1. Prologue and Homecoming

Strangers in the Night by Nox

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Rating: NC-17 for later scenes.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and other related trademarks and copyrighted materials are property of their respective owners. Use of such properties is for entertainment purposes only and does not constitute a claim on such properties.

Chapter Notes: This chapter went a bit longer than I expected to set up the next chapter. But Harry and Ron kept talking and I didn't have the heart to stop them.

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Prologue

Puddlemere United's Seeker stood under the shower letting the heated water flow over him. The sounds of his teammates shuffling around the locker room, talking and making fun of one another after the game went unregistered.

'C'mon, mate, it wasn't that bad. We made it to the national finals at least, yeah?' Oliver Wood, his once and again Keeper, slapped him on the shoulder. 'Buck up, we'll get 'em next year. You played great! We all did. The cards just weren't with us this time.'

Harry Potter, their newest and most famous player, just nodded, mumbling something vaguely affirmative. It was enough to get Oliver to move off. The Boy-Who-Didn't-Catch-The-Snitch let the water start to run cold before he finally took a deep breath, shut the shower off and started to dry off and get dressed. Mostly he was disappointed with himself for letting the team down, but despite their loss, the players seemed generally upbeat for defying the bookmakers by getting a star Seeker and making it to the National Finals for the first time in many decades.

As he swung his duffle bag with the entire contents of his locker — the season was over — he looked back at the now-empty locker room.

Next year. Next year, he silently promised to the lockers. Then, thinking on what Oliver said, hurried out after the others. 'Hey, wait for me!'

'Beer's on you, Potter!' cried one of the Chasers, with a laugh.

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Homecoming

The next day, after much drinking and reminiscing over their breakout season (and a handy anti-hangover potion he had picked up on the road), Harry was bouncing around on the Knight Bus on his way to Diagon Alley. Hanging onto a pillar for dear life had him grateful that he had enough presence of mind to send Hedwig ahead with a note to Ron and Hermione about his arrival. He also instructed Hedwig to wait for him there. Just as well, he thought, or else Hedwig would be another splat on the windo—

Whack!

The Knight Bus took a hairpin turn before slamming the brakes with such ferocity that even Harry's hold on the pillar wasn't enough to keep him from smacking right into Stan, the bus conductor.

'Diagon Alley, London!' called Stan over the moans and dark mutterings of the passengers. Making a beeline for Harry's duffle bag, Stan tugged it outside, gesturing Harry to exit the bus; this was a courtesy he extended to no other passengers. Whenever Harry was on board, Harry was the only person as far as Stan was concerned.

''Ere we are, 'arry. You take care now. I really thought Puddlemere should'a won! Bye!' Stan's voice got louder as Harry quickly moved into the Leaky Cauldron to escape the star-struck conductor. Harry waved over his shoulder to spare an answer.

'I really need to ask Tonks about getting a disguise for myself,' he muttered to himself.

A scene similar to his first-ever time in The Leaky Cauldron took place as a few late breakfasters who recognized the young celebrity made a fuss over his appearance and tried to shake his hand. With much-practiced feigned politeness, Harry just kept moving through until he got to the magical brick wall in the back alley yard leading to Diagon Alley proper.

It was early morning on the weekend, so most of the shops in Diagon Alley were still shut and few people were out and about. This worked out well for Harry, as he took long strides past the familiar shops and into one of the alleyways with tall, if slightly askew, houses where witches and wizards lived.

Fishing for a key in his pockets, he approached one of the doors, unlocked it and stepped inside. They're probably having a lie-in, thought Harry with a smile. Dropping his heavy duffle bag and kicking off his shoes, Harry called out.

'Is anyone home? It's me, Harry! Wake up, you lot!'

A few moments later, Ron stumbled out of his bedroom, squinting through the morning sunlight filtering in through the windows. 'Harry? Hey! Didn't think you'd be here this early. Sorry, mate, I'd have met you at the Knight Bus otherwise.' The lanky redhead he grew up with came over and gave him a manly hug, back slapping and all.

'I figured with your play last night, you might've been . . . recovering this morning,' said Ron, fighting a smirk.

