Accidents by Rinawen

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 21/07/2005
Last Updated: 06/12/2005
Status: Completed

It was only an accident...




1. Impulse
----------

*Disclaimer:* I am in no way affiliated with JKR and thank god for that. Also, I have no
ties to the WB or Bloomsbury or anything of the sort…

*Author’s Note:* This fic is meant to be one of those enjoyable fics that we all need right
now: I am in no mood for angst or heavy drama. I just want to laugh.

This, actually, is a fic I am writing for a very *very very very* important person. She is
the **Sis** of my heart, and it was her birthday this past week, and I remember her gleefully
waiting for HBP…only to have *this* happen.

**Sis:** This is to everything we’ve been through: From Roswell, to VC Andrews, to Hemingway,
and especially HP… and everything we will go through.

Once an Auror, *always* an Auror.

*P.S.:* You are the best person to abuse Ginny with.

*(This fic has been brought to you by Show You How by **The Killers**. Now, back to our
program!)*

*~*~*~*~*

That flat you share is Muggle—well, Muggle to an extent.

Ron thought it would be great fun to live as one. And the first week, he did find it rather
delightful. He took great pleasure in figuring out how to use a television, and the corresponding
control. He found light switches to be a thing of wonder, as well as regular, *manually*
operated showers and sinks.

But then he realized that food had to be cooked, that it did not just magically materialize
before you. He also found out that clothes tended to pile up into corners when not washed…perhaps
living as a Muggle (to an extent), wasn’t all the great adventure he had thought it would be.

So after a few weeks of living so abominably, he ran off screaming to his mum, and the flat was
left for the both of you to enjoy. You were raised as Muggles, so the Muggleness of it all was not
strange; it was actually quite comforting. Both of you found the wonderful balance of Muggle and
Wizarding lifestyles quite soothing…almost relaxing. It was a bit like finally finding a
*true* home as it blended the two halves of your beings quite brilliantly. And living
together, *alone*, did not bother you much either as you had always been very good friends.
Friends. Friends, and only friends. There had never been any awkwardness or any sort of romantic
nonsense between the two of you, no--you were good friends. Great friends. Best friends.

Bonus point: you could invite your parents over whenever you wanted and not be afraid that some
Magical mishap would occur.

With Ron gone, the spare bedroom became “the magical room.” It was the one room that the both of
you felt at leisure to do all sorts of magical things in; under normal circumstances it was a
shared study. Being the “magical room,” you both agreed to magically enlarge it, as two desks would
never fit in that room. And sometimes, you’d stay up together and do paperwork. When this was the
case, in the midst of long silences where all that could be heard was the scratching of Quills, one
of you would say something to break the silence, and instead of working, you’d end up babbling the
night away.

But that hardly ever happened. He preferred to do his paperwork in the living room in front of
the television; you hardly ever left the ministry without a clean desk.

Though, some days you’d get *sick* of the place, and leave early without thinking twice.
And because you’ve the type of personality that thrives on work and efficiency, you know that on
those days when you really feel like *killing yourself* instead of staying at the office
working, you *really* need to leave. And you always do.

You came home early on the day it all began because it happened to be *one of those days.*
You came home, and were quite sore at the world because it happened to also be a rather rare and
excruciatingly hot day, and the more you got done at work, the more there seemed to appear….

And for the past four hours you’d been sitting around on a full bladder, as there hadn’t been
enough time for the loo.

But now you were at home, and quite sure that you’d be able to have a pee in peace. But when you
turned the knob on your bathroom door, you found to your great chagrin that it was locked. And then
you heard the shower running, and you really wanted to destroy the world because all you wanted was
*to have a pee!*

And Harry Potter was taking *a* *shower*.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel sore at the world. You felt sore at *him*.

You couldn’t very well hold it much longer, so you began devising a list of possible
alternatives. You could apparate yourself to the Weasleys, but that would be just as awful because
you’d have to run into a thousand Weasleys wanting to know how you were and how Harry was before
you could actually get to the loo. And just apparating into their bathroom was also beside the
point, as that was just rude. And apparating into a random restaurant toilet was also out of the
question, as you couldn’t very well be sure that they were unoccupied…

Grr! And you thought magic was supposed to *facilitate* life!

Because you couldn’t stand the thought of holding it for a second longer, you did what any other
red-blooded, extremely desperate witch would have done in your situation.

You *Alohamora*’d! your way in.

You had some misgivings, because when thinking about it, you’d hate it if Harry ever barged in
on you whilst you showered. But really now, you couldn’t hold it forever! And Harry didn’t have to
know…you could just slip in quietly and slip back out…he need never know. The bathroom was immense,
and the toilet was closest to the door and the furthest thing from the shower…and its not like
you’re some sort of peeping Tom…you wouldn’t even *try* to look at his silhouette against the
shower curtain…

After finally having conducted your business, you felt quite relieved. You had to bite back some
giggles because you found, to your great amusement, that Harry had a thing for whistling in the
shower. But just as you were about to get up and slip away, the unthinkable happened.

Harry *got* *out* of the shower.

He didn’t have his glasses on, so the first thing he did was feel around for a towel. But
instead of wrapping it around himself like you really hoped he would because by this time you had
already had a wonderful glimpse of *everything* and were really feeling guilty about it, he
instead dried his face a bit, and continued to waltz around *completely naked.*

What is it about females that when faced with the prospect of a naked male standing before them,
they seem to be able to focus on only *one* part of the male’s entire anatomy?

Really now. Why can’t your eyes focus on a man’s shoulders, or his chest…*noooo*. It’s like
some inner radar thing: your eyes always focus on something south of the border, as if the male
reproductive organs have some sort of magnetic attraction going for them. Even if you’re looking at
a naked man from behind, you’ll always still look down to see if you can catch a glimpse of
something dangling there.

And try as you might to feign daintiness, and cover your eyes with your hands, you’ll always
manage to leave a small enough space between your fingers in order to see *everything*.

Those were the thoughts that ran through your head as you watched him feel around for his
glasses, which were right next to the sink. You blanched when he found them, felt terrified when he
put them on, and…

“Bloody hell!”

You waved at him from your perch on the toilet. You finally got enough presence of mind to close
your knees, and look away sheepishly.

“Wha—what are you doing in here?” he asked, as if he was completely oblivious to the fact that
you were *sitting on a toilet.*

“I had to go,” you replied simply, biting on your lower lip, trying your hardest to think of
something clever or more appropriate to say, but completely failing to do so.

He nodded, looking completely confounded. You really felt like laughing by this time, especially
because he was still standing before you, *naked*, like it was the most natural thing in the
world…

“Good Lord!” he exclaimed, realizing that he was completely exposed to the world, and used his
towel to cover himself.

You could feel the heat in your cheeks. This whole scenario had played out quite differently in
your head…

“Err…well, all right. I’m going to—see you tomorrow, Hermione.”

He walked out of the bathroom, his arse still completely uncovered. You bit back a giggle, and
covered your face with your hands.

*~*~*~*~*

The next morning you thought that things would be completely awkward. And at first, they were.
But after the second cup of tea, and the third guilty look you threw in his general direction
(which he always managed to catch), you found that you could no longer deal with this, and began to
laugh.

You’d been wanting to laugh since *the second* you sat yourself down on the toilet to have
a pee. But now, instead of you just laughing by yourself like some kind of freak, he was laughing
with you. You were both laughing. He had tea dribbling down his jaw. You spit your tea out of your
mouth, and sprayed Hedwig all over, which made you both laugh even harder, and made Hedwig fly away
angrily.

After about ten minutes of pure, unadulterated mirth, you finally found it the appropriate time
to apologize.

“Harry, I’m-”

“It’s ok,” he said, a broad grin on his face. “You don’t need to apologize, I understand. It was
only an accident.”

You nodded, thankful that he wasn’t upset. Had it been you, you probably would’ve transfigured
him into something unpleasant, but he was *Harry*. That wasn’t like him.

“Yes. It was only an accident.”

*~*~*~*~*

Yes. It had only been an accident. So you couldn’t very well blame her, could you? She was
clearly penitent. And things like this tended to happen when people shared close living
quarters…there was no great cause for alarm…

The whole incident had been very funny.

In fact, you found it so very humorous, that it caused you to burst out laughing at random times
throughout the day at work. You were beginning to suspect that people were under the impression
that you were going mad, so you decided to head home before they decided you *really*
*were* crazy and locked you in St. Mungo’s.

But before you could get enough work done to call it an early day, you were called in to
Kingsley Shacklebolt’s office. There was a split second where you panicked over the whole St.
Mungo’s thing…but those thoughts were soon shelved aside when you saw the bright grin on his
face…

You were to be promoted! How unbelievably brilliant! You were now to head an entire Auror
Division yourself…excellent! Sod madness! Now you wanted to go home early so that you could
surprise her with the news! You could have her transferred to your division…wouldn’t she love that?
Perhaps you, she, and Ron could go out to dinner and celebrate!

The second you stepped out of Shacklebolt’s office you apparated home. The flat looked empty,
which was just as well, as she didn’t get out of work until later. You couldn’t help feeling
disappointed--you really wanted to share the good news with *somebody*.

You decided to head on over to the Weasleys’, as you were quite certain that *there* you
could find a million somebodies to share the news with. However, you wanted her to start getting
ready to go out *the second* she got home (she bloody took for ever!). How were you to manage
it…

A NOTE!

You’d leave her a note before you left. You scurried around for some quill and parchment, wrote
the note, and decided to leave it hanging on her door.

But what if she apparated home and directly into her room? Or flooed directly into her room?
She’d miss the note completely! No, that would NOT do. You’d have to leave it *in* her
room…

So you opened the door, expecting only you leave the note lying on her bed where she would be
sure to see it.

Of course you weren’t expecting to find her already home, standing about wearing nothing but a
lacy bra and knickers.

“Bloody hell!” you exclaimed, shutting your eyes as tightly as possible, but not being able to
get the picture of her, *wearing that*, out of your head. You were surprised at how quickly
the picture seemed to reform itself in your head—*crystal clear*—as if you saw her in that
state everyday---nothing but skin and light lavender knickers…and you didn’t doubt for *a
second* that the picture would forever be engraved in your mind…

“Harry! What are you doing here?” she asked, grabbing the sheet from her bed and wrapping it
around herself hastily.

You opened one eye, not being able to resist the temptation a second longer. “I was—I…err…I got
promoted?”

“Oh. That’s—well, wonderful.”

You opened the other eye, half-grateful, half-peeved she had managed to cover herself. “I was
going to leave you a note…here.”

You handed her the note.

She read the note, and broke out into a huge grin. “Oh.”

Noticing the grin, you started smiling yourself. “Yes. Oh.”

“Well…I’ll start getting ready, then. You best get Ron started. He takes bloody forever!”

You nodded, not really knowing what else to do.

“Harry, I need you to, you know-” and she pointed at the door, telling you in not so many words
to *get the fuck out you perverted git!*

“Yes. Right. Err…be ready in an hour?”

She nodded, holding the sheet around her awkwardly.

“Ok. Bye.”

You walked, heaving a sigh of relief. *Oh my…*

*~*~*~*~*

You were waiting in the living room for the both of them. They both took bloody forever. Ron
might as well declare himself a woman. How he used to complain whenever Hermione used up entire
hours to beautify herself…now it seemed like they were vying each other for the *‘who takes
longest to get ready’* record.

When she appeared before he did, it seemed like Ron was in the lead at the moment.

She looked perfectly composed, as if he hadn’t just seen her in her knickers an hour before. And
try as you might to act just as self-possessed, you couldn’t help but shiver a little as you helped
her into her coat.

*What kind of knickers was she wearing now?*

You soon realized that *that* train of thought needed to be derailed. Immediately. So more
for that than for actually stumbling into the sanctity of her room whilst she was scantily clad,
you decided it was high time you apologized.

“Err…Hermione. About earlier today, you know, when I-”

“Oh honestly! It’s ok Harry. You did no worse than I did yesterday.” She had a certain smile on
her lips as she said this. It was a mixture of mirth and…something else. And somehow you mentally
added the smile into the picture you had stored of her in her lacy knickers…

*Oh boy.*

“We both know it was only an accident, Harry.”

Yes. It was only an accident.

An accident.

“What time is Ron coming?” she asked, successfully changing the subject.

As if he had been summoned, Ron appeared out of nowhere, looking just as dashing as he normally
managed to appear.

And you silently hated him for it.

“So, what are we doing tonight, boss?” he asked with his usual cheek.

You rolled your eyes, but smiled happily. “I was thinking we could have a nice, celebratory
dinner, and then follow that with-”

“A trip to the pubs where we can get sloshed beyond human capabilities?” Ron said this in quite
a dignified manner, which made Hermione snort.

“Of course,” you replied, not having planned that at all, but deciding to go along with the
scheme.

“Oh, and I took the liberty of inviting Neville, Luna, and…*Romilda Vane*.” Ron said,
picking imaginary lint off of himself.

Hermione raised her eyebrows appraisingly.

“You haven’t eaten any Chocolate Cauldrons lately, have you?” you asked, grinning from ear to
ear.

