A Midsummer's Night Hex Comedy

Fluffy fic with absolutely no socially redeeming value. At all. None. I think I actually lost a few brain cells writing this one. Oh, and, interesting side note (for me at least), the original title was “A Midsummer Night’s Hex Comedy”…which explains the random Puck references.

Half-arsed synopsis: Hermione sleepwalks, Harry’s going to die a monk, and Draco has a hair fetish. H/Hr, R/Lav, D/Lun,T/Lup

PG13 for some 1950’s heavy petting and some scattered curse words (of the nonmagical kind)

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A Sleepwalker’s Saga

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Since once I sat upon a promontory

And heard a mermaid on a dolphin’s back

Uttering such dulcet and harmonious breath,

That the rude sea grew civil at her song,

And certain stars shot madly from their spheres,

To hear the sea maid’s music…

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream II.i.150)

The next, and less unpleasant, chapter in Harry’s life began at Lupin’s recently acquired sunny summer estate. With clinging vines and a vegetable garden, the spansive house seemed the perfect place to help the surviving circle of friends forget the heavy losses of the war. Lupin had hopes that a quiet summer away would settle them back into some sort of normality (well, their sort of normality). Maybe even rekindle something of their long-lost day at Hogwarts.

The days were packed with walks through bright leafy trails, lazy Quidditch games, and naps in the shady nooks around the grounds. The nights were spent training and talking, and simply enjoying the quiet county living.

But Harry wasn’t looking to relive his second childhood.

He hadn’t come home clinging to his comparatively idyllic pre-war days. Harry knew things had changed. Himself, for one, had. Enough time at the front could change any wizard, and Harry was hardly an exception. He wasn’t afraid of moving on or risking what he was (pointedly not) scared of losing. No. Nope. Not at all…

At least that’s what he told himself as he stubbornly ignored the changes in a certain childhood friend. Changes that involved her wearing clothes that revealed her long length of legs. And pinning up her dark honey-colored curls, especially on the days she spent sunning herself in the flowery fields. And slipping out of her shoes whenever she curled up under a shady tree to watch him play Quidditch.

He noticed that her ‘oh-Harry’ sigh was decidedly more forgiving than her ‘oh-Draco’ or ‘oh-Ron’ one. He knew her curves and her winning smile and the bright eyes that seemed to follow him everywhere. And he was spending way too much time staring at her hands. Way, way too much time.

There was no denying that Hermione had changed. That was one of the tenable truths of his return.

One of the certain and tenable and upsetting truths. A very very upsetting truth. An increasingly upsetting truth…

===

“Oh my…” Hermione gasped. They were passing the field of musk-rose buds that blanketed their makeshift Quidditch pitch. She held Harry’s shoulder, stilling him. “Harry look,” she said as she pointed out towards the tree line.

Harry followed her gaze to Ron and Lav, who were in the field gathering flowers in a sunny clearing.

“Hey guys!” Lav straightened up and shouted.

Ron quickly threw aside his bundle of flowers, reddening at his not so manly task.

“Lav, don’t,” Ron hissed as he brushed the loose petals off from his shirt and waved back, praying they hadn’t seen him.

Lav sighed and shook her head. “At least it’s not Draco, Ron.” She called for Harry and Hermione to come join them and happily went back to her task.

“Well, you have a point there,” Ron grumbled before kicking away the fallen flowers at his feet.

…

Harry meanwhile, wasn’t interested in the oh-so-sweet pastime of couple Mauve. Instead, he stared at Hermione, who was leaning against him and cupping her mouth, trying to muffle the giggles caused by Ron’s flower-gathering. Her shaking and sighing was doing funny things to his stomach. Stomach nothing, he thought as the swell of her breast brushed against his arm.

However, he went from ‘oh-dear’ slightly panicked to ‘dear-gods-no’ alarmed when she took his hand and started dragging him towards Ron, apparently intent on joining the couple.

“Hermione,” Harry shook his head. “I’m sorry but I am not picking flowers…”

She rolled her eyes. “Harry, if you start picking flowers, I’m leaving.”

He looked down at their joined hands, suddenly finding it hard to feel relieved. So he instead busied himself by ignoring her windswept hair and the glowly halo that the golden afternoon sunlight cast around her. He’d nearly succeeded when she suddenly stopped to take in the scenery.

“Harry…” she turned and flashed a bright smile. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Er, what?”

He hoped his clever and insightful response would distract her as he pulled his hand away and took a few steps back. He eased away and took a seat on a patch of grass, close enough to catch the group’s conversation but still far from the determined Lav and her sweet-saints-no task.

Good thing Hermione’s just Hermione, he thought. Instead of… he snuck a glance at Lav who was still trying to get Ron to help her with her flowers.

…an emasculating cow? said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Draco’s. Harry hated to agree with, well, himself really, but yeah, Hermione wasn’t like the other girls in their group.

He watched her laugh as Lav threw a handful of stems at Ron. She was grinning and blushing with bright cinnamon eyes…

…and yeah, she was definitely different from Lav and Luna. In many ways. All of them good.

He shook off the thought, and he muttered what was quickly becoming his mantra: Too much time at the front Potter.

He hadn’t realized just how true the old saying was until DV-Day (Defeating Voldemort Day), when he’d crawled out of the rubble of the final battle and into Hermione’s arms.

Yes, things had changed.

So what?

He had changed.

Sure.

Hermione had changed.

Fine.

Of course, admitting it came easily. Now all he had to do was forget it.

Chapter 2 “Capture the Flag”

Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments

Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth

Turn melancholy forth to funerals,

The pale companion is not for our pomp…

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream 1.i.42)

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“Ron’s still out there,” Luna reminded Draco in a sing-song voice. She was fiddling with her hair, not really understanding why sitting out during Tonk’s “Hogan’s Heroes” game was such an ‘unbloody believable’ hardship.

The group was playing a wizard’s version of ‘Capture the Flag.’ Something Tonks had thought up to ready Harry, Draco, and Hermione for their impending Auror training. Lavender rounded out Team Harmony while Draco, Luna, and Ron made up Team Doom (which was in danger of losing now that Luna and Draco had been captured and forced to sit in Harmony’s “POW” camp.)

Luna let out a sigh as she began braiding the long strands of her hair, trying to ignore her fellow teammate’s endless complaining.

“It’s all up to Weasley, eh?” Draco gave a long-suffering sigh took a seat next to her. “Right. So, in other words: we lose. No, wait, scratch that. We’re all going to die.” He shook his head. “Don’t ask me how, but, practice session or not, Weasley’s going to get us all killed. Nice knowing you love. Hope you’re less crazy in your next life.”

She smiled sweetly and patted his leg. “Hope you’re less photophobic in yours.”

Draco shifted away uncomfortably and scowled. “And why are we even in training?” He went on. “The war’s over. We won. Go team and all, but a little downtime never killed anyone. Well,” he paused, “except Sirious Black… I think that goes without saying.”

“That’s not funny Draco,” she said evenly, working the strands of her hair.

“What? Too soon?” He flashed his best grin, which quickly faded when he noticed she wasn’t paying attention. He huffed a bit and looked around at their makeshift prison: a charmed circle made up of leaves and bits of scrape paper.

How are the mighty fallen he thought as he stared at the Campbell soup can marking one of the boundaries.

“And why do I always have to work with Weasley?” He sighed. “You’re all right and all luv, but gods, he’s about as useless as a cock-flavored lollipop.”

Luna continued braiding her hair, only half-listening to the ill-tempered Slytherin beside her. “Harry and Hermione like working together because it allows them an outlet for the less-than-platonic drives they’re not ready to actively express.”

Draco stared at her a moment.

“Yeah,” he said bitterly, “that or they’re off snogging.” He rolled his eyes. “Probably snogging.”

Luna shook her head and sighed. “Here, hold this…” she handed him a finished braid.

“What…?”

“Just hold it until I’m finished with this one,” she said absently, too busy parting the strands to notice his scowl.

Draco started to protest, but since she was already braiding and couldn’t be bothered, he shrugged and twirled the lock between his fingers. It was soft and shiny and smelled like lilac, and, yeah, since no one else was around, he decided to do her the favor. Wasn’t like he was helping her fix her hair or anything.

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“Awwww,” Hermione gave a sentimental moan and took Harry’s arm.

Harry turned to her and shook his head.

”What?” She asked. “It’s adorable. Look at them.” Hermione pointed towards the prison and smiled. She leaned against him and gave a rare, girlish sigh.

Draco was helping Luna braid her hair, chatting with her, making her laugh and according to Hermione, this qualified as “oh-so-cute.”

Harry smiled. He didn’t think Draco would agree with its being “cute” if the poor guy knew he was being watched (although Harry had almost given them away when he’d tried to curse Draco for that crack about Sirious).

Harry turned to Hermione. “Cute?” he whispered. “Hardly.” Cute was not a word he’d use for Draco. Several other four-letter words came to mind, but ‘cute?’ Not a chance.

