Author's Note: This is basically a transitional chapter. There's not a whole lot of action, but what goes on sets up a few things that happen later on. This is also the first chapter that really contains some NC-17 material (and really, just a little). Thanks again to my wonderful beta readers, Abigail89 and MPotter77, who always spot and help fix the parts that don't work/suck.
Thanks also to everyone who has read and reviewed so far. This might be the last time I update for awhile, because I'm considering just writing the rest of the story straight through, dividing that into chapters, getting those beta'd, then posting the rest of the story fairly quickly. I started writing this story on November 1, 2004. I want to get it finished before the end of August 2005, and I don't see that happening unless I do a concerted push, similar to the way I wrote the first 50,000 words. So, if you're still with me at the end of this chapter, you might want to sign up for a Portkey story alert. Thanks again for your forbearance. Y'all rock too.
^*^*^*^
Chapter 9
At noon the next day, Harry left the Ministry of Magic and Apparated to Gringotts Bank, where he exchanged thirty Galleons for British pounds. He then Apparated to Charing Cross Road, near the Strand, and entered a small, brightly-lit Muggle shop. Twenty minutes later, he left the shop with two Muggle devices tucked firmly inside his trouser pockets.
Back at the Ministry, the afternoon went slowly. Hermione was still home recuperating from her injuries. Harry wished he could go home and be with her, but he had stacks of files to go through to finish his previous assignment. Also, Lupin had mentioned that he might have a lead on the whereabouts of one of Hermione's attackers, and Harry didn't want to miss any news. So he bided his time, his eyes glazing over as he read through stacks of parchments and worked on a report that was due at the end of the week. In between poring over parchments, his mind wandered to the events of the past weekend, especially everything he wished he could change.
If only I'd Portkeyed home, I could have prevented the attack, he berated himself.
You don't know that for sure, his rational mind countered.
No, but I could have tried. I didn't even try. I should have done more to protect her. If I can't even protect her now, how can I protect her once -- if -- we get married?
His rational mind didn't reply.
Lupin never did follow up with him, so when Harry finished his report around six o'clock, he took a lift down to the Atrium and Floo'd home. He found Hermione lying on the sofa, her hair fanned out on one of the velour throw pillows. Her eyes were half-closed, and a Muggle paperback novel was propped against her chin.
She's so beautiful. She looks so peaceful. She deserves someone who will take care of her better than I have. Better than I can… "Bugger!" He grimaced as pain radiated up from his stubbed toe.
Hermione stirred, her eyes opening halfway. "Harry, is that you?"
"Yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. How was your day? Are you feeling any better?"
Opening her eyes fully, she pushed herself up slowly until she was sitting up. Crossing the room, Harry sat down at the other end of the sofa.
Hermione eyed the distance between herself and Harry. "I'm feeling a bit better, thanks. And my day was very quiet and very boring. I don't like being confined like this, as you well know."
"You need to rest. Neville said so."
"Neville did not say I needed to stay home for days on end."
Harry shrugged. "You've only been home two days."
She pursed her lips in an expression Harry had come to know well. "It feels like two months. I'm going stir-crazy here. And…I miss you."
"I'm here now," Harry said, sliding closer to her on the sofa. Perhaps this was the time to bring up his purchase. "Erm…I brought you something."
Her face brightened. "Oh? For me? Is it something I'll like?" She looked like a little girl peering into a sweets shop.
"I hope so," he said, laughing softly at her enthusiasm. "Actually it's for both of us." He stood up and dug into his trouser pockets, then displayed the contents on the coffee table.
Hermione stared at the devices for a moment, then looked up at Harry, a slight frown creasing her forehead. "Mobile phones?"
"Yes. I want to stay in better touch with you. This seemed like the best way."
"They're not going to work inside the Ministry, you know." Hermione's frown deepened.
"I know. But I bought a three-month contract on both of them, to try them out. We can use them when we're not inside the Ministry. If we don't like them, we can return them at the end of the contract."
Hermione didn't look convinced. "Why should we have mobile phones? None of our friends do."
