This Night is Mine

This Night Is Mine

Chapter 1- Breaking Up

Hermione closed the door quietly behind her. She wasn't sure why she bothered to be quiet; she could have slammed it and nobody would have heard it over the howling coming from the other side of it. She winced as she stepped away from Hagrid's hut as a particularly loud sobbing wail hit her ears almost like a physical blast.

“Oh, Hagrid,” she murmured softly, shaking her head. She let her hand drop from the huge doorknob and turned away, and ran hard into something that wasn't there.

“Ouch!” she said, rubbing her forehead and peering into the darkness. “You might let a girl know you're there, Harry!”

“Er, sorry,” Harry said, appearing out of nowhere with a sheepish grin on his face. Hermione was still rubbing her forehead, but she smiled as he pulled the cloak off and became fully visible in front of her. She really couldn't be mad at him for very long.

Harry glanced at the door and raised an eyebrow. “What did you do to make him cry like that?”

Hermione scowled. “It wasn't me! You're not planning to go in there, are you?”

“Well, yeah, I was,” Harry said, rocking back on his heels. “Shouldn't I?”

“No,” Hermione said firmly. “Trust me. He's really drunk and he'll just grab you and cry all over you. Here, feel this.” She held out her arm, and Harry blinked. Then he lifted his hand and rubbed it up to her shoulder. The robe was wet all the way from her elbow to her shoulder.

Harry let his hand wander across her shoulders and down her back. She was all wet there, too. “Geez, Hermione, Hagrid did that?”

Hermione nodded soberly. “Yes. He's really upset, Harry. Madame Maxime broke up with him. She left before dinner, and he was drunk before I got here, so he must really have been putting some work into it.”

Harry gave a low whistle. “Wow, that's a surprise. I thought they were serious.”

Hermione shrugged. “I guess they were. I couldn't really tell what it was all about- you know how hard he is to understand when he's been drinking.”

“Yeah.” Harry and Hermione stood on Hagrid's front step for a moment longer, listening to the loud and pathetic sounds of Hagrid's weeping. Hermione pulled out her wand and began drying her robes with a stream of warm air from its tip.

“Well,” Harry began with a sigh, “I guess we'd better go back to the castle.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Hermione said. She looked around. It was a beautiful autumn night. Autumn was her favorite season, especially here in the North. “I always feel like I get so busy that I miss autumn,” she said wistfully. “And every year I promise myself that next year I'll do better.”

“Why don't we take a walk or something?” Harry said impulsively. “I don't—” he broke off, embarrassed. “I don't really want to go back to the castle yet.”

Hermione tilted her head curiously. “Yes, that would be lovely,” she agreed. Together they stepped off Hagrid's stoop and by unspoken consent headed toward the lake. It really was a great night, Harry thought. The breeze was still warm, even this far into October.

“Why don't you want to go back to the castle?” Hermione asked as nonchalantly as she could. Harry was her best friend, but he seldom volunteered information about himself. She usually had to ask.

“Oh, well, because I'm—”

“You're skipping a committee meeting!” Hermione said sharply.

“Er, yeah,” Harry admitted. “Geez, Hermione, I don't even know how I got on this committee. I don't know anything about this stuff. I mean, it's decorations, for Merlin's sake!”

Hermione fought to maintain her stern expression and not to laugh. “Do I really need to remind you how you got on this committee?”

Harry did laugh. “No, I guess not.”

“You know,” Hermione said, looking up at him out of the corner of her eye, “it's okay to say no to some things, even if it is Ginny who's doing the asking.”

Harry's smile faded. He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess.”

Hermione waited. It was so clear to her that something was wrong with Harry where Ginny was concerned, and she wished he'd talk about it. Then maybe she could tell him about her doubts about Ron. Tamping down on her exasperation she figured she was going to have to ask him straight out. As usual. She opened her mouth to do just that when he spoke again.

“Does Ginny talk to you?” he asked hesitantly. “I mean, you know… about me?” He could feel his face getting hot and was grateful for the darkness. It was embarrassing to talk about this, but Hermione was his best friend. He knew he could ask her anything.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Sometimes. Why?” They continued to walk and she waited, knowing that Harry would want a few minutes to figure out how to say what he was thinking about.

“It's just—“ he began. He let out a frustrated breath. He was intensely glad it was Hermione he was talking to and not Ron. He wouldn't have to spell everything out. “Okay, you know we got together this summer, right?”

“You and Ginny? Right,” Hermione said, nodding. Harry held out a hand to help her across a slippery patch on the path.

“It was great, because I had liked her all summer, and she said she had never really stopped liking me,” Harry said.

“I remember that,” Hermione said, lifting her face to the breeze. It was such a…sensual night. She was very aware of the breeze off the lake, the clouds across the moon, the glitter of starlight on the water, the fragrance of leaves that had turned or fallen, and the confused emotions of the man beside her. All her senses were on alert tonight.

Hermione had let go of Harry's hand, so he shoved it into his pocket. “Things were really great for awhile,” Harry went on. “But now, I dunno…it just seems different.” He stopped by the shore, picked up a rock, and skipped it out across the water.

“Different how?” Hermione asked. The wind kicked up and Hermione leaned into it. She listened to the splashes of Harry's skipping rocks and she wondered what it would feel like to take off her robes and stand here naked in the wind, beside the lake, and feel that air caress her whole body. To be here with a man and to hear the sound of their sighs blend with the breeze. She tried to imagine herself here with Ron, and she could, but she had to admit—if only to herself—that it was forced. The image didn't ring true.

Harry shrugged, picked up another rock, skipped it. “This is going to sound really stupid. I'm probably imagining the whole thing.”

“Say it anyway,” Hermione said. “I won't tell anyone.”

Harry looked over at her in the darkness, noticing the way the breeze blew her curls across her face. No, she wouldn't tell anyone, he knew. She had stuck by him through worse than this, and there was worse still to come. She wouldn't let him down over something as insignificant as girl trouble.

“Okay,” he said, taking a deep breath. “ I can't shake this idea that maybe since she liked me for so long, you know, from a distance, before we got together—maybe now she's got me, I'm not… I mean, it's not what she—” he broke off, ran his hand through his hair. Hermione could see it silhouetted in the moonlight, sticking straight up.

“That the reality doesn't measure up to the fantasy?” Hermione suggested.

Harry nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets, his face flushing with embarrassment, but a feeling of relief cutting through the embarrassment as well. He should have known Hermione would understand, would have the words to express his feelings better than he himself could.

Hermione considered him. Frankly, she had suspected the same thing that Harry had just told her. She thought the world of Ginny, who was probably her best female friend, but she had wondered all along if Ginny's relationship with Harry wasn't doomed to suffer under the weight of her unrealistic expectations.

“I don't know, Harry,” Hermione finally said. “If she's feeling that way, she's never told me about it. Maybe you should ask her. I'd hate for you to go along feeling like you were doing something wrong. That's got to be stressful.”

Harry sighed. Yes, that's exactly what it was, stressful. He and Ginny had fun together, he loved making out with her, but he always got the feeling that she was looking over his shoulder to something she wanted more, something he wasn't giving her. He felt like he was disappointing her, but he had no idea how or what to do about it. And, he thought, in a rare moment of self-righteousness, he was in training to fight Voldemort, they all were. He didn't need any more stress.

Hermione looked out over the dark sparkling lake. “What are you going to do?” she asked quietly. “It's only two weeks until the Fall Ball. I'd hate for you not to have a date. Are you going to break up with her?”

Harry frowned. “No, I'm not going to break up with her!” he said, more sharply than he intended. “I was just wondering if she wants to break up with me, is all.”

Hermione shrugged, impatient and irritated with him and not entirely sure why. “Well, if she does, she hasn't mentioned it to me,” she said shortly.

Harry glanced over at her, confused by her sudden change in mood. “Hermione?” he said, the unspoken question hanging in the soft autumn air. A golden leaf fluttered down, taking advantage of the sudden distance between them. “Are you mad about something?”

“No,” she sighed, her eyes on the leaf. She made an effort to shake off her unexpected irritation. “I'm sorry…”

Harry gave her a crooked grin that she could barely see in the shadows, and she could feel the lingering irritation melting away. She smiled back at him and he reached out a hand. She took it and he pulled her into a warm hug. She rested her head comfortably against his muscular chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. She breathed the autumn air, the scents of the season blending with Harry's unique smell. She loved that smell, she thought, and she turned her head a little more toward his chest so that she could catch it more fully.

Harry rested his chin on the top of Hermione's head. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I'm always bringing my problems to you. It must be a pain for you.”

“No, it's not. Really,” she said, tipping her head back to smile at him. “Anyway, I bring mine to you, don't I?”

“I guess so,” he murmured as she snuggled against his chest again. They stood there quietly for a long time. It occurred to Harry that if Ginny were with him, this would be the perfect setting for some serious making out. Then it occurred to him that if there were no Ginny, no Ron, this would be the perfect setting for some serious making out with the girl already in his arms. He smiled at that; he and Hermione were best friends, as close in their own ways as he and Ron were in theirs, but friendship didn't render a bloke blind and stupid. He thought Ron was quite lucky to have the privilege of regular physical contact with Hermione.

Eventually Hermione sighed, and something tightened in Harry's gut. But she stepped back from him and said, “I guess we'd better get back. You'll have to think of a good excuse for missing that meeting, won't you?” She took Harry' arm and they started walking back the way they had come, around the lake and past Hagrid's hut. The howling seemed to have stopped.

“I'll just say I went down to see Hagrid,” Harry said, shrugging. “It's not a lie, and he won't remember one way or the other.”

Hermione gave him a disapproving frown, which he just answered with a lop-sided grin. She rolled her eyes as they entered the front doors of the castle. “Just make sure to be at the next meeting, okay?”

“Is that a command from above, O Mighty Head Girl?” Harry snickered.

Hermione raised her eyebrows in a clear challenge. “Yes, it is, O Lowly Quidditch Captain. Is there something you'd like to say?”

Hermione looked so serious and forbidding that Harry had to laugh at the utter cuteness of it. He knew Hermione scared some people with that authoritative act, but he wasn't one of them. He just did what she said because she was usually right. Either that, or she could argue her position so well that he forgot what he ever dared to disagree with her about in the first place.

They climbed in the portrait hole to the common room. Ginny and Ron were sitting on the sofa in front of the fire, schoolbooks open, but deep in conversation. When Ginny glanced up, Harry could see she was irritated with him, so he put on his best supportive look and walked right over to her. Hermione snickered softly, but he ignored her.

“Hey, Ginny,” he said, bending to kiss her. “I'm so sorry I missed the meeting. How'd it go?”

Ginny sighed. “It was all right,” she said. “Where were you, anyway?” Harry sat down on the arm of the sofa. Hermione hovered nearby, but Ron didn't get up to greet her. Harry met Hermione's glance for a split second, then said casually, “I went down to see Hagrid. Did you know Madame Maxime broke up with him?”

This announcement effectively distracted Ginny from her annoyance, as Harry had hoped it would. Hermione moved closer to the sofa, hoping Ron would pull her toward him, or make room on his lap, or something, but he didn't, so she stood nearby and helped Harry fill in the details of the story. Which was easy, she thought wryly, considering that she had been the one there in the first place. She couldn't be annoyed with Harry, though, especially as he gave her a quick wink when the Weasleys weren't looking.

As they talked she edged herself onto the other arm of the sofa and put a hand on Ron's shoulder. He turned and smiled at her, but didn't touch her, even as she continued to rub his shoulder and back in increasingly intimate ways. It wouldn't have taken much for Ron to turn his body a little bit, to lay a hand on her leg or lean back against her, but he seemed to be so involved in what Harry was saying that it didn't occur to him. It wasn't the first time it hadn't occurred to him to touch her, Hermione thought in annoyance.

Ron jumped into the conversation enthusiastically. “I wondered if they'd make it,” he said, “Luna said she didn't think Hagrid would be willing to leave Hogwarts before the war was over.”

Harry nodded. That much was obvious to him as well. “No, but that's not enough reason for her to dump him, is it? There's got to be something else going on.” He rested his hand on Ginny's shoulder and rubbed, in nearly the same way that Hermione was doing to Ron. Ginny usually responded to those kinds of touches, usually turned and snuggled into him, but he noticed that tonight she seemed distracted. She did lean back against his thigh, though, to Harry's relief. Maybe she wasn't really mad at him after all.

Ron eased forward, making it so that Hermione couldn't easily reach his shoulders any longer. She dropped her hand with a sigh as Ron spoke. “Luna was saying just the other day that there's a lot of pressure on Hagrid and Madame Maxime to make it work, since they're the only two half giants anyone knows. Maybe they just couldn't take the pressure.”

“Maybe,” Harry said, considering that.

“I think I'm going to go tell her,” Ron said, jumping up. “She'll want to know. She might want to go see Hagrid herself.”

Hermione frowned. “There's no use going down there now,” she said. “Harry and I just left. He's probably passed out by now.”

“Well...” Ron said, thinking fast. “That's probably true. I think I'll go tell her anyway, though. Just in case.”

Hermione scowled as Ron walked quickly toward the portrait hole. Then she looked down at her hands and sighed. She studied her hands and remembered running them over Ron's back. She loved the way his back felt, it was broad and strong under his school robes. But apparently Ron would rather run off to talk to another girl than to let her touch him. She crossed her arms as though she were cold, and looked up at Ginny and Harry. Ginny was looking into the fire, and seemed to be unaware of the rest of them. Harry was watching her with a concerned frown on his face.

“All right, Hermione?”

“Yes,” Hermione lied. “I guess I'll go to bed.” She got up from the arm of the sofa, her arms still hugged around her middle. “Good night.”

“Night,” Harry said, watching her go. Ginny remained quiet, despite Harry's efforts to talk with her, so eventually he headed to bed himself. He lay awake wondering about Hagrid and Madame Maxime, Hermione and Ron, and himself and Ginny. It was a long time before he heard Ron return to the dormitory.

The next meeting of the Decorations Committee was, as it turned out, the next day. Harry looked at his list of other committee members and was displeased to see that Malfoy was somehow on the same committee, though he expected that Malfoy had gotten stuck with the assignment because he was a Slytherin Prefect. Twenty minutes before the appointed time he made his way through the corridors to the meeting room, but stopped short when Dennis Creevey stopped him in the hallway.

“Hi there, Harry!” the younger boy said enthusiastically. “On your way to the Decorations Committee meeting?”

“Er, yeah,” Harry said, looking down at his list and seeing that Dennis was indeed on this committee with him.

“It's going to be a great ball, isn't it? Do you have a date yet?” Dennis bounced on his toes as he talked, giving Harry the urge to clamp his hands on his shoulders and press down until the boy stood still.

“Yeah,” Harry said, trying to be patient, “I'm going with Ginny.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” Dennis said sheepishly. “Anyway, I think the meeting's been cancelled. I went to the room and the door was locked. I knocked on it, but nobody answered. I guess they forgot to let us know.”

“Oh,” said Harry, surprised. He had been extra careful to be early for this meeting, because he didn't want Ginny annoyed with him again. “Well, I'd better check it out. I'll see you later, then, right?”

“Right, Harry!” said Dennis enthusiastically, and he bounced off down the hall, leaving Harry free to roll his eyes as he continued on toward the meeting room.

The room was indeed locked, just as Dennis had told him. Harry frowned and glanced down at his notice. If the meeting was cancelled, nobody had told him, but most of the rest of the committee must have gotten the message, because they weren't milling around outside the door. Of course, he was early. Still, Ginny was the chair of this committee and it wasn't like her to be running late. She was just as organized as Hermione was.

Harry shrugged and decided to go in and wait. He wasn't that eager to attend the meeting, but he wanted to be sure that he could tell Ginny that he had shown up, that he had waited around. Pulling out his wand he murmured, “Alohomora.” The door unlocked silently and Harry turned the knob and stepped inside. He was totally unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

Ginny was in the room, but she wasn't alone. Malfoy had her pinned against the wall, and at first Harry thought he was forcing himself on her, but a split second later he saw that she had wrapped herself around him as though her life depended on contact with him. Malfoy's hand was up under Ginny's robe and their mouths moved together hungrily. Harry stood stunned, watching them for what felt like an hour, but was probably only a moment. Then anger and hurt surged through him and he stalked forward.

“Excuse me,” he said coldly. Ginny stiffened in Malfoy's arms and tried to push him away, a look of horror on her face. Malfoy raised a golden eyebrow and smirked. He held tightly to Ginny, and didn't let her wriggle out of his arms.

“Hello, Potter,“ he drawled, triumphant satisfaction flashing in his silver eyes. “We're rather busy here. Why don't you go catch a Snitch or something?”

“I've got a Snitch you can catch,” Harry growled, grabbing Malfoy by the collar of his robes. Drawing back his fist he slammed it straight into Malfoy's face. Malfoy reeled back, but even as he was falling pulled out his wand and sent a Stinging Hex at Harry. It whipped him across the face, making Harry hiss in his breath, but his own wand appeared in his hand before he had time to think of it.

“Reducto!” he shouted, flnging Malfoy back against the wall. He got a dark satisfaction out of hearing Malfoy's head hit solidly against the stone wall. Malfoy dropped to the floor and groaned, then flashed another spell at Harry, which Harry easily blocked.

“Petrificus Totalis,” Harry said, and Malfoy's body went stiff. He could still glare daggers of hatred at Harry, but he couldn't move. Harry turned away from Malfoy and looked at Ginny, trying to hide the hurt behind a veneer of disgust.

Ginny spoke first, “Harry, I'm so sorry—”

“Save it,” he bit out. “You weren't exactly fighting him off.”

“No, I know I wasn't, but I—”

“If you want him you can have him, Ginny,” Harry said. “I don't care. It just would have been nice if you'd broken up with me first. I trusted you.”

“I know, “Ginny said, looking miserable. “I didn't mean for this to happen at all. I didn't mean for you to find out like this. I meant to do it right.”

Harry managed to work up a sneer. It was difficult considering what he really wanted to do was whimper and lick his wounds, but he'd save that for later. “Whatever,” he said curtly. “I'm out of here.”

“Harry, please!” Ginny wailed. Harry held up a hand to cut her off, then stalked back out of the room, slamming the door behind him so hard that the stone wall vibrated.

He wasn't paying much attention to where he was going. It was as though all his senses were overwhelmed with the anger and hurt flooding through him. He was vaguely aware that he had stomped out the front doors of the castle and out onto the grounds, but he kept walking. Past Hagrid's hut, around the lake, unknowingly following the same route he and Hermione had walked last night. It wasn't dark today, but it was cloudy and decaying brown leaves blew across his path. He stomped on them with a satisfying crunch. He scooped up rocks as he walked, big ones, and worked out some of his anger by hurling them as far as he could. It felt good to imagine they could fly far enough to hit Malfoy and Ginny in their heads.

He stopped walking and looked around over the lake. He knew he was alone, so he let some of the hurt and betrayal wash over him. It burned in his stomach and clenched like a fist in his chest. He let all the unanswered questions roll through his brain, knowing they would press at him until he acknowledged them. How could she cheat on him? How could she cheat on him with Malfoy, of all people? And Malfoy had been so smug, knowing how it would gall Harry to see him with his hands on what was supposed to be his. He'd been right about that, Harry thought. If Ginny had even been trying to resist him, Harry would have hexed Malfoy from here to next week. There was no way Malfoy could stand up to Harry in a duel. But Ginny hadn't been resisting. She had been participating quite enthusiastically.

Harry took a deep breath and swore. Some of the blind anger was draining out of him, and he squatted down to choose another stone to throw. As he did, the wind turned in his direction and he cocked his head. He was sure he had heard something. As he continued to listen, he realized it was someone crying. He looked up the shore, in the direction of the sounds, and after a few steps in that direction he saw Hermione, sitting cross-legged on a large flat rock, her arms wrapped around her knees, and her head bent. He could see her shoulders shaking even from this distance.