“Oh stop it!” Ron said, his ears turning pink. “That was what…four years ago? You people
seriously need to move on. Besides, it’s not as if I *planned* this…I just sort of bumped into
her, ‘tis all.”

“Right…” Hermione said, trying to cover her smile with her hands. You thought she looked
fetching.

“Look, let’s get going, shall we?” Ron said, wanting to flee the topic. “We have a full night
ahead of us, and Luna has agreed to be our Designated Apparater.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Well, so much for our *Designated Apparater*,” you said mockingly, giving Ron your best
malicious, albeit teasing, smile.

Really. The night had been quite…*eventful*. Harry had insisted that everyone put away
their wallets, that tonight was to be his treat. And what an indulgent master he was. He had taken
you all to a very fashionable, high-end restaurant in Diagon Alley called *Napoleon’s* that
was best known for its chocolate desserts, and its outrageous prices. The cost of a basket of bread
alone was equal to the sum of what one would pay to take ownership of a small, third-world country.
But Harry didn’t seem to care; he kept ordering the best wine, and spoiling everyone with all
matter of chocolate desserts…by the end of the night, you were quite sure that he had bankrupted
himself.

And then Ron was *Ron*.

Of course it had to have been Ron. Neville was clumsy…it was his nature, but Ron was…*Ron*.
He lived to cause chaos. It was one of those things he was best at. And tonight he achieved this in
the most fantastic manner.

In the center of the restaurant there was an extravagant chocolate masterpiece: a scaled replica
of Versailles. It was beautiful…quite large, encompassing all of Versaille’s vast gardens, and made
from the best french chocolate the head chef--*Monsieur d’Orleans--*could get his grubby
little *connoisseur’s* fingers on.

The chateau was one of a kind. And *very* expensive.

By the time Ron got up to go to the loo, he had had a little too much wine. You could tell
because he had started getting a little too flirty with *Luna* when he was supposed to be
there with *Romilda*, much to Neville’s chagrin. You told him as much before he got up to
go.

“Would you like Harry or Neville to accompany you?” you asked him pointedly, noticing that he
was a bit unsteady on his feet.

“What for? I’m no’a witch!” he exclaimed, his words a bit slurry. “Wizards don’ go to the loo in
*packs*!” He slammed his fist on the table to emphasize his point.

Still, you watched him from afar. It was second nature by now. You had been babysitting the both
of them since you were eleven: the habit was hard to break.

“Stop worrying about him, Hermione,” Harry said to you, shoving a chocolate covered something
into your mouth. “He’ll be fine! He’s only going to the *loo*.”

You didn’t really process anything that he was saying though, because you were suddenly aware
that his fingers were in your mouth. And that they had lingered there a second too long. He beamed
at you…a lazy smile, most likely due to the wine. He was in a good mood, and you loved watching him
be happy. He deserved it. But something about the languorous curve of his lips made you feel
flushed, and quite unexpectedly, you got an image of his wet and naked torso walking out of the
shower...

The wine was getting to you too, apparently.

“Umm…want some more wine?” you asked him, feeling your face go red under his intense scrutiny.
Why was he looking at you like that? Were you just imagining him looking at you like that…?

You casually reached over for a bottle of the red wine, but instead, managed to knock the damn
thing right over and onto Harry’s lap.

“Oh no!” you cried, feeling your face burn with embarrassment. Harry however, instead of being
upset, was laughing.

“It’s ok Hermione,” he said. “It was only an accident!”

Without thinking, you grabbed a napkin from the table and started dabbing his lap with it.

He stopped laughing. And then you realized what you were doing, and stopped abruptly. You looked
up at him, and you saw a light in his eye, and it held you transfixed…

But before you could gather enough wits about you to realize what was happening, you heard a
crash, a scream, and a trail of French curses coming from every corner of the restaurant.

Oh dear. You had forgotten about RON!

Both you and Harry jumped up from the table, closely followed by a giggling Romilda Vane, a
startled Neville, and a completely unruffled Luna.

“Look at this! My *chateau*! My beautiful *chateau*! Ruined! By this drunken idiot!
Why I never…” and then you arrived just in time to catch *Monsieur d’Orleans* begin a trail of
French curses that were entirely too inappropriate to be spoken in public. (Sod the fact that
besides you and the staff, nobody else in the room could possibly understand him!)

“What happened?!” Romilda exclaimed dramatically, bending over to help Ron up from his
Versaille-chocolate throne on the floor.

“I don’t know!” Ron said, laughing at the destruction he caused.

“This dolt fell on my masterpiece!” *Monsieur d’Orleans* yelled, pointing an abusive finger
at Ron.

Harry stepped forward. “Please, sir, it was only an accident! I’m very sorry! I’m Harry
Potter…”

“I don’t care who you are!” the Frenchman cried savagely, although his ears twitched at the
mention of his name. “I don’t care if you’re Merlin himself!”

Everyone in the restaurant let out an audible gasp.

“Sir, I promise, I’ll pay whatever damages caused…” Harry said gravely, the slight tipsiness
gone from his voice.

“Pay? PAY! That was an original! Unique! One of a kind! From the best French *chocolat*
ever…”

And then *Monsieur d’Orleans* began to sob like a spoiled child. Harry looked quite upset,
and started pulling out all sorts of coins from his pockets. He had quite a small fortune with him,
and he began shoving a bagful of it in the chef’s sobbing face.

The crying stopped at the clinking of coins.

Harry had to pay everything he had to calm the bratty chef. And that meant that you, Luna,
Neville, Ron, and Romilda had to scrape every last knut from your own wallets to pay for the
extravagant dinner.

The thought of giving up all that money sobered Ron up immediately. And with sobriety came the
knowledge that he had ruined Harry’s happy evening…

“I’m so sorry mate!” Ron said, looking completely downcast. “I don’t know how I fell on it! I
think one of the waiters stuck their foot out; the one that had his eye on Romilda all night…”

Romilda giggled, the echo of which bounced off the closed shops of Diagon Alley. It was quite
strange walking down it in the evening, when the only places that were open were a few restaurants
and pubs (and Fred and George’s shop, which NEVER closed).

But that didn’t matter: the real problem was that *Gringott’s* was closed. And because it
was closed, Ron could not indulge in the second half of the all-night celebration he had planned,
as no one had any money.

“Its all right, really,” Harry said, patting Ron’s shoulder. “We’ll go to a pub some other
time.”

“Well, so much for our *Designated Apparater*, ” you said mockingly, giving Ron your best
malicious, albeit teasing, smile. He glowered.

Silently, you felt relieved. Going to pubs wasn’t really something you enjoyed all that much,
and unbeknownst to him, Ron had saved you a night of either starring at a bunch of drunkards, or
waking up with a serious hangover.

Ron stopped in front of the Leaky Cauldron. He starred at it for a bit, as if saying goodbye to
a puppy. But then you saw his face brighten, and that look in his eye that usually meant: *I just
got the most brilliantly stupid idea!*

That look had almost killed you and Harry a couple of times in the past.

“I know!” said Ron, looking as if he had just solved world poverty. “I know how we can have fun
in a pub, and not have to pay a bloody knut!”

“Ohh…do tell!” Romilda said excitedly. Neville looked skeptical; Luna wasn’t paying
attention.

“*You* could pretend *you’re* engaged!” Ron finished with a flourish, his eyes fixed
on you and Harry.

“Excuse me?” you said, feeling a slight lump in your stomach.

“Engaged! You and Harry could pretend you’re engaged! When Bill and Fleur got engaged, they both
spent an entire night with Fred and George at some pub in France getting trashed…*completely free
of charge*! And Bill isn’t even famous! Imagine Harry Potter walking into a pub with his
fiancé…we’d get the best liquor they’d got!”

You began shaking your head violently. “Are you crazy? Could you imagine what the Daily Prophet
would look like tomorrow? Harry wouldn’t be able to walk out of our flat!”

“Oh come on Hermione! Stop being such a bore!” Romilda said impatiently.

You wanted to hex her mouth off.

“Harry…?” you said, eyes pleading for him to back you up on this.

So why was your stomach fluttering excitedly?

“I—I think I’m going to have to side with Hemione on this one…” he said hesitantly.

You felt equal parts relief, and disappointment.

“Ohh…I don’t care what you think!” Ron said.

The last thing you saw before feeling the queasiness of apparation was Ron nod to Romilda. And
then you realized where you were.

*You were in the Leaky Cauldron.*

And before you could think straight enough to grab Harry and make a run for it, you heard Ron’s
loud voice bellowing to the drunken public: “Look who just got engaged!”

*~*~*~*~*

*A/N:* Oh, this is *soo* not over…

Jane: Thanks. I couldn’t have beta’d it better myself…(and this isn’t that much of a compliment,
since I SUCK at it. Canadians…*roll eyes* )

Rini: You’re the bestest!



2. Awarness
-----------

*Disclaimer:* Nothing. I get nothing. I own nothing. I want nothing. Except for perhaps the
real Hermione Granger to come back to the HP series. Please…grant me this one wish.

After all, I already got to meet The Killers. *dies of happiness*

**A/N:** Linz, I have come to the conclusion that you can read my mind. I swear. I came on
two seconds before you did, called for you in my brain, and you appeared to beta this like some
wonderful, magical, gAlinda the good witch.

You rock my Wicked socks.

*(This chapter brought to you by…**The Cure’s** Close to Me. Now, back to our regularly
scheduled program!)*

*~*~*~*~*

You woke up that morning feeling a devilish pounding in your head, and a wonderful tingle
throughout your body. But the sensation that startled you the most was the glowing warmth of your
feet.

*Your feet were never warm.*

Your whole life, you had always woken up with cold feet. Even on those rare occasions when you
had enough presence of mind to stick some socks on before going to bed, you always managed to kick
them off in the middle of the night, and awake with your feet curved into odd angles trying to stay
as warm as possible.

But your feet weren’t curved into any odd angles.

In fact, your feet were in an entirely normal angle. The abnormality of it was that they were,
in fact, intertwined with what you could only discern to be another pair of feet…

*Girl feet.*

You knew what boy feet looked like, and you knew what girl feet *felt* like, and you were
quite positive that it was *girl feet* that were keeping *your* feet warm.

With a growing sense of reckless adventure, you decided to unhinge one of your feet, and start
exploring the situation. You moved your foot up, and found that these feet were very much attached
to legs. *Girl legs.* You had seen boy legs, and had *felt* girl legs, and you were quite
suddenly aware that the backs of your thighs were very much pressed to the back of *girl*
thighs. Very nice girl thighs…

You also realized you were quite naked. And that the person next to you was also quite
naked.

You scratched your head. *What* exactly had happened last night? Did Ron get you so drunk
that you randomly went home with some girl? No…you were in your room, so did that mean you brought
some random girl home?

Did *Hermione* know? Had she *seen* you drunkenly pick some girl up and bring her
home?

It was *that* thought that made you jump out of bed in a panic. For some strange reason,
the very idea that a scenario *like that* had gone down made all the alcohol you had consumed
the previous night rise in your throat…

But then things got worse. Much worse.

“Merlin’s teeth!” you exclaimed, realizing that in your panic you had pulled the covers off your
bed, and there, sprawled in an innocently inviting pose, lay your best friend of eleven years,
Hermione Granger—*naked*.

In *your* bed.

And judging from…well…the way your body felt, something had *definitely* happened the night
before.

*~*~*~*~*

“Look who just got engaged!” he yelled to his drunken audience.

You really did want to kill him. That Ron…he was a clever chap, much more than you sometimes
gave him credit for. He had pulled a fast one on you, using that Romilda to apparate you into the
pub…

You gave Hermione an apologetic look. What else *could* you do?

“Who’d you say is engaged there, lad?” asked Tom the barman jovially from his perch behind the
bar.

The loud bustling of the Leaky Cauldron’s patrons lowered to a very low buzzing…*everyone*
was starring with interest.

Ron was going to *die*.

“Why, none other than our very own Harry Potter!” Ron finished triumphantly, slapping you on the
back. He was working up quite a show…and it worked. Everyone sighed enthusiastically.

Ron was going to die a very *painful* death.

“You’re kiddin’?” Tom said excitedly. “And what lucky witch has cast her spell on him?”

“Hermione Granger, naturally,” replied Romilda good-naturedly, shoving Hermione forward.

The buzzing rose significantly.

*“Of course Hermione Granger…”* came the whispers from across the entire pub.

*“Always knew it would be her. Remember Rita’s articles?”*

*“Fancies the famous wizards, doesn’t she?”*

*“Oh…he deserves to find happiness. What with the loss of…what was her name? The red-headed
one…”*

By this time, all you really wanted was to grab the mutinous looking Hermione and escape with
her. After all, you *felt* how she looked.

So why didn’t you?

“Oh, won’t you look at the happy couple!” beamed Tom from behind the bar. “And they’ve come to
celebrate the happy event in *my* bar…well…guess what? Free drinks on the house tonight,
everyone! Its time to celebrate the happiness of Harry Potter, The Boy Who Triumphed!”