And what was all that business about repression and snogging? He glanced down at Hermione. Her cheek was resting on his shoulder as she watched the couple, her soft lips parted with silent laughter as she gripped his arm and sighed again and nope, no repression here…nope…not at all…gods she smells good…

Speaking of snogging and repression, Harry didn’t want to know where Ron and Lav had got off to. Team loyalties aside, Ron had the attention span of a milosecond when it came to non sex, non food related tasks, and sad to say, Lav was the same way. No doubt they were off somewhere, breeding a race of hedonistic, ginger-haired Gryffindors.

“Harry, look over there.” Hermione pulled away and motioned towards the old carriage house in the clearing. There was a faint light coming from the stable hand’s quarters. She crept over to get a better look, flashing a few hand signals back to him.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hermione, I’m standing right here…”

“It’s training Harry, come on,” she darted towards the clearing, leaving Harry to wearily follow her.

------------------

“You two are…sleeping together?” Hermione asked incredulously. “Now?” They had just crawled through ruined door of the cottage, only to stumble in on an underdressed Ron and Lavender, perfectly at ease on the floor under a blanket.

“Wouldn’t call it sleeping Hermione,” Ron replied, wriggling his eyebrows. Lav nudged him as she began to get dressed under the blanket.

“But,” Hermione said, motioning around the cabin. “We’re in the middle of training.”

“All the more reason,” Ron shrugged.

“And there’s all the…” Hermione trailed off.

“Adrenalin inducing action,” the muffled Lav offered brightly.

“Mmmmm,” Ron gave an exaggerated sigh, “I love it when you use those big words.”

“Good God Ron…” Harry groaned. We’re standing right here…

“Oh Good God nothing Harry,” Ron snapped, his attention once again on them. “It’s not like we expected you to walk in.”

“Sure you didn’t,” Draco’s knowing voice rang out. Hermione buried her head in her hands and Ron dove under the blanket as Draco climbed through the small doorway.

“Wow…can’t say I’m surprised, but hey,” Draco took a seat a dusty chair in the corner, “don’t let me interrupt.” He leaned back and propped his legs up on a stool, apparently expecting to be entertained. “Well, come on guys.” He motioned towards them. “The orgy’s not going to start itself…”

“This isn’t an orgy Draco,” Luna said as she climbed through the door. “They’re just talking.”

“Hey,” Hermione cried, “you’re supposed to be captured.”

Draco shrugged. “We escaped.”

”You were captured?” Ron asked, sitting up. “Both of you!”

”Well what did you expect Weasley?” Draco asked bitterly. “Reconnaissance was in the sack with Mata Hari over there. Not like we stood much of a chance.”

“Ron!” Lav sat up, gathering the blankets tightly around her, motioning towards Draco.

“What?” Ron said, now struggling to get dressed.

“He called me…that!”

“So?” Ron asked, fiddling with his trousers under the blanket.

“You’re going to let him call me…that?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Well, I can’t defend your honor without my pants, luv.”

“Sure you could…” Draco said merrily, “but it’d get awfully messy.”

“Draco…” Lav moaned.

“That’s it. I quit.” Hermione shook her head and held up her hands. “I quit. Game’s over. Good job guys. Really.” She crawled through the door and strode down the path, leaving an amused Harry to trail after her.

“So…” Draco said. “Orgy’s off then?”

“Get Out!” Ron and Lav cried.

Luna took his arm and dragged him out the door, leaving Ron and Lav to get dressed in peace.

“Yup,” Draco said as he slung an arm over an unimpressed Luna’s shoulders. “Helluva game love. Go Team Doom.”

Short installment. Really shouldn’t be its own chapter, but hey…what-the-f**k…

Chapter 3 “It Begins”

Hermione: (In a loud, clear voice)

To make my small elves coats, and some keep back

The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders

At our quaint spirits. Sing me now asleep.

Harry: What? Wait. Hermione, is that me? Is that my cue?

Hermione: (hisses to Harry)

Sing. Me. Now. Asleep…(nudge nudge nod)

Harry: Oh…Okay…I guess I’ll just read from the card, right? (ahem)

Newts and blindworms do no wrong,

Come not near our Fairy Queen…

Hermione: (breaking character) That’s good Harry.

Harry: Yeah thanks (grumbles) but do I really have to play a fairy?

Hermione: (sly smile) Well you could always be the jackass, but then I’d be type casting.

Harry: (rolls eyes) Oh, that’s funny…that’s lovely…yes, thanks for that…

….

Harry was dreaming about her again. Nothing romantic really. She was trying to get him to read lines for some play she was putting on. He would’ve preferred something with maybe a bit more touching and few less cue cards. But hey, beggars…choosers.

Of course, the fact that he awoke to find his hands running over the soft planes of her back somewhat eased his disappointment.

“What…?” Harry looked around in a panic, wondering how he woke up in her bed and how quietly he could make his scrambled escape.

He sat up, nearly breathing a sigh of relief when he realized he was still in his own room.

Well, yeah, but that’s not much better, is it? Why is she in my bed?

“Hermione?” He shook her gently.

She gave a satisfied hum and shifted closer to him, curling against his hip. Her arm came round his waist as her head came dangerously close to falling in his lap.

Oh, um okay, that’s lovely, he eased away from her and gingerly climbed off the bed.

“Hey…” he shook her again. She shrugged off his hand, peacefully asleep as she settled into her, no, his pillow

“Hermione,” he repeated sternly. She just snuggled down into the blankets, apparently intent on ignoring him.

“Unbloody believable,” he sighed, gently gathering and lifting her, making sure she was properly covered by her scant boxers and tee. Sleep or no, Harry steadfastly refused to appreciate the half-naked Hermione in his arms. But he couldn’t help but grin as she settled against his chest and muttered his name.

He carried her back to her room and placed her over the covers of her bed, patting her head in, what he imagined was a comforting gesture, before closing the door softly behind him.

Strange night…he sighed as he shook his head and started back towards his room.

“Psst.”

He turned suddenly to see Ron peaking out through his open bedroom door.

“Well. Well. Well,” Ron stepped into the hallway. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” He leaned against the door frame, smiling smugly as Harry struggled for an answer. A reasonable, non shag-related answer.

Ha. Good luck with that…Harry thought as he rubbed the back of his neck in frustration.

“I…well, she…fairies…” Harry gestured towards his room, Hermione’s room, and all around the hallway hoping they’d offer something by way of explanation.

“He carried Hermione back to her room,” Lav said as she opened the door to her room and stood in the hallway. “I saw him.”

”Oh. Really?” Ron asked with a sick grin. “And why were you carrying Hermione back to her room Harry?”

“I don’t know...” Harry struggled for a plausible lie. “I found her…downstairs. She was…”

“Sleepwalking,” Lav said knowingly.

”What?” Harry and Ron asked.

“I mean, yeah. Sleepwalking,” Harry corrected. He nodded eagerly as Ron shot him a skeptical look.

“Who was sleepwalking?” Luna asked as she peaked through her opened door.

“Hermione,” Lav answered, apparently not surprised in the least to see her. She turned back to Ron and went on. “She sleepwalks. We had to put a Binder Blinder charm on her during seventh year. That’s when it started. You know, when he (she motioned, not-so-subtly towards Harry) that one guy, left.”

“What one guy?” Luna asked.

“Him,” Lav motioned towards Harry again, who rolled his eyes and shifted uncomfortably away.

“Him who?” Luna asked again as she shook her head, puzzled.

“Harry, luv,” Draco said, appearing out of nowhere. “When Potter went to the front to do, whatever pseudo-messiahs do…that’s when it started.”

“Thank you Draco,” Luna said with a smile.

“Your welcome sweets.”

“So how do we work one of those…blinker blinker things?” Ron asked.

“Binder Blinders.” Draco corrected. “Not much we can do. We don’t have much out here by way of ingredients.”

“We’ll owl Lupin and Tonks in the morning.” Lavender said. “They’ll be here in a few days anyway.”

“Tonks and Lupin?” Draco moaned unhappily. “Ohhh good.”

“Awww,” Lavender sighed. “Is Drakie still a widdle scared of Tonks?

“Yeah,” he muttered bitterly. “And with good reason.”

“Oh. She was just angry.” Luna gave a reassuring smile. “She wasn’t really going to castrate you, you know…”

“Humph,” he pouted. “Like I’ve never heard that before.”

“Besides,” Luna went on. “She says that to everyone. You can’t hold it against her.”

“Easy for you to say luv. Doesn’t present much of a problem for you.” He added with a grin. “Well, unless you’d like it to.”

“So what do we do until then?” Harry interrupted. “Until Lupin gets here?”

Draco shrugged. “Dunno. Just ignore it. Hope she doesn’t fall off any cliffs.”

“There aren’t any cliffs around here,” Luna said matter-of-factly.

“Or down a well,” Draco said with a grin.

“We’ll lock her door Harry,” Lav said, rolling her eyes. “She’ll be fine.”