'Oh, we drank all right,' laughed Harry as he wandered to the kitchen and took a stool. 'But there's this potion you can make, makes mornings a whole lot less painful.'

'You and potions? I thought Snape would've turned you off entirely. Merlin knows he did for me.'

'Yeah, but I had much prettier teacher this time,' said Harry with a wink. 'One of our Chasers,' supplied Harry at the blank look. Eyeing Ron as his friend rubbed sleep from his eyes, Harry decided to take advantage of Ron's befuddled state. 'So, who were you cheering for last night? Cannons or Puddlemere?'

Harry knew Ron would've been in a tough spot. The team Puddlemere was playing against last night — and to whom they lost — was Ron's all-time favourite team. Ron, with his best friend playing against the Cannons, was in the impossible situation of wanting both teams to win.

'Come on, that's like a girl asking me if she looks fat. Can't win, no matter how I answer,' Ron pleaded. 'But for what it's worth, you guys had a bloody brilliant season. Absolutely brilliant.'

Harry gave Ron a rueful smile while glancing down the hall at one of the other bedroom doors. 'Thanks mate. It was a hell of a season. Say, where's Hermione? Is she here? Or does she actually spend the night with that bloke of hers? What's his name again?'

'I wish she would,' said Ron with an eye-roll.

'What's that mean?' asked Harry.

'You'd already started your season before Harold — that's his name — and Hermione met, so you'd already moved out of the flat. Let me put it this way: I haven't cast the Silencing Spell so much since Flitwick's class.'

Harry's brow arched with surprise and not a little amusement. 'Our little Hermione's a bit of a scream—'

'Ahhh! Don't even say it!' interrupted Ron, throwing his hands over his ears. 'I still can't get Hermione and sex into the same thought, much less . . . well, all that.' The redhead wore such a pained expression that it sent off an uncontrolled guffaw from Harry.

'Oh, shut up,' said Ron, irritably. Then, steering the conversation back to the original question, 'Hermione's on some Ministry business up in Scotland. She's supposed to be there all weekend, back on, er, Monday, I think she said. Just as well, because she turned your room into a library-study. So, unless you want me to Transfigure you into a book, you can use Hermione's room until she gets back.'

'She did what to my room?!' Harry rushed over to the room-formerly- known-as-Harry's. Dismayed, he saw that Ron was quite right: tall bookshelves lined with books — both Muggle and Magical — covered every non-window and non-door space; a testament to Hermione's voracious appetite for books. A large desk, very neat and tidy that screamed of Hermione's organization, stood in the middle.

'You let her do this to my room?' asked Harry in betrayed tones.

Ron shrugged helplessly. 'She thought you were going to get a new place, since you were going to be on the road so much. Said it'd be a waste of a room just to store your stuff. Don't worry, they're in a couple'a trunks in the attic.'

'Well, I can't very well sleep in her room when she gets back. You've kept the couch at least?'

'Well–' Ron began slowly, 'We still have it, sure, but, you see– it got a bit too close to the fireplace one time and you know my Reparo isn't fantastic. It's pretty uncomfortable for everyone except Crookshanks these days. Likely wake up with a spring or two up your backside.'

Harry breathed in deeply, letting out a long sigh. He had been looking forward to settling in with his best mates, sharing meals and not worrying about diving feint patterns, Seeker Snitch snatch rates of opposing teams and the early-morning practices. And now: room occupied by an army of books; bed transfigured into a desk (presumably); and the couch little more than a large sleeping cushion for an ugly cat.

'Fine, fine,' said Harry, resignedly. 'I'll crash in Hermione's room for now, but when she gets back, you're helping me convince her to give me my room back!'

'Sure thing, mate,' said Ron, laughing. 'Anyways, since we're up, how about some breakfast?'

Harry spent the rest of the day relaxing with Ron in the flat. Morning gave way to lunch, to a lazy afternoon, then to a dinner at the Leaky Cauldron with Fred and George, whose joke shop was nearby. It was a pleasant winding-down day though the twins weren't ones to let the Puddlemere loss go all that easily. They kept inserting sly remarks about it into the conversation, though Harry didn't really mind. It was simply a pleasure to talk about the game without having to worry about how he would perform in the next game. For now, he was just another fan of the game.