Everyone in the bar erupted in thunderous applause, dozens of glasses clanking, and people
yelling “cheers!” Tom handed Ron a bottle of a dangerous looking something, while all around you
and Hermione, curious witches and wizards offered you their congratulations, and tried to weasel
wedding details out of you.

Ok, so maybe you wouldn’t kill Ron yourself. Perhaps you’d bribe the entire Chudley Canons team
into losing every single game for the rest of the season. This way, not only would Ron die, he’d
die *slowly*…heart problems withering him away little by little…

“I. Cannot. Believe. You. Just. Did. That.” Hermione hissed as Ron poured her a lethal quantity
of that dangerous looking something. She wrinkled her nose at it.

“Relax, oh happy bride to be. Enjoy yourself. Here. Let’s have a toast: may your marriage be
happy and fruitful…”

“Here here!” came a cry from the table next to theirs.

“You never told me you were engaged,” said Luna pleasantly, as she used her fingers to play
around with a Butterbeer cap. You snickered at the absurdity of it all.

Hermione blushed. “I’m getting out of here.”

She stalked away, steam practically coming out of her hair. You wanted to run after her and
apologize for Ron acting like himself, but thankfully, she did not get very far: a nasty bunch of
spiteful witches came out of nowhere, and began demanding to see *the ring*.

“I’m sure it must be *divine*,” said a tall freckled brunette, eyes gleaming greedily.

“Of course, he’s Harry Potter, and *rich*…” said a shorter blonde.

“How did *you* manage to enchant him, anyway? You didn’t use a *love potion*, did
you…?”

“Oh, do show us the ring already!” snapped a lanky redhead.

Hermione looked like she was caught in a trap.

You noticed that she hid both her hands behind her.

“Luna, can I borrow this?” you said, snatching the Butterbeer cap away from her before she could
reply.

Soon enough, you were standing behind her, surreptitiously sliding a ring on her finger.

You never found Luna’s obsession with Butterbeer caps more wonderful.

She turned to look at you, clearly confused. *“What are you doing?”* she whispered.

But you didn’t reply. What exactly *were* you doing?

“*This* is her ring,” you said to the abominable group of witches, ignoring Hermione’s
question and simply grabbing her hand and shoving it into their faces.

This was the first time you yourself had seen the ring, and for a split-second there you were
afraid it would look like some grotesque concoction as you had transfigured it without even a
thought, but you were quite surprised at what you saw.

It was silver. You always thought you’d be more partial to gold…and there were three diamonds on
it…the one in the middle slightly larger than the other two. You stared at it for a second,
startled at your subconscious creation.

Weren’t you Mr. Creative?

“Wow…it must have cost a fortune!” one of the vapid witches said, her voice filled with awe.

But you weren’t really paying attention because you just realized that you were holding
Hermione’s hand in yours, and that the hairs on your arms were standing up.

“Yeah, well, she’s worth it,” you replied, your voice shaking a bit.

The sensation elicited by holding her hand in yours was strange, but only because you had never
reacted to her like this. All right, excluding that brief moment in the restaurant when you had had
a little bit too much French wine…and when you caught her in her knickers, but any bloke would
react like that…you had never felt that…what was it? That *spark*. That feeling of mutual
attraction. Hermione had been your friend all those years and you had never felt that feeling…you
couldn’t quite put your hand on it…

But what was most startling was the sudden question that sprang into your head.

*Why?*

*Why* hadn’t you ever felt that…*thing* with her before? You had been friends for so
long… you had been through so much together…*too much.* It was only natural that you should
one day wake up and feel different about her. After all, she was so very important to you…

So why hadn’t you ever felt like that?

And why *now*?

After all this time, you just happened to start feeling like this *now?* After everything
that happened…

All you really wanted to do was sit around and brood about these things, but you were
interrupted by the throngs of curious people that began crowding around trying to catch a glimpse
of *the ring*. You heard a few whistles, a few curses (of the non-magic kind), and you could
feel the *heat* radiating off of her at the close scrutiny and attention…

Oh *wow* you had a dirty mind.

“If you don’t mind,” you told the gathering crowd of onlookers with an alien haughtiness. “I
really would like to enjoy the rest of the night with my *fiancée*.” You gave the horrid
looking group of witches what you hoped was an evil look before pulling Hermione away.

“What on earth was all that about?” she asked upon finally reaching your table.

“Well, I couldn’t just let them talk to you like that!” you replied. Honestly, she could be daft
when she wanted to be.

And of course, you are a sodding genius yourself…

“What?” Hermione snapped. “You think I’ll get upset just because they think…they think…”

“That you aren’t good enough for him?” Luna supplied amicably.

Neville looked apologetic, and you nodded at him. It wasn’t really his fault that Luna was…well,
*Luna*…

“Just because *you* don’t get upset doesn’t mean that *I* don’t get upset!” you said,
going back to the conversation. “I hated the way they were talking to you, those stupid girls who
think that big tits make them Merlin’s gift to wizardkind…”

“That blonde one didn’t have big tits,” Ron added in with a hiccup. He patted Romilda, who
beamed at him adoringly.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter!” Hermione yelled in exasperation. “I’m going home now. This whole thing
was ridiculous from the start…”

“Oh no, you’re not going anywhere!” you bellowed. “We are going to sit here and look happily
engaged even if it *kills* you! I shan’t give those lousy witches the chance to gloat!”

“That’s the spirit, mate!” Ron said, aiming to slap you on the back, but smacking the chair
instead. “More drinks for us!”

You couldn’t help but grin. “Please Hermione. Stay. Have a few drinks. Then we can go home, and
then tomorrow we can have a laugh at the Daily Prophet. Please?” You gave her your best puppy-dog
eyed look. After all, it had helped you in the past.

You saw what you hoped was a smile creep at the edges of her lips, and thankfully it turned into
a full-fledged grin. “Oh fine. I’ll stay. But if they start asking me for invitations, that’s it.
I’m out.”

*~*~*~*~*

You were conscious of the fact that you were naked before you opened your eyes. You were naked,
and uncovered, and the pillow under your head didn’t smell like your pillow. Your pillow smells
like a mixture of coconut and cocoa bean; this pillow smelt like broom polish…

Your eyes popped opened automatically, which usually never happens with you.

Everyone, even your best friends, believe you to be a morning person, the type of person that
wakes up early--*happily*--and without all the moaning and groaning that usually accompanies
those night owls. But you were indeed of the night owl sort, so this sudden eye-popping wake up was
most unlike you. It almost felt like some instinctive response to an imminent danger, so you woke
up quite panicked and ready to *slaughter* the person that had you naked and in their bed…

So it was quite a shock when you saw Harry standing there, his sheet wrapped around him, looking
like he had just committed the gravest sin in the world.

A sin that he quite *enjoyed* committing.

And judging by the soreness between your thighs, you had *enjoyed* committing this sin as
well.

“Merlin’s thumbs!” you squeaked, reaching over to grab the sheet from Harry. But that didn’t
help matters, as that left him completely starkers, and you couldn’t help but blush as the dawning
realization of everything that happened the night before took shape in your brain.

*Wow. He really was naked, wasn’t he?*

*~*~*~*~*

“I refuse to drink whatever that is,” you told Harry as he pushed that green bottle Tom had
given Ron in your general direction. “It looks like something sinister Snape would have made us
brew and try out on ourselves.”

Harry hiccupped, that lazy, *drunken* smile already back on his face. “Well, you are
missing out on something…*super*. I promise you Her—*Hermyknee*. It’s great stuff!” And
he took another hearty swig as if to prove it to you.

So far the night had been a total disaster. Although, that bit where Harry had conjured up the
ring from out of nowhere…that had been quite heroic of him, even though you were loath to admit it.
The fact that girls of *that* caliber could still intimidate you like they did was something
that you tried to keep well hidden…even if you really weren’t fooling anyone.

You looked down at the bejeweled thing he had valiantly placed on your finger.

The stunt with the ring had been sweet of him, hadn’t it?

“He’s telling the truth, Hermione,” came a shout from Neville. *Neville?* When had
*Neville* learned to drink?

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” you heard Luna’s voice from beside Neville. “He does this quite
often.”

The four of you were the only ones sitting at the table; Ron and Romilda were at the table next
to yours, leading a rowdy crowd of drunken warlocks in some very lewd pub tunes.

“You know, with that brilliantly colorful imagination, I’m surprised Ronald never ventured into
the wonderful realm of writing,” Luna said, sighing wistfully.

You and Harry exchanged looks.

“What self-respecting newspaper would hire that knut?” Neville asked irritably.

“The Quibbler would happily welcome his brilliant mind.”

*“But enough of my songs!”* interrupted Ron’s loud voice over the dazzled whistles and
howls of his fan club. He turned his head to look in your general direction, and something about
the ominous gleam in his eye made your heart beat faster. “Why don’t we share a toast to the couple
of the night? My best friends: Harry Potter and Hermione Granger!”

You felt the flames in your cheeks burn loudly in your ears; more loudly than the rowdy applause
that forced you and Harry to stand up and accept the toast. Harry grabbed your arm, and turned to
look at the venomous group of witches with a smirk.

He winked at you out of the corner of his eye. You thought your face would explode with the
heat.

“But before we continue on with this toast,” Ron bellowed drunkenly. “I say the happy couple
should indulge us with some good, old-fashioned snogging. What do you say ladies and gentleman?
Should they snog for us?”

And much to your embarrassment, the Leaky Cauldron broke out into a unanimously enthusiastic
chant: *“Snog! Snog! Snog! Snog!”*

Everyone looked ecstatic! Feet were stomping the floor, glasses were striking the wooden tables.
Ron looked smug, like he was successfully getting revenge for some random slight that you had
committed against him years ago, and that you had no clue about whatsoever.

*Ohh…the second you left the pub he was going to DIE!*

“You can’t get out of it, you two!” Romilda yelled encouragingly. “Everyone wants you to!”

*Both of them were going to die.* They really were made for each other, when you thought
about it: the idiot drunk and his gorgeous, unscrupulous groupie…

*“Snog! Snog! Snog!”*

And it was while thinking up very innovative methods of execution that you felt yourself being
turned around, and snogged like there was no tomorrow.

And that’s when the gates of hell burst open.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“*You*…you SNOGGED ME!” she cried, grabbing the sheets around her as if terrified you would
rip them off of her at any second *(Which you were silently contemplating…).*

“Hermione, we had SEX! And all you can do is stand there and yell at me for SNOGGING you?”

She was biting on her lower lip, and you suddenly got a flash of yourself biting on that very
same lip, and hearing a moan escape her lips.

You decided to steal the sheet back from her.

“Hey! What did you do that for?”

“It’s *my* sheet, Hermione!”

She jumped out of bed and began scurrying around the room trying to find her clothes; she wasn’t
having any luck. If you remembered correctly, most of her clothes were in the living room…

She shoved on one of your shirts instead.

“I cannot believe this is happening,” she murmured, still picking through the bunches of laundry
strewn about the room. “I cannot believe—what were we—*oh my!”*

She stopped abruptly, and looked at you with desperate eyes. You really didn’t know what to do
about the situation…it wasn’t like this sort of thing happened everyday.

Although, it wouldn’t be *completely* horrible if it did.

*~*~*~*~*

You kissed her. You *kissed* her. In front of everyone. As if you did such a thing all the
time. Of course, you had only done it because you were sort of drunk, and willing to help Ron and
his quest for free liquor...

Right?

And apparently, the kiss had been *soo* convincing, Tom was now giving *everyone* in
the pub bottles of that dodgy-looking green liquid. Ron looked like he was in heaven.

You had only kissed her for Ron, *just for Ron…*

You had only stayed in the pub for her--*just for her*. Just so that she didn’t have to be
humiliated by those stupid hags…

Nothing of what you did that night had been for you. You were still Harry Potter. Pure, gallant,
noble, unselfish *Harry Potter*.

Right?

“Umm...Harry? Is there any more of that green stuff?” asked a breathless Hermione as she plopped
herself down heavily onto the seat next to yours.

“Err…you want some?” you asked her, fully conscience of the fact that even under normal
circumstances, mixing Hermione and alcohol was an entirely horrendous idea.

But under *these* circumstances, in which you couldn’t keep from thinking about Hermione in
her knickers for more than half a second, the idea of mixing Hermione and alcohol was even more
dreadful…

Especially when you were under its infernal influence yourself.

“Yes, I’m sure I want some!” she said irritably, snatching the bottle away from you and drinking
straight out of it.

You were suddenly very afraid. Because even in your semi-drunken state, you were quite aware of
the fact that *nothing* you had did tonight was anywhere near chivalrous. It had all been
downright selfish, down to the last, *incredible* snog.

You self-serving prat…

“Hermione, could you stop chugging that stuff as if your life depended on it!” you commanded,
trying to tug the green bottle away from her.

“No!” she yelled, tugging it back. “Let me have it!”

You tried in vain to take it back from her, and when you finally did, you realized that it was
quite empty. Before you could stop her, she was on her way to Tom, asking him for another one. And
when she returned with it, you wanted nothing more than to break the damned bottle over Ron’s
head.

“Hermione. Please. Give me the bottle.”

