Unofficial Portkey Archive

Chapter 5

"Are you awake?"

"Barely," Harry murmured.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Yeah," he said, kissing her shoulder.

They were lying together on their sides, Harry snuggled up to Hermione's back, his arm draped over her waist, holding her hand in the nook between her breasts. A thin sheet covered them to their hips, hiding their intertwined legs from the darkness of the room. Hermione tightened her grip on his hand and nuzzled back into his chest, trying to fuse the feel of his body against hers into her skin. The warm, sweet puffs of air on her shoulder from his light breathing reminded her that she wasn't dreaming, that she was lying in his arms, content, happy and whole, for the first time in years.

"What you said earlier, when we were making love," she started. She stopped, wondering why she was asking about this at all. It would have been easy to avoid it, never mention it and wait until it came up again in the natural progression of their relationship. But no. Instead, here she was, compelled by her need to know - her unquenchable thirst for understanding - asking a question that she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer to just yet.

"What did I say?"

Lord, he doesn't even remember. Thank Merlin. It was just a moment of passion, nothing more.

"Nothing. Never mind." In the silence that followed, she thought he'd dropped off to sleep.

"I know what I said," he whispered. "And you heard it correctly."

"Oh," she said.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No, no," she replied. "How could that make a woman uncomfortable?"

"If you aren't ready to hear it..."

"I…"

"Hermione, listen," he said, pulling her closer to him. "You don't have to say it back. In fact, don't. I don't know that I'd entirely believe you right now."

"But…"

"But nothing. I meant it. I do love you. But I didn't mean to say it. It just slipped out." He kissed her shoulder. "At the risk of sounding sappy, this was the first time I've ever felt the love part of making love. Even in the beginning with Bridgette, when I thought I was in love, it never felt like that. So I said it. Didn't mean to, but I was overwhelmed. It was either that, or cry from joy and that is melodramatic and sappy. Two things a man isn't meant to be."

The fear she expected to feel on confirmation of his feelings didn't materialize. Instead, she felt lightheaded and giddy. "What if I like my men melodramatic and sappy?" she retorted.

"Somehow, I don't think Miguel was melodramatic and sappy," he replied.

"He could be a little sappy," she replied with a smile. "The whole macho Spaniard thing was a façade."

"And a good one. He was very intimidating."

"Intimidating?" Hermione laughed. "Miguel?"

"Tall, dark and handsome. He made me feel like the pasty, frail Englishman that I am."

"I think pasty is a bit harsh," Hermione replied.

"So, you agree with frail?" he asked, tickling her side.

"No, no!" she said, wiggling away.

"Come back here," he said, pulling her back against him. "You can't leave."

"Then stop tickling." She settled back against him, noting how perfectly their bodies melded together. "You don't seem to be intimidated by Andres, and he's Miguel's twin," she said with a smirk, turning her head to look at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Well, there is a big difference there," Harry said.

"And what's that?"

"You aren't in love with Andres, are you?"

"No," she said, staring at Harry's lips. She kissed him softly, getting lost again in the tenderness of his kiss. "Would you believe me now?" she whispered when they pulled apart.

"Believe what?" he asked.

"If I said it."

"No," he replied with a smirk.

"Hmm," she said, laying her head back on the pillow and closing her eyes.

She didn't want to succumb to the sleep that was beckoning her lest this contented feeling vanished with the light of day.

"Are you asleep?" Harry whispered.

"Almost," she replied.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"This sounds familiar," she replied, eyes still closed.

"Any errant thoughts…during?" he asked.

She turned her head to look at him again and saw his eyes filled with apprehension. "By 'errant thoughts' you mean Miguel?"

He nodded his head in embarrassment.

She turned over to face him full on. "No. None. I was with you…mind," she ran her hand through his hair, "body," continuing down his neck and to his heart, "and soul," she finished before placing her lips on his, infusing every ounce of feeling she had for him into the kiss. "Would you believe me now?"

"No," he whispered, staring at her lips.

She pushed him onto his back and rolled on top, straddling him. "Then, maybe I'll just have to show you."

He grinned, a cute, mischievous, lopsided grin that she loved, and said, "As much as I love the sound of that, you might be asking for a miracle."

She ran her hands across his chest in large looping circles. She reveled in running her hands across the taut muscles she never expected to find hiding beneath his soft skin. "Have you forgotten that Charms are my specialty, Mr. Potter?"

He ran his hand down her side, over her hips and back to settle on the curve of her arse. "Yes, I had forgotten that."

"Tsk, tsk," she said, leaning forward, her breasts brushing across Harry's face as she reached toward the side table to grab her wand. She paused as his mouth wrapped around her nipple, his tongue flicking the hard little nub in the center. She sighed and pulled back. "As nice as that feels…"

"Nice?" Harry asked, cupping and squeezing her breasts.

"Incredible?" she asked.

"Better," he said, sitting up, mouth open and eyes focused on the neglected breast.

"But," she said, putting her hand on his chest and pushing him down onto his back, "this is about me showing you how I feel," she said, brandishing her wand.

"You waving your wand around like that is a little frightening, Ms. Granger."

"Is it?" she said. "I'm a professional, Harry. You shouldn't be frightened."

"A professional what?" he asked, still watching the wand.

"Healer, of course. I took an oath to help people. Don't you trust me?" she asked, eyes wide in innocent question.

"Completely," he replied.

"That's what I thought," she said, moving down his legs.

"As if I'd say anything else right now," he murmured.

"What?" she asked with a smirk.

"Nothing, nothing."

She looked down at his hardening penis and raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure you need this?"

"I guess it depends on what 'this' is," he replied.

