Cabin fever and rock gigs

Well, what can I say! This is my attempt at a comedy. It’s a spoof, not meant to be taken seriously. It should be a good few chapters long, and I can promise you it will be finished. It’s just that I live in a place during the week with no computer and am too chicken to go to the Internet café right beside me (I don’t really know how they work, please enlighten me!) Anyway, updates will be every week (I come home at weekends). Never fear if I miss one, cause I’ll have it by the next weekend. I think that’s about it.

If you are easily offended, do not read if you:

(Here, I tried to make a list… But really, If you’re easily offended, do not read. Full stop. Oh, and If you live in or have strong feelings for Birmingham and the London Underground)

Ha! So now I’ve warned you, It’s not my fault it I alienate half of you!

Disclaimer: I pains me to say this, but I have to get it off my chest before I explode! I don’t own Harry Potter… Oh, The shame!

Reviews, this time, WILL be taken into account when writing the next chapters, so PLEASE do… Review, I mean.

Grimmauld place was a hive of activity again this summer. Still the headquarters for the order of the Phoenix, it was consistently noisy and crowded (and smelly, if the truth be told).

The only difference was the subtle change in atmosphere. The occupants of the house felt mildly uncomfortable having taken charge of a dead man’s house. The discomfort was only temporary, however. The desperation wasn’t.

The Weasely family seemed to have taken up the task of being the hosts. Molly cooked the meals, Arthur hosted meetings, and the children, with no help from Kreacher (whose extended period of maniacal laughter upon hearing of Sirius’ untimely demise had finally pushed him off the deep end), cleaned up afterwards.

‘That is, after all’, grumbled Ron one evening to Ginny and Luna as they stared at the catastrophe that was the aftermath of the entire order’s dinner, ‘the entire point of actually having children, isn’t it?’

They began to tidy with Ron issuing the odd "Fuckers", when he remembered how pissed off he was.

Ginny took up the task of washing the crockery, while Luna and Ron displayed the early symptoms of both love and psychosis. Well, maybe not ‘early’ in Luna’s case. They gathered up the dishes and brought them to Ginny, who alternately washed them, and let out vehement exclamations.

Cabin fever had well and truly set in after three weeks in the house. Those who weren’t already mad (ahem*Luna*ahem) would soon be, and to be honest, Kreacher was thinking more rationally than the Weaselys at this stage.

And so the scene stood as Hermione froze in the doorway, watching the interaction between her three friends. She cleared her throat pointedly when her arrival went unnoticed. Ron and Luna sprang apart, and Ginny quickly secreted a bottle of amber liquid behind her back. Hermione’s expression turned to one of cautiousness as she spoke.

‘Erm…hi?’

The three addled occupants of the house ran towards her, and she backed away despite herself.

‘Right’, she said in a businesslike tone. ‘Exactly how long has it been since you’ve seen anyone?’ Ginny answered. ‘Three weeks!’ then a babble of talk came from the other two. Hermione ignored it on Ginny’s advice.

‘Herms’, she pleaded, taking Hermione’s hand. ‘Mum and Dad keep us out of the way all the time! You’ve got to help us!’

This, my friends, is how it all started.

Ginny’s desperate cries for help resounded in Hermione’s head that night. She thought of Harry, and hoped he was faring better, mentally, than his mates were. With this thought she formulated a plan. She said, aloud: ‘I call it Operation… operation… Ah feck it.’ Then she realised she’d been talking out loud, and then she shut up.

The next morning, Hermione went down to breakfast to discover quite a lot of people already in the kitchen, eating. Dumbledore was even there. Hermione was perplexed, and so she went to speak to Mrs. Weasely.

‘Mrs. Weasely’, she sat down beside her. ‘Erm… if you don’t mind me asking…’ Hermione bit the bullet (so to speak… she didn’t actually bite a bullet, cause that’d be really sore). ‘Mrs. Weasely, why haven’t you allowed Ron, Ginny and Luna to see anyone? And, come to think of it, why is Luna actually here?’

Mrs. Weasely turned to face her, and Hermione saw that she had bags under her eyes. ‘What ever do you mean, dear?’ (Yes, that’s definitely firewhiskey I can smell… Like mother like daughter I suppose, thought Hermione.)

Anyway, what Hermione could deduce from the conversation was that Mrs. Weasely had told them to keep out of the way. She’d just been drun- I mean, she’d just forgotten.

Hermione, with a last cautious look at Mrs. Weasely, made her way to talk to Dumbledore. He was surveying the zoo that was the kitchen sadly, as if to say: Yes, these are the soldiers of the noble side of the light… Bugger.

He was draining his teacup when Hermione tapped him on the shoulder hesitantly. ‘Professor, can I talk to you for a second?’ He smiled widely and patted the seat next to him. ‘Fire ahead’, he said, as Hermione sat down warily, aware that everywhere she turned there was madness.

‘Professor, have you been in touch with Harry at all?’ Hermione asked after a second. Dumbledore fiddled with his beard absentmindedly, which distracted Hermione and disturbed her in a way she couldn’t fathom. ‘As a matter of fact, yes’, he replied with a smile and a twinkle-of-the-eye™.

‘I wrote to him a few days ago, and I received his reply only this very morning’.

‘Erm…’ Hermione struggled to fill the widening silence that followed Dumbledore’s reply. ‘And…?’, she ventured timidly.

‘And’, replied the eccentric Headmaster, ‘I believe his words were: "I’m feeling fantastic, thank you, yours sincerely, Harry"’. Dumbledore smiled. ‘Good to know he’s getting over everything, isn’t it’, he exclaimed cheerfully. ‘I was afraid the prophecy might upset him, but he seems to be fine, doesn’t he!’

‘Erm… Prophecy?’

‘Yes, I know’, replied Dumbledore, oblivious to Hermione’s ignorance. ‘I thought knowing that he would either have to kill Voldemort of be killed by him might give him a bit of a complex! Imagine! Glad to be wrong though, for once, miss Granger, eh?’ And with that he strolled off, leaving a catatonic Hermione in his wake.

When Hermione came to her senses, it was to an empty kitchen. And it was such a mess that, she thought, it was no wonder Ginny had taken to the bottle and Ron and Luna to escapism through sex and hallucinogenic drugs. But back to her plan. She’d need her three friends and she’d need Tonks. And she’d need them soon.

So when Tonks popped in to see how they were getting on, by a lucky coincidence, that very afternoon, Hermione thanked her lucky stars. Then she realised she was talking out loud and then she shut up.

‘Oooo…..Kaaaay’, said Tonks at the sight of the teenagers.

They were frolicking about in the lounge. Well, Ron and Luna were. Hermione was being poured a large glass of something smelling suspiciously like paraffin by a serenely smiling Ginny. ‘You lot have got to get out of the house’.

Hermione smiled widely at this. ‘My thoughts exactly’. She patted the seat next to her and Tonks plopped down next to her and offered her some sort of homemade cigarette. Hermione took it for later, thinking she’d share it with Harry. (Oh, come on, she knew what it was…).

‘Thanks Tonks’, she said, smiling sweetly. ‘Do you think you’d be able to take us to see Harry?’ she asked nonchalantly. ‘Only, we haven’t seen him in ages’, she said sadly as she offered Tonks a light. ‘Mmmm’ said Tonks, closing her eyes, and lying back on the couch. ‘Get your stuff and I’ll take you in a sec’.

Hermione stood up triumphantly with her hands on her hips. She went unnoticed. She whistled irritably, and when Luna and Ron appeared from behind the sofa, she told them to be ready to leave in ten minutes.

‘We’re going to see Harry’, she replied to their happily blank faces.

‘Oooooh’, came Luna’s reply. Then she skipped from the room, Ron following her as if she were the smell of roast beef. Hermione roused Ginny from her precomatose alcohol induced sleep and dragged her to the shower. She chucked her in unceremoniously and turned the shower on. Cold.

