Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: Don't own Harry Potter and All That Jazz… Clearly, since I believe in freedom, beauty, truth and love.

After The End

Authors Note: I deeply apologise for the delay on this chapter; even though I've wanted to write it for a long time, it took a great effort to come out.

I love this story and I love writing it; but I love you readers more. You're the inspiration to write this story. I live for the reviews where I get to know that I've gotten across someone's heart.

I don't think that artists should do art to please themselves. That's cheap, that's not art. I write this piece of art for the people who need answers to their questions.

This chapter is dedicated to you, wonderful readers. I love you all! I'm eternally grateful to all of you who have given my art the chance to give you answers.

And with that in mind, I will quote Sex and the City here:

"When it gets cold outside, New Yorkers head inside and look for ways to generate heat" ~Carrie

Thank you all! Please forgive the delay and enjoy, this is for you!

Chapter Four: Out of Sight.

"Welcome into the night

Where some people stop being

Waiting to be born again

There's always a reason to hold the pace

That this time has set for us

Welcome into the night

Where some stand still

Waiting to be born again

To discover once again

The roads that will take us

To each other"

~La Ley

Poetry

It kept ringing through her brain as she heard the sound of her stilettos stepping on the dust-covered floor like a humming beat that settled her footsteps into a subtle rhythm to carefully keep the peaceful loneliness of the room. The layer of dust was so thick that her footsteps were barely audible, as if she was walking on a carpet.

Poetry.

She saw it in the dusted fireplace, in the furniture, covered by linen white sheets that had gathered dust in the course of 25 years. They had never touched anything. He didn't want to touch anything, she knew. He hadn't ever spoken a word about it, but she had known, it was something she felt in the way he moved around the house. He wanted it to be the way it had been. She hadn't asked why or how, but she knew it was important to him. It was as if this house was a piece in the giant puzzle of his life, and he wanted to pocket it to be able to sort it out later, once it had all been over on another end of the puzzle.

The poetry. Almost as if the house would be telling a story to her opened eyes, attempting to tell her something that words couldn't get across. It was in the lingering smell of loneliness, in the feeble grey sunlight that crept through a window whose curtain had been torn by time. The window next to it had a small hole in its glass through which the morning air kept blowing the curtain inside ever so slightly, but not enough to sweep the dust off the floor.

Her heart ached as she contemplated the sight. It was painful, it was melancholic, it was sad. It was as if this huge chunk of some people's life had vanished in the place, leaving behind a gigantic house, filled with old furniture that collected dust as the years passed, and the memories, the moments that had been lived there now laid hidden under the thick layer of dust.

Lily could have laughed here, and James might have kissed her in front of that fireplace. They could have shown baby Harry the snow that appeared out the window on Christmas, Sirius might have been over for tea some afternoon, and they would have laughed Snape off in these furniture.

Poetry… such bitterness and such sweetness; such sadness and such happiness; such an assortment of contradictions, merging into the space around her, like the life that had been his during a time he had no memory of: so lovingly conceived, but so cruelly taken away.

Tears were swelling up in her eyes when he spoke, and she tried to bite them back furiously. She knew it was affecting him and she had to try hard to be strong for him.

"My Gringotts vault for your thoughts," he said behind her.

She smiled. She swallowed to hold back the tears and turned to look at him.

"They're not worth that much," she said with a small smile.

"They are to me," he said as he walked close to her and wrapped her in a hug.

Such angsty picture, she thought; their warm hug in the coldness of a house that had once been the epitome of family warmth and that was now the only remains of the life that could have been his.

He sighed against her and she breathed him in. There was a heavy weight within him that he was trying to lift, and she felt lost in the heaviness that the visit had incited in her and which made her feel helpless in his quest.

"Tell me what you see," he whispered in her ear. He felt lost, she felt it through him and it pained her not to have a map to give to him.

"Poetry," she answered truthfully.

He let her go and looked in her eyes. She held his gaze for a moment and then looked around the old living room again.

"There was so much love in this house," she whispered, closing her eyes. "It's like… a thousand moments, Harry," she directed her eyes at him. "A thousand moments that your parents lived here that we haven't unravelled, and every little thing in here is waiting to tell a story that's been covered by linen sheets, gathering dust for years."

She sighed and looked at the dusted fireplace. "It's a crime we didn't come here before,"

"No," he said.