"Ever heard of Viagra?" she asked, moving her wand in a circle above his groin.

"Yeah, Uncle Vernon…"

She held up her hand and closed her eyes. "Not something I want to think about right now."

"Right. Good point."

"On second thought," she said, tossing her wand onto the floor. "Who needs magic?" she said, lowering her head and running her tongue along his shaft and kissing the tip of his penis before taking him in her mouth.

**

She was gone when he awoke. He sat up and squinted, one eye closed against the bright light of morning, looking around the room for Hermione. He saw her opened bag in the corner of the room and the part of him that thought it had all been a dream was relieved.

He pulled himself out of the bed, his legs, spongy with fatigue, taking him into the bathroom. The sight of Hermione's pink and gray make-up bag sitting on his countertop made him grin like a schoolboy. He peeked into it and saw her toothbrush and toothpaste at the top and thought about her cute little quirk. He was moving to pull out his toothbrush and toothpaste when a glint of gold in the bottom of the bag caught his eye. He reached into the bag and pulled out a simple gold ring - the one she wore on her right middle finger.

"Good morning!" he said to Hermione and Dobby a little while later in the kitchen. They were standing at the cooker with their backs to Harry. Dobby was watching what Hermione was doing with a look of intense concentration mingled with adoration.

"Harry!" Hermione said, turning to him with a smile.

"Master Harry," Dobby said with glee. "Miss Hermione is showing Dobby how to make a Spanish tortilla!"

"Is she, now?" Harry said, walking around the table and planting a kiss on Hermione's cheek. "Morning," he whispered.

"Good morning," she said with a smile.

Harry went to the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of pumpkin juice. "Sorry we didn't eat your picnic last night, Dobby. We were too full still from our lunch," he said, pouring the juice into a goblet.

"Miss Hermione told Dobby. Dobby offered to make her a home-cooked meal for lunch, but Miss Hermione says she has to return to Spain," he said, shaking his head sadly. He perked up and said, "Dobby will pack a basket full of his best food for Miss Hermione to take back home with her!" clapping his hands with glee.

"Oh, Dobby. You don't have to do that," she replied.

"But Dobby wants to, Miss," he said. "Dobby remembers, as do all house elves, what Miss Hermione did during the War for us. Dobby could never repay what she did."

"I didn't do enough, I'm sure," Hermione replied.

"Oh, Miss, that is not true. All house elves remember how you championed our cause. We still talk about you," he said, dipping his head in embarrassment. "Plus," he continued, with a joyful smile, "Dobby knows how much you mean to Harry Potter."

"Do you?" she said, raising her eyebrows at Harry, who shrugged in return.

"Oh yes, Miss. Harry Potter has been talking about nothing else…"

"So," Harry interrupted. "Is that tortilla about ready?"

"Just about," Hermione smiled, turning back to the cooker.

Harry furrowed his brow and shook his head at Dobby. After a moment of confusion, Dobby grabbed his ears in mortification. Harry glared and pointed his finger at Dobby in warning. Dobby had been with Harry long enough that it took only that gesture for Dobby's thoughts of self-brutalization at his gaffe to be controlled, albeit with difficulty. Harry gave him a wink and a smile and nodded his head in approval.

Harry cut his eyes to Hermione's back, then jerked his head toward Dobby's room, hoping he would get the hint. After a few minutes of hand signals and head nodding, Dobby caught on and silently left the room.

Harry walked toward Hermione, who still had her back to him. She said, "Dobby finally get the hint?"

He wrapped his arms around her waist and settled his chin on her shoulder. "How did you know?"

"I'm a mother. Eyes in the back of my head and all."

"Right," he said, brushing her hair off her shoulder and exposing her neck. "Yes, he got the hint," Harry said, placing small kisses up and down her long, slender neck.

"Good," she said, moving the skillet off the hot element before turning and wrapping her arms around his neck. "I've wanted to do this since I woke up," she said, pulling his head down into a passionate kiss.

"Why didn't you?" Harry asked when they pulled apart.

"You just looked too cute sleeping. I couldn't wake you up."

"You should have," he replied.

"Next time," she said, with a wink. "Hungry?"

"Starving."

"Let's eat," she said.

They settled down to eat a breakfast of tortilla, toast and fruit. Their comfortable silence was punctuated by each catching the other staring, before smiling back into their plate of food.

"Nice pyjamas," Harry said.

Hermione looked down at her well-fitting, decidedly feminine pyjamas. The t-shirt was white, with long pink sleeves; the pants were pink with little white flowers all over. "Thanks," she replied. "Turns out, comfortable pyjamas aren't so hard to find after all."

"That's good to hear," Harry replied. He watched her lift her fork to her mouth, her bare middle finger on her right hand drawing his gaze. "Do you have time for a quick walk through the village after breakfast?"

"You mean lunch?" Hermione said with a grin.

"Lunch?"

"It's half eleven, Harry."

"You're joking!" he said.

"No, I'm not, sleepyhead."

"How long have you been up?" he asked.

"Not that long. Since about nine, I think."

"I wish you would have woken me up," he said, sore that he'd lost two hours of time with her.

"I was about to bring you breakfast in bed, so you wouldn't have slept much longer."

"I should have done that for you!" he said.

"You can do it next time."

"Which begs the question, when will I see you again?"

She smiled and took a bite of her eggs. "I left a copy of my work schedule on your desk. Presumptuous of me, no?"

"Yes, and smart of you, to boot."

"The bad news is I don't have two days off together for another month."

"A month?!"

"I didn't really have a need for it, so I scheduled odd days off, to give the other Healers back-to-back days. But I always have Sundays off, without fail. One day is better than none, right?"