She didn’t undress her, as Ginny was the type of girl that might have taken that in the wrong way. Ginny’s screams of rage gradually became more coherent, indicating that she’d had enough. Hermione dragged her out of the shower and performed a drying spell. She knew she wouldn’t be expelled for that since she knew how to do spells on the sly, without any need for the ministry to find out.

A queer sight they must have looked leaving the house. After all, appearing out of thin air into a busy housing estate in broad daylight is one thing. On top of that, Ron and Luna skipped ahead to the tube station.

Hermione and Tonks supported Ginny and it was up to Hermione to direct the two of them, stoned and drunk to the station, where they all clambered onto the disgusting train, making sure to check their seats for used needles and condoms before sitting down. They ignored the vomit, knowing full well that if you ruled out seats with vomit, you be standing for a long time.

The journey to surrey was an uncomfortable one, with Ron and Luna adding to the selection of bodily fluids on the tube. Ginny passed out Hermione’s shoulder, and drooled. A lot. Tonks was, well, stoned, and Hermione wished she was.

But as she negotiated the five of them onto the connecting train to surrey, she knew that it was lucky she wasn’t, it wouldn’t do to end up somewhere undesirable like… Birmingham.

Well, Hello again so soon! I’m still on mid-term so I thought I’d write this while I had the chance! I had a great response to the first chapter, so thanks to everyone who reviewed, really and truly. That’s really why I’m writing this chapter now- I get such a buzz from reviews… It’s motivation. Anyway, without further ado from your resident raving lunatic…

When, eventually, the train pulled up in Little Whinging Train station, our five travellers dragged themselves off, green, semi-conscious and cursing British Rail. They stood on the platform, shaking slightly and letting out relieved breaths and watched the train disappear from sight.

It might have looked like a scene from the Railway Children, except for, instead of waving happily at the departing train they were (more realistically) shaking their fists violently, Ginny hopping around with rage. She was in that tricky angry stage between inebriation and sobriety.

Hermione and Tonks ran over to the nearest dustbin, and began chucking their guts up violently. The combination of the sights, smells and motion of the train was bound to cause such a reaction. The entire experience was worthy of the attention of Amnesty International, or so Tonks croaked as she slid down the wall of the train station, waves of nauseousness threatening to overcome her again.

She took another homemade cigarette from the pocket of her ripped jeans and lit it with shaking hands, closing her eyes blissfully as she took a drag. She passed it to Hermione, who accepted gratefully and passed it on to Ginny when she was done. They sat on the ground between the bin and a bench that was occupied by other travellers who were relieving their stress in similar ways, and sighed simultaneously.

When Hermione and Tonks and Ginny had collected themselves (to a certain extent), they collected Ron and Luna (from a nearby bathroom) and proceeded to make their way to Privet Drive.

It was but a short stroll from the station to the suburban estate and, enjoying the "fresh" air, they cut across the local park. Idiots. But, luckily, they were only mugged twice, both times by a different group of twelve year olds who were shocked beyond belief when Tonks suddenly flashed them.

She pulled up her top with a ‘look over ‘ere lads’. They stood, transfixed at the sight of her breasts, with there eyes opened widely. Then Tonks began to morph. She got older and older, and wrinklier and wrinklier. The force of gravity came into apparent effect. The boys screamed like babies and ran for their mummies.

The group of travellers began to laugh like they had never laughed before, falling to the ground, their sphincter muscles working harder than ever, but finding it increasingly harder to deal with the strain. Luna was the first to lose it.

When, at last, they began to draw nearer to Harry’s house, they began to hear the beats of extremely loud music thumping their eardrums into submission. As they got closer, they could feel the bass notes reverberating through the ground and up their legs, not altogether too unpleasantly.

Ron, Ginny and Luna, not having had any muggle interaction, clung to each other in fear. Well, seeing as how they had just experienced the horrors of the muggle rail system, the fear was like a pavlovian response to anything muggle. Sadly, it was quite a justified reaction.

Hermione walked toward the source of the music. To her surprise, the found the source of the racket to be the garden of number four- Harry’s house. She knocked on the front door of the house, ignoring the doorbell, as is the English way.

After a minute’s wait, the door creaked open an inch to reveal the eye of a woman. It swiveled around in a manner reminiscent of mad-eye-Moody. The obviously completely neurotic woman opened the door further to talk to Hermione. She was scrawny and horsy looking. This could only have been Harry’s aunt Petunia, she thought. The woman fit all of Harry’s descriptions, but something seemed odd about her demeanor.

She was dressed in only a fluffy pink dressing gown and pink furry slippers, and held a lit cigarette in one hand. Her eyes were open more that was probably healthy and she was smiling wildly as if to (try to) say: Medication? Whatever gave you that idea!

She hid her cigarette behind her back, and Hermione began to speak loudly above the loud rock music.

‘Hello, my name is Hermione Granger’, she bellowed. Petunia listened closely, her hand cupped behind her ear, the better to hear. ‘I’m a friend of Harry’s. Is he in?’

Petunia’s face fell at mention of the name Harry and she took a deep drag from her cigarette, pulling at her hair desperately with the other hand. ‘In?’ She shrieked madly, her eyes bulging even more. ‘In? Yes, he’s "in". Who else would be making such a racket! In the garden, no less! Girls calling him every hour of the day and night! Out at rock concerts till all hours! He’s an embarrassment, the little shit!’ Petunia rambled, shutting the door dramatically as she finished her tirade.

Hermione stood there gawking at the closed door, mouth open, and wondering if they were talking about the same Harry. Her shock wearing off, she made her way around the side if the house to the back garden, followed by her motley crew. She pushed open the high wooden gate and stepped through. The music was so loud in here; she could feel blood trickling from her poor abused ears.

She winced and walked further into the garden. She turned a corner and her eyes opened as wide as Petunia’s had. Her jaw dropped and she flung her right arm out to stop Ginny, who was approaching from behind. Ginny’s reaction was identical. She flung her arm out to stop Tonks who bumped in to it. She began to protest but shut up when she followed Ginny’s gaze. She flung her arm out to stop Ron and Luna, and didn’t notice when they didn’t bump into it.

So there the three of them stood, eyes wide, jaws on the lawn and arms out. They gulped simultaneously.

The reason for this was that, before them, was Harry Potter. He was beating the living shit out of a large punching bag hanging from a tree. The music came from his stereo on a windowsill.

He was dressed in nothing but a pair of old jeans.

Harry beat the punchbag frantically and mercilessly, grinning in a disturbing manner.

Hermione recognised the song and knew at once why it would mean a lot to Harry.

Change everything you are

And everything you were

Your number has been called

Fights and battles have begun

Revenge will surely come

Your hard times are ahead

Jesus, he must be really fucked up, thought Hermione, as she saw Harry smile insanely at the word revenge. But her concern was predictably and almost immediately replaced with lust, as she saw a bead of sweat trickle down his toned chest. She whimpered.

The unfortunate punching bag was in for it when the chorus began to blare. Harry, wearing no shoes, socks or shirt, kicked and punched the bag with practice ease, as if it were a karate lesson, as he sang along to the song.

Best, you’ve got to be the best

You’ve got to change the world

And use this chance to be heard

Your time is now

She felt a tug on her sleeve and looked at Ginny, who had tugged it. Ginny pointed to the garden fence, and Hermione’s eyes followed. There, lined up above the fence like ducks for shooting in a fairground competition, were the heads of about a dozen girls, their tongues practically lolling and tugging at their collars periodically. Hermione raised her wand and aimed, smiling evilly. Ginny pushed her wand arm down, without looking at her. Hermione frowned.

Harry had not noticed Hermione, Ginny and Tonks, and they backed a few paces away without being seen. At that moment, a pretty girl came running through the back door into the garden. She marched over to the stereo and turned it off. Harry didn’t have a chance to react before she was right between him and the punching bag. She licked her lips hungrily and obviously so, and ran her hands along (an obviously uncomfortable and mildly scared) Harry’s chest. She looked up through her lashes at Harry shyly.

‘Prostitute’, Hermione muttered darkly, aiming her wand again. Ginny pushed her hand slowly downward making soothing noises.