She looked at him.

"It's not a crime," he told her. "This is the right time. You and me, now: This is the right time to do this,"

Silence fell a moment. A question burned within her and she hesitated to voice it. But she looked at him and it suddenly came out of her mouth.

"Harry, why are we here?"

Harry sighed. He turned his back on her and started to walk out the living room into the entrance and stood in front of the beautiful wood staircase that led to the second floor.

He sighed again and slid his hands inside the back pockets of his trousers.

"When we last came here," he said. "I... I thought I was going to find an answer to all my questions and I…" he stopped and let his head fall forwards in defeat. Hermione ached again to see him so lost; she wanted desperately to reach out to him and pull him to something he knew.

"I didn't deserve to be here. I was unworthy of my parent's memory," he sighed and raised his head, turning it to look at her. "I was so mad."

She approached him slowly, again listening to the subtle sound of her footsteps on the floor. He extended her hand for her to take and she took it firmly without hesitation.

He sighed again and turned to look at the stairs in front of them, trailing the steps into the second floor.

"When I came and saw all that was here, all that had been theirs, I felt so mad at them for leaving me! And leaving behind all those unanswered questions!"

He rubbed his eyes with his free hand and Hermione squeezed the hand she was holding.

He squeezed her hand back as he looked around them, his eyes shining with unshed tears and his nose wrinkled in the way he did when he tried to hold back tears.

She cherished these moments that he gave her. The ability that he had empowered her with when he shared these moments with her, completely careless about his vulnerability, This man standing in front of her was the one she loved with a crazed desperation and with an impossibly strong will. She loved him!

She loved the man that he was, this man that he had allowed her to see him become; this man that knew when to take steps back to walk forwards.

She loved him!

He started to walk up the stairs, holding firmly to her hand.

"When I married Ginny," he said. "She wanted to… you know, come here."

She knew. Figures. He waited, the silence felt heavy in such an empty place.

"And I… I just couldn't." he sighed as they reached the end of the stairs and stepped on the second floor's hall "There were no big reasons or revelations… I just couldn't. Plain and simple."

He wrinkled his nose again and took a breath.

"I know now that I didn't have enough love to clean this house of all the grief and pain that made it so dirty…" he sighed.

She knew what he was saying, she understood every word… and still, a part of her refused to acknowledge what Harry was saying, as if it was too good to really be true… but when it came to them these days; nothing was ever good enough.

"I loved you, I did. I know I did," he continued. "But I didn't love you this way! And I know you didn't love me like this either." He raised his hand and caressed her cheek with his thumb. "I didn't love you like this Hermione! Merlin! I didn't! I didn't have this burning need to love you and to have you love me! And… " He stopped, at a loss for words. He moved forwards and placed his lips against her temple, pressing the side of his face against hers, leaning to whisper in her ear.

"For the first time, I honour what my parents left behind! I honour my parents when I love you because for the first time I truly understand what it is they died fighting for!"

She threw her arms around his neck; tears rolling down her cheek as she pressed her face to his shoulder, feeling his arms envelop her around the waist, pulling her to him. She breathed him in, completely aware of the determination with which she was going to help him do this.

"This place needs to heal," he said, still embracing her. "Do you…" he hesitated and grabbed her shoulders to look at her. "Do you think we have enough love to heal this place of the grief that came upon it?"

"We healed each other, how could we not heal this place?"

~*~*~

"Nunca vas a pedirme que me quede?"

"Pero si tienes que ir al ginecólogo!"

"Jordi!"

"Que cosas dices Vera! Si me dejaste por Antonio!"

"Lo ves? No entiendes nada!"

~La Puta Y La Ballena by Luis Puenzo

~*~*~

She had trouble breathing. It was edging on the grounds of the ridiculous. Her heart was beating its way out of her chest. She breathed a laugh every now and then at that though.

How did it come to this, saints in heaven? How did it happen to her?

It was just dinner.

He was coming over for dinner and she couldn't breathe!

Friday dinner was not a novelty for them. Once a month, Harry and Ginny would come over, or Ron and Hermione would go to their place.

She knew that this thing she and Harry had was growing steadily out of control but that afternoon, she realised that it was quickly, and overly fast growing completely and utterly out of hand.

