Oh, What A Night!

JanieB

Rating: R
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 03/10/2004
Last Updated: 03/10/2004
Status: completed

Harry’s sure Hermione’s been deliberately avoiding the Trio’s usual Friday night drinks at The Burning Broomstick. But why? He finally convinces her to join them one night and Hermione ends up having way too many drinks in an effort to drown her sorrows. Will she remember what she said and what happened? Will she want to? Oh, what a night!

Chapters

1. Oh, What A Night!

1. Oh, What A Night!

Oh, What A Night!

By Lady Jane

Hermione had had enough.

Well, no, she corrected herself. I haven’t actually had enough. Not at all. For instance, I haven’t had enough bourbon and Coke. No, no, no. And definitely not enough of what I really want which would be…Harry. Definitely haven’t had enough of Harry. Never enough Harry. Could there be such a thing as too much Harry? Nope. Never too much Harry. Trouble is, as far as having Harry goes, I’ve had a grand total of nothing. Totally nothing - zip, zilch and zero. Definitely no Harry whatsoever. Call me Queen of the Shagless. Dammit, what I’ve had enough of is having nothing! I really, really want something. Besides another drink, that is. And that something I want, I want soooo badly it hurts…

And that something was standing within arm’s reach – all six foot of him, starting with the sexy, messy, black hair (hiding that infamous scar), working down through the gorgeous, sexy, green eyes behind those trademark glasses; that mouth, the cause of many illicit thoughts on her part; the sexy, broad shoulders, the sexy, flat, hard stomach, followed by the unfortunately as yet unknown and unseen “undiscovered country” – and onto the final leg of the journey (ha, ha Hermione) – the long, sexy, firm, legs. Did she mention “sexy”? Probably only once or twice... Face it Granger, all of him is sexy. But if she was truly honest with herself, the “undiscovered country” was what really gripped her imagination and grabbed her attention right now. Grabbing. That’s what she wanted to do. Grab. And she so badly wanted to grab it. IT. That oh-so-often-imagined-and-fantasised-about”King” of Harry’s Undiscovered Country! Shit – I knew I shouldn’t have come tonight! As soon as I’m in the same room with him I lose it!

She took a calming gulp of her drink. What a combination. Harry close by, together with being a little drunk, and her internal dialogue became just so much dirty waffle! With what she hoped was a surreptitious glance, she took in the sight of Harry standing a mere two feet away on the other side of the high, tiny bar table. He was leaning on his elbow, on the table, and with his free hand was holding a half-drunk tankard of Butterbeer. He was talking to Ron about something. She’d been far too busy thinking about Harry to make the effort to hear what they were saying over the music playing in the background.

Shit. I shouldn’t drink while I’m feeling so bloody randy, especially when the reason I’m drinking and feeling so bloody randy is so close I can smell him. He even smelt sexy. She wondered if he always looked this sexy. There had to be times, surely, when he looked quite ordinary and not sexy. Probably not. She sighed as she continued to watch him. Nope. No un-sexy bits in sight. Or out of sight. The bloody man had more sex appeal in his little finger than most men had in their whole body. If you asked her. Which probably wasn’t a good idea at the moment considering how tipsy she felt. Not to mention how randy. Or should that be horny? Horny Hermione. Jesus, it really didn’t matter! She sighed, swaying ever-so-slightly on her stool. She hadn’t taken time to eat a thing all day which was stupid really. And not like her. But she knew why; she’d been suffering a combination of severe nervousness and extreme anticipation about seeing Harry tonight. A real appetite killer. Too late now to eat. Eat: now there’s a word. Harry: there’s another word. Goes with eat. Eat Harry. Shit. She groaned. She knew she shouldn’t have come tonight. The past two months had been torture not seeing him, but being here with him tonight was absolutely killing her!

Harry thought Hermione had had enough.