‘So, Harry’, the overly made-up girl purred seductively to (an increasingly terrified) Harry. ‘I’ve been calling you all day, you know’. Harry backed away. He obviously did know, all right. ‘I was wondering’, she purred again, ‘if you’re doing anything tonight’.

Harry slumped with relief. ‘Actually, I’ve got a gig at the hall tonight’, he said casually and deeply. He grabbed his t-shirt from the windowsill and pulled it on without delay.

‘Well, I’ll be there so’, replied the girl, more sweetly. ‘As your date’.

‘Emma!’ Harry exclaimed, backing away as she advanced towards him, her hands clasped in excitement and her face shining with glee. ‘You will most certainly not be there as my date. I’m not going to go out with you Emma’, he said, as kindly as he could. But then he muttered ‘you fucking psychopath’, under his breath.

Harry was making his way to the back door hurriedly when Emma stormed passed him and blocked the door. ‘That girl, at your school’, she said suggestively. ‘You know, the one you always talk about in your sleep?’

OK, thought Harry to himself. She watches you sleep. Run away.

It was at this point that Emma collapsed to the ground, and Hermione, Ginny and Tonks emerged from their hiding place, triumphantly holding their wands.

At the fence, the girl perverts’ eyes rolled upwards before their heads disappeared from sight followed by dull thuds as their bodies hit the ground.

The local GP would later be subject to investigation owing to the amount of anti-psychotic medication prescribed in one day.

Author’s Note

Thanks so much for the reviews for the last chapter! I won’t have one up next weekend because I’m going to a party for my grandfather who’s 80! So I hope the last chapter, though rushed, was OK.

Just to reply to those reviewers who think I’m a bit deficient, mentally! I am a bit, I suppose!

And Mr. Anonymous! If you’re going to flame me fine! I actually appreciate being flamed, in a way- but only by people with the balls to sign their name and the intelligence to spell a four latter word like ‘damn’, correctly.

The song I used was call ‘Butterflies and Hurricanes’ by Muse. It’s from the album absolution.

I’m in a bid rush, so see you in two weeks!

Thanks a million again!

IamHermione

Author’s note: Hi again! I’m back after a shameful delay- after promising a chapter every weekend, I manage to jam my social calender with parties! Actually, my grandfather’s party was a lot wilder than one might expect. And wild drunken parties remind me (you’ll see why in a minute) of a fantastic review I received for my last chapter- Unfortunately, The name of said reviewer escapes me as I write this- But she (I assume, she) knows who she is! My reply is:

I’m actually Irish (northern), though I spend a lot of time in Britain, so I’m allowed to slag them off playfully without being branded a vengeful Paddy! Am I still fetch??! I agree completely with your politics, I felt I had to say that, since you had the balls to tell me what you thought! And by now, you’ve obviously been disappointed- seriously, for minute- commiserations.

Disclaimer: Actually… no. Why don’t you just sue me? It’d be a break from the monotony of my miserable life… Ah no, I’m not that depressed. And I’m not JK, and I’m not making any money. At all. And I don’t just mean from this fanfiction.

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The three girls emerged from the shadows, holding their wands high and wearing triumphant smiles. Hermione had the strangest urge to blow on the tip of her wand before returning it to her leg-holster with a flourish. But, like so many other urges she’d had since stepping into Harry’s garden, she repressed it.

Harry, at the sight of three more girls in such close proximity, reached for his own wand. Then he realised who the girls were, what they had just done, and what they had just done. Substance-wise. Hermione was fine, but the other two were looking the worse for wear.

Harry smiled at them widely, and Hermione ran forward to hug him, jumping into his arms and inhaling the scent of sweat and grass that lingered on his clothes.

Harry held Hermione, all the time thinking- ‘McGonagall naked…Dumbledore naked… Dumbledore fucking McGonagall’. He screamed softly at the last image his desperate mind had presented him with in order for him not to give away his current predicament with having Hermione in that position.

Hermione put her feet back on the ground and looked at Harry as she had at Ginny, Ron and Luna on arriving in Grimmauld place; cautiously and worriedly. She raised an eyebrow.

Harry, copping on that he had probably screamed aloud smiled reassuringly.

‘Sorry, Hermione, I just hurt my back earlier, is all’.

Hermione slumped with relief. Harry wasn’t insane. She decided it must be something in the water at Grimmauld place.

She reached out to touch him again but thought better of it. Instead she said with a smile; ‘I’m so glad to see you Harry. You look incredible’.

Silence.

‘I mean’, she panicked, ‘you look different’.

‘Do, I?’ replied Harry, bewildered at what she had said before that. Hermione nodded, and looked behind her at the other two, who were supporting each other.

She looked back at Harry and he raised an eyebrow at her inquiringly.

She threw up her hands despairingly. ‘You tell me!’ she said, shrugging. ‘I found them all like this a while ago. And they’re not the worst. It’s only a matter of time before Ron and Luna get done for indecent exposure; they’re around here somewhere’.

As if on cue, a loud shriek echoed throughout the street. ‘Oh, my GOD!’ was the exclamation. Hermione had a hunch as to what it was in response to, and she shrugged again at Harry, who mirrored it.

‘Come inside’, he said and he and Hermione helped Ginny and Tonks inside to the lounge, where they promptly passed out on the (thankfully leather) couch.

‘What the fuck is going on?’ was all Harry could ask Hermione as he led her out into the kitchen.

Hermione was about to respond when something large and pink bustled past her and sped up the stairs. It was Harry’s aunt. Hermione was knocked off her balance and fell backwards. Harry, behind her, caught her, and stood her upright again. He still held on to her arms. She looked into his bottle green eyes and whimpered.

‘Yeah… what’s going on’, she whispered, still staring onto his eyes.

Then, suddenly, she shook her head vigourously, and, regaining control of her nervous system made her way into the kitchen, leaving a gulping Harry to follow.

She sat down at the table and Harry opened the fridge. ‘Drink?’

‘Mmmm’

Silence.

‘I mean yes, Harry’, she cursed herself. ‘I would like one. A drink, I mean’, she babbled nervously, high pitched. She mentally kicked herself in the arse.

‘Erm…’ Harry strode over to the table and sat down opposite her. He handed her a cold bottle.

‘So, are you staying for a few days?’ he said hopefully, while running his hand through his hair and taking a swig from a bottle dripping with condensation with his eyes closed.

Hermione squeaked, and shifted in her chair, taking her own bottle and rubbing it down her neck.

‘Yes, I’ll stay for a while if that’s ok’.

‘That’s more than ok’, replied Harry. ‘I haven’t been talking to you in ages. I missed you’.

Harry looked at her intensely, and she shifted so much in her chair that she all but fell off. When she straightened up she said; ‘I’ve missed you too’. He smiled.

‘So, what’ve you been up to so far this summer?’ he asked casually, leaning back in his seat.

‘Nothing really’, Hermione replied. ‘A weekend in Edinburgh, but that’s all. You? How’ve you been coping?’

Harry frowned pensively. ‘I’ve been mostly ok’, he said slowly. ‘I’ve been training a lot, and I’m in a band, which gives me something to do’.

Hermione gasped, impressed. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah’, replied Harry smiling. ‘Actually, we’re playing tonight at the local club. You will come, won’t you?’

Hermione’s heart rate quickened. ‘Yes, I will come.’ The said breathlessly. ‘To the gig! I’ll come to the gig’, she said quickly.

‘Good’, said Harry, almost triumphantly. ‘Oh, and that reminds me. Will you come out and help me move Emma from the garden? If she wakes up, she’ll probably try to sexually molest me again’. He shuddered.

Hermione frowned. ‘That whore. I should have done a lot worse to her’.

Harry just stared at her.

‘Touching you like that’, Hermione continued, incensed. ‘I mean, the nerve!’

She marched out into the garden, with Harry following. When she saw Emma’s limp and lifeless body, she took out her wand again.

‘Erm, Hermione?’ Harry ventured timidly.

‘It’s ok’, she replied, ‘I’m only going to mobilicorpus her’.