He didn't think about it; he ran toward her. “Hermione!” he called, and she started. Quickly she tried to wipe the signs of her weeping off her face, but Harry reached her far too soon for it to be of any use. “What's wrong?” he asked, alarmed. He had only seen her this upset a few times.

She tried to contain her emotions, but it was no good. As Harry sat on the rock beside her, she leaned into his chest. His arms came around her and she began to sob again. Since she seemed to be uninjured, he just held her and let her cry. His own troubles were forgotten for a moment as he rocked her back and forth and wondered what could have happened to make calm, controlled Hermione lose it like this. He started imagining all sorts of terrible scenarios, including her walking in on Ron with some other girl, and by the time she was done he found himself hating all the Weasleys just on principle.

“I'm sorry,” she said, when her sobbing had finally been exhausted. “I just—I just broke up with Ron.” She wiped her face on her sleeve, and Harry dug in his robe pocket for a handkerchief. She took it gratefully.

“You did?” Harry asked, surprised, despite his thoughts of a few moments ago. Then his anger surged and he snapped, “He didn't cheat on you, did he?”

“What?” Hermione said, surprised. “No, of course not.”

Harry relaxed again. “Well, why did you break up with him?”

Hermione sighed, then climbed off the rock and knelt next to the water. She splashed water on her face and dried it with Harry's handkerchief. Then she rose and turned back to Harry, taking her place next to him on the rock again. She glanced up at him, not sure what to tell him, then did a double-take. “What happened to your face?”

Even as she asked it, the pain returned to Harry's face. “Malfoy got in a Stinging Hex.”

Hermione's eyes grew wide. “Why'd he do that? Were you fighting with him again, Harry?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I'll tell you about it, but first tell me about Ron.”

“Oh,” Hermione said in a small voice. She drew up her knees to her chest again. She wasn't sure she wanted to talk about this, but Harry had told her about his fears about Ginny. Right here on this spot, in fact. For some reason the memory gave her courage.

“I liked him so much, Harry,” she said softly, resting her head on her knees and not looking at him. “And I was…well, really attracted to him.” She squeezed her eyes shut and her face turned bright pink.

She lifted her head and looked out over the lake, hugging her knees even tighter, making herself even smaller. “But I don't think he was attracted to me.”

“What?” Harry could not have been more surprised. He knew Ron had liked Hermione for a long time, had even made comments about what she wore or shared guys-only observations with him and the other blokes in the dorm. “Why do you think that?”

“We went out for two and a half months,” Hermione said, shrugging. “He never seemed to want to...well… do anything. We kissed, but not a lot. And he never would hold my hand when there were people around, or put his arms around me like you would with Ginny. I offered him a lot, at first because I was thrilled at the possibility of… you know… doing those things with him, because I liked him so much.”

“But later?” Harry asked. He was slightly embarrassed to be hearing Hermione talk about her feelings for Ron, but he wanted to be there for her. She was always there for him.

“I'm afraid that recently I've been throwing myself at him out of desperation,” Hermione admitted. She tucked her heels in even further; now she was curled up into a tight little ball. “I was starting to feel like there was something wrong with me. Like I must be unattractive or he'd want me more. Then I thought that maybe there was something wrong with him. He's—he's not gay, is he, Harry?”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Er, I don't think so. I'm pretty sure he likes girls.” Though he couldn't explain how Ron could turn down a girl like Hermione.

Hermione sighed. “I didn't think he was, either. It would have been easier on me if he were. But then I thought maybe it wasn't me and it wasn't him. Maybe it was the combination, you know?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. Maybe it'd come together with someone else?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, exactly. But I had to break up with him, Harry. If it was us, then we couldn't force an attraction, even if I did feel it at first. But I was starting to feel really bad about myself, like I must be fat, or ugly, or not as good as other girls for some reason.”

“Then I'm glad you broke up with him,” Harry said firmly. Hermione loosened her grip on her knees and relaxed a little. “Obviously, Ron's an idiot. You're pretty and funny and… er, well, sexy, and all.” Harry stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. He couldn't believe he had just told Hermione she was sexy. But it wasn't exactly the first time he had noticed it.

“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione said, smiling for the first time in several hours. “But you'd better not let Ginny hear you talking like that. She might get the wrong idea.”

Harry swore, picked up big rock and threw it into the lake. Hermione raised her eyebrows. Harry picked up another rock. “Ginny and I are over.”

“Oh, Harry!” said Hermione, her hands flying up from around her knees to rest on her face. “I'm so sorry! What happened?”

Harry threw his rock and didn't look at her. “I caught her in a locked room snogging another bloke.”

Hermione gasped. She had known that things weren't perfect between Harry and Ginny, but she couldn't believe Ginny would cheat. “Oh, Harry! That's terrible!' The paused for a moment. “Can I ask—” Suddenly the light dawned on her, but she refused to believe what logic was telling her. “Surely, surely not—”

Harry nodded, staring blindly out over the lake.

“No, Harry, you must be wrong, “ Hermione said, uncurling her body and going to stand beside him. She put her hand on his shoulder to turn him toward her. “He set it up, Harry. He forced himself on her. You know how he is. He was just trying to get to you.”

Harry shook his head. “He didn't. I saw them, Hermione. She admitted it. He had—” he drew in a shaky breath. “He had his hand under her robes. She never even let me do that much!”

Hermione exhaled deeply. Then she stepped up and wrapped her arms around Harry's waist and rested her head on his chest. He laid his chin in the top of her head. They stood there in the fading afternoon light, the warm autumn breeze blowing over them. A golden leaf fell from the huge tree above them, swirled around, and landed at their feet.

“Hermione?” Harry said after a long time.

“Hmmm?” She didn't look up, just kept her head where it was.

“I guess neither of us has dates to the Fall Ball now, do we?”

Hermione sighed. “I guess not.”

They fell silent again as they watched the setting sun ripple across the water.

“Hermione?”

“Hmmm?”

Harry leaned back and looked down at her. Moved by affection for her, he bent and placed a kiss on her forehead. “There's no way I'm staying on that committee.”

Hermione smiled. “That's all right, Harry. You can be on my committee.”

She laid her head on his chest again. The wind wrapped around them and blew her hair across his shoulder. She was so glad he was her friend. There was nobody else in the world she could have told those feelings to. She sighed, and Harry squeezed her.

“Harry?”

“Hmmm?”

“Thank you.”

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This Night Is Mine

Chapter 2- Fighting and Healing

They had Quidditch the next day, and practice began every bit as badly as Harry had feared. Ginny kept sniffling and wouldn't look at him, and Ron, who obviously knew something was up, was distracted by the tension between Harry and Ginny. Harry thought Ron should look far more upset about his own break up with the girl he had liked for three years, but it didn't seem to be upsetting him. He had avoided talking to Ron at all since yesterday when he had talked with Hermione; he was so angry about how Ron had treated Hermione that he found all sorts of reasons to stay away from him. He and Hermione had gone for another long walk after dinner the night before, so if Ron had wanted to talk about his girl-problems, Harry wouldn't have been there for him. He felt a stab of guilt about it; Ron was his best friend, after all, along with Hermione. He had never wanted to get caught between them, but the truth was, he didn't feel at all like he was caught between them now. He felt like he was entirely on Hermione's side. He didn't know if that was fair, but he didn't really care. He hoped he'd never have to see Hermione cry again like she had the day before. Just the thought of it was enough to make him clench his fists as he looked at his Keeper.

“Did everybody follow that play?” Harry snapped gesturing toward the diagrams on the blackboard. Ginny nodded glumly, Ron frowned, and the other, younger players murmured their assent, looking puzzled at the tension in the air. “Fine. Let's get out there and run it.”

They all rose to grab their brooms and take their places on the field. Ginny wandered out of the locker room alone; Harry refused even to look at her. He knew he was probably being childish, but he was still furious about yesterday's events. He couldn't get past the fact that he had really liked her, and she had betrayed him. He pulled his Firebolt from his locker and slammed it shut, harder than was strictly necessary. But it felt good, anyway. He spun to walk away and nearly collided with Ron.

“What's up with you and Ginny?” Ron asked bluntly.

“You should ask Ginny,” Harry said shortly. He wasn't going to spread tales about his ex-girlfriend. It seemed…ungentlemanly, somehow. Besides, he wasn't keen to let anyone know she had thrown him over for his worst enemy.

“Did you do something to her?” Ron asked, his voice sharper than it had been a moment ago.

Harry snorted in disgust. “Please,” he said, his upper lip curling.

Ron shook his head. “Then what's going on?”

“We broke up,” Harry said flatly, stepping past Ron and heading out of the locker room. Ron hurried to catch up with him.

“Oh,” Ron said. “So did Hermione and I.”

“I know,” Harry said, wishing Ron would leave him alone. “She told me.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, and his tone of voice had Harry looking up at him. “She tells you damn near everything, doesn't she?”

Harry stopped in his tracks, halfway across the Quidditch pitch. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just that it gets old, trying to be with a girl and she won't stop talking about some other bloke,” Ron shrugged, but there was an edge in his voice that belied the casual gesture.

“What girl's that, Ron?” Harry asked with sarcastic innocence. “Luna? Cause that's the only girl I've noticed you spending much time with recently.”

“Hey, at least Luna can talk about something other than you!” Ron growled, stepping into Harry's face.

“Maybe if you'd given Hermione half the attention you give Luna, she'd have had something else to talk about!” Harry stepped up to Ron, who did not give ground. They were nose to nose, snarling into each other's faces.

“Maybe I would have if I could ever have found her!” Ron yelled. “She was always off with you somewhere! What were you two doing? Were you cheating on my sister with my girlfriend, Harry?” He dropped his broom and shoved Harry hard in the chest.

Harry stumbled, stepped back under the force of it, his Firebolt falling from his hand. Recovering, he stepped forward again and shoved Ron back. “I'm the one who was cheating?” he yelled incredulously. “You've got to be kidding! Why don't you ask your sister who was cheating?”

Ron took a swing at him. Harry tried to move, but it glanced off him, and he felt blood where his lip split. Ron was panting, but yelled, “Ginny wouldn't do that! And you're the one who was off shagging my girlfriend!”

Harry bent low and plowed his shoulder into Ron's stomach. Ron grunted and fell backwards, then rolled over and sprang back to his feet. He moved in to shove Harry again. Harry blocked him and gripped his arms.

“If I had been shagging your girlfriend—which I wasn't—I would have been the only one, wouldn't I?” Harry was breathing heavily, trying to hold Ron's arms back so he couldn't take another punch at him. “You don't seem to know what to do with a girl when you've got one, Ron.”

Ron broke free and took another swing at Harry. It made contact, and Harry felt the crunch of Ron's fist against his glasses, and the sharp, thin pain of small pieces of glass slicing into the tender skin around his eye. Colors exploded behind his eyelid and red fury sliced through his brain. He ran at Ron again, fists clenched, and landed a punch squarely on Ron's jaw. Ron spun and fell, blood flowing from his mouth, but Harry didn't move back quickly enough, and Ron kicked out a leg and tripped him. Harry fell to the hard ground of the Quidditch pitch with a thud that knocked the wind out of him. He hadn't even gotten his breath back when Ron was on top of him, slamming his knee into his chest, fist raised, his blood dripping onto Harry's robes. Harry was sure he had cracked a rib, but he didn't have time to think about it. He braced himself for another hit while trying to wrestle himself out from under Ron.

Just then Ron froze, his eyes wide. Harry didn't understand until he heard a sharp, outraged voice come from over Ron's shoulder.

“Weasley! Potter! What on earth is going on here?” Professor McGonagall snapped, pulling Ron off of Harry with a wave of her wand. Ron was still glaring daggers at Harry, and Harry was still trying to get his breath back. Harry scrambled to his feet and took an aggressive stance, ready for Ron to rush at him again, halfway inclined to ignore McGonagall's presence and attack Ron himself. The anger had not worked itself out of his system, and the pain that throbbed in his face and ribs only added to it. Ron could not move to take a fighting stance, but the violence was still there in his eyes, too. Harry could see it, it was all he could do not to respond to it, to give Ron what he was so clearly asking for.

“The Quidditch Captain and a Gryffindor Prefect, brawling like trolls out here for everyone to see!” McGonagall hissed, her own fury apparently taking her past the yelling stage. Maybe she should just take a swing at him, too, Harry thought; they could all roll around in the grass and beat the hell out of each other. “I have never been more ashamed of Gryffindor students in my life! You will be fortunate if you aren't expelled, and it would be no more than you deserve!”

Harry froze, his eyes darting to McGonagall. He knew he wouldn't be expelled. He knew he was being cynical, but the wizarding world needed him too much for Dumbledore to let him out of his sight for that long. But Dumbledore might well take the Quidditch Captaincy from him. He swore under his breath, but McGonagall heard him and sucked in a breath.

“Are you not in enough trouble, Potter?” she bit out at him. “I suggest you keep your mouth shut.” She freed Ron from his Binding Spell, and Ron immediately spat out a mouthful of blood onto the grass. Then he hunched his shoulders and balled his hands into fists and faced Harry again.

“Enough, Weasley!” McGonagall snapped. “Your sister is crying, the younger players are terrified, and you two look like the idiots you are.” Harry spared a glance for Ginny, who was standing with a horrified look on her face, tears streaming down her face. Then he focused his attention back on Ron.

“You will go to the hospital wing,” McGonagall said with a deliberateness that told Harry she was keeping her own temper on a very tight rein. “You will get treated by Madame Pomfrey. You will meet me in the Headmaster's office in one hour. Quidditch practice is cancelled. Go!”

Harry relaxed his stance enough to snatch up his Firebolt, but he wasn't willing to entirely turn his back on Ron. He was still furious, but under it was a betrayed hurt that he didn't want to feel. Anger was easier, simpler. How could Ron believe that Hermione would sleep with him while she was dating Ron? After all they'd been through, from that very first train ride, how could his best mate think he'd ever do that to him? Harry walked across the pitch, knowing Ron was a half-step behind him, barely refraining himself from turning and punching him again, just because he was there. It was only the knowledge that McGonagall was watching them all the way up to the castle that kept him in control.

“Damn it, Harry, slow down,” Ron snapped. Harry ignored him, and would have sped up just for spite, but every step jarred his ribs, and he could barely see where he was going as it was. Ron grabbed his shoulder and Harry spun, ready to jump back into the fight.

“Hey, stop!” Ron said, holding up open hands to show he was not attacking. Harry didn't punch him, but he wasn't sure he was ready to talk to him. Ron warily put down his hands, and they continued to walk. Harry shoved his own fists into his robe pockets to keep from using them.

“You'd better tell me what happened with Ginny,” Ron said flatly. Harry turned and gave him a disgusted look. “You said— you said you weren't the one who cheated. But I can't believe Ginny cheated, Harry. She's just not like that.”

“Believe whatever you want, Ron,” Harry said wearily. The adrenaline was finally ebbing, leaving him feeling jittery and exhausted. “If you're willing to believe that Hermione and I were shagging behind your back, then you should have no trouble believing that your sister is perfectly pure and innocent.” He hauled open the huge front doors of the castle, unable to entirely suppress a groan at the way it aggravated his injuries. “I think you broke a fucking rib.”

Ron's jaw dropped. Harry knew it was because he seldom used language like that, but right now he had several choice words running through his head. Maybe he'd give Ron a thrill and use them all on him.

Ron was quiet as they climbed up several staircases. Then he said, “I know you weren't shagging Hermione.”

Harry snorted, feeling like the apology, if that's what it was, was too little too late. “Yeah? Well, I know you weren't shagging her, either.”

Ron scowled and took a breath, obviously trying to keep his temper. Harry tried to glance at him, but Ron was on his left, and that eye was useless at the moment. “That's just the kind of thing I was talking about,” Ron said. “Why do you know stuff that`s private between me and Hermione? Why does she tell you that stuff?”

“She never told me anything until yesterday, after she broke up with you,” Harry said shortly. “I found her on the other side of the lake, crying so hard I thought she'd be sick. She needed someone to talk to.”

“Did you tell her what happened with you and Ginny?” Ron asked.

“I told her it was over between us. She guessed the rest. She's smart that way.”

“Yeah,” Ron said grimly. “She is.”

They finally reached the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey took one look at them, with their faces and Quidditch robes covered with blood, and rolled her eyes, then bustled down the aisle toward them. She didn't even ask; she just led them to beds and pulled out various potions and started muttering incantations, waving her wand over them. Harry endured it stoically, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his side and the wicked stinging of his battered eye. The pain was starting to make him feel nauseated.

“Mr. Potter, you have a cracked rib, and if there isn't permanent damage to your left eye, I'll be quite surprised,” she informed him briskly. “But I can't find where the blood on your robes is coming from.”

“It's not mine,” Harry said. He didn't offer any more information.

Madame Pomfrey pursed her lips and sent a pleading glance toward the ceiling as though praying for patience. She turned to Ron. “Mr. Weasley, you have two teeth loose on the upper left side of your mouth, and that cut on your lip isn't going to heal fully for a few days. It's quite deep. Now, both of you lie back and be still.”

They did as they were told, because they knew it was easier to obey Madame Pomfrey than to argue with her, and because they knew they were in enough trouble as it was. When she finally bustled off again, Harry turned to Ron.

“Look, mate, I know this is none of my business, but what was the deal with you and Hermione?” Harry could feel his face burning; guys just didn't ask each other these kinds of questions, but it was eating at him, and he needed to understand.

Ron turned red as well, but he sighed. “I didn't know it bothered her so much,” he admitted, looking up at the ceiling. “But, I couldn't get used to it. It was like trying to make a move on my sister or something. I tried, I really did. She's a great kisser. But it was just too weird.”

Harry gave him an incredulous look. “But, Hermione's so pretty and…” he broke off, trying to think of words to describe just how attractive she was. “Anyway,” he gave up, shaking his head, “I'd think any bloke'd be glad to have a chance with her.”

“I thought so, too, but it didn't work out that way,” Ron shrugged. “And then I started to think of Luna like that. I guess Hermione figured that out, too?” This time Harry shrugged. “I was trying not to…I felt like I was disloyal to Hermione, even though I never did anything with Luna, but I couldn't help how I felt. It was a mess. I'm glad she broke it off. I didn't mean to make her cry.”

“She'll be all right,” Harry said. He'd make sure of it.

“Well,” Ron said, letting his head fall back against the pillow, “now you can ask her out or whatever.”

Harry's head snapped up, causing his eye to start throbbing again. “What? Me? I'm not going to ask her out!”

Ron opened one eye and looked at him skeptically. “Uh huh,” he said. “I thought you said any bloke'd be glad to have a chance with her?”

“Yeah, but I— Hermione and I are friends!” Harry was starting to panic. He didn't think of Hermione that way. Did he? Of course not, he told himself firmly. She was his best friend. Ron was being stupid, trying to get in one last dig because he couldn't punch him again.

Ron slid him a sly look. “Oh, all right. So, you've never noticed the way she fills out her robes?” Harry scowled at him. “And you've never noticed that she has this one robe that's a little too tight, that she usually wears in Herbology because she doesn't like to get her good ones dirty?”

Harry scowled at him. “I thought you said she was like a sister!”

Ron smirked, “Well, I'm not blind, am I?”

Harry groaned and looked away from Ron. Of course he had noticed the Herbology robe. Noticing did not mean wanting. He closed his eyes, ignoring Ron's snicker. Ron had actually had the chance to touch her—regularly-- and he'd turned it down. Harry started to doze, daydreaming about Hermione and her Herbology robe…

“You can go now,” Madame Pomfrey said, her sharp voice snapping Harry awake. She looked down at both Harry and Ron. “I understand your presence is requested in the Headmaster's office.”

***************************************************************************************************************

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione said, horrified. She buried her face in her hands for a moment. “I can't believe you did that! What were you thinking?”

“Forget it, Hermione,” Harry said. They were sitting in Hagrid's back garden, resting back against the giant pumpkins Hagrid was growing in preparation for Halloween. They hadn't seen Hagrid since the day before, and they suspected he might have gone to France to try to talk to Madame Maxime.

