Official Fine Print: Nope. Not mine. The brainchildren of the mighty pen of JK Rowling. Just playing with them. Honest.
A/N: Hi! Serious R rated fluff alert ahead. The last couple of chapters have been intense and this one is meant to be the light one, a place to catch their breath on the way to the end. Because hey, even if they didn't need it, I did. Thanks for reading along.
Magic Never Dies
Chapter 23
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In the end, they all joined forces to apparate the exhausted thestral and a semi-conscious Viktor Krum to the gates of Hogwarts. Lupin sent his patronus off in search of McGonagall to let them in, while Tonks sent hers after Hagrid.
"Well, he's a thestral at the moment, isn't he, and Hagrid's more likely to know what to do with him than Madam Pomfrey," she reasoned.
"Good point, love," Lupin admitted. "Those that can stand, stand guard. We're not safe until we're in the gates, and he knows where we're headed. Just because he thinks Harry's dead doesn't necessarily mean he won't come after the rest of us. Best to be safe."
"Constant Vigiliance!" Moody agreed, and gimped to position in the back of the group. They closed into a weary circle, waiting mostly in silence. The new moon hovered over Hogwarts in a sky pricked bright with stars… but far beyond their horizon to the west each was keenly aware a far more sinister light illuminated the waning night. Hermione knelt beside Harry and stroked his neck. Ron shifted from foot to foot beside her.
The look in Minerva McGonagall's eyes when she peered through the gate said volumes.
"Oh my…oh… Ron! Oh!" The gates flew open and she stepped back, ushering them inside. Madam Pomfrey was with her, her eyes roving and assessing each of them as they straggled past. She made a beeline for Viktor, propped up between the twins.
They limped and gimped and dragged themselves towards sanctuary, Lupin and Tonks aiding Bill. (`Whatever they're stunning with,' he had managed through numbed and clumsy lips, `it's not your average stunner.') Harry struggled up to regain his … hoofs, and plodded on. He felt the remnants of Dumbledore's magic still protecting him as he came slowly closer, welcoming and probing curiously. He knew that the wards had all been recast when the Headmaster died and a great deal of the magic around Hogwarts exuded from the castle itself, but still he sensed Dumbledore's essence stubbornly woven throughout, forever a force to be reckoned with.
`Not yet,' he told it. `Not this time. But I'm still trying.'
"And Harry?" Professor McGonagall asked Lupin significantly, as they reached the massive doors to the castle.. "Remus, where is Harry?"
"It was a disaster. Riddle showed up shortly after we did with his usual gang of thugs behind him. Harry was hit; indirectly, mind you, and late in the game, but hit. It was another Avada, cast by Voldemort himself, and…" He gestured to the thestral.
"Oh, for goodness sake, Lupin, I've seen the thestrals for years now. You don't mean… he's not…you didn't just… leave him?"
"No, Minerva, it would seem that thestral is Harry. He appeared to change over almost the very moment after he'd been hit and had the presence of mind to transfigure his own wand into a lifeless image of his body. Voldemort believes him dead; he cast the Dark Mark over Durmstrang. The thing of it is, he doesn't seem to be able to change back."
Hagrid appeared before them just in time for this revelation, Fang slobbering at his side. He stuck his finger in his ear and waggled it vigorously, his eyebrows beetling. "Yer didn't just say…"
Lupin sighed. "Yes, Hagrid, I'm afraid I did. Tonks realized you might be… more familiar with him, in this state than the rest of us. It's been a good while since my Care of Magical Creatures O.W.L. and these days I'd be more suited to stalk him than heal him, anyway."
Hagrid moved between Hermione and Ron, who were now standing on either side of the drooping beast and propping him up between them.
"Well, then, er, `arry. Let's `ave a look, eh?" he said. Hermione noticed how he approached talking quietly and off to one side where Harry's wide set eyes could clearly see him. He stroked the black neck once, reassuringly, then pushed back the eyelid of one white eye. `What could there possibly be to see other than more white?' she thought distractedly. He moved on next to the nose and mouth, feeling for the regularity of breath and checking the rather outsized tongue and sharp, predatory teeth. She shuddered. He slid his hand up beneath the forelock and saw the jagged white lightening-shaped mark. "Well, tha surely looks familiar. Never seen anything like tha on any o' the others."
Madam Pomfrey came and swept her wand along Harry's still-heaving flanks.