Back at the flat, Harry and Ron were enjoying a nightcap and catching up on news. Some gossip about mutual friends and acquaintances, news on all the Weasleys and, finally, on this Harold fellow that Hermione was dating. Ron seemed slightly on the negative side about him, though he couldn't really give a reason.

'Just a feeling,' he said. 'I think he's just using her for a shag.'

'I suppose even Hermione has needs,' said Harry, giving Ron with sly look. As expected, Ron just rolled his eyes. Gesturing to Ron, 'What about you? Anyone tending to your needs?'

'Nah,' Ron shrugged, 'No one right now. Sorta between girls at the moment. Last one was just off-the-wall barmy.'

'Luna Lovegood?' asked Harry with a grin.

'Feh, I wish! Luna's strange, but pretty harmless. No, this one . . . had control issues. And she really didn't like Hermione or that me and Hermione share a flat. You've never seen Hermione so close to punching someone since Malfoy that time in third year.'

The thought of Hermione so riled made Harry pause. 'Wow. That's just — wow.'

'Exactly,' said Ron. 'Anyway, not a pleasant thought. How about you? Quidditch star, Boy Who Lived, wizard who defeated You-Know-Who . . . must've had the girls lining the bar after matches. You must have some good stories! Eh?'

Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. 'Come on, mate, you know that's not me.' He paused while taking in Ron's incredulous, even disbelieving, looks. 'I'm serious! I mean, not that a bunch of them weren't quite fit–' (To which Ron snorted, 'I'll bet!') Harry just shook his head. 'But it's just strange, innit? Throwing yourself on someone who doesn't know you? Couldn't do it.'

'Harry, Harry, Harry,' said Ron with a disappointed sigh. 'Any guy would give their left testicle to be in that spot, and you don't even indulge a little?' Then, with that mischievous Weasley twinkle in his eye, he asked, 'You don't fancy boys, do you? I mean, you're my best mate and all, but you're just not my type–'

Harry took a playful swing at Ron, who half-expected it and easily dodged with an impish grin. 'If you must know, I had a little thing with Maura,' he said.

'Tinnerman? The Chaser?' said Ron excitedly. 'Now that's what I'm talking about! Details, man!'

'Well– a bit weird telling you this, but she kinda reminded me of Ginny.' Harry saw Ron's brow rise questioningly. 'You know, red hair, Chaser, bit of a mischief-maker. Now she–' A pause with a wistful sigh.

Ron grinned knowingly. 'She was your first?'

'With whipped cream,' said Harry, without hestitation. 'And silk scarves.'

'Kinky!'

'Oh yeah,' Harry chuckled. 'But, I'm a gentleman, so I won't kiss and tell.'

Ron reached over and slapped Harry on the back. 'Heh. Sounds like more than kissing. Well, good on you mate. But you sound like it's over.'

'Yeah, it was mostly a distraction for us while we were on the road. She's the one who taught me the hangover potion. She's been with Puddlemere a few years now, so she knows how to party.'

'And how to look a cutting sight on her broom.'

'Quite.'

Grinning into his cup, Ron downed the last of his drink and glanced over at the house clock. 'Well, it's late, and mum's invited us to the Burrow. I told her you were probably in this weekend.'

'It'll be great to see everyone again,' said Harry.

'Well, I'll hide the whipped cream when we get there, in case you get any ideas with Ginny,' said Ron with a smirk. 'Not that she wouldn't mind. I'll wager she's still got the hots for you, even if she denies it.'

'She does not have the hots for me,' Harry scoffed.

'A little fire.'

'Ron,' Harry said severely, 'I'm certainly not going to try anything with Ginny at the Burrow, much less shag her.'

Heading to his room, Ron tossed a parting grin over his shoulder. 'Better safe than sorry, eh?'

'Git. I'll see you in the morning.'

'Night.'