At Harry’s questioning look, she said: ‘It’s actually not that hard to do magic without the ministry finding out. There’s a charm you put on your wand. I’ll do it for you if you want’.

Harry’s eyes were somewhat glazed as he stared at Hermione, and she waved her hand in front of his face when he didn’t answer.

‘Sorry’, he muttered. ‘What?’

‘I said I’ll charm your wand for you later if you want’.

Harry gulped audibly.

They walked over to Emma. Hermione cast her spell and levitated her out to the main street by the side gate through which they had entered by stealth earlier. Hermione set her down on the footpath outside. She looked just like any other teenager passed out by the side of the road, so no one gave her a second glance.

Hermione noticed this.

‘Alas, what a world we live in…’ she said sadly. ‘Anyway, she said, much more brightly. ‘What time is it, should we be going soon?’

‘Erm… Yeah’, said Harry, looking at his watch. The gig’s in an hour and a half but we’ll need to set up. I’ll get my stuff’.

‘I’ll help’, said Hermione, following Harry inside and up the stairs to his room. Harry grabbed a guitar case, swinging it over his shoulder. There was no need for Hermione to help. She’d just wanted to see his bedroom for future reference. Not-so-distant-future reference.

‘Right, let’s go’, said Harry, casually taking Hermione’s hand as he passed her and leading her downstairs and out of the house.

Harry hummed on his way to the club, and Hermione shivered at the sound of his voice.

‘Are you cold?’ he said, worriedly. He didn’t wait for an answer and put his arm around her shoulders. Hermione stumbled as she walked, almost passing out. Harry caught her yet again.

But this time, his adoring public could see them through their net curtains. They all scowled simultaneously.

So, as most of the younger population of Little Whinging made their way to the club (all who had seen Harry and Hermione together, carrying weapons of varying size, shape and deadliness), Harry and Hermione slowly began to yield to their lust, unbeknownst to the other, and began to fantasise about the rest of the evening…

They got to the club after a short walk, filled with surreptitious longing stares and casual touches. Harry first introduced Hermione to his bandmates. Their names were Ritchey, who played rhythm guitar, Nick on the bass and Sean on drums. They eyed Hermione appreciatively, as they walked behind Harry and her to the backstage area.

Harry turned around quickly, scowling menacingly at them. They took a step backwards.

Hermione left Harry to set up, wishing him good luck and kissing him on the corner of his mouth. The temperature in the building seemed to rocket for the two of them. She squeezed his hand, smiling, and walked away to get herself a drink, swaying her hips as she walked and glancing over her shoulder at a still stunned Harry, and smiling slightly.

Harry walked off to join his band on stage, repeating his anti-sex-with-Hermione mantra from earlier, shuddering as he did so…

*******

So, This is it for this chapter. I may have one up tomorrow, even though I really should be studying this weekend! This was kind of a filler chapter and I hope you didn’t hate it too much. This fic is just a joke anyway, don’t take it seriously!

And, yes- Harry’s band are based on the Manic Street Preachers, with Harry being the lovely sexy James!

Next chapter is what many of you have been patiently waiting for, if I know portkey readers!

Remember, What motivates IamHermione to write? Yes, you’ve got it: Reviews!

I am a despicable emotional blackmailer.

Review… Please?

Now I’m a beggar… I just can’t get it right!

Author’s ramblings: Well, boys and girls who are still talking to me after I failed to write another chapter last weekend! Sorry about that- I felt so guilty about not having studied at all, that I attacked my Chemistry book, forsaking everything else. Bloody hell, I think I’ll crack up soon! I mean I got Three hours of sleep last night. Three! Studying sucks! Especially when you’ve got nine subjects for your Leaving Cert- I mean, nobody takes 9 honours subjects for Leaving Cert… What possessed me?

Anyway, enough about my pathetic goings on! Thanks to all for their reviews- nobody hurt my feelings, for which I’m grateful! You make my weekends worthwhile! Onwards and upwards, so…

Disclaimer: Now… There are days on which I think I’m J.K Rowling, but today I think I’m Kate Bush so that’s grand! … ‘Heathcliff, It’s me, Cathy come home, I’m so cold…’

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The atmosphere in the club was electric. Harry’s band was obviously well known and extremely popular. The club itself was a typical grungy little hole. All bands have to start off playing in a place like that: It’s tradition. Except for if you qualify from some shitty televised ‘talent’ contest. In that case, you get to debut at the Royal Variety. Some would say these types of performers are an affront to music and deserve to be shot… Some wouldn’t. It’s a matter of personal opinion.

Anyway, the club was a dirty, noisy, smelly yet terrifyingly comfortable affair. The lights were low and it was packed to bursting point with people in the 16 to 25 age-group who’s personal hygiene was about as inadequate as can be found among people of fixed abode.

Hermione sat on a stool at the side bar, drinking a blue alcopop from the bottle and watching Harry and his mates setting up on stage. The crowd was exuding anticipation. Oh, wait- … Actually no, that was BO. But they were exited, hence the reason for the latter.

Hermione met Harry’s eyes shyly from time to time as he looked down. He did a couple of sound checks on his guitar, as the lads behind him jammed away on their own instruments causing a hugely uncomfortable cacophony of sounds. Nobody cared, though.

At last, the sound checks were complete. A hush came over the crowd as Harry swung his guitar over his shoulder in an amazingly attractive way. His guitar was a black one: almost the exact colour of his hair. Not cheap, but slightly damaged, Hermione knew it must have been Dudley’s.

Harry looked down at Hermione intensely for about two seconds, causing some heads to turn. He was dressed in his jeans, an old whitish t-shirt with a rip in the front of it. His eyes, beneath his unruly fringe, seemed to shine from the stage. He was mesmerising, and he knew it; he commanded the attention of everyone in the club. They held their breath as one.

Then, all of a sudden, the silence of the club was shattered. The drums started up in a steady rhythm, followed by Nick’s pounding bass. When Harry’s smooth sounding electric guitar joined in, the crowd lost their minds. It was like Beatlemania, but with more substance abuse and sexual activity in corners.

Hermione recognised the song at once. It was her favourite. Her jaw dropped, and Harry looked down at her and winked. Hermione gripped the counter of the bar with one hand and her stool with the other as Harry started to sing in a clear smooth and incredibly sexy voice she never dreamed he possessed.

Life has been unfaithful

And it all promised us so much

I am a relic

I am just a petrified cry

Wheeled out one a year

A cenotaph souvenir

The applause nails down my silence…

Hermione found herself moving onto the floor and swaying with the music. She watched as Harry closed his eyes and sang for all he was worth. That was him in the song. It could have been written for him, she knew. That’s why it was her favourite. And with Harry himself singing it… Oh god, she was so incredibly turned on.

La Tristesse Durera

Scream to a sigh…

Harry sang with strength and passion, his band mates watching him with awed admiration. No… wait a minute: Oh, dear God, that was most certainly not a look of professional admiration that Richey just sent his way, Hermione thought. She let it slide.

I see liberals

I am just a fashion accessory

People send postcards

And they all hope I’m feeling well

I retreat into self-pity; it’s so easy

Where they patronise my misery

La Tristesse Durera

Scream to a sigh… To a sigh…

The riff. Hermione watched in disbelief as Harry and his guitar moved as one, his eyes closed, and a look of ecstasy on his face. The crowd were as silent as the grave, and the lads on stage watched him as if he were a god. Hermione, stunned beyond comprehension watched with open eyes and gaping mouth as Harry finished the riff with a jump and launched into song again, more powerfully than ever.

I sold my medal

It paid a bill

It sells on market stalls

Parades Milan catwalks

Oh the sadness

Will never go…

Will never go away

Baby, it’s here to stay

La Tristesse Durera

Scream to a sigh…To a sigh…

There was an explosion of sound as the song ended, Hermione screaming herself hoarse with the best of them. She felt like there was nothing to do but scream for more.

Harry looked down at Hermione, as if begging for her opinion. She couldn’t move. She just stood there, gaping. He took that as a good sign and he smiled at her nervously. She gulped.