Harry nodded and forced a smile.

Yeah. She’ll be fine. Won’t happen again. Just your good luck…er…good luck in that she wasn’t hurt when she was wandering about…yeah…that’s it…

He pointedly ignored the rather arousing idea that Hermione just had been in his bed and that the sheets probably still smelled like her. And he definitely didn’t hurry back to his room to see if it was true.

His was really more of a brisk pace than a “hurried” one.

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.

Author’s Note: Funny thing, as I’m writing this, Hurricane Dennis is raging outside my bedroom window. It’s like tree branch, tree branch, flying dog, tree branch, power line, tree branch…

Pretty swe-eet.

Chapter 5 Puck’s Potion

Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;

Hop in his walks and gambol in his eyes;

Feed him with apricots and dewberries,

With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries…

And pluck the winds from painted butterflies

To fan the moonbeams from his sleeping eyes.

(A Midsummer Night’s Dream. III.i.165)

------------------------

“Uh huh. Yeah, sure, yeah.”

Tonks was nodding away as Harry told her his hard-luck tale about the young girl who was continually falling asleep on top of one Boy Who Didn’t Know How Good He Had It.

Tonks was Very Proud that she’d managed to keep a straight face through the whole oh-poor-pitiful-me story.

Well not the whole story. Harry’d left out the embarrassing bits about his not-so-chivalrous reaction to said girl.

Lupin, however, was more uncomfortable than amused. “Are you asking for our blessing Harry?” He looked uncertainly to Tonks. He never thought he’d have to sanction premarital sex. Goodness, I feel so…old.

“No,” Harry said calmly. “I need your help.”

“Help?” Dear Lord, Lupin sighed wearily. Whatever responsibility he’d assumed by care of Harry, he wasn’t prepared to explain the birds and the bees to his adopted ward. Lupin gave Tonks a help-me-please look, all too grateful when she flashed him a reassuring smile.

“’s all right dogface,” she said, patting Lupin shoulder. “I’ve got this one.”

Lupin gave a sigh of relief, shuddering at the catastrophe that this talk could’ve been.

“Now Harry.” Tonks used her most mature adult voice as she took a seat next to him. (ahem) “When a man and a woman love each other very much….and if,” she gave a thoughtful pause, “and, well, if they’re sober, that is…”

Harry buried his hand in his hands. Oh for the love of Orfeo.

“…they usually go back his place,” she continued merrily. “Although, if you’re in a pinch, her place’ll do, but you make it up to her on the next date because, really, it’s just not done…”

“No, no, no, no,” Harry sighed. Gods, why couldn’t I just have normal caregivers? “No,” Harry repeated firmly. “I don’t want that. I want it to stop.”

“Stop?” She asked, looking back towards Lupin.

“Yes. To stop.” Harry answered through gritted teeth.

“Her sleeping with you is a problem?” Tonks shook her head, puzzled.

“It’s not how it sounds…” Harry mumbled.

“Oh really?” Tonks grinned. “Because it sounds like she’s spoiling you.”

“No. Look, I’m not trying to ….this just can’t…I can’t,” Harry gave a growl of frustration. “I just want her to stop.”

“Why?” Tonks asked blankly.

“Why what?” Harry asked darkly.

“Why do you want her to stop? Does she kick?”

“No…”

“Drool?”

“NO!” Harry exclaimed.

“Call some other bloke’s name in her sleep?”

“Gods no! Of course not…”

“Oh, rub it in Harry…” Lupin mumbled.

Tonks hit her insensitive beau upside the head before turning back to Harry. “That’s not funny,” she replied. “Or true,” she added as an afterthought.

“But,” Tonks held up her hands to keep Harry from pulling out his hair. “Blinder Binders are hard to come by. Were so even before the war…”

“So there’s nothing we can do?” Harry asked miserably.

“I think an ensnaring charm on her door should take care of it…” she trailed off. “Well, best to save that for Plan ‘B.’ What with all the maiming involved.”

“Maiming?” Harry asked, alarmed.

“Just a little maiming,” she muttered, musing over the idea.

“Have you thought about talking to her Harry?” Lupin asked. “I’m no expert on the fairer sex…” he ignored Tonks’ chortled laugh, “but maybe if you just explain to her why you’re uncomfortable and work together to overcome…”

“There is one spell,” Tonks interrupted brightly. “Wait, no, what were you saying? Something about a something?”

Lupin waved away his let’s-talk-it-over-reasonably suggestion. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Right,” she continued blithely. “Anyhow, it helps people with these kinds of love-type problems.”

“We’re not in love,” Harry said bitterly. That’s the problem. Wouldn’t be so bothered by it if I knew she wouldn’t wake up screaming…er…screaming in a not-so-pleasant way…

Tonks looked with pity on the poor boy in front of her. “Trust me. It’s perfect.”

“What’s it called?” Harry asked, almost dreading the answer.

“Puck’s Potion.”

“Puck’s Potion…?” Harry echoed.

“Puck’s Potion?” Lupin said skeptically. “That’s not a plan my dear. That’s something you use when a plan fails. It’s like throwing a shoe at the problem.”

“Oh of course it’s a plan,” she said blithely. “It’s a great plan. Er…the potion, not the shoe,” she corrected.

Harry gave them both a withering glance. “What is it?”

She motioning for Lupin’s silence. “It’s nothing really. Just makes it so she’s none too keen to touch you. You know. Helps recovering honeymooners get through the day.” She shrugged. “Quite harmless really.”

“And it’ll work?” Harry asked eagerly.

“No reason why it shouldn’t.”

She went on to tell Harry she’d take care of it the next day, and that he could go back to sleeping at night. Harry caught Lupin’s grave look, but decided anything was better than his present caveman me-want-girl self. He said goodnight and went to his room, ready for one last night of let’s-torture-Potter.

--------

“What?” Tonks asked a grim (of a different kind) Lupin.

“Bluebell…” he said wearily. “I’m not so sure about this.”

“About what my love?” She asked as she leafed through a book of spells.

“This whole Puck’s Potion idea of yours.”

“It was my idea wasn’t it,” she said, beaming a bit before turning towards him. “Oh really Puppy, at least the poor guy will get a good night’s sleep.”

“My dear,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not the point.”

“Then what is the point?” She threw up her hands in surrender. “Harry gets to sleep, what’s-her-name gets to do…whatever, and we can go back to ignoring the lot of them.” She flashed him a thumbs up. “See? No downside.”

“But what about Hermione?” Lupin asked with a frown.

“Who’s Hermione?”

“Hermione. Harry’s friend,” he clarified.

Tonks furrowed her brow. “The red-head?”

“No, the girl.”

Tonks shook her head.

“The one you’re casting the spell on.”

”Oh, her.” Tonks waved her away. “Hermione. Right. She’ll be fine. Better off really. She has no business crawling into bed with Harry anyway, sleepwalking or no. Don’t want her tying herself down to a broody fellow like that do we?” She smiled sweetly and winked.

Lupin looked at her wearily. “You know, I’ve lost the ability to tell when you’re being sarcastic.”

“Well, chalk it up to your inability to understand the ‘fairer sex.’ Now if you’ll excuse me,” she brushed past him. “I have a spell to plan.”

Nor doth this wood lack worlds of company

For you in my respect are all the world.

Then how can it be said I am alone

When all the world is here to look on me?

(Midsummer Night’s Dream II.i.220)

Chapter 6 “The Next Day”

As far as Harry could tell, the spell worked.

Hermione cheerfully chatted him up at breakfast the next day. She handed him the milk and sugar, split the newspaper, smiled and sighed that ‘oh-Harry’ sigh. All without a single pat or stroke or hand squeeze.

Harry wanted to be happy about it.

It should’ve been a relief when she didn’t ruffle his hair. It was nearly great comfort when Hermione didn’t take her usual place next to him. He came very close to feeling glad when she instead curled up in the windowseat in the corner and read the newspaper.

Close, but not quite.

“What?” Hermione’s puzzled voice interrupted his muddled thoughts. His attention turned back to his sunny surroundings as he suddenly realized Hermione was looking at him, bemused.

Um…what…oops.

He was staring again. With all that golden light streaming in through the glass behind her, he’d spent most of the morning watching the sun play off her hair instead of eating his now cold porridge.

Harry shrugged and poked at the sloppy mess in his bowl.

“Sleep well?” She asked as she folded the paper. She stretched a bit, allowing her long honey locks to cascade down her shoulders.

“Er, what?” Heuddenly too distracted by her tumbling curls to answer.

“Did. You. Sleep. Well?”

“Um, yeah.”

She smiled as she stood up. “Poor Harry. Never a morning person.”

Normally such an insight would afford him a pat on the hand or a comforting shoulder rub or a friendly nudge. But today she just tossed the paper on the table and muttered a ‘see you later’ as the patio door slammed shut.

“Oh, yeah. See you later,” he muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. Gods something was off. Terribly off. He couldn’t quiet reason it. She acted the same, but now there was a gaping space between them, which made everything else just seem…off.