With a yawn, Harry padded over to Hermione's room and paused just inside the entrance. All the touches of femininity, from the colours, to the furnishings, to the faint lavender scent permeating the room brought a smile to his lips. The familiarity was enough to evoke an evanescent presence that was almost as good as her being actually there.

Stripping down to his shorts, Harry slipped underneath the soft covers and sank gratefully into the pillows. The homely feeling of it all was a welcome relief to the uneven nature of inns for the past few months.

Harry took his glasses off and tossed them onto the nightstand. Reaching for his wand next to his glasses, he gave a sleepy 'Nox'. As the lights winked out, he passed into a restful sleep.

2. Strangers in the Night

Strangers in the Night by Nox

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Rating: NC-17

Chapter Notes: The NC-17 bits. Sordid, unadulterated smut. Prudes beware!

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Strangers in the Night

Something roused Harry from his sleep, and it was the sensation of a pair of hands that touched his chest for just a moment, then quickly withdrew.

'Who's there?' whispered a female voice sounding alarmed.

Through his groggy fight to consciousness, Harry only vaguely registered the question. Other than that a question was posed to him; and that it was dark. And that the scent of lavender that seemed so very close. Was that Lavender? Couldn't she see it was him?

'Uh, it's me. Harry,' he whispered thickly.

A shocked beat. 'Harry! What are you doing here?' said the female voice, now with amused relief.

What would Lavender be doing in my inn room? I didn't see her after the game, Harry thought as the twin bludger bats of confusion and sleepiness had him wondering what was going on in. Then he remembered he was back in London, not on the road. Still, why would Lavender be here? Was Ron setting him up? He answered in a slurred voice, 'Ron told me to come here.'

'Really?' The female voice giggled. 'I didn't think Ron would have let you stay the night without me here.'

'No, I couldn't—' Harry began.

'—wait for me? Aw, how sweet!'

'No, I meant—' Harry protested.

'Shhh. Stop talking,' the female whispered. The faint rustle of robes and clothing being slipped off distracted Harry for a moment, but not nearly as much distraction having the sheets tugged aside while the bed pressed downwards from the additional weight of another body climbing onto the bed. Specifically, straddling Harry.

The shock of such an unexpected turn of events had Harry gasp. He breathed deeply the tantalizingly familiar floral scent until it finally dawned on him. Lavender scent: Hermione! She's come home early from Scotland and thinks I'm her boyfriend Harold! As he felt her leaning down, he blindly reached up to restrain her, lest the situation get completely out of hand.

Harry felt a violent sensation in his groin as his hands came in contact with two exquisite-feeling — and quite bare — breasts.

Hermione's bare breasts.

A sense of shock stunned poor Harry — but not nearly as much as when Hermione pressed downwards and attacked his lips with a heated kiss. There he was, palming his best friend's breasts while being snogged (quite pleasantly, really) and—

Harry groaned softly as said best friend began slowly grinding against his boxers, the warmth from between her legs eliciting the reaction one would expect from any red-blooded male in his situation.

Now fully awake, in more ways than one, Harry tried to stay very still, hoping that Hermione would stop and he would get a chance to interrupt her and make a terribly embarrassing explanation before things really got out of hand. Despite the pleasant sensations she had evoked and was spreading through his body, the undeniably allure of having a warm, willing body riding him, he knew this was a huge mistake.

His plan worked . . . sort of. Not seeing as much reaction as she might have expected, Harry felt a smile form as Hermione pulled away from the kiss. 'Oooh, playing hard-to-get, hmm?' she giggled.

Harry felt one hand press against his chest and the cooler evening air as Hermione lifted herself off. Spinning on one knee, she swung her other leg over to reverse-straddle him. His breath caught as he felt his boxers being pushed down and Hermione grasping his shaft; he then realized why Hermione had shifted herself into this position. It wasn't enough that a warm, wet sensation engulfed him as she drew out exquisite pleasure with her tongue, but a moment later, the scent of a highly aroused woman assaulted his senses, the herald to Hermione scooting backwards and pressing her sex insistently to his lips. A sex which was decidedly damp when it got there.