“No!” she exclaimed, and you suddenly realized that this bickering over the bottle would sound
quite childish to whoever was unlucky enough to overhear you. But you didn’t care at all.

You were drunk.

“Harry, just let her keep the bottle.”

You turned, and caught Luna looking right at you with very penetrating eyes.

“Let her drink it,” she said in her characteristic blunt voice, with those unblinking eyes.

You nodded because somewhere along the course of your friendship, Luna was the one person that
tended to say things you couldn’t really argue against. Even if you wanted too. She could say the
oddest things, like “It is raining due to the tears of the Riggly-Scoutfly, a very rare bird whose
tears feed the heavens…”

And you wouldn’t be able to argue against her. Nobody could argue against her. It was quite
baffling…

So it was because of her that you let Hermione have her way with that green bottle. And it was
Luna that handed you a green bottle of your very own. You would have thought it would be Ron or
Romilda that would be encouraging everyone into drunken debauchery, but they were both sitting in a
secret corner of the pub sucking face like two sixteen-year-olds.

Taking one look at your very drunk best friend, you decided that if you couldn’t keep the devil
as your enemy, you might as well make him your ally. Knowing that it was perhaps the worst possible
decision that you could ever make, you grabbed the bottle Luna had so generously offered you, and
drank.

And drank, and drank, and drank…

*~*~*~*~*

“This is all your fault!” she snapped as she waltzed around the living room, randomly picking up
items of discarded clothing. You thought that this scene would look quite funny to an outsider, as
you were following her around wearing nothing but your sheet.

“*My* fault? I tried to keep the bottle *away* from you!” you rejoined, trying to feel
irritated by the accusations, but finding it hard to feel so. You were quite in a good mood.

“You *snogged* me!” she bellowed, throwing her bra at you for emphasis.

“I felt pressured!” you replied, knowing full well that that wasn’t the only reason you snogged
her… “Besides, me snogging you has *nothing* to do with you getting drunk all of a
sudden!”

“Oh yes it does!” she shrieked, but she colored significantly as she did so.

Your interest was piqued. “Really. How so?”

“I don’t know,” she said, avoiding your eyes.

*~*~*~*~*

You were fully aware of the consequences of what you were doing.

*Fully aware.*

Getting drunk was the only way you’d manage to find the courage to do what you were
*thinking* about doing. Now, you were only *thinking* about it. You hadn’t quite made up
your mind at that point, but that snog had really propelled you to the point where you were quite
sure…

Because it was all around the most satisfying thing you had ever experienced. Sure, it was all
for show--it was all for *Ron*--but it had been amazing. You felt alive to the tips of your
toes, with his hands in your hair and your hands on his chest, and the taste of his lips and the
feel of his body pressed up against you…

It brought to mind a glaringly exquisite image of him coming out of the shower.

You plopped yourself onto your chair rather ungraciously when it was all over. You couldn’t very
well feel your knees, so gracefully sitting down was completely out of the question.

At first he tried to keep you from drinking, which was quite strange as he never did anything of
the sort before, but with a bit of prodding from Luna he gave it up almost at once. Sometimes you
envied Luna the way she had of dealing with Harry and Ron; they never went against anything she
said.

The more you drank, the more you felt your inhibitions fly away, which is *exactly* what
you wanted. Then he decided to join in, and you marveled at the way he seemed to lose his reserve
as well.

In a fit of drunken giggles, you both decided to continue the “engaged” charade. You started
petting each other; it began with your hand on his lap, and his arm around yours. You soon
graduated to your head on his shoulder, and his lips whispering in your ear…

Everything became a big inebriated blur then: sloppy touches and caresses full of heat.

Tom doled out more liquor, enthralled with the idea of Harry Potter making a spectacle of
himself in *his* bar…Ron laughed knowingly…

Everyone around you thought the two of you to be the loveliest couple ever; so *in love*,
so destined for each other…

You were very aware of what you were doing.

*Very aware.*

*~*~*~*~*

He sighed, almost painfully so. “Look, I’m sorry for what happened. We both had a bit too much
to drink…”

“Right,” you agreed, chomping on your lower lip nervously. *You had had too much to drink. Too
much drink. You didn’t know what you were doing, not really…*

“This was just…Hermione, this was all just a big mis-”

“An *accident*. This was just an accident,” you supplied for him because no, it wasn’t a
mistake. Never a mistake…

“Right. It was…an *accident*. And we’re both adults, this could have happened to
anyone…”

You could see it in his eyes that he didn’t believe what he was saying. And you wondered whether
he could see the same thing in yours.

***

*A/N:* Yeah, Yeah, I’m evil. Cliffhangers SUCK, what did I do this for, what was the point
of this chapter, I should die an evil evil death…



3. Frustration
--------------

*Disclaimer:* See Chapters 1, 2 or any of my other fics…but I do own *Amores
Peligrosos*, as well as *Valentino* and *Maria*. Valentino. Yum.

A/N: **Linz** if you’re reading this, this is for you dearest. Just know that someone in Los
Angeles loves you! :) And that not being able to chat with you as frequently as before is driving
me insane…really insane. Crazy. Mental.

**Sis:** You’re wonderful. Amazing. Outstanding. Exquisite. And an old lady. :) My soul shall
arrive at your doorstep in 3 days.

(This chapter is brought to you by *Narc* off of Interpol’s album *Antics*. Now, back
to our regularly scheduled program!)

*~*~*~*~*

At first you thought that everything would go back to normal. Surely these things happened to
other best friends who lived with each other…they would go out one night in good spirits, get
horridly drunk, and end up in bed together…of course it happened to others…

And all these others recovered quite wonderfully, did they not?

But then the others obviously didn’t see the same thing you saw in her eyes.

*She was lying to you.*

In the history of your friendship she had never purposefully lied to you. Sure, when you were
thirteen there had been that Time Turner incident, but she had been forced to lie to you. And it
wasn’t as much lying as it was omitting…

But she lied to you. She had been your friend for so long *you knew* how she looked when
she lied. She’s lied on your behalf so many times…half the times to save you from
*yourself*…you knew how she looked.

And she was lying to you.

*It was only an accident.*

Right. And you were Martin the Mad Muggle’s closet lover.

You knew she was lying not only because well, you just *knew*, but also because you were
very aware of the fact that you were lying yourself.

*It had only been an accident.*

Yes Harry, you had *accidentally* spread her legs wide and buried yourself in her
deliciously, and it was an *accident* that you kept going and going and moaning and sweating
until you peaked…

These others…the other people who had had similar *accidents*…they recovered because
usually there were no feelings involved in what they did. It was all purely physical. Pure
lust.

Was that what you had with Hermione?

It had not escaped your attention that all this nonsense started when you had caught her in her
knickers…would this have ever happened had *that* never occurred? You’d like to think it would
have--*eventually*. Or else, that would mean you were the world’s biggest idiot.

Which, in retrospect, wasn’t at all off the mark.

After the *“morning after row,”* you had both gone into your separate rooms and sulked for
a while. At least, *you* sulked. You didn’t really know what she did, although for a while
there you amused yourself picturing her stalking around in a furious rage.

You had always thought fury suited her.

About an hour after the door-slamming exit, you heard her barge out of her room, stomp down the
corridor and into the bathroom. That was when you amused yourself picturing her in the shower,
scrubbing herself clean, scrubbing off every single kiss you had placed on her body…

But *that* pissed you off more than any lie ever could. What right had she to wipe herself
clean of you? You had marked your territory in the most animalistic manner…

You decided to begin an experiment. It had to be subtle…you had to be sure that she was lying to
you. Of course, you were already convinced that she was, but you had to be sure, even though you
were already sure…

All right! So you just wanted an excuse to torment her!

*But you just had to be sure*…you had to be sure that what had happened between you two the
night before was NOT just a random accident due to some freak planetary alignment…no you were quite
sure that *feelings* were definitely involved…

And you had to be *really* discreet.

So of course, you decided to prance around your flat half naked. (Because prancing around
half-naked is the epitome of discretion...)

You positioned yourself expertly: the kitchen. You knew she had to go out there eventually, as
you were sure the night before had drained a lot of her energy…

You yourself were ravenous.

You whistled happily as you went about the task of warming up a pot of tea and toasting bread.
You practically floated as you set out the marmalade and plates and butter knives. And when she
stalked into the room all damp and disheveled from her shower, you had to stop from jumping around
triumphantly at her reaction…

That was…that was quite literally a jaw-drop, wasn’t it? Miss Granger was in serious need of
someone who could scrape half her face off the floor…

You felt that smug smile lift the corners of your lips. You weren’t stupid. You were tired of
pretending to be stupid. You had seen where her eyes had wandered when she saw you in the bathroom,
and you meant to use the mounting sexual attraction to ensnare her fibbing little heart into a
trap. That was why you were parading around wearing a pair of jeans. And *only* a pair of
jeans. The button-y kind. With the buttons all undone. That meant that there was a nice teasing
view…you could see the question in her mind as she tried to take control of her stubborn jaw…

What would happen if they slowly slid off…

You felt like doing pirouettes around the table.

“Tea, Hermione?” you asked brightly. For a minute there you were afraid that she would keel
over, but to your dismay she found enough presence of mind to pull out a chair and plop herself
down.

It would have been a lot more fun if you had had the chance to play the knight and catch the
damsel as she fell over…and perhaps carry her back to your room…

“I—I’d love some tea, Harry,” she replied distractedly. She was nervously tugging her right ear,
trying to keep her eyes off the place where she obviously wanted to be looking.

Honestly, Hermione. Haven’t you looked at *it* enough?

You waltzed about happily preparing her tea *exactly* how she liked it: one sugar, the tea
in first. She always had a fit if the milk was served first; she swore she could taste the
difference.

Meanwhile, she did the typical Hermione thing and decided to busy herself as to resist
temptation. You could see her inner struggle as she violently spread the orange marmalade over each
and every piece of toast. You smiled, and felt an ounce of pity for her as she cut the pieces of
toast into little triangles: *exactly the way you liked it.*

But then you remembered that she was *lying* to you, so you steadied yourself, and resolved
to continue on with your obnoxious plan. (Sod the fact that you were lying to her too!)

“So…how did you sleep?” you asked her casually before taking a bite of your toast.

Before answering, she managed to turn twenty shades of scarlet before spitting out her tea.
“Harry! I thought we had decided never to mention—it was an…”

“I know, *I know*,” you replied as you carelessly chomped on your food. “I wasn’t talking
about *that*.” And here, you took a moment to relish the blush of her cheek and the brightness
of her eye...*what was she remembering?* “I was talking about the part where we actually
*slept*. Did you sleep well? I know I take up a lot of space…I hope I didn’t make you
*too* uncomfortable.”

You were being untruthful, because truthfully, your whole purpose in life was to make her
uncomfortable. That was the effect you were going for at the moment.

“I---uh, I slept fine, all right?” she snapped, a lock of her damp hair falling in front of her
face.

You smiled as she stammered.

A few minutes passed in uncomfortable silence. You internally debated whether you should just
drop all pretenses and shag her there, right on the kitchen table. But then again, a small part of
your brain was still inexplicably upset…*she lied to you!* She was lying to you! If she had
her way, you’d both forget about last night entirely…act as if it never happened…you were surprised
she hadn’t brought up memory charms…

Not that you’d ever agree to such a preposterous thing.

The idea that she might at any second spring out with memory charms freaked you out more than
you cared to acknowledge. There just *had* to be feelings involved, more than yours.

“Harry. Harry!”

You stopped brooding long enough to realize Hermione was looking at you with a faint smile on
her face.

“Harry…you have marmalade on your face.”

You glowered. *Wonderful. What a way to make a woman think of you as suave and
attractive.*

You swatted at your face randomly, and apparently kept missing the desired spot, as her faint
smile suddenly became an obscene display of laughter.

“Here, let me,” she said with a smirk. She sucked lightly on her thumb, and used it to remove
the excess marmalade from your cheek. Your face grew hot. *That wasn’t supposed to
happen…*

A big part of you wanted to turn your face a bit, and suck on her thumb yourself.

But she beat you to it.

“The marmalade tastes better off your face,” she said matter-of-factly as she savored the
concoction she had so graciously volunteered to remove off of you. But after she said this, her
eyes grew big, almost as if she startled herself with her audacity.

Or maybe you were just applying your own reaction; you felt quite startled yourself.

Before either of you could follow that pronouncement with something appropriate, there was a
loud ‘pop’ and Luna appeared out of nowhere.

“Good morning!” she said brightly, helping herself to a piece of toast. “I just came by to see
how you were after I apparated you home last night--why Hermione!”

She stopped mid-bite and starred at Hermione with that Luna-esque expression on her face, like
she had suddenly just come face to face with some exotic specimen that needed to be studied
immediately. “Hermione, there is something different about you today. You look…*really
healthy*.” Her face scrunched up in concentration, as if she was trying to think up a better
adjective; Hermione just squirmed around in her seat. “You look, I don’t know how to describe
it…like you’re glowing…you *illuminate* the room somehow…”

You stared between them, thinking that somehow you always thought she illuminated the room.
Hermione looked peeved.

