Time

Disclaimer: I own nothing. Nothing. NOTHING! *cries*

Author’s Note: I have writer’s block. Believe me, I do. I can’t seem to finish the latest chapter of the other fic I have not updated for 20 years…and I decided that maybe I’d start backwards, by writing the end and work my way towards the middle (which is where I am stuck), and this ended up happening. It became its own fic.

*~*~*~*

He had her up against the wall. He loved it up against the wall. She loved it up against the wall. It was so dirty…sinful. But it was good. It was always best when they were semi-clothed, and all you could see were tantalizing bits. He knew that shortly he’d have the pleasure of slowly peeling off the rest of it…

He had her up against the wall, and he was loving it. Then again, he always loved it. But right now, at that moment, he never thought he’d seen anything so sexy. The sweat on her brow, those beautiful hips peaking out of her scrunched up skirt. His hands were on them, because he loved them, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life worshipping them. They were gorgeous, round, and perfect for his hands. And right now they were bumping to his quick grind oh so deliciously…that was where the magic was. Not in his wand, but in those hips.

She was moaning. She was moaning something unintelligible, though he could discern the word good somewhere in there. Good. Good was a good word. Though sometimes, she would whisper bad in his ear. But bad was good as well, because it was the kind of bad that would make his flesh burst out in goose bumps, and made him want to be the baddest bad there was…

*~*~*~*~*

Harry woke up with a start. Blast! It was only a dream…

He hated when that happened. It made him feel like some sort of randy perv…you weren’t supposed to dream like that about your best friend. Especially after suffering some posttraumatic stress due to the loss of a godfather. No, dreams like that should be strictly forbidden…

But those dreams sure weren’t as bad as the reality.

Or as good, for that matter.

He looked over at the bed next to his. Ron was snoring like a sick dog. Wonderful. Phineus Nigellus was also asleep, but was not snoring. He claimed he was too noble to snore, but sometimes Harry would hear a rather repulsive hack in the middle of the night, and Nigellus would always blame Ron.

And he thought there was enough lying amongst live people.

As quietly as he could, he got up from his bed and headed towards the door. He was completely unaware that as he shut the door behind him, the portrait blinked an eye.

Harry made his way towards the drawing room, seeing Sirius everywhere. Sirius had stood there, leaning against the wall last Christmas, a cross between a scowl and a grin on his face. Sirius had kicked Kreacher around the corner over there; Sirius, Sirius, Sirius…

Kreacher was still around, that maggot. Sirius had left the house, and everything else belonging to the Black family to Harry, and that included Kreacher. Harry wanted more than anything to give him clothes and have that bastard elf sent to Azkaban, but Dumbledore would hear none of it. Kreacher knew too much, and it would be best if everyone just treated him civilly. But Harry didn’t care; he was Kreacher’s master, and he had ordered the slimy git to keep the hell away from him. She was clearly miffed with him for a few days, but she got over it.

She never stayed mad at him for long.

When he entered the drawing room, she was there, as she usually was at this hour. She was in a pink bathrobe sitting at a small wood table surrounded by quills and parchment; A Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6 was open on her lap. The fire was burning in the grate, merrily dancing to some silent music only it could hear.

She knew he was there. And he knew that she knew. And she knew that he knew that she knew. And he knew that she knew that he knew that she knew. And so on…

He had come to her; it was his job to make the first move.

He closed the door behind him, and like a lion before his prey, he walked over to her, planting himself behind her. Although he wanted nothing more than to rip her clothes off and break her like some crazed Neanderthal, he decided to make himself suffer a bit.

Two words: Closet. Masochist.

Standing behind her, he was in the most excellent position to smell her hair…he loved the way it smelled. How did girls do that, get their hair to smell so wonderfully? Was it some secret trick that was passed down from a matriarchal tribe of aunts and mothers? Did they all get taught this at some private finishing school? If they did, then Hermione must have gone to the most private and most expensive one of all, for no girl could surpass the brilliance that was Hermione’s unique scent…

He took a bit of her hair in his hands…dark, unruly hair. It was messy, and wild, and by Aslan he loved it! Sure, she looked beautiful when she straightened it, or tied it up…but only when it was loose and free would he be able to experience the wonder that was threading his fingers through her hair…getting them stuck inside the little curls. He loved the little curls. He wanted a daughter with those curls. Of course, not exactly at that moment, but one day, perhaps…

Who was he kidding?

He played with her hair for a while, something he knew that she loved because she would close her eyes and sigh. Normally, it relaxed her, but at the moment, she continued scribbling with her little quill, pretending not to care.

Ha! He would teach her how to pretend…

With dexterous, confident fingers he delicately bunched up her hair and placed all of it on her left shoulder, leaving the right side of her neck open to exploration. He saw the quill pause for a second - but only just – for a second later it was back to work. He would halt that thing again if it was the last thing he did…

He began by first tracing the side of her neck with his fingers. Her neck fascinated him. It was so slender…regal. Sometimes it made him feel unworthy. Everything about her made him feel unworthy. They had quarreled over this once. She had gotten so angry he thought for a second that perhaps he had, through some odd magical mishap or other, become Ron. Then he realized she wasn’t mad at him, but at the people that raised him …

She blamed Harry’s blatant inferiority complex on the way the Dursleys had treated him. She was right of course; but Harry didn’t really understand. Instead he had kissed her anger away. Distraction was the whole point of their…arrangement. He wouldn’t tolerate any real life problems to taint it…

Just as right now, he would not tolerate the continued scribbling of the quill.

He could see the goose bumps on her arms, and he was quite satisfied that his fingers on her neck had caused it. But he was still alarmed at the way the quill kept writing…he wanted it to stop. So he got on his knees, and replaced the tips of fingers with his hungry lips.

The quill dropped to the table.

Harry grinned against her neck. How he loved triumph!

Even though he had succeeded in his endeavor, he was not about to stop from kissing her neck. And Hermione wasn’t about to let him. She raised her left hand, and brought it back to caress the nape of his neck, securing the position of his head. He loved it when she did things like that. It was the little things that pleased him the most.

He alternated kissing her neck, licking it, and nibbling, with short excursions to smell her hair. It was like some sort of drug that one inhales: completely intoxicating. She tilted her head, allowing him to better kiss her neck; her left hand continued to caress the back of his neck, and moved up to his hair.

As lovely as he found her neck, he soon grew restless for more, and with his left hand, he maneuvered her head so that it tilted in his direction, and so that he could place a sloppy, sideways kiss on her lips.

And aren’t sideways, sloppy kisses just dandy?

The kiss was intense; unconsciously, Harry kept leaning his body towards Hermione, and her chair. And along with Harry’s body, went his body weight…

And before they knew it, they had crashed to the floor.

They stopped, wondering if anyone had heard. There was no silencio charm in the drawing room, and anyone could just burst into the room at any moment and find them entangled on the floor together.

Harry actually half-wanted them to get caught already. How daft were these people? This had been going on for almost two months now…how could they not have figured it out by now? He snuck out of his room almost every night, as did Hermione. Were the Weasleys really that heavy of sleepers? Everyone always commented on how tired they looked some days…did they not find the coincidence striking? And although they did not use the Drawing Room every time, they did frequent it quite often.

These people really were daft! How much more predictable could they be?

But perhaps the genius lied in the predictability of it all. Or maybe even in the unpredictability, as no one really suspected Harry and Hermione would ever engage in such activities, let alone together.

Yes…it was so unpredictably predictable, that it was predictability unpredictable.

The portraits knew…they saw them almost every night. Why wouldn’t they tell? Oh yes, they faked sleep. But portraits weren’t really that good at acting.

Of course, they didn’t mention, or allude, anything about this to anyone; this was their secret. This was something that started spontaneously, completely random…

And thank Godric for it.

Realizing that no one was coming, they smiled at each other, and decided to continue on in their business. Tonight was important. Tonight was very important…

Harry internally debated whether he wanted to do this on the floor. He hated the floor. It was kind of hard. Yes, he was a wizard, and he could easily soften floors with a wave of his wand, but do young wizards really think about these things when all of their blood has rushed out of their head?

Without a second thought, Harry got up off the floor, and chivalrously extended his hands to help Hermione up. With a grin, she extended her hand, and Harry pulled her up, keeping a firm grip on her hand and gently kissing it. He noticed with amusement that they were stained with ink. He glanced at her face, and he saw ink stains on her cheeks. With a chuckle, he lifted his hand to her face, and began wiping the ink away with his thumb. Hermione nuzzled his hand, and without further ado, took hold of Harry’s, and brought his thumb into her mouth. She sucked on it, keeping her eyes on his the entire time.

Well, that was the last of the blood in his head, there.

As he led her over to the table with all the school supplies, he wondered how exactly she managed to do that thing with her eyes. You know, that thing. Other wizards out there would know what he meant…that thing that girls do. With their eyes. They get so big, so wide. They look so innocent, and vulnerable, and you get this insane feeling that you’d do anything for them, that you could protect them from everything, that it was your duty to protect them from everything. And you also decide that you’d do whatever they wanted. Anything. Why can girls do that, and not blokes? The world is so bloody unfair!

Because no matter how vulnerable and innocent Hermione could make herself look, vulnerable and innocent she definitely was not.

He sat her down on the table, making sure to shove everything off beforehand. She looked at him reproachfully, but said nothing. Tomorrow, he would most likely get the silent treatment for the entire day. But tonight…tonight was different. Important. Tonight was the last night…

Once secure in her seat, the first thing she did was strip Harry of his shirt. If there was something sexier than undressing Hermione, it was having Hermione undress him. He spent hours thinking about those hands running over his body, caressing him playfully before taking something off. She relished it. He could tell by her smug expression, her naughty smile. He was quite pleased that this was a side of Hermione only he got to see, and sometimes he wondered at it. Was daytime Hermione the same one he came to at night? They could be two entirely different witches…this one before him could be a sex-goddess who had Polyjuiced herself…

But then he would see Regular Hermione look up at him from behind a book with the very same expression on her face he had grown to greedily anticipate every waking hour of the day.

‘Atta girl.

When Harry finally realized that the advantage was turned against his favor, he decided that it was time to turn the tables. He slowly traced his hands to the belt that held her pink bathrobe together, stopping to tickle her belly as he did so. She laughed. It was a glorious laugh. Though it was smeared by the fact that she tried to slap his hand away.

When he had the tie undone, he parted the fabric aside, almost reverently. He realized with glee that she was wearing nothing underneath…

So, the little slattern had been prepared.

How marvelous.

He exposed her right shoulder, the better to kiss it. As he did so, he wondered whether Ginny had found it odd that Hermione had gone to bed starkers. Or maybe Hermione always went to bed starkers.

The very thought made him want to die! All those years he could’ve taken his broom and flown over to the other side of the dormitories, and had a peak into her window…all those years of naked Hermione in bed, and he had been sleeping? Who needed sleep?

Hermione noticed that his thoughts had drifted, and her brows furrowed in concern.

“What’s wrong?”

Harry snapped out of his reverie, and gave her a lecherous grin. “Do you sleep naked?”

As an answer, Hermione wrapped her arms and legs around him tightly, and slammed her lips against his.

Who cared if she slept naked or not? Did he not have her in front of him right now? Naked?

Hermione loosened her grip on him, perhaps realizing that she might be suffocating him. Harry was too polite to tell her. She sneaked her hands into his pajama bottoms and gripped his erection. He sighed happily.

His hand cupped her cheek; his thumb caressed her lips, and then he brought his hand down between them, so that his thumb could caress those lips. He could feel the heat, and the moisture, and it drove him mad with need.

He pulled his bottoms down to his knees, and Hermione let herself lay down on the table. The look in her eyes told him they had to hurry…they were running out of time. Soon it would be morning. Soon they’d have to leave Grimmauld Place and go back to Hogwarts. Soon their arrangement would end.

Usually Harry was happy to go back to Hogwarts. Funny how things change…

She raised her legs and placed her calves on his shoulders. He raised an eyebrow quizzically; they had never done this. Hermione grinned, and waggled her eyebrows suggestively. He bent his head and kissed her knee, smiling. She was always so full of surprises.

He entered her swiftly. There was nothing to it; they were veritable experts by now. The new position was…great. It felt wonderful to be inside her, and ever better to start moving. His hands were on her thighs, the better to control the motion. It wasn’t long before the beads of sweat began forming on his brow…sex was really hard work. But it felt damn good…

He started to see the plus side of the new position almost immediately. Boy, was he getting an eyeful!

Hermione was on fire; panting frantically, her hands were in her hair, stroking her breasts and abdomen. With her left hand gripping the table, she slipped her right hand down to her clitoris, and rubbed furiously.

That alone almost made Harry come.

But he controlled himself, long enough so that Hermione could take his penis out of her, and use it to stroke her labia, and guide it back inside her.

He groaned.

