The Best Way I Know How by Goldy Rating: R Genres: Angst, Romance Relationships: Harry & Hermione Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5 Published: 11/07/2005 Last Updated: 11/07/2005 Status: Completed What kind of dreams do you have when you're 17-years-old and the Boy Who Lived? 1. untitled ----------- **Title**: The Best Way I Know How **Keywords**: Harry, Voldemort, H/Hr **Disclaimer**: I still bow to the genius that is JKR and all that jazz. **Rating**: R **Summary**: What kind of dreams do you have when you’re 17-years-old *and* the Boy Who Lived? **Author’s Notes**: Still trying to get everything posted before Friday. I think I still have a couple more fics I can post to PK this week. just trying to find my way trying to find my way the best that I know how - Trying, Lifehouse He can’t move or fight back. He’s frozen where he sits, jailed without chains. “Potter…” He tries to struggle, but it’s impossible. He can’t move. He can’t even reach for his wand. “Potter.” He listens, for he has no choice. He hates the way Voldemort hisses his name, with commandment and disgust. “Stop struggling, boy.” Harry does and sits back, panting. Voldemort crouches down in front of him, his slit-like eyes captivating his gaze. “How well I know you, Potter.” When he speaks, his voice is a croak. “No, you know nothing of me.” A smile spreads across Voldemort’s face. “I know every inch of you, every desire, every want, every impure thought.” Voldemort leans closer. He places his palm on Harry’s chest, over his heart. Harry’s skin burns beneath his touch. “I know who you hate, who you love.” A line of sweat trickles down Harry’s back. He shakes his head in a useless gesture of denial. “No. You can’t.” “I know that is your deepest fear, Potter,” he hisses. “You want to keep her safe… *protect her*.” His lip curls up in a sneer. “All for a *Mudblood*.” Harry’s eyes widen and Voldemort chuckles. “Oh, yes, Potter, I’m quite aware of your feelings for the girl. Quite aware.” Harry begins his struggles anew, but it’s without hope. He is still trapped. “I’ll have her,” Voldemort whispers, his eyes boring into Harry’s—keeping him rooted, keeping him still. “I will have her. I will violate her in every way possible, until she screams for mercy, until she begs me to take you instead.” Voldemort pauses. “And I will make you watch. Just like this.” Harry’s chest hitches. “No.” “There is nothing you can do.” “I won’t let you.” “You cannot stop me, boy.” Voldemort spreads his hands and Harry’s eyes drift to the long, bony fingers and the pale translucence of his skin. “I killed your parents with these hands, Potter.” Harry watches them, transfixed. His throat feels raw. “With these hands, I’ll rip the clothes from your Mudblood’s body. With these hands, I’ll touch her in her most intimate places.” He leans closer to whisper in Harry’s ear. “Places only meant for you.” Something inside of Harry’s chest explodes. He jumps up, sending his chair skidding backwards behind him. “Never,” he says. “You will *never* have her. NOW GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD, YOU SICK *BASTARD*!” *** He’s in the Gryffindor common room. The fire snaps and the room is brightly lit. He’s alone. “Harry?” The voice goes through him, causing his knees to weaken with relief. “Hermione? Is that you?” “Of course it’s me, silly. My, but you *do* look a fright. What’s happened?” “Hermione…” he looks around. “Where are you? Why can’t I see you? I had an *awful* dream… I just… I wish I could see you.” “I’m right here, Harry, don’t worry.” He follows the sound of her voice and—finally—there she is, lying on the couch. How had he missed her before? He comes to a stop in front of her, releasing a shaky breath as he sees her clearly for the first time. She’s wearing nothing but her underwear. He swallows, unable to turn away. His eyes travel to the slight swell of her breasts peaking out from her bra, down her abdomen, and resting on the thin triangle of cotton covering *that* part of her. He can see small curls of black hair escaping from the sides of her knickers. His tongue darts out to wet his lips. The inside of his stomach is a fluttery mess. She sits up, her hair tumbling down to her shoulders. She smiles. “I was wondering how long it’d take you. I’ve been waiting for ages.” He can barely breathe. “Ages?” “Of course. I’d wait forever to be with you, Harry, don’t you know?” He closes his eyes, but he can still see the curve of her breasts and the curls of dark hair. “Hermione, it’s the Gryffindor common room,” he whispers, wondering when his voice became so hoarse. “And no one else is around,” she says, standing up before him. He’s dizzy. “It’s just you and me.” “It’s a trick,” he says. “It’s not you. It’s Voldemort, he’s trying to drive me mad.” His voice is begging. “You’re not real.” She leans closer to him, nuzzling his cheek with her own. He can feel her warm breath on his ear. “Don’t I feel real?” Her arms encircle his neck and she presses against him, all soft curves and naked flesh. His palms slide down the smooth skin of her back. “I… I can’t…” She kisses the corner of his mouth. “You love me, Harry, don’t you?” “Of—of course I