Hey. I had to change the rating of this story up a bit for the context in this chapter. Nothing is detailed but it is intended and some might find it slightly, err, inappropriate and offensive. Sorry if this is the case.
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Chapter Eight-
Behind the Eyes of the Hero
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Hermione felt her stomach drop to her feet and her face drain of colour. The look on Harry's face was one of disappointment, which she just couldn't handle. It made her feel ill and guilty, uncomfortable and unworthy, small and inadequate. She hated that look.
"A-about what?' she stammered, even though they both knew what the talk was going to be about. Harry sighed and sat down, fingering the spine of the thick book sitting in his lap.
"I think you already know." He said with a tired voice. "Sit down." Hermione wanted nothing more than to flee, but her feet moved forward on their own accord, until she was standing a few feet in front of Harry. He patted the cushion beside him on the couch, his head still bowed, and his eyes still hidden. With a hurting, pounding heart, Hermione sat down. She looked at her shaking hands before stuffing them under her legs, not wanting her fear to be seen.
There was an uncomfortable, tense silence, in which Hermione was sure her heart could be heard trying to break free from beneath her ribcage. When she couldn't take the quiet no more, she spoke.
"Harry, I tried to contact you, I truly did!" she said desperately, as Harry finally looked up.
"I know. I know you wouldn't have written this without trying to ask me first. You're not like that." He said softly, looking back down and flipping open the book. The pages were full of black writing, describing everything in detail, the chapters many pages long. Hermione couldn't help writing everything down about their life in Hogwarts. Each adventure was described in full, hardly nothing left out, not even her thoughts and feelings. She wanted everyone to know what it felt like being best friends with the Boy-Who-Lived, and what it was actually like being Harry Potter.
"Then why are you so - so disappointed?" she said in a soft voice, her eyes pleading for an answer. Harry looked up from the book, his emerald eyes shining in sorrow and...confusion?
"Why did you write it? Why would you give everyone our memories? I thought they were ours?" he said painfully. It hurt Hermione's heart just seeing that injured look in his eyes. It made her want to scream, instead, a tear rolled down her cheek.
"They are ours!" she said.
"In a way, yes. But now, everyone can just buy a copy of your book and read about what we shared together. In school, Voldemort and Dumbledore were always around, war this and war that. Everyone knew about that. But what we had together - me, you and Ron - was special. It was a way for me to forget about everything - fighting, school, death... It let me escape, and the thought that no one would ever take it or have what we had, kept me going. I loved the way that we had something together that could never be copied. It was ours.
"I first heard about your book when I returned to Scotland. I went to a bookshop to get you something as a sort of sorry present, but then I seen your book. It hurt, Hermione. It really did. Knowing you could just sell our memories away; write them down so everyone knew about them. It just hurt, and still does." Harry said tersely, squeezing the book tightly in his hands.
"I didn't just `sell them away'." Hermione said angrily. "I thought it would be better that the world knew how much you went through to save them. That you suffered more than everyone just to keep them safe. I thought you would be happy." Hermione didn't think Harry had a right to be angry; he was the one that had left for three years, not her.
"I am happy, it's just... I'm confused." Harry looked up and sighed. "People have always pitied me, always felt sorry for me. But that was only for the fact that I had no parents. But now - now everyone knows about how terrible my childhood was. They all know about what happened to me over the summer and during school - the minor details. I can't even think of what they will do now... They were overwhelming before - now. I hate to think about it."
Hermione furrowed her brow. "The only reason you're talking to me now is because of you? You don't want to be pitied. You don't want people to feel sorry for you. You're getting angry at me because I had the decency to tell everyone about what their hero went through?"
"Yes!" Harry said loudly. "I didn't want them to know everything about me! I hated being famous before, now I despise it! All I wanted was to be normal!"
"So, what you're saying is you actually feel sorry for yourself?" Hermione spat, her anger rising as quickly as the colour in her cheeks.
"No!" he said, running a hand quickly through his hair.
"Then what?" she said hastily, not caring that she was over-reacting.
"I - don't - know!" he said with a desperate groan. "I left to escape, hoping everything would die down. Now that I'm back, I discover that nothing has died down; it's intensified! And it's because of your book!"
So that was what it all came down to. Harry was angry because he was once more the `poor little boy'. He was angry because Hermione's book gave the world the true story behind the lies of the Ministry and Daily Prophet. He hated the fact that everyone pitied him because of something he had no control over. He hated the fact that he was angry, and he was angry because he hated. Harry's life was seriously messed up.
"So what do you want me to do? Do you want me to go to every home in Britain, Scotland and America to take back all the copies of my book? Go to the printers and stop the rest of my books being printed? Because I can't! If you don't like it, it's not my fault - it's yours! I only wrote the book for you! I wanted to make everyone who has ever called you arrogant, selfish and an attention seeking little boy, to see what you went through to keep them alive! I wanted them to know how much you suffered to keep them safe at night! I wanted the whole world to know how brave, selfless and caring you are! I wanted them to see the real you, not some advertising device the Prophet made up!" Hermione sighed, pushing down a sob. "I wanted them to know how much I love you."