“I will not forget it, Harry Potter!” Hermione snapped furiously. “You could have done permanent damage to your eye. You could have been expelled, you could have been kicked off the Quidditch team—”

“But I wasn't,” Harry shrugged. “Neither was Ron. Let it go.”

Hermione knew she was being stupid, but every time she looked at Harry's bruised face, at the bandages that still covered his eye, she wanted to cry. She wasn't used to crying all the time like this, and it annoyed her, made her irritable and edgy. She thought of herself as someone who made her own choices and took responsibility for them, so crying over the idiotic actions of idiotic men did not sit well with her.

“Everything's so complicated,” she said with a sigh, resting her head on her drawn up knees. “Didn't it used to be easier than this?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, giving her a crooked smile. He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I guess it did. But what happened with me and Ron isn't complicated, Hermione. We were both mad, so we pounded on each other. There's not much more to it than that.”

“You pounded on him because of me,” Hermione began, feeling wretched about the whole thing. “I never wanted to come between you and Ron.”

“You didn't,” Harry said firmly. “I pounded on him for a lot of reasons. He was being a complete prat.” He had not forgotten his feeling of outraged hurt when Ron had said what he said, about him and about Hermione. It still stung, but he tried to shrug it off. “Look, Ron and I are okay. He knows you and I weren't doing anything, and he knows I didn't cheat on Ginny, either.”

“Did you tell him about Ginny and Malfoy?” she asked.

“No,” Harry said. “That's Ginny's to tell.”

Hermione nodded. That part was exactly as she expected. She knew Harry wouldn't talk about Ginny or what she had done. He was too honorable. She loved that about him, she thought with a smile. Telling Ron what Ginny had done could have saved Harry not only the physical pain of the fight with Ron, but the emotional pain that she knew he would never discuss. At that moment she could have cheerfully pounded on Ron herself, for hurting Harry's feelings as he had.

“Is your eye going to be okay?” she asked, since it was the only way he was going to allow her to express concern for him. She wanted to hold him to her and remind him that she knew, if no one else did, how deep and true his sense of honor ran, and how anyone who could question that must be both blind and stupid. “Here, let me look.”

She got up on her knees and faced him. Gently she removed his repaired glasses and ran her fingers lightly over the bandage. Her fingers were soft and cool, and Harry closed his eyes as she skimmed them over his face. They felt good on his bruised and tender skin. She was so close to him, he could have leaned over and rested his head against her chest. The thought was so tempting that he caught himself swaying in her direction before he realized what he was doing. Annoyed with himself, he gently grabbed her hand and drew it away.

“It'll be fine,” he said. “Madame Pomfrey got all the glass out and healed the cuts. She just thinks it needs to rest before I try to use it. You know how she is about rest.” He tried to make a joke of it, but Hermione sat back on her heels, her hand still in his, and frowned.

“I hope you don't lose any more vision,” she said, more sharply than she had intended, but she got so frustrated sometimes at his refusal to take his own injuries seriously. “You can't afford to be at a disadvantage when you face Voldemort, you know.”

Harry glanced at her with his good eye. He had thought the same thing, but he didn't like for her to worry about him so much. Suddenly he smiled and slipped his glasses back on. “Well, if I lose my sight in that eye, I'll just have to politely request that Voldemort stand on my right side when we duel. Think he'll go for that?”

Hermione tried to scowl at him, but she couldn't resist it when he teased her like that. She was still mad, she told herself, even if she had to smile. “Of course,” she said sarcastically. “That's what the Order has been getting wrong. They haven't used good manners! Death Eaters are all about courtesy.”

Harry grinned, anxious to ease Hermione's worry. She took so much responsibility for her friends' feelings; it didn't seem fair somehow. It wasn't her fault he and Ron had fought; in Harry's opinion that was entirely Ron's fault. Harry was sure that if Ron hadn't delivered the one-two punch of defending Ginny and attacking Hermione's honor, he would never have been compelled to fight him.

Harry's eye—indeed, the whole left side of his face—was beginning to throb again, so he closed his other eye and leaned his head against the pumpkin behind him. He felt rather than saw Hermione frown. Then he heard the slight hitch in her breathing and knew she was getting upset again.

“You were defending me,” she said softly, taking a deep breath to steady her emotions and keep more tears at bay. Her hand was still being held in Harry's, so she squeezed it gently. “Ron said that I had cheated on him, and you pounded on him. I wish you hadn't, Harry.”

“Can we please not talk about this any more?” Harry said without opening his eyes. Hermione ignored him. She was trying to work something out.

“I wish you hadn't,” she continued, “because I hate to see you hurt. But you don't know what it means to a girl, even a girl who can take care of herself, to have one man in her life who will fight for her. I hope you never do it again, but it means a lot to me.”

Hermione watched Harry's face as he leaned against the giant pumpkin. He didn't open his eye, but his cheeks turned pink under the bandages. He really was very handsome, she thought. She had noticed it before, of course; just because they were friends didn't mean she was blind. She shook her head slightly; she just didn't understand how Ginny could choose Malfoy over Harry. Not that Malfoy wasn't good-looking in his pale, aristocratic sort of way, but still… There were more important things than just being good-looking, things like loyalty and honor and thoughtfulness and humor… she shook her head again. On an impulse that she couldn't explain, she braced one hand against the pumpkin, leaned forward and kissed his cheek below the bandage, near the corner of his mouth.

Harry didn't open his eyes. He just smiled slowly and squeezed her hand. Hermione shifted so that she was sitting next to him, her face burning. A cool wind gusted up and blew golden leaves onto their legs and into their hair; Hermione was grateful for it as it gave her something to think about besides having just kissed Harry. But even as she swept the leaves out of her hair with her free hand, she knew she didn't regret it. She hated that Ron and Harry had fought, but Harry made her feel more special than anyone ever had. He was such a good friend, she thought, leaning back against the pumpkin next to him. She was really lucky to have him.

***************************************************************************************************************

Ron sat alone at their usual table in the common room. Harry came down the dormitory steps with his Potions book, intending to study, but the sight of Ron sitting there bent over his books brought him up short. Normally he wouldn't give a second thought to sitting down at the table next to Ron, but things seemed different now. That thought annoyed him; when had it become a big deal to sit and study with his best friend? In that split second of hesitation, Harry resolved that it wouldn't be a big deal. He wouldn't let it be. Grimly he strode forward and tossed his book down on the table. Ron glanced up, his expression shuttered.

“Mind?” Harry grunted, nodding at one of the empty chairs.

“No,” Ron said, pulling in the parchments that had scattered over the table. He returned his eyes to his paper and continued writing. Harry flopped down into the chair and opened his book as well, not looking at Ron. He was stiff and awkward, not the least because he was still sore and because his eye was still bandaged, so he kept his attention focused downward. He pretended to turn a page in the he book so that he could glance up at Ron, who was studiously looking down as well. Ron's lip was still swollen and occasionally dripped blood down his chin, which he wiped off with the back of his hand. Harry gave up trying to pretend not to care and tossed a handkerchief onto his parchment.

Ron glanced up, then took the handkerchief. “Thanks.”

“Sorry about that,” Harry said, gesturing at Ron's still bleeding lip.

Ron snorted and pressed the cloth to his lip. “Forget it. Sorry `bout your eye, though.”

Harry shrugged. “It's fine,” he said.

Both boys turned back to their books feeling better, though their expressions remained unchanged. Harry knew it would take him longer than this to really forgive Ron, but he felt they had made a start. Everything would be all right if Ron had the brains to keep his mouth shut and not say anything bad about Hermione. Harry tried to concentrate on his Potions lesson, but the thought of Hermione had him raising his hand to the spot where she had kissed him earlier that day. It still tingled when he thought about it, and since he didn't know what to do with that, he tried not to think about it.

As though his memory had conjured her, Hermione appeared at the table where Harry and Ron sat. She held a stack of books in front of her, clutching them to her chest, and looked hesitantly between them. She didn't want to ruin whatever tenuous peace they might have achieved, but they were her two best friends. She didn't want to be on the outside, either, she thought stubbornly. She wanted to still belong with them.

“Can I sit here?” she asked quickly, before her courage failed her. Both boys looked up, and she was struck with a new wave of grief at how battered their faces were. Harry's face was slightly pink and Hermione remembered how it had felt under her lips when she had given him that kiss this afternoon. His skin had been slightly rough, like he needed to shave. She felt her skin go hot as well, but waited for them to answer.

“Course,” Ron said gruffly, moving his things again. Hermione smiled and exhaled in relief. They hadn't ruined everything. They were going to be all right. Maybe they weren't there yet, but they were a unit, the three of them. They would be all right. Hermoine dropped her books on the table and sat down in the chair between Harry and Ron. Nobody said much, each of them was studying diligently, but the casual comments and complaints that one or the other of them threw out from time to time felt so normal that Hermione felt like maybe they could get back to where they had been.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said suddenly, looking up at him.

Harry looked up and raised his eyebrow to show he was listening.

“Don't forget we have a committee meeting for the Ball tomorrow afternoon, all right? We have to finalize some decisions about the music and food.”

Harry nodded, but Ron was frowning. “I thought Harry was on Ginny's committee,” Ron said.

“I switched,” Harry said shortly. Ron opened his mouth to say something then closed it again. He simply nodded and returned his attention to his books, his jaw set. Harry still didn't know how Ron was feeling about his and Ginny's breakup, but he didn't particularly care. It wasn't any of Ron's business, anyway.

Harry leaned back in his chair and slid his fingers under his glasses to rub his good eye. Using only one eye was giving him a headache; he was going to take these bandages off tomorrow whether or not Madame Pomfrey said it was okay. He pretended he didn't notice that both Ron and Hermione were watching him surreptitiously. His glance wandered around the room so that he didn't have to look at them and have one of them ask if he was all right, and at that moment the portrait hole opened and Ginny walked in.

Her robes were wrinkled and her hair was hanging loose from the ponytail she usually wore it in. Harry noticed that her lips were pink and swollen and that she was taking deep breaths. He knew exactly what that meant. She had just been seriously snogging someone and was trying to calm herself down. He'd seen her look like that enough times after he had kissed her. He stared at her, hating her and wanting her, unaware that he was even doing it.

“Harry?” Hermione asked, noticing where he was looking. She frowned. It was more than clear where Ginny had been, but it was Harry she was worried about. He looked like someone had just put the Full Body Bind on him.

Harry tore his gaze away from Ginny and looked at Hermione. She was looking worried again, and he took a deep breath. She gave him a shaky smile and he felt a little better, but not enough to sit here in the same room with Ginny.

“I'm fine,” he said abruptly. “I'm going to bed.” He grabbed up his Potions book and stood, knocking his chair over. He turned and walked quickly to the stairs and disappeared from their sight, leaving Hermione and Ron staring after him. Quietly, Hermione flicked her wand and righted Harry's upturned chair.

Harry stomped up the steps, wondering what was wrong with him. Why did he care if Ginny had obviously just been snogging Malfoy? As far as he was concerned, they could have each other, they were obviously perfect for each other, both of them lying, sneaky, hateful… he threw his Potions book into his trunk and it thudded through the dormitory with a mocking echo. He cared, he reminded himself, feeling grievously put upon, because thirty hours ago Ginny had been his girlfriend, she was supposed to be snogging with him, not with anyone else, and certainly not with Malfoy. He found that thought more galling than any other, the idea that Ginny, who was supposed to have such a crush on him for so long, could just throw him over after less than three months for Malfoy! He didn't think it would be quite as bad if it had been Dean or Seamus or even Neville, but why did she have to cheat on him with Malfoy?

At a loss for what to do, he ran a hand through his hair and looked around. There was nothing to throw, or he might have spent a gratifying half an hour or so smashing things. He thought grimly that he'd rather smash some of Ginny's things. Finally he wandered over to the window seat and looked out over the dark grounds. He usually loved autumn; there was something about the way the air felt, especially when he was flying. It was crisp and thick and smelled like possibilities. Too often the possibilities slipped through his fingers by the time the world turned cold.

He wondered if that was what upset him about Ginny. He had thought there was the possibility of love there. He had thought they were heading there together. Now he didn't have any idea what possibilities he was reaching for. Every time he grasped at one, it seemed to crumple in his hands like dry brown leaves, only to be scattered by an increasingly cold wind.

Feeling very sorry for himself, he threw himself on his bed and pulled the curtains closed. He was still dressed, but he didn't want to talk to anyone, and he could hear people wandering up the steps to their various dormitory rooms. He just lay lethargically, starting at the red velvet above his head, listening as Dean and Seamus entered the room and tossed their books into their respective trunks.

“No way!” Dean was saying. “I hadn't heard they broke up.”

“They did,” Seamus said, “just yesterday, but she won't have had time to get a date yet, right?”

“I guess not,” Dean said doubtfully. Harry could hear him rustling about in his trunk. “But maybe she won't be ready to go with someone else. I mean, it takes a while to get over a break up, doesn't it?”

“Oh,” Seamus said, sounding crestfallen. Harry wondered if they were talking about Ginny or Hermione. He snorted silently; if they were talking about Ginny, they were out of luck, since he assumed Ginny would be going with Malfoy. But if they were talking about Hermione… Harry frowned. If they were talking about Hermione, Seamus might well have a chance. She was Head Girl, after all, and would have to bring a date to the dance. He sat up abruptly, the slight rustling his blankets made covered by the continuing conversation between his dorm mates. He was getting angry all over again. He found he didn't care at all for the idea of Hermione going to the Ball with Seamus.

“Well,” Dean was saying, “just to be safe, you'd better ask Ron if it's all clear there. I can understand where you're coming from, though. I mean, she has those robes she wears to Herbology…”

Their conversation continued as they headed toward the men's showers. Harry flung his curtains aside and ran out of the dorm and down the stairs. Ron was no longer sitting at their table, but Hermione was still there. Her books were open in front of her, but she was staring into the fire. Harry flung himself down into the chair next to her.

Hermione smiled, feeling a rush of both pleasure and relief at seeing Harry. She had been sure he wouldn't come down again, not while there was the possibility of running into Ginny, and she couldn't say that she blamed him. The firelight reflected off his glasses and threw his bruises into shadow.

“Hermione,” Harry said, encouraged by her welcoming smile. “We don't have dates to the Fall Ball!”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. “Did you come all the way back down here just to tell me that, Harry?”

“No,” he frowned. “I came down to ask… I mean, since neither of us has dates, I thought…” He broke off, ran a hand through his hair, and Hermione smiled fondly at seeing it sticking straight up. “I mean, how about if we go together?”

Hermione froze, only her eyes darting from his hair to his one good eye. “What do you mean?”

“Just as friends,” Harry added quickly. “Then neither of us has to worry about not having dates and we don't have to deal with going with someone we don't like just so we aren't going alone…” He trailed off, feeling stupid. This had seemed like a good idea when he had thought of it a minute ago. But Hermione was staring at him, her head cocked to one side like she did when she was trying to figure something out. Maybe he should have thought it through more thoroughly.

Then she smiled, and he smiled back, relief flooding into him. She looked happy about the idea, he thought. Maybe it wasn't so stupid after all.

“Just as friends?” she asked. Harry nodded. Her smile grew wider. What a relief that would be, she thought, not to have to worry about whether her date would find her attractive enough, or whether her costume was going to be pretty enough. “Harry, that's a wonderful idea!”

She stood from her chair and pulled him out of his, them threw her arms around his waist. He sucked in a breath as she pressed against his injured rib, but his arms came around her and held her close to his chest. She felt so good, standing there holding him like that. He began to feel the same tingling that had begun with that kiss earlier in the pumpkin patch, more intense this time, but he squashed it ruthlessly. He had no business tingling when he was holding Hermione. She was his friend, his best friend. He was very lucky to have her.

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This Night Is Mine

Chapter 3- The Dance Before the Dance

Harry and Ron sat at lunch in the Great Hall. Harry rubbed his temples; his scar hadn't bothered him in weeks, but Potions was always good for a headache, and though Madame Pomfrey had finished healing his eye, he still got headaches from the injury. Ginny had grabbed a sandwich and left, and Harry noticed that Malfoy had done the same thing. They obviously were going to eat lunch somewhere together, and probably snog each other senseless. He didn't care, though, he thought bitterly. Well, he cared a little, but he was getting over it. Hermione was probably right, he was just mad that it was Malfoy Ginny was dating. And that she had snogged him while she was dating Harry.

“You were already having problems, remember?” she had pointed out to him the night before. They were walking around the lake to their favorite spot. As he had grown used to doing, he held out his hand to help her over some slippery rocks, then kept it in his as they continued to walk. “You probably would have broken up, anyway, sooner or later.”

“I guess so,” Harry said, considering that. Hermione was usually insightful about relationships and things like that, and he was obviously an idiot where those things were concerned, so he supposed he should probably just take her word for it. “But why did she--”

“Look,” she said, as they ducked under some low-hanging branches. “You would never do something like that to someone, not in a million years, so you might find it hard to understand. I don't think Ginny meant for it to happen like it did, even though she obviously fancied Malfoy, but I'm sure that Malfoy pressed the situation, knowing you'd walk in.”

Harry snorted in disgust and led Hermione through the trees to the path that followed the lakeshore. Hermione might be right, and he might not fancy Ginny any more, but that didn't mean he was ready to forgive her.

But now, as he and Ron finished lunch, he kept looking down the long aisle to see if Hermione was coming. He was sure she hadn't eaten yet, and they'd have to leave in a few minutes to get to Charms. It felt stupid to admit it, but he wanted to tell her what he had observed about Ginny and how it had hardly bothered him at all. He felt sure she'd be proud of him, something he found made him feel very satisfied with himself. But she hadn't shown yet, and he found himself tapping his foot in impatience.

“Ginny's been acting weird, hasn't she?” Ron said thoughtfully, his mouth still half full of his fourth sandwich. “I mean, she used to hang out with us but she's hardly ever around any more.”

Harry shrugged. He wasn't about to tell Ron anything, even though he was sure he knew where Ginny was spending her time these days. Ron looked at his watch, then glanced up at Harry. “I think I'm going to go see if I can find Ginny. I want to make sure she's all right.”

He snorted in disgust. “It's not `cause she's heartbroken about our breakup, Ron,” Harry said. “She just has better things to do with her time these days.” He was proud that the bitterness in his voice was comparatively light. He wished Hermione were there to notice it.

Ron huffed out an annoyed sigh. “Yeah, you keep saying that, but you won't tell me anything,” he said. Harry took a bite of his potatoes and kept silent. Ron waited a moment, then scowled. “Fine. See you in Charms.” He stalked off down the aisle.

Harry watched him go, irritated and defensive. He wasn't about to tell Ron that Ginny spent every free minute snogging Malfoy in empty classrooms. It was all going to hit the fan when they showed up at the Ball together, anyway. He scowled; it wasn't his problem any more. Ron and Ginny could deal with each other without him getting involved.

His scowl changed to a smile as Hermione bustled down the aisle toward his end of the Gryffindor table. She stopped to exchange a few words with Ron, then continued on her way toward him. Harry took a moment just to watch her. She had her heavy bag slung over her shoulder, causing her to tilt to one side, and a stack of even more books covered her entire upper body and was held in place by her chin. Her hair swung into her face and she shook her head trying to clear it out of her line of sight. It was such a typical vision of Hermione that Harry found himself soothed by the sheer normalcy of it. His smile widened as he jumped up from the bench and jogged up the aisle toward her.

“Hey,” he said, reaching out and stroking her hair back away from her face.

Hermione smiled in relief. “Thanks,” she said. “I never remember to put a clip in my hair until it's flying in my face again.”

“Let me take these,” Harry said, pulling the heavy stack of books out of her arms. She blinked in surprise. He had never done that before. He turned and led her back to where he had been sitting.