She wanted to kill him! She wanted him dead! There was nothing else to it; how else was he supposed to live an entire year without her, the images of this night burned into his brain, without going mad with lust? She was a cruel, sick, twisted woman…

And oh, she was making him putty in her hands!

When he came, he came with a vengeance. She wouldn’t let it be easy either; she tightened herself around him, clenching beyond her own orgasm. It was like she was teasing him. Remember, you won’t have this for a whole year…

Goddam her.

God Bless her.

They stayed for a while after; Harry slumped on top of her, Hermione too lazy to make space for him. They were in a mild catatonic state. But then they heard the clock strike: four in the morning. In an hour Mrs. Weasley would be up to have breakfast ready. In four hours they’d be out of the house.

Harry ruefully got up, and slipped his bottoms back on. He didn’t bother with his shirt, just picked it up off the floor. Hermione tied the bathrobe in place; she had half-worn it the entire time.

Without a word they both walked to the door; Hermione would pick her things up later.

They stopped before going out. They didn’t kiss. They didn’t touch. They didn’t say a word. They just looked at each other. Hermione with that look that Harry found simultaneously compelling and disconcerting, Harry trying to silently articulate a thousand things that were too complicated to express verbally.

Harry placed his hand on the doorknob, opened the door, and walked out. His heart had never felt heavier than it had then, walking down the hall towards his room. But he didn’t look back; he refused to look back.

Their time was up.

*~*~*~*

A/N: Sometimes I get nagged by people to let them know the music that inspires me to write things. Sometimes they don’t nag, and just figure it out themselves, and I think that’s totally cool. J

But to make things easier, I’ve decided to post a mini-soundtrack of sorts to this fic…

1.) Time is Running Out ~ Muse (Someone figured this out and I thought it was very clever of them! But then again, how could someone who has listened to this song not have figured it out? )

2.) Still in Love ~ The Stills

3.) Desperate ~ The Killers (of course The Killers)

4.) Love and Death ~ The Stills

5.) Time ~ Pink Floyd (bonus points if you find The Killers’ cover…it’s at the end of a live version of On Top…you can find it. I have faith in you.)

6.) Narc ~ Interpol (This song just influences everything in the world.)

7.) Ready for It ~ The Stills (I’ve been in a Stills-ish mood lately…)

Disclaimer: Nada me pertenece. Gracias. Y que galán que recibiera dinero por esto!

Author’s Note: Sorry for the odd thing with the last chapter. Yeah, I have no clue there. And then for whoever emailed me and told me one of my PG-13 fics was displaying a very very naughty one…thanks. What is wrong with the world these days? I blame Anakin. Yes, Anakin. He’s my computer. And although I love him, he goes mad sometimes.

Thank you Linz and Shannon for being ganz toll and beta-ing.

Have a nice day! J

*~*~*~*~*~*

“We have fifteen minutes,” she said, taking her shirt off matter-of-factly.

His eyes went wide. Usually he was the one that initiated things. That was why he was completely surprised when she suddenly announced that it was time Harry fed Buckbeak.

They had been in the drawing room, Ginny and Ron immersed in a game of Wizard’s Chess, Hermione reading something or other, and Harry daydreaming about what he was going to do to her later on that night.

“If you want some company, I’ll go with you,” she had said, not looking up from her book. It was a very Hermione thing to suggest, and she suggested it in a very Hermione way. Ron and Ginny were completely oblivious to the undertones of it all, but he sure wasn’t.

Translation: “If you want some company, I’ll go with you. And shag you.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

That was why they now found themselves up in Buckbeak’s room, completely forgetting to fulfill the pretext they had gone up there with. She was removing her clothes as if they caused her an allergic reaction; Harry could do nothing save stand there, dumbfounded by the entire situation, and completely enthralled by the sight of her undressing.

“It’s impolite to stare,” she whispered with a grin, taking the initiative and unzipping his jeans.

They had fifteen minutes. If they were gone for more than fifteen minutes, people would come up looking for them. Fifteen minutes did not leave a lot of time for foreplay. Though, considering the current state of his…wand, foreplay wasn’t really necessary…

Buckbeak looked very intrigued by all the commotion that was happening in his room. If he were Buckbeak, he decided that he would also be very intrigued. After all, it wasn’t every day that a Hippogriff got to see a girl straddle a boy and have her mad, lusty way with him. Which was exactly what she was doing.

She stripped herself down to her bra, which unfortunately for him, she decided to keep on due to time constraints. She had a no frills attitude about her; this was just a shag. A quickie. They were about to have their first quickie. What was the date? This was quite an important milestone.

She had him sprawled on the floor, clothes completely gone except for the jeans he had bunched up around his knees. And then she straddled him. She gripped his upright and ready penis and lowered herself onto him.

Only she stopped after an inch or two. Harry, who was readying himself to lazily enjoy the ride, sat himself up on his elbows. What was wrong? Why’d she stop? But then he realized she was not stopping; she succeeded the first shallow thrust with another, and another, and another…

They had not been doing this for a long time, so he was certainly no expert, but he liked to think that he understood at least something about female pleasure. Shallow thrusts would bring her a quicker orgasm. And hey, they weren’t all that bad from his perspective either.

He was very engrossed by the way she took the initiative. Very. He loved to watch her. Watching her was amazing. Watching her was an experience in and of itself. The expressions on her face…how did it feel for her? Was it possible that he could make her look and feel like that?

She came quickly, which had been her intention all along. He didn’t mind being used this way; he bloody loved it. Before getting up and scurrying away, she had the presence of mind to bring him to fulfillment. It was only a quickie. Just a quickie. Nothing sweet or romantic about it. Well, except for that look that she gave him again, before lowering her lips to his, and melting him into a puddle on the floor…

*~*~*~*~*

“Mr. Potter! If you are going to spend the entirety of my class daydreaming, I suggest that you kiss your grandeur illusions of becoming an Auror goodbye! For I will throw you out of class the instant you continue on with this impertinent behavior.”

Instead of looking penitent, he glared at Snape for interrupting his fantasy. He was vaguely aware that everyone in the dungeon was starring at him, the Slytherins looking very pleased, the Gryffindors looking very fearful. They couldn’t afford to loose any more House points. But he didn’t care. He was the one that ended up winning the dratted cup every year anyway. He didn’t even have the decency to blush and look abashed; Hermione was doing a great job of it for him.

Of course she knew what he had been daydreaming about. She daydreamed about it too.

How he hated Hogwarts! He hated everything about it! He hated Snape, and Dumbledore. He hated Quidditch, and the delicious meals the elves cooked. He hated his dormitory; he hated the common room and the lake and the nosey portraits, and the teachers that supplied a never-ending stream of homework…

If he had thought that their summer arrangement would help him escape from his problems, well, weren’t they wrong? It seemed to have made everything much worse, at the same time that it made everything better.

He was actually thankful for Voldemort. Because if it hadn’t been for Voldemort, he wouldn’t have been sent to Grimmauld Place so early in the summer. And if it hadn’t been for that, he would have never developed the arrangement with Hermione…

And if it hadn’t been for the arrangement, he would’ve never had had that quickie in Buckbeak’s room. How he wished he could turn back time and make it summer. He loved summer. It was like a beautiful in-between place; he didn’t have to worry about the dreaded past, he didn’t have to dwell on his bleak future. It was a momentary nothingness. A nothingness that she filled with everythingness. And he wanted it back…

More than anything he wanted her back.

Of course, he tried to get her to change her mind. He used logic and reasoning, a language that she understood. But she understood those too well, and therefore, was immune to them. So he then resorted to petulance. He decided that he was going to purposely fail everything until she gave in. He’d get Trolls in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Trolls in Charms…even a Troll in Care of Magical Creatures if that’s what it took! But instead, all he got was frustrated anger, and a promise to never touch him again if he even tried such a thing.

So that didn’t happen.

Then he tried seduction. A slow, painful seduction.

It started out one day during Care of Magical Creatures. They were outside, waiting for Hagrid to bring out his latest pet (A Demiguise named Lawrence. Where on earth did he get these beasts?). She had been talking to Neville about something or other, and then turned around to walk back to where he and Ron were. She had a big smile on her face…the kind that stopped time. Maybe she should’ve just smiled the entirety of third year instead of using the dratted Time Turner. Her smile would’ve been enough.

She was smiling as she walked towards them, eyes fixed on Harry. There was nothing self-conscious about the blatant starring that was going in that split second, though everyone must’ve surely been daft not to notice it. It was due to her rapt attention on him that she wasn’t watching where she was going…a stick, slippery mud, he had no bloody clue what it was that made her stumble. The point was, she stumbled, and he caught her; he had great reflexes when it came to her. And Quidditch.

But he caught her. The whole episode resembled an elaborate tango more than it did an accident. But he caught her. She was in his arms, in a way that she hadn’t been since summer. And his reaction was instant. And from the look on her face, the widening of her eyes, the flush on her cheeks…so was hers.

He decided that that was the best way to get to her.

So from then on, he would find any reason possible to touch her. No, not just touch her in the regular Harry and Hermione sense. This would be completely secret…and spiteful. He would touch her in ways only she would understand. Touches that no one else would be able to see. Like rubbing his legs against hers during Advanced Potions. Or starting a tickle fight in the common room that would lead to his hands wandering over places where best friends don’t tickle each other. He would grab her from behind, pretending to scare her, only to pull her close…completely up against him…just so that she would feel how much he needed her…

Because of course it was she that he needed, and no one else. There were plenty of girls ready to jump at his beck and call if he ever wished it, but he couldn’t even entertain the thought of anyone but her.

She was it.

At first the plot seemed to be working. Everyday he would see her more and more on edge…snapping at everyone, at everything. The first years were seriously afraid of her. McGonagall called her aside to speak about her temper. She even got sent to Detention for giving poor Professor Flitwick an earful!

She looked completely frustrated and resentful. And disheveled. It was very sexy. But Hermione wasn’t an idiot. She wouldn’t let herself be the only one turned into a maniac…

She would fight fire with fire.

The first time he felt her hand caress his thigh whilst studying for Transfiguration in the library surprised him. They were sitting next to each other, Ron across from them. He didn’t think much of it at first. But then the hand sneaked down to his inner thigh, and a little bit higher, though not quite reaching the goal…

He looked up at her. She seemed for all the world engrossed in her Transfiguration text.

He wanted to kill her.

But not as much as he did one day during dinner. This time she was sitting across from him, sandwiched between Ron and Ginny. At first he was confused that someone kept kicking him; he was about to tell Ron to cut it off. But then the foot stopped kicking him, and started moving up his leg, playing with his inner thighs. This time, when he looked up at her, she had the most pleased of expressions on her face. Any observer would’ve attributed it to the delicious caramel éclairs the elves had prepared as a treat that night, but he knew. He had seen that look many a time as he drove into her over and over and over…it was his reason for breathing.

And this little game kept going. He would whisper something in her ear…slowly...in a tantalizing manner. He would let his lips graze her ear, and she would be begging with her eyes. But she would always retaliate. And oh, she could retaliate…

“Harry, would you please be a dear and go reach that book for me,” she whispered to him one day in the library. She was standing behind him, her breasts pressed to his back, her hands on his shoulders…her breath on his neck…that naughty smile on her lips…

Curse her.

He likened the whole thing to a leisurely burn in hell. Or heaven. He couldn’t decide which.

As a result of this unabashed campaign of retribution, Harry also became irritable and snappish. (Could you blame him?) It was fifth year all over again, only worse. The whole situation became so awful…Ron got sick of it….

“You know what?” roared Ron one morning in the common room, snapping his books shut. “I’m going down to the Great Hall with Ginny, Neville, and Luna until both your tempers improve!” He picked up his things with a look of abject scorn, and stormed off, leaving them both stunned.

He had a point.

If they didn’t stop this little game they were playing, they would drive all their friends away. Either that, or cause them to spontaneously combust.

He thought this would happen one day during a DA meeting. Yes, he had kept the DA going, but only because it was a further distraction from Hermione. Quidditch and the DA were his only distractions now, as what had started out to be just another distraction had now become his obsession.

Ironic, no? To need a distraction from a distraction…

They were dueling. Harry was directing, until finally, everybody got sick of hearing him barking orders, and decided to make the whole event a lot more interesting.

“Say Harry,” piped up one Zacharias Smith with his usual smug look. Harry didn’t think there was ever a day that went by in which Zacharias did not have a smug look. “So far, you have defeated everyone in a duel…except Hermione. Chicken? Are you afraid of being dethroned by a girl?”

Now, he wasn’t in a particularly good mood with her that day, as she had spent the majority of breakfast using her feet to play with the zipper of his jeans under the table. So he didn’t really fancy the thought of being publicly defeated by her in a duel. Because of course, there was no doubt that she could, and most likely would, beat him.