That was it. It was out. Her words hung in the air like a heavy scent, drifting just above their heads, before settling into their ears. She put her pride on the line. They both had always known they loved each other, but Hermione had never voiced her feelings before. But now it was all out. She had said it. Now it was up to Harry to make a reply. He was either going to still be angry with her for writing the book, simmer down to be only slightly sad and irritated , or…
…kiss her…
…and that's what he did.
Hermione froze, feeling the soft skin of his lips against hers. At first, she didn`t respond, too startled and excited that Harry had kissed her, but slowly, surely, she returned it.
It was everything she had imagined it to be. Soft, tender and perfect. His hand was resting at the back of her head, applying slight pressure to intensify their connection. Hermione found her arms wrapping around his neck, her body leaning back as Harry moved closer. Slowly, the kiss deepened.
It was passionate and strong, a kiss between lovers who shared a profound mental, spiritual and physical connection - or a kiss between ten year best friends. Hermione lost herself in the sweet taste of his mouth: a cross between tea and chocolate.
He must have been eating chocolate frogs… Hermione thought with a throaty chuckle. She felt Harry smile against her face and her eyes flickered open. Harry's opened at the exact same instant. Brown met green, cinnamon against emerald. They stared at each other while their kiss continued. After a moment, Hermione let darkness block out his bright face, letting her thoughts return to the action their lips were achieving.
The couch sagged beneath their combined weight, Harry lying atop her. She could hear both their heartbeats through their touching bodies, and the heat wavered from her skin. Harry's hands wove through her hand until only one remained. The other was making its steady way across her shoulders, her arm, moving to her waist.
The hair lifted all across her body and she shivered despite the warmth emanating from Harry's sweaty skin. His hands fumbled with the edge of her sweater, before she felt his rough fingers brush the skin of her stomach. She trembled but shifted so his weight wasn't so heavy.
All thought of the last few days left her mind, leaving her blissfully blank and only aware of the mouth she was kissing. Harry's back and is snogging me! The corners of her open mouth tilted in a joyous grin. Excitement raced through her body, from her fingertips to the end of her toes. Harry's hands climbed further under her shirt, fingering the lacy bottom of her bra. She shivered in exhilaration.
Harry was touching her, as no other had. Of course she had been involved with others, but only one had went this far. In that case, they had both been intoxicated from a night of celebration, and it had happened the year before. When Hermione had woken up in the morning, with her head pounding and a man beside her on the bed, she could have died.
She had immediately ended the arrangement, saying it had been a mistake, but that man had always acted more friendly towards her; this made Hermione's stomach clench painfully and uncomfortably.
Her working relationship with Daniel Moore had never been the same again.
"What are you thinking of?" Harry's voice whispered in her ear, his hand resting quite perfectly against her chest. She felt her face flush.
"Just how good this feels," she said with a smile as Harry met her lips with his once more. The couch sunk a little deeper as they both moved into more comfortable positions, Harry bringing his legs on either side of hers, their hips touching. Hermione thought this was the perfect way to spend each night, lying in Harry's arms, enjoying the way their bodies seemed to have been made to connect together.
If I had known this is what I would have been doing tonight, last week, I would've thought myself crazy. Hermione thought with a silent laugh. Completely off my rocker.
Suddenly, her hands were on the bare flesh of Harry's back, his skin smooth and slightly wet from perspiration. She could practically hear the blood coursing through her body, pumping into her head, drowning out all other sound except their quick heartbeats. Her fingers gripped his skin as his hands went around her back, fumbling beneath their combined weights.
Harry moved his leg and something poked her in the hip. "Harry," she mumbled, "your wands poking me." A crooked grin spread across his face.
"That's not my wand." He said as Hermione's face flushed.
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Disclaimer - I do not own Harry Potter and never will.
Hey. Sorry this chapter is so late in coming out, I had it planned for Friday but stuff happened…err, and the first days of year eleven are so stupid. I hate school.
And this chapter is so short; I hope the contents make up for it though. I hadn't planned to move Harry and Hermione's relationship on so quickly, and dramatically, but it sort of felt right to stop it there and have that much in it. I changed the rating just in case, even though not much is explained, only intended … I decided to let your imaginations take over. Anyway, I'm no good at explaining…that aspect of life.
I'm sorry if anything was offensive or too much, just skip over it or tell me and I'll send you an edited copy or something. Also, there were no hidden meanings in what happened in this chapter…like Hermione is NOT going to fall pregnant… sorry if some of you were looking forward on it.
Okay, I think I've rambled on enough. I will try my hardest to update Friday, Saturday at latest. Again, I apologise for the late update.
Please review and thanks to those that have so far!
And for that person who asked me on Portkey if I had any other stories on Fanfiction… yes I do. I have many!
Later Days…
DW
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