“Oh, all right,” she said. “I just spoke to Ron. He seemed irritated.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “He's worried about Ginny, `cause she doesn't hang out with us any more. I'm not about to tell him what she's up to, so he's mad at me.”

Hermione sighed. “Well, he'll find out soon enough, won't he? I mean, they'll show up at the Ball together and it won't be a secret any more.”

“That's what I thought,” said Harry, passing her the serving dishes. “I wanted to tell you…” he paused, and Hermione looked up from spooning food onto her plate. His face was pink, which she privately thought was adorable. She would never tell him that, though. She put a curious look on her face and waited for him to continue.

“I saw her and Malfoy sneak out of the Great Hall at the beginning of lunch,” he was turning even redder as he said it and his eyes were fixed on his plate instead of on her. “I knew where they were going, but I—I mean, it didn't really bother me. Not that much.” He raised his eyes anxiously to hers. He looked so sweet and vulnerable, she felt herself melting inside.

She smiled at him. “I'm glad, Harry.” The she added fiercely. “After what she did, she doesn't deserve for you to care.”

Harry's eyebrows shot up. “What?” he asked incredulously. “I thought you were the one who said I should be understanding!”

This time Hermione blushed. “I know I did,” she mumbled. “But she still shouldn't have done what she did.”

Harry laughed. Hermione's indignation on his behalf made him feel warm inside, and he thought that this might turn out to be a good day after all. “Thanks, `Mione,” he grinned.

Hermione's head shot up. `Mione? He had never called her that before. Nobody had ever called her that before. It was so sweet that tears came to her eyes and she had to look away. She grabbed blindly for her goblet of pumpkin juice so he wouldn't see.

Harry apparently didn't think anything of it, because he took another bite of his sausages and continued, “Where've you been, anyway? Library?”

“Oh, erm, no,” Hermione answered. She glanced over at him, wondering if she should tell him. But he was her best friend, after all. “I was…well, you won't believe this, and you have to promise not to tell anyone, all right?”

Harry gave her a puzzled look. “All right, then.”

Hermione beckoned him in close. He leaned in until their foreheads were touching. Hermione leaned in even closer and pressed her cheek against his. His skin was smooth today, unlike the other day when he hadn't shaved. She rested a hand against his other cheek to steady herself, but for a moment, that close to him, she couldn't remember what she was going to say. She pressed her cheek against his and closed her eyes.

“Hermione?” he said softly. He laid a hand on her shoulder.

She drew in her breath, flustered. “Oh, sorry. Erm, I was going to tell you, that Seamus asked me to the Fall Ball. I was really surprised.”

Harry drew back, his green eyes hard. He wasn't surprised, he had known, of course, that Seamus had planned to ask Hermione to the Ball. What surprised him was the violence of his reaction to hearing Hermione say it. He turned back to his plate. “What did you tell him?”

Hermione didn't miss Harry's sudden mood change. “I—well, I told him I was already going with you,” she said, confused. Harry clenched his jaw and turned away. “Harry, what's wrong? Should I—did you want me to tell him yes?”

Harry's head whipped back in her direction. “No! You're mine!”

There was a long silence while Hermione stared at him and Harry stared at her. He couldn't believe he had said that. That wasn't what he had meant at all. “I mean,” he stammered, “I mean you're my date. I don't… I thought we were going together. You're my date.”

“All right,” Hermione said carefully. She looked at him speculatively, her head cocked like she could figure out what was really going on inside him. He frowned and looked away. “All right, Harry,” she said gently. “I'm yours.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Hermione,” he said slowly, still not looking at her, “would you rather go with Seamus? I mean, you and I are just going as friends…”

“No, Harry,” Hermione said carefully. She had a sense that something had changed in the past few minutes, but she didn't quite understand it yet. “No, I want to go with you.” Then a thought struck her and she looked up at him anxiously. Crossing her arms over her chest, she slid a glance over at him. “Do…do you want to go with someone else?”

Harry looked back over at her with a fierce expression on his face. She didn't understand it, and it confused her, but deep down she felt something else, too. A thrill. The same thrill she had felt when she had found out that he had fought Ron because Ron had insulted her. It was a dark and hot feeling, and it left her a bit breathless. She bit her lip against the combined intensity of the two emotions.

Harry shook his head and gave her a small crooked smile. “No, I want to go with you. I think it'll be fun.”

Hermione smiled with relief. “That's good, then.” Harry smiled back and for a moment she felt that dark thrill again. She shook her head, wondering what was the matter with her. Harry was attractive, there was no doubt about that, but she wasn't attracted to him. They were best friends. Everyone knew that. Even so, sitting this close to him made her feel a bit edgy, and it was all she could do not to squirm.

She returned her attention to her lunch, though she could feel Harry's eyes on her. “You have Quidditch today?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “After dinner. Why?”

Hermione shrugged. “I have some stuff to do, so I thought that'd be a good time. I have to run into Hogsmeade.”

Harry was startled. “You do? Do you have permission to leave? If you wait until after Quidditch, I'll go with you.”

“No!” Hermione said, laughing. “I have to pick up my costume for the Fall Ball. You can't see it, it has to be a surprise!”

“It does?” Harry asked. “Oh, I didn't know that.”

Hermione laughed. “That's because you're a guy, Harry!”

“Er, right,” Harry said, giving her that crooked grin. He grabbed Hermione's arm and looked at her watch. “Hey, we'd better go, Charms in two minutes!” He grabbed up his own bag, then scooped up Hermione's books with one arm and absently held out a hand to help her climb off the bench. She took it and stood, but when she went to pull it away he was still hanging onto it, so she hitched up her bag on her other arm and let him lead her down the Great Hall.

Why had he said that? Harry made his way down to the Quidditch pitch for practice, his long stride covering the ground quickly. He was early, but he wanted a few minutes to fly before the rest of the team arrived. His thoughts and feeling had been churning all day, leaving him feeling irritable and restless. Why had he said that thing to Hermione, when she told him that Seamus had asked her to the Ball? His own words echoed in his head…you're mine…

He shook his head and climbed onto his broom, kicking off hard. The autumn breeze on his face and the sheer joy of moving at high speed helped to clear some of the confusion in his brain, put there by the spinning of the same thoughts over and over. He remembered the feeling of Hermione's breath on his cheek, on his ear as she whispered. He remembered the tingling that had spread down his body when she spoke in that breathy voice. He shifted uncomfortably on his broom as he looped the goalposts and sped in the other direction. He remembered the anger that was like a punch in the stomach when she told him about Seamus. He didn't know what that was about. He knew it was coming, why did it bother him so much?

He bent low over his broom and kicked up the speed to dangerous levels. Levels at which he would have to concentrate, to put everything else out of his head. He needed a break from his own confused emotions. The thrill of speed raced through him, giving him a feeling of euphoria and release. By the time he landed back on the pitch and the rest of the team was gathering in the locker room, he felt much clearer. He had made a mistake, that's all. He hadn't meant it like it sounded. You're mine… he ignored the mockery of the words as he gathered the rest of the team and ran through their plays, then got them back out on the field as soon as he could. He wanted to fly again, to work out the tension in competitive play, to find an outlet for the restless energy that was always bubbling under the surface these days.

Hermione hurried back up the walk to the castle, her packages tucked into her school bag. She had had her costume made by the seamstress down there, but she hadn't been able to resist stopping at the bookstore and picking up a new arithmancy book, too, then she had an inexplicable urge to buy a present for Harry. She had just picked out a bag of Chocolate Frogs, which she thought was a very appropriate gift that any friend might pick up for any other friend, when she remembered Ron. Cursing, she picked up another bag of Chocolate Frogs. After all, recent events notwithstanding, Ron was still supposed to be her other best friend. Last year she would have thought of them as a set, Harry and Ron, Ron and Harry, her two best friends. Until she started liking Ron, and Harry started liking Ginny…with a sigh she adjusted her bags and carefully made her way up the steep path.

A bit out of breath, she huffed up to Gryffindor Tower to put her packages away. She had missed dinner in her haste to get to the village before the shops closed, and now students were wandering into the common room with their books and parchments, reluctantly intending to settle down to homework. Hermione ran through her list of things to do in her head, then nodded to herself, satisfied that she had enough time to try on her costume before she began her Transfiguration essay.

Ginny was coming down the steps from her room just as Hermione reached her own landing. Hermione's first instinct was to ignore her; she still hadn't really forgiven Ginny for hurting Harry. Ginny paused awkwardly on the steps and the two girls stood there looking at each other for a moment. Hermione bit her lip. But then she remembered sitting in the common room with Harry and Ron; things weren't perfect, but she had them back. Maybe she could get Ginny back, too. She thought wryly to herself that she didn't have very many female friends. She shouldn't let go the one she could claim.

“Hi, Ginny,” she said.

“Hi,” Ginny answered cautiously.

“I just got back from Hogsmeade. I picked up my costume for the Ball. Would you like to help me try it on?” She knew she sounded too formal, but she couldn't help it. It was the best she could do.

A look passed across Ginny's face. Sadness, maybe? Hermione wasn't sure about her expression, but she could tell that Ginny was gathering her courage.

“Sure,” Ginny said, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. Hermione led her inside her dorm room. Ginny leaned against the poster of Hermione's bed as Hermione pulled out the pieces of her costume and laid them out. Ginny helped her fit everything properly, and Hermione was relieved that they could still talk and laugh together.

“Okay, where does this strappy thing go?” Ginny asked, holding up a leather scabbard and sword. “There doesn't seem to be any place to fasten it.”

Hermione considered the strap and buckle. “That's the baldric. I guess it just goes right across the middle,” she said, shrugging. She strapped it on, frowning at the feel of the leather against her bare skin.

“Do you have boots?” Ginny asked.

“Er…yes,” Hermione said, and she could feel her face glowing. “But I'm not sure… I don't know…” The boots had been an impulse purchase, and now she was anxious about them. They weren't exactly her style, but she had been thinking of Harry, of the way his eyes had flashed when he had said you're mine, and for some reason she found herself feeling uncharacteristically reckless.

Ginny had already reached for the last parcel on the bed. “Are these them?” she asked. “Let's see…oh, Merlin!” She began to laugh.

Hermione scowled and looked at the boots and then at Ginny. “What?”

“Oh, I don't know,” said Ginny with false casualness. “You and Harry are just going as friends, right?”

“Right,” Hermione said defensively. “Why?”

“Oh, Hermione,” said Ginny with a pitying look. “Let's just say that these boots make some promises the rest of you had better be prepared to keep.”

Hermione smiled with relief and shook her head. “Maybe with some guys, Ginny, but not with Harry. We don't think of each other like that.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Hermione, maybe you don't now, but when he sees you in this outfit, wearing these boots—he's only human, you know.”

Hermione bit her lip. “Is it too much?” she asked anxiously. “Am I being…I don't know… slutty? I just wanted something a bit different…”

Ginny sat on the bed and gave Hermione a long look. “You're not being slutty, Hermione. It's a sexy outfit, and blokes are going to notice, but you're basically covered.” She paused for a moment. “But, what would you do if Harry noticed, too? I mean, what if he made a move?”

Hermione sat down, the skirts of her costume flowing around her legs. She bit her lip. If she was honest, she had to admit that she had been very tempted to kiss Harry today at lunch. She had dismissed it as just a normal female reaction to a good-looking man, but what if Harry felt it, too? What if she made Harry feel it by wearing this suggestive costume? She looked up anxiously at Ginny.

“I don't know!” she said helplessly.

Ginny smiled kindly. “He's a great kisser, Hermione. You should see if it goes anywhere.”

“Would it bother you if he liked me?” Hermione asked, more out of curiosity than anything. She ignored the flutter in her stomach at the thought of Harry liking her, and she ignored the burn of jealousy at the thought of Harry still wanting Ginny.

Ginny shrugged and looked away, her ears turning pink. “I've got no right to be bothered, have I?”

Hermione cocked her head and studied Ginny. “No, but that doesn't mean you wouldn't be.”

Ginny sighed. “I'm sorry I hurt him, Hermione. I know you're mad at me. I didn't mean for it to happen that way. I'm glad he's got you now, though. I think you're better for him than I ever was.”

Hermione frowned. “He doesn't have me, Ginny,” she snapped. “But he is my best friend, and I'll do whatever it takes to help him feel better.”

Ginny wiggled her eyebrows. “Whatever it takes?” she asked suggestively.

“Oh, stop it!” Hermione said throwing pillow at Ginny.

Ginny laughed. “Sorry, I forgot, you're just friends. But, if he can't keep his hands off you Saturday, you should know that the decorations committee is going to be creating several little nooks and crannies around the Great Hall for people to sneak off to for some alone time.”

“Whatever,” Hermione mumbled. “Help me get out of this thing, will you?”

Harry had positioned himself at a table where he had a view of the girls' staircase. That way he could watch for Hermione while pretending not to watch for her. He hadn't seen her since Quidditch, but he knew she had to be back from Hogsmeade by now. They had to be very careful these days, and she wouldn't be out after dark by herself. But he knew he wouldn't relax until he saw for himself that she was back.

Movement on the steps caught his eye, and he glanced up from his Transfiguration book. But it wasn't Hermione, it was only Ginny. He frowned, and started to turn his eyes back to his book when he noticed she was heading over to his table. They hadn't spoken since the day he had caught her with Malfoy. He was getting over that, but that didn't mean he wanted to talk to her.

“Hi,” she said, sitting in the chair between Harry and Ron.

“Hi,” he said cautiously.

“Hi,” Ron said, giving her a severe look. “Where are you off to?”

“None of your business,” she said, sharing a glance with Harry and rolling her eyes. Harry didn't join her in the teasing look as he might have done before. Instead he just waited to see what she wanted.

“Harry,” she said, turning her back on Ron, “I was wondering, what are you dressing up as for the Ball?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “I dunno,” he said. “Merlin or Gandalf or something, I guess.”

Ginny rolled her eyes again, and muttered, “Men.” Then she met his gaze and said, “Look, Hermione's put a lot of thought into her costume. Do you know who Grace O'Malley is?”

“What?” Harry asked, confused. “Did Grace O'Malley make Hermione's costume?”

“No, no, no,” Ginny sighed, shaking her head. “I don't want to spoil it, but Hermione's going as Grace O'Malley. She was a pirate queen, all right? So dress yourself accordingly.”

“Hermione's going as a pirate?” Harry asked, enjoying the image. “That should be cute.”

Ginny gawped at him. “Cute? Oh, you poor boy.” She shook her head. “Fine, she'll be cute. You'll be dead on the floor, and Hermione will be cute.” She gave him another pitying look, then got up to leave. “Don't tell her I told you, okay?”

Harry glanced up at her. “Why did you tell me?”

Ginny shrugged. “I owed you. Don't screw it up.”

Harry nodded, and Ginny got up and left through the portrait hole. Harry watched her go, feeling some of his bitterness drain out as she left. Maybe they could all get back to normal after all. Then all thoughts of Ginny left his head as Hermione came down the stairs, her arms full of books, as usual.

She smiled at him as she approached their table, and Harry felt his stomach flutter. She really was pretty, he thought. He wasn't interested in her that way, of course, which did not explain why he had freaked out when she told him Seamus had asked her to the Ball, but even as a friend he could admit she was very attractive. He shifted in his chair a bit.

“I got you something,” she said, setting her books down on the table.

“Did you?” Harry said, pleased and surprised. Ron looked up curiously.

“Yes,” she said, and drew the bags of Chocolate Frogs out of her robe pockets. She handed one to Harry. Harry's pleasure in the gift dimmed a bit as she gave one to Ron, too. Ron smiled at her as she sat between them.

“Hey, thanks, Hermione,” he said, tearing one open and catching it on the first jump.

“You're welcome,” she said brightly. “I just thought I'd get something for my two best friends while I was down at Hogsmeade.”

Ron grinned, but Harry clenched his jaw. Ron said, “I'm glad we're still friends, Hermione.”

“Of course we are, Ron,” Hermione said, smiling at him. Harry ripped one of his own frogs open and considered smashing it, but knew that Hermione would probably be offended by that. Instead he pinched it between his fingers and took a careful bite out of it. Of course they were friends. He didn't want that to change. Nothing was changed. They were all friends. They were the Trio, the Dream Team, everyone knew that. It was stupid to be bothered when she smiled at Ron like that. Hermione and Ron were friends, Hermione and he were friends, he and Ron were friends. They were one big friendly—whatever.

Harry swallowed his frog and shoved his chair back from the table. He wasn't going to be able to concentrate on Transfiguration in this stupid, friendly atmosphere. He was such an idiot, it was probably better to get out of here before he and Ron got into another fight.

“I'm—“ he broke off, having no idea what he was going to do. Hermione turned toward him, the smile she had been giving Ron still beaming on her face. “I'm going to get something from the kitchens,” he said, desperate to think of an excuse to leave.

Without waiting for an answer he stalked off to the portrait hole. He heard Ron call after him, “Hey, mate, bring me back some of those éclairs, will you?” but he ignored him.

He ended up on the grounds, walking over them with all the energy given to him by his confusion and anger. He shoved a hand through his hair. Why the hell was he angry? He headed down the slope toward the lake, noticing absently that Hagrid's lights were on again. He briefly considered visiting Hagrid, he hadn't really talked with him in a couple of weeks, but decided against it. He knew he wasn't very good company tonight; he had been edgy and disgruntled all day, and now he was flipping out because Hermione had bought him and Ron the same present. Because he and Ron were her friends.

He dragged his hand through his hair and slowed his pace as he approached the lakeshore. He walked around it, out of the castle's line of vision. His headache was coming back, a remnant of stress, his eye injury, and the low-grade throbbing of his scar. He looked out over the water and took a deep breath, relaxing his shoulders. He knew what his problem was. He was acting like a jealous idiot, when there was no reason to be jealous. For one thing, Hermione wasn't interested in Seamus or Ron or anyone else. For another, he was not in love with Hermione, so he should be happy for her if she was interested in someone. He rubbed his neck absently with one hand and gave a soft, mocking smile. Suddenly tired, he walked even farther away from the castle, rather than toward it. He was too tired to explain to Hermione and Ron where he had been or what he was doing.

Eventually he dropped down on the rock he and Hermione liked to sit on, brushing away a new covering of dry brown leaves that had fallen since yesterday. It was cold; the October night was getting brisk, and he wrapped his robe closer around himself. Drawing his knees up, he rested his elbows on them and began to rub his temples.

“Let me do that,” said a soft exasperated voice behind him. His head whipped up and he spun around.

Hermione stood under a tree at the edge of the forest, the golden leaves and the moonlight above her making shadows play across her face and hair. She watched him silently for a minute, until he shrugged and turned his gaze back to the lake. Then she sloshed through the golden leaves lying on the ground beneath the tree and came and sat directly behind him on the rock. Harry frowned. Why was she sitting there?

“Here,” she said, shoving a sweatshirt around him and onto his lap.

“Thanks,” he said, touched but not surprised that Hermione would think about the night temperature. He certainly hadn't thought of it, until he found himself sitting chilled on a rock beside the lake. But Hermione thought of everything. Quickly he stripped off his robe and pulled the sweatshirt on, and threw the robe to the side.

“Get up,” Hermione said shortly.

He could tell she was in a strange mood herself, so he did what she said, and stood up next to the boulder. Without moving from where she sat cross-legged, she grabbed up his robe and spread it out in front of her.

“Lie down,” she commanded him, gesturing to the robe.

“Er…what?” Harry asked, with a strange leap of his stomach.

“Lie down and put your head in my lap.”

“I…why?”

“You have a headache, right?” she snapped. He nodded. “Just do it, all right?”

Puzzled, and a bit wary of her in this mood, he did as he was told. He laid his head in the cradle of her crossed legs and looked up through the autumn trees into the night sky. Then she gently removed his glasses and the tree branches and clouds became pleasantly blurry. Her fingers came to rest on his temples and she took a deep breath. Putting away, for the moment, her own conflicted feelings, she began to rub in slow, firm circles. A soft “Mmmm…” escaped from Harry's throat and she closed her eyes for a moment.