Yep. He sighed as he pushed the bowl away. At least we know the spell worked. Go team. Hooray Tonks…

------------

Harry didn’t realize just how “off” things were until he and Hermione went for their usual walk through the forest trails.

Harry found himself eyeing the distance between them instead of enjoying the sunny scenery. Their arms weren’t linked, her hand wasn’t neatly folded in his, and her shoulders didn’t brush against him. In fact there was a carefully-kept hand’s length between them the entire time.

The walk just wasn’t the same without her taking his arm or ruffling his hair or all that lovely leaning she used to do.

She’d even shied away when he tried to touch her.

“Look Hermione,” he pointed towards an arriving Hedwig, who gave a friendly swoop over them and continued on towards the house. He took his other hand from his pocket and gently rested it on the small of her back as she followed his gaze.

“Come on Harry,” she said wearily as she brushed away the offending hand. Her warm smiled returned only when his hand returned to his pocket and she was safely out of reach. “We better get going.” She motioned towards the trail before turning quickly and trotting down the path.

“Yeah, hey, I’ll catch up,” Harry said lightly, trying to hide his disappointment. The realization hit him hard: He couldn’t touch her.

Harry suddenly and irrationally felt cheated. He’d just wanted the sleepwalking and the snuggling to stop. He didn’t mind so much the handholding or the arm grabbing or the back rubbing or the hair ruffling. That, he liked. A lot.

He liked it when she ran her hand through his hair, or, without thinking twice, would rest her head on his shoulder or lean against him and sigh. He liked that she’d curl up next to him on a porch swing or a sofa and let him curl back.

That was just Hermione. That was just his Hermione being Hermione, and now He. Couldn’t. Touch Her. He couldn’t touch her. How was he supposed to get through the day without touching her?

Harry shook his head. It had only been a handful of hours and he was already cursing the good idea this spell wasn’t.

He remembered Lupin’s light warning of oh… blah blah…that’s not a good plan…let’s talk it over reasonably…something…let’s throw a shoe and some such.

Harry grumbled at his not listening and ran after the now distant (in more ways than one) Hermione.

Sodding spell…he muttered under his breath…sodding nature…

-----------------------

During Hogan’s Heroes…

“Harry!”

He’d managed to turn around before Hermione dove at him. She landed, hard, on top of him and placed a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet.

She shook off the fall and looked towards the source of the Luminoused wands that were flashing over them.

“Stay. Quiet,” she hissed as Draco and Luna’s spotlights crisscrossed over them, scanning the darkness for the potential POWs.

Nearly a minute passed before the lights slowly receding back into the shadows and the sounds of footsteps faded.

“That was close.” Hermione removed her hand from his lips as her lovely face hovered just over his. “Sorry Harry.” She smiled shyly, making her eyes did that shiny-starry thing they usually did in the moonlight.

Harry, however, was too distracted by their positions to be relieved by the narrow escape.

(Gulp) “Huh?” Harry could only nod his response. “What…?” Which parts are where now?

“Are you all right?” She asked, her voice clouded with concern as she realized that yes, she was on top of him, and yes, he was probably in pain.

He studied her face and smiled, resting his hand on her shoulder when she smiled back.

Hermione suddenly froze, wide-eyed over him. A look of confusion and low-lying panic filled her eyes as he ran his hands over her sides.

“H-Harry…” she stammered as she pushed away. “We…we’d better go.”

Without another word she leapt to her feet and darted into the bushes ahead, though, no doubt she flashed a few hurried hand signals behind her. Normally she would’ve taken his hand and pulled him along, but…oh no, not anymore.

Harry got to his feet and trailed after her, dodging the smacking branches as they snapped back, catching scant glimpses of her as she ran through the trees ahead of him.

Gods, it was going to be a long night.

Sodding spell…ouch

Sodding Tonks…ouch

Stupid trees…

-------------

Sad to say, Team Doom won that night’s round. Harry had been captured when he’d lost sight of Hermione, Lav had followed, and then Hermione.

Now, Ron and Draco were swaggering around, gloating loudly while Luna smiled in a subtly-pleased way as the group made their way back to the house.

“Yep,” Draco said, taking hold of Luna’s hand and spinning her in place. “Looks like the best team won.”

Lav rolled her eyes. “It’s the first time you’ve won since we started, Draco. You had to eventually. It’s the law of averages.”

“More like law of the fittest,” Ron said, flashing a grin.

“That’s ‘survival’ of the fittest,” Hermione corrected.

“Right.” Ron nodded. “We’re survival types….warriors…renegades…”

“Morons…” Lav finished for him.

“Now now. Don’t be bitter.” Draco told her warningly. “Next you’ll start stress eating, and then God help us all…”

“Ron!” Lav exclaimed.

“What?” Ron asked, not interested in the argument. He was too busy enjoying the fruits of victory. Specifically, all the boasting and chest puffing it afforded.

“So Granger.” Draco turned to Hermione. “Ever thought about defecting to Doom’s darkside?” He slung and arm over her shoulders and wriggled his eyebrows. “Play your cards right, and I might even throw in a backrub.”

Hermione grimace and rolled her eyes, muttering something about how she’d ‘rather chew broken glass.’ Although, despite her unenthusiastic response, Harry noticed she made no effort to free herself from Draco’s encircling arm. Instead, she just chatted with Luna while he played with the ends of her hair.

Harry watched the unfolding display of comradery for a full thirty seconds before he realized he was holding his breath.

“Sodding spell…” Harry muttered after he’d finished gasping for air. Any one of a million nights he could’ve done the same thing. Play with her hair, casually shrug an arm around her, whisper in her ear, but no. Then came the sleepwalking and the snuggling and the rest…the now rather uncomfortably arousing rest, whose memory made him groan in frustration.

He snuck a glance at her, now Draco-free as they made their way up the front porch and decided to keep his distance until the end of the night. Save her the trouble of subtly shifting away from him and flashing him fake smiles.

The ‘sodding spell’ couldn’t keep him from watching her though, and his eyes followed her around the room. He watched as she didn’t once rub Ron’s shoulders or take Draco’s arm. He noticed that she didn’t curl up once next to Lupin or ruffle anyone’s hair…thank gods.

Towards the end of the evening, Harry was hit with a rather hard realization:

It was just him.

All that touching was just something she did with him. The hand holding and arm grabbing and hair ruffling was theirs. His really. He’d never thought about their closeness in terms of anything except just Hermione being her sweet, supportive self, but it was just him. A closeness she felt he needed, and, being the cleverest witch of her generation, she was proven right (again).

Of course Harry had effectively put a stop to all that, so there was no way he could scoop her up now and hug his thanks. Maybe mutter an apology or two about taking her for granted for the seven or eight rather small years when she had been the only one besides Mrs. Weasley and an emotionally unbalanced Cho who dare approach the Boy Apparently Made of Broken Glass and Battery Acid.

‘Sodding spell,’ was quickly becoming his mantra, and he muttered it again as Hermione playfully winked at him as she sorted through a pile of old forty-fives on the floor. He shoved his hands in his pockets and smiled back. Not like he could do much else at this point.

----------

Later that night Harry found himself tossing in his bed, screaming at himself to go to sleep.

She’s not coming, he thought as he sat up.

Funny that he’d never had trouble falling asleep before the spell. He’d come to expect her, doze off muttering annoyances, and wake up with a lapful of Hermione. Easy.

And now… Now she wasn’t coming. He was sure of it. He was sure of it and he wasn’t falling asleep anytime soon. Instead he found himself awake, half-hoping that tonight the Puck’s Potion would take a bloody break already.

He let out a sigh and began lightly hitting the back of his head against the wall. Maybe if he did it enough times he could cause some sort of coma-inducing hemorrhage.

Ow…damn… sodding spell…

Ow…damn…sodding spell…

Ow…damn…sodding spell…

He paused when he thought he heard a pair of light footsteps padding down the hallway. Or maybe it’s just the start of a concussion because…ouch.

Tensing with dread, or, expectation or maybe both, he gripped the blankets beside him and listened as the footsteps stilled. He stared at the doorhandle, waiting for a full minute for…something…anything.

The footsteps suddenly turned and echoed back down the hallway.

He gave a long-suffering sigh and pulled the covers around him. Well, that’s that, he thought. Now to sleep. Hermione-less and all. Hoo-bloody-rah.

Wait...he thought as he sat back up. Where the hezpah is she going to go? He leapt out of bed and struggled with his shoes as he stumbled out the door. What? Go crawling in with Ron. Or Malfoy? Or gods…Malfoy?

Where is she?

“Hermione!” he called as he sprinted down the hallway. He ignored the lights and voices that stirred behind him. “Hermione!”

He held on to the stair railing, barely able to keep upright as he skidded to a stop at her doorway.

“Hermione?” He called as he searched the room.

Hermione wasn’t there, she wasn’t down the hall…Harry pushed past a sleepy-eyed Ron as he ran towards Malfoy’s room.