It wasn't just about the wonderful morning they had had together in Godric's Hollow, or about the wonderful plans they had made to restore the house… it was about the fact that this was growing greater and more powerful inside of her. It was about the fact that they were soon approaching the moment when they would no longer be able to keep this façade anymore.

Hell! She wondered if they were still keeping it!

She felt so impossibly free and happy since she and Harry had unleashed their burning need to be together, that she had started to wonder if Ron really hadn't noticed a thing. Just that day, she must have had an outrageous number of silly smiles in her face as she drove home from work, as she bought groceries to make dinner. She knew she had a goofy smile as she cooked dinner, and it was only because he was coming over.

Didn't Ron ever wonder what made her so happy? Didn't she look crazily in love? Did he think she was in love with him? She tried to push the thought away, but it kept coming back each time she tried to disguise her happy face. It was, indeed, growing absolutely out of control.

She knew it when the bell rang, and the leap in her heart told her it was him on the other side of the door.

Ron was watching the telly, his back to her in the kitchen as he sat on their living room couch. He had just entered a movie in the DVD that one of his team mates had lent him. Hermione was busy around the kitchen.

"Ron," she said, fumbling around the kitchen, looking for a saucepan. "Kindly get the door for Harry,"

She grabbed the pan she had been looking for and stopped dead in her tracks. "For Harry," she had said. She shook her head as she set the pan on the stove. This was what she meant. Definitely out of control.

And then she heard footsteps behind her and the sound of a bottle being placed on top of the kitchen table at her back.

"Hi," he whispered behind her, snapping her out of her reverie. She turned around.

"Hey," she whispered back. Looking at his figure, leaning against the door to the kitchen, she mentally started to fight a battle against the burning need to jump on him and snog him senseless against the counter.

She felt her eyes filled with tears and how the sight of him, in a pair of black trousers and a dark blue shirt tore something within her. She felt as if she were floating, as if the ground beneath her feet would suddenly open in two and something massively big would appear between her and Harry.

A painful stab in her heart held her breath in her chest in the most impossible sensation of captivity. Her eyes met his and she felt the same sadness in his stare, the same sadness that told her they were both unfeasibly tired of their imprisonment.

Silence fell as she stared into his green eyes, staring back at her with that heavy burden that remained with them, regardless of how many times they would convince themselves out of it. Her lower lip was shaking, her pulse quickened and her breath caught up in her throat in a succession of events that happened in a rapidly swift second.

She wanted to kiss him! She was dying to feel his lips against her own, to feel the freedom of pressing herself against him. She just felt an unbearable, heart wrenching desire to kiss him and have him kiss her back. Just a peck on the lips, just to feel his hand grabbing her arm, pulling her to him; just to smell him closely, just wrap her hand around his neck.

She wanted to kiss him! She wanted to kiss him so badly that it was literally hurting her inside, and her eyes watered, painfully unable to perform a blink.

"I know," he said in a sad whisper. "Me too."

She sighed and looked down to the floor for a moment, her stare not particularly fixed on anything, but her mind hardly commanding her brain to regain the control of her breathing in a feeble attempt to get her composure back.

She turned her eyes back to him, to find that he didn't stop looking at her. And she felt the dreadful fear spread inside of her.

She found herself praying; in the imminent realisation that something, right then and right there had to happen. Something had to happen; effective immediately, or else she was going to burst into tears and throw herself against his shaking arms.

She was losing all control of her emotions and what actions she knew they would lead her into.

She mentally contemplated the eventual sight in a matter of seconds, almost as if she were watching the images on a movie in fast motion: she would be helplessly crying in Harry's arms. Words would escape her throat, words that Ron and Ginny weren't supposed to hear. Words that would find inevitable release in the cry that would reveal that ultimate truth of their lives to Ron and Ginny, aimlessly chatting in the living room about Ron's DVD.

Pray tell, something had to happen.

And almost as if she would have known, almost as if she would have seen the same series of mental images Hermione had. Almost as if she knew what would happen if such thoughts were to come true; almost as if she knew what the result would be to her… Ginny happened.

Hermione sighed. And then, in the time frame of a second, her brain began to place two and two together. And a thought formed in her head that made her lose her temporary calm and freeze on the spot.