As Hermione continued to rub Harry's temples, his breathing evened out. She wondered if he was falling asleep, and decided that it would be all right with her if he were. His eyes were closed and it gave her a chance to study his face. His thick black hair was sticking up, away from his face, so she knew he had run his hand through it as he often did when he was thinking or when he was frustrated. Her fingers continued to move in circles away from his temples to his forehead, where she tried to smooth out the lines made by pain and thought. She rubbed near his hairline, then down to the bridge of his nose, then, after a moment's hesitation, she rubbed his scar. It was the first time she had actually touched his scar, she thought in amazement.

“Does that hurt?” she whispered.

“No,” he answered in a sleepy voice. “Feels better.”

She rubbed his forehead a bit longer, then returned to his temples. The moon continued to rise, and the breeze blew from the forest behind them out onto the lake, blowing golden leaves over them and into the water. In what she hoped was a subtle movement, she skimmed her knuckles over the skin of his jaw, which was faintly scratchy again. Sighing, she removed her hands from his face and leaned back on them, his head still resting in her lap. A wave of fierce protectiveness washed over her; he had been through so much. Her hands clenched into fists against the rock. She would do anything to keep him from more suffering. Even as she thought it a sad voice inside told her that she wouldn't be able to do that. Suffering was going to come to all of them, but especially Harry.

“Then I'll do what I can,” she vowed silently, looking down on his face again. “I'll make everything as good for him as it can be until then.” A tear escaped the corner of her eye and ran down the side of her nose; she wiped it away before it could fall onto Harry's face and disturb him. As she glanced down at him, she was startled to see that his eyes were open and he was looking up at her. The moonlight made his eyes glow a deep dark green.

“All right, then, `Mione?” he asked softly.

She nodded. “Never better,” she answered in the same voice, barely above a whisper.

“My head feels better,” he said, with a bit of surprise in his voice. “How'd you do that?”

She shrugged. How did she explain to him that where he was concerned, she often knew instinctively what to do?

Harry sat up and scooted back so that he was sitting next to her, and they both faced out over the lake together. “Why were you crying, `Mione?”

“Oh, I wasn't, really,” she said. “Just thinking.”

Harry looked over at her skeptically. He couldn't read her expression; her face was faintly blurry in the dim light. He waited until she looked up at him. Then he held out his arms. She leaned into them, content to sit beside him and rest her head on his shoulder. But that wasn't what Harry had in mind. As she leaned he thrust one arm beneath her legs and scooped her onto his lap.

“Harry, please!” she objected, pushing against his muscular chest, trying not to be thrilled at how easily he had simply grabbed her up. “I'm too heavy!”

Harry gave her an incredulous look. “Are you kidding?”

“No! I—“ But her face was inches from his and she was on his lap! For the second time that day, his nearness made her forget what she was going to say. ”All right, then,” she said, giving up her argument. She looped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his shoulder.

He held her to him. Hermione always made him feel better. He didn't know what she had been thinking that made her cry, but he wanted to fix it for her. He wanted to make her feel like everything was going to be okay, the way she was always able to do for him. They sat like that until the moon was fully risen and they knew it must be going on midnight. With a sigh, he stood up with Hermione in his arms, ignoring how pleased he was at her impressed look, and set her gently on her feet beside him. On an impulse he didn't question, he lifted her chin and bent his head and kissed her softly on the mouth. His heart was beating so fast he was sure she could hear it. As he pressed his lips to hers, Harry heard Hermione draw in a breath and he froze. What was he doing? He was going to ruin everything. He started to pull back, wondering wildly what he would say to her.

But at that moment, Hermione's body leaned into his. It was just the slightest motion, but it served to press her lips to his again. He closed his eyes, he could feel himself trembling, he could feel her trembling, then she hesitantly parted her lips. Harry pulled her closer, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her again. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered that there was no way he was going to be able to explain this away as a friendly show of affection. Their mouths were open, sliding over each other, his tongue was tasting her wet lips. Her arms were around his neck and her hand thrust up into his hair, her tongue met his. He raised his hands to her face and put them on her cheeks, pulling her closer, he had to get closer, he had to take this kiss as deep as it would go. The breeze was cool on his hot skin. Hermione gasped softly for breath.

The sound of that small gasp shocked Harry to his senses. Abruptly he released her, and she stumbled slightly as he moved away. For a moment her eyes remained closed, then when they opened they were wide and dark. She lifted her fingers to her lips, looking bemused.

“I—I'm sorry,” Harry whispered. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to--- please don't be mad at me!”

Hermione gave a shaky laugh. “No, I'm not mad, Harry. I just---“ she took a deep breath and shook her head. “I think we should go back.”

Harry shoved his hands in his pockets, mostly because he didn't trust them right now. “All right, then. Let's go back.”

As he started to walk away from the boulder on which they stood, the breeze kicked up again and a shower of golden leaves fell from the tree above them, swirling around their bodies. Hermione let her head fall back as the crisp air caressed her skin, and for a moment Harry just watched her. After a few beats, she shook her head and gave him a distracted smile, then turned and walked back down the path, leaving Harry to follow after her.

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This Night is Mine

Chapter 4- The Fall Ball

“'Hermione?” She jumped, then felt her face burning as he realized it was Harry standing over her.

Her hands flew to her face. “What? Oh, sorry…I was just…”

“Lost in space?” Harry suggested, his dark eyebrows raised.

“Yes,” Hermione smiled, “something like that.”

He was still wearing his Quidditch robes from that morning's practice. Behind him she saw a few members of the team stomp through the common room and toward their staircases, though she knew Ron and Ginny would not be among them. They always went directly to eat before anything else.

Harry smiled and held out his hand. “Ready for lunch?” he asked. She put her hand in his and let him pull her out of her chair. He made to hang onto it, but she deliberately pulled it away and slipped it into the pocket of her robe. Harry looked at her and his face went slightly red, then he shrugged and headed toward the door. Unsure what his reaction meant, she sighed and followed.

The truth was, the past couple of days had been full of moments like that. She shook her head as she climbed through the portrait hole behind him. A few days ago, he would have held out a hand and helped her through, but today he just shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for her. She missed the feel of her hand in his, it had been so easy, so friendly, and she loved the way the long fingers and calloused skin felt against hers. But she had to back off, she had to limit how much she could let herself touch him, be touched by him, because she found herself in the middle of a most inconvenient phase. She was attracted to her best friend.

She was well aware it was just a phase—hadn't she been attracted to nearly every boy in the upper years at some point? Harry, Ron, Dean, Seamus, Harry again, that weird time where she had entertained some star-crossed lovers fantasies about Malfoy, until Malfoy had tried to hex Harry, which had put a stop to that. She had had a brief crush on Percy Weasley their third year, when Percy was Head Boy, and even on George Weasley, though not Fred, because George was the more sensitive of the twins. Harry again, Ernie MacMillan, Terry Boot, when he had said that thing fifth year about her being so smart, Professor Lupin, Harry. Then Ron had started to show real interest in her, and her feelings were pulled in his direction. And now Harry again.

She knew it had to just be a passing attraction, but the problem was that there was a lot more at stake this time than in all the others. Harry was her best friend, he knew her like nobody else in the world did, not even Ginny or Ron knew her like Harry did. What if she made a pass at him and made things awkward between them? It wouldn't be worth it. Not for just a few stolen kisses. Not even hot, mind melting kisses like that one by the lake….not even kisses that turned her bones to jelly and made her tingle in places she couldn't talk about…Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head sharply. Nothing would be worth losing Harry's friendship.

Harry was quiet as they walked down the several staircases between Gryffindor Tower and the Great Hall. He was kicking himself inwardly, again. He wasn't entirely stupid; he had noticed that Hermione was keeping her distance since two nights ago when they had sat out by the lake together. The night that he had kissed her. You're such a prat, Potter, he told himself for the hundredth time. What the hell were you thinking? But he hadn't been thinking. It had been…he didn't know. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure it out. It had been like they were in someplace unreal, someplace else, and it was beyond his control, it was inevitable, he had to kiss her. But he knew now he shouldn't have done it. He should have controlled himself. Hermione was his best friend, he couldn't make it without her. If he drove her away, what would he do?

They reached the Great Hall and settled on the benches next to Ron and Ginny. Fortunately, Ron and Ginny were engaged in an argument and didn't notice the lack of conversation coming from Harry and Hermione.

“C'mon, Gin,” Ron said, swallowing a bite of shepherd's pie. “I'm going to find out tonight anyway.”

“No way,” Ginny said, shaking her head adamantly. “Look, Ron, it's none of your business, and I don't want to start a fight, okay?”

“Your date to the Ball is something that would cause a fight?” Ron asked grimly.

“Yes,” Ginny said in an exasperated voice, “which is why I'm not telling you. Or any of those other gits who call themselves my brothers.”

“Geez, Gin, what's the deal?” Ron asked in annoyance. “You dating a teacher or something?”

“Go to hell, Ron,” Ginny said sweetly. Ron started to object again, but Ginny pulled out her wand and said, “Silencio!” leaving Ron gaping like a fish. With a wave at Harry and Hermione, Ginny grabbed up a cake and left the table. Hermione released Ron from Ginny's spell.

Harry turned to Ron and said, “You still want to come with me to Hogsmeade after lunch?”

Ron was still looking disgruntled and watching after Ginny, but he nodded. “Yeah, I've got to pick up some things, too. You about ready?”

Hermione frowned at Harry. “Why are you going to Hogsmeade today?”

“Pick up my costume,” Harry said.

“Really?” Hermione thought of her own costume and blushed. “What are you going as?”

“Can't tell,” Harry grinned smugly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed. “All right, fine. Don't tell me. But you're supposed to help the band set up at six, all right? I'll be getting ready by then.”

Harry nodded and Hermione left the Great Hall, and Ron and Harry walked out the front doors and headed toward Hogsmeade.

*******************************

It was almost like a slumber party, and though Hermione was dreadfully nervous, she couldn't help but enjoy the group of girls crowded into her dorm room. At five o'clock, Ginny had appeared at her door with Luna, both of them with their arms full. She had looked nervous, but her jaw was set in that stubborn Weasley way.

“Er…if it's all right…” Ginny had stammered, “I thought it'd be fun…you know…we could all get ready together.”

Luna reached into a bag that was hanging from her elbow. “I didn't think we'd want to eat in the Great Hall, so I brought snacks.” She pulled out a package of something Hermione had never seen before, and Hermione raised an eyebrow. Luna, however, just beamed at her and didn't offer an explanation.

“Erm…all right,” Hermione said hesitantly. She still hadn't entirely forgiven Ginny for hurting Harry, but she was trying. Still, after being kissed by Harry, even if it could never happen again, she was grateful that Ginny had been such an idiot. She could understand it even less than before, but she was grateful.

Ginny grinned in relief and Luna floated in dreamily. They started to lay their things out on Hermione's bed, piece by piece. Hermione was about to ask about their costumes when two more girls walked in.

“Hi, girls!” said Parvati cheerfully. Her twin, Padma, smiled at them. Hermione knew that Padma was definitely the more serious of the two girls, though she was just as lovely as her sister. “We thought we'd get ready together, since we have matching costumes.”

“That sounds fun,” said Hermione, “what are you…” but she was interrupted again as Lavender and Susan Bones walked in the door. They had costumes floating in front of them and it took Hermione a minute to realize who was there. By the time she could greet them, they had crossed the room. Soon, the girls were all sitting around in dressing gowns or simply in bras and panties. Hermione hesitated; she was usually a private person, but tonight she felt a strange longing just to be one of the girls. Summoning her courage, she stripped off her robe and the jumper underneath it, then slid out of her jeans. She slipped on her dressing gown and sat down at her vanity, looking at her face.

“What will you do with your hair?” said Luna from behind her.

“And your make-up?” Ginny added, joining them at the dressing table. Ginny was giving her a very calculating look, and Hermione wasn't sure she trusted it.

“And your unmentionables?” Luna said. Hermione blushed, but Luna just waited with a dreamy patience for her answer.

“Well,” Hermione began nervously, “I'm not—”

“Hang on,” Ginny interrupted. She turned and called across the room. “Parvati? Can we get a glass of that over here? Hermione needs a drink.”

Hermione frowned. “A drink of what?”

Ginny smiled innocently. “It's just butterbeer, Hermione.”

“Oh, all right,” Hermione said, relieved. Parvati brought over a glass filled with butterbeer and set it down in front of Hermione. Hermione took a sip, then looked into the glass suspiciously. “It tastes funny.”

Ginny shrugged. “It's probably a bit stale. Anyway, let's start at the inside and work our way out. Have you shaved your legs? Pits? Bikini line?”

“Er…yesterday,” Hermione said.

“Not good enough,” Ginny announced, as Luna handed her her wand. Resigned to their friendly bullying, Hermione ran her wand up and down her legs and mumbled the charm. In the mirror she could see that other girls were doing the same thing. She let out a breath. This really was rather fun. Ginny and Luna had their legs propped up on the bed. Hermione took a sip of her butterbeer, thinking it wasn't that bad, even if it was a bit stale.

“All right, what next?”

Within minutes, the room full of girls had glistening wet nails drying the natural way, while feet were propped up and hands were draped over chairs safely out of harm's way. Every girl sipped at her butterbeer as they talked.

“Parvati and Padma, who are you going with?” Hermione asked, beginning to feel quite contented.

The twins answered in unison, “Dean and Seamus.” Parvati glanced at her sister and teased, “Padma's liked Seamus for ages, she's just been too shy to ask him out. So, they didn't get together until almost the last minute.”

“Oh, don't tease!” wailed Padma in what Hermione was sure was real distress.

“Who's your date, Susan?” Luna asked, distracting Parvti from teasing her twin.

Susan wriggled her eyebrows. “Neville Longbottom.”

The girls burst into laughter, joined by Susan herself. “I know, I know,” she said, grinning. “But you'd be surprised at young Neville these days, girls. I've been bringing him along for some time now, and he's a fast learner. Tonight could be the night.”

A chorus of “Ooooohhhhhh,” echoed through the room, and Hermione was surprised to find herself joining in. She was feeling much more relaxed than she had been earlier. She looked down at the bright red polish on her fingers and toes. That wasn't like her, but at the moment she thought it was pretty. She held up her hands to the light, admiring them, until she heard her name.

“Hermione's going with Harry, right, Hermione?” Lavender asked.

Hermione felt her face burn. “Yes, but we're—”

Ginny snorted. “You're not going to start on that just friends garbage again, are you, Hermione?”

Hermione frowned. “Well, yes, because that's exactly what---”

Ginny cut her off impatiently. “So, why is our fine upstanding Head Girl the proud new owner of a wild woman belly ring?”

The other girls shrieked and laughed, and bombarded Hermione with choruses of “let's see!” With a death glare at Ginny, Hermione opened the fold of her robe and showed them the small gold stud pierced into the rim of her navel.

“I just thought it was…well, piratey,” Hermione mumbled, trying to shrug off their teasing. She was a bit shy about it, but part of her found it very gratifying that the other girls were impressed.

“Oy, that's right, “Ginny said, “It's just `cause of the costume. Nothing else making our Head Girl feel wild is there?”

“No, of course not!” Hermione denied feebly.

Lavender piped up, “Because you and Harry are just friends?” she asked in an exaggeratedly skeptical voice.

“Yes, of course!”

Ginny pulled out her wand and finished drying her nails with a quick swish. “Girls, I ask you,” she said to the room at large, “are these the kinds of thing a girl gets to go out with a bloke who is just a friend?” She dove under the bed and pulled out a box.

Hermione gasped. “Oh, no, Ginny, don't—“

Ginny reached into the box. “We have…the push-up bra!”

She was greeted by a chorus of giggles and oohs. She pulled out the next item.

“The satin thong!”

The girls applauded and laughed some more. Hermione clapped her hands over her face. She couldn't look. She was both laughing and red with embarrassment.

“The garter belt!” Ginny tossed it in the air and it landed back on top of her head. Hermione giggled at the sight of Ginny with a garter belt hanging in her hair.

“The silk stockings!” Ginny twirled them around, and Hermione leaned back in her chair in a fit of laughter. She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed this hard.

“And finally, for a date with just a friend….” Ginny reached into the box and pulled out… “…the fuck-me boots!” The girls squealed and cheered and clapped.

“Damn!” Susan shook her hand like it had been burned. “You're going to look totally hot, Hermione. He might just be a friend, but that doesn't mean you can't get a little action from him! That's how Neville and I started!”

Hermione knew her face was blazing red, so to cover it she took another drink of her butterbeer. That emptied it, so Luna gently took it from her and filled it for her. Hermione was fairly sure it wasn't just butterbeer they were drinking, and for a moment debated whether she should say anything. She was Head Girl, after all. Then she shook her head and decided she could use some more of whatever it was the girls had spiked it with, so she should probably just keep quiet.

Hermione was grateful that the conversation turned to Parvati and Dean so the attention shifted away from her. She couldn't help but notice that these girls all seemed to have plans for a lot of intense sexual activity this evening. She frowned, wondering if, as Head Girl, she should say something about that. Then she shook her head and took another drink. If she said anything, it would only be out of jealousy. If they were lucky enough to have boyfriends, good for them. And for once in her life, she didn't feel like wearing the Head Girl hat tonight.

In the next hour, Hermione and the others laughed and giggled as they tried out different hairstyles, swapped shoes, searched for just the right jewelry, and doused their bodies in perfumes until it was hard to breathe. Finally, it was time for the very last step, the donning of the costumes.

It seemed almost ceremonial to Hermione as the first of the actual costume pieces went on over the carefully arranged bras, panties, garters, and even shoes. In a way, she thought dreamily, it was almost a ritual, the females dressing each other for the ancient rites of passage….her thoughts became steamy as she thought about going through those rites of passage with her date.

“So, Hermione,” Padma asked as she straightened the bangles across her waist, “who exactly is Grace O'Malley?”

“Oh, she was an amazing person!” Hermione said, pleased that someone had asked. “She's even recorded in Muggle history, though they don't know she was a witch, of course.”

“So, I take it she was some kind of pirate?” Padma said, cocking one dark eyebrow.

“Yes. Well, at first she was a businesswoman; she ran her family's shipping business, and she only pirated on the side. But the English commandeered all their assets and gave away their lands, so out of revenge she took to the seas and started raiding English ships,” Hermione said breathlessly, as her enthusiasm grew. “She was their queen, she had over two hundred men following her, until Queen Elizabeth had to negotiate with her face to face, she was causing them so much trouble.”

“Wow, that's a great story,” Padma said. “Of course, if she dressed like this, it's no wonder two hundred men followed her. You may find yourself with that many following you tonight!”

Hermione's costume was finally complete, boots and all. She stood in front of the mirror and tried to look at herself critically, but found that her critical skills were less than they should be at the moment. She had to admit that she did look pretty sexy, with her hair done in a windswept style like she had just come from the bow of a ship, her nails and lips a deep, dark red, and her bare midriff bordered by satin and leather. Maybe Harry would think so, too, she thought, and she giggled to herself. Then she stopped herself, frowning. She'd been giggling a lot tonight. She never giggled. Then she shrugged, figuring it must be the excitement of the evening. She walked carefully over to her nightstand; her boots had three-inch spike heels, and they were taking some getting used to. She stood and sipped her butterbeer while she watched the other girls finish.

“Who are you supposed to be, Susan?” she asked. Susan was wearing a form fitting, floor length silver dress, with heels every bit as high as Hermione's own. Her auburn hair had been changed to a vivid platinum blonde, and there was a new mole over her lip. The slit in the skirt of the dress reached up nearly to her hip.

“Marilyn Monroe,” Susan answered. “I figured she was totally sexy, and she was a full-figured girl like me, so I thought it would work.”

“It works,” Hermione assured her. “I think you're the only one of us who could really fill up, er, I mean, fill out that dress.”

“Who's Marilyn Monroe?” Ginny asked curiously. Hermione and Susan burst into laughter. Things seemed funnier than usual tonight.