“What glow? There’s no glow,” she sputtered. “Stop looking at me like that!”

Luna ignored her, and turned to you. You saw her eyes widen by some secret comprehension or
other. “I see…” she said with a mysterious smile. “Well, I also came to tell you, Harry, that Ron
is going to drop by today at random. He says he has something very important to discuss with you.”
She sighed heavily as she said this.

“When did you see Ron today?” Hermione enquired smoothly, finally taking some control over her
vocal chords.

“Oh, he showed up at Neville’s this morning to retrieve his wand. I had to take it away from him
last night; he threatened to apparate everyone home and, well, you saw how he was…although perhaps
you poor dears don’t remember...”

“I remember everything perfectly,” you said, giving Hermione a knowing look that she
purposefully disregarded. “Why don’t you stay for tea, Luna?” you asked, standing up to retrieve a
cup for her.

“Harry, your fly is undone.”

You stopped, feeling the color drain from your face. You hastily tried to do up your buttons,
all the while looking at Hermione who was stifling a laugh; you could read her expression
clearly:

*Ha! That’s what you get for trying to bait me…*

Luna didn’t seem at all fazed by the atmosphere that surrounded her, almost as if she did not
*quite* belong to the spiritual plane she inhabited. “Oh, is that the ring you made her out of
my butterbeer cap?” she said all of a sudden. “It’s rather lovely…”

The amused expression left Hermione’s face entirely as she looked down in shock to see that she
was still wearing her “engagement ring.”

*She was still wearing it.*

Who had the upper hand now, eh Granger?

“Anyway,” Luna continued, completely oblivious to everything. “I really should be off now;
Neville will wonder where I’ve gone to.”

She popped out without another word.

Triumph ringed happily in your ears.

*~*~*~*~*

*“Querida…pero no entiendes, que te amo?”*

*“Valentino! No sabes cuanto e deseado que me digas esas palabras! Pero ya es muy
tarde...demasiado tarde...”*

You were sitting in the living room, waiting for him. Of course you were waiting for him. Did he
actually think he could ever get the advantage in whatever little game he was playing? Because of
course you had it all figured out…*Harry Potter* never walked out of his room unless he was
completely dressed; you doubted you had ever seen him *barefoot*. (That is, not counting that
time you happened into the bathroom while he showered, or the night before when you *shagged*
him…)

Retaliation was definitely in order. Not only was he lying to you (Because he was. It was damn
obvious.), but he was also going out of his way to catch *you* at *your* lie. Because you
were both lying to each other, it was rather ridiculous and childish…

*Accident my ass.*

So you decided to go along with the game…surely he didn’t think you’d sit around and fall for
it? That he’d break you, and that you’d come sobbing into his room yelling, *“You were right, you
were right! I lied! It wasn’t an accident! I had meant for it to happen all along! Now let’s
shag!”*

Though to be honest, the thought *had* crossed your mind…

Oh really! Men were such bastards! Them with their egos, believing themselves to be so
irresistible…he was just like the rest of them!

But he underestimated you…you were a woman. A female. Games were your forte. Just because you
walked around with bushy hair and a book in your hand it didn’t mean that you weren’t up to using
whatever feminine wiles you had…

Dear Harry, don’t Ron and a certain McLaggen ring a bell?

He was mad if he didn’t think you’d get revenge.

The idea had first come to you during breakfast, in that lovely little interval when you brushed
the marmalade off his face. You quite purposefully brought your dirty little thumb up to your mouth
and sucked on it…men are *so* predictable, they don’t even know when they’re being
manipulated…

Well, you can’t very well blame yourself! You were quite happy to just continue on forgetting
that the night before had ever happened. And he had to go on and ruin it with this charade…

All right, so maybe you wouldn’t be *happy*, but…what other alternative was there?

Which was why you were sitting in the living room, watching his favorite Spanish soap opera
*Amores Peligrosos*. You probably looked like some decadent housewife, seeing as you were
wearing nothing but that flimsy, lacy, black, *see-through*, french-ish, thing Ron had gotten
you the previous Valentine’s Day. You had never worn it before, as you could see *right through
it* to your knickers…

All you really needed to complete the picture was a box of chocolates.

Secretly, you blame the gaudy outfit for the ultimate demise of the already unstable
relationship between you and your red headed ex-paramour. So it was quite a surprise that you
actually managed to find a use for the dreaded garment…

You had always loved that practical streak you inherited from your mum.

You twirled around with your “engagement ring” impatiently. You really didn’t understand what
possessed you to keep it on, but there it was, on your finger, and it made you feel safe. So
there.

“Maria! Entiende! Yo siempre té e amado! Pero nunca lo había entendido hasta hoy...éramos niños
antes, entiende! Ahora somos adultos, ahora es el tiempo oportuno...”

He said he was only stepping out for a moment, that he suddenly had an intense craving for his
favorite biscuits. Honestly! You were never letting him do the shopping again! He always forgot
things, or got the wrong ones. It was a mystery how he always remembered to get your Coconut
Cluster Cakes, but always managed to forget his own: *plain shortbread*. It’s not as if you
were asking him to decipher Ancient Runes.

“Valentino, entiende! Por favor... tengo miedo de enamorarme de ti! Tengo miedo que este amor
vaya destruir nuestra amistad...”

You sighed, and played with your ring some more. Any minute now Valentino and Maria would snog
and give in to each other, and Harry would miss it. He’d been following the show since his
ex-girlfriend, Elisabeth Turcios, got him into it, and you had been dragged along quite against
your will…cable was the enemy of bookworms…

“Maria, nada podrá destruir nuestra amistad. Nada...”

Where had Elisa been from anyway? She was a Muggle-born visiting her wizard relatives in
London…from where? Honduras? Nicaragua? Lovely girl, funny accent…

“Te amo Valentino.”

Ha! There it was! They snogged! So predictable, just like English soap operas. They
*always* end up together.

At that moment, Harry came rushing into the room with an armful of groceries.

“I missed it! I missed it didn’t I?” he cried dramatically, throwing everything onto the table
and jumping onto the couch. “They got together! What happened? Tell me!”

You were a bit peeved, as he was too busy watching *Maria* and *Valentino* going at it
to pay any attention to your wanton outfit.

“Yes, they got together,” you said grumpily.

“What’s wrong with you? I thought you wanted them to-”

And then he stopped mid sentence, and you noticed that he was looking at you. Really
*looking* at you. With that same look in his eye…that look that you had seen as he sank into
you, and you writhed under him in the throws of pleasure…good lord he could *kill* with that
look…

You couldn’t help the thrill of feminine satisfaction as his gaze over your body…as much as you
detested the ridiculous outfit that made you feel more like an early nineteenth century prostitute
than an actual human being, you couldn’t help but silently thank Ron and his absurd taste in
clothing. And the fact that he had learned your dimensions to perfection.

“Why-er…why are you wearing *that*?”

You crossed your legs and flipped your hair haughtily, feeling oh so aware of his intense
scrutiny. Usually you hated things that felt abominably too short to be worn comfortably. You loved
them now. “What are you talking about?” you asked him innocently. You wanted to laugh at the look
on his face.

“That…that *thing*. What are you wearing it for?” he asked with a slight stutter. He was
blinking his eyes in a very adorable fashion, almost like there was some inner struggle…*to close
my eyes, or not to close my eyes…*

“What do you mean what am I wearing it for? It’s comfortable! This is my home! I should be able
to wear whatever I want…”

He was scratching his forehead, trying to look away but failing extravagantly. “Yes, but, you
never wore *that* before.”

You couldn’t help but smile naughtily. “Who says I’ve never worn this before? Just because
you’ve never seen me…”

He glowered, precisely the response you had wanted. “You--you’ve worn *that* before?”

You nodded demurely. “Of course. Ron seemed to enjoy it very much…”

Without even waiting for you to finish the thought, he jumped off the couch and stomped away
angrily.

You allowed yourself a satisfied sigh: the score was now even.

*~*~*~*~*

Women. Women were evil.

You had always suspected…it was an idea that had been festering in your brain ever since you
were fourteen and had been denied a date to the Yule Ball by your dream girl…

And now you knew this for a fact.

Women were *evil*.

They were low, *vile* creatures of the worst kind that did the most tantalizing things in
order to drive you mad with agony…and some twisted masochistic part of you was enjoying it. And the
sadistic part of you was enjoying the hard time *you* were giving *her* which
*resulted* in the masochistic pleasure…

Maybe you should consider traveling back in time and having a nice old chat with the Marquis de
Sade for some tips.

After you waltzed in on her in that…that *getup*, that *getup* that she had worn for
Ron, you decided that you needed to get rid of some frustration. So you ended up in the “magical
room” having a go at the punching bag.

She hated it when you turned the “magical room” into your own private playroom, fully equipped
with all kinds of contraptions from Muggle gyms. As it normally was a study, and it had to be
transfigured into a gym, she complained that half her books got lost in the transfiguration
process.

Of course, she always found them eventually. They were usually hidden in the shape of a brand
new plant, or a cushion that had never existed before. In her place, you would’ve found the
scavenger hunt quite fun, but all she could do was nag you to death.

That was when you found yourself losing her books *on purpose.*

When you were younger the constant nagging used to annoy you. You found yourself shutting her
out, not paying attention, sort of the way you did when adults tried talking down to you. You had
survived all your life without anyone telling you what to do…why did *they* think you needed
them now? You could do everything yourself…

But although you didn’t need adults, you did need Hermione. You probably would’ve died about
twenty times if it hadn’t been for her, and when your stupid brain finally figured this out, you
decidedly stopped ignoring her nagging, and paid a bit more attention to it. Granted, this resulted
in major squabbles here and there, (most of which she ended up winning) but at least she was now
aware that you were actually *listening*. And then when you finally moved in together, and the
bickering became more frequent, you actually found yourself recognizing the pleasure Ron got in
getting her into a strop.

You let out a male grunt of possessiveness, and pictured Ron’s face as you threw another punch.
Honestly. Ron. *Punch*. He really was a git. *Punch*. To think that Hermione had actually
had to wear that…*getup* for him. *Punch*. And Ron had probably enjoyed it. *Punch*.
Didn’t he know that she didn’t like things like that? *Punch*. Hermione had only done so to
please him, but she hated it…you knew she just *had* to hate it. *Punch*. And right now she
only wore it to drive you stark raving mad. *Punch*. And it was working. *Double*
*Punch*.

The more you hit, the more frustrated you got. You could feel the soreness in your arms, the
sweat pouring down your bare back in little streams; the room seemed to grow hotter and hotter.
Really…you didn’t understand why there wasn’t one of these in the Ministry…despite whatever the
bureaucrats said about the crudeness of “hand to hand” combat, sometimes your wand slipped through
your fingers and you had no choice. How many times had you had to rely on your own wit and strength
to get out of a scrape…the other Aurors really needed to learn this as well…*your* Divison
would learn this…

You were so caught up in thoughts of Ron’s idiocy, and the planning of the new training regime
you were intent on implementing, that you did not hear the loud huff of indignation coming from the
door.

“Oh honestly, Harry! Must you always do this?” came Hermione’s annoyed tones.

*~*~*~*~*

He was going at it in the study. You could practically feel him beating the punching bag as you
remained on the couch, completely engrossed, watching *Valentino* and *Maria* shagging
like rapidly breeding bacteria.

At least, from what you could *tell*. Why was it that soap operas liked to tease you that
way? You know what’s going on under those white linen sheets…why don’t they just *show* the
whole process? All you can really see is the star and starlet’s heads kissing passionately as they
groped and moaned prettily. *Too* prettily.

News flash for these producer people! Sex isn’t pretty. Sex is messy, lazy, LOUD…sometimes it
looks downright funny…but what do these writers know? They probably never get laid. And what about
the audiences? The whole purpose of a soap opera is an escape from life…and right now, wouldn’t you
like to be the beautifully tanned *Maria*, with her long black hair and big brown eyes?
*Maria*, who is quite happily pinned under the gorgeously muscular *Valentino,* who has
lashes longer than most males should…

Oh bother! What you wouldn’t give just to be plain, bushy-haired Hermione, quite happily pinned
under the quite normally proportioned Harry Potter…

That was it! You’d had it! He was making such a racket with his exercise. Really, what was he
doing in there? Playing with pots and pans? (Yeah. It didn’t matter that you could just
*Silencio* the room…)

With haughty determination you made your way into “the magical room,” only to open the door and
realize he had transfigured it. *Again*. After the *millionth* time that you’d told him
not to!

And you were about to yell at him for it, but then the look on his face stopped you. He was
starring at his punching bag so intensely…like he wanted to burn a hole through it with his eyes.
You could see the muscles in his arms working, and the sweat on his back…

You felt yourself blush. You had always known that you had a soft spot for athletic boys…perhaps
because they connected a missing link in your personality. You were a reader--*not a
player*--and perhaps that was one of the many reasons why you always fell for the Viktor Krums
of the world.