He’d been at her for weeks to join them on their usual Friday night out at their favourite pub, The Burning Broomstick. It was an unusual pub in that it was owned and run by Squibs and while it was mainly “Muggle like” (very fashionable at the moment), it was only open for members of the magical community. For the four years since they’d left Hogwarts, Fridays at the Broomstick had been the one, guaranteed time they could get together and catch up - when he was certain he’d see her. They didn’t even include the various boyfriends and girlfriends they’d each had sporadically over the years; come Friday night, it was always just the three of them. The bond fused between them by their shared experiences since childhood, culminating in the destruction of Voldemort four years earlier, was unimaginable to “outsiders”. At the moment, Ron was the only one with a girlfriend; neither Harry nor Hermione had gone on a date with anyone for nearly six months now. Harry because he just wasn’t interested in spending time with women who weren’t Hermione and Hermione because no one else could measure up to Harry. Harry told Ron he just hadn’t met anyone for a while who caught his eye and the only reason Ron so readily accepted this was no doubt due to him being so wrapped up in his own current relationship. Hermione said she just didn’t have the time or inclination. However, a few months ago, Hermione had stopped coming to their Friday night get togethers. She told them she was too busy and that by Friday night she was too exhausted and just wanted to go home; and go to bed, just in case they got ideas about moving the ritual over to her place. She assured them it wouldn’t continue indefinitely, but she wasn’t sure when her workload would ease. Consequently, he and Ron had barely seen her; she’d consented to take time out to have a quick bite for lunch with them a few times and that had been the extent of their contact besides the occasional owl. And he missed her. They missed her, he corrected himself. But he missed her more. More than he thought possible. He’d practically begged her to come tonight, he felt so desperate to see her again.

Ron and he had been there about twenty minutes when she arrived at 5.30 sharp, just as she said she would; punctual as usual! At the sight of her making her way through the scattered groups of people towards them, smiling and waving, Harry felt the worrying tension of the last few weeks dissipate – but, so help him, that other tension took over and was ten times worse. He knew he should’ve worn his wizard robes tonight; they were perfect for hiding uncontrollable erections – the curse of the male! And shit, he thought, just look at her! He’d once heard Hermione and Ginny discussing “fuck-me” dresses (and he knew exactly what they meant) but he’d long since decided that Hermione was in possession of a “fuck-me wardrobe”. Everything she wore screamed “fuck me” at him. If only he could! She was wearing tight black pants that flared slightly over her black boots with a matching fitted, knee length, long-sleeved jacket that was cut just low enough to show a little tantalising, creamy cleavage. She was wearing the gold chain and matching earrings Harry and Ron had given her for her birthday and her hair was pinned up although a number of tendrils had escaped during the course of the day and were falling around her neck and face. Harry sighed. Drop dead sexy. As always. She hugged Ron first, her eyes glistening as though with unshed tears. When she hugged Harry, she threw her arms around his neck and it seemed to him that she held him almost desperately. It was very hard to let her go, to lose the feel of her arms around his neck and the wonderful sensation of her breasts pressing into his chest.

‘God it’s good to see you both!’ she said, a wide smile on her face as she took her seat. Harry thought she did look tired, rather strained and thinner too; as the next hour passed, she looked a little drunk as well – her eyes slightly unfocused. She was perched on one of those ridiculously high bar stools at their tiny round table, nursing a bourbon and Coke – her third in less than an hour! – and seemed to be listening to he and Ron discuss the upcoming Quidditch World Cup, without showing any signs of wanting to join the conversation. Harry was intensely aware of her and at one point, felt her gaze on him; out of the corner of his eye, he saw her looking intently at him over the rim of her glass. He wondered why she was studying him like that. Then, despite his ongoing conversation with Ron, he heard her groan very softly and turned to her, concerned.

‘Hermione, you all right?’ he asked.

Hermione closed her eyes.

Shit. He’d heard her! She’d hardly made a sound! How the hell had he heard her? Wasn’t he listening to Ron? And what does he mean am I all right? Of course I’m all right. Not. Ha ha. No, Harry, I’m not all right, really. Take me home and shag me, Harry, then I’ll be more than all right.

She finished her drink with one large mouthful, smiled at Harry as she put her glass down and replied, ‘Fine thanks, Harry. But I need another drink.’

‘You sure about that?’ Harry asked, with concern, a small frown creasing his brow.

‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Hermione?’ asked Ron, before she could answer, his face also showing concern.

A wry smile crossed Hermione face. She looked at Harry, then at Ron. ‘Listen, you two. You nag me into coming out with you when I should be home, ready for an early night, then when I let myself be convinced to join you and decide I’m going to make the most of what is probably going to be a rather rare event for a while, you start on at me about having too much to drink!’