“She was a Muggle actress in the 50's,” Hermione explained, taking another sip of her butterbeer. “A total sex symbol.” She looked around again as she stood to fill her glass. Parvati and Padma were dressed in matching belly-dancer costumes, with gold chains around their bare midriffs and layers of gauzy jewel-colored material floating around them. Only their kohl-lined eyes could be seen clearly behind their veils. They looked exotic and mysterious, and Hermione smiled wryly, thinking that while she herself might achieve sexy, she was pretty sure exotic and mysterious were beyond her.

Ginny's costume was similar to the Patils' in theme; she wore emerald green harem pants and a short, emerald green gauzy blouse. The pants were slit up each side, showing a long length of creamy thigh, and the shirt left her well-toned abdomen entirely bare. Hermione noticed that she had placed an emerald in her navel, and looked at it jealously. It was the perfect touch to Ginny's costume, but it also matched Harry's eyes when they had burned that hot green after he had kissed her. Hermione looked away for a moment, unwilling to remember that he must have once looked at Ginny like that, too.

The most magical costume had to be Luna's. Luna seemed just to be wrapped around in gauzy sparkly material, so fine that it could barely be seen. She seemed to be walking in mist and glitter, and while on the one hand, it left little to the imagination, on the other hand, it teased, leaving nothing bare when you tried to look at it. Except Luna's legs, they were bare, and Hermione thought jealously that Luna probably had the most beautiful legs she had ever seen. They were long and muscular, making Hermione think Luna might have been a ballet dancer when she was younger.

“Are you a fairy, Luna?” Hermione asked. “Or a nymph?”

“Yes,” Luna answered dreamily. “An air nymph, that rides the wind.”

“Well, girls, it's ten of seven,” Susan announced. “Are we ready?”

Hermione took one last glace at herself, and wasn't entirely displeased with the effect. Ginny came up and stood behind her. “You'll knock him dead, Hermione, even if he is just a friend.”

Hermione nodded gratefully. Then she turned to Susan and the other girls and grinned. “Ready as I'll ever be. Let's go.”

*****************************************

Harry raced up to the shower and stepped into it quickly. It would only take him a few minutes to get ready, but he was all sweaty from helping the band lift heavy equipment and then place the spells on everything so that it would be loud enough. The Great Hall looked amazing, he thought, with reluctant respect for Ginny. She had done a great job.

Ten minutes later he was in his room, dried off, trying to figure out how to strap the damn dagger to his side. He had decided not to shave, because he was, after all, a pirate. He thought some evening shadow would enhance the look. The other men in his room were already dressed, and Harry noticed that Dean and Seamus, at least, had made a dent in a bottle of firewhiskey.

“What're you lot supposed to be?” Harry asked. The others were all wearing robes, unlike Harry, who was clad in black trouser, tall black boots, and a white shirt. The red sash and leather baldric for the dagger were supposed to complete his costume, but they were still lying on the bed.

“Merlin,” said Seamus.

“Gandalf,” said Dean, who was clad in shining white robes.

“Merlin,” said Neville, whose robes were a resplendent violet, as opposed to Seamus' royal blue ones.

“Ethelred the Ever-Ready,” said Ron, who looked exactly like Neville, Seamus, and Dean, though in robes of maroon. “Bloke who lived about seven hundred years ago and liked to curse everyone he saw.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Really romantic, Ron.”

“So, who're you, then, Harry?” Neville asked, eyeing his pirate costume doubtfully.

“Donal O'Flaherty,” Harry answered promptly. The others stared at him. Harry grinned. “He was a wealthy Irish wizard, he owned about a trillion ships, and his wife was a pirate queen. I heard he had a really bad temper, too, though,” he said thoughtfully, eyeing Ron.

“That's nothing like us, right, mate?” Ron said, grinning mischievously.

“Right,” Harry said, punching Ron in the shoulder.

Seamus carefully stashed his bottle of firewhiskey in his robe pocket. “Ready to go then, chaps?”

Harry took a deep breath. He hoped Hermione wasn't going to keep her distance tonight like she had the past few days. He just wanted things to be right between them, so he wasn't going to think about that kiss by the lake any more. Especially since these pirate trousers were a little too tight to allow him to entertain such thought in comfort. Anyway, they were going as friends.

“Ready as I'll ever be,” he said, strapping on his dagger, and the men made their way down to the common room to wait for their dates.

Harry's eyes grew round as their dates started to descend the girls' staircase one at a time. He almost didn't recognize Susan Bones with that pale hair. To a man, their mouths fell open, as their eyes ran up and down her body, from the long expanse of leg to the generous bosom that was nearly spilling out of the shimmering bodice. She approached the group, and next to Harry Neville swayed on the spot.

Harry glanced at him. Neville looked both terrified and starving. Harry looked back at Susan. She had a smug smile on her face, and Harry knew she knew exactly how she was affecting Neville. Harry grinned and slapped Neville on the back. Neville seemed to come out of a trance, for he stepped forward, stumbling a bit on his own feet, and took Susan's hand. Her glossy fingernails shone in the firelight.

Lavender came down next, dressed as a cheerleader, and Harry found himself wondering before he could stop himself if she was wearing anything under that tiny skirt. Ginny joined her, looking both exotic and mischievous in her dark green harem costume, and the two girls waved goodbye as they headed toward the portrait hole. Harry watched Ginny go, and felt a flicker of both anger and desire, and was pleased to note how quickly both of those feelings passed.

The Patil twins were next, in their belly-dancing outfits, with the chains draped over their hips clinking gently as they walked. Seamus and Dean gave each other a high-five before stepping forward to offer their arms to their ladies.

Then Luna descended the staircase, and it was as though she simply floated. Her feet were bare, her hair was loose and free, and she almost seemed to be nude, except for the whisps of gossamer which covered her shapely body. Harry glanced over at Ron, whose eyes seemed to have glazed over.

Ron swallowed audibly. “Hi—” He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hi, Luna,” he said, apparently relieved that his voice had worked this time. “You look…God, you're amazing!”

Luna gave him a radiant smile and laid her hand on his cheek. Harry looked way and returned his gaze to the stairs, but was totally unprepared for the sight that greeted his eyes. Hermione was coming down the steps, but it was Hermione as he had never seen her. If she had been a pirate queen, she would have had no trouble getting two hundred men to follow her, he thought. She wore a white linen shirt much like his, except that hers was low cut and off the shoulder, showing a great deal of her graceful shoulders and the swell of her bosom. The shirt had sleeves, long, flowing ones, but it had no middle. It seemed to cut off directly under her breasts, where it was bordered by a red silk sash that seemed to push her breasts up.

God, what was wrong with him? He wasn't supposed to be looking at Hermione's breasts. Hermione was supposed to be his friend, she wasn't even supposed to have breasts. He shook his head as he realized dimly that that thought made no sense, and his eyes continued to take her in as though they had a will of their own. She wore a black skirt that was slung low, very low, on her hips, and was topped by another red silk sash, and she had a golden stud in her navel. Her leather baldric hung across the red silk, the sword hanging parallel to her leg, and the contrast of the images—red silk, white linen, black leather, and smooth pale skin—made Harry sway much as Neville had. His mouth went dry, then it started to water.

But there was more. Oh, Merlin, was she trying to kill him? The skirt was drawn up high on one side, so high that he could see a garter peeking out from under it. And she was wearing boots. His knees buckled, and Ron, without taking his eyes off Hermione, either, reached out and grabbed his elbow before he fell. These were the most incredible boots Harry had ever seen. They hugged her legs all the way up past her knees, and they had these thin spiky heels. And they went all the way up her thighs…

Harry's eyes flicked to her face, and he knew he must look like his mates had looked moments before. Terrified, but starving. That was how he felt. He met Hermione's eyes, and didn't see any of the shyness or self-consciousness he had expected. Instead he saw red lips, wild hair, and a challenging expression. She was totally confident of her power. Sweet Merlin, where had this pirate queen come from?

Neville reached out and gave him a small shove, and he stumbled forward. Hermione watched him as he walked toward her, and she glanced up and down his body the way he had done to her a minute ago. Then she licked her lips, and Harry felt himself start to tremble. Without a word, because he couldn't think of any, his head was completely empty, he held out an arm to her. She laced her hand through it and clung to it, and Harry saw that her nails were shiny and bright red. He ran his other hand through his hair, making his bandana go a bit crooked, to relieve some of the tension. It didn't work.

Hermione glanced up at Harry through her very thick dark lashes. He looked amazing, and she didn't miss that those tight trousers didn't hide anything. Her fingers itched to caress his cheeks where she noticed he hadn't shaved, and she promised herself she would later. She felt confident, uninhibited, and full of her own power. She wondered briefly what had been in that butterbeer she had been drinking, but even if her powers of logic weren't what they should be, her instincts suddenly seemed painfully sharp. A woman would have to be pretty stupid not to see the lust in Harry's eyes, and Hermione was not a stupid woman. She knew desire when she saw it, and it was directed at her.

Promptly at seven, they made their way into the Great Hall. It looked like the Decorating Committee had brought the Forbidden Forest inside the castle; there were trees with vibrantly colored leaves, clearings with tables set in them and hundreds of fairy lights dancing around the room. Tables of snacks and punch were tucked discreetly into corners, and Harry noticed Seamus making his way toward one punch bowl while drawing his bottle out of his pocket. Harry made a note of it; he wasn't sure when he might need a drink of something stronger than punch. This evening was turning out to be as tense as he had feared, but for entirely different reasons.

The band was set up on a stage that was transfigured to look like a large tree stump. As soon as most of the students had wandered into the Great Hall, the lead singer took the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “on behalf of the band, I'd like to welcome you to the Seven Hundred Eighty Seventh annual Fall Ball. Hogwarts hasn't done this for a while, so it's great to see the tradition being renewed. Speaking of tradition, let's have the Head Boy and Head Girl out on the floor to start the dancing. Ms. Granger and Mr. MacMillan, please lead your dates to the floor. This one's for you.”

Hermione walked languidly toward the dance floor holding Harry's hand. Harry found himself watching the way her hips moved when she walked…surely she didn't always have that sexy walk? Maybe he just couldn't see it under all those robes and books…

The music started and Hermione turned toward Harry. He was afraid to move, afraid to touch her. He knew it would be a bad idea, he wasn't sure he could control himself if he touched her. But he couldn't refuse to dance with her. Shakily he stepped forward and put one hand on her waist. Which was bare. The bottom of his hand brushed silk and leather, and it sent an electric shock through him. Hermione draped one arm around his neck and stepped even closer. The band was playing some slow song about friends who danced a slow dance. Harry took Hermione's other hand and they revolved slowly in a circle.

Hermione knew that Harry was getting flustered, and she loved it. Why had she never known about this power, about how it felt to make a man respond to her as a woman? His hand on her midriff was trembling, and he kept looking down at her breasts, then looking away again as he realized what he was doing. Hermione moved even closer, and she could feel that he was getting hard just standing by her. An unfamiliar tingle thrummed through her body, an electric excitement, and she wanted to kiss him again, hot and wet, the way they had that night at the lake.

She knew she was probably slightly intoxicated on whatever they had been drinking in the dorm room, but at the moment, she considered that a good thing. She needed the extra courage, because there were things she wanted from this night, and she might not be brave enough to go after them otherwise. The singer invited all prefects and their dates to join the Head Boy and Girl on the dance floor, but they barely impacted the small world she inhabited with Harry. She smiled when she realized they hadn't even spoken yet.

Harry smiled down at her. “You look great tonight, Hermione. I about fell over.”

“Thanks,” she smiled and licked her lips again. Harry's green eyes blazed. “You look great, too. Someone must have told you about my costume.”

“Someone told me you were going as Grace O'Malley,” he admitted, “but I had no idea…” He shook his head as though to clear it.

“And are you Donal O'Flaherty, then?” Hermione asked, gazing into his eyes.

“Yeah,” Harry whispered.

Hermione pulled his head down closer to hers, and whispered in his ear. “Grace's true love?” She felt Harry shiver when her breath hit his ear. Feeling daring, she laid a gentle kiss on the sensitive skin next to his ear.

“Yeah, I—“ he began, but he was cut off by a loud commotion coming from behind him. He and Hermione spun around in time to see Ron make a flying leap at Malfoy.

“Keep your filthy hands off my sister!” Ron bellowed as he took Malfoy down. The two of them rolled around on the floor, taking punches at each other, grunting as a few landed. Hagrid lumbered up to them and hauled them by their collars up from the floor. Both Ron and Malfoy were quite tall, but Hagrid had them dangling inches above the floor.

“What's the problem, you two?” Hagrid asked firmly.

“He had his hands on my sister!” Ron yelled, twisting and flailing to try to get at Malfoy.

“She's my date, you bloody moron! I'm allowed to dance with her!” Malfoy snarled, his pale face pink with exertion and anger.

“That true, Ginny? This idiot here is your date?” Hagrid looked sternly down at Ginny, and Harry noticed everyone in the hall was holding their breath. Ginny nodded slowly. Gasps and whispers filled the room.

Even Hagrid shook his head in disgust and Ginny's jaw went up. He dropped Malfoy at Ginny's feet in a crumpled pile. “Don't know why you want to go dating this scum for, Ginny, but that's your business. No, Ron,” Hagrid interrupted as Ron started to object, “she'll come to her senses soon enough, but until then, it's her choice, not yours.”

He dropped Ron, too, and stepped in between the boys as they made to have another go at each other. “Luna, take this idiot off, and Ginny, you keep yours out of his way. Go on now. I'll be watchin' yeh.”

The band had stopped playing when the fight broke out, but now the lead singer invited everyone to the dance floor and a fast song started. Harry noticed that there were very few of the teachers present, he could only see Hagrid and Madame Maxime dancing under a giant oak in the corner. If there were more, he couldn't see them.

Harry and Hermione were left standing awkwardly in the middle of the enthusiastically dancing students, so Harry grabbed her hand and led her off the floor. They found a table and sat down, but as soon as they did, Neville and Susan joined them. Hermione groaned inwardly. She hadn't been finished talking to Harry, and she'd been hoping they could have some time to talk. But it was a night for friends, too, she reminded herself, and the four of them sat and visited through the next several songs.

“Excuse me, please?” Hermione said after watching the dancers for quite a while. She made her way out of the Great Hall and to the women's restroom. After a bit she freshened her lipstick and walked back into the Hall, but her table was at the other end, and the forest decorations were so lifelike she thought it would be nice to walk through the woods, even if they were only pretend.

She was wandering over remarkably realistic ground, which was no small feat in her pirate boots, when she heard noises coming from farther into the pretend forest. It took her a minute to be sure, but she wasn't stupid. Ginny had told her there would be nooks and crannies to go to if people wanted to be alone. She must be walking by one of those. The sounds made her embarrassed, but also sparked a yearning inside her. She sighed and continued in the direction she thought was away from the couple, but she turned out to be wrong. She came round a tree and there they were. It was dark in the pretend forest, but in the dim light she could see that it must be Draco and Ginny. Ginny's harem pants were in a bundle on the floor, and Draco's robe was up around his waist. Ginny was on top of him, sliding up and down on his penis, and Draco's hands gripped her thighs, leaving red marks on the white skin. Her head was thrown back, and her long hair swayed back and forth as she rode Draco.

Hermione moaned silently, utterly aroused by what she was watching. She thought of Harry and she knew she wanted Harry to be touching her like that. She wanted to be doing with him what Ginny and Draco were doing, to feel him touching her, to have him inside her. It would be worth it, she swore it. She and Harry could be friends and lovers. It had to be worth it because right now she wanted him so badly she would risk anything.

Draco rose up under Ginny and flipped her onto the ground beneath them. Hermione could see the bruises that Ron had given him when the torchlight hit his face. He positioned himself between her legs and rammed into her. Ginny's legs came around his waist as he thrust over and over. Hermione crept back the way she came, finally finding her way to the refreshment table. She felt hot, flushed all over, and she downed a glass of punch in one breath. She filled up another one, then carefully made her way back to her table, gathering her courage to talk to Harry.

But, to her disappointment, when she returned to the table, Harry was no longer there. She joined Dean, Seamus, and the Patils, who were taking a break from dancing.

“I think Harry went to look for you, Hermione,” Parvati said, leaning forward to be heard over the music. Hermione noticed Dean looking down Parvati's low-cut blouse as she leaned, and out of the corner of her eye, she was sure Seamus had his hand under Padma's skirt. She took a deep breath and tried not to squirm.

“Did he?” Hermione said. “I didn't know I was gone that long.” She could feel her face flushing; she knew what had delayed her return.

Padma glanced over at her. “You weren't gone that long, Hermione, only one song. But I think it was too long for Harry.” She gave her a meaningful look.

“You do?” Hermione said, trying not to sound too hopeful. Parvati and Padma exchanged glances.

“Yes, Hermione,” Padma said seriously. Or, as seriously as she could with Seamus rubbing her thigh. “I think he's liked you for a long time, even if he's denied it.”

“You do?” Hermione repeated stupidly. At that moment, the fast song came to an end and couples started wandering away from the dance floor. Hermione looked around for Harry; she didn't know what had gotten into her, but she was getting truly desperate to find him.

The rhythmic heartbeat of a slow song began, and the Patils stood to lead their dates back onto the dance floor. Hermione watched after them enviously and took another sip of her punch, but as she set her glass down, he was suddenly there. He was beside her, his hand held out for hers, and as she looked up at him he seemed stronger, bigger, and somehow darker than she had ever seen him. Nervously she smiled and put her hand in his. She was shaking now, but his smile calmed her some, and she followed him willingly as he gently lifted her from her chair and led her out to dance.

Harry looked down into her dark brown eyes as he drew her to him. They shone in the torchlight, and he wondered what she was thinking. He would have given anything to know. He placed his hands on the soft skin of her bare midriff and wondered if he was too rough, too calloused for someone so slender and smooth. He didn't know how to treat someone so precious, and he didn't want to hurt her. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself close.

Harry swallowed hard, but slid his hands around to her back and held her close, so that the dance was little more than a swaying embrace. All around him students danced with their hands on each other's rear ends, up under blouses and skirts, and nobody seemed to mind. He wondered what Hermione would do if he slid a hand up her bare side to cup her breast. Even as he thought it, he felt his erection grow harder. He'd been half aroused all evening, but being close to Hermione like this was going to kill him.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his sensible voice reminded him that he stood to lose everything. Hermione's respect, Hermione's friendship, those things that made his life worth living. But that voice sounded strangely muffled from behind several glasses of Seamus' punch and the hot, vivid memories of that kiss by the lake. And, he may have been reading it wrong, it may have just been wistful thinking, but it was starting to seem to him that Hermione's sensible voice, usually so insistent, was being very quiet tonight.

Harry bent his head to where Hermione's head rested on his chest. He took a deep breath, and ignoring the knot in his stomach and the insistent pressure of his erection against the fabric of his trousers, he spoke low in Hermione's ear.

“Hermione?”

Hermione shivered, as she felt, rather than heard, his low voice vibrate inside her. She raised her head and looked up at him. She was slightly dizzy, in part, she knew, from what she had drunk, but mostly just from being so close to him, the smell and feel of him. He made her head spin. Images of Ginny and Draco flashed through her mind, and her face flushed again. She thought she was being very brave not to look away from him, though she still hadn't gotten up enough courage to tell him what she was really thinking.

Harry felt his face flush, too. Hermione's skin had grown hot where he touched her, and for a moment he couldn't think of anything but how she felt under his hands. He was suddenly overwhelmed with the need to have her, not just under his hands, but under him.

She was still looking at him. He had to find a way to say this without scaring her away, without trespassing on their friendship. “Do you remember the other night when I kissed you?”

Hermione drew in a breath and then clenched her teeth against a moan. God, yes, she remembered. She hadn't been able to think of anything else for two days. Praying desperately that he wasn't about to say he was sorry for that, or that he regretted it, she nodded.