Ginny actually had a habit of "happening" between them. It was a part of the way in which she lived; it was the way in which she had kept Harry with her for as long as she had: she happened, every now and then between Harry and Hermione.

Hermione had always recognised the aura of determination around Ginny. The strange change of personality that Ginny adopted when it came to be in the way of Harry and Hermione; almost a completely different person in the face of the impossibly strong bond of Harry and Hermione. And Hermione had wondered, many times, what was it that provoked that change in Ginny.

And frozen as she was in her kitchen, for the first time, that evening; Hermione knew.

In a quick blur, seemingly to a very fast portkey travel, Hermione understood what was the thing that ignited that sudden and violent change in Ginny: Ginny knew. Ginny had always known.

Hermione thanked whatever gods there were, for the marvellous strength and ability to gather herself that she had always possessed. Even as it took all the strength in her to shut the thousand desperate thoughts in her head that wanted her to lose herself to a nervous breakdown.

"Evening Hermione," Ginny said, entering the kitchen and walking up to her, kissing her cheek. Hermione's mind was racing in spite of her efforts to shut every thought down. Ginny knew! Ginny who had just kissed her cheek; Ginny had always known!

Hermione heard herself greet Ginny back as her eyes began to burn and she felt slightly dazed in the revelation her brain had just put together.

"Oh!" Ginny said again, peeking over Hermione's shoulder at her unfinished dinner. "You're making Italian!"

Hermione tried to look behind her at her dinner to give herself time to settle her mind and give Ginny an answer, but the more she tried the more the feeling of disorientation possessed her mind.

"Yes she is!" Ron interrupted. "But don't go peeking around, I'm going to finish this movie and if you intent to watch with me, it's going to be right now,"

"Oh yes!" Ginny said, almost jumping and going after Ron into the living room.

"What are you watching?" Harry said, turning his head around to look at them as they sat in front of the television.

"The Red Violin," said Ron.

"The Red Violin," Harry repeated in a low voice, turning to Hermione, grimacing. Immediately, his expression changed, as he understood whatever emotion there was on her face. She couldn't make her brain do anything; she was absently listening to Ron and Ginny. She knew Harry had meant for her to remember that one time in Italy, when rain had poured down over the city and they had remained in their hotel room, watching 'The Red Violin' on the DVD.

But the mood changed and Harry had his eyes fixed on her, puzzled, as the voices of Ron and Ginny seemed distant and shallow.

"Where did you say you left off?" Ginny asked Ron as he skipped the first chapters on the DVD. "Has he died yet?"

"He dies?" Ron asked bewildered, turning to Ginny.

"Oops!" she said, chuckling.

Hermione felt Harry's arm grabbing her own and her eyes snapped at him, wide open and somewhat disoriented.

She had to tell him right away.

"I have to talk to you," she whispered, placing a hand in his arm and looking for her wand in her skirt with the other. She waved her wand on top of her dinner, which started to finish itself immediately. She took Harry's arm and walked out of the kitchen determinedly and quickly. She positioned herself behind the couch where Ginny and Ron were watching the screen. She commanded her brain to run and find an appropriate course of action.

"Listen," she said. "Harry and I…" She stopped, giving her brain a moment to find a reason to go hide with Harry on her study. Ron turned to her and looked expectant. "I have to show Harry some new thing I found out on the case we're working on," she said rather quickly, thanking her mind for the speed. "It's kinda, you know…"

"Super Secret, yeah," Ron interrupted her, turning back to the screen. "We won't bother or sneak around," he said in a tone that suggested he was bored to the death of their secretive mood when it came to work, and in a quick succession of images, Hermione was reminded of Ron's reaction when Percy talked about work.

"Right," Hermione said, looking at Ginny, who hadn't even acknowledged what she said. "Thanks, we won't take long," she finished somewhat distracted.

She turned to Harry who was still wearing the puzzled look of preoccupation in his face.

She met his eyes. She had meant to say something like 'come on' or 'please Harry' but she realised Harry was ready to follow her, so she just grabbed his arm and walked.

Hermione walked past the living room and took the stairs that led to her study. Harry's footsteps behind her soothed her spirit and the desperation she had felt in the kitchen. She breathed in deeply as she reached the end of the stairs, and by the time she opened the door and held it open for Harry; her heart had slowed its beating.