Which was why you were now starring at Harry like he was a piece of bacon and you were a hungry
wolf, wondering how on earth it was that you had never felt attracted to him before. Honestly now!
The idea of it was completely ludicrous! It’s not as if you’ve never found him attract*ive*…he
is quite a looker, that Harry Potter…so it wasn’t that…and it’s not as if he’s a complete
idiot…mildly daft sometimes, yes, but not completely stupid, so it had nothing to do with a
below-normal intelligence…and the fact that he was your best friend had nothing to do with it
either because alas, Ron.

So what was your excuse for the sudden attraction that seemed to be building during the last
couple of days?

You had none.

Sheer stupidity perhaps…

You snapped out of your thoughts, quickly reminded that you had ventured into “the magical room”
on purely argumentative grounds. No amount of sexiness on his part was going to change the fact
that: a.) He had been making too much noise whilst you watched a Spanish soap opera HE had gotten
you addicted to in the first place, and b.) The “magical room” was transfigured quite against your
wishes.

“Oh honestly, Harry! Must you always do this?” you huffed.

He whipped around to look at you, and you had a feeling that the weird thing your stomach had
just done had *nothing* to do with the morning’s toast.

“What are you talking about?” he snapped, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.

You wanted to throttle him. “What do you mean what am I talking about? You transfigured the
room—again, and most likely lost about half of my books in the process!”

He had the audacity to grin, which made you want to jump on him and, well…

“Hermione, look at *your* side of the room.”

You starred at him as if he’d gone mental. What did he mean look at your side of the room…?

And then you looked to the left, toward your side of the room, and found that it had remained
completely untouched. Sure, some odd weight lifting contraption was sitting right between your desk
and favorite bookshelf, but for the most part nothing seemed like it had gone through any sort of
magical transformation…

Strange how you hadn’t noticed it before.

“You didn’t…you didn’t…”

He snickered. “No, I *didn’t*. I’m not really in the mood to hear you yell my ear off.”

You smiled, biting your lower lip a bit. You had known him almost ten years, and yet, Harry
Potter could still surprise you…

Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud *woosh* in the air. Suddenly, you felt something
heavy crash into the side of your right leg, and you fell onto some strategically placed yoga mats.
Your leg felt like it wanted to rip itself right off.

“Hermione!” Harry yelled, sprinting over to you and examining the bruise that was already
forming.

“What on earth was that?” you snapped.

“It was a weight…”

And sure enough, you saw a small, black weight zooming around the room, emanating some strange
giggling noise—it sounded oddly like a garden gnome…

“What did you do to it?”

“Oh, it has the same sort of charm a bludger has…it’s a form of resistance training. It pulls
away from me and I try to hold it steady…”

“Well, un-charm it!” you ordered. “I’m amazed it hasn’t made a hole in your skull yet!”

He promptly took out his wand, and the weight crashed to the floor. You smacked him.

“What on earth possessed you to even *think* of charming such a heavy object? There are no
beaters here to protect you! Why didn’t you take the charm off right after you finished using it?
What if one day I come home to find you unconscious on the floor? I’d kill you!” You continued
hitting him, and all he could do was hide behind his arm, laughing. Finally, he got sick of the
abuse and grabbed your wrists.

“Hermione, calm yourself!” he said with a grin. “It was only an accident! Usually, I do un-charm
it after I’m done. But today, I forgot…”

“You--*forgot*?” you replied, unconvinced. Honestly.

“Look, I’m going to go find some of Fred and George’s bruise remover, ok? Your leg looks pretty
beat up.”

You crossed your arms and pouted while you waited for him to bring the paste. What did he
expect? A weight had just smacked into you. Of course your leg looked beat up! Then you realizing
how ridiculous you must look sitting on a yoga mat, a huge bruise forming on the side of your
thigh, looking like a cheap tart, as you were still in your short little slip. Goodness, what had
possessed you to wear that thing? You should have burned it when you got it.

“I have the stuff,” announced Harry as he traipsed over to your yoga mat. He had already taken
the lid off the tube, and was spreading some over his hands. But when he kneeled down to actually
apply the paste, his eyes widened. Perhaps he just realized where exactly he had to put his
hands…

“Do you want me to do this?” he asked, his eyes firmly trained on yours. It made you blush.

“Hmm…sure. It’s no big deal, right?” you replied with a fake smile. It was a very big deal.

He placed his hands on your thigh, and you could feel yourself shiver. That warming
sensation…that wasn’t normal. You had used the bruise remover many a time, and it had never felt
hot…it had never made you feel hot.

He was using his thumbs…he tentatively placed one hand on the inside of your thigh. Why? You
weren’t bruised there? But you didn’t want him to move that hand…he was so close to you. You could
smell his sweat, so masculine…it took you back to all those Quidditch games where he’d fall off his
broom and end up rolling around on the grass…sweat and grass, and *triumph*…

It was unconscious, but you were inching toward him, like a flower to sunlight, and he didn’t
seem to mind; he wasn’t pulling away. He slid his hand up a bit, all pretense of bruises and yellow
paste gone. There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room it appeared, or why else was it so difficult for
you to breathe?

Your foreheads touched…then you felt his breath in your ear, and your teeth on his
shoulders…what was happening? This wasn’t supposed to be happening! His hand on yours, his fingers
toying with your “engagement” ring…what was he doing? You weren’t drunk! You had a bruise! You
needed oxygen! You needed to *get dressed*…

“We can’t…” you whispered in his ear.

“I’m sorry the weight hit you,” he said quietly, ignoring you. His hand was sliding
*dangerously* up your inner thigh now. “It was only an accident…it won’t happen again…”

“Right,” you agreed, nodding your head slightly to the side. His lips were on your neck. “Just
an accident. The bruise will heal.”

He paused, and looked up at you, eyes questioning. He was about to kiss you, *soberly*, and
you silently acquiesced, *soberly*. This wasn’t supposed to be happening in the first place,
but there was nothing that could stop it now…

“Oi, Harry!” came a yell from the living room.

You both groaned.

Apparently, *yes*, something *could* stop it.

*~*~*~*~*

*A/N:* Yes, I know. I hate myself too. DIE AUTHOR, DIE! Et tu, Brute?

-------

English translationsfor Soap Opera:

Dangerous Love 

“But darling, don’t you understand that I love you?”

“Valentino! You don’t know how I’ve longed to hear these words! But it is too late…too
late…”

“Maria! Please understand! I’ve always loved you! But I never understood it until now…we were
children before, please understand! Now we’re adults, it’s the opportune time…”

“Valentino, listen! Please…I’m afraid of falling in love with you. I’m afraid that this love
will destroy our friendship...”

“Maria, nothing could destroy our friendship. Nothing…”

-------

See, I didn’t add the soap opera in there for nothing. There was a reason. There is a reason for
everything. I have a master plan… *cackles*



4. Precious
-----------

*Disclaimer:* Same old, same old.

*A/N:* First off, I shall not take responsibility for taking so long in uploading this
chapter. Why? Because I’ve had it done for AGES, yet, I had no betas. **Linz**, who is my
regular beta, decided to be MIA for like a month, and finally I couldn’t stand the uncertainty
anymore and had to go down on my hands and knees and beg and plead for a beta over at the Auror
thread at fanforum. Thankfully, **Rini** appeared and agreed to beta, which she did very quickly
and efficiently, so thanks to her for that! Otherwise, this chapter might have never seen the light
of day…

(This chapter brought to you by **Public Pervert** by *Interpol*. Now, another word from
our sponsors!)

*~*~*~*~*

Apparently, *yes*, something *could* stop it.

Well, maybe not something, but someone, because that “Oi!” that you had heard calling you was
coming from Ron…and sure enough, there he was. He had just waltzed right in, and judging by the
surprised look on his face he was probably, well…*surprised*.

Of course, if you were to put yourself into his position you would probably be surprised as
well. It wasn’t everyday that you saw your ex-girlfriend sitting around in risqué lingerie being
groped by your best friend.

“Am I…am I interrupting something?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

You jumped away from her, even while your body rebelled, because right now your body wanted to
be as near to hers as possible…

“You aren’t interrupting anything!” you exclaimed nervously, pulling out the tube of bruise
remover. “Hermione had a bruise on her leg, and I…er…*removed* it.”

“Yes!” Hermione added. She looked rather nervous and…*frightened?* “I was accidentally
attacked by Harry’s weight.”

You noticed Ron’s eyes narrow as he looked her over. You didn’t like that he looked her over.
You wanted to kill him. And you were about to, until:

“Hermione, sweetheart, isn’t it a little too late to be prancing around in *that*?” he
asked.

*That* question stopped you short. “What are you talking about?” you asked. It was *too
late*, as in *late* in the day? In your opinion it was a bit too early…didn’t girls put
those on before going to bed?

But then you noticed the color draining from Hermione’s face...

“See…I got her that last Valentine’s Day…” Ron said with nostalgic amusement. “And she nearly
ripped my head off! Refused to wear it...why take it out now? Is this some kind of joke or
something?” He looked genuinely puzzled, and for a second there you felt a strong sense of male
solidarity: *women were impossible to understand.*

You looked over at Hermione, who resembled nothing more than a small mouse being confronted by a
Blast Ended Skrewt. And almost as if she realized how vulnerable she was making herself, you saw
her back straighten, and her eyes cloud over. “Ron, what I wear in the privacy of my own home
should be of no concern to you!” she replied coolly. Without so much as a nod in your direction,
she stalked out of the room, head held high.

You couldn’t help but grin as you watched her leave. She had just been caught in a devious
little fib… *Ron seemed to enjoy it very much…*pfft! Hermione Granger, you were a devil
underneath all that hair! A rather dignified devil…

“She was right,” Ron said with an impish grin.

You turned to look at Ron, confused. “Who was right?”

Ron chuckled. “Luna. She said you were glowing.”

“What?” you asked, trying very hard to stop yourself blushing. *Stop it. Stop!* “What glow?
There’s no glow…”

“At first I thought it was just Luna being Luna and making silly observations,” Ron continued,
not minding you at all. “But now I completely understand…you *shagged* her.”

“Who. *Luna*?”

Ron looked upset. “No! *Hermione*, you git! Or was she just walking around like she
belonged in a harem for no apparent reason?”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying to find the words to explain the current
*situation*. But you couldn’t. How could you? This was Hermione you were talking about! There
just weren’t any answers…

“Stop it,” Ron commanded, his smile returning. “You look like a cod fish when you do that. Now
go get yourself showered; we need to go out and have a few.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

Half an hour later, you found yourself precisely in the same place that was responsible for
bringing about the aforementioned *situation*: The Leaky Cauldron. You really did feel like
tearing the place down…

Although, you couldn’t help but think how good it had felt to snog Hermione like that, in front
of everyone, and not have worry about how people would react. It felt so freeing…

And then there was how good it was to spend the rest of the evening flirting with her
shamelessly, all the while under the guise of alcohol. Though truth be told, it wasn’t really much
of a guise; you both were really smashed. It was quite funny when you thought about it. Luna had
had to apparate you home. And then when you did finally arrive, the first thing you did was trip
all over your own shoelaces, which had Hermione dying of laughter. Then she tried to help you up,
and instead of doing that, she only managed to bring herself down with you, and it had all gone
downhill from there…

Stupid Ron with his stupid drinking problem and his stupid schemes of fake engagements. Stupid
girls who made Hermione feel bad and made your inner-hero appear on a white horse brandishing a
sword (or in this case, a ring). Stupid Tom with his stupid green bottle of mystery…

“Why are we here?” you asked Ron with a pout. You hated pouting, but really, in this case,
circumstances seemed to necessitate a good pout.

“We’re here to talk about me!” Ron said with that natural air of his that screamed *‘I am the
center of the universe!’*

“Oh joy.”

“But first…” Ron said, inching closer to you like an old woman sharing waterhole gossip. “How
did this thing between you and Hermione start, anyway?”

“Oh, don’t act like you don’t know!” you replied scathingly. After all, it was *his* fault
it began in the first place.

“Me?” he said with wide, innocent eyes. “Whatever have I done to encourage this…”

“You know, you’ve never been a good liar,” you said with a smirk.

“I know,” he said disarmingly. “So I take it last night’s show for The Leaky Cauldron Public
extended itself into the privacy of your boudoir…”

“Aren’t we here to talk about you?” you replied dryly.

“Yes, but putting you on the spot is oh so much more enjoyable…”

You chucked a Butterbeer cap at him. “Ron, doesn’t it at all bother you?” you asked seriously.
It was really important for you to know.

“What?”

“Me and Hermione…”

Ron rolled his eyes. “You accuse me of being the puppet master behind all of this, and yet I’m
supposed to be upset by it…”

“Ron! You know what I mean!” He really could exasperate the hell out of you.

He took his time answering. He had a sip of his Butterbeer, examined his nails, the crowd…he
ordered another Butterbeer, indulged in a flirtatious conversation with the barmaid, invaded a
Quidditch conversation that the table next to yours was having, until finally, you couldn’t stand
it any longer.

“Ron! Stop acting like a prat!” you yelled.