"He's a bit dried out, like," Hagrid volunteered. "Needs a good drink up. Heart's beatin' thready as well, but likely that's just not bein' accustomed to the flyin'."
"We apparated him here. All of us together," Ron told him. "Him and those ruddy enormous wings. But he flew me and Hermione clear of the Durmstrang grounds so we could apparate. It was me he was protecting, Hagrid." he admitted, swallowing hard, and Hermione realized for the first time how deeply it was all beginning to settle on Ron as well. She watched as Harry's dragonish head turned and nudged him gently as if to say, `forget it, mate,' almost knocking him over in the process.
"Hagrid is correct, as far as I can tell," Madam Pomfrey reported. "It…er, he, appears dehydrated, and his heart rate would be elevated for most species. He would seem to have a bit of a fever as well, although I've no idea anymore what the baseline temperature of a thestral is. All the other signs are there, though. In his current condition, Hagrid, I really do believe you'd be far more helpful to him than I."
"Well, bad as that sounds, it's good that you both agree that the crea…, Harry, shows signs of dehydration and exhaustion," Professor McGonagall told them, reaching a rather tentative hand to stroke the thestrals' nose as well. "Both could play a major impact on the ability of an inexperienced animagus to transform. Perhaps the best course of action is to ask Hagrid to take him down and make him as comfortable as possible in Witherwing's shelter with a drink and a… er, meal, before we go any further."
"Ugh," said Ron aloud, the thought of what Harry would be eating suddenly occurring to him. " Hagrid, you're not really going to feed him…"
"'e's not going to want treacle tart, Ron, tha's for certain. I've got a lovely bit of venison he can `ave, all cut up like, no hoofs or ears or ennythin'."
Harry wondered if thestrals could throw up. He knew, vaguely, that regular horses couldn't or something, but he wasn't getting within ten feet of anything on offer at Hagrid's anyway. Really, treacle tart sounded marvelous….though what he wanted more than anything was a nap. A month-long one.
"That's it then, Hagrid. You take Harry with you, and let's get the rest of you up to the Hospital Wing and taken care of."
"Before we do anything, there's one thing of vital importance we all need to agree on," Lupin said, and the group fell silent. "As far as we can tell, Voldemort seemed to believe Harry was killed at Durmstrang. It appeared as if he thought the thestral was a creature Harry called on before dying, the way he did Fawkes." A soft chirrup from the pocket of Bill's robes was followed by a pair of bright eyes as an infant Phoenix poked out its ashy head. Lupin smiled fondly at him, but his face quickly grew serious again as he continued. "He saw Harry's `body' and saw the thestral carry it off. As long as Voldemort believes Harry to be dead, there is a great chance he will come forward far more openly, feeling himself invincible. Attacks by his supporters may escalate at first, but we will have the element of surprise to strike back with when we have Harry back." His eyes searched the group, one by one. "For the time being at least, I think it's vital that no one outside this immediate company reveals to anyone else at Hogwarts, or anywhere else for that matter, that Harry is in fact alive."
There was a brief silence as the meaning of his words sunk in. It clearly made sense to most, but; "We've got to tell Mum the truth," one of the twins said.
"She'd go mental else," the other agreed. "And Dad as well."
"And Luna!" Ron said, though the tips of his ears went bright red when the twins wolf whistled. "She went through everything else with us, the snow and the dragons and the cave and…."
"Arthur and Molly and Miss Lovegood, then. No one else." Lupin agreed.
"What about Gin?" Bill asked.
Lupin sighed. "And Ginny."
"Filch?" Fred suggested.
"Peeves?" George offered.
"It's not funny, boys!" Lupin reproved them, though without much heat. "You were there; you know what a close thing it was."
"And Snape?" Hermione asked quietly. "What about Snape? Will we trust him?"
Harry's thestral head shook violently. It was his life, his secret. He believed now that Snape had killed Dumbledore on his own orders; he even had a growing suspicion exactly why, although the plan had quite probably failed. All that aside, there was still something not… right about Severus Snape.
"There's your answer," Lupin said. "Although we may have to revisit the question later, for now no one mentions a thing to Profes… er, Snape."
"What will you tell them all, then?" Tonks asked Professor McGonagall, not envying her a bit.
"We must all agree on a story, and stick with it." Lupin reaffirmed.
"Let's get everyone taken care of first and let Hagrid get Harry comfortable. Then perhaps we could discuss…" Professor McGonagall started.