"Every day would be best, but I'll take what I can get. I reckon I'll be seeing you on Sundays. I can come to Spain Saturday night and return on Monday morning."

"Sounds lovely," she said, reaching for his hand across the table. "In answer to your original question, no, I don't have time to walk around the village. It takes a couple of hours to make it through all of the apparation points, plus I have an early day tomorrow. Since I didn't get much sleep last night, I need my rest," she smirked.

"Sorry about that," Harry said, raising her hand and giving it a kiss.

"I'm not," she replied. She pushed her plate to the side and leaned on the edge of the table. "We never really talked about yesterday, by the way. I enjoyed talking to Olivia. She's very charming and intelligent."

"I knew you two would hit it off. From what Remus says, she is a lot like my Mum."

"And Jo is just like you, right down to the beautiful green eyes. And what a quidditch player!"

"I know, isn't she great? She'll have a chance to play professionally, without a doubt. She has more natural talent than anyone I've ever seen."

"You could have played professionally, you know."

"Oh no. I had the world to rid of dark wizards," he replied. "I've had to settle for pickup Quidditch games on Sundays to quench my competitive thirst."

"Sundays?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, finishing off his eggs and pushing his plate away.

"Is that going to be a problem?" she asked.

"What kind of problem?" he asked, before realisation hit him. "Merlin no. If it's between pickup Quidditch and seeing you, you will win every time."

"You say that now," Hermione teased. "But the day will come when I play second fiddle to Quidditch."

"I don't ever see that happening," Harry said to her playfully stern face. "Well, at least not until we see each other every day."

"That's what I thought."

"Hmm," he said with a grin, leaning across the table to give her a kiss. "Was everything okay with Daniel yesterday? You seemed concerned."

"He said everything is okay, but I'm not sure," she replied, worry lines creasing her forehead.

He stroked her hand. "I'm sure he's fine. I remember how tough the first month at Hogwarts was. And I wanted to get away from the Dursleys. My guess is he misses you and doesn't want to admit it."

"Maybe," Hermione said with a shrug. "I hope that's all it is."

"What else could it be?"

She shifted in her seat. "He thought I was coming to give him bad news, Harry. The look on his face when he asked me what was wrong. My heart just broke." The stricken expression on her face was enough to break Harry's heart.

"Hey," Harry said, moving around to sit beside her. "He'll be okay."

"He thought I was coming to give him life changing news, Harry! Probably that someone was dying," she said with a sniff.

"Think about it, Hermione. That's not so crazy considering everything he's been through. In his mind, it would have to be something significant for you to travel so far. To him, 'significant' right now equals death. He doesn't understand how parents do crazy stuff like traveling thousands of miles for their kids all the time."

She gave a weak laugh. "He's a great kid, Hermione," Harry continued. "I could tell from just the little bit of time I spent with him."

"Even when he was being rude to you?"

"Well, I was with his mother who was bringing bad news," he said with a grin.

"Shut it, you," she said.

"Jo loves him, Hermione. She talks about him in her letters all the time. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say she has a crush on him."

"Know better?" Hermione asked.

"They're too young for all that just yet."

Hermione crooked an eyebrow. "Don't be too sure."

"My point is, he's doing well in school. He's got great friends in Jo and Theo. He's adjusting. It just takes time. I'm sure he's fine."

"I know, I know," she said. "I'm being silly."

"No, you are being a mum." He paused. "Of course that means by definition that you are crazy, not silly."

"Yes, right," she said, laughing. She cradled his face in her hand. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Don't mention it," he said, kissing her on the nose. Harry stood up, pulling her up and into his arms. He dipped his head down and began kissing her neck. "What time do you have to leave?" he whispered.

"I've got a little extra time," she said. "What did you have in mind?"

His head popped up. "A walk through the village, of course."

"I don't think so," she said, walking him backwards toward the door while kissing him.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked against her mouth.

"I went exploring this morning and found an inviting sofa in the parlor," Hermione replied.

"Did you? What about Dobby?" Harry asked, bumping his back into the doorway to the parlor. "Ow," he said with a grimace.

"Sorry about that. Wasn't paying attention," Hermione said, kissing him. "I have faith that Dobby took the hint," Hermione said, lifting Harry's shirt over his head. "And it makes it more exciting to know we might get caught," she said, wiggling her eyebrows before peppering his chest with kisses.

"More exciting? Than the three times last night? You are trying to kill me, woman! Have you always been this aggressive?" Harry asked, lifting her shirt over her head.

"Heavens, no." She slipped her hands beneath the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and around to squeeze his arse, pulling him to her in a long, deep kiss. She pushed his pyjama bottoms down and said, "Didn't you know that women hit their sexual prime in their thirties?"

"I didn't know that," he said, pushing her pyjama bottoms and knickers down while kicking off his own.

"Yes, it's true. You are catching me during my peak sexual years."

"Lucky me," Harry said.

"Indeed," Hermione said with a grin before they tumbled onto the sofa.

**

Hermione looked at her smiling face in the mirror and wondered if her cheeky grin would ever go away. The way she felt at the moment, she doubted it. A balloon of elation had inflated in her chest so that every step she took, every motion of her body, felt effortless, as if she was as light as air. At the moment, she couldn't imagine ever being weighed down by worry or sadness again.