He grinned. “I was just teasing you mate. Of course I don’t mind! Hermione and I…she’s my past.
It was a great for a while but you know, we waited soo long…we had this buildup of tension…but then
when it came down to it, the end result was rather anticlimactic. And then there was always the
*x-factor*…” He looked a bit uncomfortable for a second, and you noticed that his eyes shifted
away from yours. You attributed this to the fact that you and Ron had never really talked about his
relationship with Hermione…

Yet, Ron had never had a problem talking to you about any of his *other* girlfriends. Of
course, you understood why *now* he wouldn’t want to talk to you about he and Hermione as you
were about to embark on that perilous journey yourself…

But what accounted for the past? Why hadn’t you and Ron ever talked about Hermione? You never
minded talking to him about Elisa. You fondly remembered all those times you would come to him when
you had problems with Elisa…

Elisa, whom you met through Oliver Wood at a Puddlemere game. Oliver was engaged to her sister
at the time, and she was there visiting from her native Guatemala. You were instantly charmed by
her caring nature, and instantly attracted to her big brown eyes and dark hair. She was the one
that pulled you out of the abyss…

*But you never told Ron of the one who threw you in it to begin with.*

“Ron, you don’t have to continue if you don’t want to,” you told him sincerely. Although you
were burning with curiosity about his and Hermione’s past, you had to take into account that you
were *males*; talking about your feelings wasn’t a specialty.

You were both quiet for a while, lost in your thoughts. Until Ron suddenly seemed to reanimate
himself, and remembered the reason he had called on you to begin with.

“Harry, I need to tell you something,” he said earnestly. You saw his eyes soften a bit, and his
stare become glassy, and you were filled with an eerie sense of déjà vu…

“What is it?” you asked feeling concerned.

“I can’t stop thinking about her Harry. I…I think I’m in love with her.”

You felt like smacking your head on the table. *That was what…four years ago? You people
seriously need to move on…*

Indeed! And here she was, up to her old tricks again!

“Mate, did Romilda slip you a Chocolate Cauldron again?” you asked exasperatedly.

“I’m not talking about Romilda you halfwit!” Ron snapped. “I’m talking about *Luna*!” And
after this pronouncement, Ron *did* smack his head down on the table.

You wanted to die of laughter. “Luna? How did this happen?”

Ron looked up from his table miserably. “I have no idea. After well, after Ginny…when
*Ginny*…”

“Ron, can you say it,” you said quietly.

“Well, when Ginny and Charlie…err…*happened*, I…I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t talk
to my brothers because they were suffering as much as I was, not to mention mum and dad. And I
couldn’t very well talk to you, considering…”

And then he stopped again. You encouraged him on with a nod. “And Hermione…she tried, but she
never *quite*…she doesn’t have siblings; she never had anyone in her family die. Her parents
were safely away in the Muggle world and Luna…she survived her mother, and she was Ginny’s best
friend. She was *there*…”

You nodded. Luna did have a way with making the grief-stricken feel better.

“Ginny was the one I always used to go to, you know, when it came to Hermione and things of that
nature,” he rambled on. “And then slowly Luna came to fill that place. I never really understood
how we became so close in the first place, I mean, Neville as well. We sort of grew together after
that…the five of us, didn’t we?”

You nodded again, not wanting to interrupt him. The whole topic of conversation was quite
taboo…no one ever spoke to you about *Ginny*. Sometimes you felt like she had never existed
except in your dreams; it had been like that even while she was still alive.

You remembered the night you defeated Voldemort; Ron and Hermione were there with you, up until
the very end. You were so very tired…but you remembered that drive to continue, for *them*,
because they had to be happy. Because you *loved* them. They had to live and be happy, even if
you died.

But you didn’t die…yet sometimes you wished you had, because you were so very tired. So very
tired that the next night, when everyone was out celebrating your triumph, no one noticed you
escape. No one noticed you sitting in some decrepit little pub. No one saw you except for her…the
one with the red hair and curls; the one who smelled vaguely of flowers…

No one saw you leave with her. And in the morning, when it was over, you didn’t see her leave.
You never heard from her again. *Just like a dream…*

And you never told Ron. You never told anyone. You were alone in your quiet little abyss.

Until Elisa.

“Harry…have you been paying any attention to what I’ve been telling you?” Ron asked you with
narrowed eyes.

“What? Oh yes. You love Luna,” you replied mechanically.

“Yes, and that’s why I’m going to ask Romilda to marry me.”

“WHAT?” You exclaimed, almost collapsing out of your chair.


“It’s a brilliant idea!” Ron continued, eyes gleaming. “When she hears Romilda and I are
engaged, she’ll want me. I know she will. You know how witches are: they always want what they
can’t have…”

“Ron, I’ve known you for ages, and I’ve heard a lot of ridiculous ideas coming from you in the
past. But this just tops them all!”

“Are you kidding?” he asked excitedly. “It’s genius!”

“And the fact that you’ll be playing with Romilda’s feelings doesn’t cause you the slightest
amount of guilt?”

“Oh,” he said, his excitement already deflating. “I hadn’t really thought of that.”

“Of course you hadn’t!” you said with mock empathy.

“It’s just that…” Ron smacked his head on the table again. “It’s ridiculous to think that
Longbottom gets to shag a girl with such perfect breasts!”

You felt your eyes widen. Really, you had never thought of it that way, but it was quite true:
Luna did have fabulous breasts. Ginny had had the beautiful face; Elisa had the nice bum…

Hermione had legs that could kill an immortal with their perfection. Not to mention the
intelligence, the sense of humor, the inner beauty, the compassion, the drive, the
*intensity*…

Why exactly were you sitting in a pub with Ron when you had *that* waiting for you at
home?

“I’m going home!” you announced suddenly, making Ron whine in protest.

“But you still haven’t helped me figure this out!” he moaned.

“Ron, get a bloody clue! Luna’s been in love with you since we were fifteen, however
disappointing this might be for Neville. Actually, I think Neville already suspects, and it’ll
benefit you all if you just confess your feelings now before things get more serious between
them.”

Ron nodded, a new light already in his eyes. “You know, I bet Romilda could make Neville feel
better…”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever harebrained scheme you’re thinking of now, *please* leave
me and Hermione out of it!” you commanded.

“Wow, so possessive of the missus already,” he said cheekily. “Will you allow me to call on her?
I promise you I shall only appear at the appropriate hours, so as to correspond with my Lady’s
virtue. I shall send my calling card in advance, according to your Lordship’s pleasure…”

“I’m going now, Ron.” If you rolled your eyes one more time, they’d roll right out of your head
and onto the floor.

“Strength and honor, your majesty!” You heard him salute before you ‘popped’ out.

Ron really should learn to differentiate between his feudal Englishman and Roman Gladiator
impersonations.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Elisa was Guatemalan.

It had been bothering you all day, ever since *Maria* and *Valentino* finally gave
into their love for each other. The idea that you could forget the nationality of Harry’s
ex-girlfriend was insufferable! You had liked her very much…

She was a conundrum of a human being: feisty, yet sweet. You had always gotten along well with
her; you had never fought with her. Not the way you used to do with Ginny. You had always found
that strange.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t so strange. Elisa had always understood her place in Harry’s life.
She had never tried to take *your* place in the grand scheme of things. She understood that
there was this whole world that you and Harry and Ron shared that she could never be a part of…that
she could never even *begin* to understand.

But it wasn’t like you went out of her way to make her feel like an outsider. On the whole you
were quite amicable. You were still with Ron then, so he was always over. And she practically moved
in for a while as well…she was always dancing and singing. She *loved* to cook, which won Ron
over immediately. She loved to read, which won you over immediately. When she was really upset she
used to yell at Harry in Spanish. She even taught *you* a few phrases, which you *still*
used on the boys whenever they angered you. She got Harry hooked on Spanish soaps, and he in turn
reeled you in as well. She used to laugh because even though neither of you understood what they
were saying, you always managed to know what was going on. It was almost like watching an Italian
Opera and being able to understand the emotions…

But those weren’t the important things. She had never known Harry as anything other than *just
Harry*; the fact that she was a newcomer and had had nothing to do with Harry’s past was perhaps
the main reason why she had been so good for him. He thought nobody knew, but *you* knew that
he had suffered a bit of post-triumph depression…

*You had liked her because she made him happy.*

Now that *Maria* and *Valentino* were together, the network decided to milk the climax
for all it was worth by playing clips of the progression of their relationship, and you--like an
idiot--were sitting there watching it when there were twenty million things that needed to be
read…

They were currently on the one where *Maria* had just had her heart broken by
*Antonio*.

She was sobbing all over *Valentino*, who just sat with her and said nothing, while still
making it clear that he was there for her in everything. You rolled your eyes in contempt.

Oh really! It was so obvious that they belonged together, even then! He was sitting with her,
patiently letting her cry her pain away…

Men hate crying women! They always think women cry over stupid things and just tell them to keep
a stiff upper lip. Or, they simply get distressed at the prospect of a hysterical woman and leave
them alone entirely.

But not *Valentino*; he was there for *Maria*. You remembered watching this episode
with Elisa, and she had huffed at the ridiculousness of *novelas*. According to her, Latin men
never did such things…she giggled prettily when you suggested that perhaps they all had the
emotional ranges of teaspoons…

Perhaps Ron should have been Latin. The only time he ever watched you cry was when somebody
died, or almost died. But in all other cases he had always thought your crying unwarranted.

The fact that Ron had been the one to break things off with you still boggled your mind. If
anything, you had more to complain about than he did. Yet he had been the one with enough presence
of mind to say *enough already,* all the while muttering about *x-factors…*

And sure, it had been awkward at first…the first month after the breakup was hell with Harry in
the middle, fresh from his own Elisa-based disappointment. Though in the end, Harry’s own breakup
seemed to fulfill a greater purpose as it caused you and Ron to re-form your friendship in order to
be there for him.

*You had liked her because she made him happy.*

Had you really liked Elisa because she made him happy? Or had you liked her because you had
always known that would be a transient relationship…almost like setup for something else. You had
always known Elisa would eventually go back; she had never intended to stay in England. You had
seen the homesickness in her; she loved Guatemala so much…

*Would Ginny have been transient?*

You stopped that rain of though, knowing that it would lead to questions that were too unfair to
muse over. Ginny had only been sixteen…Charlie still had a full ahead of him as well…

The thought was just too depressing.

The thought processes evoked by Spanish soap operas were amazing.

There was a loud ‘pop’ in the room and Harry appeared. He was shaking his head as if in
astonishment, but abruptly stopped when he realized you were there, observing.

“What happened?” you asked, curious as to what insane antics Ron had probably conjured up.

Harry grinned, the astonishment still evident. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said,
sitting himself down next to you. “Are you still watching *Amores Peligrosos*?” he asked with
a grin.

“No, they’re just random clips,” you replied absentmindedly. “Oh, and don’t act so smug! You
cried when *Valentino’s* parents died!”

“I did not cry!” he said vehemently. “There was a speck of dust in my eye…”

“Sure, sure,” you replied with a grin.

Both of you remained quiet for a while, amicably watching the *novela*. You found it
amazing that you could still sit down and act like everything was normal after the events of the
past two days.

And then he went and ruined it.

“I see you changed your outfit,” he remarked tensely, though his eyes were locked on the
show.

“It got a bit cold,” you replied airily. You felt your back stiffen and your cheeks burn, but
you refused to show the discomfort that *that* particular subject brought you.

“You never wore it for Ron, did you?” he asked quietly.

“Of course not.”

“Good. I should have known you hadn’t. It isn’t at all *you*.”

You just sat there, and didn’t reply. Really, how were you supposed to reply? Were you supposed
to ask him what he thought *was* you? Were you supposed to ask him whether he ever sat around
and pictured you in adequate lingerie…

Pfft.

“Elisa is getting married next month,” he said nonchalantly. You raised your eyebrows, as it was
kind of eerie that he was mentioning her right after you had just finished *thinking* about
her…

But then again, you had always had that weird *mind-reading* thing.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she’s marrying her childhood best friend. Roberto something or other…”

You wanted to turn your head and look at his face. But you couldn’t. You were afraid of what you
might see. So instead you kept your eyes locked on *Maria* and *Valentino*. “Does this
bother you in any way?”

“Of course not,” he replied calmly. His eyes were still trained on the television. But then he
turned to you with a slight smile on his face. “I’ve always rooted for the *Marias* and
*Valentinos* of the world.”

You couldn’t help the half smile that appeared on your lips, or the way your back seemed to
un-stiffen itself. You couldn’t help the warm lump in your belly and the tingles that soared
through your body, making it hum. It was the same feeling that had taken you over the night before,
when you were way too drunk to fight it. It was the same feeling that had taken you over earlier
that day when you had watched him attack his punching bag.

It was the same feeling that had always been. The one you had never recognized.

That was what it was all about, wasn’t it? That one person that can make you feel completely
comfortable one minute, but totally turn the tables on you the next. A perfect balance of comfort
and excitement…

*Ron’s x-factor.*

“I’m going to bed now,” he said. He kissed your forehead, stood himself up, and walked away.

You wondered how long you could last before following him.