"No!" Mad Eye cut in emphatically. "Do it now. One inconsistency and the seeds of doubt are sown. Potter's best asset right now is time undiscovered to rest up and plan a counter to whatever Riddle's got up his sleeve next. Lupin said it. Surprise is no small weapon against scum like the Dark Lord and his kind."
`It'll certainly surprise him if I'm a bloody thestral,' Harry thought despairingly, trying once more to change himself back. Nothing yet. Not even a flicker.
"We should all swear, and now, on the same story," Moody continued in his low growl. "Potter died at Durmstrang by the Dark Lord's hand, fighting the good fight. The Avada like as hit him in the back while he was wrestling young Weasley here out of the line of fire anyway; might as well make Riddle out as the back-spelling rat he is. Weasley and Granger escaped with his body on a thestral. End of story, goodbye."
"There'll still be questions. They'll expect a funeral and we haven't got a body," McGonagall rejoined, sobering at the thought. "Thank goodness!"
"He'll move quickly now he thinks Harry dead," Lupin reminded her. "There may not even be time to worry about the niceties. This changes everything; the balance of power he sought to overturn by forcing Malfoy to kill Dumbledore has finally gone his way, at least in his eyes. We must make him think it true until Harry is recovered and able to finish him off. There will likely be such widespread panic once he gets his word out, no one may even think to ask about a funeral or memorial."
"You're joking." Hermione said suddenly. "Just because every witch and wizard in the wizarding world will finally have to have a share in the fear and frustration Harry's had to himself for the last six years they won't even stop to give him a funeral?" She knew it was true; knew that if Harry had truly died the fickle sway of the wizard press and wizards in general might well have left him unnoticed and un-mourned despite all they had put him through in the name of protecting them. Rationally she understood that it was a moot point, that he was here, alive, beside her, but it enflamed her nonetheless. "That's barbaric, and utterly beneath us. How can we call ourselves civilized when…"
She realized they were all looking at her as if she'd finally gone truly mad. Harry's head rubbed gently against her shoulder as if to say "never mind," but she DID mind. Terribly. Because it still, any day, could be true instead of just hypothetical and she'd be damned if the wizarding world didn't give the Boy-Who-Lived his due. Or a bloody good send off, anyway.
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Harry found himself led down the steep hill to Hagrid's hut between Hagrid and Hermione a short while later. It was a slow trip and he stumbled more than once, scraping his bony knees on the rocky path. The wings that were so much an extension of his body when he flew were far more awkward to manage on the ground, something like an extra pair of too long arms to keep out of the way. When at last they reached the paddock outside Hagrid's he flopped down, convinced he could go no further.
Hermione's small noises of distress when he'd stumbled had been balm to his soul; he was miserable that she was worried but heartened that she was worried still for him. Her firm insistence that he rouse himself and finish the additional distance to the small shed Hagrid used for sheltering sick or wounded animals proved likewise compelling in an entirely different way. The stamp of her foot on the rocky ground and her frustrated growl of "Harry Potter, if you die on me it had better be in that shed or I swear I'll kill you myself!" revealed just how close to the limits of her patience and endurance she was as well.
He struggled up again and staggered on to the shed, flopping into the fresh straw Hagrid kept spread there for emergencies and closing his weary eyes. He heard the two move about him for some time as if in a dream; bits of conversation filtering through his consciousness as Hermione told Hagrid about what had befallen them after touching Snape's bottle in the Room of Requirement. The stinging sensation of someone cleaning the scrapes on his knees woke him enough to hear Hagrid's rumble of a voice asking eager questions about the Durmstrang dragons, and Harry realized Hermione was sitting in the straw beside him, gently stroking his neck again and combing her fingers through the rats' nest of his hair, erm…mane, as they talked. Everything about her touch instilled a persistent feeling of comfort and security and content within him, even in his present form. He knew thestrals were far and away from the most cuddly of beasts and the sight of them gave most wizards at least a momentary shudder; he'd long thought of himself as a human variant of one - a constant visual reminder for some of death even in the midst of life. Yet she still stayed by him, cared for him. How could he ever have understood until this moment that she was truly not to be put off, if not by this most off-putting of forms?
She loved him.
She loved him and she was safe and Ron was safe up in the castle having an extra ear removed and reassuring Molly and Arthur all was fine. He was lucky, really; he had no business dwelling on the thestral-like qualities of his life. He was alive, and he had the cup and the locket to destroy, and then once they figured out how to sever the final horcrux from his scar he was free to kill Voldemort and live a normal life, just like anyone else.
