The wildest hath not such a heart as you.
Run when you will, the story shall be changed:
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase;
The dove pursues the griffin…
(A Midsummer Night's Dream II.i.230)
Chapter 4 "Sleepwalking after Midnight"
The next week was something of a blur for Harry. A snuggly, cinnamon-eyed, sleep-deprived blur.
…
"Not again…" Harry muttered as he unceremoniously shoved at a sleeping Hermione. He'd woke to find her in his arms. The locking spells had failed (again) and Hermione was (once again) asleep next to him.
Bloody buggering bloody bugger…
Once upon a time, he would've gently kissed her forehead and carried her back to her own room. Or he might have climbed out of bed and crept into one of the unused guestrooms. Or he would've eased away from her and snuck to the sofa downstairs.
But not anymore. She'd just follow him. She'd pad over to whatever corner he'd crawled to, spoon up against him, and keep him stubbornly warm in the dusty spots he'd chosen. By the next morning she'd be gone, apparently with no memory of any of it.
…
"Morning Hermione," Harry said bitterly after the third night. "Sleep well?" He gave her his best scowl, which ended up looking like an owlish squint.
Hermione glanced up from the breakfast table, her lovely brown eyes flashing concern.
"Well, yes Harry. Why? Didn't you?" She rose and put her hand to his cheek. He leaned into her touch out of habit before pulling back and staring at her sternly.
"No. Not really," he answered darkly.
"Nightmares?" She asked as she chewed her bottom lip, remembering the countless nights at Hogwarts he'd spent screaming in his sleep.
"No, Hermione," he recognized her panicked look and immediately gave a reassuring smile. He hated that look and seldom did anything to encourage it. Well, actually, he did several things to encourage it, but most were unintentional.
"No. None of that. Just wondering is all. Hard to sleep with, (you crawling all over me) with all this nature and such."
"Oh Harry," she shook her head and went back to her chair. "Believe me, you'll miss it when it's gone."
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Miss it? Right…he muttered as he shifted uncomfortably on the bristly rug. Tonight, he was trying, without much luck, the foot of his bed.
He'd awakened earlier with Hermione's honeyed locks bunched under his chin, her leg snuggly over his hip as he ran his hands over and around her shoulders. He'd eased away from her and crawled to the floor, hoping that, for once she'd stay put, maybe give him a few minutes to "calm" himself down.
But no. She'd climbed down from his warm bed onto the chilly floor and clung to him, shivering and sighing all while.
Stubborn girl. He smiled fondly as he tightened his hold on her. Yep, she's cold. Good work Potter…
He pulled a blanket around them and gathered her to him. His concern gave way to a grimace, however, when remembered he was supposed to be annoyed. Yes, very annoyed. Annoyed and upset. Then Hermione then gave a kittenish sigh and, despite his to-be-taken-seriously annoyance, he gave a lopsided grin.
Poor luv never does anything halfway. She'd probably follow him out to the yard if she had to. Visions of holding her under starry sky flitted through his mind, before he came to his senses and shook off the thought.
Of course she chose that moment to curl up in her favorite spot, the crook of his neck, wrapping her arms around his chest as she snuggled against him.
Dear gods, Harry thought as he resigned himself to another torturous night next to a wriggling, whispering Hermione.
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Two Days Later
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It was physically painful to tear himself away from her tonight. They were curled up on the couch in one of the older guestrooms. Rather dusty, but he'd slept in worse. Besides, there was an off chance she might not find him in his dark little cranny.
He'd started off dreaming about her again. About her crawling under the tattered throw-rug with him and doing delicious things with her mouth. Then, of course, he woke only to find his lips on her neck, tasting her as she writhed beneath him.
"Hermione?" He muttered groggily against her soft skin.
Right, who else would it be...?
He groaned as he shifted away, ignoring her sigh of protest, her lovely clover scent, and her tempting little body that was, until moments ago, so snugly wrapped around him.
Sodding Hermione…Sodding sleepwalking…Sodding hard-on…focus Potter…
Harry shook his head sadly, feeling properly sorry for himself as Hermione shifted over and murmured his name against his cheek.
He lay awake for hours, staring at her, wondering how each part tasted and felt and what noises she'd make if…no Potter, you will not run your tongue along her neck just because she didn't seem to mind so much earlier. She's asleep. If you take advantage, she'll castrate you and feed the bits to Draco's dogs.
And so Harry once again resigned himself to another torturous night next to a purring Hermione. A purring, sweet smelling, softly warm Hermione.
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The next morning he came down to breakfast, later than usual.
Hermione was in the kitchen, putting away dishes. The bright lights hurt his eyes, so he buried his head in his hands and nearly fell asleep, face down, at the table.