‘I’ll get you another drink,’ said Harry and Ron together as they turned to go to the bar. Hermione couldn’t help herself; she laughed. Harry and Ron both stopped and looked at her, then joined in her laughter.

‘Sorry, Hermione,’ said Ron, ‘I’ll go get you another drink. What’s the use of having two, big, strong, wizards for friends if they can’t protect you and get you home on a Friday night after a few drinks?’

‘Thanks, Ron,’ said Hermione, smiling back at him.

‘Me too, I’m sorry too,’ said Harry, ‘You were just looking a little out of it and you don’t usually go overboard with drinking, now do you?’

Hermione sighed, then smiled at Harry. ‘That’s okay, Harry, I know you two are just looking out for me and no, I don’t usually drink that much but tonight…’ She closed her eyes. Tonight I need a lot of something. And since I can’t have a lot of you, or even a little of you, I’ll have to make do with a lot of something else. Like bourbon and Coke. Not a great substitute. But I don’t care right now. I guess this is what they call drowning your sorrows. Only I’m drowning my need for you.

‘But tonight?’ prompted Harry, breaking her reverie.

‘Tonight, I just want to forget some…thing.’ Shit, she’d nearly said “someone” and that would’ve brought the Harry Potter One Man Interrogation Squad down on her head, something she definitely did not need right now.

‘Something or do you mean someone, Hermione?’ Harry had picked up on her hesitation immediately and thought perhaps this could possibly be the reason why Hermione seemed to be avoiding her two best friends lately, because he wasn’t entirely convinced her “I’m too busy” story was the truth. Maybe once or twice she could be too busy, but for two months straight? And she wouldn’t give any details of what it was that was keeping her so busy, simply saying it was “secret Ministry business”.

Hermione split her time between Hogwarts’ Library - helping Madam Pince - and doing important, in-depth research on a variety of subjects as requested by the Ministry of Magic and anyone they referred to her. She had an office at the Ministry, but she put in extra time at home having set up an office in a spare room. It entailed a lot of reading, which she loved, naturally, lots of owls but also some travel which she’d come to enjoy. Harry frowned. Was she seeing someone on Friday nights? Is that why she didn’t join them now? But why wouldn’t she tell them? And why did she seem so determined to get drunk tonight? Perhaps something had gone wrong with the relationship she had with this other person? Harry felt his insides clench into a tight ball. If someone had hurt her, or even just upset her – shit! He felt an almost Voldemort-like desire to kill them! How dare they! He took a deep breath. Whoa! He told himself. Stay calm. Hermione’s perfectly capable of hexing the hell out of someone that pissed her off.

Hermione looked towards the bar. Where there hell was Ron with her drink? She could see his red hair at the bar – he towered over most of the people around him.

‘Well?’ insisted Harry. ‘Something or someone, Hermione? What’s been bothering you? Out with it!’

Shit. Again. How many times have I said that myself tonight? And here comes Ron. I don’t need the two of them interrogating me. The Harry & Ron Interrogating Team. Even worse than the Harry Potter One Man Interrogation Squad. She needed to think quickly - not easy when you’re pretty well squiffed...

‘Um, Harry, it’s nothing really – I think it’s just that, um, I’ve missed coming out with you both on Fridays and I do feel a little out of sorts and I just want to forget work and just enjoy myself tonight. Okay?’ She smiled brightly at him, hoping that would be the end of it. However, Harry saw through the false smile and cheerfulness and was sure she wasn’t telling him the truth; he decided he was going to get to the bottom of this tonight by hook or by crook.

Ron arrived then and put another drink in front of her. She smiled her thanks and quickly picked it up, taking a large gulp.

‘Phew, Hermione! Won’t take you long at this rate!’ said Ron, catching Harry’s eye and raising a quizzical eyebrow. Harry knew Ron was wondering if he’d gotten anything out of Hermione and gave a small negative shake of his head.

‘Nope! Not long at all! That’s the idea!’ she said, smiling at them as she raised her glass to them.

Almost an hour passed – Hermione managing to down another three drinks; she was feeling quite confident that she would be able to just pass out when she got home tonight and wouldn’t have to toss and turn, hour after hour, tormenting herself by thinking of Harry… and wanting Harry… imagining Harry there, with her… Harry, Harry, Harry! Fuck Harry! Oh, yes, please. Shit. Shut up Hermione. Horny Hermione, Queen of the Shagless…oh, what a night this was turning out to be!