Harry knew he'd crested one mountain only to find a taller one looming on the horizon, but there was still a chance there, and where there was a chance, no matter how slim, there was always room for hope to be found. Somewhere.
He closed his eyes and surrendered at last to sleep.
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Three days followed in such quick succession Harry wasn't truly aware of the passing of time. All he knew for sure was that he was still a thestral, and a miserable, sickly one at that.
Madam Pomfreys' predicted fever had been spot on; the primary reason time had passed so unremarked. He'd shivered and sweated it out in the shed, slung with a collection of Hagrid's holey quilts. He'd eaten nothing the first two days, the prospect of each new bloody offering Hagrid tried to tempt him with more revolting that the last. It was just this evening when Ron came down for a visit Harry first felt the stirrings of a rectifiable hunger.
`Ron smells really good tonight,' he'd thought dreamily to Hermione.
Her look of alarm was almost enough to make him laugh, though thestrals didn't appear to come equipped for humor of any kind.
`Ask him what he had for dinner.'
"Shepard's pie," Ron had admitted in some confusion when she asked him. "Are you hungry? Dobby said he'd brought you and Hagrid something earlier."
"I'm fine," she told him. "It's Harry. He's put off by what Hagrid insists he ought to want to eat, and he thinks you, erm, smell good."
Ron swallowed nervously and shifted a bit further across the straw of the stall.
"I don't know why I didn't think of it before, it's the blood that attracts them, but nutritionally there shouldn't be any reason they can't digest cooked food, it's just a preference, really," Hermione thought aloud.
`As long as it's not Hagrid doing the cooking,' Harry thought. `I'm sure I could still break even one of these teeth on his stuff.'
"Stay with him a minute, Ron, I'm going to go have a talk with Dobby." Hermione instructed, rising from beside him and brushing straw dust from her jeans.
Harry thought Ron looked a bit panicked about being left alone with him, but bravely said nothing. That, or fear had paralyzed his vocal chords.
In the awkward, silent minutes that followed, Harry realized how accustomed he'd become to the comforting sound of Hermione's voice over the last few days. Of course he could talk to her as well, after a fashion, so it was different for Ron.
He leveled one white eye at Ron and stared for a few moments until he thought it impossible not to realize he was attempting to communicate, then cocked his head and waggled his ears in what was surely an interpretable interspecies variant for `what's up with the girl, then?'
Ron's eyes narrowed meditatively then he grinned. "You're trying to ask me about Luna, aren't you?"
And I'm not going to bloody nod and scrape my hoof like some circus pony, so get on with it already.
"She wants to come down and see you. McGonagall said maybe tomorrow, if you haven't changed back yet. The whole DA was up to speed and ready to help out when we got back to the castle, in case the Death Eaters followed. They're all pretty broken up about you, mate, honestly. There've been a couple of kids withdrawn from the school already and the Daily Prophet did call you `The- Boy-Who-Died-On-Us' this morning, but everyone else is really down. It'd be a right bloody boost to the ego if you could only enjoy it."
Harry thestral-snorted.
"Luna said she knew you were alive anyway, when I told her. And you know what? I believe her. She may come across like she's had one too many Snorckack kicks to the head, but she's really quite smart."
`No kidding, Ron. There's a reason she's in Ravenclaw, you great prat,' he thought, but fondly. Ron sort of glowed when he talked about her. Harry'd always liked Luna anyway; there was something so essentially transparent and honest in the midst of all the strangeness. He admired the way she coped with her life without compromising herself or feeling the need to compensate for everyone else.
"Not to mention the best snog ever."
Aha… and coming from Won Won the plunger boy that was no small compliment!
"It was a right relief when the twins finally left yesterday, I'll tell you," he continued. "They're bloody merciless when it comes to that kind of thing. Bill's still here, though, and he's quite alright about…stuff. Married man and all that, you know. Full of good advice, he is. I've missed having you to talk with right at the moment, mate, seeing as you, well… Things seemed to work out well enough for you and Hermione, I mean. You didn't seem to put her off or anything. Quite the opposite, actually, considering that night in the cave. I thought she was going to pounce you right over the fire for a bit there."
