeker!" and ordered his mates to pay up on a bet. Shifting away from her, Harry placed the Snitch on the bar then drifted into a conversation with Ron.

Somewhere deep inside her, flittering beneath her consciousness, Hermione envied that Snitch.

Almost magically, Lavender appeared on the barstool Harry had just vacated. She grabbed Hermione’s hand, looked her in the eye and – almost as a dare – said, "Let’s snog!"

"You mean, you and me? Here? Now?" Knowing that Lav was probably at least as drunk as she was, Hermione wanted to make sure she’d heard right.

"Why not? It’ll drive those bints wild," Lavender replied with a saucy smile directed toward the Quidditch girlfriends. Then she noticed Hermione’s hesitation. "I know we talked about this a while ago. C’mon, Hermione, it’ll be fun. And it’ll make the blokes insane…"

Hermione looked around the room and shrugged. "Okay, but …"

"But what?"

"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, that’s fine, Hermione, really," Lavender cooed as she moved closer.

From the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Ron fidgeting and whispering with Harry. As Lavender leaned in, Hermione closed her eyes and was vaguely aware of the crowd roaring around them. Lavender’s lips were smooth and soft as rose petals, and she tasted of the peachy lip gloss she wore. The silky tip of her friend’s tongue sent shivers through Hermione's body, and she had to admit that Lavender really was a terrific kisser -- but Lavender's kisses weren't what she wanted. She wanted… she didn't know who she wanted, but it wasn't another girl, not even one as pretty and funny as Lav. When Lavender broke the kiss Hermione’s cheeks burned, and upon opening her eyes she discovered Harry staring at her, wide-eyed and blushing just as hard as she was.

"Thanks, Hermione, that was lovely," Lavender said, stroking her cheek lightly. "You taste like chocolate and Black Russians."

Ron, too, was blushing furiously, but Hermione was pretty sure Lavender would much rather kiss him than her on a regular basis. She knew Harry wasn't interested in Lavender that way, so his reaction to that innocent little kiss just didn't make sense. Unless…

No.

Bugger, she admonished herself. Don’t be ridiculous. He'd probably blush if he watched any two girls kissing. Well, perhaps not if it were Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkinson.

The rounds of drinks continued unabated, as did Hermione’s drinking. While Harry, Ron and Lavender continued to throw drinks back effortlessly, Hermione struggled to keep up with them. After more shots of tequila and more butterbeers, Hermione eventually knew only one thing – she’d never had so much alcohol in her life, including the unauthorized leaving-school party the night before they completed their seventh year at Hogwarts. At last, right before midnight, as if trying to put them out of their alcohol-poisoned misery, the publican shouted, "Time to shut up shop, folks!"

Lavender seemed horrified at the prospect of leaving. "But I’m not ready to go home yet," she whined, grabbing Ron’s hand. Ron, obviously quite drunk, just nodded vaguely.

At times like this, Hermione usually had one of two reactions. Either she folded her tent and went home to sleep if off, or she got a second wind. On this evening, the huge amount of alcohol she’d drunk seemed to bring out a boldness she didn’t know she had.

"We won't!" she called out, propping herself up on the footrest of the bar so she could stand up taller than everyone else. Then she let out a shrill whistle to get everyone’s attention.

"We’re going to the Leaky Cauldron! Who’s going with us?"

When Hermione caught his eye a moment later, Harry looked at her like he’d never seen her before in his life.

~~*~~*~~

Most of the Chudley Cannons went with them, while the majority of the girlfriends dropped out, which suited Hermione just fine. Being a hotel as well as a public house, the Leaky Cauldron was open all night, and it was well known as one of the most Wizarding popular pubs in London. But the old, dark pub didn’t normally host gatherings quite as raucous as the Chudley crowd. The players and their hangers-on piled into the pub with their orange cloaks tied about various parts of their bodies, chanting the team anthem slowly like a funeral dirge, which led to a bit of clucking and head-shaking by the regulars. This, of course, did nothing to stop the flow of alcohol, which continued to flow as freely as butterbeer on a Hogsmeade weekend.

Ron leaned on the bar with Lavender wrapped around his arm, both of them sipping firewhisky.

"It's a pity Ginny couldn' be here," he muttered. "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 sadly.

"She would work for the Department of Mysteries," Lavender chimed in.

Apparently not quite as drunk as she was, Harry looked at Hermione with that solicitous expression he often adopted at times like this. Perhaps he’d noticed something she was only starting to realize herself. "You all right?" he asked.

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. She shoved the rest room door with her elbow and hustled into the first open stall she could find. As she knelt next to the toilet and started retching, she heard a most familiar male voice call her name from inside the rest room.

"Hermione?"

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer.

"Hermione? You want me to come in?"

As she continued to retch, she felt Harry kneel beside her and pull her hair off her face. He sighed and stroked her hair with his soft, strong hands.

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

Hermione only groaned. She 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. She hated him seeing her like this. He’d seen her cowering from a troll, with a face full of cat fur, Petrified, with beaver-like front teeth, and half-dead more than once -- but she hated any and every time he saw her when she’d overindulged or otherwise lost control. And yet as much as she hated him seeing her like this, the fact that he always came after her, made sure she would be okay, never failed to touched a nerve that ran still and deep inside her. She knew he was the only man she’d allow to see her looking like a common drunkard, with vomit all over her face. Perhaps that meant something, but she was too drunk to try to figure it out now.

"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. Just as he’d always been, for longer than she could remember, he remained her rock, her North Star, the person who always accepted her as-is, no questions asked. Although Ron was also her best friend, Harry was first among equals to her, and she loved holding him and being held by him, and always had. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist, and she felt his lips brush her hair. It was a gesture as rare as it was tender, and her body softened against his, almost molding to his lean but muscled physique. At that moment she was reminded of how delicious his physique actually was and how much she enjoyed this kind of extended physical contact with him.

Suddenly the little wave of panic rustled through her brain again and she forced herself to shift slightly away from him. She looked up at him with a sorry expression in her eyes.

"I must look terrible," she mumbled.

Harry smiled, cradling her cheek and 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 and pointed at him, her finger 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 attempted to poke his chest to reaffirm her point but only managed to poke him in the nipple. She frowned at him -- why wouldn't he stand still? -- and growled. Turning, she strode out of the cubicle and washed her face in the basin.

Harry plodded to where she stood and pulled her hair out of her face again. Why did he keep doing that? She could take care of herself. She didn't need him standing there all Harry-like in his saving-people mode, with his wonderful body and beautiful face and unique scent and hands that sent little shocks through her and lips that had chosen to kiss her hair, and …

Suddenly she stood up and glared at him.

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

The git chuckled as if she'd cracked a joke. ""I was looking for Moaning Myrtle?"

"Huh." She bent over and washed her face and gargled water. Bloody hell, her mouth tasted like the bottom of a dustbin. She stood up and scowled at herself in the mirror. He would have to see her looking like this. Buggerysmeggerydammittohell

"All my bloody make-up's been washed off." Waving a hand disgustedly at the mirror, she turned away and walked toward the door. "Bloody waste of time anyway."

She stomped back into the pub, hoping he wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow. She hoped she could find some way to forget it herself.

~~~*~~~*~~~

The next two hours were basically a repeat of the previous six. Along with everyone else, Hermione continued to consume more of the "silly juice," as Harry called it. She had at least two more shots of tequila and her love of Kahlua led her to a Screaming Orgasm and a Dirty Nipple. At least that was what she thought the drinks were called; Hermione had barely mentioned her love of the chocolate-flavored liqueur and Lavender started ordering up drinks that sounded like the titles of porn films. Where had Lavender learned the names of all these drinks? Perhaps the Daily Prophet staff was not nearly as stuffy as Hermione had always believed.

After losing count of how much she'd drunk that evening, Hermione found the Leaky Cauldron and its inhabitants spinning slowly around her. As she sat at the bar near Harry, she discovered just how drunk Ron was. He'd dropped the team's Snitch down Lavender's blouse and the poor girl was close to hysterical as the thing flapped around inside her blouse and up and down between her breasts. Ron's teammates were urging him to "Go for it!" while Lavender hissed and squealed for him to get it out. Hermione could just barely watch, her hand clasped over her mouth in horror.

Slipping his hands up under Lav's blouse, Ron managed to corral the Snitch between her breasts before the thing popped out of her cleavage. But Lavender apparently had lost interest in the Snitch and stood there with her blue eyes wide and fixed on him. That was when Hermione saw something electric pass between Ron and Lavender. If she was correct about it, Ron Weasley was hoping to get lucky later that night. Still, he needn't be so obvious about it. She leaned forward, feeling a bit wobbly.

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

The Chudley players roared at this, assuming Hermione was jealous of Ron's actions toward Lavender. Somehow they'd got the bloody stupid idea that she, Hermione Granger, was in love with Ron Weasley. They winked and nudged at Ron, who finally realized where his hands oughtn't be and removed them to a less incriminating location.

Now it was two in the morning and things really started getting out of hand. One of the Chudley players decided to do body shots on his girlfriend, who was wearing a halter top and hip huggers that rode down below her waist. The sight of that shot of rum trickling between the woman's breasts, then trailing down toward her stomach, only to be licked off slowly just south of her navel, made Hermione squirm in a delicious sort of way. Another player let his girlfriend do shots on him, and Hermione uttered a low sigh as the liquid slid between his naked shoulder blades and down to the small of his back, where the girl's tongue swept up the pale liquid just before it rolled down toward his arse.

These people had no shame. They also had no pity on those who’d come stag and couldn't indulge in this wicked little game. When one of the blokes suggested that Harry join in, Hermione felt that delicious squirming sensation yet again. Then he declined the invitation, and a little flame of pique rose in her. There he goes again, spoiling my fun, her drunken brain grumbled. But by then she was too drunk to try to figure out why she suddenly cared whether he wanted to do this.

Then Lavender came up to Hermione and grabbed her hand; the two of them wandered out of the pub without even so much as a goodbye to Ron or Harry.

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked as they stumbled through the magical entry into Diagon Alley.

"We’re gonna go get something stiffer to drink, love," Lavender giggled, pulling her by the elbow. "And who knows what else."

"You mean…?"

"Whatever else tickles our fancy!" Lavender roared as she hooked her arm in Hermione’s and led her gingerly down the cobbled street. The shops along Diagon Alley had closed hours earlier, which meant they had to be heading to Knockturn Alley. Hermione got a funny feeling in her stomach that had nothing to do with all the alcohol she’d imbibed during the evening. As an Auror, she knew that Knockturn Alley was home to all sorts of unsavory activities. What in Merlin's name could Lavender be on about now?

They passed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour and then, as they reached Gringott's Bank, veered left down a short flight of stairs and into Knockturn Alley. Three doors down on the right, just before the Dark Arts shop, Borgin & Burkes, they found what Lavender was looking for -- Master Mallowdrus' Parlour of Body Arte and Painless Piercings. Open 24 Hours.

A tattoo parlour?? Hermione gulped. Oh bloody hell, I should've stayed at the pub...

Lavender's years of studying Divination apparently enabled her to read her friend's mind. "Oh come on, Hermione, don' you wanna get one? Itta be fun."

Hermione winced at the prospect. "No, Lav, I don' really wanna get a tattoo. They use needles and stick you and it hurts. "

Lavender was not deterred. She peered into the small, cluttered tattoo parlor then opened the door and pulled Hermione along with her. They stumbled into the shop, almost upending a short, pudgy, somewhat smelly man whose broad arms bristled with tattoos. He looked the two young women up and down as if wondering whether they were in the right place. Even as drunk as she was, Hermione realized that she in her jeans and blue oxford shirt and Lavender in her pink power suit did not look like they belonged in a tattoo parlor in Knockturn Alley at two a.m.

"Anything I can help you ladies with? I'm Master Mallowdrus, at your service," the man finished with a bow.

"We want to get tattooed," Lav announced brightly while Hermione glared.

"Both of you?"

"Yes, of course!" Lav elbowed Hermione, who slumped a bit as the enormity of her exhaustion and drunkenness began to hit her.

The tattoo artist peered at them thoughtfully. "Please choose one of the designs on the wall while I set up my equipment." Then he disappeared into the back of the shop.

Lavender scanned the dozens of designs on the wall. One area of the wall was filled with feminine images -- cats, butterflies, ponies and the like. Another area contained typical Muggle tattoo designs like hearts, flowers, common animals and the word MOTHER, but other images were obviously magical designs, including magical beasts and objects.

She continued to poke Hermione, whose eyelids were beginning to flutter up and down from exhaustion.

"Hermione, I know exactly what you should get."

"Oh, really."

Lavender leaned over and whispered in her ear, "Yes, love. You should get a Snitch."

Hermione's eyes popped open. "Wha-? Lav, are you mad?"

"Oh honey, it's such a sexy little image. Just think about it," Lavender giggled.

Hermione felt herself go red, or possibly green. "No way, Lav! I'm serious, no fucking way. I am NOT getting a Snitch tattoo. That'd be like you getting a weasel tattooed on your arse," she objected.

"OOOOH really? I didn't see a weasel on the wall. Now I want one!" Lavender seemed possessed by the idea of the weasel and the Snitch. "Come on, Hermione, you must! You must!"

"No, no, no! Stop asking, Lav." Now Hermione was getting angry at Lavender for dragging her here and at herself for not putting up a fight back at the Cauldron.

"Hermione Granger, what is your problem with getting a Snitch tattoo?" Lavender asked. "What could possibly be better for you? A book? The front page of the Daily Prophet?" Hermione snickered.

"No wait, that would be what I would get," Lavender laughed, that bright infectious laugh she'd had since childhood, and Hermione felt her resistance waning.

"Listen, honey," Lavender lowered her voice, "think about it. That cute little golden orb, with the streamlined wings fluttering away... it's like desire drawn on your skin."

Too drunk and tired to fight about it, Hermione could feel herself giving in. Plus she realized that Lavender was right. She could get a tattoo someplace where no one would ever see it. And if it was in an out-of-the-way place, she could get something she really liked. And try as she might to resist it, she really did like that Snitch on the wall, a tiny golden ball with feathery wings that fluttered almost like the real thing. To her besotted mind, something about it felt very right.

"Okay, Lav. I'll get a Snitch."

Lavender threw her arms around Hermione and hugged her. "Oh honey, this will all work out for the best, I'm sure of it. And I'm going to get a weasel, right here --", and she pointed to her hipbone.

"Ready, ladies?" Mr. Mallowdrus inquired.

"Ready as we'll ever be," Lavender said, turning to Hermione. "She'll have the Snitch and I'll have the weasel."

Master Mallowdrus' lips curled in a tiny smile. "Excellent choices," he agreed, escorting them to the back room. "I should warn you that this will hurt a bit. But my magical tattooing techniques will give you a tattoo that is not only beautiful but attuned to your every mood."

"That sounds fabulous!" Lavender gushed as the tattoo artist directed them to a pair of padded tables.

"Where would you like me to put your tattoos?"

"I'd like the weasel jumping over my right hipbone," Lavender said as she lay down on one of the tables.

Hermione crawled up on the other table and lay on her back, arms dangling. "Don' really care. Put it where nobody can see it, only me... I'm just gonna lie here and rest... so tired," she yawned and unconsciously undid the button and zipper on her jeans to make herself more comfortable.

As Master Mallowdrus worked on her, Hermione felt prickling sensations but not as much pain as she'd expected. The tattoo needle felt more like a tickle... and the tickle was in a place where she didn't get tickled very often. She dozed off and half an hour later awoke to Lavender pulling her up off the table and buttoning up her jeans.

"There you go, all done. Not bad at all, was it?" Lavender asked as she gave Master Mallowdrus twenty Galleons. Hermione tried to dig in her purse to pay for her share, but Lavender waved her off.

"It’s my treat. I think our tattoos will be lucky for both of us," she winked as she pushed Hermione out the door. "Now let’s find us some rotgut so we can get really drunk."

~~~*~~~*~~~

Ten minutes later, the two young women reached the top of Knockturn Alley. As they stumbled about, convulsing with laughter, they smashed right into Harry Potter and Ron Weasley.

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

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

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

"Silly-" He glared at her and seemed headed for a full-blown conniption fit. "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 her hand dismissively. "We couldn't get what we were after anywhere else."

Harry’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "Wh- what the hell were you after anyway?"

Looking plastered but happy, Lavender held up a bottle of a dangerous-looking green liquid.

"This stuff," she said. "Very strong naughty wizard's stuff that I couldn' get at the Cauldron." She wrinkled her nose and, extending her arm to him, offered him the bottle. "Chug-a-lug, Harry!"

Harry sighed and grabbed the bottle. He hung back behind Hermione and Lavender as if to guard them from whatever might be lurking in Knockturn Alley, then looked at the bottle, apparently trying to decide if he wanted to chance what was in it. When he pulled the stopper and sniffed the contents, he looked like the smell had knocked him for a loop.

"Good shit, Harry," Lavender said, elbowing him in the ribs.

He took a quick swig, knocked some of the stuff back, then missed a step and nearly fell right over. Thankfully Ron caught him.

"Whah-the--"

"Careful, Harry!" gasped Hermione, "It's *very* strong." She could vouch for this, as she and Lav had drunk some of this concoction only five minutes earlier. Harry merely glared at her.

Toxic booze in hand, the four of them finally bid goodbye to Diagon Alley. Fearful of splinching themselves in their drunken stupor, they walked groggily home to the flat that Harry, Ron and Hermione shared in a Muggle neighborhood near Charing Cross Road. By the time they piled into the flat, they were all close to incoherent. Hermione was surprised to see Harry make his way toward the pantry as if to get a snack. Between her head spinning and her mouth tasting like a sewer, she doubted she could eat a thing, but she followed him into the pantry just for his company. When they came back to the lounge room with biscuits and flavored crackers, they found Ron and Lavender snogging enthusiastically on the couch. This was not the kind of snogging that embarrassed the snoggers the next day; it was the snogging of two old friends who’d finally admitted an attraction that had simmered between them for years.

Hermione looked at them on the couch, placed the crackers on the coffee table and smiled. About bloody time, she thought.

"Well, I’m going to bed," she told Harry, the only person who still knew she was there.

He nodded and left the room with her. As they walked down the hall together, a surge of affection came over Hermione and the next thing she knew, she’d slipped her hand into Harry’s. When they reached his door, he looked down at her and she smiled up at him. He lifted his brows at her, a hint of confusion on his face.

"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. She’d done this many times before, but this time she felt unwilling or unable to remove her lips. As she pulled herself away, she couldn’t resist giving his jaw a tiny nuzzle.

"Night, Harry," she breathed. A feeling she’d tried to stomp out suddenly welled up inside her and she looked at him with tenderness, longing and more than a little confusion. Then she turned and disappeared into her own room.