He kept his gaze on her still, and she stared back. The crowd’s heads flipped back and forward like at a tennis match. Harry was breathing heavily after his performance and it was fairly obvious to the crowd why Hermione was breathing heavily.

Harry, without breaking eye contact with Hermione, held a hand up commandingly. Almost immediately, Sean began on the drums, building up in a crescendo until the others joined in at the climax, Harry leading. For this song, he kept eye contact with Hermione the whole time.

It was strange glue that held us together

While we both came apart at the seams

She said your place or mine

While we’ve still got the time

So I played along with her schemes

But I don’t have the right to be with you tonight

So please leave me alone with no saviour

I will sleep safe and sound with nobody around me

When faced with my demons

I clothe them and feed them

And I smile, yes I smile

As they’re taking me over

And if I cannot sleep

For the secrets I keep

It’s the price I’m willing to meet

Oh, the end of the night

Never comes too quickly for me…

Hermione whimpered as his gaze intensified while he played the riff of the song. It was a song Hermione had never heard before. It was slow and haunting. The crowd was silent once more in respect to the song and it’s fantastically attractive singer.

The song ended and the silence became painful. Harry and Hermione had not taken their eyes off one another as they stared at each other with open longing and lust. All of a sudden, it was like something between them snapped. The air seemed to thicken with anticipation.

The crowd gasped as one as Harry suddenly lifted his guitar over his head and handed it to Nick, who accepted it dazedly. Harry, jumped of the stage and the crowd parted to let him through.

Harry and Hermione hurtled towards each other like two trains, one having left Glasgow at 7:15pm and the other London at 8:05pm, and travelling at a speed of 55 miles per hour each.

They met each other in the middle of the floor as the band, led by Richey, started into a loud number to take the attention from Harry and Hermione. Not like they could have given two shits.

They flew into each other’s arms, their lips meeting forcefully, kissing desperately and passionately, their hands roaming everywhere. Harry led them to the side, never once coming up for oxygen. There were more important things. It was when Harry had Hermione pressed up hard against the wall, his hand up her top, that a resounding scream of rage filled the club.

‘You BITCH!’

It was Emma the stalker.

The band stopped, almost without knowing, to watch the drama unfold. The crowd again parted to let an enraged and determined Emma through. Harry groaned.

Hermione sighed loudly in frustration. She walked out to meet Emma halfway, just as angrily and determinately, ignoring Harry’s protests. She met Emma-the-stalker’s eyes defiantly.

Emma raised her hand quickly and suddenly as if to strike Hermione. But Hermione was quicker, obviously. She grabbed Emma’s raised hand and, as quick as lightning and using a move Harry had taught her in the D.A., twisted it so that Emma fell to the ground, face down, her arm held behind her back. Hermione bent down, putting a knee on Emma’s back to hold her down. Hermione spoke quietly and menacingly and the assembled onlookers craned their necks, the better to hear.

‘I swear to you, you odd little girl’, Hermione intoned. ‘If you so much as look at him again, I shall see to it that you never look at anything else ever again.’ She spoke chirpily now. ‘Are we clear?’

She flipped Emma over. She was catatonic with fear, and understandably so. Hermione stood up, triumphantly. The crowd shrank back.

The band started up again as Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm from behind. He was beaming proudly. He pulled her against him and bent to kiss her again. The kiss became more urgent as he led her towards the door. She tangled her hands in his unruly hair, exploring his mouth with her tongue. She felt the chilly night air on her bare arms, and supposed they were outside. She heard a small pop and all of a sudden; she could feel herself falling as one might were they trapped in a free falling lift.

She opened her eyes and tore herself away from Harry face, panting. She realised that they were in Harry’s bedroom. She looked up at him and he was smiling smugly.

‘Apparation, Harry?’

‘That doesn’t mean I don’t want you to charm my wand, though’, he replied deeply.

Hermione was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling as she gazed at Harry. He stared back just as forcefully. They could hear sounds from the rest of the house. Disturbing sounds. They ignored them. It was probably Luna and Ron.

Harry and Hermione stepped towards each other. Their passion had intensified ten-fold, so that both were finding it increasingly hard to breathe. The room crackled with spontaneous magic.

For the second time that night, it was like something snapped between them. They closed the gap between them, and collided with a dull thump that may or may not have hurt. Their lips found each other. Hermione kissed him like her life depended on it. She had a suspicion that her life might have actually depended on it at this stage. She felt as if she might explode.

His lips were soft and his mouth warm and sweet. He dipped his head to taste her neck and she moaned loudly and desperately. She could feel his hot breath scorching her neck. Her hands gripped his shoulders before running down his hard chest. He groaned against her neck, causing her to tilt her head for him. His tongue flicked out against her neck.

Hermione’s hands found the buckle of Harry’s belt. She fumbled desperately with it as Harry brought his lips to hers once more, sliding his tongue between her lips. It was veering into spontaneous combustion territory for Hermione.

She managed to get Harry’s belt buckle undone blindly. She gripped the bottom of his old t-shirt and pulled it upward, grazing his chest as she did so. He gasped, breaking the kiss for a split second to tear the offending article over his head. Kissing her again, he did the same with her top, pulling it off her with desperate haste and he backed her towards his bed.

Hermione’s knees hit the bed and she fell backward onto it, dragging Harry down on top of her. She could feel the hard bulge in his pants pressing against her leg as he kissed her chest, while fumbling frantically behind her back with the bra-clasp. He undid it, removing it and chucking it unceremoniously away from him. It soared out the open window.

By now, Hermione thought she wouldn’t be able to stand a second more of this. Harry was sucking on her neck while kneading her breast with his right hand. Her hands found his trousers again, and undid his fly with almost unnerving speed. She took the waistband and began to push it down. Harry cooperated and kicked off his shoes before sliding out of his jeans alarmingly quickly. He found her lips yet again, while his hands gripped the waistbands of her trousers. She lifted her hips up as he slid them over her hips.

Hermione’s hands were fisted in Harry’s silky hair, and she was beginning to make sounds that could most certainly be heard through the open window.

Now, all that stood in their way was Harry’s black boxers, and Hermione’s white-laced knickers. As Hermione’s hands still gripped the back of Harry’s head, pulling his face closer to hers as their tongues battled for dominance, Harry slid off her knickers before removing his own. Boxers, that is.

Now there was nothing at all to separate them. Harry lay on top of Hermione, and she whimpered as his hands slid down her body. Hers did the same, sliding down his warm, toned chest, finally grasping his long, hard length as his fingers found their destination. Harry groaned gutturally and Hermione threw her head back wildly as his thumb grazed her sensitive spot and, all dignity forgotten, she begged him to fuck her.

‘Harry’, she pleaded loudly with him. ‘Oh god… Harry…’

That was all the coherent speech she could manage anymore, she thought, but she managed to string three more letters together. ‘NOW’, she almost screamed at him. He moaned loudly, aroused beyond belief by Hermione’s wanton pleading.

She grasped his length again, and he positioned himself between her legs. He pressed against her entrance and kissed her fiercely. She held his face in her hands and her tongue slid into his mouth just as he slid into her in one quick, powerful stroke. Hermione winced slightly, but the pain was nowhere near as bad as she had expected. She was past caring.

She threw her head back in pleasure at finally having Harry inside her. Harry, seeing that she was all right, began to move. He pulled out, almost all the way, before pounding into her again. Hermione’s hips met his, thrust for thrust, as she took him in deeper each time.

Harry turned slightly and pounded into her again, harder than ever. This time, Hermione could feel the tip of his long, thick cock nudge a spot inside. She yelled with pleasure, arching her hips upward to facilitate more of that.

Harry’s pace was steadily increasing, and Hermione gripped his shoulders tightly as he slammed into her over and over again. He whispered her name in her ear every few seconds as she screamed every time he hit that spot inside.

Her legs were wrapped around him, and took him in even deeper than she thought possible. Harry was dimly aware that he might have been too rough, but Hermione’s screams of ‘harder, Harry, HARDER!’ reassured him that she was enjoying it.