He sighed, and did not answer Zacharias’ challenge. Instead, he half-heartedly walked to the center of the Room of Requirement, and beckoned to her with his wand. She rolled her eyes, clearly displeased in the manner in which he had called her forth, but instead of making a scene about it, she merely walked forward. And by merely, it is meant that she walked forward with all the haughtiness she could muster; complete with hair-flipping and arrogantly raised eyebrows.

This was going to be fun.

The duel started off rather normal. They both tried to disarm each other, hoping to end the situation as quickly as possible. Neither wanted to be in any sort of a position where they would both be scrutinized. Together. They were really rather obvious…it was astounding that as of yet, no one had been able to guess what they were on about…

Or so they thought.

Disarming proved futile, however. They were both too quick. Too clever. Too good. Frustration rising by the second, they instead decided that it would be best if they just tried to kill each other outright.

But that didn’t work either. You see, they had this annoying little thing where they could read each other’s minds. Usually, this had worked to their favor in the past, as many an inauspicious predicament had been abated due to this particular skill. But on that day, it was completely revolting; they knew exactly which spell the other was going to use, and exactly how the other would cast it, and exactly how best to duck it…

In the end, they both had their robes cast aside; Hermione’s bun had completely come undone, and Harry had ripped a sleeve from trying so hard to keep them rolled up. They were both completely livid! He wanted to destroy her, for making him suffer like a sick puppy that longs after its master! And she…she wanted to beat him for the very same reason…

They wanted to tear each other apart.

In more ways than one…

When they finally called a draw, they were surprised to see the uneasy and uncomfortable faces on all the other members of the DA. The feeling was similar to the one you get whilst watching a film that takes an unexpected semi-erotic turn. In the company of your parents.

The poor kids really didn’t know what to do with themselves; they just stood around in a circle, watching Harry and Hermione silently have it out. Except, by the end of it, they had ceased using their wands. They were relying on their eyes.

“Umm…Harry, can we go?” Zacharias asked tentatively. He suddenly regretted asking Harry and Hermione to duel.

“You’re dismissed,” Harry replied distractedly. His entire focus was on Hermione; they were both seizing each other up, as if intending to continue the duel.

“Uh…Harry? Hermione?” Ron said timidly. He got the distinct impression that he was interrupting some type of nonverbal communication that they didn’t want interrupted. And he was right. “It is getting rather late; maybe we should go back the Tower? We have Quidditch practice tomorrow morning Harry, you don’t want to fall asleep while going over strategies with us, you know, like last time, when Fred and George sent you those Drowsy Drops-”

“What?” Harry asked, hearing the word ‘Quidditch’ and breaking out of his trance. “Yes Ron, of course. We’re going.” He turned around abruptly, as if he feared any continued eye contact in that direction would keep him rooted to the spot for all eternity.

“What are you lot still doing here?” he snapped at the loitering DA members who, although ‘dismissed,’ were far too interested in…whatever was going on. “Didn’t I tell you to go?”

He knew that he was being mean, but he couldn’t help himself. Sexual frustration and exasperation did not become him well at all.

The DA, normally a feisty bunch, would usually put Harry in his place. But at that moment, they all remembered that he was the only wizard powerful enough to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named.

And frankly, they didn’t want to cross him in this temper.

*~*~*~*

After the spectacle that was that particular DA meeting, he decided that he could no longer stand for this nonsense. She would succumb, if it took every ounce of his magical power to make her do it!

It was with this resolution in mind that he followed her out one night as she did her Prefect rounds. He didn’t even bother with an invisibility cloak. He didn’t bloody care. He knew that without the cloak, he could only afford to spend a couple of minutes with her without getting caught. But he didn’t care if he got caught; all he wanted was to confront her.

And maybe snog her, but he would settle for a confrontation.

So he followed her, silently stalking her until she got to the statue of the one-eyed witch.

Once she got to the statue, she stopped, and turned around. She had an “I-know-you’ve-been-there-all-along” smile on her face, which didn’t surprise him at all. Of course she had known he was there all along.

The moon was highlighting her face, her smile. And with the brown hair and warm eyes, she was Artemis. She was perfect.

No words were necessary. He just went at her with a crazed energy; he grabbed her shoulder and pulled her against him. He smashed his lips against hers, forcing her lips open, and snogging her madly. He didn’t care that he might be hurting her; he didn’t care that he might bruise her lips because he was crushing them so hard, biting them with brute force. He didn’t care that he was holding her too rigidly…all he cared about was being as close to her as possible.

His mouth was working faster than his brain; before he had gotten accustomed to her lips, he was already kissing her neck, her forehead…his right hand was on her lower back, crushing her to him. She was gasping heavily, opening and shutting her eyes, luxuriating in the attention. He felt her body go heavy, and grinned.

“My knees are weak,” she said quietly, without a trace of embarrassment.

He kissed her again, and she had no choice but to stumble along backwards, reaching her arms behind her in search for a wall to lean on. Luckily, there was a niche in the wall behind them; a perfect spot to keep hidden from prying ghosts, or whatever might be lurking the castle at night…

The niche had previously held a statue of Ulrich the Oddball, but had since been removed on account of the salacious obscenities it encouraged the first years to yell during exams.

Once in their little corner, Harry wasted no time in making clear just how wicked his intentions really were. He sneaked a hand inside her robes, brushing his hand along her inner thigh, up her skirt, when suddenly-

“We can’t do this,” Hermione whispered breathlessly, stopping Harry’s hand midway.

“What?” Harry asked, completely out of it.

“I have Prefect duties…”

“No you don’t. Ron does. Tonight is his night, only he wheedled you into taking his shift because he promised he would study for Transfiguration, when he is actually enjoying a nice game of Exploding Snap with Dean Thomas. So, if someone happens to be caught out of bounds tonight and there is no Prefect there to discipline, it will be Ron’s fault. Not yours.” He said this in such a well-versed and calculated manner, that she narrowed her eyes suspiciously. He had either been waiting for such an opportunity to arise, or he had staged the entire thing himself.

“You know very well I can’t let Ron get in trouble.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I know.” He looked so crestfallen, that for a split-second there she was about ready to flout morality and shag him there in the middle of the corridor! But only for a split second. Because before she knew it…

He was on his knees. Before she could uncloud her mind enough to stop him, his hand had already parted her robes, hiked up her skirt, and had pulled her knickers down to her knees.

Prefect duties. Pfft!

He wasted no time with taunting, or teasing. He went straight for the goal, letting his tongue flicker over her clitoris with quick, successive motions.

Hermione, bless her, did not know what to make of the situation. Moments of complete euphoria were interspersed with moments of complete anger and shock that Harry Potter would ever do such a thing to her in a corridor, where they could be caught! What excuse would they give Dumbledore if he happened to walk past, searching for a toilet?

“Hmmm…you see, Professor, Harry was quite convinced an imp had hidden itself inside my robes, and he decided that the best way to inspect me was…with his tongue?”

Yeah. That wouldn’t go over to well. Then again, they could always say they were under Imperious. But Harry could deflate that curse…

Who bloody cared anyway? It felt it so good…

But before Hermione could experience just how good it could get, Harry abruptly stopped.

“What?” Hermione asked, annoyed at the apparent interruption.

“Oh, nothing,” Harry said smugly, standing up and biting on his lower lip. “Its just that…well…your shift is over in a couple of minutes. Perhaps you wanna get back to your Prefect duties…?”

She glowered, and Harry’s grin grew so wide that Hermione was tempted to see if she could charm the statue of the one-eyes-witch to shove itself into his mouth.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” Harry whispered in her ear. He tried to kiss her lips, but she turned her cheek. He didn’t care. He had won.

So with a lighter heart, and step markedly more upbeat then it had been in previous weeks, he walked away, leaving a fuming Hermione behind him.

Their time was definitely not up.

At least, not yet.

Disclaimer: Same old, same old…(For full disclaimer, please turn to the last couple of chapters of this fic, or to any chapter of any of my other fics, ficlets, shaglets, steamlets, cookies, etc. etc…)

Author’s Note: Thanks Linz! You’re a freaking goddess! Muah! *snogs you*

*~*~*~*~*

It was raining. Lately, the weather had seemed to be mimicking his moods, and today, his mood was stormy at best. There seemed to be a shroud of gloom hanging over him, palpable, and nobody knew how to deal with it.

“We could go up to the Burrow with mum,” said Ron eagerly, hopping that getting Harry out of Grimmauld Place would better his spirits. “We actually need to go up there and pack some stuff to bring it here. While she’s preparing everything, we could sneak off and have a go on our brooms.”

He didn’t answer. He had barely spoken at all since he had been summoned to Grimmauld Place almost a week ago. He didn’t see any reason why he should start speaking now.

“Don’t be stupid,” chimed in Hermione, who was sitting next to Harry, looking at him with an unreadable expression on her face. “It’s raining!”

“It might not be raining at the Burrow!” replied Ron, annoyed. He was upset by the fact that Hermione had thwarted his good plan.

“Besides, I think what Harry needs is to be left alone…right, Harry?”

He didn’t answer. She was right; all he wanted was to be left alone! Half of him actually wished to be back with the Durselys; at least they completely ignored him. Here, he had to deal with Molly’s constant coddling, and Ron’s constant efforts to distract him. At least Hermione had enough sense to leave him alone, which was completely out of character for her. She lived to badger him.

“See, I was right,” Hermione said with a smile. “He wants to be left alone.”

“All right then,” said Ron with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll tell mum only you, Ginny, and I are going with her to the Burrow.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hermione said casually. “I’m staying with Harry.”

“What?! But you just said he wanted to be left alone…”

“I have every intention of leaving him alone,” Hermione replied, with an air of speaking to someone who is very slow and dumb. “But I’m not about to leave him here all by himself. He might do something mad, like, I don’t know, go after Voldemort himself--oh shut up Ron.”

“Yes, let’s continue speaking about me as if I’m not here,” said Harry quietly.

“Oh, don’t be upset,” Hermione said softly. “It’s just—well, we’re worried about you, and-”

“Stop worrying about me. I’m fine. Just dandy.”

He walked out of the drawing room, towards his room. Neither Ron, Ginny, or Molly let him know when they left. And frankly, he could care less that they didn’t.

*~*~*~*~*

“Oi, Harry! Harry! Harry Potter! Yes you, midget with the scar. I’m talking to you! We’re going to be late!”

Harry snapped out of his reverie, and turned to look at Ron, who was red in the face from trying to get his attention. Ah yes. Hogsmeade…

He groaned internally, and leaned his forehead against the window next to his bed.

It was raining.

“You have about two seconds to put your shoes on!” Ron snapped, looking eager and on edge. “You know Hermione will kill us if we’re late. Can’t make Vicky wait, can we…”

Ron walked to the door, muttering something about smarmy gits under his breath, completely forgetting about Harry. Harry turned back to his window and sighed dejectedly. Smarmy git indeed…

After the whole late-night-Prefect-distraction incident, Hermione decided that she hated him. Yes, hated him. Ok, so maybe not hated him, but she was mightily upset with him…refused to touch him, or go near him, in any way shape or form. She refused to talk about…it…even when they were alone. She maintained the façade quite well; no one could ever guess that underneath their very Harry and Hermione behavior, there was a silent battle of wills.

And she was winning.

Then came the argument.

It was all a result of a conversation that he had had with Ginny after a DA meeting one evening. He had noticed that she had been stacking books--loitering around--after everyone had left. She looked sort of nervous, and for a split second he was filled with the fear that the crush she had once had on him had resurfaced.

“Harry, I need to talk to you,” Ginny said, once she was sure everyone was gone.

“What about?” he asked distractedly. All he really wanted to do was follow Hermione out and stare at her with the forlorn, lost look he had been practicing in front of his mirror.

“I—uh, well…” Ginny sighed, and suddenly looked angry. “I’m not stupid ok!”

Harry looked confused. “What? Who said you were stupid?”

Ginny shook her head. “No, just listen to me! I know - Harry – I see things. I observe things, and I analyze them, and…I’m not completely daft.”

His heartbeat accelerated, and he suddenly felt faint. No…

“Look, all I wanted to say was. Well—Viktor Krum has asked Hermione to meet her next Hogsmeade weekend.”

At that moment, he felt like someone had kicked his stomach, and all the air had been blown out of it. Viktor Krum? Why that god-awful, good for nothing, blithering fool…

Without another word he ran out of the Room of Requirement and made his way towards Gryffindor Tower. Once he got to the portrait, he found that he was so blind with fury, that he had completely forgotten the password.

“I’M A BLOODY GRYFFINDOR!” he yelled at the Fat Lady after she continuously refused to let him in. “You see me every sodding day!”

“You could easily be a Slytherin using Polyjuice,” the Fat Lady replied smartly. “I’m sorry, but I cannot let you in.