Too tired to try to clean herself up, she collapsed in bed in her jeans and oxford shirt. That night she dreamed that she was a Snitch and a pair of green eyes was chasing her.

~~~*~~~

Scratching The Itch

By Anne U

Author’s note: Many thanks to everyone who reviewed Chapter 1 already. I really appreciate your kind comments.

Chapter 2 - Discovery

Although she was a witch, Hermione Granger had grown up as a Muggle and was still fond of certain Muggle inventions that her friend Ron couldn't comprehend. One of them was an alarm clock, which came in quite handy the next morning. Only the shriek of the alarm could have roused her from the completely pissed slumber she'd fallen into as soon as her head hit the pillow. Was it really 7:00 a.m.? Did she really have to get up and go to work at the Ministry of Magic on only four hours of sleep?

Errrrrggggghhhhh, she thought as she pushed the covers off and swung her legs out of the bed. Bloody hell. Remind me not to go out drinking with that bunch again anytime soon.

Hermione wasn't surprised to find herself wearing the same clothes she'd worn to Ron's Quidditch game the previous day. After eight, or was it ten, hours of drinking after the game, her shirt and jeans reeked of tobacco smoke and multiple alcoholic beverages. She knew she needed a long hot shower, but more than anything she really needed to pee. She was surprised to discover that she also needed to scratch her stomach, which itched like hell. She grabbed her favorite bath robe and went down to the main bathroom, where she unzipped her jeans and –

"Dear God in heaven!! What is this thing on me?!" she exclaimed to no one in particular.

She looked down at her abdomen in shock. It was still there, and it still itched and prickled like the dickens. She unbuttoned her shirt and looked at her entire front in the mirror. Still there, still hurt. She licked a finger then rubbed it on her abdomen, hoping the ink would rub off and the annoying prickling sensation would go away, but no such luck.

Low on her stomach, just above her fuzz, was a tattoo of a Golden Snitch, the tiny winged ball so prized and pursued by Quidditch players, specifically Seekers. In other words, players like Harry. Somehow -- it must have been last night while she was totally pissed out of her mind -- she'd gotten a Snitch tattooed on a very intimate part of her body. She supposed the location could have been worse (high up on her inner thigh, perhaps) but the image was equally mind-boggling.

She's managed to get herself branded with the object Harry had spent seven years chasing on his broom. She assumed Lavender had something to do with actually getting the tattoo, but why this particular object? Why, in the name of Kennilworthy Whisp, did she get a Snitch?

Hermione needed to talk to someone about this. Right. Now. The idea of discussing it with Lavender was quickly rejected when she realized that Lav was probably tucked in bed with Ron. Bloody hell, don't go near that room, she thought. The more she looked at the Snitch on her belly, the higher her panic rose, so she did the only thing she could think of.

She apparated into Harry's bedroom.

"Oh good, you're up, I thought maybe I was the only one who'd woken yet, I really need to talk to you," she blurted out, hoping she didn't sound as frantic as she felt.

The words tumbled out of her mouth as she paced back and forth in his room, her shirt flapping open and her jeans still unzipped, barely aware of him sitting on his bed. "I can't believe what I've gone and done. I really don't remember doing it, but the evidence is right here" -- she waved toward her midsection -- "and it itches and burns and it's probably permanent and I am so totally going to strangle Lavender when she gets up, and it's really her fault and Ron's and yours for letting me get so drunk that I'd even consider doing something like this and –"

"Uhm...What?" Harry looked at her, glassy-eyed. Probably just hung-over, of course.

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

He shook his head, looking like he’d just lost fifty points from Gryffindor.

"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!"

Then she surprised herself -- and apparently him -- by what she did next. She tugged her jeans open and pulled them down around her hips so he could see what she was talking about. It didn't even bother her that his eyes were locked to the bottom of her zipper. She was so intent on his seeing what she wanted to show him that she didn't consider what else he might see.

His eyes moved up her body and went wide with shock when he recognized the design. As he stared at the tattoo, Hermione could feel the Snitch's wings flutter restlessly on her belly. Bloody bloody hell.

"It moved!" he sputtered.

"Yes, it does that!" she barked, beside herself with annoyance. "It's attuned to my mood!"

A dreamy look on his face, Harry continued to stare at her belly.

"W-why?"

She frowned. What did he mean, why?

"Why did you get a Snitch on you?" he insisted.

She blinked, and pulling up her pants, she zipped them shut and hid the tattoo.

"I have no idea! No idea at all!" She suddenly realized he was sitting there in nothing but a towel, his upper body bare and still damp from his shower. Merlin, this was going quickly from bad to worse. What could she have been thinking when she popped in here?

"Why'd you show me?" he pressed her.

She stared back at him and frowned, her eyebrows knitted in confusion. Pulling her shirt closed, she sighed. Bloody hell.

"I don't know."

Without another word she popped out of his room and back into her own bedroom. She sat on the edge of her bed and stared at the floor for several minutes while her usual common sense seemed to have left her. Finally her logical, rational mind kicked in and she reviewed the situation. She’d gotten tattooed in a delicate location while in a drunken stupor, then panicked and shown the tattoo to her best friend, giving him an eyeful of parts of her body he’d most certainly never seen before. Said best friend not only seemed to enjoy said eyeful very much, he was also wearing nothing but a towel. Not to mention that the tattoo involved an object of unusual interest to said friend, and for the life of her she didn’t know why she’d chosen to have a drawing of that object burned into her flesh. There was only one thing for it. She had totally, completely screwed up.

Hermione took a very brief shower that morning. She worried about being late for work and she didn’t want to be reminded of that Snitch on her belly any longer than she could help it. As she dried herself off the Snitch’s wings fluttered in a slow, leisurely fashion that Hermione took as a sign that she was starting to calm down. She put on some knickers and a matching bra, then a tee-shirt, some socks, a pair of very trim jeans that made her arse look smaller, boots, and finally a jacket. She clipped her hair up on top of her head and headed to the kitchen for breakfast.

Ron and Lavender hadn’t risen yet so Hermione had the kitchen to herself, at least for now. She was glad they weren’t up yet, as she was afraid of what she might say to Lavender when she finally did see her again. She put some bread in the toaster and was thankful for having this Muggle appliance because her head hurt so bad she couldn’t remember the spell for making toast. She was also glad that Harry hadn’t come to breakfast yet either. She’s been terribly riled up when she popped into his room and really hadn’t thought through the implications of baring so much of herself to him. She’d shown him not only the Snitch tattoo but also, inadvertently, her nipples and the top of her fuzz through the flimsy underthings she’d worn. His glassy-eyed stare could have just been part of his obvious hangover, but the way he couldn’t take his eyes off the Snitch seemed to be something else entirely.

It was almost as if he were…no, this is Harry we’re talking about, he couldn’t be… Harry doesn’t think of me that way, I’m just Hermione to him. But he seemed so incredibly taken by it…

Her lone slice of wheat toast popped up, cutting off her musings. She buttered the toast and spread a dollop of strawberry jam on it. Then she unfurled the Daily Prophet and scanned the front page while she nibbled on her breakfast. When someone suddenly entered the room, Hermione didn’t even need to ask or look up to know it was Harry – she knew it was him by the sound of his footsteps, by the clean, distinctively masculine smell of his freshly showered body. Bugger, he smelled great, but she still didn’t know quite what to say to him, so she continued to read.

He waved the teakettle in her direction. "Tea? Coffee?"

She shook her head and looked back to the paper. He sighed and made himself something to eat. As he sat down opposite her to eat his breakfast, Hermione could feel his gaze trained on her, green eyes clouded with thought and…well she wasn’t quite sure what else. She felt her lips tighten and a blush roar into her cheeks – and he hadn’t even said or done anything yet.

Then he said something that made her cheeks burn even more.

"Won't it come off?"

She looked up at him and sighed. "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 sighed again. She was so tired, so very tired and hung over. Head aching, she rubbed 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!" A feeling of sheer panic rose in her again. "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!" The panic inside was rising faster by the moment, and Hermione bit her lip to keep back the tears she didn’t want to shed.

Harry grabbed her hand and looked into her eyes, his own soft with concern. "Hey, hey…"

She raised her own eyes and met his slowly. "I think it looks very pretty," he said in his most assuring voice.

That opened the dam. Unable to keep her feelings in check, she buried her head in her arms and whimpered.

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

"Why? It's just a tattoo."

"No!" she cried. Arrrrgh! He doesn’t understand! "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," he consoled her.

"What other way?!" What other way could there possibly be to look at this?

He took her hand again, apparently trying to calm her. She hoped he could say something that would stop her from wanting to hide in her room for the rest of her life.

"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," he said soothingly. "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."

She noticed his eyes drift down toward her belly before he continued. "It also represents elusiveness, and desire." Then he pressed his lips together and, his cheeks crimson, he took his hand away. "I think that's pretty appropriate, if you ask me."

Harry moved his eyes to a spot on the tiled floor, apparently too embarrassed to look at her anymore. She realized in that moment that he hadn’t intended to say those last few sentences and might have betrayed something that was still bubbling under the surface inside him. She gazed past him trying to weigh what those words might mean to her and to Harry.

Something clicked inside Hermione’s heart but she needed to stew on it a bit, let it simmer at least for the rest of the day. Besides, it was time to leave for work. She jumped up and cleared her dishes from the table, then grabbed a scarf and adjusted her cloak as she walked up to her best friend.

"Thanks, Harry," she said, then kissed him on the cheek and apparated to work.

^*^*^*^*^

Once Hermione arrived at the Ministry of Magic, she was very glad that her day was booked tightly until leaving time. Attending several meetings plus spending some hours doing research in the Ministry archives would prevent her from dwelling on the events of the past twelve hours. At least she hoped that would help. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure what would help other than something she dared not hope for. Whatever was happening between herself and Harry – and she was now sure that something was happening – was like an itch that started just beneath her skin and went down to her core. If the opportunity arose, would she try to scratch it?

Hermione’s day proceeded much as she anticipated, except that she could feel the Snitch responding to her changing moods. As she sat in a meeting feeling bored, the Snitch fluttered slowly as if stretching and trying to stay awake. She found herself doodling on her parchpad, and when the doodle turned into a black-haired boy flying on a broom, the Snitch flapped wildly. After lunch she went down to the archives to read some old reports on unicorn poaching; unfortunately, digging through ancient drawers full of dusty parchments seemed to give the Snitch a coughing fit. Bugger, the thing was sensitive. She could just imagine what it might do if she were thinking of…

No. Don’t go there. Not yet anyway…

For once Hermione was glad that she and Harry worked on opposite ends of the second floor and that he was busy helping train new recruits that day, as she was anxious about how her tattoo might react if she saw him just then. She went back to her cubicle and pulled out a heavy parchment file folder. Half an hour later, she finished her report on unicorn poaching and walked down the hallway to the office of her supervisor, Remus Lupin, who led the Greater London Section of the Auror Division in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Hermione walked into Lupin's office and handed her report to him. He scanned it briefly, thanked her then suggested she knock off work a tad early. Totally knackered from the previous evening's debaucheries, Hermione was happy to comply. She gathered up her purse and cloak and apparated back to the flat.

"Good evening, everyone! " she called out, hanging her cloak on a peg in the foyer. Neither of her two best friends replied. Hmmm. Probably not home yet. She walked toward her room and called out again. "Harry? Ron?" Still no response. Walking further, she could hear the rumble of the shower in the communal bathroom. That accounted for Ron, but not Harry. She assumed he wasn't home yet and retreated to her own room to get comfortable.

Closing the door, she kicked off her boots and removed her clothing. Stripped down to just her bra and knickers, she wrapped her favorite dark-pink silk bathrobe around herself. After spending so much time in the Ministry archives, she felt somewhat dusty and grimy, and she hoped that a shower would give her a second wind for the evening. Lavender had owled her at lunch time, saying Ron had invited her for dinner, which probably meant Lavender would be spending another night at the flat. Hermione also hoped to train some warm water on a part of her that had been aching all day.

Harry won't be home for half an hour, so he won't mind if I use his bathroom, she thought. She'd used the bathroom attached to Harry's bedroom on numerous occasions when the other bathroom was in use, and while there had been a few close calls in towels and bathrobes, she'd never seen anything too embarrassing.

Never, that is, until this time, when she apparated just inside the bathroom door.

There was Harry, leaning against the bathroom sink, his hands covering his face. He was completely, utterly naked. And there, little more than an arm's length away from her, was his manhood, exposed to her in all its glory.

And Merlin, it was glorious indeed.

The instant she realized what she was seeing, her breath hitched and the damned Snitch started flapping on her belly like a pixie in heat. Hermione wasn’t exactly a virgin, but she didn’t have a huge amount of sexual experience either. Nevertheless, she thought Harry’s erection was the most beautiful example of its kind she’d ever seen. It was longer than she’d expected (not that she had ever expected to see it in this or any other lifetime), beautifully proportioned, and the sight of it sent a bolt of lust through her like she’d never felt toward anyone. Any pretense of having platonic feelings for him evaporated in the ten seconds she stood in the doorway and stared at him. Every inch of him was gorgeous (including the rest of his body) and the sight of his vulnerable, undeniably sexual self caused her to ache in a way she couldn’t ignore in such close quarters.

But the fact that he didn’t even cover himself up confused her terribly. Could he not care whether she saw him in that condition? She didn’t know what to think or feel. The walls of the bathroom seemed to close in on her as a new and different wave of panic rose up in her chest. She turned and uttered a strangled little sound as she stumbled out of the bathroom.

A few seconds later, the door opened. Harry stood there, finally wrapped in a towel, his cheeks crimson. Just inside his bedroom, stepping from foot to foot, Hermione stood with her face buried in her hands.

"Harry..." she gasped.

"It's all right. 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." As he looked down she noticed his erection had not gone away. "What are you doing home early?"

Hermione continued to pace back and forth. She felt as shaken as though she’d just traveled by Portkey. Hands over her face, she couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

"I finished my report on the - the..." A strange noise left her throat. "They let me have an early day for once!"

He clutched the towel as he opened the door further. She stood in the doorway, face in her hands, eyes fixed on the floor. Her hands remained on her face; she was terrified of what either she or Harry might do or say next.

He leaned on the door, watching her. "You grossed out?" he asked quietly.

She lifted her eyes to his and sucked in a breath, then gulped and stood there with her mouth open while she searched for the right words. When none came, she shook her head.

"...Oh," was all Harry managed to say.

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

He shook his head.

At that instant the itch roared back into Hermione’s body, the itch that started just beneath her skin and went down to her core, and now beyond to the most intimate part of her. Her past and future with her best friend were suddenly bound up in this single moment. Merlin help me, she sighed inwardly.

She pushed herself up from the doorframe and placed one of her hands over Harry’s hands, which clutched his towel around his narrow hips. He looked down at her, watching her. She gazed at her hand on top of his, for a tiny second lost in thought. The opportunity to scratch the itch had indeed arisen (and beautifully so). She had to do something. She had to know.

So she curled her fingers around his and pulled his hands aside. His towel dropped to the floor, and then there was nothing separating him from her.

She peered down at him with a mixture of mischief and awe. He uttered a tiny gasp as her fingers curled about his penis. As she ran her thumb up and down the underside of his shaft, every nerve in her body trembled with excitement and emotion. Here he was, her best friend, allowing her to touch him in this most intimate way, trusting her, not pushing her away. As she moved her fingers up and down and around his shaft, she touched his lips with the fingertips of her other hand. Then she sighed and leaned her head on his shoulder. She wanted to speak, to whisper how much he meant to her, how feeling him under her hand made her melt inside, but she couldn’t say a word. Now that the moment had arrived, she was completely overwhelmed. So she stood there mute, head on his shoulder, fingers on his lips, her other hand wrapped around his penis, moving in ways that made him gasp and moan and made her wish he was doing the same to her.

If they both survived this and she was very lucky perhaps, someday, he would.

And then it happened. He shuddered, his release spilling over her hand. Though her face remained placid, Hermione was smiling inside. I did that to him. I made him come. Still, a part of her wondered if it mattered to him that her hand, and not someone else’s, had taken him over the edge. But there was no time to worry about that now. She’d scratched her itch and discovered that, as often happens, scratching only made the itch worse. And the only person who could scratch it properly for her was Harry.

"Huh- Hermione..." he muttered through half-lidded eyes.

She looked up, her face soft with care, and leaned in toward him breathing gently, so close to his lips and yet so far away. Then she pulled away from him, walked to the sink, and slowly and carefully washed her hands. She dried them, pulled her silk gown closed and walked to the door.

As she reached the doorway she paused beside Harry, who leaned against the doorframe limply. She looked at him closely, tilted her head and ran a finger lightly along his jaw. It would take some time for both of them to come to grips with what had just happened, and for her own sanity Hermione felt she had to put what had just happened into a little box for a few days, just so her life could go on beyond this one breathtaking moment.

"Lavender's going to be here in half an hour," she said quickly, hoping she didn’t sound faint. "Better get ready."

Harry nodded, looking dazed. As she stood in the doorway of his bedroom, gazing at his unclothed form hanging against the doorway, the Snitch continued to flap wildly on her belly, and she decided to tell him just where she hoped this encounter would lead.

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

~~~*~~~* ~~~

Chapter 3 -- Vulnerability

Author’s note: Many thanks to Nancy for her assistance with Hermione’s conversation with Ginny in this chapter. And again, thanks to everyone who has left a review so far.

When she reached her own room, Hermione closed the door and sat down on her bed, still in her silk robe, lace bra and knickers. Rational thought, usually her strong suit, seemed hard to come by as she reflected on what she’d just done. Now she was insanely turned on and there was only one thing for it. The half-hour until Lavender arrived would be more than enough time to do what she needed to do and then take a shower.

Letting her silk robe slip from her shoulders, she picked up her wand from her nightstand. She muttered first the locking charm then Silencio and leaned back on her bed. Then her right hand slipped inside her knickers and found the spot that had ached all day. As her hand moved more feverishly, a low moan escaped her mouth and her skin burned at her touch. The faster her hand moved, the more excitedly the Snitch flittered. Soon the aching, longing need between her legs found its release. As the Snitch’s flapping slowed, Hermione tumbled into an ocean of bliss murmuring his name… HARRY…

She only wished it had been his hand that had made her feel this way – the same way she’d made him feel. But even though she’d seen him with a raging erection, taken him in her own hand and brought him to a climax that seemed to thrill him to his core, she found herself fretting about what had happened. Perhaps he didn’t really enjoy it. Perhaps he only let her do it because he was already hard and needed to get off. He’d probably be offended if she suggested doing anything more – or ever again. After all, she wasn’t his girlfriend; they’d never dated. She was just his best friend – who had now wanked him in his own bathroom. Who was she to think he’d even want to do anything more with her? After all, he’s a handsome young man and could have his pick of the young witches. Honestly, a girl would have to mad to turn him down.

Her mind raced at the thought of other women coming anywhere near him; the very idea (which had only annoyed her previously) now filled her with a blind panic. Bugger, she huffed while the warm shower loosened the tension in her body, when did things get so complicated between us?

Probably when you wrapped your hand around his willy, her brain snickered.

Her brain was right.

Showered and rejuvenated, Hermione dressed in a little tee shirt and a pair of trim jeans. She went downstairs and clipped up her still-wet hair as she walked briskly into the lounge room. Lavender sat on the couch, nibbling the toppings off a piece of pizza, while Ron sat nearby watching her. Harry sat in a chair in one corner of the room, strangely silent. Perhaps he had a lot on his mind.

"Hey Lav," Hermione said, then bent over the couch and gave Lavender a hug. Oddly, a tiny whimper seemed to emanate from Harry's corner.

Hermione sat down next to Lavender on the couch and quickly fell into chatting with her friend. She noticed that both Harry and Ron were strangely quiet, but she was having too much fun talking with Lav to worry about it. Ron was probably just drowning in essence of Lavender (she seemed to have that effect on him), while Harry – well, he might have been thinking about what she’d done to him less than an hour before. Or maybe not.

"So…have a good day?" Lavender asked, a challenging twinkle in her eyes.

"Not too bad once I got past that bloody hangover from last night," Hermione said, her nose wrinkling in disgust. "Blimey, I hope I don’t get that pissed again for another five years."

Lavender's laugh filled the room. "Oh honey, everyone needs to get pissed like that once in a while. And we got ourselves some nice 'jewelry' in the bargain, didn't we?" She gazed knowingly at her friend's belly.

"Speaking of jewelry," Hermione tried changing the subject, "I got a cute ear cuff last week" -- she pulled her hair up and pointed to her right ear -- "and I was thinking about getting a toe-ring. I saw a little gold one with a tiny moonstone on it at Gladrags Wizard Wear and I might buy it next time I'm there."