She latched her titanium muggle watch(a gift from her parents and one of the last vestiges of her muggle upbringing she clung to) onto her wrist, put her simple pearl earrings on and slipped Miguel's gold band on her finger without a second thought. She paused and looked at the gold band, a tiny bit of sadness inflicting a chink in her armour of happiness. She tried to feel guilty for not feeling guilty but could not. She knew that it was time to move on, that Miguel would even approve. He had always liked Harry. The few times they had been around each other they had gotten along well. Miguel had even teased her about carrying a torch for her old boyfriend. She had responded by rolling her eyes and dismissing the idea as ridiculous. In hindsight, she guessed that Miguel had seen something that she hadn't.

Honestly, she thought that Miguel was most likely in heaven right now saying, "It's about damn time." One of their last conversations, while he was lying in a bed at St. Jordi's wracked with pain, had been about her future. The conversation was one-sided and consisted of Miguel telling her in no uncertain terms to move on with her life or he would haunt her until the day she died. She had agreed, if for no other reason than to end the conversation. The thought, at the time and for months following, was incomprehensible to her. Until now.

She did a quick check of the loo and bedroom for any forgotten items. Satisfied, she threw her rucksack on her shoulder and went downstairs to meet Harry, who had gone to the kitchen to help Dobby with the basket of food Dobby insisted on preparing for Hermione. Just outside the kitchen, the voice of a woman stopped her dead in her tracks.

"So she played well?" the woman asked.

"She was brilliant," Harry replied, and Hermione could visualize the proud look on his face from the tone of his voice.

Hermione moved close to the wall and peeked through the doorway, doing her best to keep out of sight. She was greeted with long blond hair cascading down a trim torso clad in an expensive silk robe. She jumped back from the door as Bridgette turned around. Hermione heard the scrape of a chair and knew Bridgette had sat down.

"I wish I'd been there to see it," Bridgette said in a sad voice.

"I'm sorry, Bridgette," Harry replied. "I assumed that Jo told you about it."

"No, you didn't. You know very well that she never tells me anything. I've received exactly one letter from her in the year and a half she's been at Hogwarts."

"And how many have you written to her?"

"That isn't the point."

"Isn't it?"

"No, it isn't. The point is that you purposely didn't tell me about it. If it hadn't been for Katie's owl, who knows when I would have found out that my daughter is a star Quidditch player."

"Believe what you want, Bridgette. You always do. But I didn't purposely leave you out of the loop."

"Hmm," she said. "Who's the basket of food for?"

Hermione closed her eyes and cringed at the pregnant pause before Harry answered. "Dobby is taking it to a sick friend."

"Is he?" Hermione heard the creak of the basket opening. "Yum, all of his favourites. He must really like this friend," she said, the lid of the basket closing with a thump. "He's never made anything like this for me," she said in a wounded voice.

"Well, he doesn't like you, Bridgette."

"Ouch," she replied with a laugh. "Harsh, but true. So, how is your friend?"

"What friend?"

"The good healer. Katie said you all went to lunch after the match. How cozy."

"She's fine."

Come on, Harry! Don't be so daft!

Hermione heard a tapping sound and peeked through the door again. Bridgette's perfectly manicured and painted nails were drumming on the wooden table while the silence stretched on.

"It is interesting that you happened to forget to tell me about a Quidditch match that your long lost friend happened to attend. It makes me think you didn't want me there for some reason. What would that reason be?"

Hermione could hear the sarcasm dripping from Bridgette's voice and part of her wanted to rush in to defend Harry. Another part of her wanted him to suffer for being such an dolt and not coming up with a better response than, "She's fine."

"It's nice to see your talent for fantastic stories is still in tact. I was so worried that you would be out of practice now that you don't have to lie to me on a daily basis anymore."

Good one!

The chair scraped against the floor again. "What a relief," Bridgette said. "I'm glad to hear that your standards haven't dipped. From what Katie said, the good healer is quite a dreary, plain woman. Not your type at all."

Hermione clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp of indignation. I knew I didn't like that little swot.

"Don't be rude, Bridgette."

"What was that?" Bridgette asked.

"What?"

"Did you hear something?"

"No. I only heard you being petty and spiteful about someone you know nothing about. And, for the record, Hermione is not dreary and plain."

"Katie's description seemed spot on from what I remember. How she was able to snag the sexy Spaniard, I'll never know," she said. Her voice lowered where Hermione could barely hear her. "We both know what your type is Harry, and Hermione Granger hardly fits the bill."

Hermione's eyes narrowed and her fists clenched as she was overcome by the desire to run in and kick the living shite out of that horrible woman. Hermione moved toward the door, all thoughts of discretion regarding their relationship lost amid her fury. She stopped and jumped back to her hiding place when she caught sight of the two of them. She saw Bridgette standing close to Harry and stroking his cheek. "Care for a little roll, Harry?" she whispered. Hermione's heart plummeted to her feet as Bridgette kissed him. She pulled back and leaned against the wall, her heart hammering wildly and her breathing laboured.

"Stop it, Bridgette," she heard Harry say. "I'm not interested."

"Well, that's a switch," she said. "As I recall, you were a fortnight ago …"

Hermione apparated to the bedroom, dropped her bag and ran into the loo, covering her mouth to stem the flow of vomit that was escaping. When she'd emptied her stomach, she sat back against the wall, the happiness from earlier floating in the loo with every last bit of food and bile from her stomach.

She got up and rinsed her mouth with water and went into the bedroom to retrieve her toothbrush and toothpaste. She was cleaning her teeth with entirely too much vigor when Harry walked in and leaned against the doorway. She glared at him and spit, rinsed her mouth and turned off the water. She grabbed the towel.

"Is she gone?" she asked, wiping her mouth.

"Yes," he replied.

Hermione reached over and flushed her happiness down the pipes before brushing past Harry. She grabbed her bag and threw it over her shoulder, heading toward the door.