Oh, Merlin, I was right, earlier. Hermione has needs and she's not bloody shy about them in bed! he thought frantically.

Hermione's lithe body slid and slithered over Harry's, the soixante-neuf bringing the Boy Who Could Now Die Happy such excitement beyond all possible measure. Friend or no, it was all simply too much to ignore; valiantly, he tried to stem his lust, but before he knew it, he had reached up to wrap his arms around Hermione's waist and reciprocating the pleasure she was bringing him.

For long minutes, their tongues and lips duelled, stimulated and explored one another. He had a guess that his namesake had taught Hermione how to please a man, and for that he was considerably grateful. He was equally grateful that he didn't turn down Maura's attentions during the Quidditch season — so he had some idea on how to stimulate a woman. At least, he assumed he did, given the vibrations Hermione's moaning sent down his shaft, threatening to have him explode before he would've liked.

Harry's hips were soon rising and falling with Hermione's suckling while his tongue danced over, under and around her clit. It wasn't long before the situation was just too much, though. With one last upward thrust, he spasmed his pleasure into Hermione's mouth. Violently. He stifled his yell by burying this mouth into Hermione, incidentally slipping his tongue deeply into her and causing her delighted muffle which vibrated along his pulsing cock.

The sensation faded quickly and Harry's hips fell back down to the bed, his wet and spent shaft twitching pleasureably in the cool evening air. His heart was beating as if he had just ran a race, his breathing equally quick from the intensity of his release. Hermione raised her head from Harry, grinding her groin on Harry's face.

"Hmm," hummed Hermione throatily. The sound of her licking her lips with his recent offering only excited Harry even more. 'I've never seen you last that long or come so hard. It's like a whole new you!'

The irony wasn't lost on Harry, who just grunted a non-verbal response by grazing intimately on her netherlips. He flicked his tongue against her clit and she jerked in response. He did it again. She jerked again, this time with a whimper. 'Mmm, make me come . . . .' she groaned wistfully. Arching her hips downwards, she made the point quite clear that she expected a return favour.

Fair was only fair, and Harry did his best, suckling the spot Maura had taught him to seek for just such occasions. This turned out to be a good thing, as it was barely a minute later that she began bucking and panting. True to Ron's account, her cries of 'Oh, yes!' and 'Oh, Harry!' rose in volume until at that sweet moment when she finally peaked, she loosed a resounding, 'Uuunh!' that echoed in the darkness and clamped her thighs around Harry's head.

Hermione must've come as hard as I did, Harry thought with a certain swelling pride at his prowess. With just the tip of his tongue loitering at her entrance, he could feel the muscles spasming and contracting. It was all terribly exciting.

All good things must come to an end and Hermione finally collapsed to Harry's side, quivering periodically from post-orgasmic tremors. For several minutes, they both just lay there, panting and heated from all the action. She turning around, she snuggled into his arm, draping her body over his and mewling contentedly. Pillow talk at this juncture was out of the question. What could Harry possibly say now?

Somewhere in his lust-clouded mind, familiar voice sounded: Any guy would give their left testicle to be in that spot, and you don't even indulge a little?

So when he gently rolled her over onto her back and passed a hand up along her inner thigh from her knee, it wasn't just to Hermione's surprise.

He was going to indulge.

'Harry!' she gasped as his fingers danced along the much-slickened petals his lips had been blessed to graze upon. 'You- you want to go again? But—' She groped around until her fingers wrapped around his tumescence. Another gasp.

Kneeling between her legs, he gently parted them, a task that met little resistance. As he slid over her supine form, prepared to take her, she pressed her hands to his chest for a momentary pause.

'My God, you missed me terribly, haven't you?,' murmured Hermione.

'Yeah,' Harry replied with a hoarse whisper. I did miss you — I just never thought I'd get this sort of a welcome! And with a groan, he pushed himself into her warmth, not stopping until he was fully seated in her. Hermione grabbed his head and pulled it into a hungry kiss as gently moved in and out of her. So much for stopping before it got completely out of hand.