"Oooh, a toe-ring, that would be very adventurous for you, Hermione," Lavender smiled. "Of course you'd have to wear sandals or flip-flops to make it worthwhile. I mean, you might as well have a tattoo where no one can see it," she winked.

The joke wasn't lost on Hermione, who made a mental note of what a tease Lavender still was. Ron continued to regard Lavender with a dreamy look on his face. Harry, on the other hand, seemed to be avoiding the conversation. Hermione really couldn't blame him much; after what had just happened, he was probably mortified and possibly even scared of being in the same room with her.

As Hermione and Lavender chatted on about body jewelry for a few minutes, both Harry and Ron continued to seem oblivious to them. Lavender showed off her new nail polish, which sparkled with fairy dust; Hermione oohed and ahhed over it but reckoned that Lavender was really more interested in the tattoo on Hermione’s belly. Still, Hermione steadfastly avoided the topic, flittering away from it anytime Lavender seemed to approach it too closely. Bad enough the tattoo was still there; she wouldn’t give Lav the satisfaction of knowing what the bugger did whenever she got…excited.

Eventually Lavender got up and, as she left the room, gave Hermione a knowing wink. A few minutes later Ron got up too and started moving the dirty dishes to the kitchen. Finally, Harry dragged his eyes off the carpet and looked at Hermione sitting alone on the couch.

"Did Lavender leave?" Harry asked.

"No," said Ron. "She's just in the other room."

The other room, of course, meant Ron’s bedroom. Hermione stretched out on the couch, arms up behind her head. Her tee shirt rode up so that her stomach showed, but she didn’t give this a second thought, being very comfortable around her best friends with varying amounts of skin showing. At least she had been comfortable until now.

Soon Ron finished up in the kitchen and walked off without so much as a good night. Hermione assumed she wouldn’t see either Ron or Lavender again until morning. Now it was just she and Harry, alone in the lounge room. For the first time in eleven years, she felt a bit faint at the prospect of being alone with him.

Hermione brought one arm down and laid it across her chest with a tired sigh. She gazed at her bare feet, deep in thought, occasionally twiddling her toes. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Harry finally looking at her.

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

She glanced over to him. He seemed to be having some difficulty speaking.

"No," came his strangled reply. He paused for a few moments. "W-why do you ask?"

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

He glared at her indignantly.

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

The corner of Hermione’s mouth went up along with one brow. Apparently she’d struck a nerve.

"You're annoyed with me."

"I'm not."

"Oh?" Her eyebrow arched again.

Obviously he was annoyed, even if he wouldn’t admit it. She let out a long sigh. Harry could be terribly stubborn, especially when he didn’t want to admit something – or refused to see the obvious. She sat up on the couch and propped her legs up on the coffee table with her feet gripping the edge. Legs spread slightly apart, she leaned her elbows on her knees and gazed across the coffee table at Harry. She needed to know how he felt about what happened, if he hated her for doing what she’d done. She hoped her heart didn’t leap out of her throat as she finally spoke.

"Did I upset you?" she asked quietly.

He shook his head, refusing to meet her eyes.

Relief mingled with fear as she struggled to find the truth.

"Did you not like it? Or - or me doing it to you?" Her words hung in the air as she waited for his reply.

He licked his lips, looking suddenly like a guilty little boy.

"I liked it."

They sat together quietly for a moment. As Harry knotted his fingers together, gazing at his hands, Hermione watched him and thought about those three words. I liked it. He’d really said that. I liked it. I liked it. I liked it. I liked it. I liked it. Those three words echoed in her mind, sending a wave of pleasure through her whole body. He liked it. He liked what I did to him. Apparently she liked knowing that he liked it, because the Snitch sprung to life on her belly again, its flapping sending delicious wiggles through her. She felt her blood rising through her body, and the aching need roared back to exactly where she’d released it less than an hour ago.

It was amazing how three little words could set her aquiver.

"Harry..."

As he looked up, her right hand was resting gently upon her clothed crotch, fingers stroking the seam of the seat of her jeans. The movement of her fingers was neither idle nor unconscious; that damn itch had returned, and her fingers did their best to scratch it as subtly as possible. She leaned on her other hand, weighing her next words.

"When I walked in on you..."

She paused, and he nodded for her to continue.

"... were you thinking about me?"

Harry took so long to answer that Hermione began to think he was going to tell her, "No, you twit, why would I do that?" Finally, a single low, strangled syllable forced its way out of him.

"Yes…"

She didn’t think she’d ever seen him look this terrified, not even in his final encounter with Voldemort. She pondered what it had taken for him to admit that thinking about her had given him a raging erection. Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor, she thought. Yes. That single word made a hint of a smile flicker on her lips. He liked it and he had been thinking about me. That was definitely…

"Good," she smiled. Good, good, good. Better than good. Effing bloody fantastic. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest at the thought. She stood up and stretched then bent and cradled 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?"

Harry nodded, disappointment flickering on his face. She hoped he was disappointed about her leaving rather than about her reaction to his admission. Then she did something she’d never done before.

Leaning down to his face, Hermione kissed him on the lips. It was a soft, gentle kiss, her lips clinging to his just long enough to make her point. There's more of this if you want it…

She straightened up and smiled warmly at him. "Goodnight, Harry."

She went to her room and read through her stack of papers for work. Then she went to bed and dreamed the same dream over and over: Harry was naked and aroused as she stroked him until he cried her name.

~~~*~~~*~~~

As she’d planned, Hermione rose early, ate a quick breakfast then apparated to the Ministry for a 7:30 meeting with Remus Lupin and two other section chiefs who wanted to discuss her report on unicorn poaching. They all seemed quite excited by what she’d written and spent a long time grilling her about various details. She answered their questions as carefully as she could but had difficulty remaining focused on the discussion, since a very distracting problem kept popping up. Every time her attention drifted, or she closed her eyes for even a few seconds, her mind’s eye imagined Harry standing in his bathroom, naked and hard. Then those few moments when he let her touch him would replay in her mind and that delicious squirming sensation would roar back into her body and make her wish she wasn’t in a public place with her boss and two of his colleagues.

"Erm, Granger, are you all right?" Lupin asked, apparently noticing her discomfort as their meeting drew to a close.

"Wha--? Oh, sorry, Chief," she gulped. "It’s a bit warm in here and I guess I lost my train of thought." A blush rose in her cheeks and she found herself squirming, but not in the delicious way that happened when she thought of Harry’s naked body. Bugger, now I’ve got that image stuck in my brain, she sighed. Not that there was anything wrong with that image; in fact it was the most delectable thing she’d seen in a very long time. Unfortunately it was much too delectable for the workplace.

She signed again. It really was going to be a very long day.

Hermione spent the rest of the morning in the Ministry archives where she continued to research the unicorn-poaching racket. She felt quite proud that it was her own research that led her superiors to realize that the poaching really was an organized activity and not just random lawbreaking. After lunch she spent a few hours visiting various Wizard apothecaries that had experienced break-ins during the past few months. Based on the number and locations of the break-ins and the items stolen, Hermione believed that a remnant faction of Death Eaters was responsible for most of the recent break-ins in the Greater London area. Shortly after five p.m. she spoke to Lupin by Floo and got permission to apparate directly home instead of returning to the Ministry.

When she arrived at the flat, she found Ron’s and Lavender’s cloaks hanging together on a peg in the foyer. Neither of her friends was out and about in the flat, but she could hear both their voices coming from his room, mostly in fitful giggles. Wellllll, she thought, I’m glad someone here is having fun. She wandered through the flat and discovered that her other best friend had not yet returned home. She’d tried so hard not to think about him all day, and yet the harder she tried, the more – and the harder – he kept popping up in her mind. Not thinking about him, about it, was a hopeless cause. And realizing how hopeless it was just made the Snitch flutter again on her belly. She wanted Harry to know what he was doing to her, so she found a marker and left a note for him on the whiteboard on the fridge:

"Harry Potter,

Snitch still at large.

Love from

Hermione."

She found some leftover beef stew (courtesy of Molly Weasley, who was constantly sending pots of food for Ron to share with his flat mates) and heated up a plate of it with a warming charm. Then she brought her plate of stew and a glass of milk up to her room, where she planned to spend some time reading a few files she was working on. She’d also bought a new Muggle mystery novel and wanted to get started on that too. Or at least that’s what she told herself. Mostly she didn’t want to be alone in her room, unoccupied. She hoped to spend some time with Harry but wasn’t sure he would want to spend time with her. Almost a day after kissing him for the first time, she could still taste his lips on her, still taste that tiny tender kiss she’d given him and that he’d almost, but not quite, reciprocated. She’d let him know, without words, that she wanted to go further. But she’d not seen him at all since last night, and those three words he’d said continued to ring loud in her heart. I liked it.

So she sat at her desk, reading files by the light of a Muggle desk lamp. Seven years of flickering lamps and poor lighting at Hogwarts had reminded her of the joys of "eckletricity", and when she, Harry and Ron had decided to share a flat after they left school, it was she who insisted on finding a Muggle flat with adequate electric wiring. About half an hour after she’d settled into her reading, she recognized the sound of Harry trudging wearily into his room. She waited a few minutes to let him get settled and then decided to say hello and ask about his day.

She opened his door without knocking. That might or might not have been a mistake.

"Well..." she said softly, her voice hitching slightly when she realized what she was seeing. Harry lay on his bed, naked except for his shirt hanging loose and open around him, his hand gripped firmly around his penis.

"... I keep running into you like this," she finished, amazed that she was able to speak.

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

"Don't," she implored.

He looked over to her, his brows knit in a questioning expression.

"Please," she added softly.

"Why?"

She leaned against the door of his bedroom and thought long and hard before answering him. How could she explain what he’d awoken in her when she caught him in the bathroom yesterday? They’d been through so much together, but despite the intimacy of their friendship none of it had demanded the level of trust implicit in seeing so much of each other’s bodies.

She pushed herself away from the door, then walked across the room and sat on the edge of his bed. She forced herself not to look at his nakedness or at his hand wrapped around his erection. Instead, she gazed in his eyes with as gentle a look as she could muster.

"I like to see it."

His frown deepened.

"I like to see you."

He propped himself up on his elbow and eyed her warily. "Why?"

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

Because it’s you, Harry, she thought, desperately wishing she could communicate with him telepathically so she wouldn’t have to keep explaining. Because it’s you. You, you, you. I don’t want to watch anyone else play with himself – I only want to watch you.

He sighed and fell back onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling. As he closed his eyes, his hands wrapped around his penis, ready to return to action. She found herself entranced by his hands and what they were about to do. She wanted to do that again, this time with him rather than for him.

She removed the clip from her hair and, leaning on the edge of his bed, gently wrapped her hands around his. Her hair fell across his chest as she coaxed his hands to begin their rhythm again. She shifted along the bed, one hand still on him, and leaned over his face, her cheek touching his, feeling his breath so close to her face.

"What are you thinking about, Harry?"

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

She smiled, her reaction coming out as a breathy puff of a laugh. "Good." He’s thinking about me while he works himself. The Snitch on her belly flapped wildly yet again, attuned to the wave of pleasure his words sent through her.

"What do you want to do to me, Harry?"

"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 and a wicked smile curled on her face as she sensed that the tension building in his body was verging on release. "Soon."

That single word sent him over the edge, his body shaking and shuddering about him. She sighed, her hands still top of his, and as his release came her sighs turned to tiny moans that barely concealed her pleasure at this turn of events. He lay there breathing unsteadily, staring at the ceiling, face flushed with exhausted pleasure.

Hermione lingered on the edge of the bed a moment more, still awed by what had just happened. The Snitch on her belly had settled down as soon as Harry climaxed, and her heart felt like it would burst from all the strange and wonderful feelings she’d never felt toward him before.

Her hair fell over him as she kissed him softly yet again.

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

She kissed him again, lingering a second. Then she left his room and went to her own to ponder the wondrous thing that was growing between them, step by baby step.

~~~*~~~*~~~

The next workday seemed very much like the previous one to Hermione. She rose early and left the flat before anyone else had come down to breakfast, then went to the Ministry archives to find a few final pieces of information about the unicorn poaching racket. As she attempted to work, memories of the previous evening flooded her mind, interrupting her at almost every turn. The feel of Harry’s hands moving underneath her own, his sweaty face and hair, his ragged breath in her ear, all conspired to ruin her concentration. Trying to clear her mind, she forced herself to think of the least sexual thing she could imagine just to stop the insane flittering of the Snitch on her abdomen. The winning image was Neville Longbottom’s boggart from third year – Professor Snape in a dress.

Relieved, Hermione unfurled the parchment containing her draft report then spent the rest of the morning writing up her conclusions. Her writing done, she set her parchment aside to dry, put away her quill and grabbed her cloak to go out for lunch. But before she could clasp it around her, a head full of red curls poked around the edge of her cubicle.

"Got any time for a poor wayfaring stranger?" the redhead grinned.

"Ginny!" Hermione cried gleefully, pulling her into a hug. Ginny Weasley had been gone only a few days, but Hermione had missed her friend greatly. "Do you have time to join me for lunch? How was your trip?"

"Yes, and you know I can’t really talk about it, Hermione," Ginny clucked. "I wouldn’t be a very good employee of the Department of Mysteries if I went around blabbing about my little missions, would I?"

"Since when did you start caring so much about following rules?" Hermione joked.

"Since I had to swear an oath that I wouldn’t divulge anything I discover without permission," Ginny shot back in a no-nonsense tone. Chastened, Hermione nodded and the two young women walked to a nearby Muggle restaurant so they could have lunch privately, without worrying about anyone from the wizard media approaching them. They found a booth near the back and settled in for a round of catching up.

Hermione ordered a salad with grilled chicken while Ginny, who apparently still had a hollow leg, ordered the ploughman’s lunch and a vodka gimlet. Hermione marveled at her friend’s ability to eat and drink anything she wanted and never gain a pound or get pissed.

"That vodka won’t be a problem for you?" Hermione wondered. "I can’t drink before five p.m.; I’d get too giggly and I’d never get my afternoon work done."

"No problem at all," Ginny smirked. "I’m off the clock now; I’ve turned in my report on my Super Secret Mission so now I’m just waiting for my next assignment. Plus, may I remind you, I have the famous Weasley constitution; no matter how much or how vile, there is no food or drink that phases a Weasley." At that Hermione had to laugh, as Ginny reminded her of a female version of Ron, whose appetite was still the stuff of legends at Hogwarts.

"Speaking of the Weasley constitution, how’s that brother of mine?" Ginny continued, chomping on her bread and cheese.

"All things considered, I’d say just wonderful. The Cannons lost their playoff game Sunday but in the process, Ron seems to have gained a girlfriend." Ginny looked puzzled until Hermione filled her in. "Lavender Brown met us at the party after the game, and she and Ron have been thick as thieves ever since. One might even say ‘bosom buddies’," Hermione tittered.

"I’ll bet it’s Lav’s bosom that Ron is buddies with!" Ginny roared.

"Funny you should mention that – he dropped the team Snitch down her blouse during the party and you should have seen the look on her face. At first she was madder than a hornet, but by the time he managed to pop it out from between her boobs, I thought she might jump him right there! Of course I’m surprised I even remember this, as I was three sheets to the wind at the time." Hermione was drinking only water, but sitting and laughing with Ginny was almost as much fun as getting pissed and a lot easier on her head and body.

Ginny, too, laughed hard. Wiping tears from her eyes, she asked, "So what's up with Harry?"

Hermione almost froze. "What's up with Harry??" she snapped back, aware that the Snitch had reacted to the very mention of his name.

Ginny cocked an eyebrow, undaunted. "I just asked what about Harry. How is he?"

At that moment Hermione wanted nothing to do with talking about Harry Potter. Bad enough she could barely keep him and his very manly manhood out of her mind, she really couldn’t handle sitting there and talking about him too, not even with Ginny. "Who cares about Harry? Why are we talking about Harry?" she replied, her voice starting to rise in agitation.

A smile started at Ginny’s lips and went up to her eyes. "We’re talking about him…because you seem to flinch every time I mention his name."

Oh bugger, I’m busted, was all Hermione could think. Shoulders sagging, she propped an elbow on the table and rested her face in her hand. "It’s that obvious?" she sighed.

"Yes, sweetheart, it is. Now why don’t you tell me about it?"

So for the next five minutes, Hermione filled Ginny in on what had happened since that blasted party after the Chudley Cannons’ game. She described how she’d discovered the Snitch on her belly the morning after getting so insanely drunk, how the Snitch was attuned to her moods (especially when she felt randy), and how she’d accidentally popped in on Harry when he was unclothed in the bathroom. But in deference to Harry’s privacy – and because she wasn’t sure Ginny, or anyone, could really understand what was happening between them -- she left out a lot of details. She left out the parts about his erection in the bathroom, how he was thinking about her when he got that erection, as well as the parts about her wanking him and helping him wank himself. Nor did she mention that she’d told him – twice—that it was good that he’d gotten hard thinking about her.

Bugger, that’s a lot to leave out, Hermione thought. But discretion is still the better part of valour, and saying any more really would be terribly indiscreet. So there she stopped.

Ginny sat quietly for a few minutes, apparently digesting what Hermione had just told her. Then a wicked glint came into her eyes. "Well. Is he as talented as rumour would have us believe?"

Hermione’s eyes went wide with shock. Rumour? What rumour? There were rumours about Harry’s sexual activities? ""I wouldn't know... we haven't actually…done anything like that," she said, her cheeks burning. Well, that was true up to a point. They hadn’t done anything together yet, not unless you counted last night’s wank session. And she couldn’t possibly tell Ginny anything about that. Bad enough she’d admitted that she’d seen Harry naked. There was no way on earth she would tell anyone, not even Ginny, that she’d seen Harry naked and hard and gotten him off not once but twice.

"Uhmmm… right," Ginny raised a brow, seeming to reach for words. "You wouldn’t know. But you did see him naked. Which means you’ve seen his penis." Hermione shrank at the word. She tried her best not to listen to the content of Ginny’s words, but nodded along pleasantly.

"Well, penises are funny, " Ginny continued brightly. "Quite different when they're erect. Probably the case with Harry."

"Hmmm?" Hermione said distractedly, still intent on not listening. "Yes, well, I agree, it certainly is," she blubbered, waving a hand as if trying to dismiss the topic entirely.

"Yes?! It’s true? I KNEW IT!" Ginny chortled, licking her lips. Only then did Hermione realize what she’d actually agreed about. Face burning even brighter, she buried her head in her arms.

"Arrrrggh!! I am so embarrassed!!" she wailed. "You have to forget I ever said anything, forget I ever saw anything. I wish I could forget I ever saw anything…." Looking up, she saw Ginny smile at her with a glimmer of something – compassion? – in her eyes.

"Why do you wish you could forget?" Ginny asked her quietly. "You and Harry have been friends such a long time…you should be able to laugh this off, shouldn’t you? Or is the problem that you can’t laugh it off…" Ginny licked her lips and twirled a strand of her red hair, a knowing look on her freckled face.

Hermione sighed heavily and pushed her hair off her face. "You’re right," she replied, her voice almost a whisper. "I can’t laugh it off. When I saw him naked that Snitch tattoo went absolutely nutters, and honestly, I don’t think it would’ve done that if I’d happened on Ron in the loo –"

"Errrgh!" Ginny grimaced. "Please, I’m trying to forget seeing Ron naked when we were kids. But I can appreciate what you’re saying…which seems to be…"

"Which seems to be that the Snitch got excited because I got excited – and I got excited because it was Harry. And now everything seems different, especially since I kissed him."

The double-take Ginny did would’ve given whiplash to most mortals. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! You didn’t say you’d kissed him. And this would be bad because…?"

"It’s not bad, not to me anyway. It was just a sweet little kiss on the lips. But it was meant as an… invitation…to let him know I'm interested, without coming out and saying so." Hermione sighed heavily. "I just don’t know how he feels about it. It’s all very… complicated."