"That's it? You're leaving without a word?" Harry said.

"What would you like for me to say, Harry?"

"I don't know, Hermione. Something. This is what happened last time."

"What?" Hermione huffed.

"Not talking. Thinking one thing when the reality was another. What do you think you heard downstairs?"

"Let's see," she said, dropping her bag again. "I heard her making implications about the two of us and you doing a horrible job of coming up with a believable lie."

"Merlin! I'm so sorry that I can't lie convincingly! That is really something I have to work on!"

"Don't get shirty with me."

"Well, you're overreacting."

"Am I?" she asked, stalking toward him. "Is it overreacting to be upset that the man that just spent the night making love to me, declaring his love for me, has been shagging his ex-wife on the side while sending love letters to me? Hmm?" she said, raising her eyebrows in challenge.

"I have not been shagging Bridgette. I haven't touched or even thought about another woman since I saw you at Kings Cross in September."

"And before that?" Hermione challenged.

"Have I been with Bridgette since our divorce? Is that what you're asking, Hermione?"

"Yes, it is."

"Yes, I have." he said, throwing his arms up in surrender. "Forgive me for being a man. It isn't like I have a lot of options, you know. I could go into Muggle London, pick up some girl at a club and get God knows what kind of disease. Or maybe I should date a witch so my picture could be on the front of the Daily Prophet and they can use me for their fifteen minutes of fame. Oh yes, both of those options are so appealing. So, yes. I've fucked Bridgette since our divorce. I figured that it was better than the alternatives, and she was more than willing. There. Are you happy?" He stood before her, arms crossed, an angry expression on his face.

"No, I'm not happy," she said. She stood there, facing him trying to force down the bubble of disgust that was rising in her throat. She covered her mouth and bolted into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her and barely making it to the toilet yet again. After coughing up a miniscule amount of water, she suffered dry heaves, her stomach clenching in response to her mental anguish. She leaned back against the wall, pulled her knees to her chest and buried her head in her arms, trying to pinpoint the exact reasoning behind her revulsion to what Harry had told her.

"Hermione?" she heard Harry say through the door over a light knock.

"Leave me alone."

She heard the door open and her anger rose in her like a phoenix. She stood up and turned on Harry. "Can't you leave me the fuck alone for one minute?"

"Jesus Christ, Hermione. Get a hold of yourself."

"Get a hold of myself? That's what I was trying to do until you barged in. I guess you'd rather hear what I think about you and your recent revelations."

"Hermione, you're acting like she and I have been shagging like rabbits every other day! It's only happened a handful of times, more than likely when she had no one better to shag."

"You know, Harry, I didn't think you could sound any more pathetic, but I was wrong," she said, trying to push past him.

"Hey," he said, grabbing her arm. "I don't have to take this."

She looked at his hand grasping her upper arm and then back at his face.

"So you will take abuse from a woman you can't stand for thirteen years but you can't stand a little criticism from me? It's nice to know the limit of your understanding so early in our relationship," she replied, twisting her arm from his grasp on the last word.

"What's going on here, Hermione? Am I again the beneficiary of two years of pent-up frustration? Has it been too long since you've had a good row? Am I just the lucky bloke you get to sink your claws into?" he said.

She whirled around. "Don't you dare belittle how I feel about this."

"Then tell me, please," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "What is the issue here? I haven't cheated on you. I haven't lied to you. Is it that I've had sex since my divorce, or that I've had sex with Bridgette?"

She crossed her arms and stared at him. "How would you feel if I'd been sleeping with Andres?" she asked, finally.

"I would hate it. It would drive me mad. But I would understand."

"What would you understand?"

"That you're human? And you know, sometimes people just need a good fuck."

"That is the problem! Right there!" she said, pointing at him. She turned her finger toward herself and poked her chest. "I don't see it that way. It means more than that to me. I had plenty of opportunity to have a 'good fuck' as you say, but I didn't. Trust me, I needed one and I wanted one. But I refused to do that with someone I didn't have feelings for. You on the other hand, have been fucking someone that you hate. Someone that makes you cringe every time you say or hear her name. I understand about 'needs,' Harry. I have them to. But for you to do that…"

Harry stood there, staring at the ground, hands shoved into his pockets. The silence stretched out between them like a chasm. "If you want me to apologise for being weak, I will. If you want me to apologise for not being perfect and living up to some unreasonably high standard you have set for me, I will." He met her eyes. "But I'm not going to apologise for something that has nothing to do with you - something that happened before we got together. I won't."

She gave a bitter laugh when the truth of Harry's words hit her. She wasn't angry at what he did, but at the loss of her ideal of Harry's perfection. His humanity had been laid bare before her and she responded with bitterness and ire. She sat down on the edge of the bed, completely drained of every single one of her emotions.

"She knew," Harry started, "or at least suspected you were listening which…"

"…is why she said all of those things," Hermione finished. "Goddamn her!" she exclaimed, standing up and turning away from Harry. "I can't believe I fell for it," she murmured more to herself than anyone. "I should have known." That bitch.

"Please don't be angry, Hermione," Harry said, placing his hands on her shoulders. "She is the master of manipulation. There is nothing she can do that will ruin what we have. I won't let her," he finished, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her against him. "What we have is special; you know it."

She leaned into him and let her head fall back onto his shoulder. "I'm not angry with you, Harry. I'm angry with myself for letting her get to me and not seeing through her."

I have got to get control of myself.

"You are a terror when you get angry," Harry said.

"That was mild, too."

"Please tell me you are joking."

"No, I'm not, unfortunately."