He slammed into her again, skin meeting skin with an incredibly erotic slapping noise. Hermione felt the pressure building up inside her as his length moved in and out of her, angled perfectly for pleasure. She was dimly aware that she was screaming his name loudly, and he hers, and she felt the pressure inside her building and building.

She screamed loudly as she came, her walls clenching and unclenching around Harry’s cock. He fingernails dug into Harry’s back as her orgasm seemed to go on and on as Harry held out, still fucking her hard and fast.

He let out a strangled cry as another orgasm shook Hermione and her walls tightened around him more than ever, milking him. He came, pounding into her with his last strokes and Hermione felt his seed spill into her. She whimpered softly with pleasure, as Harry collapsed on top of her, exhausted.

They were both breathing deeply and erratically, having just experienced more pleasure that either ever thought possible. Hermione took Harry’s face in her hands again and kissed him fiercely. His face was hot and his fringe matted with sweat, but he reciprocated the kiss with just as much passion.

Hermione pulled away and at a loss for words, all she could logically think of to say was:

‘I love you Harry’.

She hadn’t meant to say it, but neither did she regret it. Harry looked at her intensely again. He still lay on top of her, inside her.

‘I love you too’, was all he could manage. Hermione smiled fondly at him, and brushed the hair out of his eyes.

Harry rolled off her and took her in his arms. ‘Wow…’ he whispered.

Hermione smiled to herself. ‘My thoughts exactly’, she whispered. ‘We are definitely doing that again’.

There was a sudden noise like the clicking of a lock. The door of Harry’s bedroom opened, and in walked a large contingent of the Order of the Phoenix, Lupin in the lead.

‘Harry, it’s time to- ‘Oh my GOD!’

**********

Well, that’s it for this weekend, people! I find it incredibly difficult to write comic sex, so I think I alternated between smut and comedy- not that there was much of the latter in this chapter. Excuse the fluff: I am a hopeless romantic!

The Songs used were; La Tristesse Durera, by the Manic Street Preachers (Read my fic ‘This is my truth, tell me yours’ if you liked it) and the second song was called ‘Strange Glue’, by Catatonia. I love my welsh bands!

Please Please Please, Review! It really does make writing the next chapter easier when I know what people want or expect!

Thanks a million people! IamHermione

Review!

Author’s note: I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! To all those who care (Anyone??). I’m in my last year of school; A really intensive one that requires more study than sleep… But I said I would write every week and I haven’t, so I really do apologise- But I really had to study.

1. To all my loyal reviewers- thank you all! You make my day!
2. To my two anonymous flamers- Fuck you all! You make me sick! (Have the balls to put a name to your (fairly cruel) opinions).

Anyway, onwards! This chapter proved damn near impossible to write! I had intended this to be a sort of interactive fic- so tell me what you want in your reviews as well as your fabulous praise!

Disclaimer: Book six book six book six book six… I need Valium… Oh, yeah: "I am not, nor have I ever been, J.K. Rowling."

Oh My God My Eyes My Eyes I’m Blind

‘Oh my God’ screamed Remus John Lupin, ex-professor of Defense Against The Dark Arts at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and wizardry and Werewolf extraordinaire, in hysterical desperation. ‘My Eyes!’ he rubbed his eyes, ‘My Eyes! I’m Blind!’

He slammed the door. Quickly. As quickly as possible. In fact, quicker than one would have thought possible. Anyway. Pushing through the shell-shocked group of order members, ensuring that one at the top of the stairs met a painful, untimely, and for once, not Voldemort induced, death.

His terrified comrades looked on as he ran around in circles, clutching his greying hair and veering precariously close with every oscillation to the stairs, at the foot of which a poor unfortunate order member lay groaning and then, still.

‘Oh… my fucking head’, came a muffled groaning from the vicinity of the front room downstairs. Lupin stopped abruptly and cautiously, aware that something more was to come. He tiptoed down three steps in the narrow stairs, eventually grasping the banister and bending to peer through the railings like a scared child.

Tonks stumbled out into the hall. Lupin’s eyes opened wide.

‘Big Boy!’ squealed Tonks in intoxicated enthusiasm.

Lupin’s eyes opened even wider. So wide, in fact, that even through her drug induced stupor, Tonks resolved to get his thyroid function tested.

‘Remus!’

Lupin spun around with a squeak. Harry was standing at the top of the stairs, buttoning up his shirt and smiling as if he hadn’t just been caught fucking his best friend. Hermione, speak of the devil, appeared behind him, gathering her hair into a ponytail behind her, and holding her scrunchy in her mouth.

‘Peh-feff-ah’, attempted Hermione. She took the hair tie from her mouth. ‘I mean, Professor’. She smiled amiably. ‘Sorry about that’, she gestured with her head to the bedroom that Harry and herself had just emerged from.

‘N-nothing to be sorry…’ Lupin muttered wildly, quickly and high pitched. ‘Completely natural… beautiful thing…’

He screamed softly when the passed him on the stairs, hand in hand.

At the foot of the staircase, they stepped gingerly over the bruised and unnaturally angled body.

‘Oh, by the way’, Hermione said, looking over her shoulder at the people at the top of the stairs while Harry went to find Ron, Luna and Ginny, ‘There’s a body at the foot of the staircase, did you know?’

That sounded strangely, and quite disturbingly, familiar.

****

About fifteen minutes later, Harry, Hermione, Luna, Ron, Ginny, Lupin and Tonks sat in the living room. The entourage of the Order of the Phoenix had left, embarrassed.

Poor Ginny. Poor, poor Ginny. She was the only one without a partner latched on to a part of her anatomy. Tonks had found a way to distract Lupin from the shock. Luna was, in fact, attached to quite an inappropriate part of Ron’s anatomy. Hermione sat on Harry’s knee, playing with his hair. Ginny went back to sleep on the sofa.

After twenty minutes of this, the narration of which would be absurdly boring, Harry asked Lupin where they would be going; would it be Grimmauld Place?

‘So, are we going to Grimmauld Place, or what?’

Lupin replied in the negative.

‘No’.

Harry probed further.

‘So… Where are we going, then?’

Lupin was evasive.

‘Ah, you know… Here and there’.

Hermione tried a different tack.

‘Who all’s going?’

‘You and Harry’.

‘So… Where are Harry and I going?’

Lupin chose not to answer.

Harry and Hermione gave up what was obviously a pointless exercise.

‘So…’ said Harry. ‘We’ll go and pack for this trip to…?’

‘….’

‘Ah, fuck it… We’ll just pack’, he swore, exasperated.

Hermione stood up, holding her hand out for Harry. Would they be leaving right now? It was kind of late, after all. Hermione asked Lupin this.

‘Are we leaving now? It’s kind of late, after all’.

‘No’. A voice came from the doorway. It was Dumbledore. ‘We will leave by first light. By the dawning of the golden sun we shall be gone from this place…’ The end of this statement sounded almost tuneful. All eyes were on Dumbledore now, and all eyebrows raised.

‘Are you coming. Professor?’, asked Harry.

‘Yes’, said the old man.

‘Where are we going, sir?’ prodded Hermione cautiously, as the last time she had encountered Dumbledore had been hugely disconcerting if not disturbing. She hoped he was a bit more in touch with reality now.

‘I don’t really know…’ replied Dumbledore in innocent sincerity. ‘I want to show Harry to the home of his ancestors in Godric’s Hollow. But, unfortunately, all who were in on its whereabouts are dead’. He gave a good-natured laugh. ‘You might say, we are going on a quest’.

Dumbledore, smiling happily, walked past a bewildered Harry and Hermione, ruffling Harry’s hair as he passed. Harry looked outraged. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione grabbed his hand and spoke first.

‘Are you telling me, sir, that we are preparing to search the whole of Britain for one house?’ Her voice was getting louder as screechier by the second.

Harry opened his mouth to speak again, but was again beaten to the post.

‘No, no, no, my dear’, came Dumbledore’s calm voice. ‘The Fidelius Charm was cast to include Britain and Ireland’.