Harry and Ron had tried to include Hermione in their conversation, but she seemed happily determined to sit there and just listen to them, drinking, occasionally saying something, but mostly just sitting, and drinking. And thinking. About Harry. Always thinking about Harry. Obsessed with Harry. Harry-I-wanna-fuck-you-Potter. She giggled. Ron and Harry glanced at her, but she simply smiled and held up her empty glass, causing Harry to roll his eyes with a smile and head off to the bar. She watched him walk away. Nice jeans… and nice arse you have there, Potter, very nice. Very grabbable. Thinking about grabbing again. Oooh, I must be drunk now, she thought to herself, thinking such things! What if I just said to him, Harry, take me home. Take me to bed. Fuck me, Harry. Oh, shit! She’d better watch it or she’d say something out loud! Harry placed another drink in front of her and she smiled up at him, saying thanks. Oh, yes, thank you for the drink, Harry. Right. I might thank him tonight, but I’ll probably want to kill him tomorrow. Thanks for the hangover, Harry.

‘Hiya everyone!’

Hermione looked up. There was Luna, standing beside Ron, smiling.

‘Luna!’ exclaimed Ron, turning to pull her into a bear hug. ‘What are you doing here? I thought you were in France with your Dad?’

Luna locked her arms around Ron’s neck as she answered. ‘I was just missing you so much I couldn’t stand it so I came back a week early!’ They gazed at each other then slowly closed their eyes as their lips met in a long, passionate kiss.

Harry shook his head, smiling, and looked over at Hermione who was staring at Ron and Luna, appearing to be fascinated with their kissing. She was. But she was thinking about Harry. Of course.

Oh. My. God. How would it feel if Harry kissed me like that? Abso-bloody-lutely wonderful, I have no doubt. If I get drunk enough, I might just work up enough courage to kiss him and plead total inebriation as the cause. But then I’d have to be so drunk I’d probably forget it in the morning. No good. I’d want to remember that.

Ron and Luna broke apart and Ron smiled apologetically at Harry and Hermione. ‘Can you make do with one big, strong wizard to get you home tonight, Hermione? This one would like to take his gorgeous girlfriend out to dinner-‘

‘Ron,’ interrupted Luna, ‘why don’t we just go home? I can cook dinner – we can cook dinner-‘

‘Best idea I’ve heard in long time, sweetheart!’ said Ron, smiling down at her. ‘You two don’t mind, do you?’ he asked Harry and Hermione. They both shook their heads and Ron and Luna turned to leave for what was popularly known as the “Appdap” Room for short; more properly called the Apparating/Disapparating Room.

‘Great, just bloody great,’ complained Hermione bitterly as she watched them leave.

‘What’s up?’ asked Harry.

‘Dinner my bum.’ Hermione hiccoughed. ‘They’re going home to shag.’

‘Hermione!’ Harry was laughing, although he sounded shocked. ‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing whatsoever. I just wish I was.’

‘What? Going home and shagging? Shagging who?’ demanded Harry, a stunned expression on his face as he spoke.

Hermione looked at him blankly for a second, then slowly closed her eyes and dropped her head as she realised what she’d said. Shit. Double shit. Not only had she just said something she’d never say when sober, there was the realisation that she was now in what could potentially be a dangerous situation, thanks to Lonely Luna and Randy Ron. She was alone with Harry. Sober, this presented no problems whatsoever. But drunk and incredibly horny was another matter entirely. Just bloody dandy. Oh, yes in-bloody-deedy this was just terrific. Thanks Randy and Lonely. At least Luna wasn’t lonely anymore – she just got lucky! Bloody Lucky Luna. Shit again. Her head was spinning in a very unpleasant manner. She needed help – danger notwithstanding.

‘Harry,’ she said weakly, as she lifted her head to send him a pleading look, ‘I need coffee. And I need food. Now. Please.’

Harry said nothing. He walked round to her, picked her up off the stool and headed for the Appdap Room. Hermione clasped her hands behind Harry’s neck, smiling foolishly up at him, thinking how wonderful it felt to be held by him. She was going to burst with wonderfulness. She couldn’t stop smiling. Was she pissed? Oh yes! Harry looked down at her with a rueful smile. ‘Hermione, what the hell are you smiling about? You’re probably going to lose whatever food you eat and you’re way beyond the help of coffee and you will hate yourself in the morning for how you’re going to feel-‘

‘S’okay, Harry. I have you to look after me, don’t I? Love you, Harry.’