He howled in rage, causing the Fat Lady to shriek in fright. He didn’t think that he had ever felt so angry in his entire life. Never. If Bellatrix Lestrange was in front of him right this second, he didn’t doubt he could easily perform a Cruciatus on her.

And if Viktor Krum was in front of him, he could probably do a lot worse…

“Magyar,” came a voice from behind him. Ginny had just said the password, and opened the portrait hole for him.

“Thanks,” he muttered weakly, before stepping into the Common Room.

There she was, sitting at a table with Ron, who looked completely downtrodden. She was making him study for Herbology, or some rubbish like that, but that didn’t matter…what mattered was-

“YOU’VE GOT A DATE WITH VIKTOR KRUM?” he bellowed, once in front of her.

All activity in the common room ceased at that moment. Lavender, Seamus, and Parvati stopped their rousing game of Gobstones; Colin Creevy lowered his camera; Dean Thomas looked up from behind his Transfiguration textbook; a group of third years stopped their incessant chatter; and a couple of the first years looked fleetingly about the room, trying to decide whether it was best to stay put and look inconspicuous, or flee the room entirely.

“Don’t you yell at me Harry James!” she yelled back.

“THEN ANSWER ME!” he snapped. He looked like a crazed madman. “Have you a date with darling Viktor Krum?”

Ron sat off to the side, confused as to what he should be upset about: the fact that Hermione had a date with Viktor Krum, or that Harry was upset that Hermione had a date with Viktor Krum.

“I shan’t speak to you when you are in this temper!” Hermione replied, hastily picking up her school things and shoving them into her schoolbag.

Harry seized the bag and threw it into a circle of eavesdropping second years.

“How DARE you?!” Hermione cried, aghast that he would do such a thing.

“Well, you aren’t leaving until you tell me whether you are going out with him or not!” Harry had a murderous look in his eye, but what was worse, was that awful insecurity that reflected out of them. He was not only jealous, but afraid, and that fear was making him reckless.

It was actually quite endearing.

Her eyes softened, and she reached out and tentatively touched his arm. With that small gesture, his anger gave out; it was not their nature to be argumentative.

Everyone in the room let out an audible gasp; in that split second, everyone figured out what Ginny had known all along. In that split second, they all knew.

Even if Harry and Hermione didn’t know it themselves.

*~*~*~*~*

“They’re gone,” she said, breezily entering his room and plopping down on Ron’s bed. “They left a few seconds ago.”

He grunted in reply. He was lying on his bed, daydreaming about being left alone, and had no intention of making it seem like he wanted any company. He had already told Phineas to bugger off to Hogwarts and entertain himself there for a while; all he wanted was peace and quiet.

“Harry…you have to tell somebody what’s bothering you so,” she said kindly, inching her way closer to him. “If not, it will eat at you like a pack of flobberworms gone wild in your stomach.”

He sat up, half of him feeling like he did want to just let it out, the other half of him not wanting to say anything that might alienate him from anybody else…he was alienated enough as it was.

“I know half of the reason why you’ve been so gloomy lately is because of Sirius,” she babbled on, wanting to get him to talk. “But I also know that there’s something else…even if Ron doesn’t believe me. I know.”

He sighed. If he was going to tell someone about this first, he guessed that she would be the perfect person to tell. She wouldn’t overreact, or do or say anything silly. He half expected her to start formulating some plan the second the words left his mouth. She was Hermione that way.

“You know, you’re right,” he said, deciding that finally it was time to tell someone about the prophecy. “There is something else…”

Her reaction to the news, however, was something that he never would’ve imagined.

*~*~*~*~*

“Harry seems awfully quiet today,” he heard Luna whisper to Ron.

They were sitting in the carriage, making their way towards Hogsmeade. He was sandwiched between Ginny and Neville, Ron and Luna were sitting across from them. Hermione had said she would meet with them later at the Three Broomsticks.

He really wanted to break something with his fist.

Ron didn’t know how to answer Luna. In a great show of Gryffindor solidarity, nobody had told anyone outside the house about the great row between Harry and Hermione. It was sort of a silent agreement; the Gryffindors understood that if word of it leaked out, Harry and Hermione would suffer the same kind of media scrutiny that had plagued them all of fourth year. The Daily Prophet would go nuts with the continued love triangle of Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Viktor Krum.

Still, even though the Gryffindors hadn’t spoken to anyone outside their house, that didn’t mean they didn’t speak about it amongst themselves.

“Is something the matter, Harry?” Luna inquired.

Harry didn’t answer, and the other three Gryffindors in the carriage shifted around uneasily. It wasn’t like they didn’t want to tell Luna about what happened; she practically was a Gryffindor anyway. It was just that…talking about it in front of Harry wasn’t the best way to go about it.

“Goodie, we’re here!” exclaimed Neville, quite happy to be out of the depressing carriage. Harry had this thing about him where everyone couldn’t help but feel his moods. If he was happy, his smiles were contagious. If he was angry, everyone around him began to feel the heat and indignation. If he was sad…

Those eyes of his made you feel the pain along with him.

“So, where you do you want to go to first?” Ron asked his best friend with feigned lightheartedness. He was thoroughly confused; and all he had really wanted to do since the argument was sit down and question Harry about everything. But seeing him so sad, he put aside his own selfish urges, and focused on trying to better Harry’s spirits.

“Actually, I think I want to be alone for a while,” Harry said quietly. Ron looked crestfallen, while Ginny and Neville looked slightly relieved. Only Luna didn’t seem to be paying much heed to the situation.

“That’s…fine,” Ron said. “How about you join us later at the Three Broomsticks? You know when…” and then Harry saw the flash of anger across Ron’s face. He wanted to reach out and pat his best friend on the back. I know how you feel…

“Very well,” Ginny said coolly. “Neville and I were hoping to find a very rare Herbology book at O’Leary’s and Sons…”

Ron wrinkled his nose.

“I wanted to go to Zonko’s and buy some anti-theft poisonous adhesive,” Luna added with a sigh.

“I’ll go with you,” Ron said. “Better Zonko’s than some ruddy bookstore…”

Convinced that his friends all had something to do, Harry ran off and made his way toward the Shrieking Shack.

*~*~*~*~*

Her lips were on his. He really didn’t know how to react to this situation; never in a million years could he have ever imagined his best friend’s lips on his. Never. He still had yet to figure out exactly how she had gone from sitting on the bed opposite his, calmly listening to everything he was saying, to her jumping across and attacking him like a hungry lioness.

It was all very disconcerting.

Still…not so disconcerting that some male, instinctive part of him couldn’t answer back. And that part of him answered back without hesitation. So while his brain had no idea what to make of the predicament, his lips were kissing back, and his hands had snaked around her and were holding her close.

What he really wanted to know, at that moment, was what the bloody hell had gotten into her exactly. Why was she doing this? This…this was completely random! Would he get this sort of reaction from everybody? Would he go up to Ron and say, “Hey mate, listen. I either have to kill Voldemort, or he kills me. Isn’t that wonderful?” and have Ron start snogging him?

Maybe he’d keep this to himself from now on.

Later, she would tell him that at that moment, the moment that he had delivered the whole, drawn-out story, she had felt so full of feeling…fear, anger, hate, determination, loyalty, protectiveness…love, that she had no other way to express them all except by…doing that.

In a way, it made perfect sense.

Who was he kidding? It made no sense whatsoever!

But that didn’t stop it from being…nice. Yes. Having her in his arms was nice. It distracted him. After a few seconds of this, he completely blanked out. He forgot the reason why they had been alone in his room in the first place. He forgot about Sirius, and Bellatrix…he forgot that there was some evil manic wizard that he had to kill before he killed him and everyone else in the entire world…

He forgot about everything else in the world except for her, in his arms.

And the distraction was wonderful.

*~*~*~*~*~*

He kicked angrily at the rain-turned-snow as he paced before the gates of the Shrieking Shack. Curse her! And Curse Krum! Why was she doing this to him? He was pretty sure that if Voldemort appeared before him right now and attempted to kill him, Harry could Aveda Kedavra him out of there before batting an eyelash….

He was that furious!

And to make matters worse, while she and Krum were frolicking about Hogsmeade having a merry old time, he was sitting on a rock in front of the Shrieking Shack trying to repress memories of her from completely taking over his mind!

Unfortunately, (or perhaps fortunately) he was failing the attempt extravagantly.

Damn Dumbledore! This was all his fault! Hadn’t he been faithfully taking Legilimency and Occlumency with him for the past month and a half? Why was it that he was able to free his mind of all encroachments, except for the one encroachment that he wanted to be free of most?

*~*~*~*~*

If he thought he was confused before, when she first threw herself at him, he was way beyond confused now.

He wasn’t really an expert on girls and sex and such…look at the fiasco Cho turned out to be. But honestly, didn’t girls expect some sort date thing first? You know, before they start unzipping your pants…

Well, Hermione was doing just that. She was unzipping his pants. And oh--wow! There went his shirt! What was she doing? Ten minutes ago they had been snogging. Now she was undressing him. Wasn’t there supposed to be a couple of Hogsmeade weekends and a few tankard-fulls of Butterbeer before they got to this level? Really, Butterbeer helped with fortifying guts…

He was completely confounded. He did not know what the hell was going on. She looked kind of rushed, as if they were on some time limit. All he wanted to do was savor the experience…make it last as long as possible, one, because he was completely terrified. And two, because this was making him forget about everything and everyone else…

And then he realized that they were under a time limit because any second now a Weasley could just waltz right in and find them both on the floor entangled and half-dressed.

How would they go about explaining that to Mrs. Weasley?

But she didn’t seem to be thinking about Mrs. Weasley. And quite frankly, he shouldn’t really be thinking about Mrs. Weasley either. It could seriously disturb the experience of it all…and what would Mr. Weasley think?

Ok. He shouldn’t be thinking about Mr. Weasley either.

But then, all thoughts of Weasleys left his head when her hand wrapped around his erection. Because by that time, he was bloody well erect. Erect wasn’t even the right word. He was passed erect. Randy as hell was more like it. He had never been this randy before, which, coming from a fifteen year old boy, meant a lot.

The gasp that he emitted, and his look of abject shock, pleased her to no end. He could tell the naughty tart was fully pleased. Look at that smug look, just look at it! Aced a Transfiguration exam have you? Wanton trollop…

He’d teach her…

*~*~*~*~*

He entered the Three Broomsticks, he was sure, looking completely ridiculous. He was half in a towering rage, and half completely wet due to sleet and snow. Mental note: whilst trying to look imposing, disheveled hair and pink cheeks do nothing to help the cause.

“Oi mate! Over here!” he heard Ron cry out the second he entered the pub. He thought with a grin that after spending an entire afternoon with Luna, Ron was probably biting his tongue for some more company.

‘Tis why he was completely confused when he found both of them giggling madly over something as he sat himself down at their table.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, hoping it would be something he would find funny too. He detested bad moods. Despite the fact he had spent the past three months in one…

Witches.

“Oh, its nothing really,” Ron said, his face red from laughing.

“Ronald just told me a joke,” Luna added, wiping away some stray tears of laughter. “Go ahead Ron, tell him. It starts off with a hag, a troll, and a vampire in a pub. Oh go on Ronald, I can’t do it justice…”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Oh all right. So, it starts off with a hag—you know almost all my jokes start off with a hag, but anyways…”

But he had stopped listening. For at that precise moment, she walked in, a wide smile on her face, closely followed by Viktor Krum.

*~*~*~*~*

He had no idea when it was they had gotten from his bed to the floor. He was sure that it had been some time ago, although precisely when it had happened, he couldn’t recall. It was quite better this way actually; if Phineas happened to come back to his portrait, he wouldn’t be able to see anything, as the bed would block them.

By this time he was completely undressed, which he found eternally unfair as she was still wearing her skirt and bra. He decided to rectify this discrepancy almost immediately; he surreptitiously traced his fingers up her spine and to her bra clasp, only to find that the dratted thing was some scientific machinery that he could never properly learn to operate.

Seeing the consternation on his face, she giggled, and brought her hand back to teach him how to undo it.

So next time you’ll know how to do it yourself, she said with her eyes.

Next time. They weren’t even done with this time. This first time. And already they were thinking about next time.

Pervs! The both of them!

He kissed her then. A thorough, smoldering kiss, that assured her that there would indeed be a next time. And that next time would be soon.

He brought his mouth to her neck, which made her laugh again. He grinned, and turned them over, so that he was now on top.

So the big moment had arrived…

*~*~*~*~*

“Hi,” said Hermione tentatively as she approached their table.

“Hello,” said Luna, completely oblivious to the tension that had suddenly descended upon them all. “You’re Viktor Krum,” she added, matter-of-factly.

“Yes I am,” he said brusquely. Harry took a nasty pleasure in noticing that his accent, instead of bettering, had worsened. (“Oh really now! Can you speak a word of Bulgarian?” Hermione would later exclaim in his defense.)