Harry and Hermione’s mouths gaped.

‘That will take for ever!’, said Harry in a strangled whisper. ‘Are you insane?’ The last word was spat out in a vehement whisper with accompanying hand gestures.

‘No’, replied Dumbledore. ‘Well… Yes. But not dangerous’.* ‘If you and Miss Granger cannot find a way to narrow down the search, then this quest may well take up the better part of our sad lives… But do not despair!’

‘…’

‘…’

‘Do not despair?’ said Harry breathlessly. ‘Do not despair???’ Again, this was a whispered growl. ‘I’ll give you "Do not despair" you senile, incontinent, crazy old man!’

Dumbledore smiled good-naturedly.

‘I suggest you pack quickly, as we leave in a matter of hours’.

Harry let out a scream of frustrated rage as stormed upstairs.

Harry was chucking cloths and possessions into a bag, willy-nilly, as Hermione opened the door and peered in. She smiled at Harry fondly. He looked up in a huff. He raised an eyebrow.

‘Well’, said Hermione, in answer to his silent question. ‘Dumbledore’s gone off the deep end, hasn’t he’.

Harry nodded fervently as Hermione moved to sit on the bed beside Harry’s bag. She spoke again.

‘He’s not thinking straight, you see’.

‘Go on…’, said Harry hesitantly.

‘There are clues to be found Harry. In books, I mean. Firstly, Godric’s hollow can’t have been in England. Your mother hated the English. There’s a quote in Witches With Attitude in which she says that she would rather pluck out her eyes than live in a country that has oppressed her people for centuries.’

‘Ewww’, said Harry, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

‘So’, Hermione ploughed on, ‘We’re talking about Scotland, Wales and Ireland. And we could narrow it down again by taking into account the fact that Evans is a really common name in Wales and the west of Ireland’.

Harry sat with a disgusted look on his face. ‘Pluck out her own eyes?’ he said, mostly to himself. ‘For fuck’s sake… That’s disgusting. No wonder I’m so messed up…’.

‘Harry’, Hermione tried to get his attention. Nothing.

‘Ewww’, Harry said again.

Hermione slapped him across the face.

‘Thanks’, mumbled Harry, shaking his head. ‘Needed that’.

Harry sat down on the bed and Hermione moved onto his lap, playing with his hair.

‘So’, she said. ‘We’re going to look in Wales and the west of Ireland. You’d better pack warm clothes’.

Harry looked puzzled. ‘Wales? The west of Ireland?’ he asked. ‘I’ve heard that they kill Englishmen and eat them and that they live in thatched huts and that they speak a different language and that they like sheep a lot. A lot, lot’. He said without taking a breath.

Hermione was stunned. ‘Harry’, she said evenly. ‘That is completely insane. Except for the part about the languages. I read that your mum could speak all the Celtic languages. I can only speak Irish and Scots. I’m sure Dumbledore speaks Welsh…’ she trailed off’.

Harry snorted derisively. ‘Do you trust Dumbledore to accurately translate right now? I read somewhere that when J.F. Kennedy was president of America he went to Sweden and he had this interpreter, but the interpreter was really shit. And he said to the Swedes "I love the Swedish people" but his interpreter translated this to "I desire you all carnally". And the people all went quiet and were all insulted…’

‘As you would be…’ said Hermione hesitantly. ‘Ah, well, what’s the worst that can happen?’

‘Well’, replied Harry, knowledgeably, ‘when the ad "Come alive with Pepsi" was traslated in to mandarin Chinese, it turned out to mean "Pepsi makes your ancestors come back from the grave"’.

‘What?’ said Hermione. ‘Harry, where did you find all this?’

Harry opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione interrupted.

‘Never mind’, she said quickly, and Harry looked crestfallen at the loss of the opportunity to prove to Hermione that he knew things. Actually, that’s precisely the reason Hermione interrupted him. ‘Let’s pack’.

She waved her wand and her own bag appeared on the bedroom floor, inside out. Harry stifled a laugh as he waved his wand and his case packed itself.

Hermione managed to fix her case before she rounded on Harry with a mischievous glint in her eye.

‘So’, she whispered seductively. ‘Where were we before we were so rudely interrupted?’

Harry lifted her off his knee and placed her on the bed, moving on top of her.

‘Right… Here, I think’. He smiled playfully.

Hermione took her wand in her hand and aimed it at the door ‘Colloportus’.

The door locked itself with a squelching sound and Hermione looked back at Harry. She tossed her wand to the side and Harry’s lips met hers. She opened the buttons of his shirt as quickly as she could. It was so much easier earlier when he was wearing a T-shirt. Harry was a faster worker than she was, when he put his mind to it, and he had her top off in a heartbeat, followed by her bra.

There was no ceremony with the trousers. Shoes were kicked off first, breaking mirrors and thumping on the floor, which was the roof of the living room below. Before they knew it, all that separated them was Hermione’s knickers. Harry almost tore them off in his hurry, but they were remarkable resilient, having withstood two Harry attacks in as many hours.

Soon, the headboard of Harry’s bed banged the wall in time to the Harry’s rhythm and Hermione’s moans and gasps accompanied the music of lurve.

Remus, downstairs, grew progressively more uncomfortable, and began to sing to drown out the thumps, moans and, by now, screams emanating from the room upstairs. Anything to stop the noise. Unfortunately, for all involved, that anything happened to be Britney Spears. Wandering around the living room in a daze he sang, as loudly as the sex required: ‘Oh baby baby, how was I supposed to know…’

Meanwhile, upstairs…

‘Oh my God… Oh, Harry… Hit me baby one more time, is right’

Lupin hit the high notes, though there were really supposed to be none, to the primal scream from the two young people upstairs, while Dumbledore watched him in mild admiration.

Dumbledore clapped when the house went silent and the banging upstairs stopped.

*****

Read Please!

I am fluent in Irish but am only learning Welsh, so I need a bit of help from Portkey readers! BenTheSlayer, I know you’re Welsh as you told me in a review. All I need is a few (grammatically correct) phrases!

Do not flame me for racism! I am Part Irish, Part Welsh and Part English, even though I grew up here in Ireland. I’m only having a laugh at relations between the countries of the British Isles!

Many thanks for reading- I now feel I have a plot to the story, but I would still appreciate Ideas in that department! Thank You All!

* Taken from Barry Trotter And The Dead Horse (read it- a really funny Harry Potter Parody)

Please Review. If you must leave a flame, please leave a name!

Thanks a million again and sorry about the delay!

A/N: I know not what to say! Sorry this has taken so long. Study and all… But you don’t want to know!

DIDCLAIMER: Ahem, Ahem: This is to certify, in the presence of all who are of sound body and mind that IamHermione is not JK Rowling’s preferred pseudonym. Oh come on, there’s got to be someone of sound body and mind out there, right? Right!?!

And so the journey begins…

Hermione awoke in the wee hours of the morning to a scratching sound. She realised that she was alone in Harry’s single bed when she rolled slightly over with an arm stretched out and fell to the floor with a small scream and an unceremonial thump.

She opened her eyes with a grunt and saw that the room was lowly illuminated by the streetlamp outside, casting a dull orange glow onto everything. The scratching sound was still grating on her and she turned her head to see where it was coming from.

She saw Harry standing very close to the wall and writing something on it with a brownish paint. He had taken the mirror and all his posters off it, so that it was left as a sort of blank canvas.

Hermione couldn’t quite make out what was written on it, so she walked over to turn on the lights. As the room lit up, she came to a disturbing conclusion. Harry was writing on the magnolia walls with his own blood.

Hermione was appalled. Really disgusted. Yes, a little turned on, but mostly horrified.

‘Harry, what the fuck?’ was all she could gasp out.

Harry looked around to her, a small yet manic smile on his face. There was a small cut in the crook of his arm, which he was using as the medium for his prose on the wall. Two fingers on his right hand were covered in blood.

Hermione’s mouth was still opening and closing without sound. Harry was perplexed.