So had Harry; and it was quite the pleasant memory. That, and all that had followed it. Something stirred within him, and he tried desperately not to think of the whole physiology of it.
Good lord, what if I can't ever change back? Can that even happen? Professor McGonagall certainly hasn't seemed panicked yet or anything, but what does that mean? I've never exactly gone by the book in anything. Bloody effing hell.
Hermione fortunately reappeared at that moment with a large basket and an even larger grin curling the very corners of her lips and lighting up her eyes. Walking up the hill and back had brought a flush of pink to her cheeks and she smelled of fresh air and heather and wood smoke to Harry's sharpened senses.
"Look what Dobby's made you, Harry," she told him, and set the basket down before him in the straw.
He nuzzled the lid off the basket to discover a still-warm, outsized Shepard's pie. The smell set off a rumble in his stomach and encouraged him enough to forget the awkwardness of diving right in.
There was simply no delicate way to do it, and after the first couple of tentative nibbles he stopped trying. He told himself Ron and Hermione's gales of laughter watching him trying to lick mashed potato off his muzzle were affectionate in nature, and revenge would surely present itself at some future point. He ended up cleaning the dish, and hauled himself to his feet to have a drink from the bucket of water Hagrid had hung near the door after, stretching his wings as much as he could in the confines of the stall.
"That seems to have done it," Ron commented. "If he keeps on like that, he'll be enormous by the time he changes back, though. Might actually fit Dudders old clothes for a change."
Thestral noses sprayed water really well. Ron blinked, dripping.
"Oh you really are dead now, mate. Just you wait."
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Harry woke to the breaking dawn next morning cold and more than a little stiff. He rolled over beneath the old quilt Hagrid had thrown over him, instinctively seeking warmth and moving eagerly against it when he found it. Long hair brushed his cheek and he felt himself smile, recognizing the familiar scent as Hermione. Merlin, he must smell revolting; sweaty thestral could only be described as wet dog to the twentieth power.
Apparently heedless of that fact Hermione likewise snuggled closer, equally unconsciously glad of any assistance in the warmth department. Her hands burrowed against his chest and began a slow descent along his ribs as they relaxed while she fell more deeply asleep again. He shifted, eyes still closed, his movement helping her warming fingers along their reflexive journey. He could feel himself let slip a small hum of anticipation, inching forward again, arching his hips slightly to help her fingertips slide to his stomach and encourage their downward momentum…
Holy crap! What the hell was he doing? He was different species, for godsake, he couldn't…
He froze and opened a single eye, angling his head down. Pale skin with slender extensions met his roving gaze, and the other eye flew open. A hand. Thestrals didn't have hands. He had a hand! And an arm! And a hell of a good morning present for Hermione if the tightness of the torn and dirtied Durmstrang trousers he still wore was any indication.
The grin of delight was so wide it actually hurt.
He made a beeline for the lips that had tormented him for days, so desirable and yet so beyond his reach as a thestral. He nudged her with his chilly, delightfully normal-sized human nose and kissed her over and over everywhere he could reach, eyelids, nose, cheeks, forehead, chin, again and again. If he had died, there could be no heaven without this. Clearly fate had other plans for him.
"Hermione?" he whispered. "Hermione, wake up. Please wake up."
"Hmm?" she murmured. "Harry, it's early. Go back to… Harry?"
Her eyes opened wide and just as abruptly filled with tears of pure, unadulterated relief. His grin dimmed slightly, but only just.
"Don't cry, don't. Don't lets waste it. I can't remember the last time it felt so damn good just to wake up. Be happy, Hermione, please?" he whispered, trying to wipe them from her cheeks.
"I am." she whispered back. "Idiot. I'm just …It's just hitting me all at once. You're alive, and you're you, and I've been so worried for such a long time..."
She didn't stop crying, but she did start kissing him back in much the same way he had woken her; as if she didn't know where to start first and didn't want to stop anytime soon. He closed his eyes and relaxed into her hands, leaning into the warmth like a cat in a sunbeam.
"I've missed you. I know I've been right here with you all this time, but I've missed you so much." Harry admitted. He lowered his nose into the crook of her neck and inhaled; pressed his lips to the tender skin just below her ear and felt her slight shiver in response. He had arms. Arms were a wonderful thing. Hands were even better. Fingers could undo buttons. At least, they used to be able to… He frowned in concentration and Hermione would have given anything to have been able to shown Lily that expression, a combination of frustration and wonder and anticipation that he probably hadn't worn since he first learned to walk.