Ginny's expression was full of kindness. "Hermione, I've known you and Harry for eleven years and you two have been best friends over ten years. It's been obvious to most everyone that you've been the most important woman in his life for at least six of those years -- ever since that battle inside the Department of Mysteries." Hermione looked up at her quizzically. "Oh, honey, he worships you. He'd do anything for you. He probably knows you better than anyone on the planet. And you've shared so much with him already. About the only thing you haven't shared with him is sex."

Her cheeks reddening again, Hermione found herself unable to look in Ginny's eyes. "Errm, right….so if I am interested in, um, sharing that with him, how do I let him know? And what if he isn't interested in return?"

They both sat quietly for a few moments, Ginny apparently lost in thought, Hermione waiting anxiously for her friend's advice. "Perhaps these little kisses aren't enough to grab his attention," Ginny continued, taking her hand. "You know Harry, he can be kind of clueless sometimes. Maybe you need to do something bold, something he wouldn't expect you to do, something that shows him how much you trust him. Let yourself be vulnerable with him, Hermione. What have you got to lose?"

Eyes moist, Hermione squeezed Ginny's hand. "Nothing, I suppose. Or else everything. I couldn't bear losing him as my best friend." She sniffled then wiped her eyes with her hand. "But I won't know unless I try. Thank you so much, Ginny, for everything. You're a terrific friend."

"Don't thank me yet; you can do that after you two actually get together." As the two women stood up to leave, Ginny leaned over and hugged Hermione hard. "You know, I’ve always thought of you as the sister I never had, and I sort of hoped you'd end up with Ron, so we could really be sisters. But since that's not going to happen, I'd be tickled if you got together with Harry. You've been so good for each other, dating would be such a natural progression. I really do hope this works out for you."

"Thanks, Ginny," Hermione hugged back. "I feel the same about you. I’ll think about what you suggested. I do trust Harry, with my life and beyond. I hope I can show him that I trust him with my heart."

Leaving the restaurant, Ginny turned into an alley so she could apparate back to her own home. Hermione turned the other direction and walked back to work, enjoying the beautiful day and pondering what she could do to show Harry her trust.

~~~*~~~*~~~

The afternoon seemed to drag on forever.

First Hermione had to turn in her final report on the unicorn-poaching racket. She rolled up the parchment and carried it down the hall toward Lupin’s office, then knocked on the door and, hearing no answer, pushed the door in and left the parchment on Lupin’s cluttered desk. As she left the room and headed back to her own cubicle, she saw her boss huddled with another employee about twenty metres away. When she caught Lupin’s eye, however, he gave her an odd smile that seemed to last a bit too long; if she didn’t know better she’d think he was leering at her. No, Lupin wouldn’t do that.. unless… She found herself blushing again at the possibility that her boss and former professor might have discovered something she would rather he hadn’t. Did Harry confide in Lupin? Hermione knew that Harry considered Lupin to be his surrogate godfather and sometimes sought his advice. But Hermione refused to contemplate the idea of Harry discussing the current situation with anyone – even though she had just discussed it with Ginny. No. She would concentrate on her work this afternoon, get things done and then go home.

She sat down at her desk and thumbed through several stacks of files. She tried so hard to concentrate on the piles of parchment in front of her, but it was no use. The image of Harry naked and hard – either in the bathroom or on his bed – kept flitting through her brain. Her right palm itched, and she knew it wasn’t because (according to the Muggle folk belief) she was going to get a financial windfall soon. It was because she wanted to take Harry in her hand again and stroke him until his eyes rolled back and his voice dropped an octave and he breathed hot and heavy on her neck while crying out her name. The knowledge that she had made him feel like that made her shiver with lust, and suddenly the skin on her belly started quaking again – the Snitch had come back to life.

Bugger, this is ridiculous, she thought, and remembering some of the Occlumency she had learned from Harry in seventh year, she pushed the thought of him out of her mind for two solid hours while she shuffled papers. Finally she gave up on what she was doing and apparated home. Ron and Lavender were lazing on the couch, snogging occasionally as they shared the morning's Daily Prophet.

"Hello Ron, hello Lav," she said mechanically as she hung her cloak in the foyer. "I see you’re occupied so I’ll go up to my room and soak my head…Just kidding, I'm going to work on some files."

"Mmmrhrrmmph," came the muffled acknowledgment from a breathless, giggly female voice. "We'll call you for dinner--oooh, Ronnie, that's mmmhrphrphmm"

Hermione carried her briefcase up the stairs with her and set it on the desk in her bedroom. Then she stripped out of the jeans and jumper she’d worn to work, wrapped herself in her silk robe and went downstairs to take a shower. Not wishing any more surprises, she knocked gingerly on the bathroom door and went in only when she was sure it was unoccupied. Doffing the robe she climbed into the shower and let the warm water pound the knots out of her aching muscles. Damn, she had to get up and around more at work; she spent more time at her desk at work than she ever did seated at a desk at Hogwarts. At least there she got out and about on adventures fairly often, thanks to Harry and Ron. Now, at the Ministry, she spent most of her time hunched over a desk, writing reports in the terrible light of her Ministry cubicle…

Which was what she was going to do tonight, but with at least she wouldn’t have to put up with bad lighting. Clipping her hair up, Hermione put on a pair of hipster knickers, wrapped her silk robe around herself and went back to her room. She turned on the Muggle desk lamp she’d brought from her parents’ home in Kent, sat down at her desk and settled in to spend some time reading and writing in her files.

Suddenly there was a grunt at her door, then a tentative knock. "Hermione?"

It was Harry. Trying not to freeze, she took a deep breath. She would let things unfold however they would.

"Come in."

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He looked shy and tentative, a boyish blush burnishing his cheeks as he looked down at his feet rather than at her.

Hermione finished her sentence with a flourish of her quill, then sat up. She put the quill down on her desk and smiled at him, but her smile disappeared when she looked at him closely.

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

She got up and hurried over to him. He’d been injured – probably during his stakeout with Tonks earlier that day – and he had a bruise on his head and a cut on his foot. She felt the bruise then slowly looked him over, lightly brushing her hands over his body as she checked him for additional injuries. He was wearing a pair of dark green tracksuit pants and a black tee shirt and smelled as if he’d just showered. She must have been so wrapped up in her work that she’d not heard him come home. This fact annoyed her almost as much as the sight of his injuries.

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

His foot had several scratches on it, all covered with the magical salve favored by the Ministry mediwitches. Harry looked at his bare foot and blushed.

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

"Harry!" she gasped. She was angered that he’d been injured but so very relieved his injuries weren’t much worse. Knowing he was safe sent a wave of warmth and happiness through her. Wrapping her arms around his middle, she hugged him tightly, her head leaned against his chest. She could hear his heart thumping, sounding a bit panicky, as if he were suddenly afraid of her hugging him.

"I'm all right,’ he insisted, patting her shoulder as if to reassure her

"Why does this sort of thing always happen to you?" she muttered. Her mind raced with memories of dozens of injuries, from trivial to life threatening, that Harry had sustained at school. Feeling for a moment like the school nurse, Madam Pomfrey, she bit off the lecture that wanted to leap from her tongue.

Harry frowned and pulled himself away from her, 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, her breathing trying to return to normal. "You scared me."

He nodded quietly and sighed. Returning the sigh, she curled an arm around his and leaned her head against his shoulder. The sight of him slightly injured but safe had stirred something powerful inside her, powerful enough to set the Snitch twittering again. As the winged ball flapped on her stomach, a warm, aching need surged through her, a need that couldn't be denied. A bolt of realization smacked her brain. She'd seen him in more than one moment of aching need; she wanted to return the favor. Turnabout is fair play. Time to let myself be vulnerable to him.

"Harry..." she began cautiously.

He didn't look at her, only stared over her shoulder with a dreamy-eyed look. "Yes..."

"Do you trust me?"

He gazed down at her, a look of complete puzzlement on his face, as if that were the strangest question he'd ever heard.

She gulped before going further. "Do you... trust my intentions?"

He licked his lips, apparently having to think about his answer.

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

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and looked up at him, hoping that her eyes could convey the swirl of emotions she was feeling. She couldn't bear the thought of him fearing her or what might happen.

"It's me here, Harry."

"I know," he answered with a hesitant nod.

After all these years the two of them were finally moving, inch by inch, toward a closeness neither of them could have imagined on that first train ride long ago. She had to make him know that she would always be there for him no matter what did or didn't happen in her bedroom or his. As her hand caressed his cheek, she tilted her head toward his, hoping that what she said would be what he needed to hear.

"I won't leave you."

Those four little words broke through to him, and suddenly Harry was hugging her with all his might. His hands were broad and strong and warm on her back, and his body curved up against hers in all the right places, adding to the tingly feeling that seized her body. He clung to her for what seemed like ages, and when she finally wriggled away from him she knew what she needed to do.

She guided his hands from behind her to her belly, where the knot of her robe was.

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

The belt dropped down and her robe hung open, revealing a broad strip of bare skin from the valley of her breasts down to the top of her silk knickers. As he stared at her naked skin, the Snitch on her belly flittered wildly.

Taking his hands in her own, she stepped backwards towards her bed. Be vulnerable, she urged herself. Take this one step at a time.

"Hermione-" he coughed. "Are you- I mean- should we-"

"Baby steps, Harry," she said softly and pulled him down to sit next to her on the edge of her bed.

She pulled her robe open and rolled her shoulders, shrugging off the dark-pink silk. Now she stood in front of him mostly naked, wearing only her low-cut knickers. Harry sat there quietly, perhaps in shock, apparently unable to say anything. His eyes drifted down her body, starting at her shoulders, lingering on her breasts, then moving down to her waist, then her belly, and finally stopping at the thrashing, shuddering Snitch. He opened his mouth as if to speak but instead shook his head and gasped.

She looked down at herself and shrugged. She wished her body was sexier, more attractive, but it was what it was. Harry leaned forward, took her hand and gazed into her eyes. She gazed back at him, squeezing his hand.

"Thank you," he breathed.

She rolled her eyes and sat down next to him.

"You are beautiful," he said firmly.

Other men had told her that, but she hadn’t believed them, and none of them had been Harry. The nearness and dearness of him made her head spin. He was close, so very close to her, and the heat of his masculinity overtook her as he suddenly leaned forward and kissed her in a way that one friend ought never kiss another. Her lips pressed back against his and parted slightly, her tongue stroking his lips gently in search of the warm, safe harbor of his mouth.

The kiss emboldened her even as it made her swoon, and she decided to show him something she’d never shown another man. Embarrassed by her thoughts, she pulled away from him suddenly.

"Will you watch me?" she whispered.

"Huh-uh... Watch you?"

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. "Watch me..." As she dipped her hands down between her legs, a blush roared into her cheeks.

"Yes –" Harry nodded with a gasp. He looked a bit faint and, eyes wide, he gripped the edge of the bed.

Hermione scooted back on the bed, her eyes locked on Harry, and settled herself in a comfortable spot amid the pillows. Then she lifted her hips and pushed her knickers down below her knees. Harry gulped and pinched himself. She felt like pinching herself too as she pondered that she was about to pleasure herself in front of him.

"You can come closer," she said. In for a penny, in for a pound. If she was going to do this, he was damn well going to be able to see everything she was doing. Harry was sitting on the edge at the far end of Hermione’s bed. He shifted back and raked his eyes over her body, his decidedly unplatonic gaze sending a shiver of delight through her. If he was going to look at her like that, she’d have to give him something to look at. So she parted her legs.

He opened his mouth to say something then stopped and just stared between her legs. She opened her legs wider and wider until she thought he had a clear view, then slid her fingers down and stroked her curls. A whimper escaped Harry’s throat as her hand grazed over the Snitch, which quivered and shuddered while its wings fluttered like a hummingbird’s.

He was still too far away.

"Closer, Harry," she said, and patted her knee to let him know how close she wanted him. He leaned closer, close enough to get a good look at everything she planned to touch. His face was still pale, but the look of shock had given way to a goofy, lopsided, blissful grin. He looked so utterly adorable with his head cocked just above her knees, waiting patiently to see what she would do. If he wants a show, I’ll give him one, she smiled, then dipped her fingers down into her curls. She stroked them slowly and teasingly, aware of Harry’s eyes bolted to her private parts, then slipped her hand down to her lips and spread them so he could see exactly what was happening.

His eyes danced around, following every flickering movement of her fingers, and suddenly he gasped then leaned on her knee, apparently to keep from falling over. She found that watching him watch her was an aphrodisiac; the more he looked, the harder she stroked herself. As her middle finger slid up and down between her lips and over and around her clitoris, and then inside her, she thought about how much she wished her finger was Harry’s finger, and the delicious squirming sensation set her blood on fire and made the Snitch twitter more frantically than ever. She could only imagine how Harry was feeling, but she knew that she’d rarely been more aroused than she was now. She could hear her own breath now, hot and feathery, as she flickered her fingers upward and stroked her swollen clit. She was so very close to losing herself in front of him, but she was determined to ride out her arousal as slowly as she could. Harry can enjoy watching me all he wants, she thought, but I’ll stay in control.

That’s what she expected to happen. Then Harry did something totally unexpected -- he gripped the thigh he had leant his head on and sighed dreamily.

Hermione moaned as if he’d touched her clit.

Continuing to stroke herself, Hermione licked her lips and focused on how her actions were affecting Harry. His breathing became faster and shallower and his hand drifted down across the bulge in the front of his track pants. Good. Good, good, good. Watching her was getting him very hot and bothered. Of course there was only one thing for that.

"You can touch yourself too, Harry," she mumbled, tilting her head back some. "Please, please touch yourself." Let’s watch each other. I want to watch you too.

He quickly pushed his pants down and, edging forward on the bed, took his penis in his hand. His lovely, beautiful penis that she ached to touch, but this time she’d let him just touch himself. No reason why she should be the only one having this much fun.

"Like that?"

Oh yes. Yes. Let me watch you while you do that.

Smiling, she looked directly at what he was doing. "Yes, yes."

The sight of his hand sliding up and down his shaft kicked her own motions into a higher gear. As her fingers began to move almost as fast as the Snitch fluttered on her belly, her body quivered and her breathing changed to ragged gasps. Despite the distracting sensations flooding her body, she kept her eyes trained on Harry. As his hand slid faster up and down his shaft, feral groans rumbled from his throat.

"Oh God," she mumbled. "I like seeing you like this, I do..." You have no idea how much I like seeing you do that to yourself, she thought. Almost as much as I liked doing it to you…

Harry grinned, and for the first time she saw a wicked, sexual gleam in his eye. "I should have known you'd be a talker."

As a spasm of pleasure hit her, Hermione’s eyes drifted shut briefly and she grinned back at him. If not for needing to resolve her arousal, she could have gone on like this forever, touching herself, watching him touch himself, taking another baby step away from their old platonic relationship. Lost in thought, she let herself drift on the familiar sensations of hand on skin.

But the next thing she felt left her completely astonished. Harry was kissing and suckling her inner thigh hungrily and she heard herself gasp with pleasure and shock.

"Harry!"

This was wonderful and amazing, but now he was going well beyond what she had hoped for or expected. As if he could read her mind, he went even further, bending his head down and kissing her inner thigh yet again, his tongue tracing lacy patterns on her skin. As his tongue continued to work its magic her thighs trembled under his mouth. She felt him shiver as his own arousal heightened and she gasped, her gasps turning to little moans as she mumbled his name over and over.

"Let me," he said, scooting forward, eyes locked upon the lips of her sex. "... Please."

Let him? Let him do what? Oh God, could he possibly want to do that?? Things were moving much faster than she’d anticipated, but in her current state she didn’t much care. If that was what he wanted to do, she wouldn’t deny him. All she could do was whimper and nod then close her eyes and let her head hang back on the pillow, eyes on the ceiling, hoping he was really going to do what had crossed her mind.

She pulled her fingers back, opening up her folds for him. In an instant his left hand wrapped around her right leg and his head descended. Then his mouth sealed over her folds and his tongue was swirling around her labia, lavishing attention on her clit, his lips and tongue touching and licking and suckling every bit of her arousal. She had no idea where he’d learned to do this and she didn’t care. Perhaps he was a natural at it, the way he’d been a natural at flying in first year.

He moaned into her as his own pleasure mounted, and she bucked underneath him, gasping in with equal pleasure.

"Bloody hell!" she whimpered. "Do that again, ohhh please..."

So he did, and she squirmed as she neared her climax.

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

He continued suckling her, his tongue flickering quickly, reaching every part of her most sensitive anatomy. Her pleasure began to reach a crescendo and she shuddered under his mouth as a cry leapt from her throat.

"Oh HARRY!"

She bucked and dug her fingers into his hair. Pushing his head down more firmly onto her, she wriggled and writhed and gasped as he went about his business. As a final wave of ecstasy washed over her she cried his name again. Soon more feral groans escaped him as he shuddered with his own release.

Harry continued to nuzzle her, licking her gently as she lay there with her heart pounding, eyes wide and gazing at the ceiling, her mouth hanging open, her breasts rising and falling in deep, collecting gasps. He seemed reluctant to remove his lips from her body. Hermione, meanwhile, lay there for some time, legs open, hands twitching at her sides, the scene just finished replaying over and over in her mind, still trying to wrap her mind around the idea that Harry Potter had taken the initiative to make her come.

When he finally pulled his head away she could barely contemplate what had just happened. Her rational mind, which was almost always in charge, had wanted to explore this uncharted territory between herself and Harry in a slow and orderly way. But her irrational, limbic brain had let her be carried away by the heat of the moment, doing things she never really thought she might do with him. As her mind and her heart waged war on each other, another wave of panic set in and she suddenly sat up and brought her legs together. Pulling on her robe, she found her hands trembling as she attempted to tie the knot. Harry sat watching her quietly, apparently waiting for her to speak.

She glanced at him with a shy smile that belied the way her heart was pounding against her ribs. "Well, I have so very much to do tonight and..."

He raised an eyebrow. "You want me to leave?"

She turned and looked to him. "No."

A sudden rap at the door interrupted them….

"Harry, Hermione... Dinner!"

It was Lavender.

Harry leaped to his feet, stuffing his penis back into his pants, and raced over to open the door. There stood Lavender with a very smug look on her face.

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

Hermione blanched when she saw Lavender roll her eyes. "Let's just call it a nagging suspicion," Lav smiled. Hermione could swear there was a smirk in her eyes.

"I'm just talking to Hermione," Harry lied.

"I'm sure you are!" Lavender said, lifting her hands and trying to look innocent. "I have to go set the table! Don't be too long."

Harry sighed and closed the door. Hermione pulled on her jeans and was putting on a shirt when he turned back to her. Then he walked over to her, looked down at her belly and hesitantly put his hand forward.

"May I?"

She nodded, tenderness toward him welling up in her.

He stretched out his long fingers toward her belly. Flattening them over the Snitch, he stroked it gently.

"It is very beautiful," he said, looking up into her eyes.

She forced a tiny smile. Did everything between them the past few days come back to the Snitch? She wondered whether he was interested in more than that damn magical tattoo on her belly. If not, what was the point of all they’d just done? Hoping against hope, she stepped forward and kissed him tenderly.

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

He arched a brow. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yes. But not tonight." So much work to do, so very much to think about, and they needed to go down to dinner before Ron and Lavender started getting ideas. As she buttoned up her shirt, her brows knitted with confusion, her mind still spinning from the events of the past half-hour.

"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 -" he muttered.

She nodded, pleased that he wasn’t angry. "Exactly."

He nodded. "I understand."

She felt a load lift from her heart. He understood. He wouldn’t push her. Perhaps they could go back to taking baby steps. She smiled and turned to him, hugging him tightly. "Oh, Harry, I'm so glad you do!"

He pulled away and held the door for her. As they walked down the stairs, Harry a few steps behind her, Hermione didn’t think she could watch him lick his lips the same way ever again.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Chapter 4 – Faith

Well, here it is – the big smutty part. I hope it was worth waiting for. And of course, the biggest thanks go to Nancy for orchestrating all the sex in this chapter and the preceding ones. Thanks to everyone who has read this far. Only 2 more chapters to go.

The dinner that followed was brief and tense. Molly Weasley had sent a home-cooked dinner by owl, the sort of meal Hermione would have enjoyed immensely under more normal circumstances. But the circumstances were ineffably strange. Lavender had a bawdy twinkle in her eyes, and Ron sat there with reddened checks and a smirk that suggested he could barely keep himself from laughing. It was almost as if they really did have some inkling of what had gone on in Hermione’s room. To make matters worse, Harry kept opening his mouth as if to speak but never actually said anything, and every time he did this Hermione felt her stomach flip-flop and her knees turn to jelly, which made her very glad she was seated.

The meal looked and smelled wonderful but, all things considered, she’d lost most of her appetite. So she ate as quickly and quietly as she could then jumped up and left the table. As she hurried out of the dining room she caught a glimpse of Harry, his lips parted as if to ask where she was going in such a hurry. She didn’t wait for his question but retreated upstairs to her room as quickly as possible. For the first time in ages, she really hoped he wouldn’t stop by her room to say goodnight. She had so very much to do, so many files to read and another report to work on, she really didn’t have time for small talk.

At least that’s what she told herself as she began puttering at her desk, poring over documents and sifting through reports. After two hours of trying (and failing) to keep him out of her mind she allowed herself to admit the obvious – that she was anxious about being alone in the same room with him. She wasn’t afraid of him; he’d been a perfect gentleman so far, as much as one could be in sexual matters like this, and he’d done nothing without being invited or asking politely. His "let me… please" still rang in her heart, and the vision of him lowering his head and then suckling her to ecstasy made her boil with desire to have him do it again.

That was the problem. She couldn’t see herself doing that with him again if all he cared about was the Snitch tattoo, but she couldn’t bear to ask him about it and a large part of her couldn’t see how it could mean anything more to him. But Ginny's words from the previous day rang in her ears. He adores you. He'd do anything for you. The more she thought about the whole situation, the more complicated it seemed to get, and for the first time in years her Gryffindor courage vanished. When she finally let herself stop thinking about it she went to bed, relieved that she had to get up early and would again be gone by the time Harry came down for breakfast.

The next morning came much too soon, and after her shower Hermione dressed quickly and went down to breakfast, briefcase in hand so she could make a quick exit. Ron and Lavender were putting on their cloaks as she entered the kitchen.

"You’re up awfully early, aren’t you?" she yawned at them.

Ron looked to Lavender with a hint of the smirk he’d worn last night. "Got an early practice at Chudley Stadium today. Bad enough we got bounced from the playoffs, now we have to practice for a charity game. We’re playing the Appleby Arrows next Sunday. All the proceeds go to Ward 49 at St. Mungo’s -- you know, where Gilderoy Lockhart is locked up." As he shook his head in disgust, Lavender reached her hand up to his cheek.

"Oh, Ronnie, you know you’d rather be playing Quidditch than doing anything else…well, almost anything else!" she laughed with that leering twinkle in her eye. Hermione hoped they wouldn’t look at her as she was sure her cheeks were redder than the old Gryffindor scarf Ron was wearing. Lavender fastened her cloak then kissed Ron soundly and stood apart from him in the foyer.

"Goodbye Ronnie, I’m off to the Prophet now. And ta ta, Hermione, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do," she winked then disapparated from the flat.

Feeling herself redden again, Hermione turned and found Ron hovering nearby, about to hug her. "Don’t mind Lav, you know how she gets sometimes." He looked down at her kindly. "Have a great day, Hermione. Everything will work out for the best, I know it."

"Umm, right, Ron. Thanks," she muttered as he disapparated too.

Hermione had a sneaking suspicion that Ron and Lavender knew more about her and Harry than they were letting on, but there was nothing to do about it now and she had to get to work soon. She was thankful Harry still hadn’t come down, because she honestly didn’t know what she would say to him if he did. She used her wand to toast some bread, then ate the toast quickly as she dug around the fridge and pulled out two whole meal rolls, a few slices of ham, some lettuce and tomato. She made two ham and salad sandwiches, wrapped each in plastic wrap (another Muggle convenience she appreciated much more than Ron did) and put one of the sandwiches into the fridge for Harry, in case he wanted something quick for lunch. Then she stuffed the other sandwich into her briefcase and grabbed her cloak. Almost ready to disapparate, she wrote a note on the whiteboard 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

"PS - That Snitch is still a bother."

There. That sounded fine. Normal, noncommittal, but with an appropriate (she hoped) undertone of interest. And only she and Harry would know what it really meant, she was sure of it.

She just hoped she wasn’t a bloody fool for writing it.