"Merlin, help me," he teased, turning Hermione around to face him. "I meant it when I said I haven't thought of another woman since I saw you again. That is one thing you need never worry about, Hermione."

"I hope so. That's the one thing I couldn't forgive."

"Me, either."

She wrapped her arms around him, placed her head on his shoulder and hugged him. "Sorry for the overreaction," she said.

"If it makes you feel any better, I would have reacted the same way."

"Do you think she will tell the girls? About us?"

"No. She just suspects. Anyway, I'm sure she'd rather hold the threat of telling them over my head."

"What a lovely person."

Harry cleared his throat. "Do you still want me to come Saturday?" he asked timidly.

She turned to look at him, seeing him completely, with faults and all, for the first time. She placed her hand on his cheek, "Of course I do," she said, pulling him forward for a soft kiss. "I love you," she whispered. "That will never change."

***

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the boy who lived," Ron said, plopping down on the bench beside Harry. "Of course, I was beginning to wonder about that seeing as I haven't seen hide nor hair of you for…let me see," he said, placing his finger on his chin and looking toward the sky, "at least two months now."

"Ha ha," Harry said, strapping on one of his leather shin guards. "It hasn't been that long and you know it."

"It hasn't? When was the last time you were here? The first week in October?"

"Okay, I'm going to look past the slightly creepy fact that you remember to the day the last time I was here," Harry said, slapping the shin guard with his hand to test its protection.

Ron began pulling his keeper gear out of his bag. "I know for a fact it was before Theo's letter about your lunch at the Three Broomsticks because I've been waiting to talk to you about it for weeks."

"You could always drop by. I haven't moved, you know," Harry said, starting on the other shin guard.

"Yes, well, you know. Work and life and all that. Besides, I kept thinking, 'this week I'll see Harry.' And, I knew that my best friend would let me know if anything note-worthy was going on."

Harry grinned at Ron, but stayed silent, shrugging his shoulders.

"Hey, Harry!" Ernie Macmillan called.

Harry stood up and shook Ernie's hand. "Hiya Ernie. How are you?"

"Good, good. Haven't seen you around lately."

"I've been busy. How's Susan?"

"Good. Talk about busy. They never let her have a day off it seems."

"I reckon that comes with the territory," Harry said.

"You'd think there weren't any other capable Healers at St. Mungo's," Ernie said irritably. "I've almost got her convinced to give private practice a go."

"That would me nice. Tell her I said hi, would you?" Harry said, sitting back down.

"Will do." Ernie turned to Ron and shook his hand. "All right, Ron?"

"All right, Ernie," Ron said. When he was out of earshot Ron turned to Harry. "If you aren't going to tell me right out then I'll just have to ask. Is it a coincidence that you became scarce right after Hermione came home for a Quidditch match?"

Harry said nothing for a moment. "What do you think?" he replied with a smirk.

"You wanker! It is true! I told Tonks! I told her! I love it when I'm right!"

"It happens so rarely," Harry teased.

"Oy, be nice," Ron said, punching Harry in the arm. "So, you and Hermione are seeing each other. Blimey. I can't believe it. After all these years."

"Better late than never, I guess," Harry said, standing up. He leapt up and down a few times, pulling his knees to his chest with each leap, loosening up.

"Well?" Ron said.

"Well what?"

"Tell me about it."

"What's to tell? We've been seeing each other."

"Good lord, Harry! I can't go home with 'they've been seeing each other.' Tonks would have my head!"

"You can't go telling everyone, Ron," Harry said, pointing his finger at Ron. "Tonks is fine. But not Ginny, not your mother, not Theo or anyone else! We haven't told the kids and we don't want them finding out before we tell them."

"Okay, okay!" Ron said, holding up his hands. "I get it. We'll keep your secret. Well?"

Harry shrugged, wanting to keep what he and Hermione had private and unspoilt for a while longer. But looking at his best friend, Hermione's best friend in school, he knew he couldn't hold back.

"I went to see her after we saw her at Kings Cross. Something just clicked. All those old feelings came back. I wrote her and told her…"

"Hang on. Stop right there. You told her? Told her what?"

"That I felt something and wanted to see her again."

"You didn't!"

"Yes, I did."

"But…that's so unlike you!"

"I'm too old to beat around the bush," Harry said. "So, I went back and things progressed a bit."

"Did you…," Ron made a fist and punched the air with it. "You know."

"No," Harry said. "This is Hermione. She hasn't changed that much," Harry lied.

"Right. Hermione. Go on."

"She came to the Quidditch match, then she stayed the night. I've been going to Spain every chance I get ever since."

Ron sat there nodding, a look of expectation on his face, clearly wanting more details. When they didn't come, his face fell and he replied, "That's it? That's your idea of details?"

"Well…I thought for a second the next morning that it would be over before it began."

"Why?" Ron said, completely enthralled with the story.

"Why do you think?"

He got a look of complete disgust on his face. "Bitchette."

"Yep."

"She went over for a romp, did she?"

Harry touched his nose in assent. "I don't think that was what she intended until she figured out that Hermione was there. Then she played it up. 'Care for a roll, Harry?'" he said in perfect imitation.

"Bitch. How did she know?"

"Katie sent her an owl, telling her about Jo's match."

"And just happened to mention that Hermione was there."

"Yep."

"She is so much like Bridgette it's frightening."

"She has lots of good qualities, too," Harry defended.

"Yes, well, she hides them well. So what happened? Was there a cat fight?" Ron said, eyes shining.

"No. But Hermione took a pound of flesh from me, let me tell you." Harry waved at the referee who was calling for the next group of players. "It's fine now," he continued to Ron. "We've gotten past it. But let me tell you, I never, ever want to be on the receiving end of Hermione's ire again. Ever. It is scarier than Voldie. Bar none."