Green eyes swept up to meet hers and took in her amusement. "You could help, you know,"
"It's too much fun to watch. Three days as a thestral and you'd never know you were raised with opposable thumbs," she teased. And found herself silenced in the best of all possible ways. She had been unchanged all this time and still the wonderful warmth he radiated against her and the feel of his muscles at play beneath the skin of his shoulders was almost unbelievably good; she could only imagine the intensity of rediscovering his senses. His fingers abandoned the buttons of her shirt and were moving relentlessly south.
It was becoming clearer and clearer to her why the Scots had developed the kilt.
They began fumbling with each others buttons and zippers until Harry let loose a low growl of frustration and she felt the shimmer of magic like gooseflesh across her entirely unclothed skin.
"No fair," she reproved him, drawing him closer over her nonetheless.
"You try, then," he encouraged her, dropping his head and ghosting his cheek along the soft swell of her. "It's all intent; you've only got to want it."
She closed her eyes and visualized what she wanted, thinking the charm, until he distracted her with a soft, wet kiss somewhere she just couldn't ignore.
"Harry, I'm trying to concentrate here…"
"Maybe you should try actually looking at what you want," he suggested.
She opened her eyes to pools of intent green, hovering above her. His still-clothed hips moved against hers as he bent to kiss her and suddenly it was just too much.
"Take it off," she growled in her turn. "Or at least hand me my wand."
He pushed himself upright and hauled his shirt over his head, completely oblivious in his usual Harry way of how utterly lovely he was to her while doing it. He flung it in the corner and reached for her wand, handing it to her with an anticipatory smile. "You can solve two problems with one wand, then," he explained, settling back down to her.
Something pricked at the corner of her memory, just out of reach; but whatever it was disappeared like mist with the brush of his lips against her own. She banished the Durmstrang trousers, permanently, thank you, and cast the anti-conception charm, setting her wand back down in the straw and rejoicing in the whisper of skin on skin as they rejoined each other.
Harry felt fiercely aware of finally, truly belonging somewhere; the lovely anchoring sense of being hers was almost as good as knowing she wanted to be his as well. She was warm and welcoming and happy he was alive. She had loved him, reassured him, slept beside him even when he was a creature most wizards considered eerie, and ugly to boot. He felt a longing course through him then for something more then sex, something he'd never reckoned to be part of his life, a luxury he'd never counted on. Was it wrong to want something so badly? Irresponsible, selfish, cruel even?
"Hermione, would you ever…, would you actually, if I…" Her eyes opened, he felt her lashes brush his cheek as he pulled back to gauge her expression. "Um, would you? Consider maybe marrying me? Getting married, I mean. Us. Er… together."
Her eyes went wide, shocked.
"I know it's not really fair to ask you that," he muttered and ducked his head, but persisted, driven on by some unnamable compulsion. "I just wanted you to…to know that I, that that's what I wanted for you. That I wish that it was all different and I wasn't…"
"Oh, Harry," she said slowly, and anything else he'd thought of saying died on his lips along with his hope.
"Of course I would," she continued. "I don't need to consider it. It's what I've been telling you, trying to, since my birthday. Once I let myself see it was you I loved, there wasn't a way to turn back. It's not that it doesn't matter what happens, it matters hugely. It's just I know now that I'd rather live a single day more with you if that's all we have than fifty years with anyone else."
They stared at each other a moment, eye to eye, processing.
"That was a yes, wasn't it?" he asked tentatively, hopeful once again.
She sighed. "Yes, Harry. It was a yes. Yes, I would, in fact, marry you if we ever got the time or the chance. Of course I would."
"Will. You will. No squirming out of it with a would, or anything."
"'Will' means you have to promise to be around so I can," she pointed out.
"Okay. Deal. I get to kiss you now, don't I?" he asked happily. It was one of the few times she'd seen him so successfully shake off the clinging gloom of his fate since third year. She wasn't any more certain that he believed he might live, but she also couldn't believe he would ask her if he didn't at least think it possible.
"Not that you weren't before or anything, but yes, you do. And I get to kiss you back."
"Hmmm. Do I get to say where?"
"Let me guess…" Hermione said softly, secretly delighted with his delight. She could barely remember the last time she'd seen him smile like that, and he'd certainly been too young then to be anticipating what he was now.
"Three guesses."