“I just…well, I mean…are you sorry we did that?” Harry stammered, feeling like an idiot. He didn't know how to talk about this. He was getting it all wrong. She was going to be angry or exasperated, she was going to tell him never to touch her again. He was going to ruin everything, but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

Hermione took another deep breath, and to his amazement, she shook her head.

Harry exhaled on a laugh of relief. “You're not? You're not sorry?”

“No,” Hermione murmured. “I'm not sorry. Are you?”

“No,” Harry said, grinning down at her. In an instant he had gone from desperate to euphoric. She wasn't sorry he had kissed her. She wasn't mad at him, it was all right.

Hermione bit her lip, then said very quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, “Would you like to do it again?”

Harry opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn't know what to say. Hermione, his best friend and his pirate queen, had just asked him to kiss her. She was looking at him uncertainly now, as though afraid he was going to refuse. As if he could.

He bent his head and opened his mouth slightly and touched his lips to hers. She shivered and leaned in closer to him, opening her mouth beneath his. For a moment they were still, unable to believe this was really happening. Then Hermione opened her mouth slightly wider and began to move her lips under Harry's. He returned her kiss, and they melted together, their lips wet and slick, their mouths fervent and hot. Harry grasped her hips and pulled her as close as he could, pressing his arousal into her, seeking her heat, and continuing to kiss her mouth. She was so sweet and hot, his head spun, and he felt like he could kiss her forever and never get enough.

They went on kissing, swaying to music they were longer aware of hearing. Hermione's breath was coming faster, and she felt hungry, like she would starve if she didn't keep kissing him. But even as her arousal built, so did her frustration. The kissing satisfied its own desire, but it built more, too. She needed more from him, more of him.

As though he was reading her mind, Harry's hand started to stroke her, moving up from her hip over the dip of her slender, bare waist, then up to her ribs. He hesitated, though he didn't stop kissing her, and while his mouth caressed hers, she dropped a hand to cover his. Deliberately she pulled his hand up and pressed it against her breast, then moaned out loud at the feel of his hand on her.

Harry's knees buckled again, and in the moment he caught himself, he realized that they were still on the dance floor. Not that anyone was paying any attention to them; they were all engaged in similar activities. But he wasn't going to embarrass Hermione this way, by groping her in front of all these people. He dropped his hand from her breast and stepped back from her.

Hermione blinked, aware only that Harry had moved away from her, that his hands were no longer on her. He gently took her hand and pulled her away, and she suddenly realized that they were in the middle of the dance floor. She clapped one hand over her mouth and looked up at Harry, terribly embarrassed.

“I'm sorry!” she gasped. “I was… I mean, I forgot!”

Harry looked at her over his shoulder as he led her away from the students now engaging in a fast dance. “I did, too,” he said, grinning wickedly, and Hermione laughed. “C'mon.”

For a disappointed moment, Hermione thought he was leading her back to their table, where she could see past Harry to where Luna was sitting on Ron's lap, under the pretend sycamore tree. Its red leaves were swaying as though with an unfelt breeze. Harry seemed to see them, too, because he stopped dead in his tracks.

“No, I don't think we'll go there,” he said in a strange voice.

“Why?” Hermione asked. But in the next second she saw why. Luna wasn't exactly sitting on Ron's lap as Hermione had assumed. Ron was on the chair and Luna was straddling him. Ron's big hands were lost under the swath of material, and Hermione knew they were on her breasts, and Luna was bouncing up and down on top of Ron. Even during sex, her head thrown back and her eyes closed, she somehow looked dreamy and other worldly. Hermione shook her head, realizing she was staring.

“Honestly,” she muttered in exasperation. “They could at least go into the woods!'' Swiftly she pulled out her wand, and after watching for one more moment, she waved it and cast a cloaking charm around Ron and Luna. People could still stumble upon them, but they wouldn't be right out there for everyone to see.

She turned to Harry, who was also shaking his head. She wondered if he was as aroused by the sight of their friends making love as she was. She frowned; that was something she hadn't known about herself, that watching other people could make her so hot. She had certainly learned the lesson tonight, she thought wryly. She would have to give it some thought. She looked at Harry. Later. She would think about it later.

“C'mon,” Harry said again, and pulled her away toward the punch table. He carefully poured her a glass of punch; it wasn't easy considering his hands were shaking. He wanted to be off somewhere doing with Hermione what Ron was doing with Luna. He had a sudden searing vision of Hermione wearing nothing but those boots, and he choked on his punch.

Hermione slapped him on the back and gave him an amused look. Was he that transparent? He grinned crookedly. Probably. At least, to Hermione, who knew him better than he knew himself. He wanted to lead her off into the trees, lay her down on the ground, and thrust himself inside her. But he couldn't yet. It wouldn't be…he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, looking for the word. He guessed it wouldn't be honorable.

“Hermione,” he said carefully, “what we just saw…” He was puzzled to see Hermione's cheeks go bright pink, but she didn't say anything.

“I was wondering if…well…” he took a deep breath, wishing he could just let this go, he didn't want to talk about this. “Does it bother you to know he's in there doing that with her?”

Hermione stared at him blankly. “Who?”

Harry scowled. “Ron. With Luna. I mean, you guys just broke up, and he…” He broke off with a shrug.

“Oh!” Hermione said, realization dawning. “Does it bother me that Ron's back there shagging Luna when he never seemed to want to shag me, you mean?”

“Er…yeah,” Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep himself from reaching for her.

Hermione shook her head slowly. “No,” she said thoughtfully. “Not like that, anyway. It still hurts my pride a little, but not my heart. I don't wish for him back.”

Harry frowned. “Why does it hurt your pride?”

Hermione shrugged and took a sip of her punch. “No girl likes to think she's that easy to get over,” she said. “A decent boyfriend would at least pine and sulk for a few weeks before he shags someone else.”

“Oh, all right,” Harry said, relieved. He took a step closer to her. “You don't want him?”

Hermione looked directly into his eyes and nearly swooned at the fire she saw blazing there. She put down her glass. “No, Harry, I don't want him.”

“Who do you want?” Harry said, grabbing her roughly by the shoulders. He couldn't wait any more, he couldn't be patient or considerate any more. He had to hear her say it.

Hermione felt thrills of heat run through her body when he grabbed her roughly like that. She felt powerful again, so, with the lift of an eyebrow she laid down a dare. “I want you, Harry. What are you going to do about it?”

Harry's jaw dropped open. She wanted him. She had that look on her face again, that sexy, challenging, pirate queen look. His big hands squeezed her slender shoulders, and he yanked her to him and kissed her hard.

Abruptly he pulled back. “Let's go for a walk, all right?”

Hermione nodded breathlessly, and Harry grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the dance floor into the woods. Quickly, Hermione grabbed up their glasses of punch and allowed him to lead her away. After a little while she noticed that they were walking quite far; surely the Great Hall had been magically expanded, because they must be far outside its normal borders now.

“Where are we going, Harry?” she asked eventually.

Harry glanced back at her, his green eyes blazing. “It's right up here. You'll see.”

They had finally come to the edge of the magical woods. Hermione could see the stone walls in the shadows beneath the trees. But Harry kept walking, right up to the wall, and Hermione was overwhelmed with a vision of him taking her right there, right up against that wall. She moaned, and Harry turned back to her.

“All right, Hermione?” he asked.

“Please hurry, Harry,” Hermione whispered, her breath coming fast in reaction to the vivid fantasy that had just rocked her. Harry took out his wand and tapped the wall, and to her surprise, a narrow doorway opened in it. Harry stepped through it, pulling her behind. Hermione walked in, then gasped at the sight before her.

It was their spot by the lake. The one with the rock where they had sat and talked so many times, where he had kissed her the other night. There was the lake, or a magical reproduction of it, and there was that tree with the golden leaves. There was even a warm breeze. Hermione lifted her face into the breeze, remembering her fantasies about standing there naked with someone. She looked up at Harry, her eyes wide with surprise and excitement.

He was looking at her uncertainly. “D'you like it?” he asked hesitantly. He flicked his wand toward the opening and it closed up seamlessly.

“Oh, Harry! It's wonderful! It's absolutely perfect!” Carefully she set down their punch and wrapped her arms around him. He grinned with relief and held her close. They stood like that for a moment, the music from the Great Hall now only a distant driving bass that echoed the beating of the blood in their veins. Harry pulled back and leaped up onto the flat surface of the rock in one smooth, athletic movement. He held out his hand to her.

“Would you like to dance?”

Hermione smiled. That was perfect. She held out her hand to him and he helped her up, then drew her into his arms again. His hands came to rest once more on the bare skin of her side, and he swayed back and forth to the far away music. Her body swayed with his, and for a moment they were content just to be close to each other.

Harry closed his eyes and leaned into Hermione, his calloused hands rubbing the bare skin. She had such soft, warm skin, he couldn't get enough of touching it. Her hands rested on his shoulders, her eyes were closed, and her head was tilted back so that her long hair cascaded down her back and brushed the tops of his hands. He shifted so that one hand splayed across her back, pressing her to him, and the other was free to close over her breast. God, she was so perfect, she fit his hand like she was made for him. Hermione's mouth opened on a gasp of pleasure, and something inside Harry snapped. He had waited too long, he couldn't wait any more.

Their mouths met and he plunged his tongue into hers. Hermione opened her mouth wide and met his tongue with hers, as his hand continued to squeeze her breast. She was gasping and shaking, every touch was making her burn and shiver at the same time, but still she wanted more. She pressed his hand over her breast, and he instinctively obeyed, squeezing her harder, almost roughly, through the linen of her low-cut shirt. With a harsh exclamation of frustration, he grasped the material at both shoulders and yanked it downward, tearing it clean off her body.

“Oh, God, Harry,” Hermione murmured, aroused by the strength in his hands.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, hesitating, his hands hovering near her shoulders.

“No!” she laughed breathlessly. “Don't stop!” She unhooked the front clasp of her bra and freed her bare breasts, which spilled into Harry's waiting hands. He put his hands on both of them, rubbing her nipples, gently at first, then harder, pinching and squeezing them until she blindly grabbed his hips and pulled him to her, grinding her pelvis into his. Her hips seemed to have a life of their own, the more excited she became the harder they thrust against Harry's hips, and the more insistent the pressure between her legs became. She didn't know what to do but rub herself desperately against Harry while he continued to fondle and rub her breasts.

Frantically Hermione ripped his shirt out of his trousers and thrust her hands up under it. Then she pulled it off him, she had to see his chest, she had to touch it. God, he was so muscular and broad-shouldered. Once she got his shirt off, Harry dropped to his knees and yanked her to him, so that her breasts were level with his mouth. As though he were starving, he took one of her firm nipples into his mouth, sucking it and flicking it with his tongue. Hermione's knees buckled and she leaned against him, no longer supporting her weight on her own feet. Her knees clamped around his waist, and her head was thrown back in ecstasy. Little moans escaped her throat and Harry heard sounds that must have been coming from him, as well.

He suckled her until she thought she would die from the frustration of it. “Please, Harry,” she gasped, “please…”

“What?” he asked fiercely. “Please what?”

She groaned, because he had stopped sucking her to speak. “Please, more, please…” She realized vaguely she wasn't being quite coherent, but she could only grab his hard shoulders and pull her to him. Harry shifted from his kneeling position and wrapped an arm around her, and she held onto him as the world started to shift. For a moment, everything spun, and he was the only thing that was real, and she clung to him as though her life depended on it.

“Are you sure, Hermione?” Harry asked. He was now lying on top of her, his erection pressing between her legs. She was still wearing her skirt and he his trousers, but she wanted him so badly she thought she would weep if he didn't do it now. “I won't be able to stop, I want you so bad, please don't make me stop…”

The last sentence was muffled as he buried his face between her breasts, then pulled one into his mouth again. She was thrusting against his chest, seeking some relief to this mounting tension, wanting to be closer to him, wanting what Ginny and Luna had gotten from their men tonight…

“No, don't stop, I'm sure, I'm sure, please…” She didn't know where she got the strength, but somehow she pushed him off her and stood up on legs that didn't want to hold her. She quickly untied her sash and baldric and flung them aside, then stripped off her skirt. She stood there in only her panties, garter belt, and tall leather boots.

Harry was already out of his boots and trousers, and he couldn't wait. He reached for Hermione before she could take the rest of her clothes off and laid her gently on the rock, which, she noticed wasn't hard and uncomfortable as one would expect. Then he clenched his fist around her panties and yanked down, ripping them off of her. Hermione cried out with the sheer lust of it.

“I can't wait, `Mione,” Harry breathed desperately. “Please, I need you, please…” He was crawling over her body again, and he reached his hand down between her legs. She was hot and wet, and even though nobody had ever touched her there before, she wasn't embarrassed when she felt Harry's fingers press against her. Her body seemed to know what to do and she thrust her hips against his hand. That was what she wanted, what the ache and tension had been about, and she cried out as his fingers brought her to climax. It had only just begun when he thrust himself inside her, and she gasped, as pain and the most intense pleasure she had ever felt tore through her at the same time.

Harry was still for a moment, watching her face, but then his body took over. He had to get inside her, as deep as he could go, and with every thrust he rammed harder and harder. Hermione didn't have a chance to come down from the orgasm, each thrust stoked it even higher, until the pain was gone and she was shuddering, wrapped around Harry, every nerve screaming in pleasure so wild it was almost unbearable. Her ankles, still encased in her pirate boots, hooked around Harry's waist, and she used the leverage to thrust herself against him every time he plunged into her.

She could feel another orgasm building out of the aftershocks of the first one, and she thrust harder against Harry. This one was quick, too, and she sped up her rhythm even as Harry sped up his. He rammed into her so hard, filled her so completely, she knew she would always feel him, deep inside, everything inside her would always belong to him. With one last, violent thrust, they gasped each other's names, then collapsed in a tangle of sweaty limbs.

Harry rolled off Hermione, who reached out for him. He laid along side her and rested his head on her shoulder. He had never felt so good in his life, had not imagined that people could feel this good. Hermione's fingers absently stroked his hair, and he realized that his bandana and glasses had gotten lost somewhere along the way. They were alone in a dim, shadowy, quiet world of their own, and that was perfectly fine with him. If it were up to him they would never leave. They would never deal with N.E.W.T.'s or Voldemort or even Quidditch. They would stay in this magical clearing and make love day and night. He might even ask her to wear those boots again, he thought, grinning to himself.

The sensible voice, so conspicuously absent this evening, suggested that at some point they might have to deal with the relationship thing, the friend-and-lover thing, but he ruthlessly quashed it. They would deal with that when they had to, but not now. He closed his eyes, planted a gentle kiss on the swell of Hermione's breast, wrapped his arm around her waist, and drifted into sleep. Golden leaves from the tree above fluttered down upon them, covering them as though with a blanket, keeping them warm in the night.

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This Night is Mine

Chapter 5- A Change of Seasons

Hermione watched him sleep. His dark head lay on her breast, his strong arm was flung over her bare abdomen. The delicacy of the golden leaves blown into contact with his hard muscles, the cheery brightness of them against his fading summer tan, made her itch to reach out and touch his skin again. Not in a sexual way, but to stroke, to caress, to love.

Her body felt strange to her, full of unfamiliar lethargy and dim aches. The aches were satisfying, like she had earned them, but they were still strange. There was still a vague pulsing between her legs, more a memory of an orgasm than an aftershock, and she thought that if she weren't feeling so pleasantly exhausted she might see about waking Harry and stoking it back up into the intense heat they had just experienced.

Hermione raised herself slightly and kissed the top of Harry's head, smiling as his wild hair brushed against her lips. She would like to stay here forever, to be Harry's lover, to give him her love and not just her body, and know that he would welcome it. But even now the distance beat of music from the Great Hall reminded her that this wasn't real life. This was a moment out of time, and it would have repercussions. She sighed and leaned back, shifting slightly against the rock. Now that she could think again, she figured that Harry must have placed a Cushioning Charm on it, like what the Quidditch players put on their broomsticks, because it felt unnaturally comfortable. She looked at his face, her heart swelling with affection. He was such a thoughtful person. He never thought of himself, only of everyone else.

As gently as she could, Hermione eased her arm out from under Harry. He frowned in his sleep as she pulled away. Scooting through the golden leaves to the edge of the rock, Hermione slipped off her boots, her garter belt, and her silk stockings, until she was entirely naked. She smiled as she remembered how neither of them could wait for her to get all her clothes off, they had been so desperate for each other. She stood and walked gingerly to the edge of the magical lake, feeling the stone floor beneath her bare feet, even while she was watching the illusion of water lapping around them. The magical breeze blew across her body and she leaned her head back, loving the feel of the air on her skin.

She stayed there a long moment, entirely content. Whatever happened when they left this enchanted place, whatever was their fate, she would cherish the memory of this night. She would remember every sensation, every demand, every touch, and even if Harry didn't want to be her lover any more, this night would last forever in her heart.

She heard a soft noise behind her, but didn't look back. A moment later, Harry stood behind her, his big hands on her hips, drawing her back against him. She gladly leaned back against him and closed her eyes. She had dreamt of this, standing by the lake, bathed in the warm breeze, naked and unembarrassed with the man she loved. She should have realized then that that man would be Harry.

“What are you doing?” he murmured in her ear.

Hermione didn't open her eyes, but she smiled and shrugged lightly. “Feeling the breeze. Thinking. Remembering.”

“I've been thinking, too,” Harry said.

“Have you?” Hermione said.

“Yeah,” he said. “I was thinking that we should stay here forever.”

Hermione laughed. “So was I. I wish we could.”

Harry was silent for a moment, then asked hesitantly, “Are you all right, Hermione? I wasn't…” She could feel his skin grow hot, and wondered what was embarrassing him. “I should have been more gentle. I should have gone slower, or…I don't know…” He buried his face in her hair.

Hermione spun around in his arms so that she was facing him. She took his face in both her hands and forced him to look at her. “I'm perfect, Harry. It was perfect. I didn't know something could feel so good. Please, don't be sorry, I couldn't bear it!”

Harry gave a rueful laugh and shook his head. “I'm not sorry. That was the best thing that ever happened to me. You're so beautiful, Hermione, I can't believe you wanted to be with me.”

“I did,” she said. “I do.”

Harry sighed and wrapped his arms around her, stroking his hands up and down her back. “Do you think we should go back?”

“I don't know,” Hermione said. “I can still hear the music, so the dance is still going on. Maybe we can stay a little bit.”

“Mmmmm…” Harry said. His mouth was right next to her ear and his voice vibrated through her. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his broad chest. Without thinking about it, she turned her head and began to kiss the smooth skin, opening her mouth and tasting it. A small shudder went through Harry's body, but his hands didn't lose their gentle rhythm on her back. She worked her mouth back and forth across his chest and shoulders, licking and biting, and occasionally sucking hard enough to leave small hickeys on the skin. After a while she felt him begin to stir against her.

Finally one of his hands left her back and buried itself in her hair. He pulled her head back and began to plant wet, open mouthed kisses on her neck, sucking and biting at the skin as she had done to him. Slowly he kissed every inch of her skin, licking and tasting it, until her breath was coming fast. He dropped to his knees and began to kiss her shoulders, licking down to her chest and between her breasts, kissing and biting down the sensitive inside of her arms, each in its turn, until she shivered. Turning his head, he kissed across her belly and down the outside of her hip. Then, so suddenly she gasped, he stood and caught her up in his arms and carried her over to the rock on which they had been laying before.

Harry laid her gently down, and had to clench his jaw against the urge to throw himself on top of her and plunge himself between her legs. He was going to do it right this time, he was going to treat her like she was special, he was not going to lose control like before. Hermione stretched her arms above her head, accentuating her slender waist and her firm breasts, and Harry's resolve not to lose control nearly slipped beyond his grasp. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened them to find Hermione smirking at him. Of course she knew what he was thinking, he thought, mentally rolling his eyes. She knew everything about him.