"Most of our friends don't live in Muggle flats, Hermione. And none of our friends has been attacked and beaten and…and…"-- Harry could barely get the words out--" and almost raped in their own homes." He hoped the edge of panic he was feeling hadn't crept into his voice. He wanted her to believe that buying the mobile phones was strictly a rational decision, when really he'd been desperate to find some way to keep a closer eye on her safety.
She leaned back against the sofa pillows and sighed. "No, I don't suppose they have." She paused, weighing her words. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, Harry. Really, I do. But I'm a grown woman -- no, don't look at me that way -- I'm a grown woman, and a fully capable witch. And that wasn't a fair fight. It was three against one, and I didn't have my wand."
"You could have been killed -- or worse--"
"Something's worse than being killed?"
"That piece of shit was trying to- to rape you!"
"But he didn't, did he?" Her eyes were bright and fierce. "I bit his cock"-- Harry winced -- "and made him scream like a little girl."
"Yeah, you did. Then he slapped your face and the other two tried to kick your guts out."
She stared at him. "I know. I was there."
Tears stinging his eyes, he looked away from her. "I know. And I wasn't."
Hermione took one of his hands in hers and stroked it gently with her thumb. "You can't be with me every minute of every day, Harry. You just can't. That's not how our lives are. So please stop kicking yourself because you weren't here when that happened. I couldn't bear it if you couldn't get past that. I love you. I'll always love you. But I don't need you watching over me like a hawk."
Harry could tell that Hermione's mind was made up, so he decided not to push things any further…for now. "I love you too. Sometimes so much, it hurts. But I promise I won't call you constantly to check up on you. Anyway, that's not what I wanted the mobiles for," he lied. Well, it was really just a twist of the truth. "I wanted you to have one so you could contact me quickly in case you needed my help. Any kind of help. Like, say you need me to pick something up from the market on the way home, or we want to order take-away. We can't exactly send an owl to that Chinese place on Charing Cross Road, can we?"
She smiled. "No, I don't suppose we can. The health inspector probably would not appreciate it either." Picking up one of the mobile phones, she turned it on and put it to her ear. "So how I do work it?"
"This model is pretty simple," Harry replied, showing her the various features.
"Please tell me we're not going to have Chinese take-away again tonight."
"Nope, not tonight. I was thinking more of pizza."
^*^*^
It was a beautiful late-summer evening. Harry and Hermione lay side by side on a raft, drifting lazily on a warm ocean current beneath a hazy half-moon. Suddenly storm clouds gathered in the night sky. Hermione stirred from her nap, rolling closer to Harry, and as she did, lightning lit up the sky and a peal of thunder clapped right above their raft. The sea, so calm just moments before, began to roil around them, and the little raft tossed and tumbled amid the swelling waves. Just as the sleeping Hermione reached out and touched Harry's face, the raft snapped in two and her half began to drift away.
Torrents of rain fell on Hermione, lightning crashed around her, but she seemed oblivious. Reaching out to try to pull her back, Harry noticed that the storm continued to rage only around Hermione's half of the raft; elsewhere the sea had calmed down. His own side of the raft, now drifting farther and farther from hers, was shrouded in a dense fog, so that he could barely see his hand in front of his face. Despite this, he could still see Hermione clearly, and what he saw terrified him. She'd slipped into the water, only her head and shoulders visible as she clung to the remains of the raft, her mouth opening and closing as though she was yelling Harry…Harry…Harry…
"Harry!"
"Ergh." He tried to pry an eye open, but failed.
"Harry, wake up. You've overslept. You need to get up right now, take a quick shower and Apparate to work," she said in her familiar bossy-boots tone. "No time for breakfast today, Mister Lazybones; you'll have to nick a muffin from the Trolley Lady."
Bleary-eyed, Harry looked up and saw Hermione slightly bent over him, her forehead wrinkled in a light wince of pain.
"What time is it?" he asked, still groggy and disoriented.
"Eight thirty-six."