The study was Hermione's room in that flat. It was like the sacred place that was only hers. Ron rarely entered it, mostly because he had no business there, being as it was filled with books Ron didn't know how to use.

Most of Hermione's muggle appliances were there. The phone she used to talk to her mum, a computer she bought in spite of Ron's insistence that she didn't need one. All of her books were there, and a couple of leather armchairs she liked to read on.

She turned the light on and closed the door after her, locking it with her wand. She turned to Harry.

Harry took out his wand and waved it over the door, silently casting a Silencing Charm.

"I know," he said, pocketing his wand and sighing as he met her eyes.

"What?" Hermione frowned.

"I know, what you just found out and are about to tell me, I know it."

"What do you mean-"

"Ginny knows."

Silence followed his statement. Truth was, that it wasn't that Hermione felt surprised that he knew; but she had to admit it had taken her off guard. In a quietly immediate agreement, they let the silence heal the moment. Let the silence gently fall upon the harshness of the truth.

And as they did so, Hermione couldn't help but feel how her anger steadily increased. It increased as she contemplated the wrongness of that truth. What it meant, what it told them. And the anger that she couldn't help burst out of her in a crazed frenzy that she was unable to control, regardless of the importance of the silence.

"For how long?" she exclaimed.

"Oh Hermione!" Harry said exasperated, throwing himself on one of her black leather armchairs. In her favourite one, leaving only his right profile visible to her. "Forever! She's known forever!"

"But how-"

"She's not stupid, you know." he interrupted.

Silence, again fell upon them and it was clear to Hermione that her eloquence had been defeated by Harry's bravery.

Tears gathered in her eyes as the anger she felt mixed with frustration, betrayal, hurt and the sight of Harry's frustration as he ran his fingers through his messy hair in heaviness.

"Why?" She whispered, trying not to sob. "How?" Her earlier thoughts slam back into her head then. "How did it come to this?"

"I don't know," he whispered, sighing a sad chuckle. "But she knows," he said, rubbing his hands against his face, as if trying to wash something off it. "She's always known, and all these years she's watched me dying in life…"

He chuckled again, in a sturdily sad way that made her shudder.

"And one of these days, I wondered what she thinks… she's not stupid, she must know something is different with me" he looked into her. "And I wondered if she think she did it. It made me sick just to think of it! Why is she doing it, Hermione? Why does she keep doing it?"

Hermione didn't know for sure if Harry had asked her that question, but she couldn't help herself when it came to provide answers she possessed.

"She got what she always wanted," she said simply.

"Is that a reason?" he asked her; almost as if he had been waiting for her to reply that exactly. Although Hermione knew he was asking a rhetorical question. "It's no reason to do that, Hermione, what kind of cruelty is that?"

"I know it's not," she said.

"Least of all when you and I gave up each other for the reason we did!"

"Harry-"

"I know!" he said exasperatedly, leaning against the armchair again.

Silence fell again in the room, and for a moment, the only sound was Harry's frustrated sigh as he ran his hand through his messy hair.

"Damn!" He whispered. Hermione lifted her head and looked at him as he maddeningly looked at her bookshelves, not really concentrating in looking at them.

"It shouldn't change anything!" he said, looking straight ahead but not particularly looking at anything.

"But it does," she sighed, leaning against her desk.

"Of course it does!" he said, turning in his chair to look at her. "It changes everything,"

"It changes everything," she repeated in an anguished and almost inaudible whisper.

He rubbed his temple, sighing and letting his head fall forwards.

She felt the heaviness he felt. She felt the sorrow he felt, the betrayal he felt.

"I…" he tried to say. "I… I shouldn't feel better about us, but I do!"

"Harry -"

"She's always known! Before she ever had anything with me, she knew! When we married, she knew!" His stare was piercing her. It pained her to see him like this; he felt betrayed, because he had failed to see it, when everyone, including Ginny did.

"She married me and watched you get married knowing it!"

He felt betrayed; because he had never questioned anything in Ginny's behaviour; because he had never tried to see her beyond the excuse that she was to keep hiding from himself. And Hermione knew, he also felt defeated. Defeated by simplicity and emptiness. Defeated by cowardice and fear. Defeated by the mediocre way with which they had accepted the next best thing.