‘I love you too, Hermione,’ said Harry, but her head had dropped onto his shoulder, her eyes closing; she didn’t hear him. He kissed her gently on the top of her head.

Hermione came to with a sickening feeling of falling assailing her to find herself still in Harry’s arms, only now they were in the middle of Harry’s kitchen. Two wide, brown eyes looked up at Harry with a look of dread.

‘Harry,’ she whispered, ‘I’m going to be really, really sick, very, very soon-‘

Crack!

Hermione blinked. They were in Harry’s bathroom. He put her down gently and left her, Disapparating back to the kitchen. Hermione groaned. I’m never drinking again, never! Especially on an empty stomach you bloody idiot, Granger!

Twenty minutes later, Hermione walked unsteadily back into the kitchen to find Harry with a mug of strong, sweet coffee for her together with some dry cracker biscuits on a plate. She’d had to leave her black pants on, but had taken one of Harry’s jumpers and a pair of his thick socks to wear.

‘All right, Hermione? Feeling better?’ he asked, smiling at the sight of her in his clothes. He loved it when she borrowed his clothes because they always smelt like Hermione afterwards.

Hermione settled herself on a stool at the bench beside Harry before answering.

‘Probably better than someone who’s been run over by a bus. But only just.’ She smiled faintly at Harry, then looked down at her coffee, too embarrassed to maintain eye contact. She wrapped her hands around her mug, picking it up and gratefully inhaling the fragrant steam before taking a sip.

‘You’re going to have to tell me, you know that, don’t you?’ His voice was gentle, but his eyes, Hermione noticed as she glanced quickly at him, held steely determination.

‘Tell you what, Harry?’ she asked, hoping she sounded innocently oblivious.

‘You know very well what I’m talking about Hermione. What the hell has been going on the last few months? Why have you been avoiding Ron and me? Why is it you wanted to get drunk tonight?’ Harry took a deep breath. This next question was the one burning a hell hole in his head. He had to know and yet he felt a sickening terror at the thought of hearing her answer. His voice was low and tense when he spoke. ‘And who the hell is it that you want to shag so badly?’

Hermione dropped her head and groaned.

‘Can’t this wait till the morning, Harry? Please? I really don’t feel a hundred percent.’

‘No way, Hermione. I’ve been going crazy worrying about you. I want to know everything and I want to know it now.’

Sipping her coffee to give herself a little thinking time; Hermione decided she’d tell the truth. Mostly. It should satisfy Harry and stop him worrying quite so much.

‘Well, it’s really not much of a story’, Hermione said, looking down at her coffee; she was afraid that if she looked at Harry as she spoke, he’d see the love and lust she felt for him in her eyes, especially at such close range. ‘Simply put, there is a man that I, um’, she gave him a small, sideways smile and shrugged, ‘that I want to “shag so badly” as you so descriptively put it, but he doesn’t feel the same way about me, although I know he likes me. And I love him. And that’s it!’ Hermione flashed Harry another of those false, bright smiles and started sipping her coffee again.

‘That doesn’t explain why you’ve been avoiding me. And Ron.’

Hermione froze. Shit. She hadn’t thought of that. Damn her alcohol fogged brain. He was right. Pining for some other person shouldn’t have stopped her seeing Harry and Ron. How was she going to get out of this? She couldn’t very well tell him that he was the reason – that it had slowly become harder and harder to be with him and not give herself away. How could she explain how ridiculous she felt, falling for her childhood friend? It was such a bloody cliché! The devastating truth hadn’t even had the decency to slowly dawn on her – it had crashed over her, nearly a year ago now, throwing her totally off-balance. The man she’d been seeing at the time was dropped like a hot potato, without explanation. Because of Harry. As she’d looked back over the years, she’d realised Harry was the reason why she’d never taken any of her boyfriends seriously. Harry was why she never once considered one of them as a possible partner in life. She’d never felt threatened by any of Harry’s girlfriends until then and the last girlfriend he’d had – hell, what was her name? Mary? Marion? She couldn’t remember – but overnight she’d developed an intense dislike for the woman. Not to mention the raging jealousy she’d suffered every time she saw them together. No, to be honest – she hadn’t disliked her, she’d hated her! And why hadn’t she realised that her excited anticipation each week for Friday night wasn’t because it was the end of the week but because that was when she saw Harry? She’d been so thick!