do. I…” he trails off. “More than anything.” “Then I’m real,” she says in a low voice. “This—all of this—it’s coming from you.” “Me?” She leans back to meet his eyes, her fingers exploring his face. Her fingers smooth down his nose, brush his lips, and trail along his jaw. “It’s all in your head, Harry.” “Then—then you’re not real,” he says, flooded with disappointment. A smile quirks the corner of her mouth. “I’m real enough. Here, you can do to me what you want—without fear, without regret.” She holds his gaze for a moment. “Kiss me, Harry. Down there. I know that’s what you want.” His chest hitches with every breath he takes. He drops down to his knees, that piece of cotton mocking him. “I trust you, Harry,” she whispers, her fingers tangling in his hair. He leans forward, his heartbeat echoing in his ears. Her fingers tighten in his hair and she gasps when he presses his mouth against her. Her knickers are wet, giving him his first taste of her. He burrows closer, his tongue pressing against her, making her thighs quiver. “Take them off,” she says. Hands shaking, he reaches up to slide his fingers under the waistband of her knickers. She shivers and he peels them down her legs, sucking in a breath. *** “Why am I here?” He can’t keep the anger out of his voice. Ron sits across from him, his hands demurely folded on the desk. They’re sitting in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Hermione is gone. “I’m doing you a favour, mate.” “A *favour*?” Harry says. “Ron, I was in the middle of something *really* important and, if you don’t mind, I’d *like* to get back to that.” Ron shrugs. “Suit yourself. Just seems to me like you’d want your first time with Hermione to be when you’re *both* aware of it.” Harry flushes. “Yeah? What do *you* know about it?” “Not much, I assure you.” Harry lets out a moan of frustration and buries his head in his hands. The image of Hermione lying on the couch in the common room wearing nothing but her underwear is seared behind his eyelids. “You should tell her how you feel, Harry. She deserves to know.” Harry shakes his head. “Can’t. Voldemort—” “Oh, *sod* You-Know-Who,” Ron says. “You can’t let that stop you. He’ll try and kill Hermione no matter which way. Might as well take what time you have now.” “It’s not that *simple*,” Harry snaps. “There are… there are… *things*.” Harry gives him a pointed look. “Oh,” Ron says. “Right. That.” He thinks for a moment. “Well, I’ll get over it eventually.” Harry looks away. “I appreciate what you’re doing, but it won’t work. I just… I’d really like to go back to the common room now.” “Then go,” Ron says. “Look her in the eyes, tell her you love her.” His face turns serious. “Time if running out, Harry. He’s almost here.” Harry sits up straighter, disturbed. “What’re you saying, Ron?” “I’m saying it’s time to wake up.” “What?” “Wake up. You know, get back to life. Go fight the war.” “But—but… I can’t just…” “C’mon, Harry… *wake up*…” Harry’s vision swims. The light seems brighter than before. What happened to his glasses? “Wake up, Harry, *please*. I need you to wake up.” Harry blinks, fighting disorientation. “Hermione?” “Oh… oh, *Harry*…” he feels her arms go around him, gripping his neck tightly. “What’s going on?” The words barely leave his mouth when a large clap of thunder echoes from outdoors, shaking the castle. Harry’s insides clench and freeze. “Voldemort,” Hermione confirms, pulling back and handing him his glasses. “He’s here.” With his glasses on, Harry takes a moment to study her, heat creeping up his neck as he remembers how she’d looked *without* her school robes on. Her eyes are worried as they gaze at him and her forehead creases into a tiny frown. Despite their situation, he feels content to just *see* her. Right there. In front of him. His—not Voldemort’s. His. “I was so worried,” she says, as another blast rocks the castle. He can hear the patter of panicked feet as students run back forth around them. “You were so still. It was… it was nearly impossible to get you to wake up. What were you dreaming of?” Another roll of thunder. “Never mind,” Harry says quickly. “That’s not important.” He hesitates. “Hermione…” “It’s time, isn’t it?” she asks, face pale but set. “For you to face him.” Reluctantly, Harry nods. “I think so.” She bites her lip. The floor shakes. “Harry…” Their eyes are fastened on each other. Don’t worry, he wants to tell her. *I won’t let him take you…* He doesn’t say anything. “They’re coming,” a voice yells. “Dear, Merlin—Hogwarts. They’re coming in.” “Stay in the castle!” It’s a professor hollering now. McGonagall? Maybe. They don’t move, unable to tear their eyes away. Their hands join, both of hers in both of his. Their fingers lace together and hold on. “*I love you*,” he mouths. He waits. “*I love you too*,” she mouths back. They remain like that, the chaos around them growing to a fevered pitch. Minutes, hours, days pass. Time has no meaning. “Harry! Hermione!” Ron shakes their shoulders, breaking the moment. “We’ve got to go,” he says. He squeezes both their shoulders. “Ready to save the world?” Harry and Hermione indulge in one last look. “Ready,” Harry says, jumping up and grabbing his wand.