~~~*~~~*~~~

Hermione had planned her morning well. The Ministry archives were, indeed, only sparsely populated when she arrived there for her morning’s research. She was trying to find documents that would firmly connect Mulciber and Nott, two Death Eaters who had escaped from Azkaban a year ago, with the unicorn-poaching racket she was also researching. It was long, difficult and tedious work, but she was sure that all she had to do was find the right parchment amongst the sixty-two million parchments in the Ministry archives and the case against Mulciber and Nott would be airtight. Unfortunately, the Ministry had not discovered the joys of computer databases, so every parchment was hand-catalogued and cross-referenced then tucked away in the files using reducing charms. It would be a long, hard slog as usual, and Hermione left her Ministry badge as collateral with Susan Bones, her old Hogwarts classmate who was now second assistant librarian at the Ministry.

After three hours of digging through parchments, Hermione needed a change of scene and decided to take a lift back up to level 2, where the Auror Division was headquartered. As she approached the archives desk to retrieve her badge from Susan a parchment airplane floated up to her. She plucked the missile from the air and her eyebrow cocked when she saw the handwriting on the parchment, which was addressed to "Miss Granger, That Damned Dusty Library, MoM." Inside it read:

"You are cordially invited to lunch with Lavender Brown. Get your butt down here now before I come looking for you. I might even bump into Harry first. Ha ha.

Yours,

Lav."

The parchment then reassembled itself into an airplane and floated out of the archives, fluttering in front of one of lifts as if it were waiting for Hermione to follow it.

"What's that all about?" Susan inquired as she watched the parchment airplane floating in the lift lobby.

"Lavender Brown has invited me to lunch," Hermione frowned.

"Business or pleasure?"

"Hmmm? Ummmm…neither…," Hermione replied, hoping she didn't sound panicked. "I mean… umm…personal stuff, I'm sure. Probably wants to know what to get Ron for Christmas. She and Ron recently started…dating."

Hermione was too preoccupied to notice the smirk on Susan's face. "Christmas isn't for six months, Hermione. Are you sure this is about Lavender and Ron?"

"Oh HONESTLY!" Hermione sighed heavily. "I…I have NO IDEA what else it could be about." With that she grabbed her badge from the top of Susan's desk and bustled out toward the lift lobby. The parchment airplane stopped flittering, dipped its nose to acknowledge her presence and then led Hermione into one of the gilded lifts. Soon the lift took her to level 8, where she followed the parchment airplane through the Atrium until it deposited her in front of the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Seated there, resplendent in a violet cloak and a lilac pants suit, was the redoubtable Lavender Brown.

"Hello, Lav," Hermione said, eyeing Lavender’s attire. "Lovely outfit. It’s so…you." Hermione forced a smile that couldn’t quite reach her eyes. Was Lavender playing at something?

Lavender stood and air-kissed Hermione’s cheek. "Thank you, darling. Though I know you don’t really mean it and you’re just killing time until I tell you why I’m really here."

Damn psychics! Hermione fumed and gave Lavender a long, appraising look. "Well spotted, Lav. So… why are you really here?"

A wicked smile came over Lavender’s face. "This isn’t really the best place to have this conversation, Hermione. It’s so… public…" – she leaned in conspiratorially – "and what I want to talk about is really a personal matter. So why don’t we go over to the Leaky Cauldron and have a bite there?" She grabbed Hermione’s elbow and began to steer her toward the Ministry entrance.

Hermione looked skeptical. "The Leaky Cauldron? Where everybody knows your name, and mine too? I don’t know, Lav…"

"Hermione, am I a witch or not? Can I erect a proper ward or not? Did I learn how to keep and use secret information in the D.A. or not??" By this time they were at the security desk, where Lavender retrieved her wand from Eric Munch, the perennial security guard.

"Well, yes, of course, but…"

"But nothing! Then off to the Cauldron we shall go!" And with that, Lavender led Hermione out of the Ministry headquarters and, keeping hold of her elbow, apparated both of them to a back room of the Leaky Cauldron, where they landed with a thud in two well-worn chairs.

"Lavender Brown!" Now Hermione was really fuming, and she was surprised to see the table laden with two platters of fish and chips, two mugs of butterbeer and an open bottle of Old Ogden’s Firewhisky. "What in Dumbledore’s name possessed you to bring me here? Whatever are you on about?"

"Shhhh…" Lavender hushed her, then took out her wand and waved it around at all four walls, the ceiling and the floor. "Silencio!" The walls, door, floor and ceiling wobbled as the silencing charm took effect. "There now. Nice and private. Now we can really talk."

"Stop being such a drama queen, Lav. Just spit it out. What’s going on?"

Lavender smiled coyly. "I could ask you the same question, Hermione. What’s going on with you and Harry?"

Stomach flip-flopping, Hermione tried to respond calmly. "With me and Harry? What makes you think anything is going on? Did Ron say something?" She thought back to Ron’s odd declaration that morning. Everything will work out for the best, I know it. Did he and Lavender really know anything? "If he’s been using those Extendible Ears, I’ll hex him into next week," she smirked.

A hearty laugh escaped Lavender’s mouth as she rolled her eyes. "Oh honey, Ron and I didn’t need any Extendible Ears to know what was happening in your room last night. But thanks for putting me in the mood for that myself…"

Hermione almost knocked over her mug of butterbeer as her hand flew up to her mouth in shock. "You…you heard us??"

"Every blessed grunt, groan and moan that either of you made. It was like listening to porn over the Wizarding Wireless Network!" Lavender giggled.

Hermione felt her cheeks redden yet again. "Oh God…we forgot Silencio," she muttered, shaking her head with disbelief. She was sure she had never, ever been so embarrassed in her entire life. She wished she were an animagus with an insect form so she could scurry away and not have to face her friend. She'd rather be a ladybeetle or a cockroach right now than sit here embarrassed to death.

Sensing her discomfort, Lavender patted Hermione's arm and chuckled kindly. "It's okay, honey. I've forgotten it a few times too. That's a problem for us Muggleborns -- sometimes, in the heat of the moment, we forget to take every precaution." She cocked her head, an inquiring look on her face.

It took only a second for Hermione to cotton on. "Oh…well… we didn't actually need to take every precaution," she muttered.

"You didn't? But…the noises… we thought…" Now it was Lavender's turn to be shocked.

Cheeks still red, Hermione lifted her head and shook it slowly. "No, we didn't do the deed, if that's what you mean."

"You're having me on, aren't you?" Lavender goggled, but Hermione continued shaking her head. "Well then, what did you do? Come on, Hermione, this is me, Outstanding N.E.W.T. in Divination here. If you don't tell me, I'll just have to read your mind," Lavender smirked triumphantly.

Oh bugger, she's not going to stop asking until I tell her, Hermione realized. Catching Lavender's eye, she stared down toward her own private parts then muttered, "He went down on me."

Lavender's eyes went wide. "Noooooo…. Only that?"

Hermione shook her head. "Well, no, he also wanked while he did me."

The look on Lavender's face morphed from shock to lascivious glee and she could barely contain her laughter. "Oh honey, you two were so noisy, we were sure Harry was banging you for all he was worth!"

Hermione grimaced and rolled her eyes, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Oh honestly, Lavender, is that all you think about these days?" she barked, unconsciously wringing her hands. "Honestly. Banging. Really, the very idea of me doing that with Harry is…well, it’s…I mean…"

She stopped in her tracks as the blush in her cheeks spread like wildfire to her throat and chest. The thought of having sex with Harry was actually quite exciting. Oh bugger, I’m doomed, she thought. I want him. I want to do that with Harry. Well, really, isn’t that what all this other… stuff… has been leading up to? Even contemplating it made her a bit dizzy. Resting her chin in her hands, she found herself shuddering with anxiety. Lavender took the cue and sat primly and quietly until Hermione spoke again.

"Lav, tell me the truth about something," Hermione began cautiously.

"What truth do you want me to tell?" Lavender asked.

Hermione laughed quietly. "Harry never really showed any interest in me until after I got that Snitch tattoo. But I showed it to him the morning after I got it and it seems like ever since then, he’s been transfixed by it and –"

"You showed him the tattoo before last night?"

"Well, yes, you see, when I woke up the morning after the Quidditch party, I had this awful bloody hangover and my belly itched and I needed to pee and I found this, this THING on my belly, and I was totally shocked, of course, and I remembered that you were, um, in Ron’s bedroom so I couldn’t talk to you about it so I did the first thing I could think of, and I apparated into Harry’s room so I could talk to him," Hermione said in a rush.

"I see."

"No, you don’t see. Not nearly as much as Harry saw. I was… partially undressed when I did it. I was hung over, and not thinking straight, and I just popped in on him with my clothes half off, my shirt unbuttoned and my jeans zipper down and he was sitting there on his bed in just a towel, I guess he’d just come out of the shower, and—"

"So he saw the Snitch on your belly? What did he do then?" Lavender’s voice was thick with intrigue.

"Well, he didn’t really do anything, he just kind of stared at it," Hermione explained. "It was like he couldn’t take his eyes off it. And then… the strangest thing happened. I could feel the Snitch flapping its wings on my belly! It felt like a hummingbird was flitting across my skin. And, well, it was a very sexy feeling…and then later that day I found that the Snitch would flap around just about every time I even looked at him." She blushed again. "That’s when I realized that even being near Harry turns me on. And that’s what terrifies me."

Lavender caught Hermione’s eyes in a steady, level gaze. "And why does being turned on by him terrify you? You’re hardly the only witch who gets her knickers in a twist looking at him. He’s bloody handsome, if you hadn’t noticed."

"Well, certainly I’d noticed, I’d have to be blind not to. I just – I’d never allowed myself to think about him that way…until recently," Hermione blushed and sighed again. She sat and picked at her chips, gathering her thoughts, hoping she could make Lavender understand.

"Look, Lav," she continued carefully, "you’ve never had a male best friend. I’ve had two of them simultaneously since I was eleven. When Ron and I dated in sixth year, I was terrified about how that would change my relationship with him and with Harry. I was actually relieved when things didn’t work out with Ron, because that meant I could go back to being his best friend. But I’ve never dated Harry and he’s really the best mate I’ve ever had, and now suddenly I’m having all these…highly sexual feelings for him," she choked out. "But I don’t know if he’s doing these things with me because he’s got sexual feelings for me too, or just because he’s hypnotized by that bloody stupid Snitch!" Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms over her chest and huffed with frustration.

"And you’re afraid that if you go with these sexual feelings for him, you might lose him as a friend?"

Hermione nodded, relieved that Lavender understood. Sometimes it didn’t hurt to have a friend who’d earned an Outstanding N.E.W.T. in Divination.

The two women sat in silence for a moment as Hermione waited for Lavender to offer whatever words of wisdom she might have. Finally Lavender leaned toward her and took her hand.

"Hermione, honey," she began, "do you really think Harry doesn’t have these kinds of feelings too? Because I don’t think a person needs to have the Sight to be able to see how he feels about you. In fact, you might be the only person who doesn’t see it – and that might just be your way of protecting yourself."

Lavender’s smile radiated a kindness Hermione had rarely seen, which encouraged Hermione to say more. "I…I don’t know what to think. I just know I feel more for him than I’ve ever felt for anybody. And I don’t know how or when it happened, and I don’t really know what to do about it."

"You know, Hermione, you should try not to analyze everything so much. Just let yourself go with the flow for once and don’t try to figure it out. If it feels good, why not let it happen?"

Lavender paused and eyed her friend carefully before continuing. "Do you know that American telly show called The X-Files?"

Hermione nodded.

"Well," Lavender forged on, "one of my favorite X-Files was about a bloke who was a weather forecaster. He’d been friends for years and years with this bird he worked with, and then suddenly one day, he could make it rain and snow. Maybe he was a wizard, I don’t really know, but he had these really deep feelings for this girl and he didn’t even know that he felt them, and instead his feelings came out in the weather. When Mulder and Scully came to investigate all this weird weather, the girl ended up having a heart-to-heart talk with Scully."

Hermione looked at Lavender questioningly. "So what does this have to do with me and Harry?"

"It has to do with you and Harry because what Scully told the girl stuck in my mind. Scully said to her, ‘Well, it seems to me that the best relationships -- the ones that last -- are frequently the ones that are rooted in friendship. You know, one day you look at the person and you see something more than you did the night before. Like a switch has been flicked somewhere. And the person who was just a friend is... suddenly the only person you can ever imagine yourself with.’ Maybe that’s what’s happening with you and Harry," Lavender finished, looking very pleased with herself.

As Hermione listened, a switch went on in her own heart, illuminating something that scared her almost as much as it pleased her.

"So what should I do?" she frowned, her brows knit with confusion. "I thought if Harry and I went slowly and just…did a few things, it would be easier. But it hasn’t worked out that way."

Lavender smiled again. "I think you should stop trying to be so logical about this. Take a chance. Let whatever happens happen. I really think you’ll be leading Harry in a direction he already wants to go. Okay?"

Hermione stood up and pulled her cloak around herself. "Okay, Lav, point taken. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Thanks for the lunch –" she looked at her mostly uneaten fish and chips –"but now I need to get back to work." Lavender rose, pushed her chair back and hugged Hermione soundly.

"Everything will work out for the best," she said, "I just know it."

"You and Ron are the divination twins today," Hermione laughed. "It’s a pity Trelawney isn’t here to see you."

"She always said I was her best student," Lavender laughed back. "Now don’t you go prove me wrong!"