Harry maneuvered her arms up over her head, crossing her wrists and pinning them down with one hand. This was another thing he did with Maura — though it was usually bound with a silk scarf before the sexing up. He could feel a surprised sort of gasp between kisses; this was new to Hermione. With his 'prey' secured, he increased the steady rhythm of filling her, pulling out and filling her as deeply as he could. The sensation of vague helplessness, the inability to caress the man bringing her so much pleasure didn't seem to bother her. In fact, she did the only thing she could do: wrap her legs around his thighs and thrust back at him.

Several times during the brisk pace, Harry felt Hermione go taut, shudder and he experience a velvety pulsing along his shaft that could only be experienced with such intimacy. The difference in Hermione's climaxing patterns were a fascination, a note he tucked into a corner of his mind for later analysis — Maura needed a much longer time to climax. And due to his earlier release, he remained hard and continued to drive Hermione from one crest to another, each one punctured with a sharp cry into the night.

After some number of orgasms on Hermione's part, she simply collapsed back, unable to keep even her legs around Harry's waist. As Harry withdrew, she whimpered softly from the lack of his presence within her. As it turned out, it was only temporary. Harry coaxed her to turn over onto her stomach and she found herself with her hips raised into the air.

From this position — one she had yet to experience herself — she felt Harry reposition himself behind her and before she knew it, his rutting continued unabated.

The change in sensation was a second wind for Hermione, it seemed. The former Head Girl was soon on all fours, arching back at Harry, bouncing off his lean abdomen. For her, it was back to another series of climaxes as Harry's hands gripped her waist, her hips, her shoulders, driving into her relentlessly. This was another favourite of Harry's.

I've never gone even this long with Maura. My God, when did Hermione get to be so—

Finally, the tingling pressure in his groin was too much to ignore; he had manfully held out for as long as he could, but release was beckoning him in means too difficult to ignore. Leaning over her slender back, Harry nipped at her nape as his thrusts became more and more erratic. Then— he squeezed at her hips and thrust to embed himself as deeply as he could, releasing the pressure that he had built up.

The act of release was almost as painful as the build-up. Despite the room's darkness, white blindness and stars filled Harry's sight as he completed an act of intimacy he had never thought he'd share with his best friend. If he had more presence of mind, he might have noticed that his release was enough to coax one more from Hermione.

This time, when they collapsed from their respective positions, it was even longer before they could move or do much more than groan from their nocturnal activities.

Limply dragging herself into a snuggling position against Harry, Hermione heaved a soft, shuddering sigh. 'That was brilliant! I don't know what you did, but you've never lasted so long. You haven't been practicing with someone while I was gone, have you? It's only been a few days!'

Harry shook with private laughter at Hermione's question. What could he answer with? Sure, I've been shagging Puddlemere's Chaser!

Between their exertions and her late-night travelling, Harry supposed, they took their toll on Hermione. She swiftly fell into a regular breathing pattern and wouldn't answer to Harry's soft calls of, 'Hermione! We need to talk.'

Unwilling to disturb her, and certainly enjoying her soft curves against him, Harry gently traced his fingertips over Hermione's slumbering form as he drifted back to sleep himself. It was one last enjoyment as he mapped his tactile explorations to his mind's eye. A strange mixture of marvel and not a little shame wrestled in his mind over what had just happened. In the morning. I'll talk to her in the morning. Yeah, that's it. . . .

3. Ron's Sleepless Night

Strangers in the Night by Nox

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Rating: NC-17

Chapter Notes: Denouement.

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Ron's Sleepless Night

A shift on the bed nudged Harry from unconsciousness. He blinked, less from the sunlight, which had slipped into the room and filled it with early morning warmth and brightness, but more because he was breathing in floral-scented tresses of bushy brown hair. As the rest of his senses came awake, he noticed that he was spooning Hermione with an arm draped over her body, cupping a modest, but nonetheless exquisite, breast.

Harry gasped as he remembered it had been Hermione he had been with all night; Hermione he had shagged nine ways sideways (all right, it was only two or three) before collapsing from sheer exhaustion. Frantically, he glanced towards the door, measuring his chances of making an escape.