Hermione sighed. Her own head fell forwards and she admitted her own defeat. He had finished an evil Lord and she had helped him do it, and yet they had not seen through Ginny. She had deciphered a thousand riddles to help him accomplish his quest, and yet she hadn't seen what Ginny had.

"Harry," she whispered.

He looked up at her; his sad green eyes bore a heaviness that was unspeakably dreary. It was moments like this when she knew that Harry was still that little boy that had been locked under the stairs in a cupboard. He had become a strong, responsible and stable man, but his emotional reality will always be clouded by his childhood abuse.

And Hermione cursed Ginny. Cursed her with every fibber of her being, with such strong anger and hatred that she didn't know she was able to feel. She cursed Ginny, for locking Harry again in that cupboard.

She cursed Ginny in her mind but kept her heart focused on Harry.

She doubted if she ought to ask the question that danced wildly in her mind, but she desperately longed for any sort of peaceful soothing for Harry.

"Do you think she knows…" she hesitated. "About… you know," Hermione said, her head down.

"Us?" he asked.

"Yeah, you know," she said, raising her own head. "In the sense that-"

"Yeah, I know what you mean,"

"Does she know we know?"

Harry stood silent for a moment, then threw his head back against the head of the chair and breathed a bitter laugh.

"No," he said, running a hand through his hair again. He laughed again, the bitterness in his laughter almost painful.

"Like the Dursleys with my magic," he said to the ceiling. "She thinks she can rub it off me,"

He went silent again, and focused his eyes on her bookshelves, although Hermione knew he was not interested in the titles of her books.

"Oh Harry," she whispered.

"The other day… as I was getting ready for work, " he said, lifting his head and fixing a pair of teary green eyes on her own. "I looked at her. She was brushing her hair in her vanity and I just" he trailed off, whether for a tight throat or for a loss of words, but Hermione felt sympathy for that moment when he lacked eloquence. "I… haven't words to say how wrong it felt to me!"

"I'm so alone in that flat Hermione! She… doesn't know anything! And you know I don't mean in that in the mundane sense. I mean she doesn't know anything about me! She doesn't know anything about what I feel… she doesn't know the man she married. And she says she loves me, but how can she love someone she doesn't know?" Hermione had tears in her eyes, and her mind frantically recalled the curse she had intended upon Ginny.

"Every minute I spend in there tears something in me, I'm back to that cupboard, Hermione! Do you understand what that means to me? I'm afraid I won't ever get back what I'm losing in there, because I've come to realise that the reason I feel that way is that she's not you!"

"I'm afraid I'll get lost in there… and that I won't be able to find you again,"

"Harry!" She said in an anguished whisper.

She tentatively attempted to prevent maddening sobs from escaping her throat, trying hard to focus on the strength Harry needed from her right then.

"Is it wrong?" Harry whispered, looking intently at her. It reminded Hermione a bit of a couple of moments in their teenage years; when he'd look at her… Hermione, I need you to teach me how to do a Summoning Charm properly by tomorrow afternoon… Listen, Hermione, I was just up in Umbridge's office and she touched my arm… it was that painful look with which he'd look at her, trusting she had an answer to all his questions and doubts.

"What we do," he said. "Is it wrong?"

Hermione felt her eyes water as the thought and the heavily burdened sound of Harry's voice came together in her head.

"It can't, can it?" he whispered, his eyes piercing her with their intensity.

"It's not," she said, feeling steadily as the slight tickling in her nose told her about how her eyes were tearing up slowly. "There's so much rightness," she said. "In all the ways in which I love you… it can't be wrong."

She turned slowly to look through the window, realising she wasn't sure her eyes would be able to hold the look into his.

"I love the way in which you make me my morning coffee," she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek, which she wiped furiously.

"I love the way you know exactly the time I like to have tea in the afternoon. I love that you know I like to do paperwork alone in our office. I love the way you play with my hair and the way you dip your head in it to smell it."

He chuckled behind her and she turned to him, managing a teary smile as she did so. She turned to him.

"I love that you asked me to teach you how to do a Summoning Charm. I love it that you taught me to like Quidditch. I love that you think of my stubbornness as determination and of my know it all-ness as brilliance"

"I love it that I can be me with you. I love it that we don't have to pretend. I love everything about us, Harry! I love it, I just love it!"

He ran into her and crushed her against his chest. She grabbed him with her arms around his back, burying her face in the soft cotton of his shirt and crying silent tears against it.