Harry sat up slowly, rubbed his eyes and pushed his fringe off his forehead. "Why didn't you wake me up earlier?"
Hermione sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. "I woke up about six o'clock. I thought I was done sleeping, so I made myself some tea and went out to read on the sofa. I suppose I really must be mending slowly, because the book put me to sleep."
"What were you reading?"
A hint of pink crept into her cheeks. "Hogwarts, A History."
Harry snorted. "About time! You're the only person I know who hasn't fallen asleep reading that -- until now."
Hermione rolled her eyes and tutted. "Honestly, Harry, I'm just very tired. Under normal circumstances I'm sure my eyes would've been riveted to every word." She cocked an eyebrow and tried to give him a cheeky grin, but her lower lip -- still a bit swollen -- wouldn't cooperate, so the grin turned into a frown.
A lump grew in Harry's throat at the sight of Hermione unable to smile. If it weren't for me not protecting her properly, she'd not be struggling like this, he thought bitterly.
"Earth to Harry," she said, pulling him from his recriminations. "You'd best shake a leg if you don't want to be late for work."
She cupped his face with her hand. Her skin smelled of the jasmine-scented soap she liked to wash her hands with. His mind drifted back to the very first time they'd kissed, her hands fisting in his hair as he backed her up against the kitchen counter, her body slipping and sliding against his own half an hour later. Like other men his age, he usually had an erection in the morning. Now, being so close to her set his blood thrumming in his veins. The way her nightgown clung to her curves, her nipples straining the thin fabric, made him even harder.
"Hermione, do we have time to play just a little?"
She rolled her eyes again, then eyed his pyjama bottoms. "Nice morning glory, Potter. But you've got only twenty minutes to shower and get to work. We really don't have time to--"
"Please, Hermione. Would you please touch me there? Even just the thumb-and-forefinger trick?" Lowering his eyes, he looked up at her through his lashes, aware that she could rarely resist his requests when he gave her that look. "Please. It's already been three days since we touched each other at all." He hoped his voice conveyed the urgency he felt. "I need your touch. I've needed it as long as I can remember. And right now I need it right - there."
Pushing the sheet aside, he took her hand, guided it inside the fly of his pyjama bottoms and moaned as her fingers wrapped lightly around his erection.
Hermione had a naughty look in her eyes as her thumb found his slit and coaxed some pre-come onto the head of his cock and down the shaft. Eyebrows raised, her eyes shut in concentration, she set to work stroking him, her thumb and forefinger teasing him in the way that always made him explode in just a few minutes. As her fingers moved faster and faster, guttural sighs and moans escaped Harry's throat while his body shook beneath her hand. Finally, when she knew he wouldn't last much longer, she finished him up. As her forefinger squeezed the head of his cock and her thumb prodded his slit, Harry came hard over her hand.
"Oh God, I needed that," he moaned, his breath ragged as he lay boneless against the pillows. "Thank you."
"Scourgify," she commanded, cleaning up the immediate area. "Now you'd better get up and get in the shower before you end up late for work."
"You're right, " Harry sighed. Putting his hand on her arm, he pulled himself up enough to kiss her cheek gently. "I guess Remus wouldn't appreciate it if I told him I'd slept in."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Oh, he'd probably appreciate it all too well. Now hurry up and shower and SCAT! And don't use up all the hot water," she warned as she left their bedroom.
"You could always charm the water to make it warmer," he shot back.
"Cheeky sod," she called from down the hallway.
*~*
On his way from the Ministry Atrium to his desk, Harry grabbed a pumpkin pasty for a late breakfast. As he ate the pasty and read through some files, his mind kept wandering back to his latest interlude with Hermione. She'd done all the right things, just as he'd asked, but beneath her compliance, he sensed she was holding something back, the part of herself that made him feel whole. There was something tentative in the way she held and stroked him. Maybe she doesn't really want to do that with me anymore, he thought morosely. Maybe she's just doing it to keep the peace between us.