"Blimey, I could have told you that, Harry! So," Ron said, looking around before leaning forward and whispering. "How is it?" he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

"How is what?" Harry asked.

"You know," Ron said, casting a furtive glance around.

"Are you talking about," Harry mimicked Ron's glance around, "the sex?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Ron nodded, eyes lighting up.

Harry put his leg up on the bench and leaned on his knee. Ron leaned forward and Harry said, "As if I'm going to tell you."

"Bloody hell, Harry! I'm a married man! I have to live vicariously through you."

"This isn't some tart we're talking about here, Ron. It's Hermione. I'm not going to give you the details." The dejected look on his best friend's face thawed Harry a bit. "I will tell you this." Ron leaned forward, eagerly awaiting the information. "It is fucking incredible."

Ron leaned back, a mixture of admiration and disbelief on his face. "No kidding? Hermione?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders. "Best I've ever had."

Ron sat there, stunned. "Bloody hell." He looked up at Harry. "Is it serious?"

"Ron, I'm 37 years old. Do you think I'd be traveling to Spain every chance I get if I wasn't serious?"

"Is Hermione serious?"

"I think so." Harry paused. "Yes," he said with more conviction than he felt.

"Why don't you think she is? Have you said, you know, the words?"

"I love you? Yeah, we have."

"Then what makes you wonder?"

Harry sat down and leaned toward Ron. "She still wears her husband's wedding ring."

"What?" Ron said, taken aback.

"Not her ring. His band, on this finger," he said, wiggling the right middle finger of his hand.

"Why?"

"I don't know. We haven't talked about it."

"You need to. That's mental, that is."

"I know she loves me," Harry said. "I know it. I just don't know that she will ever love me like she loved Miguel."

"Blimey, Harry," Ron said, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"Yeah," Harry said, the feeling of dejection that these thoughts brought on weighing on him. He slapped his knees and stood up. "I can deal with it if the alternative is not being with her."

"I bet that there is a simple explanation for the ring, Harry," Ron said bracingly. "Just ask her about it. The Hermione I knew wouldn't lead you on just to tell you she'll never love you like her dead husband. I'm sure she created lists of pros and cons and analysed a relationship with you from every angle before she shagged you."

"Thanks, Ron. That makes me feel so much better."

"Glad I can help," he said, slapping his friend on the shoulder. "Let's go play Quidditch."

**

"Good God, what a day," Hermione said, walking into the library and plopping down on the sofa next to Harry. She kicked her shoes off and propped her feet on the coffee table. "Have I told you that the only thing that keeps me going most days is the knowledge that you are here, waiting for me?"

"Yes, but tell me again."

"I just did," she said with a grin.

"Right you are. Bad day, I take it?"

"Horrible. I don't even want to relive it by telling you about it. Let me just say that I am the only sane person at St. Jordi's."

"I've no doubt," Harry said, kissing her on the temple. "Are you hungry? Dobby sent a feast, as usual."

"I love Dobby. I haven't had to cook in two months."

"What? Is this Hermione Granger, Champion of the house elf? Founder of the Society for the Promotion of Ethical…Welfare thingy saying she is grateful for the fruits of a house elf's labour?"

"Yes, it is, and I can say that because I know you pay him well. Don't you?"

"Very well. Although he doesn't know it. He thinks he gets a galleon a week. I have a super secret fund for him at Gringott's, though."

"My little philanthropist," she said, kissing him on the lips.

"I try. You know," Harry said, looking sideways at Hermione, whose head was leaning back against the sofa, her eyes closed, "we could make it so you never have to cook again."

"I know. If Dobby keeps this up I won't have room in my freezer for all the leftovers."

Harry sighed, his hope that she would get his hint lost amid his dejection. "That isn't exactly what I was talking about."

She lifted her head and gave him a grin. "Are we about to have the 'where is this going' conversation?"

Harry bristled. "Maybe," he replied, wishing that for once he could catch her off guard. "Want some wine?" he asked, bolting up from the sofa. "If you are going to take the mickey, I think I need to be drunk."

He walked out of the room and toward the kitchen. He grabbed a bottle of Ribera del Duero and was starting to open it before she walked through the door.

"I'm sorry. I wasn't taking the mickey, Harry. I've just been wondering when this subject was going to come up. I'm a little punchy from work. I didn't mean to put you off I promise."

"Want a glass?" he said, pouring the dark red wine into a goblet for himself.

"Sure," she said.

He poured her a glass, then walked out to the terrace, leaving the door open for her to follow if she wanted. He settled into the same chair he'd occupied three months earlier on his first trip to Spain and waited for inspiration on how to start the conversation and steer it in the direction he wanted. His stomach was tied up in knots. He knew he wasn't good at manipulation and didn't see much hope for him getting what he wanted out of the conversation. With nothing to lose, he decided to jump right in.

"Why do you still wear it?"

Hermione nodded, as if expecting the question. "So this is the conversation?"

"Yes, I guess it is."

"Okay," she said, taking a sip of her wine. "Why do you think I wear it?"

"Damn it! Don't do that!"

"Do what?"

"Ask a question in answer to every fucking question I ask! It's infuriating."

"I didn't realise I did that."

"You do."

"Okay. Sorry," she said. "You don't have to curse at me, you know. Why do I wear it? I assume you are talking about Miguel's ring," she said, holding up her right hand. She held it out, wiggling her fingers while she admired it. "I took it off of his finger at St. Jordi's, when he died. I put it on my finger without really thinking about it. I didn't realise until he was buried that I still had it on. It was a little like the pyjamas at first - me trying to be closer to him, wanting to hold on to anything I could that reminded me of him."