“Harry? What?” Ron dropped his wand and fell against the wall as he tried to dodge the rushing Gryffindor.

“Hermione’s gone,” Harry shouted his answer. Sodding spell.

“What?” Ron called as he picked up his wand trotted towards him.

“Sodding spell,” Harry clarified as he barged into Malfoy’s room. A thankfully empty room.

Damn, she’s not here. Or wait…that’s a good thing…Harry amended as he pushed past Ron again and started towards the other wings of the house.

“What should I…hey…” Ron watched Harry disappear around the corner. “Hey! Harry!”

“What’s wrong with Potter?” A spikey-haired Draco asked as he came out of Luna’s room. “Or, wait. Better narrow that down. What’s with all the noise?”

Ron shrugged. “Something to do with Hermione,” he answered with a yawn.

“Isn’t it always.” Draco shook his head. “The man’s obsessed.”

“No. He’s in love,” Luna amended. She was wearing Draco’s old Quidditch robes as she stepped into the hall beside him.

“No. He’s in-sane,” Draco corrected as his arm came round her waist. “Been saying it for years.”

“Har har…” Ron flashed Draco an unamused grin as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. It was too early for this kind of drama. Too early and too dark and too cold and he was too tired.

“Well, I guess I’ll start looking around for her or something,” he said unenthusiastically as he headed down the dark hall.

“Have fun,” Draco called after him. “Watch out for the spiders and whatnot. It’s dark out. They like that… the big ones especially.”

Draco’s laughter, however, was cut short when he took one look at Luna’s softly disapproving glare.

“Blasted bloody…” he muttered as he started down the opposite hallway. “Luna better make with the hero worship when I pull Granger out of whatever well she’s fallen into…”

Author’s note: Another super short chapter. Sorry.

O weary night. O long and tedious night.

Abate thy hours! Shine comforts from the east.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream III.ii.430

Chapter 7 “House Hunting”

“Don’t touch me.” Hermione pushed his arms away, trying to twist out of his encircling arms. “Please…” she cried, now near tears. “Please…I don’t…”

Easy Potter…Harry knew he was scaring her. Sodding buggering bloody spell…

He’d found Hermione in one of the drawing rooms in the old servant’s wing. He’d caught her wrist and gathered her to him, whispering assurances as she tried to pull away. “Hermione, love, please, it’s me…I’m so sorry…I’m right here sweets…”

“No, don’t,” she pulled away again. She was struggling against him now, her eyes wide and watery with fear.

“Hermione,” he begged. “Please, It’s me. It’s Harry,” he kissed her forehead. “Don’t cry…please,” he whispered as she started to still. “I’ve got you.”

She stopped struggling but didn’t answer him. Instead she stared absently at his hands as they ran over her shoulders and down her sides.

“Hermione…please sweets, look at me.”

Her chin was trembling and her breathing hitched as he cupped her cheek.

“Harry?” She sighed as she brought her arm around him and pulled him into one of their famous hugs.

He gathered her to him, rubbing circles on her back and whispering in her ear as he cradled her to his chest and ran his hand through her hair. “I’ve got you…”

He eased back and stared into her cinnamon eyes, searching for a sort of permission. She worried her bottom lip and sighed her approval as he tightened his hold on her and lifted her to him and...

They both turned suddenly when the floorboard creaked.

“Harry?” Ron called, the green light from the Luminous spell momentarily blinding them.

Harry lost his grip on Hermione, who pushed passed him and strode towards Ron.

“Ron,” Hermione shielded her eyes. “Turned off that light.”

“Hey, how bout a thank you?” He pouted as he lowered his wand. “Ron to the rescue and all.”

She swatted at him as she laughed.

“Rescue? From what?” She asked. They turned back to Harry. Hermione’s eyes were now bright and inviting, with none of the barely contained panic Harry had seen moments ago.

“Well, Harry, for one.” Ron said. “And, then there’s all…the…end tables.”

“End tables?” Hermione said skeptically.

“How’d you find us?” Harry asked, hoping he didn’t sound as disappointed as he thought he did. It had been the first time he’d held her for days, or hours really, and he couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty over wanting it to last another two bloody minutes.

Ron smiled. “Selnor spells.” He gave the proper motion with his wand as Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“Yep Harry.” He gave a breezy sigh. “Who have thought all of Hermione’s sixth year nagging and bullying and bothering and criticizing and insulting…hey!” She elbowed him in the ribs.

“Well,” he went on. “Who would’ve thought they’d pay off?”

“Oh. Yes. Brilliant.” Hermione bit her lip, trying to keep from laughing.

“Well that’s gratitude for you,” Ron grumbled as he turned to Hermione. Ron scooped up the laughing girl in his arms and called to Harry. “Come on then. I’m sure there’s at least one person, somewhere, waiting up for us.”

“Oh, put me down Ron,” Hermione cried as Ron blithely ignored her and started back downstairs.

“Harry,” she looked over Ron’s shoulder. “Tell him to put me down.”

It was too dark too see Harry’s withering glance. Don’t tempt me… he muttered as he followed them.

“I can walk you know,” she added turning back to Ron.

“Not barefoot you’re not…”

“Well, just transfigure me some shoes then,” she said with a grin.

“No,” Ron said sternly.

“Why not?”

He cocked his eyebrows. “Because carrying you makes me feel all manly.”

“Oh dear gods…” she sighed, burying her face in her hands.

As they continued on through the unlit passages, Ron and Hermione’s easy banter made the dark and narrow hallways as inviting as the best lit room in the house. However, Harry merely trailed behind his two friends, muttering annoyances under his breath.

Sodding spell…

Sodding Ron…

Oh sod it all…

---------------

“Of course the antidote is easy enough Harry,” Tonks said nonchalantly after Harry, Hermione and Ron had returned. Harry was standing in Lupin’s den, asking a smirking Tonks to end his misery.

Poor guy, she thought, grinning at the weary Boy in front of her. His hair was more disheveled than usual and his skin looked pale and clammy. And only twenty hours after she’d slipped Hermione the potion.

Men… She sighed and shook her head. At least I made good time with this one.

“Sure. Harry. The cure. Right. It’ll just take a few weeks…”

“A few what!” Harry cried.

“Er…or days,” she corrected sweetly. “Three days.”

“Three days?”

“Well, this is what happens when you don’t plan ahead….” She gave a tut-tut sound.

“Safe to say, I think we’ve all learned a valuable lesson about solving our problems through needless spells.”

She nodded solemnly and looked at Lupin, who bit back a groan.

“Oh. Gee,” Harry muttered darkly. “Thanks so much.”

He then turned and left the room without saying ‘good night.’ Because, it wouldn’t be ‘good’ night. Tonks had worked her own special locks on Hermione’s door, but Harry planned to spend the better part of the night on watch in the hallway. ‘Better’ meaning all cramped up in the crook of her doorway.

“I hate to see him like this.” Lupin said after Harry’d shut the door behind him.

“Don’t worry Puppy.” She patted his cheek. “Mummy will make everything right.”

He gave a rare eye roll. “As per usual…”

She nodded. “Absolutely. But first we’ll let him stew a bit.” She took a seat, resting her head on his shoulder as she began tracing figure-eights on the back of his hand. “Three days. Do you think the number’s a little heavy-handed? Symbolic-wise?”

He shrugged an arm over her. “Is there any reasonable answer to that question?”

She hummed her agreement as she absently ran her hand through his hair for a minute or two.

“Robin shall restore amends…” she muttered as she shifted closer to him.

“What?” Lupin asked suspiciously.

“I said ‘what time is it?’”

“That’s not what you said,” Lupin grumbled before Tonks began the too easy task of shutting him up.

“Never you mind Pup-pup,” she chirped as she merrily began nibbling her way down his front. “Leave the heavy lifting to me.”

Author’s Note: This is just fluffy light fluff. Nothing happens. Only some snuggly Harmony fluff and fluff and more fluff. So yeah. You’ve been warned (about the fluff).

I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,

Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,

Quite overcanopied with luscious woodbine,

With sweet musk roses, and with eglantine.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream II.ii.250

Chapter 8 “Be as Thou Hast Wont to Be”

She brushed his shoulder. That was definitely a shoulder brush.

They were walking through the forest trails, hand-length between them and all, when Harry felt her shoulder gently press against his.

Get a grip Potter… he muttered as he watched her like a hawk out of the corner of his eye. Those last three days had crept by at a Hufflepuff’s pace. The sunny afternoons ran together in gray blur as Harry was for, the first time since the front, effectively Hermione-less.

And now this. This sudden shoulder brushing.

He tried to keep calm. He really did. He tried and failed.

Come on…think about something else. Look around. Nature’s splendor and whatnot. Birds chirping, sunlight pouring through the treetops, bit of breeze. Really, it’s a nice day out. Ignore the fact that she’s barefoot, only wearing shorts, tight little blue top, and that her hair’s all loose-like…and yeah, that was definitely another nudge…dear gods…

…Oww. His non-Hermione musing stopped when he walked face-first into a tree. He ended up on his back in the middle of the path shaking off the dull pain in his head as he pressed his hand to his temple.