Problem was, he wasn't sure he could blame Hermione for feeling that way, if that was how she really felt. If I were Hermione, I'd be plenty pissed off, he thought grimly. When push came to shove, I failed her at the moment she needed me most.
After lunch, Harry finished the report he'd been working on all week. Around four o'clock he dropped three rolls of parchment in the in-box next to Lupin's office. Returning to his desk, he spied a Ministry memo whizzing toward his cubicle, snatched it in mid-air and opened it.
Harry,
Just wanted to check in with you. How are things going? Meet me at the Leaky Cauldron at half-past five?
Ron
Just what I need right now - a few drinks with my best mate, Harry thought with a sigh of relief. He looked forward to leaning back in a worn old booth and having a few butterbeers, or more, with his oldest friend in the world. He scribbled "Yes" on the outside of Ron's note, then sent it flying back to him.
At half-past five Harry left the Ministry and Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. Nodding his way through the early evening crowd, he found Ron seated in a dimly lit booth near the back of the pub, a pitcher of butterbeer and two tall glasses in front of him.
"I'm glad you could make it, mate," Ron said brightly as he rose and clasped Harry's arm.
"I'm glad you invited me. I've been needing to do something like this for a few days now," Harry replied, sliding onto the bench across from Ron, who poured a tall glass of butterbeer for Harry and pushed it toward him. Harry lifted the glass to his lips and sucked down a few ounces of the amber liquid.
"So what's up, Harry? How are things going?"
"You mean in general, or with Hermione?
Ron looked down his long nose at Harry. "With Hermione, of course. How's she doing? How are the two of you doing?"
Leaning back against the wall, Harry sighed. "Hermione seems to be improving. Her bruises aren't as purple as they were on Monday - actually they're starting to turn yellow, which isn't pretty, but I know it means they're starting to heal. And the swelling has gone down pretty well, though her lips are still kind of swollen."
"Ouch."
"Yeah. I can't kiss her right now. I can't even get close to her lips. It's killing me."
"She's probably not happy about it either," Ron offered.
"Well, you know how she is. Stoic about this kind of stuff. She's not complaining about it, but she lets me know exactly what I can or can't do. The situation is quite -- frustrating."
Ron smirked. "That bad, eh?"
"Yeah, it is," Harry muttered, frowning as he took a long swallow of butterbeer. "It's not just about sex, though."
"I suppose not."
"No, of course not. It's about intimacy. I never had that with anyone before Hermione. To tell the truth, I had more emotional intimacy with her as my best friend than with any of the women I shagged before her."
"You never had much of a love life before Hermione, did you?" Ron sounded a bit sad, as though he'd finally realized something rather unhappy.
Harry continued, "No, not really. Just the odd shag here and there. I never let myself get close to anyone emotionally during sex. I couldn't drag them into the danger I was in."
Ron nodded knowingly.
"In seventh year I had a few quickies behind the Three Broomsticks with girls from the village," Harry elaborated. "After all that business with Voldemort was done, I hired a prostitute a few times. I met her at the Wet Wizard in Diagon Alley. I cast a glamour on my face and called myself James Evans. I didn't care that I was paying her. She was good at what she did, and she made me feel like a man."
A thoughtful look in his eyes, Ron nodded again. Harry's sexual history was something he and Ron had never really discussed, and suddenly, Harry felt the need to get certain details off his chest. "I also had a few one-night stands --" he hesitated a moment before continuing -- "including one with Cho Chang."
Ron snorted, spitting out his mouthful of butterbeer. "Cho? Bloody hell, Harry. What could you possibly have been thinking?"
Shrugging, Harry closed his eyes. "I have no idea. Obviously the firewhisky was talking and Little Harry was listening."
Ron smirked. "Calling it Little Harry is kind of ironic, if I remember correctly from the Quidditch changing rooms."
"Yeah, well…You know how it goes. Sometimes your willy's got a mind of its own. One night I was sitting at the back of the Wet Wizard and Cho came up to me. And I was drunk enough to listen when it told me Cho Chang wants you to get into her knickers."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Bugger!"
Yeah, that too, Harry remembered.