The night that realisation had crashed in on her she’d felt emotionally immobilised. Thank God she’d been at home, alone. She was unable to believe she’d been blind to her own feelings for so long. She hadn’t denied them – she just hadn’t even realised she had them! And yet there they were – whole and complete – just waiting for her to discover them. It turned her life upside down. After struggling through nearly six months of trying to pretend everything was the same, that nothing had changed, she found she just couldn’t do it anymore. The more she saw him, the more she wanted him. The more she wanted him, the harder it was. In the end, the only solution she could come up with was just to see him as little as possible. So she’d started inventing a heavy workload and corresponding exhaustion so that she could get out of those gut-wrenching Friday nights that always left her feeling like a wrung-out, wet rag. She’d quickly become emotionally exhausted. She drew in a shuddering breath. She suddenly felt overwhelmed by the burden of six months of pretending, acting, lying - and smiling when she felt like crying. For all that time, to be able to see him, talk with him, hug him, touch him – things she both wanted and needed desperately, yet at the same time it fell so far short of what she really wanted it caused enormous and continuous frustration. She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes and the façade she’d so carefully and painstakingly maintained these last few months slipping away.

Harry watched her, deeply concerned, wondering what was going through her mind; she looked so distraught. He gently laid his hand on Hermione’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort her a little. A simple, heartfelt gesture that proved to be the last straw; her façade was shattered.

Hermione threw herself into Harry’s arms, crying her heart out. Harry grabbed her, holding her tightly and pulling her onto his lap. He just sat there, holding her, making soothing noises, his cheek resting on the top of her head. He didn’t care what it took, he’d make this idiot she wanted realise what he was missing – he groaned inwardly. He was fooling himself. He didn’t want anyone else to have her. He wanted her for himself. Why can’t it be me you want Hermione? he thought bitterly. My God, if only you knew how much I want you. How much I love you.

Hermione’s crying eventually subsided. She lifted her tear-stained face to smile weakly at Harry. ‘I’m so sorry I cried all over you,’ she managed, wiggling off Harry’s lap and back onto her own stool, wishing she could stay there, Harry’s arms around her. For his part, Harry wished she’d come back and wiggle some more. He cupped her face with his hands. ‘Hermione, you can cry all over me anytime.’

She lowered her gaze, a slight blush staining her cheeks. ‘Thanks, Harry, I’ll remember that.’

She stood up. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. Then she squared her shoulders and looked Harry in the eye. She’d made a decision. She had to say it. It was impossible to keep it in any longer. It was destroying her.

‘I have something to tell you, Harry. No doubt it’ll be a shock, but I just can’t keep going like this. It’s like living in a permanent stalemate – there’s nowhere to move, nowhere to go, nowhere I can turn - and it’s driving me insane. I can’t worry about the consequences of you knowing any longer, I just have to get this off my chest.’

Harry sat very still, dread creeping over him; this sounded so horribly ominous. What the hell could be so bad? His eyes were locked onto Hermione’s, waiting…

‘Harry, the man I was telling you about, he is the reason I’ve been avoiding you. And not avoiding Ron, avoiding you. Only you. Just you. That man, the one I’ve known for a long time, the man that just likes me, the one I want so desperately it’s driving me out of my mind - the man I love - it’s you, Harry. It’s you.’

Crack!

Harry was alone in the kitchen. Hermione had Apparated – no doubt back to her own flat. Her words were spinning around in his brain, paralysing him. For five minutes he sat there, unmoving, Hermione’s voice ringing in his ears: “It’s you, Harry. The man I love? It’s you, Harry. The man I so desperately want? It’s you, Harry.’ Holy shit. He stood up.

Crack!

Hermione had Apparated to her bedroom. She trusted that Harry would leave her be as she crawled into bed. She felt numb and just wanted to sleep and forget. Tomorrow she’d think about it. Tomorrow she’d deal with the horror she felt lurking inside over what she’d revealed to Harry. Tomorrow…

Crack!