"I'm so free, Harry! I'm so free when I'm with you!" she cried against him. "It can't be wrong!" She took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. "We've giving each other so much! Harry, it's NOT wrong!"

"I love you so much!" he whispered closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against hers. "I've loved you, I've always loved you!"

"It's not wrong, it can't be wrong!" he grabbed her face in both his hands. He gave a frustrated groan and let go of her, running his hands desperately over his hair.

"It's so unfair!" he growled.

In the midst of the insanity she could breathe in the room; in the tension that could be cut with a knife; in the dizziness that made her knees feel weak, Hermione found herself speechless. Her lower lip was quivering and her hand was still floating in mid-air where Harry's face had been and where the strength of his statement lingered around her like a glowing light.

Her gaze was fixed on her shoes, were its focus could be lost between the sparkling embroidered leather, and her hands began to run up and down the length of her skirt. She felt tears burning their way out of her eyes and she fought the need to look at Harry when he turned to her.

"You know it is," he said to her as he sat once again on her favourite armchair.

"Harry," she said as she approached the armchair he was sitting in and rubbed his arm lovingly while sitting in the arm of the chair.

"Hermione," he whispered. He turned to look at her and pulled her by the arm, until she was sitting in his lap. "I love you," he whispered, rubbing his temple against hers. "It hurts, the way I love you hurts."

For a moment there, Hermione completely forgot where they were and what they were supposed to be doing downstairs where she could hear the movie Ron and Ginny were watching.

The sound of the music coming from downstairs was steadily intoxicating her, and the smell of Harry and the feeling of his face tightly pressed against hers was slowly and increasingly driving her to an unconscious point from where she knew she will not be able to head back to consciousness easily.

The music was vibrating in her ears, almost pressing her body against Harry. It sounded like the red wine she had while cooking still tasted in her mouth, like Harry's hand, rubbing her waist felt like. It was a merging of sensations that were tempting her endlessly and oh did she want to be tempted.

She didn't think, she didn't contemplate, she didn't plan it; she just lost her ability to restrain herself for a moment.

She pressed her lips against his.

And Harry had been waiting for her to do it. He kissed her back with hunger and an insatiable need to pull her closer. His arms enclosed around her waist and she wrapped her hands firmly around his neck, pulling his head closer to her.

She bit his lower lip in the hungry way in which she hopelessly wanted him at the moment. Nothing else mattered. Everything outside had vanished into air; the wife and husband downstairs, the dinner in the kitchen, all the suppositions they were supposed to be fulfilling.

The world had suddenly become she and Harry, kissing in her favourite armchair, which, she guessed, was now going to become her top favourite armchair.

Harry's hands were pressing her waist against him in a tight embrace that she gave into, pulling him against her just as desperately. The tension and the frustration she had felt earlier in the kitchen were being easily poured down in the frantic kiss and the immeasurable freedom that she felt in his arms.

In an indescribable contradiction, Harry's hands were holding her gently, but with a possessive strength that made her knees feel weak and her soul feel thankful that she was seated.

The room became ethereal and all she could feel was Harry's embrace and the burning desire to screw the impossibility of their situation and beg Harry, in the most unspeakable of desperations to do it with her.

"Harry," she whispered hoarsely as he abandoned her mouth and began attacking her neck, trailing her artery with a path of kisses until he reached her earlobe and gently started to suck on the spot bellow.

She took a deep breath slowly, savouring in the feeling of Harry's lips against her skin; in the softness of his mouth, in the gentleness of his closeness. In the remarkably perfectly loving way in which he was totally devouring her neck, as if he had been longing, dreaming for days to have her in his arms like this.

She moaned, in a strangled voice that came out of her mouth as if she were trying to keep quiet.

"I charmed the room," he breathed in her ear. "Don't hold back," he whispered, kissing her earlobe.

"Harry," she moaned loudly, and he pressed her against him, tightly and firmly around the waist and she could feel the hardness that was being throttled against his trousers.

The music. Good heavens! The music was captivating her in an impossibly enthralling feeling of dizziness where all she could think about was Harry. Harry kissing her, Harry's wild hair between her fingers, the warmth of his body pressed against hers, his hand grabbing her tightly around the waist. The wetness pooling between her legs, the way in which Harry's hand had found the hem of her skirt and was skilfully pulling it upwards as he caressed her thigh.