"So what's she like?" Ron sounded quite intrigued.
Harry wasn't going to shag and tell, at least nothing specific, so he offered a general opinion. "Actually -- and if you tell anyone else, I'll have to hex you badly -- she's one kinky piece of work. I spent one very long night with her, and on that basis, I bet she'd probably try anything at least once." Unbidden, memories of where his fingers, tongue and cock had been that night flooded his mind. It was hard to believe he'd done a few things with Cho in one night that he'd never tried yet in two years with Hermione….
"Bloody hell." Ron exhaled a breath. "Well, that explains a lot. Like why you always seem a bit off when you're around her. So why was it only a one-night stand? After all that time you'd fancied her, why didn't you keep on shagging her?"
Harry laughed mirthlessly and sucked down a few more ounces of butterbeer. "Well, it had been probably four years since we'd fancied each other. I reckon she just wanted to see what she'd missed the first time around. And, frankly, so did I. There was nothing emotional between us. We were just two lonely, randy people who'd once been attracted to each other. It was just sex."
Ron looked at Harry for a long moment. "Was she any good?"
"Jesus, Ron! I wasn't in love with her. I just -- she offered a taste and I took it. So yeah, if you insist on knowing, I guess she was good. Enthusiastic and highly skilled, in fact. But my dick could've belonged to Roger Davies or Michael Corner for all she cared. The minute we were done, she kicked me out of bed."
"Wow. That's harsh." Ron sounded shocked.
"I should've known she would do that," Harry said bitterly. "Bloody cow. Can't figure out what I saw in her in school or afterwards." He leaned back in the booth, glad for the warmth spreading through his body, glad that the butterbeer had loosened his tongue enough to let him reveal this secret to his best mate.
Ron scratched his chin thoughtfully then took another swig. "Well, she was rather fit then, and quite pretty. Still is, in fact. And she knows how to dress to make a bloke look twice at her. I'd say it was just your basic raw sexual attraction." He paused and gave Harry a shrewd look. "So what did Hermione think about all this?"
Harry choked on his mouthful of butterbeer. "She doesn't know anything about that night." Then, lowering his voice, he admitted, "I never told her."
"Ohhhhh…."
"I mean, what would've been the point? You know what she thinks of Cho."
"She's not fond of her, that's for sure. You and Hermione weren't…involved then, were you?"
"Of course not!" Harry huffed. " Bloody hell, Ron! I wouldn't do that to Hermione. She and I weren't…we hadn't… we were just friends then." Harry sagged in his seat, feeling deflated. This conversation was quickly getting out of hand. He wished a waitress would come by and ask them to order. If they were going to continuing drinking, he would need some food to soak up the alcohol -- plus, it might distract Ron from this topic.
"So why didn't you tell her?" Ron asked, a shrewd look in his eyes.
"I don't know." Harry had tried not to think about it much. Now forced to consider it, he realized what he'd been avoiding. "Maybe I didn't want her to think less of me."
"Does she know about any of the other women?"
Harry weighed his words carefully. "Not specifically. Only that she wasn't my first."
That seemed to satisfy Ron's curiosity, at least for the moment. The two friends sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, enjoying just being together as best mates. When Tom the bartender came round and asked if they needed anything, Harry shoved two Galleons toward him and asked for a pair of shot glasses and a bottle of Old Ogden's, plus two platters of fish and chips.
Soon the food and booze arrived. Harry poured some firewhisky for Ron, who threw back his shot and sighed with satisfaction.
"Merlin's beard, I love this stuff," Ron said, smiling into his shot glass. "It seems to go down easier these days, now that I'm too old to get in trouble for drinking it."
"I know what you mean," Harry said, draining his own shot glass. "Being an adult takes some of the kick out of drinking, unless you've had too much. Then you'd better have a good hangover potion on hand."
Ron stared at him blankly for a moment, then rolled his eyes and pointed a long finger.
"Didja know that was how old Ogden made half his fortune?"
Harry shook his head, which was starting to spin.