“Ron, Harry, you remember Viktor,” Hermione said with nervousness.

“Yes. Hi…Viktor. Won’t you sit down?” Ron said, looking at Harry apprehensively. He could see the battle waning in his best friend’s eyes—jealousy, the reluctant admiration, and complete and utter loyalty to him.

Harry was touched.

“Actually-”

“We’d love to,” said Hermione hastily, interrupting Viktor’s reply. Viktor looked at her reproachfully.

“I was tingkink maybe we should get some Butterbeer?” Viktor said, clearly wanting to get away from the hostile table.

“Sure…” Hermione said, getting up and accompanying Viktor to the front.

Harry cracked his knuckles. “I can’t sit with them.”

“Come on Harry. Be strong. You know I want to be pound the git into the ground as much as you do…”

“No, you don’t,” Harry said savagely. “If you did, you’d be doing it right now. I’m using Occlumency to blank my mind of violent thoughts.”

Ron looked awed. Of course he had to use Occlumency…otherwise Krum would be slithering across the floor of the Three Broomsticks in the shape of some slimy, misshapen creature or other…Harry really wasn’t one of those patient, think before you act types.

Before they retuned, he was determined to find another place to sit. That was when he found salvation…

Cho Chang was sitting at a table, alone.

Perfect.

Without so much as excusing himself, he got up from his table and waltzed up to Cho’s. She was sitting there, completely lost in an Advanced Potions text. He had to clear his throat--twice, before she noticed he was there.

“Why, hello Harry,” she said, surprised that he had approached her. Although they had patched things up in the beginning of the year, claiming no hard feelings for their turbulent pasts, they weren’t really in the habit of communicating with one another.

“Hi Cho,” he replied, feeling nothing of the old butterflies in his stomach. “May I have a seat?”

“Of course!” she said, beaming, closing her book loudly.

“What are you studying for?” he asked, suddenly noticing that her entire table was covered with quills, parchment, and all matter of study materials.

“N.E.W.T.S,” she said with a sigh.

“N.E.W.T.S? But they aren’t for another six months!”

“Well, I am in Ravenclaw you know. We have to get the best results, or else it reflects badly on us…”

After that, the conversation lagged for a while. Harry turned around to look at Ron’s table. He was quite pleased to note that Hermione was staring at him and Cho. And when she realized Harry was starring back, she turned away quickly.

How very mature they were both acting…

*~*~*~*~*

It never once entered his brain to ask her if she was sure about this whole thing. He was sure she was sure. She never began anything that she wasn’t completely positive she was going to fall through with, or regret later. That was just her way. And if he could be positive about one thing, he was positive about that.

So when he saw her under him, legs opened and looking very frightened, it never occurred to him to ask her whether she was sure. It would be almost like insulting her. Or at least, insulting his idea of her. And he was quite certain his idea of her was quite accurate…

After all, they had been best friends for five years.

*~*~*~*~*

“I was right, wasn’t I?” Cho asked, interrupting his train of thought. She had a broad grin on her face, and he was half-thankful, half peeved, at her disruption.

“About what?”

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

He opened and closed his mouth, not at all certain as to what to say.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she added, looking at him shrewdly. “Its written all over your face.”

He opened his mouth again, not sure whether he wanted to confirm or deny her suppositions.

“Well, you keep looking over at her, and she keeps looking over at you, so I assume there is something going on here,” she continued, taking a sip of her Butterbeer. “And I’m quite sure she just gave me an evil glare…oh look! Another one. Yes, I do believe I’ll wake up hexed tomorrow…”

He turned around again, not being at all sly about starring. If the starring could be any more blatant, he’d have to sit next to her and press his forehead to her cheek and stare at her from that angle.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. If Occlumency couldn’t help him, then perhaps Legilimency could…

*~*~*~*~*

He was no authority on sex, but he was well enough informed to know that this was probably hurting her. As much as he was enjoying it, he was hurting her, and that thought plagued him, even as she urged him on to continue.

He brushed the hair from her forehead with his hand, and kissed her gently. He kissed her down to her neck, and back up, to her lips. He squeezed her right hand reassuringly, and moved his lips to press her cheek.

Next time, it would be better. He would make it better.

*~*~*~*~*

He turned to look at her, and saw that she was blinking her eyes rapidly, as if she had just awoken from a vivid dream. She turned to look at him, eyes wide, shocked, and awed…

That was when he decided he was a coward. Yes, a coward. It had taken him a few seconds after Cho had mentioned it to decide. And he decided to be a coward. Because he was going to do it now, far away from her, and not out loud, because he was afraid that if he walked up to her right now and told her in front of everybody she would reject him, and that would be unbearable.

But waiting would be unbearable too.

So he did it then. He mouthed the words to her.

I love you.

Without waiting a second, not even long enough to gauge her reaction, he got up, and walked out of the Three Broomsticks.

*~*~*~*~*

Disclaimer: Same old same old. I don’t own a thing, or make a cent of change. *sighs*

Author’s Note: I love you Linz! You just magically appear whenever I need you. It’s really quite odd…

*~*~*~*~*

“Where’d Hermione go?” he asked casually, fearing that everyone would immediately hear the fake casualness in his voice, and that Ron would stand up and cry “Aha! You’ve been shagging her all this time!”

Fortunately for him, Ron wasn’t so clever.

“I believe she went for a shower,” Ginny answered from her perch behind Witch Weekly. She had been lying on the floor for the past hour taking all the quizzes for that summer’s Get to Know Your Inner Witch Quiz-fest! “She said something about not being able to stand the bloody heat…”

“The heat is terrible,” Ron agreed, sticking out his tongue slightly as he bubbled in an answer with his quill. He too was taking magazine quizzes, only his were not from Witch Weekly, but from Which Broomstick. (What type of broom is most compatible with your personality?) “Can’t understand why mum refuses to cast a cooling charm.”

“I think mum doesn’t want what happened last time to happen again,” Ginny said distractedly.

“What happened last time?” Harry inquired.

“Oh, she caused a snowstorm at the Burrow,” she replied offhandedly, as if this sort of thing happened everyday. “Took dad a good part of an hour to get it to stop. Ever since then mum has been very suspicious of cooling charms.”

Harry groaned. He had been sitting in the drawing room for the past hour in a slight stupor, trying to get his mind off of the night before. It had been simply heaven. He was quite certain that the spot on the floor currently occupied by Ron was exactly the spot where he had shagged Hermione the previous night…though of course, he wouldn’t dare mention this to him.

He yawned. It was such an obvious yawn, he was sure that they’d notice how fake it was. But they didn’t. Bloody morons didn’t notice anything. He and Hermione had been at it for the better part of two weeks now…he was quite nervous that any day now they’d realize what had been recently happening during the nocturnal hours at Grimmauld Place. But still, nothing.

It was all very ridiculous when you thought about it.

“I think I’ll be heading off for a nap,” Harry said to no one in particular. “Wake me in an hour, Ron?”

“Yeah, sure,” Ron answered, not at all concerned about Harry or his nap. He was bloody compatible with a Silver Arrow? That excuse of a broom? No sodding way…

Seeing his best friend thus occupied, Harry got up and made his way towards the hallway. Hmm…which bathroom would she most likely be using?

He knew he was being naughty. Besides the first time, they had only ever done these things at night…and right now, to go after her and initiate it in broad daylight, when all the members of the household were wide-awake…

He was mad!

Or rather, not mad. But infinitely randy…

To his great pleasure, he heard the shower running in one of the hall bathrooms. It would have been quite unfortunate if she had been showering in the bathroom she and Ginny both shared in their room, as Ginny could walk into her room at any moment and then she would see both of them come out of the shower…

Wouldn’t that make for a lovely spectacle?

He turned the knob of the door, only to find it locked. The prude. With a great, big, melodramatic sigh, he took out his wand and Alohamorad! his way in, silently thanking Voldemort for his return. The ban on underage wizardry being temporarily lifted on his account…

He was quite surprised to find the room stifling hot, full of steam…why was she taking a hot shower on a warm day? He was suddenly jolted by a memory of his Uncle Vernon yelling at Dudley.

“I know it’s hot! But have you seen the electricity bill lately? There is no way I am turning that thing on! Go take a warm shower! When you come out, you’ll feel quite refreshed…”

How exactly did that logic work? Wouldn’t a cold shower make you feel refreshed? He made a mental note to ask Hermione later, because right now, he couldn’t help but feel grateful that the shower wasn’t cold…

Very quietly, he stripped himself of all his clothing. He was surprised she hadn’t heard him come in, but then again, how would she, what with all that racket---she was humming something. He didn’t know what it was exactly, as he was not necessarily all that well versed music wise. Though he was quite certain of one thing: a singer, his Hermione, was definitely not.

He was quite pleased with the surprised shriek she let out when he suddenly invaded her shower. He took even greater pleasure in putting his hand over her mouth to shush her.

Shh…this is quiet time...

Well, as quiet as they could manage it.

When he took his hand away from her lips, he was quite frustrated when she started laughing hysterically.

He had forgotten to take off his glasses.

Without even asking him, she snatched them off and threw them behind the curtain.

“Hey!” he exclaimed.

“Shh…I’ll fix them later…”

Without his glasses, and all the water running, he couldn’t see a bloody thing. This bothered him quite a bit, as half the fun of it all was watching her. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel her.

Her first order of business was to snog him. It made her laugh, because as he couldn’t see well, he turned his cheek right at the moment she made for his lips. She ended up kissing his jaw instead.

“Stop laughing! They’ll hear us!” he said, laughing himself.

She rolled her eyes, though he couldn’t see it, and cupped his cheeks. Otherwise, how was she ever going to manage this?

He felt her lips on his. They were wet. He remembered once before feeling a wet kiss…what a completely different circumstance. He felt secure here. Not like the other time…he was meant to be here. Of that he was sure of. He trusted her completely.

He kept repeating that to himself silently as he let her take control. He was in no position to be dictating the outcome of events. He really was blind…it was quite embarrassing. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t relax and enjoy himself. That was the reason he had snuck into her shower, right? To enjoy himself, right? To forget…

Right?

As if trying to prove this to himself, Harry placed both hands on her smooth, slick back and pressed her harder against him. He was only here for this, and for no other reason at all. Just for this.

He felt her trace a hand down his spine, to his bum. He squealed when she squeezed. She laughed. God how he loved her laugh. Not that her laughter had anything to do with why he was there of course, he was there for only one reason…

Her laugh had nothing to do with it.

She seemed to be enjoying his incapacity. She took pleasure in taunting him…she would inch out of his grasp when he tried to kiss her lips. She luxuriated in exploring places she was normally too shy to explore…the running water was a bonus element. So when he felt her lick his shoulder, sucking all the water…the sensations burned him more than the scalding water.

That was when she finally developed the courage. He was quite surprised when he reached a hand out to touch, and found no body there at the end of his fingertips. That was when, to his great amazement, he felt something hot and wet envelop his penis…

Was she-? Was that her…was she doing what he thought she was doing?

He groaned. Oh my yes, that was her tongue that he just felt. Her tongue had just…licked him…down there. And oi! There it was again. Did her teeth just lightly graze him? Damn, what she was doing now, the sucking thing; that felt damn good…

He stuck his hands out trying to find something to keep him from falling. Because his knees were buckling, and the shower floor was slippery, and he was about to die of pleasure any moment now and it would be quite a shame if he fell on top of Hermione and hurt her…

*~*~*~*~*~*

Harry smacked the wall of the shower stall with his fists. Would he ever be able to take a shower without remembering that? Without being able to relive those amazing moments…her hands on his thighs…the smell of her soap-covered body…

Taking a towel, he stepped out of the shower and stood before the mirror. He hated what he saw there; it was a reflection of his life. His eyes had dark circles under them, and for the life of him, he could not muster enough energy to get that eternally dejected look out of his eyes. It was his fault, after all. Everything was his fault…

She wasn’t speaking to him. But it wasn’t as if he made that much of an effort to speak to her. She avoided him whenever possible, and he, resentful of this maltreatment, avoided her in turn. They had gone from being best friends, to having a torrid affair, to hostile amicability, to jealous passive-aggressiveness…to nothing whatsoever. Nothing. They didn’t even try to feign the normal Harry and Hermione relationship. What for? Everyone knew. The Gryffindors even had a running bet going…who would make the first move?

It sure as hell wasn’t going to be him. He told her he bloody loved her for Merlin’s sake! Wasn’t that enough humiliation? And what does he get in return? Nothing.

Wow! He really hated the melodrama of being sixteen…

It wasn’t like he could really blame her, though. It was not supposed to happen like this. The arrangement had been built on two simple rules…and he had broken both. Granted, these rules were of the unspoken kind--though sometimes, silence can be the loudest sound of all…

*~*~*~*~*~*

He stepped out of his and Ron’s bedroom, closing the door carefully. He didn’t want anyone to wake up and find him there, loitering about in the dead of night. With growing anticipation, he walked towards the drawing room and peaked in.