"Morning Harry," Hermione said cheerfully as she laid some eggs in front of him.
Without looking up he batted away the hand that came to rest on his shoulder. "Mphmm," he grunted.
"What was that?" She smiled and shook her head.
"You sleepwalk," he said groggily. "Had to…chase you down the hallway. Can't sleep…"
"Dear Germanus," her hands flew to cover her mouth. "I had no idea. I haven't, well, since I…. Have I…? What did you…" she furrowed her brow. "I can't believe…and you saw me?"
Harry tried to listen to her stuttering apologies and ignore her rising blush, which, of course, was utterly adorable.
"I'll put a locking charm on my door Harry. And start looking into some sleeping draughts. Honestly, this is the last thing you need."
"Don't worry about it." Harry waved it away. "Really, it's fine." He forced a smile and poked at his eggs.
"Harry…I," she trailed off. Hermione could tell he was lying. He was upset and she was the cause of it. Her mouth opened and closed several times until she gave up and began worrying her bottom lip. It wasn't often she was speechless in front of him. Harry's anger tended to encourage just the opposite; however, usually he was angry at himself. This time, he was angry at her, and especially so at that.
She stood behind him and ran a timid hand through his hair, a long-standing sign of comfort between them. "Poor Harry," she said softly.
He kept his eyes on his plate, determined not to lean into her clever hand. Her lovely, warm, soft, small, clever hand…
"Right," he said gruffly as he pulled away. "Not hungry." He left the table and started down the path to the Quidditch pitch to where Ron and Draco were waiting for him.
He caught Hermione's defeated look, though, for once, he didn't feel like doing anything about it. He was starting to hate her. He didn't think he could take much more of this, whatever this was. He was sure he was beginning to, what the Muggles call, "crack up." Whatever that meant.
Well at this point he'd gladly "crack up" as long as it meant the end of a wriggling, whispering Hermoine against him every night.
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Harry took something of an initiative that night and crawled to one of the guestrooms early on. Still, he'd awakened to his nuzzling her as she lay like a porcelain doll under him.
He face hovered over hers as he slowly took her in. Tonight's nightshirt allowed more skin than he was used to. He could make out the curve of her breast under her low-cut white nightshirt, and she hadn't worn faded boxers she normally did. Just the long shirt and some thin knickers. He found his hips cradled snuggly between hers, as the bare length of her legs came to rest on either side of him
Dear sweet mother of Germanus….he muttered against the soft skin of her neck as he gripped the sheets on either side of him to keep from jerking against her.
"Harry," she whispered, bringing his attention to where it usually was these days, her lips.
He froze as their noses brushed.
He found himself taking in the soft glow of her perfect skin, the honey curls of her cascading hair, the elegant curve of her neck, and…dear gods…. he couldn't stop staring at her parted lips.
He felt her shift under him, but couldn't find the will to push away. He eyes never left her face, as he waited for…something…anything.
She ended his suspense by stirring at bit and closing the distance between them. He suddenly found his mouth gently pressing against hers. She immediately opened for him, tracing her tongue over his lips and sighed his name, and, (he was certain) murmured something about 'more.'
All of which couldn't be helped and was completely her fault.
He is mouth began moving over hers earnestly as her clover scent surrounded him. He pressed firmly against her as he slowly tasted her. A wonderful warmth flooded his senses as he reveled in her soft, needy coos, which were bordering on moans as his tongue dipped gently against hers.
Dear sweet holy Germanus saints Merlin sweet dear oh dear sweet Morganna…
He broke away as her breath suddenly hitched and she sighed his name.
Harry pulled back, now horrified at what he'd done. Horrified that her mouth was now blush-colored and inviting and that he would've sold his soul for just one more taste.
"So sorry… sorry…" he whispered as he back away until he was against the far wall, making sure none of his increasingly harder parts were touching any of her softer ones.
He hated himself for it. For all of it. For kissing her. For loving it. For wanting more of the warm, wonderful ache of it. He gathered the blankets around him, praying that Hermione would, just for tonight, keep away from him. Which, of course, she didn't. Minutes later she was snuggly against his side, her hair tickling his throat as she melted into his encircling arms.
This had to stop for Orfeo's sake, and sad to say, there were only two people who could help him. Two trusted and cherished advisors he could confide anything and everything to without a second thought.
Unfortunately, they were in London, so he'd have to…dear gods… go to Tonks and Lupin, who were arriving the next day.
Tomorrow…he repeated in a desperate prayer. Tomorrow…
He lay awake, determined not to enjoy the time spent in her arms, but oddly enough, remembering it for future mulling. Daylight promised an end to all this drama, and he dozed off before he could begin to regret the rising sun.