"Yup," Ron continued, waving his arm expansively. "First he invented the best whisky wizards have ever known. Then, he invented a potion to cure the hangover he got from drinkin' it!"
Harry poured himself and Ron another shot, then raised his glass in a toast. "To Old Ogden, wha'ever the hell his first name was. And to his very fine firewhisky."
"And his hangover potion!"
They drank the shot, then tucked into the fish and chips. After awhile their talk turned to Quidditch and Viktor Krum's spectacular play at the World Cup. Harry recounted how Hermione had finally dragged out of him what had happened in Bulgaria the morning she was assaulted.
"I told her about that dream I had, the one with her and Krum in bed…"
"And?" Ron leaned forward and put his chin on his hands.
"She sounded surprised. But she also blushed."
"Blimey. D'you think…"
"I don't know what to think," Harry said as he leaned back and sighed.
"Maybe she still has some feelings for him?"
"I'm not sure whether she ever did have feelings for him. She's told me she didn't."
Ron raised an eyebrow. "So what's the problem?"
Leaning his elbows on the table, Harry put his head in his hands. "I dunno. I'm just…maybe I'm not enough for her. Maybe I'm not giving her what she needs. I sure as hell feel like I can't even protect her anymore--"
"Aren't you overreacting a bit, Harry?" Ron cut in.
Harry shoved his hand through his hair. "I dunno. Maybe I am. I can't stand feeling at sixes and sevens around Hermione. Haven't felt like this since right before she and I got together."
"Bugger, you are confused."
"Too right. And I'm scared of what this stalker might do next. Whoever she is, she seems to be totally unhinged -- and she's obsessed with Hermione as well as me. At least Hermione thinks so."
"Any idea who it is?"
Harry shrugged. "Yes and no. Remus said they know who attacked Hermione, but not who's stalking us. He was gonna contact the Muggle authorities to see if it might be someone from Hermione's past."
Ron's mouth waggled like a fish out of water. "But Harry, how could a Muggle be doin' this? Didn't that last note call her a M-- Mudblood?"
Harry's stomach sank. Why hadn't he seen this sooner? How could the Muggle police possibly help? This had to be the work of someone magical, almost certainly someone they'd known at school. The stalker just knew too much about himself, Hermione and even Ron.
"You're right, Ron. Bollocks, I'm starting to think the Ministry's going about this all wrong. Not that I've been much help."
After a long silence, Ron nodded and downed another shot of firewhisky, then turned toward the pub, which had become much less crowded. "Crowd's thinning out now. 'Spose you'd best be getting home to Hermione soon."
Hermione… "Oh fuck. I didn't tell her I was meeting you after work," Harry said, a knot of guilt welling up in his chest. His mind raced back to his fifth year at Hogwarts, when everything he did and felt seemed wrong. Ever since the stalker came into their lives, he felt as though he was fifteen again - anxious, angry and totally in the dark. Getting up from the booth, he stood up and felt the floor shift under his feet. Reaching into his trouser pocket, he found -- not what he'd expected. His mobile phone was not in his trousers, nor his shirt pocket, nor the inside pocket of his cloak.
"Now I'm really fucked," he moaned, grabbing the edge of the table.
"What?" Ron looked almost as confused as Harry felt.
"I shoulda rung her before I came here. I bought mobile phones for both of us. She doesn't want me to check up on her, but I wanted her to have one anyway."
Ron smirked and rolled his eyes. "Well, you're just out drinking with me. Your best mate. It's not like you've run off with another woman --"
"Don't even joke about that."
Now Ron's eyes narrowed. "No need to get shirty with me, Harry. I'm on your side. You've been awfully tetchy lately."
"Sorry, Ron. I've got a lot to be upset about."
"S'pose so."
"Well, now I've made a bollocks of the whole night. I can't even ring her up."
"Better go home before she throws a wobbly."
Harry could only nod and hope Hermione wouldn't be in a wobbly-throwing mood. Grabbing his cloak, he said, "See you soon, Ron."