It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, then Harry softly called out, ‘Hermione?’ No answer. So she wasn’t in the loungeroom. He was sure she wouldn’t be in the kitchen, or her office, but he looked anyway. No Hermione. Then he walked down the hallway towards her bedroom. The door was open. As he walked in, his footsteps muffled by the carpet, he could see she was in bed, the covers pulled up so far he could only make out a few curls lying on the pillow. He called out again, ‘Hermione?’ and heard a sharp intake of breath. He could see Hermione’s outline in the darkness as she sat up, suddenly.

She groaned as though in great pain. ‘Harry! Holy shit! What are you doing here?’ She couldn’t believe he’d come! Why?! She couldn’t face him now, only minutes after humiliating herself in front of him. Oh, shit. He was coming towards her. He was sitting down on the edge of the bed beside her.

Hermione held her breath. What could he possibly have to say to her?

‘Hermione, you left before I had chance to say anything to you.’

‘What could there possibly be to say Harry?’ She groaned again, dropping her face into her hands. ‘You have no idea how utterly humiliated and embarrassed I feel. None. Please go!’

‘Hermione, my love, you don’t need to feel embarrassed.’ Harry placed his hands softly on her shoulders. ‘As I sat there and listened to you talk about that man you wanted so badly and who you loved, I felt an incredibly savage urge to kill him. Because I want you for myself. I can’t bear the thought of anyone else having you. I want you to be mine.’

Hermione felt enormous confusion. She raised her head to look at him although his features were barely discernable in the darkness. What had Harry said? He wanted to kill someone? He wanted her for himself? What was he talking about?

‘Hermione?’

‘Harry – I – what? – I don’t understand. What are you saying?’

Harry leaned over and turned on the bedside lamp; it threw off a soft, warm light that illuminated their features; Hermione had a look of utter confusion on her face, while Harry had a lopsided smile in place although his eyes were dark with some intense emotion.

‘I want to see your face when I say this to you for the time: Hermione, I love you. I’ve always loved you. But it’s changed as we’ve grown older. I think I put everything on hold until Voldemort was out of the way and slowly but surely, once I recovered from my final battle with him, I grew to love you, not just as a friend loves a friend, but as a man loves a woman.’ A huge grin spread across his face. ‘And if you think you know something about desperately wanting a shag, walk a mile in my shoes and you’d learn something new!’

Hermione simply sat and stared at him. Stunned.

‘Do you mean to say- do you mean to tell me that- all this time instead of – instead of – going through bloody hell we could’ve been shagging our brains out if only one of us had gotten drunk enough or desperate enough to tell the other one how they felt?!!’ She lay back down with a “whoompf” as her head hit the pillow. She started laughing. She felt mildly hysterical – she couldn’t believe this was happening! Harry took her hands and pulled her upright again, laughing with her.

‘Sounds about right,’ he told her.

Hermione shook her head, ‘My God! I can’t believe it! Are you sure I’m not dreaming? I must be dreaming!’

‘You are not dreaming.’

Harry let go of her hands and took her face between his. Their expressions became serious once more as they moved closer. They held each other’s eyes until the last second then closed them as their lips met.

Hermione felt as though she was falling… every sense was overwhelmed… Harry’s tongue pushed against her mouth and she instantly accepted it, her own tongue meeting his in a sensual dance… she took hold of Harry’s wrists with her hands, wanting to keep him there, to never stop... her whole body was flooded with the desire and need she’s felt for so long and kept pent up…

Harry felt something explode inside him. The feel of Hermione’s soft skin beneath his hands, her wonderful, soft mouth – he wanted more – his pushed against her mouth with his tongue and to his unending delight she opened her mouth for him, her own tongue sweeping across his own… he felt her small hands grip his wrists and then he was sure the blood left his brain – left everywhere – and gathered in one place… he felt so hard he groaned and slowly pulled back, watching Hermione’s eyes open; she looked as dazed as he felt.

‘Hermione, I want you now – so badly! Please – I’ve wanted this – you – so much for so long, I can’t wait, I’m sorry – please –‘ his voice was made husky by the long withheld desire and frustration he’d felt. The sound of it made Hermione gasp and close her eyes. Then she opened them and looking directly into Harry’s eyes, she smiled suggestively as she slid down the bed and her head touched the pillow, pulling Harry with her.

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ she said, her own voice a husky whisper.

~ Finis ~