Reluctantly, he released his hold on Hermione's breast and slipped it out from underneath her arm. This movement, and the cool air replacing the warmth from his hand, stirred Hermione into wakefulness. A low, throaty groan, followed by a yawn, were her first actions. Not yet turning around, she grabbed Harry's hand and tugged it back to her chest.

Bugger! Harry thought. I am so in the shit.

'Mmm. I think I'm going to be sore all day,' said Hermione with a semi-groggy giggle and a wriggle to press her bare back against Harry's warm chest. Then with a sigh, she continued with a measure of hesitancy in her voice.

'I have a confession to make, luv,' said Hermione. 'I know you like hearing about kinks, and I have to tell you . . . there were a couple of times last night when I thought I was making love to someone else.'

Harry just remained silent. So Harold is the one bringing all this burgeoning sexuality out of her Hermione!

Hermione continued. 'Well, you know I had a little thing for Harry– Harry Potter. When I was screaming your name, at least once . . . or twice . . . . I pretended I was with him.'

A stunned Harry did some more of the silence routine; his lower regions, however, began to enlarge and thump lightly against Hermione's rump. Traitor! he cursed, directing the thought to his erection. But it didn't answer back. It rarely did.

'You don't think it was too . . . weird, do you?' said Hermione, a touch of concern creeping into her voice when no answer was forthcoming. 'Harry?'

Randomly, Harry reminded himself to kill Ron for not telling him that Hermione's boyfriend was called Harry as well, not 'Harold'. At any rate, when he eventually found his voice. Clearing his throat, he answered:

'I have a confession to make, too, Hermione. I'm not Harold.'

Now it was Hermione's turn to seize up. One, two, three quick breaths and she spun around and met Harry's eyes. Those emerald eyes that were a far cry from Harold's brown; a scar that every wizard and witch in the world could recognize; the unkempt black hair she had known since she was eleven. (Though it was even messier than usual at the moment.) She blinked, feverishly wondering how it was she could be rogered so thoroughly and not realize who it was doing it to her.

'And, it's a little weird,' Harry offered in the silence, offering a small, awkward smile to Hermione's last question.

For the rest of his life, Harry was unable to fully explain how Hermione's facial expression faded from shock, to horror, then to one of dumbstruck realization that she had made the assumption of him being her Harold, and initiated the sequence of events that led to their unseen activities in the dark.

Several times, her mouth opened and closed, attempting to say something. Despite himself, Harry eyed those lips which he had gotten to know quite intimately last night, recalling how delectable and soft they were.

'My God. Harry. You were . . . here all night?' Hermione finally asked at last, weakly.

'Yeah.'

With her face and neck flushing with horrible embarrassment, she flopped back to the bed, grabbing a pillow and covering her face. It didn't so much to cover the rest of her, though. Harry fought to keep his attention where it needed to be: diffusing the situation.

'Oh Merlin!' gasped Hermione. 'Oh my God. I thought you were Harry . . . erm, my Harry!'

'Yeah. I– I kinda figured that.'

'Harry, why on Earth didn't you say anything?!'

'Hermione,' Harry began in his most reasonable tones, gently stroking her hip, 'You woke me up; I was already asleep, so it– it took me a moment to figure out where I was. I tried not to respond to you when I figured out what was going on, hoping I could stop you. But then you sort of – er – sat on my face and . . . well, I'm only human, Hermione. I couldn't help myself after that.'

Hermione peeked out from one corner of the pillow to see Harry biting his lower lip with an anxious expression on his face.

'Um. Your boyfriend is a really lucky man," Harry offered.

'Not last night,' Hermione answered with a sheepish laugh, emerging from the pillow. A wave of relief filled Harry as it seemed Hermione wasn't going to go spare and place the blame of the whole incident on him.

'Yeah,' said Harry, equally sheepish as he scratched his head. 'I, um. I guess not.'

Propping herself upon an elbow, Hermione levelled an appraising look at Harry. Those intelligent, sharp eyes skimmed his lean form, taking in the toned musculature of a professional sportsman, widening when they saw his 'morning wood' (or was that morning broom?). 'You were . . . fantastic, Harry,' she said at last. 'I was more satisfied last night than week with Harry– Harold.