Ron leaned toward him over the table. "Hey, Harry, 'fore you go, can I ask you 'bout somethin' that's been buggin' me?"
Throwing his cloak on, Harry eyed Ron carefully. "Okay, what?"
"Well," Ron began slowly, "I was just wonderin'…why'd you send me to hospital with Hermione that day? Why didn't you go with her yourself? I mean, you're the one who's in love with her, not me."
Harry felt like he'd been slugged in the stomach. He knew Ron wasn't asking maliciously, but this particular question had been on the edge of his consciousness for days. Why had he sent Ron with Hermione that day? Why had he insisted on waiting for Remus, when he should have gone with his girlfriend, the woman he planned to marry, instead? There was only one possible answer, he thought, his heart sinking and his face burning.
"Guess I panicked. Seems like I'm doing that a lot lately, 'specially when Hermione is in serious danger. See you later, Ron."
For once, Ron had no reply. With a heavy heart, Harry found his way out of the Leaky Cauldron and started to stumble home. Being half-pissed, he reckoned it was better to walk the two miles home rather than risk getting splinched.
^*^*^*
Half-past nine. It's half-past nine and I haven't heard a word about where he's been or when he'll be coming home.
Hermione lay on the sofa, trying to read the Muggle mystery novel that she'd started five days earlier. At the back of her mind, though, a clock ticked loudly. It was half-past nine and she'd not heard a word from Harry since he left for work that morning. Not that she'd ever felt the need to keep track of his every movement -- and a good thing, too. His job as an Auror and hers as an Unspeakable meant that, quite often, neither of them knew the other's exact whereabouts or activities. Given the nature of their professions, they were used to occasional separations ranging from a day to a month. Being apart was hard on both of them, but they always managed to keep in touch by owl or fire-call. Now that they both had mobile phones, she assumed he would have rung her if he expected to get home really late.
But Harry hadn't rung. She'd tried his mobile twice within the last two hours and got no answer. Now he was four hours late, and she had no idea where he was or when he would return. She wondered why she was so anxious about him being a few hours late getting home from work. Because he always tells me if he's going to be gone when he should be here, she thought, wondering when she'd become so clingy and whingey. Of course, she knew exactly when that started -- the moment those arseholes had beaten her up and stolen her independence from her.
Muttering curses under her breath, Hermione eased her way off the sofa and began to pace the living room. Her pacing was slower and less physical than Harry's. His was all long strides, flapping arms and urgency; hers was more hand wringing and wearing a hole in the carpet. Biting her lip unconsciously, she was pleasantly surprised that it was no longer tender. Her lips were finally beginning to heal. Maybe she and Harry could resume their normal love life -- assuming that he wanted to and that she didn't hex him into the next county for making her worry.
Of course he wants to, she chided herself. He wanted to play just this morning. He seemed happy enough while she'd stroked him until he lost himself. But was he really happy? Was she really able to give him what he needed right now? He had very healthy sexual appetites, even for a young man his age. Perhaps he'd hooked up with a co-worker, or even a slag on the streets outside the Ministry, and gone off and…
NO! Do NOT think that. He loves me. Me! Hermione Granger. He's not interested in anyone else.
Sure, he loves me. But what if I was incapacitated that way? Would he stay with me? Or would he start looking elsewhere?…
A click in the front-door lock interrupted Hermione's musings. Instead of the door opening, a flurry of epithets erupted in the corridor outside. Easing her way across the room, Hermione opened the door carefully -- and just missed bumping into Harry, who seemed to wobble as he entered the flat. She looked up at him, wondering what in God's name was going on.
"Harry, are you all right?"
He gazed at her from heavy-lidded eyes. "S'okay, Hermione. I'm okay. Just a bit…had too much to drink." He leaned against her for a moment, then shuffled across the room and sank onto one end of the sofa, his head resting heavily against the cushioned back.
"You were out drinking?" she said evenly as she sat down next to him.
"Yeah. With Ron. After work." Gritting his teeth, Harry closed his eyes tightly as though his head hurt. Which, Hermione, thought, it probably did, if his breath was any indication of how much he'd drunk.