She wasn’t there.

He grinned. Half the fun of the…arrangement, was figuring out where the hell she decided to hide herself this time. It was kind of ironic actually, doing very mature things, but going about them in a completely immature manner; it was the paradox of their age.

Always up for a challenge, he decided--for some strange reason--that she was most likely not at all on this floor. So that left him two options: she was either downstairs, which was also quite unlikely, (unless she stuck to the kitchen, because otherwise Sirius’ mum would start screaming at the top of her lungs) or, she was upstairs…

Upstairs. Something about the word upstairs was pawing at his mind. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley slept upstairs. If she were indeed upstairs, that would be sort of risky, no?

Risk always added a bit of fun.

But no, that wasn’t it. Upstairs…what on earth was upstairs…oh bother! Sometimes he wished that he listened a bit more when she spoke; half the time he was sitting there wondering how everybody would react if he just shut her up by snogging her madly. That was the only way to properly shut her up sometimes…

“You know, I just discovered the most magnificent library…” she had announced the other day, looking completely elated.

A library. Of course she would go off and hide herself in a library. But which room could it be? He couldn’t very well go peaking into every room. What if Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in one of those? Or worse, what if Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in one of those, doing the same things he hoped to be doing to Hermione in a little bit…

They did have 20 billion kids. The thought wasn’t at all far-fetched.

Ick! he thought to himself as he skipped up the stairs two at a time. Get the mental picture out of my head, please dear Merlin…

Once upstairs, he turned to look up and down the corridor. It was a very long corridor. With many doors. Doors that led to rooms that he had no clue about.

He was going to murder her.

With a sigh, he began contemplating in which direction he would most likely find a library. Why would they add a library on the left side of the stairs? A library was full of books, with factual information, which meant that all the information was correct. Or rather, right, so of course the library would be found to his right…

Fortunately for Harry, his rather flawed logic was proven correct, when he noticed a bit of light under the door to the very far right. On the right side. Worried this might be the Weasley’s honeymoon suite, he looked around to see if he could find some light under any of the other doors.

All the other doors were dark.

Of course they would be! The Weasleys would be asleep by now! That was, unless of course they were, you know…

He approached the room with trepidation. If it did turn out to be Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s room, he could always say he was sleep walking, or he had a bad dream about Voldemort, or something equally ridiculous. But then he’d cause undue panic. The worst case scenario, of course, would be walking in on them having…

Oh blast it all! He wasn’t going in! Sex or no sex! Sex was not worth this agony!

Ok, so all right. Perhaps it was.

Oh well, he thought to himself as he turned the knob to the room with his eyes shut. Here goes nothing…

Thankfully, when he opened the door, (and his eyes) there were no Weasleys present. It was just a big, dusty room full of books, and a fire. He found this kind of odd…why would they put books near a fire? Then again, these were wizarding books--they were probably fire proof…

But then, all the absurd thoughts about Weasleys making little Weasleys and books and fires completely evaporated when he saw her curled up in front of the fire. She was asleep. She was asleep, and had a book for a pillow. She was in the sort of position that he had seen Crookshanks use many many times…it was kinda cute.

A battle began waging in his head. It would be rather mean of him to wake her up just because little Harry was in need of some exercise. But then, he couldn’t very well leave her to sleep on the floor with a book for a pillow. That would mean she wouldn’t rest properly, and that she’d wake up with a stiff neck and a sore back…

Though he could have a little fun if she asked for a massage the next day…

Levitating her to the couch in the corner would be the best thing. If not the best, then perhaps the most chivalrous thing. Now that the ban on underage wizardry was temporarily lifted, he wouldn’t have to worry about ending up at a Wizengamot hearing just for levitating his best friend to a couch.

He took out his wand, and trying to be as gentle as possible, he levitated her to the couch. He smiled at the little connection: she was the one that had helped him perfect the charm. He was afraid that she would awake during the process, and that he would then lose his concentration and cause her to crash to the floor. But luckily, nothing of the sort happened. His brow furrowed a bit when she started squirming around on the couch…but she didn’t wake up.

At a loss of what to do with himself, he sat himself before the fire, right on the spot where she had been asleep before. He wanted to watch her sleep…he didn’t understand why. It was a sudden compulsion, quite unnatural…what did he care what she looked like while she slept? Don’t all people look the same way while they sleep? Their eyes are closed, their breathing becomes regular…they might snore a bit…but did they all sigh like that? Because she just started to sigh, and squirm again…do all people look that fetching while they squirm? And her hair looked sort of heavy and thick with curls, as if she had just taken a bath before going to bed…naturally, hair isn’t supposed to look that inviting while you sleep. Its supposed look odd. Not tempting.

He wanted to leave. He suddenly wanted to leave. Because he was suddenly aware that merely watching her sleep was making him feel all kinds of things…dangerous things.

Because the arrangement was something that was to be strictly platonic. In the Plato kind of platonic. As in, complete commune of body and mind, but free of emotional entanglements…

The unspoken rule.

He sprang up from the floor, suddenly feeling very confused and distraught. He had to leave. These ridiculous thoughts were just…completely ridiculous! They had no place in his head. It was just the damn sex. The sex was so good it was turning him into a bloody sap. He had to leave…

When he reached the doorknob of the door, he stopped. He couldn’t help himself. He just had too.

The compulsion to touch her…not wake her…but just feel her, was too strong.

He walked over to her and put his hand on her cheek. So warm. He brushed the hair from her forehead, and bent down to kiss her. He didn’t want to wake her, just touch her…

Perhaps it was because his lips lingered too long, or he breathed in the scent of her too deeply, but when he raised his head, he saw that her eyes were open wide.

She smiled at him. It was a long, lazy smile, coupled with an indolent stretch.

It made him feel guilty.

She sat up, and he sat himself on the floor before her feet, pulling at her, trying to get her to join him, but she smiled and shook her head. He looked confused. As an answer, she pulled off her well-worn purple t-shirt over her head; she was wearing no bra.

Now he looked really confused.

She smiled again. She twisted around slightly so that she could show him something on her lower back. He stared hungrily at all the lovely skin displayed before him, until he saw the raw-red patch of skin that she was lightly touching.

Rug burn.

He felt his own cheeks burn bright red, and image of her sprawled under him as he thrust into her wildly on the Persian rug in the drawing room playing out in his mind. Sometimes, he really was an animal. He wasn’t aware of how his own eagerness could be hurting her…and she didn’t help matter much. She was very quiet and long-suffering when it came to these things.

But he would make it better. He got on his knees, slowly. She gave him a quizzical look. He replied with a grin. He brought his lips to the nape of her neck, and kissed her delicately. He could feel her shiver. Good. He liked it when she shivered. Eager to repeat the reaction, he worked his way a bit down her spine, and kissed her again. His hands were on her shoulder blades, caressing her gently, and he could see her muscles twitch. He worked his way some more down her spine, until he moved his head a bit so that his lips grazed the raw patch of skin. He kissed her there. She arched her back. He opened his lips and used his tongue. She gripped the edge of the couch. He brought his hand down to her hips, and moved his head a bit so that he was now lightly suckling her side…

Enough was enough. She twisted around, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him up to her. He laughed. She was in complete Amazonian mode. Attack! Attack! Tear that shirt off, claw at his back…press him to you harder and harder…

The knowledge of it all was wonderful: he could drive her as insane with desire as she could him. It made him feel all smug and manly. She liked him smug and manly.

With a wicked glint in her eye, she pushed him off her, and told him to stand up. He narrowed his eyes at her. But then he soon realized that all she wanted was to finish undressing him. She reached for the sides of his pajama bottoms, and pulled them down. He stepped out of them gingerly. Next--though hesitating for one very long and excruciating moment--she tugged his boxers off. Then she stood up before him, gave him a quick kiss, and threw him back onto the couch.

It was his turn.

He wasn’t as patient about the undressing as she was, however. He wanted it all gone now! So he tugged both her knickers and pajama bottoms down together—in a rather ungentlemanly manner. But she didn’t seem to mind. He brushed his fingers over her bare belly, seeing her flesh quiver delightfully. He brought his hands down, between her thighs, and tested the wonderful damp warmth that would soon envelop him in the most delicious of ways…

She moaned. And he couldn’t very well take it anymore.

He pawed at her, and she readily obeyed, setting herself on him so that she straddled him. She sat up on her knees, blatantly shoving her breasts in his face. He took the hint. He brought her left breast to his mouth, and he watched in fascination as she threw her head back in pleasure. It appeared she wanted to reciprocate, as she brought her hands down to touch his erection, and he moaned into her breast. She had her hands wrapped around him, and her mouth was on his shoulder. Biting. She couldn’t stand it a second longer! She lowered herself onto him, and he delighted in the feel of her surrounding him. She began to move her hips around in slow, languid circles…a move surely invented by a secret society of evil women bent on leisurely driving men to insanity.

Before long they were both sweating. The room was stifling. The way the fire reflected on her skin…almost made her seem like she was on fire. Within, without…he was quite certain that she was. And she continued the lazy circles with her hips, almost as if they had all the time in the world to finish this…

Though always thoughtful that in the grand scheme of things, all they would ever have together were moments.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Harry, hurry up and eat your breakfast. Dumbledore’s Portkey is waiting for us,” said Ron, stuffing a fat wad of bacon into his mouth.

He looked up, surprised to find himself sitting in the Great Hall, eating breakfast. Any minute he’d be off with Ron and Ginny to spend winter hols at Grimmauld Place. Hermione wasn’t coming…she opted to spend this time with her parents.

He cast a furtive glance in her general direction, and noticed that her face had a rather queer look to it. It was rather flushed, and confused—expressing a sort of wonder. It rather resembled the look she had that day at the Three Broomsticks…

And then he saw that she was looking at him. Their eyes met. The Gryffindors all waited with bated breath.

She was the first to look away.

Blast him! He really did need to learn to control his Legilimens subconscious! Just because half of him wanted her to relive these moments with him, it didn’t mean that the rest of his brain had to go along and rebel…

What was even more humiliating was that, every time he went over everything, the more obvious it became to him. He had been in love with her from the beginning, from the very first…is that why she insisted on the second rule? To keep their hands off each other at Hogwarts…because she knew that the more they shared these moments together, the more he fell deeper into his own trap?

The longer they left these questions unanswered, the wider the gap between them grew.

And soon, all the time in the world would never be able to help them.

*~*~*~*~*

A/N: The thing about warm showers…completely true. I live in California…I can attest to this fact.

Disclaimer: I am not affiliated in any way with anyone or anything. Kinda sad, ain’t it?

A/N: I PROMISE I will have this done before HBP. Ok? If I fail in this y’all can penalize me somehow. Only one more chapter to go…

Linz: Marry me, seriously. And have my babies. J

*~*~*~*

It had been his best birthday ever. Everyone in the Order had been to celebrate, even Professor Snape (another thing he would never forgive…). Mrs. Weasley had baked him a rather scrumptious chocolate and raspberry cake; Fred and George gave him stock in their new shop; Ron and Ginny gave him a mystery pack from Honeyduke’s (he was quite sure he’d never eat anything of it…mystery pack indeed…).

Hermione brushed up against him when no one was looking, and promised him his surprise would come later.

He felt the chocolate cake fall into his stomach with a thud.

When he tentatively opened his bedroom door that night, she was already outside, waiting for him. Flouting cautiousness, she pulled him away from the door, slammed him against it and brought her lips to his. Although half of him was quite willing to continue on in this manner for the rest of the night (the floor had never seemed so inviting…), his fogged up brain finally came to its senses and pushed her away.

“We’re in the middle of the corridor,” he whispered. “Ron is right behind this door…”

She shushed him with her finger, and gave him a ‘who bloody cares!’ look.

It was quite fetching.

That was when he noticed what she was wearing…they looked like his Quidditch robes, only, they weren’t. Because his were in his trunk, he was sure of it! He had just seen them right before he changed for bed…

“Hermione, what are you wear-?”

“Shh!” she whispered, placing a finger on his lips. Sometimes he wondered whether she did this so much so as to have an excuse to touch his lips.

Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

She grabbed his hand and dragged him forward. It was obvious that they were making their way towards the stairs. Would they be going back to the library? He loved that library. Everything about it reminded him of her…of them. But then he noticed that they were not going upstairs, but that they were in fact going downstairs. Now he knew that not even she would dare pass the portrait of Sirius’ mum, so that meant they could be only going to…

She shoved him into the kitchen, where the first thing he saw sitting atop the long wooden table was half the chocolate and raspberry cake that Mrs. Weasley had so lovingly baked.

He got one look at her naughty smile, and could feel his toes curling already.