And with that Hermione heard a Pop! as Lavender disapparated from the Leaky Cauldron.

~~~*~~~*~~~

The afternoon dragged on at a snail’s pace as Hermione returned to the archives and buried herself in the files. Several hours later, she still hadn’t found the documents she needed concerning Mulciber and Nott, so she went back to her cubicle and read through several new folders on her desk, grimly wondering if Lupin’s new slave-driving tendencies were related to the current phase of the moon.

Finally calling it a day around six o’clock, she apparated home to a very quiet kitchen. Ron was apparently still training at Chudley, Lavender hadn’t come over yet, and there was a note on the whiteboard in Harry’s spikey script:

Hermione and Ron (and Lav too if you’re here),

I ate the rest of the fried chicken (sorry). I’ve got a load of work to catch up on so I’ll be in my room tonight. See you later.

Harry

She noticed he hadn’t made any mention of the Snitch. Bugger. Maybe Lavender was wrong and he really didn’t return any of her feelings. Right now, though, she was too hungry to worry about it. She realized she’d barely eaten all day, and suddenly she felt very stroppy toward Harry, who’d eaten the last of the take-out chicken without even asking, the great berk. She spooned some of last night’s Weasley casserole into a bowl and charmed it to a suitable temperature, then snarfed it while reading the latest issue of Witch Weekly, which reinforced her opinion of how poorly she read others’ motives and feelings ("Justin Finch-Fletchley is engaged to Hannah Abbott? Merlin, I had him pegged wrong…").

Putting her dirty dishes in the sink, she let the magical chamois clean them while she trudged into the downstairs bathroom. After shedding her clothes, she pulled her hair out from the elastic band that held it up and stepped into the shower. She reveled in the feel of the warm water cascading down her skin, loosening the tension that had built up in her muscles after several days of pulling parchments out of files in the Ministry archives. There was another tension building in her body too, paralleling the tension that began building in her heart even before she had stumbled into that tattoo parlor in a drunken stupor. She wanted so much to ease that tension, but now was not the time and her own hands were not right for the task. But she knew whose were, and the thought made a wicked smile curl her lips.

After washing her hair she dried herself off then pulled her silk bathrobe around herself and apparated up to her room. She wiggled into a pair of girly jock-style knickers, then slid into her favorite pants for lazing around the flat, a pair of crushed-velvet slacks that Ginny had given her for Christmas a few years earlier. Lastly she pulled on a grey singlet then dabbed a drop of jasmine perfume on her throat. Now she felt ready for what she needed to do. She would go in and talk to Harry about what was happening between them.

She entered his room without knocking. He'd never seemed to mind in the past, though given the events of the past few days, a part of her worried about what she might find when she entered. She was relieved to find Harry sitting quietly at his desk, writing on a parchment from a Ministry file. He was wearing a black, snug-fitting tee-shirt (which did seem to show off his broad, lean chest, though he probably hadn't thought of that when he put it on) and a pair of dark-green tracksuit pants. At first he didn't acknowledge her presence, but eventually he put down his quill and smiled at her. His smile quickly changed into a stare and the intensity of his gaze left her blushing.

"Hey," he said.

She took a quiet centering breath before speaking to him.

"Hello," she said, pursing her lips, feeling like a naughty little girl who'd been caught teasing her mum's cat. "I'm sorry about being scarce this morning and...well last night too, I suppose." He twisted his lips thoughtfully in his fingers, apparently weighing her apology.

"I didn't upset you, did I?" she continued.

"No, no," he said lightly. "I was just languishing in the belief that I'd become your wanton sex pup."

When his words sank into Hermione's brain, she realized he'd been struggling to keep a straight face.

"Harry!" she gasped, starting to chuckle.

Shrugging, he smiled bashfully. Hermione felt equally bashful--an odd feeling for her--but knew she had to continue saying what she'd planned to say, so she stepped closer and sat on the edge of his desk. As she weighed her words, the smile left her face.

"I've been thinking about this... A lot, actually. In fact..." -- she laughed sadly. How could it be so difficult to talk to Harry? She had to stay focused -- "I've barely been able to think about anything else. And I decided--"

She took one more breath then forged on. " --that this whole thing has been sort of unfair on you."

Hermione was surprised to see that Harry was avoiding her eyes. His breathing was shallow and a blushed burned his cheeks, as though he was afraid of what she might say next. Trying to reassure him, she covered one of his hands with her own.

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

"Of me?" he said in a small, uncertain voice.

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

As he arched his brow, she hoped her next revelation didn’t make him laugh.

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

There. She’d laid it all out for him. Now the chips would fall where they might.

His reaction was not what she’d expected, though she hadn’t really known what to expect. His brows darted down and his mouth wagged as a look of mingled confusion and relief swept over his face and something utterly amazing fell from his mouth.

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

She blinked, her eyes suddenly moist. "R-really?"

He nodded, his face glowing with emotion. "Yes! You - you can't fall in love with someone just because of a tattoo."

Did he just say…? Hermione shrank from him a bit, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. He couldn’t have said that… could he? Her head spun as the words ricocheted through her brain. She finally lowered her hand and gulped.

"You... you're in-" She could barely get those words out, the other one wouldn’t follow. The idea that Harry could be in love with her was so much more than she’d ever imagined possible. Her heart suddenly felt like a balloon that would burst through her ribs in another moment, and she reminded herself to breathe so she wouldn’t faint. Harry is in love with me, she marveled.

"Completely and utterly," he sighed giddily. "It's been very distracting."

Hermione’s heart flooded with a happiness that left her almost breathless. "Well I'm sorry that I'm such a bloody inconvenience!" she gasped, feeling more than a bit giddy herself.

"I'm not," Harry replied, and suddenly their mutual giddiness slipped away, replaced by an openness and vulnerability that she’d never shown to anyone else and, she now realized, had never seen in Harry until this moment.

His hand still under her own, Harry stood up, his green eyes gleaming with the same vulnerability she felt toward him. As his face slowly leaned in toward hers, Hermione felt their eleven years of friendship flash through her mind faster than the Hogwarts Express on the home stretch. Through all those years and adventures, she and Harry had steadily grown closer, sharing the good and bad of their daily lives to the point where she couldn’t remember the last time they’d spent more than twenty-four hours apart. Now this beautiful man, whom she’d adored (she could now admit) for more years than she could remember, had just proclaimed he was in love with her, and as he leaned toward her, his lips moving inexorably toward her own, she could barely believe what was about to happen. As his lips touched hers, she trembled all over, feeling like a twelve-year-old about to be kissed by her favorite pop star. She’d never melted under anyone’s kiss before, but she found herself melting under Harry’s. His kiss was slow and firm, not demanding but quietly insistent, full of the promise of something much grander and deeper than some fleeting attraction. She knew that for her, there was no possibility of having a fleeting attraction to Harry. With him, it would be all or nothing – and his kiss said the same.

Finally he pulled away from her and very gently stroked her jawline. His hand trailing on her face made her shiver with delight.

"Harry..." she breathed.

His eyebrows arched in question.

"You're a bloody good kisser," she sighed, her head feeling almost as woozy as her heart.

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

She bit her bottom lip, a hopeful smile lighting her face. "Well, would you like to give me a demonstration?"

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

As laughter punctuated his last few words, Hermione realized he was having her on. The great berk would not get away with this.

"Harry!" she gasped in an affronted tone while tugging his arm playfully.

He laughed aloud, his face twisting into her favorite lopsided grin as he looked at her. "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!"

"You didn’t seem to mind at the time," she shot back through crimson cheeks.

"No, I didn't," he replied, his voice and face softening. Suddenly the back of his knuckles grazed lightly over the soft, round pad of her chin, and she felt her knees wobbling a bit beneath her. "In fact I rather enjoyed it."

As his knuckles feathered against her skin, her eyelids fluttered and she couldn’t help but smile. "That's good because I intend on doing it again some time in the future," she sighed.

"Glad to hear it," he murmured and slowly began to nuzzle her cheek. The feel of his lips grazing her skin sent another shiver through her and her breath came out in shallow puffs against his cheek and ear. Harry’s face lit up with a dreamy smile as he continued to press sweet little kisses up across her cheekbone and into her hair. As he discovered her earlobe and kissed that too, she sighed and clutched his shoulders.

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

"Th- oh my!" Hermione gasped as he took her earlobe in his teeth and gave it a gentle tug. "Thank you." She could definitely get used to this. She’d always wondered whether Harry was as romantic as she’s suspected, and now she was discovering just how easily he could make her swoon.

"Don't mention it," he breathed into her ear, and his breath set her to trembling again. It was all so lovely, so romantic, so…uncomfortable? She realized she must be sitting on something on his desk.

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

"Hmm?" he breathed as he gently nibbled and licked her earlobe, sending a flood of sensations to even more sensitive parts of her body. Whatever was making her uncomfortable was bloody inconvenient.

"My bottom is sore," she grimaced. "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 from the desk, they saw the quill on the table, quite rumpled, and the pointy metal lid of his inkpot where she had perched herself. She gasped and patted her bottom.

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

Harry chuckled as he turned her about and checked. "Oh dear."

"Ohhh what? Do I?" she fretted, still unable to see her backside.

He stepped back, folding his arms and stroked his jaw with a critical flourish. "I could do a Rorschach test with your bottom."

"Ohh bugger!" she moaned. Bloody hell, did I ruin these pants? She seethed at herself for sitting down on his desk, of all places, without checking to see what might be underneath her.

"I see a hippogriff," he teased.

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

"You can clean them, can't you?" he asked. "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." She slapped herself internally for doing something as stupid as sitting on an open inkpot. Fifty points from Gryffindor, she chided herself.

"Oh," was all he could say.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyelids. The romantic mood of a moment ago seemed to be crashing in front of her. "I can only hope Mrs. Weasley knows a good charm to get rid of it."

He held out his hand to her as he walked into his ensuite.

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

She walked into Harry’s bathroom behind him, sighing as she relished the view of his bum; despite not playing regularly for several years, he still had the "Quidditch arse" that set hearts fluttering at Hogwarts in sixth and seventh years. As he turned round to her, she realized he had, very innocently, managed to get her out of her pants.

"Oh, very smooth," she smirked, resisting the urge to believe he'd left the quill out just for this purpose.

"Are you going to try it or not?"

"Ah, why not?" she muttered.

There she was, alone with him again in the bathroom where all of this began just a few days ago. She sensed that taking her pants off this time would start something that neither of them would want to stop, and the thought filled her with mischief. Pushing down the elastic waistband, she wriggled out of the stained pants then left them in a heap on the floor. As she stood there in nothing but her knickers and singlet, Harry pursed his lips delightedly. A sudden wave of shyness made her toe the floor anxiously.

"They were the most sensible knickers in the store at the time," she said, standing tall. Honestly, a girl couldn't even wear cute but sensible knickers without someone making a big deal of it. "They're very comfy," she went on.

Harry said nothing, but his face veered between a smirk and a leer. She stomped playfully to the sink and turned the tap on full-blast. Behind her she could here Harry stifling a laugh.

"They are also stained with ink."

Stained? They're stained? Then I'll have to -- her heart leapt into her throat as the logical conclusion raced through her mind, and she didn't have to think twice about the quantum leap she was about to make. She turned off the water and very, very slowly turned around and gazed at Harry, hoping that the fire in her soul also blazed in her eyes.

"Well," she said breathlessly, barely able to contain her feelings, "I'm just going to have to take these off to soak too, aren't I?"

"Uh- huhh- khem!" Harry cleared his throat and nodded, his emotions seeming barely in check. "I think that's a very sensible measure."

Having his complete and undivided attention (at least the part that wasn't traveling south) put a wicked glint in Hermione's eyes.

"And heaven knows I am a sensible woman," she said. Then she stepped forward and, looking straight at him, hooked her thumb in the waistband of her knickers.

"Always," he answered, his voice suddenly husky, his eyes locked on hers. Hermione reveled in that huskiness and in what her every movement seemed to be doing to him. Very deliberately and carefully, she moved her hips from side to side, the tip of her tongue pressed to the middle of her upper lip, her brow wrinkled in concentration. Eyes still on his, she wriggled out of the knickers and kicked them off, then tossed them over his head and out the bathroom door. Now she stood half-naked physically but fully bared emotionally.

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

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

The last objection cast aside, she flung herself toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him voraciously. He seemed amused by her eagerness, but really, what did he expect? She’d never been one to go at things half-arsed, and now that she’d taken this step, she’d be damned if she would hold anything back. Even wrapped in her arms, he seemed much too far away, and the need to get closer burned in her as she hooked one leg up over his hip. His hand caught her naked thigh, sending a shiver through her. Lips still locked to his, she tried to steer him out of the bathroom. But as she continued kissing him she couldn’t steer very well and suddenly they collided with the bathroom sideboard, causing a shudder of protest from the mirror and the sink.

"Oh shit!" he chuckled.

"Whoops!" she laughed.

Their laughter was short-lived as Harry leaned in and kissed her hungrily, his tongue stealing between her lips, sweeping through her mouth, the kind of kiss she’d wanted and dreamed about even before the Snitch came to reside on her skin. She could resist him no more than she could have resisted Imperio, but Harry didn’t need to command, as her own desire made her want to go wherever he wished. She removed his hands from behind her waist and pulled them down to her naked hips and thighs, offering herself to him fully. The time for being a gentleman was long past.

Quickly Harry took her cue and suddenly his lips trailed down her body. When they stopped at her stomach and he began suckling the delicate skin there, a jolt of desire rocked her body.

"Harry..." she panted, twining her fingers in his hair. She’d always felt like the two of them were on the same wavelength, but now he seemed to know what she enjoyed without even being told. And people say I’m clever, she marveled. He nuzzled her belly, licking and kissing the Snitch, her pleasure mounting with every touch of his tongue and lips. Then he burrowed lower, his nose sliding in among her curls.

"Harry!" she squealed as the tip of his tongue touched her clitoris. Realizing certain things needed attention before she and Harry went much further, she leapt away from him and ran across his bedroom, then picked among the various objects on his desk.

"Where is it?" she asked, still searching.

"Where is what?" he returned, apparently having entered the bedroom.

She looked over her shoulder at him. "Your wand!" She needed his wand right now, as her own was back in her room and she couldn’t exactly retrieve it in her current state of undress.

Harry pursed his lips, seeming to resist the temptation to make a dirty joke. "In the pocket of my coat hanging off the chair."

Bending over the chair, Hermione dug around in Harry’s coat pocket until she found his wand. From the other side of the bedroom she heard a hoarse, guttural "Oh my…"

She looked over her shoulder at him, confusion on her face. In her haste to find the wand she’d forgotten what part of her anatomy was naked and pointing right toward him.

"I love your bottom, Hermione," he said. He gave a brief, 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."

A week ago she would have laughed and blushed wildly if anyone had suggested that Harry would ever see her bottom. Now he was declaring his love for it, and his declaration gave her an incredibly naughty idea. She ducked her head away from him and very deliberately lifted her bottom higher in the air, angling her pelvis directly toward him, giving him an eyeful of all of those bits. Then, not waiting to determine his exact reaction, she stood up and waved Harry’s wand at the door in a big, slow circle.

"Silencio!" she commanded.

The air around the door wobbled and as Hermione turned around, she took care of the other – and even more important – business and tapped her belly, muttering the contraceptive charm in her head. Then she dropped the wand and slowly, carefully swiped her arm along the top of his desk, clearing off a sizeable space on which to sit.

Everything taken care of to her satisfaction, she parked her naked bum on top of his desk. Then she opened her legs and, putting her feet up on the arms of his work chair, she placed her hands strategically in front of her privates. He’d see plenty of them in the near future, but first she intended to get him naked.

"Harry," she said pointedly.

He looked at her, his eyes glazed with desire. Flapping his mouth a bit, he barely choked out a sound.

"Uh - buh-"

"Take your pants off." This was going to be fun.

"What?"

She looked directly at his crotch, enjoying the bulge she knew was there because of her.

"Your pants, Harry. Take them off," she commanded, amusement flickering on her face.

"A-All of my-" he blubbered.

She arched a brow and grinned. He wasn’t nearly that dense, was he? No, of course not. Finally cottoning on, he nodded.

"All off..." he muttered.

His voice drifting off, he looked down and hooked his thumbs into the elastic waistband of his track pants, then pushed his pants and boxers down his legs, letting them drop around his ankles. Hermione shifted on the desk, her legs opening wider, hands up on her knees, her thumbs twitching with anticipation, and peered raptly at his erection. The sight of his very firm, unrestrained penis made her ache with lust. She’d now seen it four times in four days, and it still took her breath away. It was such a lovely length, so generously proportioned and unabashedly male, strutting proudly from its bed of raven curls, reigning over an equally impressive set of balls. Yes, Harry was hung. And now he’s mine, she mused, enjoying the view.

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

"Yes..." Hermione said, biting her bottom lip, unable to control either her old nervous habit or the blush in her cheeks. No, half-naked wasn’t nearly naked enough. "My turn, eh?"

His brows arched inquisitively. Apparently she was going to have to lead him step by step into the abyss of bliss. Not that she minded, of course – she just hadn’t figured on having to spell everything out for him. Gathering the hem of her singlet between her fingers, she arched her back and pulled the slight garment up and over her head, then tossed it on the floor.

Now she sat naked on his desk, her legs open, arms tucked at her sides. Flushed with desire and laying herself bare to him in every way, she ached to see all of him too, though what she’d seen so far was more than enough to make her very aroused. She’d always thought he had a very attractive chest, in the lean-muscled Quidditch player way rather than the overly-muscled bodybuilder way. Now she wanted to see that lovely chest again, to drag her fingernails across it and feather them across his nipples and lick lazy circles around his pectoral muscles, and more.

"Now you..." she nodded toward his tee shirt, impatience growing in her chest. He pulled the garment up over his head, his hands shaking (she hoped with anticipation rather than fear), then tossed it over his shoulder.

Then he looked at his chest and frowned. "What?"

She’d just seen his chest a few days ago, yet now that he was completely nude, it seemed even nicer than she’d remembered. Now she was seeing him au naturel but not yet engaged in any sex act; merely nude and erect (though there was no "merely" about Harry’s erection), and his chest was yet another perfect piece of him. It was broad and lean, with a smattering of black hair in the cleft between his pecs. Below his not-too-prominent abdominal muscles was a tiny swell of belly, then a lovely long line of fine black hair leading from his navel down to his privates. Happy trails to me, she thought. Merlin, he’s beautiful.

"Well... you have an awfully nice chest, don't you?" she said, suddenly feeling shy toward him.

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

She smiled appreciatively, her eyebrows lifting in approval, and he edged toward her, blushing like a schoolboy.

"Well... I like yours too," he offered. "Very much."

As well as they knew each other after eleven years, they barely knew each other at all this way and she giggled quietly at the thought that finally, finally they were exploring each other physically. As she leaned back on the desk, he rolled his chair away and stood between her legs. His hands slid up and down her thighs as deftly as they’d caressed a Quidditch broom, his touch making her shudder to her core and drawing a raspy breath from her throat. Though he touched her gently, almost reverently, the fact that they were his hands and not anyone else’s set her blood roaring and left her dripping with need for him. Then his hands slid up her body, caressing her hips then settling at her waist, and she scooted forward on the desk, pressing closer to him, his erection brushing her thigh and sending more shivers through her.

When she looked in those green eyes she knew so well, she saw a swirl of emotions that echoed the maelstrom in her own heart; it was as if friendship, longing and physical desire were heated up and boiled together into something neither of them had ever felt before. He put his hand on her jaw and tenderly cradled and stroked it, and suddenly she felt as if everything that had gone before had dropped away and they stood on the precipice of a new and wonderful land meant just for them.

"Hermione..." he whispered as if she were the only woman in the world. But he didn’t need to say anything; she already knew, and her eyes would tell him everything he needed to know. So she smiled and, leaning forward, nuzzled his nose with her own. Then he kissed her and wrapped his arms tightly around her, gathering her to his body and picking her up off his desk. The warmth and strength of his embrace, and the electricity that seemed to leap between their bodies, made her gasp.

"Don't want you getting ink on your bum again, do you?" he mumbled hoarsely into her ear.