"Okay. Is it… here?" She kissed his nose, nipping, laughing inside as she saw his eyes cross trying to watch her.
"Nope. Not close. Cold on the old locator. Not really a nose guy."
"Is it…. here?" She worked her way down, skipping his lips and traveling from his chin on down his neck and through the hollow between the gates of his collar bones. She made a quick, inspired decision to go left before she latched on target. She noticed he let her go a good minute or more before interrupting her this time. His chest rose and fell like the swell of waves on an ocean, taking her with him.
"Nooo. Nope. Definitely unh….warmer though. One more guess."
Hermione decided it was time to get it wrong for once. If there was truly a time for everything, she sensed now was one of those times when being right didn't necessarily make you smart.
"Must be…" she whispered, dragging her lips softly down the center of his torso, "right…here." She let her tongue swirl around his navel.
"So hot…" he managed, "and yet so wrong."
She rested her chin where her lips had been and gazed contritely up at him, forcing him to curl his shoulders up to see her. The subtle ridge of muscle directly in front of her contracted and reformed in the process, leading her to swallow. It was that or drool, and swallowing was so much… neater.
"Do I get to go for extra credit?" she asked innocently.
"Oh yeah. Absolutely. Go on, try again," he told her, eyes darkening. He remained propped on his elbows.
"Hmmmm," she pondered, knowing the hum was passing right through her chest and directly to the goal, currently straining against her breastbone. "I'd better take my time, if I've only got one more chance."
"Holy hell, Hermione. It's standing up and waving at you," he groaned good naturedly.
"Well, hello there. So it is. I win!"
She grinned.
He grinned back, just a touch more feral than hers. "Yeah. But it's my turn next. And you know how much help I need answering questions under pressure."
"And you don't want to make me laugh for the next few minutes now, do you?"
"No ma'am," he admitted, his eyes rolling back in his head as she began. "I don't."
*************
Harry required some recovery time before even thinking about his three guesses. Hermione moved up beside him where he lay, resting her hand on his still-heaving ribs.
"Bet you'll never get it," she teased gently.
"Bet I will," he countered, opening his eyes slowly. The green really did seem darker somehow; but warmer as well. Perhaps it was lacking the lens of his glasses in the way that changed them.
"Not without your glasses," she laughed.
He threaded the fingers of one hand through hers and waved them. "Trusty seeing eye digits at the ready."
"Definitely no fair."
"Are you discriminating against the near sighted? Hermione Jane Granger, champion of the house elf and abuser of the myopic?"
"Fine. Fine. You can use your fingers. No tickling. You still won't guess though."
His breathing had evened and he was showing renewed interest in his task.
"Alright, then. First guess. I think it's got to be…. here." He kissed her forehead.
She shook her head, watching as he feigned disappointment.
"Hermione Granger, smartest witch of her age, doesn't want her brains noticed first?"
Another head shake. He might be focusing on her brains, but his other hand was wandering, stroking her back and arms in a slow, mesmerizing rhythm. So that's his game….
"Okay. Got it now. Shook me the first time, but now I'm on to you."
He was on her, too. How'd that happen?
"Here," he proclaimed, and gently, quite chastely, kissed her left breast above her heart.
"Erm, no. `Fraid not."
"Really? Really? That trustworthy, kind, faithful heart, and that's not it? Hmmmm."
Okay. He could play the hum game too. Really well. And his… friend was back and ready to play again.
"Last guess, Potter," she warned.
"Pressure's on now, I reckon," he said, making sure that it was, and in all the right places, too.
Dear Lord, if he didn't make his move in the next thirty seconds she was going to have to grab him and show him where it went. "Quit stalling," she yawned, using up the very last shred of her self control to achieve the effect.
"'m not stalling. I'm thinking. You've got me completely confused. Brains, heart… you know you're lovely, beautiful, it can't be eyes then, or lips or anything you can see just looking at you… wait. I've got it." he told her.
"Yes?" she said breathlessly. He was so damn close down there.
"Here," he said softly, and drew their still clasped hands up, his lips closing on the ring finger of her left hand. "Where I promise that one day, very soon, there'll be a ring that says you're mine. Forever. Because he's gone."
He was so damn sweet. So good. On so many different levels, in so many different ways. Who ever could have dreamed that only three days after Voldemort swooped triumphantly back into full power proclaiming the Boy-Who-Lived dead Hermione Granger would have the best one of her life so far?
"You win," she said.
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