Her hand still in his, she led him over to the table, and shoved him onto it. He could tell by the look in her eyes that she meant business…tonight was not gonna be one of those nights of dilly-dallying and shilly-shallying…

Which was both a blessing and a curse.

She backed away from him, and Harry watched with interest as she started fidgeting with the fastenings of her scarlet robes.

“Are you gonna tell me whose robes you’re wearing? So that I can kill the bastard…”

She laughed at the vehemence with which he said this, and instead of answering verbally, she simply turned herself around so that he could read the name on the back.

Just like on his robes, ‘Potter’ was emblazoned across the very top in gold. But, unlike his robes, instead of his number ‘07’ right under it, the word ‘Captain’ was there instead.

She turned around to gauge his reaction: first he looked confused, then shocked, then thoroughly pleased…

“How—how did you-?”

“McGonagall,” she replied. No further explanations required.

And then he gave her that famous grin that caused her stomach to flutter, and her skin to warm. He held out a hand for her to take, which she did. He pulled her to him, and lightly grazed his lips on her cheek.

“Happy Birthday,” she whispered in his ear.

He didn’t reply. He was too busy trying to figure out how to get her naked. There was a running debate going through his head…what was better? The chocolate cake, knowing he had been named Gryffindor Captain, the new Quidditch robes themselves, or Hermione….

Or how about Hermione telling him he was to be the new Captain whilst wearing his new robes? But then the cake would be left out…

Poor cake.

So he then decided that the best thing would be Hermione telling him he was to be the new Quidditch Captain whilst taking off his new robes, and covering herself in chocolate cake…

But she would never cover herself in chocolate cake, unless she was under Imperious. And if he even dared try that, she would most likely Avada him into hell. So there was only one other alternative…and it was up to him to do it…

He honestly didn’t mind the job one bit.

So while Hermione was busily using her lips to do wonderful things to his ear, Harry stretched his left hand out to grab a bit of cake…

And quite viciously smeared it all over Hermione’s right cheek, down to her neck. He dirtied a bit of his new robes, but that didn’t really matter, because the look on her face was priceless…

“Harry?” she said, a completely frozen look on her face. It was really funny. Her face was a mixture of I’m going to kill you this very second, and astonishment.

“Yes?” he answered, already beginning to make a feast of her chocolate covered skin. He couldn’t decide on what tasted better: chocolate cake, or Hermione. Or chocolate covered Hermione…

“You know that after that little stunt you just pulled, we’re never having sex ever again?”

As an answer, he ferociously used his tongue on that one spot of her neck that left her breathless and wanting. She moaned, and he knew he had won.

He smiled. “Don’t speak such nonsense, sweetheart.”

She rolled her eyes, knowing quite well that she had to get back at him. She hated being so easy.

She played along for a while. She let him undress her, which wasn’t a difficult thing as all she was wearing were his new robes and nothing else. She let him smear cake all over her breasts, which, quite against her better judgment, she enjoyed immensely. There was even a point there, when Harry sucked on her left breast so wonderfully, where she had completely forgotten her goal of retaliation. But then he took off his shirt, and she saw the beautiful paleness of his skin before her. It practically begged to be dirtied.

Without even hinting at what she was about to do, she made a grab for the savaged chocolate and raspberry cake, and with two hands, she smeared the dessert all over his chest. But she didn’t stop there. She worked her way up to his shoulders, and neck, and topped it all off by placing a raspberry on his nose.

She stood back to stare at her creation with an artist’s fond sigh of approval. And a wide grin.

“Is this amusing you?” he asked, trying to look and sound completely serious and disapproving, but failing the attempt extravagantly.

She nodded, and gave into the temptation of eating the raspberry right off his nose.

“What are you gonna do about the rest of the cake?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Actually, I think I’ll just leave it there. You look good with a bit of color on your skin…”

She shrieked when he reached around her waist and pulled her to him. The chocolate on both their bodies stuck to each other comically, but they didn’t find anything comic about it. They were too busy trying to eat each other’s lips.

They fell back on to the table, with Hermione on top. She decided to take advantage of his weak position by pinning his arms over his head, and working her way down to his chest in order to make a meal of him.

Harry let himself relax for a bit and enjoy the attention. This was it. The happiest moment of his life. Too bad there weren’t any Dementors running around, because right now he was sure he could make a Patronus so powerful, all the Dementors in the world wouldn’t stand a chance…

He was shocked out of his daze when he felt something odd…she had gotten raspberry, and was tracing it all around his chest, and was currently using it to toy with his right nipple. The sensation was strange, though not unpleasant. It made him impatient.

Using only his eyes, he tried to convince her that the time had come for the fun and games to end. She shook her head, and with a brilliant smile, lowered her head to eat the raspberry right off his nipple.

She really was asking for it.

So without further ado he grabbed her forcefully and turned them around, so that he was now on top. Unfortunately, in the process of flipping over, something very bad had happened to the cake…

“Harry! The cake! You’re about to kick it off the table!”

He turned around just in time to watch the cake (well, what was left of it…) dangle from its very precarious angle, and then slip. He stuck out his hand reflexively, but without a wand, he knew he couldn’t stop it from smashing to the ground.

Which was why he was shocked out of his mind when the cake didn’t fall. It was floating…

He turned to look at Hermione, who looked just as surprised as he was.

“Are you doing this, Harry?” she asked, biting her lower lip thoughtfully.

He lowered his hand, and found, to his great amazement, that the cake floated downward in accordance with his hand.

”I think I am!”

Mentally, he told the cake to set itself down on the table.

The cake set itself down on the table.

“How long have you known?” she asked him, a small, proud smile coming over her lips.

“Always,” he answered with a grin. She laughed, and slapped his arm playfully.

“Oh all right! I don’t know...you remember last year, when Umbridge sent the Dementors on me? Well…”

He stopped there. Because thinking about Umbridge made him think about the past year of his life, which culminated in the death of his godfather. And when he was with Hermione, he was not supposed to think of these things…

She recognized the furrow in his brows, and knew that she had to stop his train of thought.

“You saved the cake,” she whispered in his ear seductively.

He snapped out of his dark thoughts, and grinned at the suggestiveness of her comment. “I would gladly eat some more cake off of you, but I seem to have stained my pajama bottoms with chocolate…”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Then, you’ll just have to take them off.”

He obliged the command quite happily, wriggling out of his boxers in the process as well. (Fortunately, he managed to steer clear of the cake this time.)

She opened her legs for him, sighing happily when he pressed her knees to her chest. He looked down at her, and brushed some of the hair away from her face, something he always did and loved to do. He loved looking at her face. It was a thing of wonder that a person could be this beautiful, both inside and out, and not acknowledge it.

He bent his head down and kissed her, a long, lazy kiss that never failed to make his entire body tingle. Not being able to contain himself a second longer, he drove into her. He didn’t even take a moment to relish in the first thrust…no, he was impatient. So he continued on, building the momentum so that it almost resembled a race. A race against what he did not know…time perhaps. Soon it would be morning, and his birthday would be over. The best birthday he’d ever had. And it would be over.

But now was not the time to think about that. Right now he had to focus on the wonderful sounds coming out of her, the delightful way she was making his toes curl, and the way she was using her hands to massage his bum… (It had gotten quite muscular as a result of the arrangement…witches don’t really understand the workout a wizard’s bum gets during sex!)

He never thought turning sixteen could be this brilliant. He wished life could always be this brilliant.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Harry, are you really going to spend the rest of the holidays looking this depressed? Because if you are, you can tell me so now, so that I can invite Luna and Neville over as reinforcements.”

He didn’t answer. Ron sighed heavily, looking at his best friend as if he were a lost cause.

They were in their room at Grimmauld Place, sitting on their respective bed, both starring into space. Although unlike Ron, who just looked bored, Harry looked as if he were contemplating either suicide, or homicide. Perhaps both.

He had spent the first week of holidays with this same expression on his face. When he woke up in the morning, when he went down to eat his meals, when he sat around distractedly playing all kinds of wizarding games with Ron and Ginny, he always looked the same. Alone. Afraid. Despondent. Angry. And Murderous.

Worst of all was that running commentary that kept playing in his head.

She’s with her family in France right now. Ginny told you Viktor’s family was also going to be in France. They’re probably meeting, right now. They’re probably having some deep and meaningful conversation…perhaps she’ll even jump on him the way she did you, the first time. Do you remember that, Harry? Good! Because that’s the last time something like that will ever happen to you. Do you remember the way her hands used to run down your back, or the way her skin felt hot and sweaty against yours…wonderful. Because you’ll never have that again. Ever.

Ever.

When the thoughts became to hard for him, he went and barricaded himself up in Buckbeak’s room, just like last year, harboring a deep hope that she’ll waltz right in with her messy hair and pink cheeks, and say, “Sorry I took so long.”

He always felt slightly disappointed when Ron called him down to dinner, and she hadn’t appeared.

When he felt tired of feeling sad, anger took a strong hold.

WHAT ELSE COULD HE EXPECT FROM A WOMAN?!

That’s all that woman were! A tussled mess of feelings and fears…they needed to just buck up and get over themselves. Men aren’t this ridiculous. Take Ron for example…sure he got pigheaded back in fourth year. But after seeing that he was likely to DIE in the stupid tournament, he came around eventually, did he not?

But no. Not women. Women just had to stay stubborn and idiotic.

Do you remember the way she used to laugh at all the stupid things you did? Do you remember the look in her eyes…yes, *that* look, the one that meant absolutely everything, while at the same time meaning nothing at all…Do you remember the warmth of her breath, or the security you found between her thighs? Do you remember these things, Harry?

Good. Because right now, Viktor Krum is probably enjoying them.

Harry remembered when wandering around Grimmauld Place use to bring him despairing thoughts about Sirius…

How he wished he could return to those days.

At least before he had been secure in the knowledge that Sirius was now in a happier place, where he was free, and not imprisoned by any authority, or his own private demons…

But he was quite sure Hermione wasn’t in the best possible place. That place was beside him. And only him. Always, with him.

There was a heavy knock at the door, and he madly sprang out of bed. He was shocked to see the lights out, and Ron gone…had he fallen asleep?

The knocking stopped abruptly, and in came Ron, looking very pleased about something.

“Harry!” he exclaimed, pulling his best friend to his feet.

“She’s here.”

*~*~*~*

Disclaimer: The same as it has been for the past five chapters thank you very much.

Author’s Note: So this is the end! Y’all really need to fall down on your hands and knees and thank The Killers for this completed chapter, as I could not have written it without having ‘Desperate’ on replay all day.

Oh, and I’ve decided to propose to Linz because she has the most impeccable timing on anyone on this earth. THANK YOU LINZ! *buys you big diamond ring*

I hope this little treat helps you pass the time before the big day…single digits…

I promised I’d get it up in time…you can’t penalize me now. J

*~*~*~*~*

He never thought turning sixteen could be this brilliant. He wished life could always be this brilliant.

And he knew that any second now, it would be even more brilliant, because he was damn well close to coming. And so was she. He could feel it, and it was the best feeling in the world. Their bodies were sticky and covered in chocolate, and his glasses were dirty as well, but who really cared about all that when he was about to have the best orgasm in his life. Of course it had to be the best. It was his birthday.

He felt her bring a hand down between them, so that she could touch herself. It was so damn hot when she did that. And then he felt her clench around him, and that was the end of him…

*~*~*~*~*

“Hullo! Harry! Were you listening? She’s here!” Ron said this with a great big grin on his face, as if he had just offered Harry the entire universe for the bargain price of seven sickles.

He was pretty sure that there was a slightly constipated look on his face. Or how else would his face look, with all the thoughts that were jumbling through his head in that minute?

She’s here. Why? How? Is she with Krum? Did she leave him? Does she still want him? Does she still want me? Did she ever want me?

Do I still want her?

“Harry. Mate. Pull yourself together!” Ron walked on over to his best friend and slapped his face slightly to emphasize the importance of the situation.

He frowned, the anger over…well, everything washing over. “I don’t want to see her.”

Ron rolled his eyes, exactly the same way she did whenever she was trying to be patronizing. “Of course you don’t want to see her. Git…”

Harry looked stricken. “What’s this? You’re on her side now? Haven’t you seen how I’ve been lately? She’s the one that caused this!”

Ron shook his head. “I’m on nobody’s side. And she isn’t the one to blame here. None of you are. It’s the circumstances surrounding you that have completely doomed the relationship entirely…”

“Our relationship is not doomed!”

“Aha! So you want to fix it?”

Harry got out from under the covers, and looked over at Ron who was starring at Phineas Nigellus.

“You’re not answering my question, Potter. Do you still want Miss Granger, or don’t you?”

He didn’t very well know how to answer that, because well—he didn’t really know. Also, it wasn’t something that he wanted to be talking to Phineas about.