She dropped her hand and took a drink of her wine. "Then it became a 'Symbol of Our Love,'" she said, miming quotation marks. "All this time, I was still wearing my wedding ring, too. One day, about a year after he died, and after a particularly violent crying jag in the shower, I was looking at my hands and I knew. It was time to decide. On the one hand was a symbol of my commitment to Miguel. On the other was a symbol of his memory. There really wasn't a choice. I slipped off my wedding ring, put it in my jewelry box and never put it back on." She held her right hand out again. "But this…this I can't take off. Not yet."

"Why not?" Harry managed to croak out.

"I'm not ready."

"You don't love me enough," Harry interjected.

She leaned forward and took his hand. "No, that isn't it." She tilted her head to the side and said, "Do you think this ring symbolises love?"

Harry shrugged. "It's Miguel's ring. You loved Miguel. It seems to fit."

"I did love Miguel. Totally. Completely. But Miguel is dead. It is because of this ring that you and I are here today. It is because of this that I was able to return to you, a better person, a more complete person, ready for a relationship with you. Without this ring we would have never made it as far as we have."

Harry stared at his glass of wine, moving it in small circles, sloshing the rich, red liquid up onto the sides, and said nothing.

"You want me to take it off, don't you?" she said, releasing his hand and sitting back.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Every time I see that ring I'm reminded of my failure. Of how you had thirteen years with the love of your life because I was too big of a git to tell you how I felt when I had the chance." He took a sip of his wine. "I see you staring at Miguel with a look of total and complete adoration and I remember how seeing you so in love tore my heart apart."

She propped her head on her hand and looked at him. "Harry, do you honestly think that if we'd been honest with each other 15 years ago we would have lived 'happily ever after'?"

"I don't know."

"I don't think we would have. I wasn't ready for you. You and everything surrounding you were so intense for me. Our experiences together, our feelings for each other. It was all to the nth degree. It was all or nothing. I would have been consumed by you. I would have gladly been consumed by you. It was what scared me the most. The loss of myself and how I was ready to give it up with just a word from you. You would have ended up hating me. More importantly, I would have ended up hating myself. I look at this ring and see the circle that brought us back together." She drummed her fingers on the table, the ring clinking against the glass with every third thump. "I'm not going to take it off. Not now. Maybe I will eventually, I don't know."

She leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of her wine and looking out over Barcelona. "We all have to make adjustments in relationships. Things, personality quirks, we have to live with that we don't particularly like or agree with. But we do it because we love each other and that is larger and stronger than anything else."

Harry's gaze moved from the view of Barcelona in the nighttime to Hermione's profile. He knew exactly what she was talking about, the issue they'd been skirting for the last few weeks. "Is that what this is about? You getting back at me for Bridgette?"

She laughed. "That would be rather petty of me, wouldn't it? No, Harry, this isn't about Bridgette. This isn't me showing my independence, either. This is about me wanting to wear this ring because of what it means to me. Not what it means to you, or anyone else for that matter."

Harry sighed, resigned to losing the battle, a small part of him understanding and respecting her stance on it. He shifted in his chair, moving it to face her. "Okay, I'll make a deal with you," he said grasping her hands.

"What?" she said.

He rubbed his thumb across the smooth gold band. "You can wear Miguel's ring on this finger, as long as you wear mine on this one," he said, lifting her left hand and kissing her ring finger.

He felt a flicker of satisfaction at the shock on her face. He was able to surprise her after all.

"What are you saying?" she gasped. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

"Not technically, since I don't have a ring. And I haven't asked Daniel's permission just yet," he finished, to a chuckle from Hermione. "But, I do want something more permanent. Whatever that means. Marriage, living together, at the very least living in the same country. What we've been doing isn't going to work in the long term. You and I both know that."

Hermione sat there, staring off into space. "Hermione?" Harry said as fear crept into his heart. "Do you not want it to be long term?"

"No, of course I do," she said, shaking herself out of her reverie. "I'm just thinking about what it means."

"That we love each other?" Harry offered.

She placed her hand on his cheek and gave him a warm smile. "That's a given, Harry." She tilted her head to the side. "Do I not tell you how much I love you enough?"

"Yes, it's just that…"

"I do, Harry. I love you more than I ever thought possible. I'll have to remember to tell you that more often when we see each other every day."

"'When'?" Harry asked, hope blooming in his chest.

"Of course…when. I was just thinking before about logistics. Which of us is going to uproot our life for the other?"

"Well, I'm the man, you're the woman. It's obvious that you would follow me."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock and indignation. "It most certainly is not obvious!" she said.

Harry tried and failed to keep the grin off his face and broke out laughing before she finished the sentence. "I'm kidding, Hermione. I just wanted to see you get your knickers in a twist."

Hermione punched him in the stomach. "That's not funny."

"Yes it is. You, my dear, are predictable."

"Can we please get back to the topic at hand, here?"

"And what is the topic at hand?" Harry asked, trying and failing to keep the joy out of his voice.

"Logistics."

"Oooohh! This sounds like a fun conversation."

"You sure are giddy tonight," she said with a grin. "I wonder why that is?"

He pulled her up into his arms. "You haven't sent me packing yet. I'm beginning to think you aren't ever going to."

"No, I'm not. I hate to tell you, but you are stuck with me for a while. Are you sure that's what you want?"

Harry sighed. "I guess I'll suffer through."

"I'm sure you will survive," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "You know the first thing we have to do?

"What's that?"

"Break the news to the sprogs."