But he was still learning things about her. He lay alongside her legs and began to rub her thighs, stroking the skin along the inside and kissing her pelvis and belly again.

“I like this belly ring,” he said, “but it doesn't seem like something you'd do…” He trailed off, kissing her smooth skin from her navel down to the tops of her legs. As his hands worked her inner thighs, she began to squirm, and Harry knew she was seeking a more intimate touch. He wasn't quite ready to give it to her, though. He was trying to go slowly, after all. Besides, he loved the idea that he could make her squirm.

“I just…” Hermione said breathlessly, “I was just feeling rather wild that day, is all…”

“What day was that?” Harry asked.

“The day you beat up Ron,” Hermione said, trying to scoot her body down toward his mouth. But at that moment, Harry moved to a sitting position, and pulled one of her legs up. Her skin was so smooth, he rubbed it with his unshaven cheek, and she moaned. He kissed the place behind her knee, and held her firmly in place when she tried to turn to press herself closer to him.

“I was feeling pretty wild that day, too,” Harry commented. “I'd do it again, Hermione. I won't stand for anyone hurting you.”

“I know,” she breathed. “I feel the same way…Oh, God, Harry…” Harry had just bitten the soft skin of her inner thigh and was kissing his way back up her body. She was so beautiful; it was so hard for him to go slowly, but he was enjoying the frustrated little moans and breaths coming from her. He sank his teeth gently into her side, then ran his cheek up the side of her breast. Hermione wrapped her legs around his back, and he found it so arousing that he stopped resisting the temptation to take her nipple in his mouth. He sucked on her gently and she cried out, then pressed his head more firmly to her. He continued to suck her slowly, softly, gently, until she was wriggling frantically against him, pushing his face against her breast.

“Oh, please, Harry,” she ground out in frustration, “please do it harder.” Any control he had convinced himself he was exercising disappeared as he changed his gentle, teasing movements and began to suck hard. With his hand he pinched her other nipple, until she was bucking and writhing against him. After a moment, he felt her hands pushing against his shoulders and looked up to see what was wrong.

“Get up,” she gasped, and he quickly pulled back to his knees. Then she got to her knees, pushed him gently back down to the ground, and quickly climbed on top of him so that she was straddling his waist. She could feel the tip of his erection between her legs, and she bent low over him, slowly pushing herself back onto his penis and sliding him carefully into her. This was what she had seen Ginny and Luna doing, and she wanted it for herself, too.

Harry raised his hips and pushed himself into her, and Hermione winced. She was still a bit sore from the first time, and Harry was so big he stretched and filled her completely. Harry grasped her thighs in an effort to control himself.

“All right there, `Mione?” he asked hoarsely.

“Yes,” she said, beginning to move up and down on him. “Oh, yes…” The residual soreness was fading, and the hot, tense sensations she had experienced earlier were returning. She balanced herself with her hands on his chest and rocked herself back and forth, sliding him in and out of her. He reached up and squeezed her breasts, then without breaking their contact sat up, so that her legs were wrapped around his waist and her breasts level with her face. As she rode him, he sucked and fondled her, and she could feel her orgasm building. She thrust against him harder and harder, loving the way he fit inside her, loving the feel of him pushing into her over and over. Finally her climax exploded through her, and she held him inside her, clinging to him with her arms and legs, while she came. She was shuddering with aftershocks when Harry began to thrust his hips up violently, hoarse groans coming from his throat, his hands holding her hips in an iron grip as he pumped himself into her over and over. Then he gasped and collapsed against her, his breath coming fast and his heart racing.

He rested his head against her shoulder and held her close. She was all around him, he was still inside her, their arms and legs were so tangled up that he didn't know where one ended and the other began. It was like they were one person, he thought, and he knew he didn't want that to stop. They were already like that in so many ways, in the way they could talk, in the way they could almost read each others' minds, in the ways they took care of each other. He was feeling decidedly selfish right now; he wanted this, too. He wanted it all.

She stirred against him. The beat of the music was no longer vibrating in the distance. “Harry?”

“Hmmm?” he answered groggily.

“The music's stopped,” she said. “I think we'd better be getting back.”

Harry sighed deeply. He was so comfortable and content right now, he really didn't want to go. But he had known this couldn't last forever. “All right,” he said. “If we have to.”

Hermione kissed the top of his head and stood up. She nearly trod on his glasses, so she bent to pick them up and handed them to him so that he could see. Without talking they re-assembled their costumes, though Hermione didn't bother to fix her torn panties. The blouse was another matter, though; she could hardly go traipsing through the Great Hall without a blouse on. Pulling out her wand, she muttered some mending charms, then pulled the shirt on, good as new.

Harry watched her out of the corner of her eye. “Er…sorry about that,” he muttered, his face slightly red.

Hermione gave him a mock severe look. “Don't you dare apologize, Harry Potter!” she scolded, and Harry smiled in relief. Finally their pirate costumes were back in place, and Harry took Hermione's hand and let her out the narrow opening and back through the forest.

The lights in the Great Hall had been raised to their full brightness, and even through the decorative forest, they could see that it was a mess. Harry saw Hermione's shoulders slump a bit, and he thought he understood how she felt. The magic of the night was over. There was clean-up to be done, and she was the one responsible for it. He would help her, of course, but it seemed to be a ruder return to real life than he would have liked for her. For both of them.

“I'm going to go change my clothes, Harry,” Hermione said on a resigned sigh. “I can't work in these…” She indicated her high-heeled boots, and Harry experienced a pang of regret to see them go.

“All right,” he nodded. “I'll just help the band break everything down, then.”

Hermione returned his nod and headed through the trees to the doors of the Great Hall. Harry watched her go, and felt a sudden desperate urge to call her back, but he didn't know what he would say. He didn't know what to do now that they were back in real life. Running a hand through his already messy hair, he sighed, then turned to help the band.

Hermione returned fifteen minutes later in her jeans and t-shirt. She had found Ernie MacMillan, the erstwhile Head Boy, snogging Lavender in an alcove, and had dragged him back down to the Great Hall, ruthlessly ignoring Lavender's protests.

“Honestly, Ernie, you're supposed to be in charge of clean up!” Hermione snapped at him. She would rather be snogging her date somewhere, too, but as usual, all the responsibility fell on her shoulders. “Didn't you get a committee together or anything?”

Ernie scowled, and Hermione got the distinct impression he was more than a little drunk. “I did, but they all disappeared,” he sulked. “Can't find any of `em.”

“Fine,” Hermione said. “You start disenchanting the Hall and cleaning up the trash, I'll go round up the Prefects. We're supposed to have everything done before breakfast, and I don't fancy being down here cleaning all night.” What she fancied was going back to that magical place with Harry, pretending she had no responsibilities, and falling asleep in his arms. She sighed, then set off in search of as many Prefects as she could find. Maybe if she found enough of them, they could get this over with quickly.

The Prefects weren't happy about being rounded up. She considered herself lucky that many of them were to be found snogging each other or passed out drunk in each other's arms, so that if she found one, she found another one, as well. Draco and Ginny were asleep in the same place she had seen them earlier, and she had to wake them up while trying not to think about seeing them shagging in this very spot. She couldn't find Ron and Luna at all, and she swore she'd make them pay for their absence. Eventually, she found about half the Prefects and set them to work with brutal efficiency. Harry, who wasn't even a Prefect, stayed and helped as well, and Hermione was grateful, even though she didn't have time to tell him so.

They finished in less than an hour, mostly because the house-elves came in and added their efforts, and Hermione finally dismissed the Prefects.

“All right then,” she said in her best woman-in-charge voice. “Twenty points to everyone who helped. Thanks to the house-elves, too.” A hundred little creatures bowed and beamed at her praise, and Hermione smiled wryly. She didn't believe in the enslavement of elves, but at the moment, she was very glad they were there. “Go to bed, everyone. Don't forget we have a Prefects' meeting Wednesday night.”

The grumbling and rather bleary students wandered out of the newly cleaned Great Hall and headed off toward their respective common rooms. If one or two of them appeared to be heading toward their dates' dormitories, she wasn't going to say anything. Not tonight. Shaking her hair back off her neck, she leaned against one of the long house tables and exhaled a breath.

“All right, then, Hermione?” Harry asked, coming to stand next to her.

“Yes,” she sighed. “Thanks for staying to help, Harry. I know it wasn't your job.”

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. He didn't understand her mood, and he didn't want to make a wrong move. He shrugged. “It's all right,” he said. “It wasn't your job, either, was it?”

Hermione snorted. “No, it was Ernie's, but he wasn't going to do it.”

They stood in silence for a few moments. Hermione was still simmering with irritation, though she knew that was just a mask for the deeper insecurity she was feeling. She had no idea what to say to Harry now, and that irritated her as much as Ernie's failure to do his job. She had never had trouble talking to Harry before. She bit her lip. Was everything going to change now?

Harry studied his boots for a few moments, then looked up through his lashes at Hermione. She didn't look like a pirate queen any more. She looked like a tired teenager. He glanced at his watch. No wonder, it was after two in the morning. He wasn't sure if he should reach out and take her hand, then he scowled. He had just made love to this girl. Twice. Surely that gave him the right to hold her hand.

Summoning all his courage, he reached out and did it. Hermione started and looked up, and Harry could read clearly the relief on her face. Maybe she was as unsure as he was. He grinned to himself. He certainly hoped so.

“C'mon,” he said. “Let's go to bed.” Hand in hand they left the Great Hall and made their way up the various staircases to Gryffindor Tower. Dean and Seamus lay passed out on the floor of the hallway outside the portrait of the Fat Lady, and with a disapproving tut, Hermione levitated them while Harry gave the password.

“Be fair, Hermione,” Harry said reasonably, as they navigated the portrait hole with the two boys floating in front of them. “It's not like they were the only ones drinking.”

“I know that,” Hermione said crossly, her face flushing.

“In fact,” Harry teased, “I noticed the Head Girl herself was a little tipsy there for a while…”

“Stop!” Hermione scolded, but she couldn't help smiling. She couldn't resist it when he teased her like that. “I didn't get drunk! And I certainly was never at risk of passing out like these two idiots.”

“True,” Harry agreed. He watched while Hermione sent Dean and Seamus over to float near the boys' stairs. He felt he should say something, but he didn't know what. On the one hand, he didn't want things to change with her, but on the other, he didn't think he could go back to where they had been before. Not after tonight.

“Hermione…”

She turned to him, and Harry dragged a hand through his hair. He started to speak, but then she spoke first, cutting him off before he could even begin.

“Harry,” she said. “We have to talk, but not now, okay? Tomorrow is soon enough.”

“Oh, er…all right,” he said, trying to ignore all the questions and declarations churning in his brain. She was right; it was really late.

She closed the distance between them, and took his face in her hands. Standing on her toes, she kissed him gently on the lips. Before he had a chance to respond, she withdrew, and said, “Good night, Harry”

Harry watched her go, then turned and pointed his wand at Dean and Seamus, levitating them up the boys' stairs in front of him. Then he undressed and lay in his bed staring at the red velvet canopy above him and thinking about Hermione, until he finally fell asleep.

Harry woke with a start only a few hours later. It took him a few minutes to remember where he was. The cold light of the November dawn was beginning to filter into the dorm room, and it washed away the images from his dream. He tried to hold onto them, because he sensed they were important somehow. His scar was throbbing dully, and he knew his dream had been due to his connection with Voldemort.

Harry swore. He hadn't felt the connection in a long time, and it had been so easy to get used to feeling normal. He had worried about girls and the Fall Ball and early reviews for N.E.W.T.s. It wasn't that he ever really forgot Voldemort, but that situation hadn't been as urgent as the others.

But it was going to get urgent, he realized. Soon. He rubbed his scar, trying to focus on the images from the dream. He couldn't, but he could sense the hatred and the violent pleasure that he had experienced in the dream. He hated having those emotions inside him, even if they didn't belong to him. They had no place alongside the good feelings Hermione had brought to him last night.

He grinned at the thought of Hermione, and the last of the pain in his head faded away. Just thinking about her made him feel better. His grin faded, though, as he considered the immediate future. There was so much uncertainty, so much to fear. He started to wonder how he could possibly ask her to be a part of that, but he shook his head when he realized that she would be a part of it whether she was his best friend or his girlfriend. He wouldn't be able to stop her. Whatever happened between them, Hermione would stand by him.

With a sigh he rolled out of bed and found his clothes. Grabbing up his cloak, because he knew it was cold out and he knew Hermione would scold him if he forgot it, he made his way quietly down the stairs and through the common room. Silently he made his way through the maze of Hogwarts' corridors until he reached the great front doors. Sliding them gently apart, he slipped through the opening and made his way outside into the crisp dawn air and across the grounds.

**************************

Hermione descended the girls' stairs just in time to see Harry slip quietly out the common room door. She frowned groggily, wondering what he was doing up so early. He'd hardly had any sleep at all. Then she remembered that she had hardly had any sleep at all, either. She had been exhausted when she went to bed, but her mind continued to race, even her sleep. Images from the night, memories of Harry dancing with her, kissing her, touching her, swirled around in her head, along with something else, some sense of unease… she closed her eyes and wished for a cup of tea. It didn't appear. With a huff of breath she figured she'd have to go down to the Great Hall and hope that the house elves had laid some out.

Fifteen minutes later, Hermione sat alone at the Gryffindor table, gratefully sipping a mug of tea. She felt like her brain was finally starting to work again, and as it ground into action, she found herself wondering where Harry had gone to so early in the morning. Was he avoiding her? She bit her lip anxiously. No, that was stupid. He didn't even know she was awake.

Then something must be bothering him. And she was sure he hadn't eaten yet. If he was trying to think something over, he wouldn't be able to do it very clearly with little sleep and no food. Deciding, she gathered several pieces of toast and a few éclairs, poured another mug of tea and sealed the top with a swirl of her wand. Then she realized she didn't have her own cloak, so, with a sigh of exasperation she set down the food, ran through the quiet corridors to Gryffindor Tower, grabbed her cloak from her trunk as quietly as she could, and returned to the Great Hall. Gathering up her things, she slipped out the doors of the Great Hall and headed across the lawn. She had an idea where Harry had gone, but even if she was wrong, it might be nice to sit there by herself and do some thinking of her own.

Hermione came around the curve of the lake and saw him standing there, on that rock. She drew in a breath. He was gazing out over the lake with his jaw set, looking as grim and determined as she had ever seen him. The morning light glinted off his glasses, making him seem far away and so very alone. His feet were braced apart for balance on the uneven rock, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans under his cloak, and he was gazing out over the lake. Hermione hesitantly followed his gaze, but he must be looking at something only he could see, because there was nothing out there.

Hesitantly she stepped forward, reminding herself that even if he did look a bit forbidding right now, this was just Harry. She placed the napkin full of food and the mug of tea on the level ground next to the rock, then stood looking at him, unsure what to do. She wasn't sure he even knew she was there, until he turned his head and looked down at her. A smile curved his lips, and she smiled back in relief. He held out his hand, and she took it, allowing him to pull her up to stand next to him.

They stood quietly for a minute, looking out over the lake. Then Harry said, “Was that food I saw?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “And tea.” She levitated the things she had brought. Harry reached for an éclair and took a huge bite.

“Thanks,” he said, swallowing. “I forgot to eat before I came out here.” He sat down on the rock and she sat beside him, watching him unseal his tea and drink it.

“Why are you up so early, Harry?” she asked.

He hesitated. “ I had dreams.”

“What were they?” she asked, a little disappointed. If they had been dreams about their night together, he wouldn't look so solemn. She hoped.

Harry shook his head in frustration. “I'm not sure. I woke up with my scar hurting. But there were good dreams, too. About…about you.” He looked away, his face going slightly pink. “But they were all mixed together.”

Hermione frowned. “I had dreams like that, too,” she said. “The memories were good, but I woke up worried.”

“Something's coming, Hermione,” Harry said seriously. “I'm sure of it. I don't know how long it'll be, but we're coming to the end. We have to be ready.”

“We're always ready, Harry,” Hermione reminded him gently. “We've been ready since fifth year. You've seen to it.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I guess…” He stared down into his tea for a moment. “I could die, Hermione. He might kill me.”

Hermione took a deep breath and blew it out. “I know.”

“I mean,” he said, “I know any of us could die, so many have already died…” He shook his head. “But I mean, if it's the only way to get rid of him, to end it all, then I…” He trailed off, unsure how to say what he was trying to tell her.

“Then that's what you'll do,” she shrugged. “I know that. Do you think I don't know you?”

Harry laughed quietly and wiped the bread crumbs off his hands. “No, I don't think that. You're the only person who really does.”

She smiled at him and his face grew warm. Then he looked away before he could get distracted by her pretty face and her warm smile. He still had things to say, and they were going to be hard enough.

“You know me,” he began, looking out at the lake and stammering slightly, “because we've always been…well, friends, right?”

Hermione nodded and drew her knees up. She didn't know what he was getting at, but she sensed she had to give him time to figure it out.

He took a deep breath and went on. “Okay, so…er…last night…” he could feel his face burning now, “last night, for a while, we were more than friends, right?”

Hermione nodded again, and squeezed her knees a little more tightly. More than friends… that was an understatement if she ever heard one.

“And today, right now, we're friends again, right?”

Hermione nodded yet again, and pulled her knees all the way into her chest.

Harry stood up abruptly and shoved his hands in his cloak pocket. Then he took a few steps forward and scooped up a rock and tossed it into the lake. Hermione squeezed herself small and rested her head against her knees. He was going to say they should just be friends, they should just stay friends, and she didn't know how to stop him saying it. She bit her lip. She would always be his friend, but it wasn't enough any more. She wasn't going to be able to forget what they had shared.

She peeked up over the tops of her knees and watched him while he searched for the words he wanted. She wished she could do something besides just sit here and wait. She frowned. When did she ever just sit around and wait? That wasn't like her. It must be the lack of sleep.

“I want…” He stopped, started again. “I want to be your friend, always, but I want the other, too. I want...I just…” He stopped, frustrated as his words got tangled.

Hermione stretched out her legs in front of her and leaned back, looking at Harry the whole time. Tears had sprung to her eyes when she thought he was going to turn away from her, and now a few tears leaked out when she realized that he wasn't. But he seemed to be stuck, she thought, cocking her head to one side. She grinned and wiped the stray tears away with the back of her hand.

“Are you trying to say you want to be more than friends, Harry?” she asked, hoping her intuition was right.

Harry looked down and didn't meet her eyes. “Er…yeah,” he said, his face flushing again. “But friends, too, `cause I still…I still need you as a friend.”

Hermione stood up and made her way off the rock to stand by him on the lakeshore. She took his hands and pulled him to her, finally forcing him to look her in the eye. “I'd like that, Harry. I'd like to have both, too.”

Harry laughed with relief and happiness. He couldn't believe she felt the same way. Suddenly he needed to have her closer, so he pulled her into his arms and held her to him. After a few minutes he took a deep breath, and said, “I don't know how much time I have left, Hermione. It could be a month, it could be a hundred years. But I…either way, I want to spend it with you, all right?”

The cold autumn breeze blew across the lake and whipped their hair and cloaks around them. Hermione shivered, and Harry wrapped her tighter in his arms, drawing his cloak around her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held him as close as she could. She rested her head against Harry's chest and breathed in his scent, feeling safe and comforted.

Behind them, the last of the golden leaves blew from the tree on the edge of the forest. They swept in a gentle tornado around Hermione and Harry, then blew past them out onto the glossy water of the lake. Hermione watched them twirl on the water. Here in the north the season was changing, the gentle autumn giving way to what she knew might be a harsh and bitter winter. And outside this place, out in the world, the season was changing, too, growing colder and more dangerous by the day.

Hermione hugged Harry fiercely. “I love you, Harry,” she said. “I'll keep you warm.”

Harry kissed the top of her head, smiling as the wild curls blew in the breeze and covered his glasses for a moment. “I love you, too, `Mione. And it's okay. Spring's coming.”

THE END.

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