“Phineas, would you mind skipping off for an hour or so? This is a private conversation, after all--” Ron said, annoyed. He had been waiting for an interruption for sometime now—it was a credit to Phineas that he had kept his mouth shut for so long.

“Very well, I’ll leave,” Phineas replied haughtily. “But before I go, I daresay I wholly concur with your halfwit red-headed friend. You would do well in hearing that whippersnapper, viper of a girl out.”

Ron looked about ready to throw the portrait out the window, but it was Harry who reacted with anger. “Very well Sigmund Freud!” he cried, jumping out of his bed and stalking over to the portrait. “How do you propose I go about this? Do I just go in there, tell her I hate you for everything you’ve made me suffer! But I love you! Let’s shag and make up?”

“Precisely.” Without another word, Phineas left the room, leaving a very baffled Harry behind.

He paced the room angrily, not knowing what to do at all. Every instinct was telling him to just go to her and beg like a cowardly puppy, but his brain told him that revenge was always a great thing...

The Sorting Hat was right. He was reacting like a SLYTHERIN!

“Harry, listen. You need to go see her. I know you think she’s to blame for everything but…you need to talk to her, and understand, and…”

“What’s there to understand? That she got bored of me and moved on to Vicky?”

Ron smiled. “You know very well that that isn’t true.”

“How am I supposed to know what’s true if SHE WON’T SPEAK TO ME?” he yelled angrily.

“Look, she’s in love with you, all right? You should hear her talk about you…she’s IN LOVE WITH YOU. Completely mad, won’t shut up about you, I love him so much I’ll kill myself kind of love. She’s been like this for ages now. And you should be thankful for it, because other blokes would love to be in the position that you’re in…”

Ron trailed off at this, and Harry saw a flash of sadness in his eyes. It was gone before he could be sure that he saw it.

“We’re on the same boat here, you and I, Harry. The difference is that you can jump off of it and swim ashore. I have to find myself another harbor.”

He looked at his best friend, the doubt still in his eyes. He couldn’t think straight, everything was a jumbled mess…

She loves me?

“Yes, she loves you. Don’t doubt it. She won’t speak about these things to you because, well, it’s you she loves, isn’t it? So that leaves the other best friend as the shoulder to cry on. And don’t look at me like that. I haven’t told you this before because it wasn’t my place to say, but I’m getting a tad sick of all the melodrama and if we can just fix this and get on with our lives, I’m sure the Gryffindors would be ever thankful-”

“Ron? Harry?”

Ron stopped his tirade just in time to see Hermione appear at the doorway. He turned to look at Harry, who’s skin color seemed to be changing into an interesting shade of purple…

If there had been some sort of machine that calculated tension--of any kind--Ron was sure it would have exploded by now.

“I think I’ll be finishing my diatribe at a later moment. I’ll be in the drawing room if I’m needed, you know, to heal bloody death wounds or anything of the sort…” Ron gave Hermione a quick nod, and behind her back, gave Harry a flamboyant thumbs up sign before exiting.

They stayed quiet for the longest time, just observing each other. He noticed that she didn’t look at all the same way she did last Christmas when she came to him. Last time she had looked happy and messy. She looked thinner now, and her eyes were sort of hollow, as if she hadn’t been sleeping much. It seemed as if she hadn’t been taking care of herself at all. Of course, if he hadn’t been as daft as he was, he would have noticed this for quite some time now, as things like this don’t just happen over night.

In fact, her exterior rather resembled his own.

Despite the instinctive need to care for her, to feed her and lay her down and ask her to rest peacefully, that everything would be all right, there was still all this pent up anger within. And this anger was calling for a very melodramatic release.

His anger wanted him to stand there and scorn any type of reconciliation she might ask of him. It wanted him to watch her beg forgiveness, and then it wanted him to abuse his Lordly pleasure and smash her for everything that she had made him suffer. It wanted her to cry and plead and make passionate pronouncements of desperate love…promises that nothing of the sort would ever happen again…

Of course, that wasn’t at all what happened.

She simply looked at him, with that look. The look that could still smash him into tiny little insignificant pieces while still managing to put him on some high pedestal on an even higher precipice. She simply looked at him with those beautiful sad eyes and said:

“I was scared.”

And he gave in. Screw pent up anger and frustration! It was as if those three words melted away months of passive-aggressive torture. All along he had expected to make her feel like some sort of evil, scarlet woman…

Which was why he wasn’t at all surprised that he now felt like the biggest prat in the world.

Of course she was scared.

He sighed. He didn’t know what else to do. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights, as if by admitting this out loud she was somehow making herself vulnerable to some great evil. Which, in a way, she was…

He walked over to her, and placed his hands on her shoulders. It had been a while since he had touched her, and it was as if his body had been in withdrawal and was suddenly getting a full shot of heroin. She stiffened, but quickly he felt her relax against him, and he ventured enough to bring his lips down to her forehead and kiss her.

“I won’t let him do anything to you. You know that.”

She looked up at him, with those eyes of hers, and it was like getting kicked in the gut. But in a good way.

“That’s not what I’m afraid of. And you know that.”

Before he could get a word in to continue the conversation, she was all over him. Literally. She jumped on him, just like the first time. She was like some crazed snakelike creature that coils itself around its prey before stifling them completely. And through some supernatural miracle, he managed to stumble along to the bed before she really did manage to kill him.

He set her down, and despite feeling the initial rush and relief of having her all over him, he couldn’t help the feelings of doubt. They really shouldn’t be doing this. They had a ton of emotional baggage to work through…really, he had thought there would be some sort of spat and weeks of healing and rebuilding of the relationship before they got back to this point…

But it felt so damn good to have her in his arms. It felt so damn good to kiss her, and hold her close, and undress her, and feel her skin against his. They hadn’t done this in such a long time…

She felt so gorgeous to him. All of her. Just as he remembered her. It was a pleasure just to look at her, and touch her…her collarbone, her lower back, her breasts…her thighs, and the space between them that made her squirm and sigh.

They hadn’t done this in such a long time…he wanted to touch and feel every curve and crevice, just like he used to. He kissed his way up her right leg, and when he got to her knee, he bit it, just like he used to before he licked her insides…she laughed, just as he wanted her to, because he loved to hear her laugh, and he loved to know she remembered as well.

He wanted to make it up to her, just as he knew she did. With every hand she placed on his body, with every article of his clothing that she removed, with every time she touched her lips to his, it was like she was saying it out loud. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…

But she didn’t have to be.

They were both breathing heavily, practically panting like dehydrated camels…and he grinned because he realized that they looked and sounded so desperate. Which they were. It was quite a contradiction, really, because he could never remember being so gentlemanly…so mindful of her…but at the same time, so insistent.

This was probably due to the fact that this was the first time he had ever done this with her, knowing that he loved her. And that she loved him. And that they were in love. And that they had almost lost this. They had almost let this pass…

His internal dialogue stopped when she suddenly stopped nibbling on his ear.

“Harry?”

“What?” he asked, in a slightly impatient tone. She didn’t really mind it, because he looked completely ridiculous with his hair all muddled and his glasses all fogged up.

“You do realize that this is the first time we’re doing this on an actual bed?”

She smiled, which in turn made him smile. As she reached over to take his glasses off, he indulged, and brushed the hair from her face, just like he always did. He then lowered his head and kissed her, and she coiled her legs around him. Ever the viper.

After a few more minutes of snogging, and groping, and rubbing against each other like crazed freaks, she managed to loosen her legs enough to allow him entrance. And he obliged happily.

It was quite unlike anything he had ever experienced before. She was very different…she had always been an eager little accomplice, but this time she was so...intense. Like she too had finally realized that they had almost lost this because of random stupidity.

She answered his every thrust with twice the usual force. It was almost like she was trying to permanently fuse herself to him…not that he minded the sentiment…her eyes were closed tightly, and brows furrowed severely, and she was perspiring so sweetly, and she ravished him like a savage Neanderthal…

He felt quite pleased with himself.

When she came, he felt it to the tips of his toes. She had never felt hotter, or wetter, and she had never clenched tighter, and she had never dug her nails so deep into his back before…but he didn’t care, because she felt so good. She had to bite his shoulder to keep from crying out, and he remembered feeling pride and relief before he let himself go…

*~*~*~*~*

She was slumped against him, her leg thrown over him haphazardly, the blankets barely covering them. He felt pleasantly tired and tingly, and he couldn’t stop from leaning his head over and kissing her everywhere every two seconds. It felt so great to be where he was.

“I was so scared,” she began, biting on her lower lip. “I was so afraid that I’d have you, and then I’d lose you. That he’d take you away from me. I could never survive that…”

He nodded, bring one of her hands up to his lips and kissing it.

“Haven’t you noticed it, Harry? Every time we’ve escaped into our little world…into our arrangement, we were always fighting time. They were always stolen moments of time, not really real…and that’s what we’d be doing if we continue this. Fighting time. Fighting the inevitable. Because there will come a day when I’ll have to say goodbye to you, and I won’t know whether you’ll be coming back to me. And I’m scared I won’t survive it if you don’t…”

She sighed, and buried her face in his chest. He didn’t know what to say, so he kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips, her everything…

He didn’t know what to do, except lie to her. And perhaps delude himself in the process.

“Everything will be all right.”

She shook her head. “And what if it isn’t?”

“Then we’ll have an eternity to be together.”

They were holding hands now, and she was stroking the inside of his with her fingers. It was a lazy caress, and it felt wonderful. Despite having just had a very depressing conversation, everything was wonderful.

Except, of course, for one thing…

“Why Viktor Krum?”

She looked up at him, or at least she tried. Her hair was obscuring her view. He used his nose to nuzzle it away. When they were finally able to look at each other without bushy obstacles, she sighed, and stared at him pointedly.

“Why Cho Chang?”

He rolled his eyes, and jumped on top of her. She squealed.

“You know very well there was nothing between Viktor and I! Ever!” she cried, wriggling around as Harry did a number on her neck with his teeth. “I was never eccentric enough for him, though at first he took me for one. Ohhh…”

He was now working on her breasts.

“Actually, I--I think he rather fancies Luna. Told me as much on that day in Hogsmeade…oh Harry…”

He stopped, an image of Ron and Luna laughing together enthusiastically over Butterbeers appearing before him.

Poor Ron. It seems he’d always be on the other side of Viktor Krum.

He felt something pinch his bum, and he cried out in surprise. Suddenly, inspiration hit him…

“Remember last summer, the day we got our O.W.L. results?” he asked, grinning naughtily.

“Of course…”

“Do you remember the triumphant ravishing you gave me up against the wall in the broom closet next to the drawing room?”

“Yes…” she said, blushing at the memory.

“How about we reenact it?” he asked brightly, bending down to kiss her collarbone.

Unfortunately, Harry’s plans were stopped by a rather timid knock at the door.

“Harry? Hermione?”

It was Ron.

“I know you’re both probably...err…preoccupied at the moment, but mum’ll have dinner ready in a few and you know how she gets about promptness and all that…”

Harry sighed heavily. “We’re coming!” he yelled at the door.

There was a snort in the room. It was Phineas Nigellus. “A little too late for that, isn’t it?”

“Bugger off you perverted portrait!” Harry yelled with a mixture of horror and exasperation. Hermione shrieked and hid under the covers.

“Before I go, I am to tell you, on behalf of Elladora Black and all the other portraits that hang in the corridor right outside this room, that the next time you decide to engage in…whatever activities you have just engaged in, to use a Silencio charm!”

Phineaus left in a huff, leaving a very embarrassed Harry and Hermione behind him.

*~*~*~*~*

“Hermione…please…”

“No. I told you already, not while we’re at Hogwarts.”

Harry smacked his head down on the table. They were in the common room, two weeks back from winter holidays, and everyone and everything was getting back to normal.

Unfortunately, everything included, well, everything.

“This is ridiculous! Everyone knows about us! Why should we deny ourselves the perfectly understandable need to-”

“I said no. I’m a prefect. I have to maintain a certain level of respectability.”

“Well its not like I’m asking you to go at it right on the table during breakfast or something,” Harry replied grumpily.

She got up, sat herself on his lap, and kissed his nose. “You’re so adorable when you pout. Now, back to Advanced Potions…”

He groaned aloud, and he caught sight of Ron sniggering into his Herbology text.

He promised himself seventh year would be different. He’d coerce Dumbledore into making him and Hermione Head Boy and Girl, so that they would then share a suite…

Which would make everything a lot more interesting.

Yes, seventh year would be different.

He sighed, looking over at Hermione’s beaming face, and remembered what he told her at Grimmuald Place.

Everything will be all right.

For her sake, he hoped it would be.

But only time would tell.

*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Ok, so this might not be the end. I might add on futureish cookies, or even pastish cookies for that matter. You never know. I don’t even know. I don’t know myself. Still trying to figure myself out. I need therapy. So I’m not making any promises. Just…I might.