Oh smooth Potter…he muttered as he sat up, rubbing his forehead.

“Harry? Oh my goodness, are you all right?” Hermione was suddenly at his side, fussing over him in her old Hermione way. Her wonderful, warm, pre-potion Hermione way.

Focus Potter, he thought as she ran her hands over him. Sure, she’s holding your hand and leaning with her soft curves all nicely against you and with her sighing and cooing and smelling like clover and honey and…gods don’t let her stop…

“Harry, I’ll be right back.” She pulled away, cursing herself for not bringing her wand.

“Wait. Don’t go,” he said absently. “Please…” he caught her hand in his and gathered her against him. Damn he missed this.

“I won’t go Harry,” she said as she looked at him oddly. Apparently he found her hands fascinating. He was staring at them like they were made of Snitches.

She shook off the thought. He probably just hit his head harder than he usually did. He was, after all, the Boy Who Falls All Over Himself in the Most Adorable Ways.

She cradled him to her as she planted a few feathered kisses to his temple. “Poor Harry,” she muttered.

He groaned as her lips brushed the rising bruise.

“Did that hurt?” She asked softly.

“Hmmm,” he hummed. So this is how putty feels.

“Honestly Harry…” she shook her head. “I think your seeker senses are fading with age.”

Part of him registered the insult. Other, happier, parts were too far gone to care… parts that’d let her turn him into a toad as long as she kept pressing against him like that. He murmured his agreement as his arm snuck around her waist and brought her flush against him.

She hushed him and settled into his embrace as he curled up snuggly against her.

She began inspecting the bruise he was sure to have. She made a ‘tisking’ sound as she bowed her head and shifted impossibly closer, bringing her bare shoulder dangerously close to his lips.

Secretly thrilled she wasn’t pulling away, left facing the bare expanse of skin, dizzy from the fall, and now light-headed from her clover scent, Harry studied her lovely face a bit before he planted an impulsive kiss against her shoulder.

She stilled in her inspection and furrowed her bow, wondering whether she’d merely imagined it or whether he, Harry James Potter, had, on purpose and sober, just kissed her shoulder. Right. Sure Granger...and just why would he do that?

Meanwhile, Harry tightened his hold on her, wondering if he should apologize or try it again. And darn it, the shoulder was just sitting there, tan and smooth and sweet smelling and tempting so he tried it again. And again. And again. To his amazement she actually shifted towards him in silent consent as his lips planted a feathery trail along the crook of her neck.

She even tilted her head to give him better access to the soft stretch of skin.

Whoa Potter…one thing at a time.

He began a trail of light kisses along her throat, stopping to suckle the soft spots now open to him. He couldn’t see her face, but since she bit back a moan, he wagered he was doing something right.

She wants this…she likes this…he thought almost gleefully (or as gleeful as he could get after a head injury) while he continued on the same path.

“Harry,” she gasped as (dear lord is that his tongue?) began tracing her collarbone. “Harry, your head.” Hey…gift horse, mouth… Mmmmm. Harry’s mouth.

“What?” He asked not bothering to pause in his ministrations. Talking was bad. Talking was keeping him from tasting her.

“You hurt your head,” she said with a false calm as he nibbled and licked a light trail towards her mouth. She began worrying her bottom lip, apparently torn between pushing him down and pushing him away.

“Oh. Right.” His hand began to creep up the sides of her knees. “Well, I feel fine.”

“Fine?” She whispered with heavy lidded eyes. “Really?”

“Fantastic actually,” he said absently as he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

She ran her hand through his messy raven locks and started in surprise as he gave a guttural growl. Her surprise melted into a smile as he nuzzled her cheek and nestled her hair. He reminded her of a cat sometimes. A big, handsome panther type cat with lithe muscles and feral eyes and …dear gods is he going to…?

Harry effectively stopped her musings when he awkwardly gripped the back of her neck and captured her lips.

The kiss began softly. His mouth moved hesitantly over hers as he gathered her against him and ran his hands over her shoulders and sides. He felt her tongue trace his lips and opened for her, tasting her. It hadn’t been his first time kissing her, but it was certainly the best.

She clutched at him, softly sighing her approval against his parted mouth as she shifted in his lap. Her squirming was especially pleasant, and he broke away with a gasp, resting his forehead against hers as they caught their breath.

“Harry?” She gave a self-conscious smile as she sighed. “What are we doing?”

“Well, you see Hermione,” he said softly as he ran his hands over her sides. “When two people care about each other, very much, and, well… when they’re sober that is…”

She clapped her hand over his mouth and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I think we’ve all heard Tonks explain the facts of life, thank you very much Harry.”

“Best graduation speech ever…” he gave a sentimental sigh.

“I’m going to forget you said that,” she laughed.

She studied his down-turned face as he tenderly traced her hands with his own. “What on earth’s gotten into you?” She whispered.

He tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Just chalk it up to the head injury.”

She leaned into his hand as he cupped her cheek. “Well, I’d certainly hate to take advantage of you while you’re injured.”

“Oh,” he muttered. “Thank gods for that.” He ran his hands over the small of her back “What exactly would this “advantage” entail?”

A slight blush rose in her cheeks as she gripped his collar and shifted until she was straddling his lap.

Oh. Wow. Um…“Okay, wait,” he gasped as his harder parts responded to her softer ones.

Hermione froze over him. “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t…I thought you wanted…oh I’m sorry.” She started to ease away but his hands quickly gripped her waist to keep her from moving.

“No, I mean…I mean just a second,” he groaned. Think un-Hermione thoughts. Playing Quidditch, doing laundry…Focus Potter. Dammit man…Try harder. No not that kind of harder…

She gave a secret smile as she watched his struggle. She was sure he was trying not to think about all the lovely things she was planning on doing to him.

“Harry…”

“Yeah sweets?” He said through gritted teeth.

She leaned forward and claimed his mouth, easing him onto the sandy trail and encouraging his own amorous response by softly rocking her hips against his.

She broke away and began dotting his face with light pecks as her cascading curls veiled them both.

“Hermione, are you…” sure about this? He trailed off as her hands found their way under his shirt.

“Harry, are you …” joking? She bit back a moan as she felt the play of muscles under her fingertips.

Good. He gave a nervous smile.

Good. Her smile was genuine.

-------------

Needless to say, the rest of the summer saw a vastly changed Harry. A sweetly moony-eyed, sleep-deprived, all-together-too-cheerful Harry.

…

The afternoon was golden and bright, and Harry and Hermione had sought relief from the relentless heat in the shady barn on the far ends of the grounds.

Harry had cleared an old workbench for his broomstick kit and Hermione curled up to read in a dusty corner.

Harry, however had taken to watching the scant sunlight play off her hair rather than repair his broom. He eyed the golden streaks that lit up her face as the light from the broken panes behind her illuminated her elegantly folded form.

“Harry?” She smiled.

Oops. She’d caught him staring again.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Nothing.” He gave an evil grin, and in his endless Gryffindor maturity, he flicked a mud chip at her.

“Hey!” She cried as she picked it off her shirt and tossed it back at him, only to have him flick another. She took a handful of stale-smelling hay from a nearby pile and threw it at him. The clump hit him squarely in the face and broke, leaving several bits stuck in his hair.

“Oh that tears it,” he said as he dove towards her and snatched her up.

“Harry!” She struggled against him, her eyes shining as he carried her up the rickety steps to the loft. He’d been wanting to carry her like this since that night when she’d wandered off. Of course, his motives weren’t nearly as altruistic as Ron’s.

“Harry…” she said warningly as he stopped at the ledge overlooking a pile of hay.

Altruism nothing. This was going to be hilarious.

“Hermes,” he said. “Are you going to apologize?”

“Harry Potter you started it. And don’t call me that,” she added sternly. “Now put me down.”

“Whatever you say Mione….” He sighed as he loosened his hold.

“No, don’t you dare,” she cried as she wrapped her arms around his neck and eyed the six-foot drop to the hay-pile beneath them

“Harry, don’t! Don’t let go…”

“Well then, you’ll have to apologize.”

“Apologize?!”

“Yup,” he said smugly. He shifted a bit as she clung to him. “Better hurry sweets, my arms are getting tired.”

“I didn’t…I don’t…” she eyed the hay pile beneath them.

“Sooo tired. So. Very. Tired,” he shifted again.

She gave an audible gulp and took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Too bad Hermione because I…wait, what?” Harry came to stuttering halt. A simple apology was the last thing he’d expected. Really the whole thing had just been an excuse to get her up to the loft.

“I’m sorry Harry,” she said as she began planting soft, slow kisses along his cheek.

“Um. What?” Harry’s knees nearly buckled as her nibbling lips traveled down his jaw. Merlin she’s good at that…wait, I’m supposed to be doing something…But what!? Hay…something…ledge…something…Wow that feels nice…

“So sorry darling,” she whispered.