No, she definitely did not want that again, and she chuckled with glee as he pulled her against himself. Her legs were wrapped around his smooth narrow hips, her folds were pressed firmly against his stomach and, if she wasn’t mistaken, the tip of his penis was lightly touching one of her buttocks. She vaguely felt him taking small steps backwards as he kissed her with a kiss full of years of pent-up love and lust and passion, his tongue stealing between her lips and teeth, her own lips and tongue returning his passion. His mouth was a delicious cornucopia of moisture, taste and texture, and she sighed and huffed against it, enraptured by how perfectly everything about him seemed to fit against her. For a few blessed moments she’d forgotten about Mulciber and Nott and the damned dusty Ministry archives and Lupin breathing down her neck for the next report. All she could think about (and she could barely think at all) was Harry’s precious body pressed tightly against her own.

Suddenly they tumbled onto the bed and Hermione let out a tiny shocked gasp.

"Sorry," he apologized.

She shook her head and kissed him again, happy not to worry about where they were going. Realizing that he was still wearing his glasses, she plucked them nimbly from his face and, stretching out an arm, put them out of harm’s way on his bedside table.

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

Harry shook his head.

They were on his bed now, and she realized she’d never lain on his bed before, at least not naked with her limbs wrapped around him. It was a delicious, powerful thing, this business of lying naked on his bed with his chest just barely brushing against her breasts, barely but just enough to send frissons of sensation from her nipples to down below. Apparently Harry was enjoying this too, as he wriggled backwards a bit and very tentatively cupped one of her breasts in the palm of his hand, his touch firm but gentle, just as she’d imagined it would be. Concentrating on the sensation, Hermione bit her lower lip and arched her back, pleasure drifting across her face. When her nipple stiffened under his palm, he squeezed it carefully and she responded with a happy sigh.

She watched him as he played with her breasts, watching his own hands stroking and squeezing them, and in return her fingers grazed gently up and down his arms and shoulders. Then his head bent down and he took her nipple into his mouth. As his tongue laved the sensitive flesh she gasped, folding her legs towards her belly and arching her back suddenly.

Harry seemed startled. "Did I hurt—"

"Uhn-nnn," she moaned. Hurting, no; making crazy, yes, she thought, shaking her head vigourously as she pulled him back down to her breast. "Don’t stop."

The cheeky sod grinned at her and put his mouth back where it had been, making her sigh again. He continued to lavish attention on her breast, stroking and caressing it, licking the curve. When he nipped the nub with his teeth, a strange noise erupted from her throat and she felt her legs fall open beneath him as her coherent, rational mind fell out of her head.

"Ohhhhh bloody hell," she muttered. If this was what the preliminaries felt like with Harry, could she survive the main event? Before she could think on it, he smiled and shifted up and kissed her again, softly this time. As his fingertips drifted down her skin, tracing light circles between her breasts, she shuddered and stroked his side with her bare foot.

She’d been so focused on everything happening between her and Harry that she’d not thought much of the Snitch, but now she could feel it flapping wildly on her belly. Obviously Harry hadn’t forgotten it; he traced his fingers along the pattern of the tattoo, then kissed her and dipped his fingers down past her curls. As he made long, lazy strokes on and over her clit, her breath hitched and became faster and shallower, echoing the tension building in her body. She turned her head and sighed, and Harry began to suckle her neck gently. When his lips found a certain very sensitive spot under her jaw, she squirmed but smiled to herself, not the least bit surprised that he would guess to kiss her there. After all, he knew her almost as well as she knew herself.

As he continued to kiss and stroke her, she raked her fingers up his chest until she found his nipples, then tweaked them until he gasped. Turnabout is fair play, she thought with a naughty guttural chuckle. Harry responded by stroking her lips and clit even more firmly. Her legs fell open again but she continued to stroke and tweak his nipples, and judging by the smile on his face, he didn’t seem to mind at all. As his arousal continued to build even more obviously than her own, she remembered the first time she’d taken him in her hand. Wanting to make sure he hadn’t forgotten, she wrapped the fingers of her right hand around his erection, stroking the shaft and tracing lacy patterns on the tip. The feel of him in her hand made her blood roar, and she felt her core melt as his fingers worked their magic on her.

Now it was her turn to make him melt. Removing her hand, she pushed him off her and onto his back on the bed, her skin sliding against his as she drifted down toward his knees. He gave her a curious frown, as if he had no idea what she was doing. Silly boy, she shrugged with a smile. Wasn’t it obvious? She wasn’t the only one who needed to be wet and ready.

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

Harry shook his head, his mouth flopping like a fish out of water. He seemed completely shocked yet utterly delighted as Hermione locked her eyes to the head of his penis then took him partway into her mouth. As her tongue moved up and down and around his shaft, licking and tickling him, he dropped his head back and closed his eyes, a look of complete and utter bliss playing across his face. She continued her ministrations with fingers, palms and pursed lips then, taking a breath, took him even deeper, until she noticed a look of alarm on his face.

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

She laughed at his assumption and continued to ply him with her tongue, remembering a story she’d read that asserted (she thought rightly) that in oral sex, the giver was always in control. She’d not forgotten what Harry’s mouth had done to her just last night, and she was determined to give as good as she’d gotten. She worked him until her mouth shook around him and Harry groaned and gripped the sheets; she gave him a last long, wet lick and, satisfied he was now adequately lubricated, pulled her mouth off him. Then she crawled up the bed, skirting past his penis and laid on top of him.

"Didn't mean to scare you," she breathed, cradling his face, her eyes on his lips.

"You- I mean-" He stared at her, disbelief on his face. "When did you-"

"Best not to ask that," she replied, unable to hide her amusement. Her brain muttered a silent thank you to Alan Plankinton, the fellow she’d dated while at the Auror Academy.

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

Just so what? Her raised eyebrows questioned him silently and Harry sighed with a disbelieving smile.

"-bloody dominant!"

He seemed surprised that his bossy eleven-year-old friend had grown into a sexually assertive young woman, and she laughed and wriggled her naked body on top of his, unable to resist the urge to tease him. "Well," she jested naughtily, "would you rather I roll over like a good little bitch and play dead?"

Harry blinked, an equally naughty idea seeming to possess him. Then he grinned and, growling like a rutting animal, grabbed her and rolled them both over. She squealed and giggled as he suckled her neck for a few moments then looked in her eyes again.

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

What a difference a day makes, she thought. The same Harry who couldn’t believe she wanted him to watch her was now excited by sexy banter, and she couldn’t help but grin back at him and wrap her arms around his neck.

"Hmmm, well, that's very interesting," she replied, closing her eyes as he kissed her neck again. "I suppose you want me to spank you as well?"

He chuckled into her neck and mumbled, "Not tonight."

"Good," she said, then smiled as she ran her fingers through his beloved hair, now even messier than usual. "I prefer kisses."

"Me too," he said with an intoxicated smile, nuzzling her again.

She lay there beneath him feeling equally besotted. She knew it was happening, yet she could hardly believe that the idea of doing this with him had barely entered her consciousness only four days earlier. He kissed her again and she wrapped her arms around his broad, smooth back, twining her fingers in his hair. Then she opened her legs wider and wrapped them around his hips, those lovely, strong yet narrow hips that were so near what she wanted so desperately inside her. With each breath of his lips on hers, her mouth opened a little wider and her tongue dipped a bit deeper inside his own, coaxing him to do what she knew they both wanted.

She felt him settle between her legs, one hand stroking her breast and the other twined in her hair. As the tip of his penis slowly stroked her folds, she trembled and dug her fingers into his arms and her heels into his bottom, her sighs escalating along with her pleasure as he kissed her one more time and then slowly pushed himself inside her.

Nothing Hermione had ever done or seen or felt had prepared her for this. Every nerve in her body was on fire with the sensation of being filled – and filled completely – by Harry, and her brain all but melted trying to determine why she’d never done this until now with this sweet, wonderful, gorgeous, amazingly sexy man whom she’d adored for…well, forever. She lay there in his arms, returning his long, slow, deep, wet kisses, reveling in the feel of his fingers in her hair, her arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, the better to feel every glorious, mind-bending sensation. As he continued to kiss and caress her, she felt him angle his hips then sink into her again and again as if to better explore the new territory he’d just entered. Every stroke, every glide, every touch of him on and inside her sent rivers of pleasure rippling all over her body, leaving her limp and helpless with delight, and all she could do was moan and push back against him.

Then Harry began to roll his hips slowly and something inside Hermione knew to stop thinking about what was happening and just be. She knew something else instinctively too – that for as long as they lay here together this way, the rest of the world didn’t exist and there was just Hermione and Harry, blessedly naked and totally wrapped up in each other from head to toe.

Now she lost herself completely in the feel and taste and sound of him, how his skin slid against her own and he filled her to bursting and his breath grew ragged as he threw himself totally into making love to her. Soon her moans and gasps were all she needed to communicate her pleasure to him, and as she clutched him with her hands and legs and inner muscles, a rough guttural groan escaped her and Harry responded by kissing her even more hotly and deeply. His kisses and his ceaseless rolling and stroking sent a ripple of tiny shudders through in her body, and suddenly Harry groaned and began to thrust into her almost with abandon, pumping like a champion. He kissed her yet again and as his thrusts grew deeper and quicker, an old Muggle song ran through her head and made her smile:

I'm just wild about Harry

And Harry's wild about me!

The heav'nly blisses of his kisses,

Fill me with ecstasy!

He's sweet just like chocolate candy,

Or like the honey from the bee

Oh, I'm just wild about Harry,

And he's just wild about, cannot do without,

He’s just wild about me.

Suddenly she broke the kiss as heavy gasps and moans of ecstasy left her throat.

"Ohhh... Oh my-" She gulped and as her eyes flickered open, she cradled his face with her hands. "Yes, oh-" She was so close, so very close to falling into that abyss of bliss. She would be there very, very soon and wished he could come with her. She bit her lip trying to hold back, but Harry would have none of that.

"Just say it," he said with a ragged breath.

As his eyes bored into her soul, she tightened around him until, seconds later, a tsunami of sensation threatened to drown her and she cried out, "Oh... oh HARRY!"

Her exclamation apparently pushed him over the edge, and in another second he was clenching and shuddering too, moaning and growling like a wild animal as she gasped and whimpered her own resolution. As his orgasm concluded and he made a last few shallow strokes within her, he cradled her face in his hands, his own face full of bliss and – perhaps – love. He sighed and kissed her again, but rather than the heat of passion, this kiss was full of the sweetness of afterglow. His eyes filled with emotion, Harry breathed her name over and over…

"Hermione…"

Oh, how she loved the way he breathed it, as though it were music to his ears. She tilted her head a bit sideways and ran her fingertips through his fringe, now sweaty from the exertion of lovemaking, and her lips widened in a stunned and blissful smile which he promptly kissed yet again.

Then Harry sighed and shifted himself partially off her so that the right half of his body lay on the bed. As she felt him slip out of her, she pushed him off slowly, then quickly snuggled up to his side.

"... Hermione..." he began.

"Hmm?"

He licked his lips and looked at himself and then her.

"We're on the bed sideways," he announced.

"I know."

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

"Relax," she said and settled back onto his chest. Feeling happier than she’d felt in many months, she wanted to curl up with him and enjoy the rest of the rapture washing through her. "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."

"Yeah but... I might fall asleep," he admitted with a sheepish little grin.

Men and their endorphins, she sighed. Can’t they stay awake for even five minutes afterwards? Bloody wimps, they’d never make it through childbirth, she smirked, her impatience showing on her face as a frown. But if he’s really feeling that sticky… A naughty idea seized her. There he lay, sticky and sweaty, but even more beautiful than before they’d done this. His breath had just barely returned to normal, and his manhood was no longer saluting her. She just might have to do something about that. She sat up and sighed dramatically, then 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. She would definitely have to do something about it.

"Well, so do I!"

Then she got up and, without saying a word, strolled into his bathroom and stood there waiting to see how long it would take him to cotton on. When a minute had passed and he still wasn’t there, she realized she would have to make things more clear to him.

"Are you going to come have a shower or not?" she asked, poking her head out the bathroom door, an amused expression on her face.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out, as Harry jumped off the bed, a devilish grin on his face, and chased her as she ran squealing into the shower.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Chapter 5 – Surrender

This chapter contains one scene you won’t find in Nancy’s story, The Snitch. I hope it adds to your enjoyment (cough). Thanks again for the very nice reviews.

That night Hermione had several dreams in which she and Harry made love. By the time they finally went to sleep, a few hours after discovering that fateful ink stain on her bum, she and Harry had exhausted each other physically and she would have been surprised if she’d dreamed of anything else. As she floated up from a deep sleep toward wakefulness, she sensed a hand patting her hair and brushing it from her face, then a pair of strong arms wrapping around her and, even more delicious, something firm and warm pressed gently between her buttocks. Even half-asleep, she felt completely warm and happy, content in the cocoon of Harry’s body.

Finally, as the room grew brighter she stirred, rolling onto her back and taking a long breath as her eyes flittered open.

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

Looking a bit panicked, Harry jerked his head around and stared at his alarm clock.

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

Harry crawled out of bed and started looking for clean clothes, as though he planned to get dressed immediately. Hermione, however, had other plans. She walked into his bathroom, turned on the shower and, climbing in, began to rub Harry’s soap on her body. Suddenly the shower door opened and Harry stumbled in and almost knocked her over. And the silly boy actually looked surprised to see her there.

"Hermione-" he blinked at her.

She blinked back at him in pretend innocence. He opened his mouth as if to argue with her but just as quickly shut it, apparently realizing that her warm, wet, naked body would brook no argument.

"It's all right, Harry," she said, watching his eyes follow the foamy suds as they slid down her body. "It'll be quicker this way."

Still glued to her movements, Harry seemed entranced as her hands feathered over her body, pushing suds here and there in a show of getting clean.

"Don’t you want to get clean too, Harry?" she asked, her voice demure but her soapy hands continuing to glide up and down her body. "Here, come under the water with me so you can get nice and wet…"

She held her hand out and Harry seized it, moving under the shower stream with her. His eyes, half-full of sleep just minutes ago, were now half-lidded with desire, and as the warm water streamed over him and Hermione, he placed his hands on her breasts and palmed them lightly then ran his tongue up the side of her neck, stopping just below her ear.

"Actually, I was hoping to get you nice and wet," he whispered, sucking her earlobe as his hands began to roam up and down and all around her. As she grasped his shoulders, he twined his fingers in her wet hair and pressed his body against hers, and she didn’t have to look down to know how much he desired her. Rolling her nipple gently between his fingers he planted a line of kisses from her earlobe along her jaw, finally seizing her lips in a branding kiss. She stopped playing coy and opened her mouth to him, letting their tongues dance and mate for several long moments. When she finally pulled away, she was breathless and slick with desire, and the Snitch was flapping madly again on her belly.

"Well," she panted, "I think -- you’ve done -- an outstanding job -- there. I’d give you -- an O, definitely."

"Don’t give me any marks so soon," he smirked, one hand holding the nape of her neck while the other reached lower and played gently in her curls. "I’ve only just gotten started. Lean back against the corner of the shower."

Now who’s being dominant, she smiled but gladly complied. In the past few days she’d discovered that Harry was a natural at so many more things than just flying and Quidditch, many of them involving his hands, mouth and cock (Did she think that word? Bloody hell, the man was corrupting her completely …not that she minded in the least).

"Now spread your legs a bit," he instructed, and as she did so she was only a tiny bit shocked to see him drop to his knees in front of her. He really is so beautiful, she thought, enjoying the sight of him kneeling on the tile shower flower, his cock standing at attention just for her, his black hair and lean, creamy body glistening with water and his eyes shining with need. She had no idea what she’d done to deserve to him, but she realized she hadn’t yet told him how she felt and she wanted to remedy that failure as soon as possible.

"If you’re trying to make me fall in love with you, it won’t work," she said as he leaned back on his heels and slowly ran his hands up her inner thighs. He stopped and looked up at her, something between confusion and terror on his face.

"You…won’t fall… I can’t…make… I mean…" he stuttered, leaning away from her with hurt in his eyes. She leaned over and, taking his head gently in her hands, turned his face back up to her.

"Harry…I meant that you can’t make me fall in love with you because I already am in love with you," she explained, stroking his face.

"You are?"

"Of course I am," she answered. She’d thought it was rather obvious, but perhaps Harry had not. At any rate, the blissful expression he’d worn much of the past ten hours returned to his face and as he began to stroke her thighs again, he moved closer until his nose was almost in her curls.

"I’m glad," he murmured, starting to nuzzle her there. "Now what were we doing again?"

"You were about to make me a very happy witch," she replied and Harry needed no further prompting. As his left hand gripped her buttock, Hermione suddenly felt his tongue lapping between her folds, licking lazy circles around her clit. His tongue was warm and soft and wriggled like a velvety butterfly against her sex, and when two long, slim fingers suddenly slipped inside her, she bucked against his mouth, her breath ragged, her fingers clenching his hair. Leaning against the shower wall, she lifted one foot and rubbed her big toe up and down along Harry’s cock, which caused his tongue to whip against her more urgently, finally lavishing attention where she most needed it.

"Harry…" she whimpered as her legs began to turn to jelly beneath her and the Snitch’s flittering picked up speed.

"Mmmphmm?" he mumbled, continuing to lick and tease her.

"Have mercy," she moaned, and at that moment his fingers plunged deeper inside her while he sucked her until she quivered against him and cried out his name. Weak in the knees from what he’d just done, she began to slide down the wall, but Harry quickly stood up, lifted her by the waist, hooked one arm under her leg, and in one swift movement sheathed himself inside her. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she pressed her lips to his and slid her tongue inside his mouth. The taste of herself on his tongue tore down any shred of propriety she had left and suddenly she was raking her fingernails across his back, arching into him as fast as she could while he licked her ear and rolled inside her. As his strokes became more frenzied, she kissed him again then leaned back as he rested his face on her shoulder and breathed "Hermione, my Hermione" over and over in a singsong tenor that rose and crested as he shuddered his release inside her.

Their bodies completely spent, Hermione and Harry crumpled and slid down the wall together. As they sat in a heap on the floor, Hermione realized the water was still running and rose to turn it off. She put one hand down to Harry, who took it and pulled himself up, then cuddled up to her back and wrapped his arms around her.

"Hey," he breathed into her ear. His left hand rested gently on her waist, while his right lay over the Snitch, patting it gently as if to calm it. "Are you okay?"

Turning her head, she looked sideways at him. "Other than feeling boneless and probably not able to walk very well, I’m absolutely wonderful. And it’s all your fault!" she grinned.

"My fault?" he feigned offense. "I’m not the one who said it would be faster to shower together!"

Swiveling around in Harry’s arms, Hermione took his face in her hands and kissed him sweetly. "Well, yes, I guess I did say that. Obviously I was misinformed!" she giggled and kissed him again. His arms tightened around her waist, his lips pressing firmly against her neck and his cock hardening against her leg. Dear God, it doesn’t take much to get him going, does it? she marveled. Much as she would have loved to accommodate him again, she really was starting to feel a bit sore (this was their fourth time in less than twelve hours), and even without seeing the time she knew that their interlude in the shower had put them even more behind schedule. There was nothing for it. They simply could not get to work on time.

"Harry, please tell your friend Willy to go back to sleep now. We really must get to work," she said with a hint of her old Head Girl bossy-boots tone of voice.

Unclamping his lips from her neck, Harry looked in her eyes with mock contrition on his face. "Yes, Miss Granger, whatever you say. And, um, what if Willy won’t stay sleep? I have a feeling he’ll have insomnia in the near future," he said, trying to suppress a wicked grin.

"Harry," she sighed, pushing herself away from him gently. "The past ten hours have been heaven for me. I can tell you’ve enjoyed them too" – she blushed --" but now it’s time to get dressed, have some breakfast and go to work. Besides," she gave him a conspiratorial wink, "we can always pick up where we left off later on."

Harry snickered, she hoped from thinking about what they might do later. "Of course. You’re right. And if we don’t get to work soon, Lupin will have our skins." He smiled and rolled his eyes. "Metaphorically speaking, of course. So we should get dressed now. Come and get me in a few minutes, okay?"

Then he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, grabbed a towel and went into his bedroom to dry off and put on some clothes. Hermione quickly sneaked into her own room to do the same.