‘What, would you rather I use a paintbrush?’ he enquired confusedly. ‘Cause I thought that’d actually be weirder’.

‘…’

‘Hermione, what-?’

‘Harry’, Hermione uttered in a strangled half-whisper, ‘What are you doing to the wall?’

Harry smiled suddenly, shocking Hermione. He took his wand and put the tip of it to the cut on his arm, closing the wound, and scourgified the blood on his body, which was naked still.

He held his hand out to Hermione.

‘Behold my genius!’ he announced grandly, gesturing to the wall.

‘Behold your BLOOD, Harry!’ Hermione almost screamed hysterically.

Harry looked at Hermione strangely, then dragged her slightly to him so she was standing right in from of his work of macabre art.

She saw now that it was a family tree. Harry’s family tree, but inverted. His name was at the top, and from that came two lines leading to the names ‘James Potter’ and ‘Lily Evans’.

He looked at Hermione and saw and expression on her face that he had never seen before. She was struggling to comprehend.

‘Hermione’, he asked after a second, ‘why are we looking at my mum’s family anyway? I mean, wouldn’t it be more likely that Godric’s Hollow was passed through the Potter line? Like, my mum was a muggle, after all.’

‘True’, Hermione replied, still fixated on the wall. ‘But if your mum really would have rather pluck out her own eyes than live in a country that she didn’t like very much, then what do you think are the chances of her shagging and marrying a man who lived in that country?’

‘Obliviate me!’ Harry shouted suddenly.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Obliviate Obliviate!’ he was screaming now, pointing his own wand at his head. Hermione snatched it from his grasp.

Harry was wringing his hands and hopping slightly up and down, whimpering.

Hermione slapped him hard across the cheek. Harry was still.

‘Thanks’, he mumbled. ‘Needed that. Don’t mention my mum and dad… doing… you know… again, OK?’

‘Yeah, whatever’. She was staring at the wall again, and in an effort to get Harry’s attention again asked, ‘So, explain again why I woke up to find you smearing your own blood on the wall?’

‘Right’, he cleared his throat gruffly. ‘Well, I was pissed off that Dumbledore expected us to search two countries for one house that I really couldn’t give a rat’s arse about, so I decided to narrow down the search’.

Hermione looked extremely put out. ‘But I already narrowed down the search’, she whined.

‘Yeah, well’, said Harry tactlessly, ‘It’s still a big area’.

Hermione pouted.

‘So’, said Harry, ‘I’m going to try this spell. I read about it somewhere’.

Hermione stomped her foot. ‘Why are you stealing my thunder?’ she whinged.

‘Huh? Get your wand’.

Hermione grabbed her wand from Harry’s bedside locker, pulling on one of his T-shirts before joining him beside the wall.

Harry pointed his wand at his mother’s name and told Hermione to do likewise.

‘You know the geography, yeah?’ he asked.

‘Of course’, she said defensively.

Harry said the words ‘locatus abodus’. The semi-congealed blood began to move in trickles down the wall from Lily’s name.

‘Concentrate on the geography if you recognise it’, he said to Hermione.

Then the revolting tendrils of blood began to weave themselves down the wall, intertwining here and there and leaving dark read trails. They soon produced a picture recognisable as a map.

Hermione lowered her wand.

‘That was disgusting’, she said shortly.

‘Yeah, it was, wasn’t it’, agreed Harry.

‘Anyway’, stated Hermione. ‘It’s a map of the West Coast of Ireland. Why doesn’t it say where the house is?’

‘Fidilius Charm’, said Harry.

‘Ooooh’.

‘So no point in going to Wales, then?’ asked Harry innocently.

‘Nnooo’, said Hermione hesitantly.

‘Do we need to make Professor Dumble-moron privy to that information?’

Hermione smiled wickedly, suddenly copping on.

‘No, I don’t suppose we do’.

‘Good’, said Harry authoritatively. ‘Be just us then’.

‘Yes, I suppose it will’.

Now Harry’s arms were wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer.

‘And it would be a terrible waste of money to pay for two hotel rooms, don’t you think?’

Hermione snorted loudly.

‘Hotel rooms?’ she laughed. ‘You are going to be in for one rude awakening, Harry’.

‘Wha-?’

But she cut him off by pressing her lips to his.

She broke away seconds later.

‘So, should we scourgify the wall?’

‘Nah’, replied Harry. ‘I reckon it’ll freak the Durselys out no end’.

‘Oooh you’re eeevil’, said Hermione in a horribly exaggerated Austin Powers accent.

Harry grabbed her and pulled her closer again.

‘Eeeevil, eh’, he growled playfully. ‘Are we talking Voldemort evil or Tellytubbies evil?’

Hermione’s hands slid down his chest, inching down lower as she purred, ‘Oh, most definitely Voldemort evil’.

‘Right answer’, Harry scratched out as Hermione’s hands ghosted over his growing erection.

‘Mmmm’, moaned Hermione as Harry sucked on a spot just between her neck and her shoulder. ‘And you’re far sexier than the Tellytubbies’, she bit down on her lip hard to contain a loud moan. ‘Except maybe Dipsy. I do find his green colour and sexual ambiguity a real turn-on’.

‘Oh, is that the case’, growled Harry as he lifted her off her feet. ‘We’ll just see how evil I can be’.

He walked to his bed as threw her down on it hard. She had no time to speak before he was on top of her and his lips were on hers again. His hand was inching up her inside thigh, agonisingly slowly. When Hermione moved downwards to feel his hand further up, he pulled away with a wicked grin against her lips. She gasped, seeing what he was up to.

She smiled with him. ‘I see your game’, she said breathlessly as Harry kissed his way past her breasts and down her stomach. ‘So, what’s it going to take?’

Harry raised his head, still grinning.

‘What’s it going to take for what?’ he asked innocently.

‘To get you to shag me in the foreseeable future’.

He pulled himself up till he was level with her and propped his head on his elbow. With his other hand, he drew shapes lightly on Hermione’s stomach. He was stark naked and unashamedly so, with his cock pressed against Hermione’s hip, so hard, so big and so urgent that Hermione marveled at and cursed his will power.

‘Right’, he said slowly. ‘This is what it will take’

He paused and Hermione nodded feverishly for him to continue. Fast.

‘You have a Welsh phrase book, yeah?’

‘Mmmmm’. Her head was thrown back on her pillows.

‘I want us to give it to Dumbledore when we sent him on a mad goose chase to the Valleys. But not before we’ve made some changes.’

Hermione caught his drift.

‘God, Harry, is that all? I thought you’d want me to give you a lap dance or something. But seeing as I’m pissed off with Professor crack-addict Dumbledore too, then I agreeeeee… Oooh yessss’.

Harry’s hand had finally found it’s destination, and his lips attached themselves to her neck as he moved to be on top of her. Her hands came around his shoulders and her nails dug into his skin as he replaced his hand with his throbbing cock.

He plunged into her as she pulled his mouth to hers again. Grabbing her wand, she hastily muttered a silencing charm, numbly recollecting earlier failures to do so.

Her wand fell from her hand as Harry continued to slide in and out of her with fluid movements, each time bringing them closer to the brink of abandon. She heard herself moan his name loudly and wantonly as her orgasm shook her body, prolonged by Harry’s continuing thrusts.

He came soon after her, groaning her name into her ear, causing her to shudder again with sensual overload.

Negotiating their way into a comfortable sleeping position, which was basically Hermione atop Harry, they drifted in to exhausted sleep, with Hermione’s last words being:

‘I take it all back. You are definitely sexier than Dipsy.’

A/N: A few notes. Tellytubbies remarks made in good humour! No court action please!

Please review this and tell me what you think.

I’m sorry again that this took so long to update- And I do promise that this fic will be finished, so stick with it if you’re still interested! The next chapter won’t be for a while but it will be posted, never fear.

I think that’s all…

Thanks to all reviewers so far. Thanks to ladyofslytherin for her input into the Welsh that will probably play a part soon!

I would love it if you’d take the time to review! I’ll try to reply to any questions and would love suggestions for the story.

Cheers, and REVIEW!