“Darling?” He gasped as she began suckling his throat.

“Mmmm,” she moaned. “My darling.”

Harry’s hold loosened until she slid to her feet. Standing now, her arms came around his neck as she pressed insistently against him.

Lost to the sensation of a warm, whispering Hermione against him, Harry failed to notice her backing him towards the drop.

“Harry?” She cooed as her hands moved down his shoulders and onto his chest.

“Yes love,” he breathed as he planted a soft kiss on her forehead.

“That was entirely too easy.”

“What was?” He leaned forward, expecting to capture her lips in what he imagine would be an impressive display of unbridled passion. Instead he found himself falling off the drop onto the pile of hay.

He gave a defeated groan and stared at the ceiling a moment before rolling to the floor. He lay on the ground as she approached, resigning himself to what would no doubt become his blissful place in life: helpless at the feet of an endlessly-amused Hermione.

He propped himself up on his elbows and shook his head. “Oh. Sure it’s easy when you just shove someone. Try carrying them.”

She knelt next to him and brushed the hay off his shoulders. “Well, you did start it Harry.”

“Yeah, I did.” He gave a sad smile. “Still, that last part was a bit cruel.”

“Cruel?” She asked, furrowing her brow.

He shrugged. “Calling me ‘darling’ and all.”

“Oh?” She smiled and ran a hand through his hair. “You liked that?”

”Yeah,” he admitted weakly. “Kinda did.”

“Well,” she put her hand to his cheek, “you are you know.”

He leaned into her caress. “What?” He asked absently.

“Darling,” she whispered as she planted a feathery kiss at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?” He sighed, hoping he didn’t sound as pathetic as he thought he did.

She nodded as she eased him back onto the hay. She batted his hands away as she crawled onto his lap, straddling him snuggly as she ran her hands over his chest and around his shoulders.

He reached for her again, only to have her brush his hands away and shake her head.

“Hermione…” he gasped as she shifted her hips over his.

She smiled shyly as she began oh-so-slowly undoing the buttons of her shirt, apparently intent on driving him to an early grave.

Making a note to punish her later for being such a tasty tease, he tucked his hands behind his head, content to merely enjoy her little show.

Shirt cast aside, he gripped the back of her neck and drew her to him, much too single-minded to hold a grudge of any size.

“Not going to push me into anymore hay piles are you?” He asked as he took her bottom lip in his mouth.

“Only,” She ran her tongue over his mouth playfully and started to undo his belt, “if you ask nicely…”

“Oh, I can ask nicely,” he grinned, his hands dancing over the soft skin of her sides until he reached the clasp of her bra. “I can ask very nicely…”

------------

During Hogan’s Heroes….

Enough was enough.

Harry had watched Hermione work her concealing spells, go through the commands and strategies all businessy-type and no nonsense-like during their mad dash through Team Doom’s territory.

Never mind the fact he’d wanted to tackle her a dozen times tonight.

But, no. He’d been the helpful little engine. He hadn’t risked a single touch or heated glance during their rather daring escape from Draco’s snares, and instead waited until they reached the safety of the stone wall to pull her roughly to him.

“You were amazing,” he said, gathering her in his arms. He ran his hand through her hair, working it out of its tight braid as his other hand ran over her perfect little bum.

“You weren’t so bad yourself…” she countered as he cut her off with a desperate kiss.

“Harry,” she gasped as she broke away. He wasn’t sure if she was just finishing her last sentence or trying to tell him something else entirely.

“Sodding…what?” he muttered as he searched for some type of tie or mechanism to her trousers.

“Harry,” she whispered before she began nibbling his ear, “we have to…goodness…we have to go…”

“What?” Harry asked absently, too busy congratulating himself on managing to find several buttons while Hermione’s lips were doing….dear Germanus yes…what they were so very good at doing.

She bit back moan as the cold night air and Harry’s warm hand suddenly found their way to the soft skin of her inner thighs.

Giving up all pretense of resistance she caught him in a hard kiss.

“We’ll have to (gasp) hurry,” she sighed as she ran her tongue over his lips.

Without a word he lifted her to him and set her on the stone wall. Her legs hooked around his waist in what was fast becoming something of habit. A habit Harry was sure he’d never tire of. In fact, he swore right then to encourage similar tendencies.

“There’s my girl,” he mumbled as she ground herself him and began whispering exactly what she wanted him to do about it. His hand began shaking with want as it reached between them and began working at the latch of his own jeans.

“Hey you two!” Ron’s smug voice rang out.

Harry and Hermione both turned, only to be blinded by the Luminosed lights of several wands.

“Dear gods…” Hermione muttered as she pushed Harry away and hopped off the wall, hastily straightening her clothes. Harry did likewise and braced himself for the fun Team Doom would no doubt be having at their expense.

Dear gods indeed.

“This is hardly the time guys.” Ron said merrily, stepping out of the shadows. “I mean, hey, we’re in training and all. Not very professional-like. Tut tut tut…”

“Yeah. I quit.” Draco said in a prissy tone. “I can’t work like this. You people. Honestly. Honestly, you people…Honestly. Tut tut and so forth. Honestly. Yes, honestly.”

“Draco, you can’t quit yet,” Luna smiled and shook her head.

“Yeah. If anyone’s quitting it’s me. I quit hours ago,” Ron pouted.

“Okay, I won’t quit, but I’m taking a break,” Draco conceded.

“Well,” answered Luna thoughtfully, “you can only take a break if it’s to sneak off to shag. That appears to be the way it’s done.”

“Yeah, and I did it first,” Ron said proudly. “So you guys are just a pair of pathetic…” he turned, expecting to find two shamefaced Gryffindors. However, Hermione and Harry were long gone, safely back in the barn where they could tear each other’s clothes off in peace.

“So.” Draco smiled and shrugged. “We win.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah. That’s twice now.”

“Go team.” Luna nodded.

The three skipped off to find Lav and declare victory properly: with much merrymaking and Team Doom boasting.

Obviously, poor Lav would have to bear the unsportsmanlike-burden alone tonight, Harry and Hermione had other plans.

-------

Over the next few weeks Harry and Hermione met in all the places he’d hidden before. He’d run his hands over her in the older guestrooms until the first light of dawn. Or she’d crawl in under tatter throw-rugs and do delicious things with her mouth. Or they’d spoon together at the foot of his bed or curl up in the old servant’s quarters, more than comfortable in their drab surroundings.

The meetings would start civil enough. Both well-behaved Gryffindors, they knew that the Order would hardly encourage completely clandestine trysts, so they’d begin their late-night rendezvous with some light conversation.

Sitting on opposite ends of a sofa or bed or loveseat, a carefully kept space between them, Hermione would ask him about his day or his studies or his training in whatever cozy cranny he’d found. Harry, in turn, would answer, ask some questions in return, and smile and nod in a polite way.

Tonight’s meeting proved no different.

“Training? Right.” Harry began. “Well, I practiced my Q&A drills…” until you pulled me into the carriage house and let me undress you with my teeth. So, yeah…it was great…

He subtly moved towards her, hoping to catch some of her clover scent.

“Oh really?” Hermione asked, fascinated by the play of muscles under his shirt. “How’d that go?”

He was too busy watching her lips to answer. Instead he decided to move a little closer, just to be sure…of whatever…

“Harry?” She worried her bottom lip as his arms flexed while he shifted in the seat. Their knees brushed as he settled closer to her.

“How’d what go?” He muttered absently as a treacherous hand crept up her thigh.

She didn’t bother to answer. Instead she gripped his collar and pulled him to her. Conversation gave way to groans as their kisses deepened and he pinned her to the seat.

“Q&A,” she gasped as his hands found their way under her shirt.

“What’s that?” He asked as he deftly unhooked her bra.

“What’s what?” She muttered as she broke away and lifted his shirt over his head. She ran her hands over his back and began kissing and licking her way down his front.

“Hermione…?” Harry asked as she got to her knees on the floor beside him.

“Just something I learned at lunch,” she said as she undid his fly.

“Wait…What?” He gasped.

“Kidding,” she answered absently.

“Better be…” was his last coherent thought as she began what Tonks’ had explained in such great detail (several times over) during a recent talk. Amazing how much better the whole thing worked when she didn’t have to use carrots.

-----------

Where is she? He thought as he paced around the attic.

Usually she’d beat him to whatever spot they’d chosen. She’d be there and then he’d be there and then they’d talk a bit and tackle each other. Easy.

But tonight…she was late. An hour late.

She wasn’t coming…or coming.

Darn it.

He crept down to her room, no light. Calm down Potter…no sleepwalking…just get your wand and do the Selnor Spell, and then never let her out of your bloody sight again so help me…

He opened her door and peeked in. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found her lying on her bed, fully dressed and face down in a book.

“Poor sweets,” he muttered as he carefully took a seat beside her. He marked her place in the book and placed it on the end table. He then pulled a quilt around her and kissed her forehead, nuzzling her neck a bit as he said goodnight.