Harry flushed lightly, a little embarrassed at his morning state, now that both knew exactly who it was they were dealing with. Despite his lack of glasses, the closeness made it easy to discern her more salient features in the morning light. Features he drank in furtively; or, as furtively as he could be, just inches away from his best friend's nude form.

It was Hermione who slid forward, reaching for his morning erection, squeezing and fondling it appreciatively. 'And, I've never had such an . . . enthusiastic morning greeting,' she purred.

'Herm– Hermione, this is– wouldn't this be a mistake if we were to do this, now that we know?' stammered Harry. His breath sped up as she closed the distance until their noses were touching.

'Shush," she whispered before pressing those lips to his and rolling him onto his back . . . .

--- * --- * ---

Ron was in a right foul mood.

Really.

Tugging on a dressing gown, Ron padded out into the hallway, glaring harshly at Hermione's door. She had interrupted his night yet again with her cat-in-heat wailing as she and her wretched boyfriend shagged. All. Damned. Night.

'Bloody Hermione. Bloody Harold. Figures they'd get home early,' muttered Ron bitterly. As he passed their door, he could hear the bed creaking and Hermione's breathless cries that could only mean one thing. Disgusted, Ron pounded on the door. 'Oy! It's too damn early for that!' It was barely 9:00 in the morning!

Of course, they didn't stop. Muttering imprecations, he headed for the kitchen to brew some coffee, thinking up suitable revenge tactics. Maybe a shrinking spell, he thought savagely. Yeah, that's got to be in one of the spellbooks in Hermione's study.

A fleeting thought crossed Ron's mind as he sipped on his coffee. There was something he was forgetting. Something important. He should talk about it with Harry–

Where was Harry? Ron wandered around the flat, hoping Harry wasn't too angry about being kicked out of Hermione's room. But he was nowhere to be found: not in the loo, his old room, the attic, nor on the couch where Crookshanks purred loudly. He wandered back to the kitchen, wondering if Harry had gone out early when a horrific thought dawned on him.

Harry had never left Hermione's room.

Just then, the kitchen's fireplace flared up and a red-headed face appeared among green flames. 'Ron!' said Ginny. 'Ah, you're up, good. Mum wanted me to remind you to bring Harry around this afterno– Ron, are you all right? You look like you've seen a boggart.'

'They're shagging in Hermione's room!' Ron said weakly, mostly answering his own thoughts than Ginny's question.

'What, again?' Ginny answered with a wry laugh. 'I'd figure you'd be used to Hermione and Harry going at it by now.'

'No!' cried Ron, desperately. 'You don't understand, Gin. That's Harry in there with her!'

As if to underscore the point, one of Hermione's pitched, 'Oh, Harreee!' climax cries echoed from down the hallway to Ginny's ears. Ron winced.

Blood drained from Ginny's already pale features. 'Harry?!' she exclaimed, jaw dropping. A moment later, she burst out into peals of silvery laughter. 'I knew it! I didn't think she'd have the guts to go through with it, though.'

A stunned look from Ron met Ginny's eyes which danced with mirth. 'What do you mean you knew?!' he demanded.

'Oh, Hermione's fancied Harry for a little while now. I mean, really fancied him.'

'But I thought you fancied him?'

'Well, a little, but really, what red-blooded witch doesn't?'

'It's bloody news to me! How come I didn't know?' Ron demanded.

'Oh, Ron,' said Ginny, shaking her head. 'You really think Hermione's going to admit she's got an urge to violently shag her best friend? Anyway. Lunch is at one o'clock; we're expecting Bill, so tell Fred and George to be there.' And with that, she vanished, leaving Ron staring at a normal fire again.

The action seemed to have died down back in Hermione's room, but to Ron's reluctantly trained ears, he knew they weren't finished in there.

'I have a feeling we might be late for lunch,' he said mournfully.

Finis.

Strangers in the Night

1. Prologue and Homecoming

2. Strangers in the Night

3. Ron's Sleepless Night

4. Post-Script