*~*~*~*~*

*A/N:* I borrowed Elisa’s personality from a soap opera character my mom got me stuck on. I
know a lot of you are native Spanish speakers and probably sit down and watch novellas with your
mums too…brownie points if you can guess who Elisa is based on!

Oh, and before you tell me how much you hate me for continually pulling the same thing at the
end of every chapter of this fic, I have good reason to this chapter. If you hadn’t already
noticed, it’s pretty much a filler chapter. (Think of it as the Book 6 to next chapter’s Book 7,
where all the important things happen. Ya know what I’m sayin’? )

*wink*

Pfft. You better.



5. Satisfaction
---------------

**Disclaimer:** Same as always. I don’t own anything, and I am not making any money at all.
*sigh*

**Author’s Note:** So this is it. The end. I would like to say a big huge thank you to
*Shannon* for beta-ing this little chapter…she’s a dear! And *Flor*, for finding that one
random typo! Bwahahaha! What would Berkley say?

Umm…sorry I took such a long time with this! I’ve actually had half of it done for the longest
while…I just finally sat down yesterday and decided to finish it. I was on a Morrissey kick, and
although he isn’t a hopeless romantic as much as he is slightly
cynical/haunting/melancholy/scary/beautiful/mad, the guitar on Suedehead totally screams of
revelations.

I blame school for this belated update…school and The Killers. They are a never-ending obsession
that is determined to suck the soul right out of me.

You can’t fight the boylove.

So without further ado, I present the last chapter of Accidnets!

*~*~*~*~*

*You wondered how long you could last before following him.*

You were surprised to find you could actually last quite a while. You actually thought you were
going to run after him like some rabid harpy. In fact, you thought you would *beat* him to his
room. But no, there you sat. Twiddling your thumbs. Toying with your *engagement ring*.

Perhaps it was the shock of finally having realized how non-accidental all these randomly
bizarre accidents really were. Well, you had always known they weren’t accidents…well, at least the
night before hadn’t really been an accident, considering that you quite purposefully used alcohol
to free your inhibitions…

But really, it really *really* wasn’t an accident! And the full impact of that fact hadn’t
hit you until that very moment, sitting there, watching *Amores Peligrosos.* With Harry.

*“I’ve always rooted for the Marias and Valentinos of the world,”* he had said.

And to your surprise, you found that you’ve always rooted for them too.

*~*~*~*~*~*

You paced around your room for a while. She was going to follow you in. You saw it in her eyes
when you left her. You *felt* it. And this bloody well made you a coward. You were letting
*her* do the job *you* had to do. But then again, this was her decision more than it was
yours. Your mind had been set long ago; she still had to convince herself.

AND IT WAS TAKING HER BLOODY FOREVER TO CONVINCE HERSELF!

You wondered whether it would be better to lay yourself down on the bed, so that when she came
in, you’d be right and ready. But no, that’d be a bit too presumptuous. What if she *didn’t*
manage to convince herself, and only wanted to come in and borrow a quill? You’d feel mightily
ridiculous if it came down to that. So no, sprawling yourself out on the bed was *not* going
to happen.

You looked over at your nightstand and found her copy of “Hogwarts, A History.” She had finally
gotten you to start reading it, and you found that it wasn’t at all a bad read. Sure, there were
one too many references to goblin rebellions for your taste, but all in all, it was a pretty
*ok* book. So you decided to sit down and peruse it. Why not? Reading, just like watching
television, made time tick by faster.

*~*~*~*~*

You stood in front of his door for what felt like forever. Maybe this hadn’t been such a good
idea. Maybe it was best if you indeed did just stay friends. But no…you wanted this. It *felt*
*right*, for many many reasons. So instead of knocking on his door, (you felt hearing yourself
knock might scare away your resolve) you decided to just burst in. So you did.

And what you found once you entered said room almost made you double over in laughter.

He was sitting on the small couch next to his bed…*completely asleep.* You could see
“Hogwarts, A History” at his feet, and the compelling need to laugh hit you harder. But no, you
wouldn’t laugh. You didn’t want to disturb. Let him sleep…

You turned around to walk out the door, but you were stopped by a sharp intake of breath.

He had woken up.

You wanted to laugh again because he had this mildly confused look on his face…like he had no
idea what he was doing, where he was, or how he got there. That baffled expression looked quite
attractive on him…funny how it never was with Ron…

He brought his hand up to his hair and started playing around with it. *Now he really looked
adorable*; it was quite disgusting.

“So…what brings you here, Hermione?” He asked in affected casualness. You knew it was affected
because he suddenly got very pink around the ears.

You decided it would be appropriate to tease him. “Umm…I just wanted to borrow a quill,” you
said as seriously as you could.

“Oh,” he said simply. He suddenly looked rather deflated. “Oh. Well, if you look in that drawer
over there…”

“Harry, you git! Of course I’m not here to borrow a quill!” you said, laughing at the absurdity
of it all.

“Then why are you here?” he asked, his tone serious.

“You know why I’m here,” you replied, adapting a serious tone as well.

*“Tell me.”*

So that was it then? Tell him. How were you bloody going to tell him? Where you supposed to just
stand there and say, “I want a shag.” Is *that* what he wanted?

*Men*.

You sashayed across the room with as much haughtiness as you could muster, and sat yourself down
on his bed. You crossed your legs, flipped your hair and tried to look as impassive as possible. It
must’ve been working because he started pulling on the collar of his shirt, and you could see his
knee was shaking…

Did it matter that your heart was racing way past the speed of light?

“Why do you think I’m here?” you shot back, wanting to turn the tables on the matter. You rather
enjoyed the way he suddenly couldn’t look at you, and had to keep his eyes on his own feet; it was
quite endearing.

“Well, you could be here for any number of reasons…” he told his feet.

“Give me a few,” you replied.

“I asked you first.”

“I’m asking you now.”

He placed his elbows on his knees and lowered his head to his hands. “Why are you doing this to
me?” he mumbled.

“Why are *you* doing this to me?”

He stood up from his seat. He began pacing the room, running his hands through his hair. You
watched his frustration in amusement, stifling a laugh when he slammed the door angrily. “Why are
you being so difficult?” he grumbled at no one in particular.

You stood up and placed your hand on his chest, stopping him mid-pace. “Oh, I’m being difficult,
am I?” you asked with a grin.

Immediately, his annoyed scowl was replaced with a half-smile. “You were teasing me,” he
said.

“I was, yes.”

“That isn’t nice,” he replied, placing a hand over yours.

“No, it isn’t.”

He reached out his other hand to pull you closer, and it felt remarkably as if your body was a
guitar, and he was a skilled guitarist, plucking at the strings, making sure the tension was
perfect…

“Last night, wasn’t an accident, was it?” he asked. He had his nose in your hair, and his
proximity had your skin breaking out in gooseflesh.

“No,” you replied. Your face was buried in his chest, and you really wanted to do was stand
there forever and rub your cheek against him. It felt nice there, *secure*. “It wasn’t an
accident because…”

And there you stopped. You walked back toward his bed, and pressed him down onto it. You took a
step away from him, and looked him straight in the eye.

“Because, you know the way I like my tea.”

He looked at you quizzically, waiting for you to explain yourself. But all you did was take a
deep breath, kneel yourself before him, and continue.

“Yesterday wasn’t an accident, because you always remember to buy my favorite biscuits at the
store.” You slid your hands up his thighs, up the buckle of his belt. You fumbled around with it
for a while, feeling your arms shake to the tips of your fingers.

“You always supported me during my stupid romantic struggles.”

You tucked the shirt out of his pants, and began unbuttoning the buttons, starting with the
bottom. You bit your lip, not knowing what bit of exposed skin you wanted to kiss first. You
decided to start with his belly, and work your way up. He moaned; you could tell he was shaking.
But he didn’t speak a word.

“You remembered to keep *my* side of the study transfiguration free.”

The tone in which you said this caused him to roll his eyes. You laughed. He brought his hand up
behind your head, and pulled you in for a kiss. He knew that his silence was making you nervous,
and this kiss was a reassurance. *It’s ok*, it seemed to say. Generally, males aren’t as good
as verbalizing their feelings as females…the kiss actually made you feel like laughing.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, when he felt you shaking against him.

“Nothing!” you said, bringing your lips back to his, and trying hard to restrain yourself. It
was only nervous laughter…

You broke the kiss; you wanted to kiss his neck. You started by working your way across his
jawbone, and ended up by his ear. “When you were eleven,” you whispered, “You threw yourself in
front of a troll to protect me.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, a realization of how long in coming this all was. You placed
your hands inside his shirt and pulled it away. Your lips were drawn to his shoulders—*so
warm*.

“You got me hooked on a bloody soap opera,” you breathed onto the nape of his neck. He snorted.
You swatted his arm. “What was that? You know how important that is to a bookworm like me...” You
continued kissing the other side of his neck, despite the little snickers you heard coming from
him. You pinched his side in retaliation. That was when he decided to pick you up and sit you on
his lap, so that you straddled him.

Another kiss. You had to break it when you felt his hands on your waist, going under your shirt,
lifting it up to take it off. His fingers on your bare back, his hands undoing your bra clasp—*so
electrifying.*

You weren’t aware that you were grinding against him, though his sighs and moans told you he was
enjoying it. The little currents of pleasure winding their way up your spine were frustrating you,
so you shoved your breasts in his face, hoping his mouth would alleviate some of it…

Unfortunately, it only worsened things.

You eventually got so exasperated you shoved him down completely. He blinked at your sudden
eagerness, but all you did was smile down at him, and attach your lips to his nipples. They
suddenly looked so inviting, just sprawled there for your viewing pleasure…

Your hands worked themselves down to his pants again. They had a mind of their own, it seemed,
and they were determined to continue on until Harry Potter was appropriately naked. Both you and
Harry decided to oblige these clever hands, so the both of you worked together, squirming around
like mad freaks, until Harry was--finally--appropriately naked.

Harry reached over to take off his glasses, but you stopped him. You wanted him to wear them.
You wanted him to experience this fully, just as you wanted to experience him fully. And his
glasses were a part of him. You brought his hands up to your lips and kissed them.

“You put a ring on my finger to keep a nasty group of witches from getting the best of me…”

You brought his hands down to the waistband of your pants. You helped him tug them, and your
knickers, off. Now that you were both appropriately naked, you decided it was high time you scooted
yourself more fully onto the bed. You didn’t want to end up falling off at an inopportune
moment…

You both ended up rolling around the bed, squealing, laughing, and fighting for the top
position. You won, of course, though you slightly suspected Harry let you win.

*~*~*~*~*

Of course you let her win. How could you not, after all the things she said? After all the thing
she *didn’t* say…

It all left you literally speechless. You had no clue what to say; everything that you thought
paled in comparison to her words. So you had no choice but to *show* her. If you couldn’t tell
her how you felt, you’d let her *feel* it.

She was on top of you, kissing you hungrily, squirming deliciously. You didn’t how much more of
it you could take. You brought your right hand down between her legs, and felt the soft, delicate
dampness. She moaned for you. She was ready for you. You were *definitely* ready for her.

She bent down to kiss you, and you couldn’t help but bit her gorgeously swollen lips. She
nuzzled your neck…you could feel her hot breath on your flesh, and it made you even more impatient.
But the clincher of it all was when she brought her lips to your ear, and breathed, “Last night was
*not* an accident because of all the things you’ve done for me, but because of all the things
you’ve let me do for you…”

That was it. You couldn’t stand it anymore. You forced her lips to yours, embracing her tightly.
And because you were half out of your mind by this time, you savagely flipped her over and sank
into her with one full thrust. You saw her eyes close, a look of pure bliss on her face, and you
felt thankful. Fulfillment. Perfection. Satisfaction. Over and over as you thrust into her. Over
and over as you saw her face change from one look of pleasure to another. Over and over as you felt
what she felt, as you made manifest the things you couldn’t say.

A bite to your shoulder. A kiss to her neck. A short little spasm that has your toes curling.
She brings her hands to your arse to drive you in deeper. You speed up because you want her to
come. You *need* her to come.

You wanted her to know that you loved her…

You grabbed her hands and kissed them. You toyed with her “engagement ring.”

*You never wanted her to take it off.*

Her legs tighten around you. You beg with your eyes. She kisses your forehead, and lets go. You
*feel* her to the tips of your fingers, and happy that you have accomplished your goal, you
let yourself come undone as well.

Thank Merlin that this time there weren’t any *accidents*.

*~*~*~*

*A/N:* Yes, that was the end. Boo hoo. Now maybe perhaps I’ll kinda sorta start updating
The Draught of Living Death. Maybe perhaps kinda sorta. *Maybe perhaps kinda sorta.*

But before I let you all go for your snack break in between the fic cramming session, (because I
know some of you have been sitting in front of your computers gorging yourselves on fic all day!)
let me say a quick thanks **Sabine** for nagging me out of my funk. Yes, I’m talking to you, the
reviewer, **Sabine**. I thought it was totally cool the way you went down my list and reviewed
every last thing. And then all the other reviewers who have stuck by me despite my knack of being a
completely random and unreliable updater. Y’all rock, and make this worth it!

*runs off to satisfy the boylove obsession*