“Harry,” she smiled. He laughed softly as her hands came to rest on his shoulders and she began a sleepy trail of kisses along his cheek.

“Hope that wasn’t just a lucky guess…” he said fondly.

“Don’t go,” she muttered as she held his collar.

“Won’t be able to if you don’t let go.”

“Good. Don’t go. Please. Just stay,” she said as she pulled him to her.

He wordlessly crawled in next to her, gathering a quilt around them as she snuggled up against him.

She gave a kittenish yawn and wrapped her arms around him. “Love you Harry,” she sighed as she rested in the crook of his neck.

“Love…what?”

It was the first time that he’d heard her say it, thus affording his first opportunity of saying it in return.

However, despite the fact that she might not hear him or even remember it if she did, he just couldn’t say ‘I love you too.’

He tried. But he couldn’t.

It was just another “Harry Potter hang-up” she’d have to get used to. Some people weren’t built to say it, and he was one of them. He couldn’t manage a ‘yeah, me too,’ or ‘I love you back,’ or ‘love you lots.’

Harry couldn’t think of anyway to say it.

Anyway other than, “I love you too Hermione.”

Really, the only way it sounded right was with her name in there somewhere.

The spring, the summer,

The fruitful autumn,

The angry winter,

Change their wonted liveries.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream II.i.114

Chapter 9 “Fluff and Stuff”

The group had decided to eat lunch in the sunny glen just beyond the makeshift Quidditch pitch.

“Lav’s in,” Ron said as he emerged from the supply shack with their brooms. He’d offered to set up the field for quick game or two, and they were divvying up flags and tags for the players.

“We still need a forth,” Draco said as he deftly caught the broom tossed to him.

“Well, Harry’s here,” Ron motioned towards the willow tree where he’d last seen the distracted Gryffindor.

“Hey Harry!” Ron called.

Harry, however, was too busy being handfed by Hermione to answer. He was lying with his head on her lap, twirling a strand of her long loose hair between his fingers as she popped a grape into his mouth. Harry gazed fondly at her as she traced his features with her fingertips, nuzzling her hand as she stroked his cheek.

“Git,” Draco muttered.

“Draco,” Lav shook her head. “It’s adorable.”

Draco gave a sly smile. “Don’t know if he’d think it’s “adorable” if he knew we were watching. Hey, Loon,” he called to Luna, “how about a little Q&A?”

“Sure Draco,” Luna said, carefully setting aside her newspaper and rising to join them. She glided over to where they were gathered and easily caught the broom Draco threw to her.

“Think it’s safe to leave them alone?” Ron asked, motioning back towards the happy couple as they followed the trail to the field.

Draco arched an eyebrow. “Yeah you’re right. Wouldn’t want them humping like rabbits in some carriage house. We’ll leave that to those other Gryffindors we know and love.”

“Hey!” Lav cried. “There was no humping.”

“Oh. Really?” Draco said skeptically. “What do you call it then?”

“I…nothing,” she said, motioning for Ron to defend her.

“Nothing huh? That must make for some mixed signals.” Draco patted Ron on the back.

“Tell me about it…” Ron said sadly before Lav punched him on the arm.

…

“I think we frightened them off.” Hermione laughed as she watched the rest of their group head towards the Quidditch pitch. She turned to Harry with an indulgent smile. “You don’t have to stay here, you know. You are occasionally allowed to play a non-life-threatening game of Quidditch.”

“Nah,” he said as he kissed her palm. “I’m like having you to myself. Means I don’t have to mind my hands.”

She leaned down and playfully nipped at his lips. “Like you do anyways.”

He groaned and reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “And that Hermione, is exactly why I never take you anywhere.”

“Oh really?” She said with a grin. “And here I thought it was because I scared off all your adoring groupies.”

“What?” He asked with a wounded expression. “Are you saying you’re (gulp) not an adoring groupie?” He pouted a bit and frowned. “Well that’s gratitude for you.”

“Of course I’m grateful Harry.” She patted his cheek “But honestly, I know you. You’re much too disappointing to admire from afar.”

“Then, I guess it’s good thing you’re allowed to admire me from not so far then.” He paused and reached into his pocket.

“Guess so.” She nodded as she began tracing lazy designs on his collar.

“Thank you,” he said.

“My pleasure,” she said with a mischievous glint.

“No. I mean…I’m sorry. Wait.” He brushed away her hands and shook his head.

“Sorry,” he apologized again as he sat up, “I mean, I just remembered, I wanted to thank you. For this,” he added.

She looked down at his lunch and then back at him, puzzled.

“No. Not for the food. Well, yes the food, but no…I mean for these last weeks,” he went on haltingly. “Er, years. Or decade really.” He gave a self-depreciating laugh. “Covers a lot of ground, I know…

But I…I want to thank you for the way you’ve let me…let me care about you and…” he awkwardly reached over and rested his hand on her shoulder. You’re blowing it Potter…

“Harry, you don’t need to thank me,” she said, offering a shy smile as she sat up.

“See, that’s the thing.” He got to his knees and took her hand. “You don’t want a ‘thank you.’ And now I’m finally saying it, sort of, and you think I’m uncomfortable and so you’re even trying to spare me that. Because you never really want anything. You just want me to go on and be happy and such even if you’re not here, and I can’t do that.”

“Can’t do what?” She asked, now a little dizzy from trying to follow his halting speech and a little light-headed by what she thought he was (maybe almost perhaps) trying to say.

“Be happy if you’re not here,” he answered firmly.

“Harry,” she insisted. “I’ll always be here.”

“No. You won’t.”

“I won’t…?” She echoed.

“No. Not really. Not like I want you to be.”

“How do you want me to be?”

“Just here. With me.” Harry shifted closer to her and reached into his pocket.

“With you…?” She whispered.

“Just…with me.”

Hermione glanced at his kneeling position, his earnest face, and the small ring box that had…dear lord…just appeared in his hand.

“Harry,” she said fighting back tears. “Harry Potter if those are Quidditch tickets I’m going to kill you.”

He smiled and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. “If they were Quidditch tickets, do you think I’d be giving them to you?”

-------

So now we leave our happily Harmonious couple to their own ends, and let our own little story do likewise.

No doubt Harry’d tell her about Puck’s Potion someday. Before the summer was over in fact, when the days turned cold and she (in theory) couldn’t run as fast. Even though his ‘she’s going to kill me’ idea remained just that, an idea, he liked to imagine she’d hate him just a tad for trying to keep her at arms length. It’d justify his own short-lived self-hatred at any rate.

But in the end, Hermione just laughed away his stammering Puck’s Potion confession. Being the cleverest witch of her age, she understood that it was just a handful of restless nights when his fear and her own frustration made for unpleasant bedfellows. A handful of nights that started a lifetime of days that would end in their bringing a little light to the darkness of the gathering evenings.

And so, this Sleepwalker’s Saga ends with much happiness and goodwill. Hopefully, we’ve all learned a valuable lesson about needless spells, shoe throwing, and something of the other hundred million miracles that make life worth living.

The End.

The story’s over. So yeah, you can stop reading now. I just had to get these ‘Puck’ puns out of my system. The story’s original title was “A Midsummer Night’s Hex Comedy,” hence the Bard quotes and the reference to fairies and such.

*Ahem*

-Hey, pretty stupid pucking fic you got there Magpie.

-Well, you sure pucked that up.

-Don’t get too excited about this review post, puck-wad.

-Yeah, I heard what you said you pucking fairy. Pucking fairy of a none-magical sort.

-Why don’t you go back to the Good Ship with the rest of the pucking butt puckers.

-Puck me…the fic’s not so bad. Although, some of those chapters were short. And not that ‘brevity=quality’ kind of short. More like, ‘What? You, couldn’t think up anymore of that pucked-up OCC banter you’re so fond of?’ short.

-Take a writing class you pucking rookie. I’m sure they have them in the middle of bum-puck nowhere.

-Hey, what the puck? No pucking prequel and trequels?

-Hey, I want my pucking Davendar. So where the puck is it? Puck you man…just…yeah puck…you.

-Pucking buggering pucking hell…this ‘pucked’ bit’s getting old.

-Puck you mother pucker …my amusement’s fading fast.

-Well this ‘pucked’ list seemed like a good pucking idea at the time. Then again, I wasn’t sniffing airplane glue at the time. But hey, best pucked plans of mice and men, right?

-Puck off.

-Puck me.

-Puck a duck.

-Puck me in the pucking arse.

-So…the pucked puns are winding down. Time to pop a few more of those pucking pills the orderlies keep putting in my jello. You can tell the pills from the chunks of pineapple because the pineapples don’t smell like monkey poo.

Yeah. I’m done. Puck heads. Puck you all. Puck the lot of you.

Okay. Seriously. I’m finished. Thanks for reading. And thanks for reviewing, if you, you know, bothered. I do read them. Well, when I take my sterilized oven mitts off long enough to type a response I do…