"You didn't tell me?" she asked quietly, trying to hide her annoyance.
Shoving his fringe off his forehead, he looked sideways at her. "Ron asked me late in the day. I shoulda let you know."
"That would've kept me from worrying," she replied, grateful that he at least seemed contrite about the whole thing. "I don't mind you going out for a drink with Ron. I do mind not having any idea where you are for four hours after you leave work. I'm -- I just worry about you, Harry. I love you. Even though Voldemort's been dead almost four years, I still worry about something else happening to you."
Reaching over to her, he cupped her jaw with his hand. Still smarting from his earlier behavior, Hermione turned her face away.
"I'm sorry," he muttered. "Shoulda rung you. Shoulda used the bloody mobile."
She gave him a long, hard look. "So why didn't you? I tried to ring you twice."
Averting his eyes, he shook his head. "Just plain forgot. Don' even have it with me now. Must've left it in my desk at work."
Hermione counted to ten silently before replying. "I know you're not used to telephones, Harry. As I recall, while we were in school your nasty uncle didn't want you to talk to anyone on the phone." She paused, weighing her words. "But the mobiles were your idea. So it's highly ironic that the very first chance you had to use yours, you managed not to."
Leaning back, Harry shook his head. "I bloody well fucked that up, didn' I?"
Sliding closer to Harry, Hermione leaned her head against his. "Yes, I guess you did," she said softly. "Pardon me, love, but it's not the first time you've bollixed up. And it probably won't be the last."
Harry had nothing to say. Hermione stayed quiet, her forehead pressed softly to his temple, one arm around his shoulders. Harry did nothing, just sat there with one arm holding her loosely at the waist, the other limp at his side. His eyes seemed glassy, almost unfocused. He was definitely half in the bag. But his lips were so close… she had missed them so much and her own lips were feeling much better. Surely it couldn't hurt to try to kiss his lips? If she didn't kiss him, she reasoned, she just might strangle him for making her so worried.
Snogging sounded like a better plan. Feeling his shallow breath on her cheek, she let her own lips glide just above the surface of his skin, across his stubbled cheek, and down to the corner of his mouth. His lips seemed rougher than they had barely a week ago, before he and Ron left for Bulgaria. She hesitated, afraid to put too much effort into the kiss, unsure which reaction she was more afraid of -- her own body's, or Harry's. As her lips finally settled on his, gently, almost fearfully, she got her answer. Harry flinched, his arm slipping from her waist, his eyes avoiding her own.
"Don' think we should do that righ' now," he whispered, a pained look on his face. "I don' wanna hurt you again. And I'm half-pissed, so Little Harry won' be up for anything--"
Pulling away, she stood up, jaw clenched, willing herself not to yell at him. "Who said anything about shagging? I just want to kiss you, Harry. Despite your current condition, I want to kiss you. Is that so hard to understand? I haven't kissed you on the lips in over a week. That's all I want, to kiss your lips, to snog you blind, like I usually do. My lips finally seem to be healing, so I thought we might try that tonight. But if you're not interested in anything but a shag…"
Now she was steaming. He would not leave her alone for hours, fail to ring her, forgot to even take his bloody mobile phone with him -- then show up half in the bag and assume that a simple kiss would automatically lead to shagging. As she moved away, she expected him to do something, anything to assert his interest -- perhaps grab her wrist and try to pull her back toward him. But he didn't. He just sat there, staring vacantly, not even looking at her as she backed out of the room. Sure he was close to pissed. But he could at least object to her leaving him alone there. Instead, his response was deafening in its absence.
Nothing.
A few minutes later, she returned to the living room with a fluffy pillow and a blanket, which she tossed carelessly on the sofa.
"Get some sleep, Harry. There's some hangover potion in the bathroom. Perhaps a night on the sofa will convince you not to take me for granted again. Good thing you don't have to go to work tomorrow."
Turning on her heel, Hermione walked out of the room.
Drunk and confused, Harry gazed longingly at her retreating figure.
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