Five minutes later, she met Harry at his door and the two of them apparated down to the kitchen to find something to eat. As Harry puttered around, Hermione set a pan on the stove, magicked a flame under it and cracked some eggs into the pan to make scrambled eggs for two, a decision that was ratified when Harry's stomach grumbled loudly across the room.

"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 as he opened the top cupboard and, stretching an arm, grabbed a pair of coffee cups, offering her a splendid view of his bum. His backside truly was delicious, and now that she was involved with him, she couldn't resist the temptation to grab it.

"Hermione!" he yelped.

She grinned and ran back to the stove, taking the eggs off the flame, lust and love swelling in her heart and probably visible on her face.

"I've wanted to do that forever!" she sighed with relief. "You have the loveliest bottom!"

"I do?" he chirped in surprise.

Dear Harry, she mused, so totally unaware of your attractiveness. Of course that’s part of your charm.

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

Smirking, Harry shook his head and closed the cupboard. "Yes, well, you can safely assume that I think your bottom is just as lovely."

"Thank you," she replied, not even attempting to stifle a blush.

While Harry continued making the coffee, Hermione laid out plates for them. After serving the scrambled eggs, she pulled four pieces of bread from the bag and, too impatient to wait for the toaster, blasted them with a toasting spell. Suddenly she heard a spoon clatter on the floor and, much to her delight, Harry bent over to pick it up. Without even thinking on it, Hermione swept across the room, wand in one hand, toast in the other, and grabbed both of his butt cheeks. Now that she had the freedom to do this to him, it was all too good to pass up.

"That's it!" Harry growled then slammed the spoon down on the counter and rounded on her.

Squealing with glee, Hermione dropped her wand and the toast on the table and started running. Harry leaped to one side of the table and she stopped, feeling rather more mischievous than she had since she last went on a midnight escapade with him at school. Gripping the back of a chair, she leaned from side to side and watched him carefully as he returned each of her movements. Finally she bolted in one direct but he moved too quickly for her and caught her, roaring at his own cleverness.

"Harry!" she giggled with mock chagrin as she squirmed in his arms.

"Ahahahahaha!" he laughed triumphantly and proceeded to plant his mouth firmly and hungrily on her neck while grabbing and squeezing her bottom.

Hermione thought she could definitely get used to this side of Harry, this flirtatious side he'd hidden for so long but apparently could contain no longer. Now after all those years of refusing to cross that unseen line, he was finally showing his complete self to her, and she loved what she was seeing and feeling. His lips and hands made her shiver with delight so that she could barely remember what they were supposed to be doing.

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

"Hmm?" he mumbled, still kissing her neck.

"Get ready for work!" she finally managed. Bugger, he was hard to resist.

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

"You started this, Miss Granger," he admonished her.

Hermione bit her bottom lip and squirmed. "I did, didn't I?" she said with a dramatic grimace.

Harry nodded and took her lips with a fiery kiss that made her abandon all pretense of resisting. Obviously, with Harry resistance was futile, so she lost herself in the feel of his lips on hers and his tongue feathering its way into her mouth.

Suddenly a hearty and much too familiar chuckle came from the vicinity of the kitchen door. Leaping away from her, Harry attempted to flatten his impossible-to-flatten hair, then grabbed the coffee cups and proceeded to spoon enormous quantities of sugar into them. Flushed with embarrassment, Hermione pawed at her own hair and fidgeted with the silverware on the table, straightening each piece compulsively.

In the doorway stood Ron wearing a huge, leering grin and a triumphant look in his blue eyes.

"Ohhhh Harry," came his slow, evil laugh. "Harry, Harry..."

Oh honestly, Hermione thought, tutting to herself, but the embarrassment of being discovered in Harry’s arms burned in her cheeks. Not that she was embarrassed about being in love with Harry; she just thought they’d break the news to Ron in a different way. Cheeks still red, she turned to the fridge and dug around in it, mostly to escape Ron’s gaze.

"Why aren't you at practice or something?" Harry spat at Ron, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders in a "Who, me?" gesture.

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

Obviously someone else was going to rub everything in. "Of course he expected you to be here," Hermione snapped at him, slamming the fridge door shut with one hand while brandishing some rashers of bacon in the other. "You LIVE here, you idiot!"

The great berk just sniggered at her and took a seat. "No need to get tetchy with me cause I interrupted a moment."

"Do you want some coffee, Ron?" Harry asked. Thank you for trying to change the subject, she thought, hoping he’d read her mind

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

Oh right, rub it in, she thought, glaring at him. Ron apparently found this amusing and continued to snicker as she went back to frying the bacon and Harry fiddled with his coffee cup. Suddenly Lavender swished into the kitchen singing loudly and happily.

"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!"

Of all the outrageous things Lavender had done in the past eleven years, Hermione thought this took the cake, and all she could do was glare. The girl certainly had brass – not to mention knowing the lyrics to that particular Prince song. As embarrassed as she was, Hermione could only imagine how Harry felt. For a moment he shut his eyes, looking completely mortified, then he seemed to regain his bearings.

"I take it you had fun last night, Lav?" he deadpanned.

"Of course," she said with a naughty grin as she sat down next to Ron. And that was all she said for quite some time. Relief settling in her, Hermione cooked the bacon and shared it with her housemates. As Harry quickly shoved his food down his throat, Hermione got a thrill from catching him trying to steal glances at her while she ate.

Finishing her meal, Lavender jumped up, winked at Hermione and Harry, then kissed Ron heartily and apparated off to work. Ron yawned and grinned then shambled out into the lounge, mumbling that he wanted to watch some Veetee.

As Hermione finished her breakfast, Harry caught her eye for just a moment. She got up and piled the dishes in the sink, then walked to the fridge, grabbed a marker and started writing on the whiteboard. As he stood up and grabbed his cloak, she fastened her own and grabbed his hand.

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

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

"We slept in," she shrugged. Well, that was true enough. No need to elaborate, and Lupin wouldn’t have the stones to ask. "It happens."

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

His smile seemed not entirely innocent, not too surprising considering their recent activities. She raised her eyebrows and he shook his head and leaned toward her, kissing her softly. The touch of his lips weakened her resolve and she had to remind herself where they had to go as soon as possible.

"Oh, Harry we are going to be late!" she said, squeezing his shoulder.

"Already late," he said rather smugly.

"Don't want to be any more late!" she worried.

Harry just grinned, and together, they apparated to work. On the fridge was the note Hermione had scribbled so hastily:

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.

^*^*^*^*^*^

Chapter 6 – Epilogue

Well, here it is, the end of our story, the end of the line. Again, I want to thank Nancy for allowing me the privilege of writing Hermione’s point of view. And to all of you who have reviewed, thank you. To those of you considering leaving a review, please do – like most writers I can never get too many reviews (especially if they’re as positive as the reviews I’ve received for this story). Thank you all so much for allowing me to share this with you. –Anne U

^*^*^*^*^

It was déjà vu all over again. Ron and Lavender, Harry and Hermione sat together in the Leaky Cauldron, getting almost as drunk as they had less than a week ago. As Lavender sang yet another Muggle drinking song that mentioned multiple naughty body parts, Ron egged her on while Harry drank a pint of the Cauldron’s house-brewed beer. Hermione, for her part, sat cuddled up to Harry’s side, sipping at her cocktail and shaking her head in dismay at Lavender’s behaviour.

"Please remind me why we agree to go out with that woman?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

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

She gave him a jaundiced look that he didn’t miss.

"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.

Ah yes, the life-altering body art. The Snitch. Actually she hadn’t properly thanked Lav yet for helping her get the tattoo that had changed her life. The thought of the Snitch and its consequences sent a cascade of memories through her mind, memories that left a naughty smirk on her lips. "Yes, well, I'll remember that."

It had certainly been an interesting day. When she and Harry got to work that morning, Lupin cornered them and Harry apologized profusely, telling their boss that they’d both slept in. Harry sounded dutifully contrite, of course, but the ferocious blush in his cheeks just might have given them away. Lupin merely arched a brow and admonished Harry not to let it happen again. But it was obvious Lupin had put two and two (or in this case, one and one) together, and the twinkle in his eyes made Hermione blush scarlet and sent her stomping off muttering curses at "that buggerysmeggery werewolf."

Later than morning, as she dug through more files in the Ministry archives, Lavender swanned in, purportedly to interview her for a column she was working on for the Prophet. Hermione, however, assumed it was just a smoke screen so that Lav could tweak her again.

"You’re not really here to interview me, are you, Lav?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at her friend.

"Well, no… now that you ask. I just wanted to know if that itch you’ve had got scratched," she grinned. "You know, the one we talked about at lunch that day."

That chat rushed into Hermione’s mind and a roar somewhere between relief and amazement rushed from her mouth. "Ahahahaha, yes, yes! Oh yes, my itch did get scratched in a big, big way. It wasn’t just the Snitch, Lav. Harry said he’s in love with me," she smiled. "And that was before we – oh bugger, you already know – before we made love, so it wasn’t some heat of the moment, thanks for the shag thing."

"I knew it, I KNEW IT!!" Lavender shrieked, practically dancing among the files.

"Shhhhh!" Hermione admonished, blushing yet again. It was at least the third time she’d blushed that morning and suddenly she felt both annoyed and perplexed. Why should she blush about being with Harry? Was there something wrong with them being in love? She’d sensed people tittering and tutting "I told you so" when she passed them in the corridor; she’d chalked them off as gossipy tossers with nothing better to do. So what if they’d always thought (so the rumors seemed to be drifting across the partitions) that she and Harry would eventually get together. Less than a week ago it had never seriously crossed her mind that she’d even have a chance with him romantically, and now, miracle of miracles, she was sharing his bed and his heart. It was almost too much for her to wrap her brain around, so she decided to stop trying.

"I’m sorry, Lav," she apologized a moment later, regaining her composure. "You were right the other day. Harry really did want to go in the direction I was leading him. And at the risk of sounding trite, it was…."

Lavender leaned toward her, a lascivious glint in her eyes.

"Magical," Hermione licked her lips. "If you try to make me say more, I’ll have to hex you. And I was always much better at Charms than you."

Smiling brightly, Lavender leaned over and hugged Hermione. "I’m so glad for you, honey. And I’m thrilled for Harry too. If ever two people belonged together, it’s the two of you. I’m just relieved you both finally figured it out. How about joining Ronnie and me for a couple of rounds at the Leaky Cauldron tonight? My treat. Kind of a celebration of new love all around."

Hermione eyed her warily. "You’re not going to drag me off to get another tattoo, are you?"

"Oh, no no no," Lavender laughed. "I wouldn’t think of it. But I’ve still got some of that rotgut left and I know two blokes who haven’t drunk enough of it yet." As she flashed a blinding, conspiratorial smile, Hermione quickly caught on. If the past week had taught her anything, it was to never underestimate Lavender Brown.

From then on, the day looked up. Shortly after noon, Harry came down to the library and dragged Hermione out (over her very mild protestations) for a bite to eat. It was the first time in months they’d had lunch together and it was wonderful to lean up to him in the booth and feed him bits of his sausage roll and laugh with him and hug him and behave with him as one would with one’s lover. Because that’s what he was now, her lover as well as her best friend, and she was sure she would go through the rest of the day with an idiotic grin on her face, all because she’d eaten lunch with her lover and he’d kissed her goodbye before going back to work.

The rest of the day was considerably less embarrassing than the morning. She still heard some titters and giggles as she walked the corridors but instead of cringing, all she did was flash a Cheshire-cat smile. Bugger them if they couldn’t stand to see her happy. Bugger them worse if they couldn’t stand to see Harry happy. If there was anyone in the world who deserved some happiness, it was Harry Potter, and her heart swelled every time she caught sight of him in the halls of the Ministry. Being with him was more wonderful than she’d ever imagined, and she’d be damned if she’d let anyone spoil this for either of them.

That evening, as planned, Hermione and Harry met Ron and Lavender at the Leaky Cauldron after work. The four of them crowded around a corner of the bar, she and Harry along one edge, Ron and Lav on the other, and laughed and drank and talked for hours. By the look on his face Hermione guessed that Harry was enjoying the evening as much as she was. But he wasn’t nearly drunk enough.

She tapped on the bar, leaned over it and winked at Tom the Barkeep.

"Harry needs another one, Tom, mate," she said. "Look, he's not wobbling."

With a snort, Tom brought out a bottle of Old Ogden’s. "Don't mind on his sobriety, as long as the drinks is paid for," he said dryly.

"Always," said Harry, but his dour tone didn’t match the twinkle in his eyes.

Tom apparently caught the joke and, nodding, put another butterbeer on the bar for him.

They continued to drink, and drink, and drink some more, Hermione and Lavender plying both their boyfriends with liquor. At one point Harry looked sideways at Hermione as if wondering what she was up to, but she just smiled at him and offered him another shot of firewhisky. Perhaps he was worried about his performance later that night, but she really didn’t care about that. It would be worth skipping a night, she thought (admitting that she was already becoming spoiled in that regard) if certain other things actually went as planned.

Around one in the morning Hermione pulled Harry from the bar chair, giving him a sharp squeeze on his adorable bum.

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

"Where?" he asked, wobbling more than a little as he stood up.

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

Humming her favourite Gryffindor pride song under her breath, Hermione followed Lavender out into the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron, Lav joining in the song occasionally with lyrics that would have drawn a detention and a withering look from Professor McGonagall. Ron stuck close behind Lavender and a plodding Harry drew up the rear. Reaching the back wall, Hermione pointed her wand at the third brick up and to the left from the dustbin and muttered at the wall.

"Oh DO keep... rgg... STILL!" she grumbled. Though the wand quivered a bit in her hand, she managed to smack the proper brick with it, causing the usual shaking and folding of the bricks to reveal the entrance to Diagon Alley. As Lavender pushed Ron through the opening, Hermione looked back and saw Harry just standing there, not even attempting to join them. She realized he was pretty well pissed but there was one more thing to do that night and he couldn’t do it standing next to the dust bin behind the Leaky Cauldron, so she grabbed his arm and dragged him into the alley after her.

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

Harry looked at the bottle as if she were offering him some lethal potion; he made a choking sound and waved his finger wildly at it. "Tha's tha' evil green stuff!"

"It's fabulous!" exclaimed Lavender.

"Have some!" Hermione cajoled him. "Come on!"

Pulling out the stopper, she held the bottle up to Harry’s lips. He sighed, opening his mouth to take a sip, but Hermione had other plans and practically poured the stuff down his throat, making him gulp and cough.

"You tryin' to DROWN me?!" he sputtered.

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

"Whah for?" he eyed her warily.

"You'll see," she said.

Harry took another mouthful of the stuff, which quickly had the desired effect. Barely able to walk, he staggered around as if not knowing quite where he was going and allowed Hermione to direct him down Knockturn Alley as Ron and Lavender followed close behind.

As they entered the small shop next to Borgin & Burkes, Hermione couldn’t resist grabbing Harry’s bottom one more time. That beautiful bottom would definitely be the right place for it.

~~*~~

Whistling, foot-tapping and various other strange sounds and sensations crept into Hermione’s consciousness as she struggled to awaken from her drunken stupor the next morning. When she finally cracked her eyes open, she was stretched out on her back with just her hair, shoulder and face peeking out of the quilt.

"Hmm," she smiled and rubbed her eyes, looking Harry up and down. He was standing there completely naked with his hands on his hips, though for once his friend Willy was asleep. Nevertheless Harry was as beautiful as ever, and she propped herself up on her elbow, leaned on her hand and sighed happily.

"What a wonderful sight to wake up to."

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

"Was it?" she asked coyly, just now remembering why he might be a tad put out.

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

"I didn't hold my wand to your head, Harry," she countered. He was so adorable, she could barely contain her glee looking at him.

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

"You swallowed," she smirked. Well, he didn’t seem too unhappy about it last night. She’d just helped him along a bit.

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

Stifling a giggle, Hermione couldn’t keep from smirking again. "I wonder whatever's wrong with it?"

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

He continued to kneel and stare at her with a very stern expression that made Hermione blink. Then she 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, and as she sat up in bed the quilt fell 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!" he insisted.

Hermione threw back the rest of the quilt and pulled her hair behind her shoulders. Harry's response was beginning to worry her.

"Well what am I supposed to do? I can't very well get rid of it," she said, flapping her hand at him impatiently. She hadn't counted on him reacting like this, and she felt her face twist into a childish, pouty expression. "Don't you like it?"

Harry's own expression softened and he blinked. He seemed to want to respond but nothing came from his mouth, and finally he sighed.

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

He likes the sentiment. Property of Hermione Granger. Yes, I rather like that myself, she grinned and jumped out of bed.

"Good!" she cried and hurled herself at him, hugging him tightly. Feeling her naked body against his own seemed to calm Harry down and he relaxed in her arms, his anger apparently dissipated. Now she had an idea of how she might make this up to him.

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

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

After he put on some pants and left his bedroom, Hermione decided to freshen up while he was gone. She went into his bathroom and took care of some necessities, including brushing her teeth and taking a potion to cure her hangover. Returning to Harry’s bedroom, she sat on the edge of his bed, fluffed her hair and pinched her cheeks to get some color back in them, as the previous night’s bender had left her looking pasty and drained. Crawling back onto the bed, she slid under the covers to wait for Harry and the breakfast he was making. Judging by the smells wafting up the stairs he was cooking bacon and eggs, which set her mouth watering, though not as much as thinking about what would happen after breakfast.

Suddenly a roar of laughter came up the stairs, followed by a string of expletives in Ron’s baritone voice, and Hermione found herself giggling like an ickle firstie. Apparently Harry and Ron had discovered that they’d both gotten tattooed in their drunken fog last night. By the sound of things they didn’t hold it against the two young women who’d so craftily suggested the tattoos involved.

Good, she thought. Good, good, good. Better than good. I must remember to tell Lavender what a bloody genius she is.

Leaning back against the headboard, Hermione waited for Harry to return with their food. If anyone had told her a week ago she would be lying here stark naked in Harry’s bed, waiting for him to get naked and join her, she would’ve choked with shock then laughed in their face. Yet here she was, his green and white quilt lying loosely across her bare breasts, cotton sheets feeling cool under her bum, and nothing had ever felt so right in her life.

Soon she heard Harry’s steps on the stairs, the wonderful smell of bacon and eggs getting closer and closer and finally entering the room as he held out a tray of food in front of him. Hermione pulled herself up in the bed to make room for the tray, which Harry placed gently in the middle of the bed. Pushing his pants down his hips, he stepped out of them then slid under the quilt and sat next to her just as naked as she was. The heat of his body sent a wakeup call to the Snitch, which began to stretch and flutter languidly on her belly.

"Mmmmm, nice," she whispered, nuzzling his jaw. "The breakfast looks good too. Thanks for making it."

"You’re very welcome," he returned, feeding her a forkful of scrambled eggs. For several minutes they took turns feeding each other until they’d eaten their fill, then Harry levitated the dirty plate down to the floor. As soon as he rolled onto his back, Hermione straddled him, a devilish smirk on her lips

"Hello," he said, raising his arms and laying them on her thighs in a way that tickled deliciously.

"Hello," she grinned, the Snitch starting to flitter more intensely as she brushed against his cock.

"What are you up to?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she sighed as she scooted down under the quilt. Silly boy…I’ll show him…

As she took him in her mouth, the Snitch burst out flapping again. Concentrating on her task, Hermione was surprised and a little annoyed when Harry suddenly started squirming beneath her.

"Mmph!" she admonished him as she rose up from under the quilt. "Harry, unless you want me to bite it off, you have to keep still-"

He looked at her questioningly. "What did Lavender get?"

Hermione blinked, wondering why he’d be talking about Lavender at a time like this.

He could tell she wasn’t following him and started explaining. "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?"

Revenge? Perhaps. Revenge for the years Harry and Ron had been clueless about the two young women who yearned for them right under their noses. She nodded. "Yes, you're right."

"So... what did she get?"

Hermione smirked, her nipples brushing Harry’s chest, then leaned up and whispered in his ear.

"A weasel."

Then she slid down under the quilt again and did her best to keep Harry from thinking about anything or anyone but her, at least for the immediate future.

THE END

Thanks again to everyone for your reviews. I can’t promise I’ll write anything else like this (or in collaboration with Nancy), but I do plan to continue to write H/Hr fics and post them here at Portkey. Hope to see you again the next time. In the meantime I hope you’ll read my other fics on Portkey, which you can find here. – Anne U