Harry returned his lips to hers, wrapping her in a violent kiss, pressing his hips against hers.

She had rarely felt like this. So turned on in such a frenzied desire to surrender to her wildest dreams. Because she had had those dreams in that very room, more than once, reading in that very armchair, writing on her desk, she had wished for Harry to pin her against the bookshelves and make frantic and careless love to her.

She had forgotten about Ron and Ginny in the living room downstairs. She had forgotten of their discussion and of the painful statements that had clouded the room moments before. It was just Harry, the world was just Harry and her, and her tremendous need to be pushed against her bookshelves and wrap her legs around Harry.

"Harry!" she moaned as Harry tore his lips from hers.

"Hermione," he whispered, biting lightly on her earlobe. "Do you want to?" he whispered hoarsely, in the voice Hermione knew he only used politely, for he'd die if she were to say no. "Here, right now, do you want to?"

"Can't wait," she whispered back, taking his face on her hands and closing her lips around his.

Harry grabbed her waist and pulled her up skilfully, just as she had fantasized, pushing her against the bookshelves and pinning her against them with his body. He tore open the embroidered jumper she was wearing setting its buttons to fly around the room and ravishingly pulled down her black lace bra, sucking on her nipple as his hand caressed her thigh up and down.

She sighed loudly, leaning her head back against the shelves, grabbing Harry's hair with one hand while her other roamed behind her around the shelves for something to hold on to. The burning spot between her legs ached furiously as Harry's hand reached the hem of her knickers and began to insufferably tease her. She bucked her hips against his, in an attempt to bring his hand closer to where she wanted it, but Harry's hand remained teasing the side of her knickers and the spot where her leg met her hip.

He couldn't seriously mean for her to beg. She was burning up; she was dying against her bookshelves!

"Harry…" she moaned.

"What?" he whispered playfully.

Hermione bucked her hips against him once more and once again, he pretended it didn't happen. She sighed in frustration and pinched his arse as revenge.

"Hermione, what?" he said playfully, meeting her eyes. His were dark with desire and fixated on her own, she knew what he wanted and couldn't believe he was really asking it from her at such a time.

"Please, Harry!" she moaned. "Please!"

That was all it took.

For next thing Hermione knew, Harry was on his knees, her knickers had disappeared, and his tongue pressed against her clit. She gasped loudly and wrapped her hand around a mass of Harry's hair, pulling at it unintentionally but being unable to contain herself.

Harry took her right leg and threw it over his shoulder, his mouth sucking on her lips as he did so. He placed one hand against the bookshelves, supporting him against her and placed the other right under his mouth. His tongue licked her entrance and Hermione trembled slightly against him; one of his fingers softly caressed her cunt making her buck her hips violently against Harry's face. He guided his fingers slowly into her, sucking on her clit.

Hermione moaned loudly as Harry's fingers entered her and savoured the feeling as she buried her fingers in Harry's hair. She threw her head back and closed her eyes, massaging Harry's scalp and breathing deeply and slowly, all the while increasing the pleasurable feeling of Harry's ministrations.

Hermione felt a soft and delicious tingling bellow her belly and she knew her orgasm was approaching 0quickly and strongly. She opened her eyes and turned down to see Harry's head between her legs staring closely at her, watching her every movement and expression. His hand against the bookshelf was holding her skirt, all of its fabric gathered on top of her stomach. Her eyes met Harry's and Hermione was suddenly aware of the weakness of her knees and of her stilettos and their far too high and far too thin heels.

She grabbed Harry's shoulder and pulled him up. Harry separated himself from her and rose slowly, leaning against her and she grabbed him by the arse, pulling him closer to her to feel the hardness inside his trousers against her warm cunt. She forced her lips down against Harry's, tasting herself in his mouth that was warm and on his lips that were swollen.

She lowered her hand and opened his trousers, sneaking her hand inside while keeping his lips trapped between her own. Harry gasped against her mouth when Hermione's hand had sneaked inside his boxers and had closed forcefully around his penis. She ran her hand up and down his length, obliging Harry to break the kiss and force him into a harsh, sudden intake of breath. Harry was clearly trying hard not to buck his hips against her but kept rubbing his crotch against her in an insinuatingly delightful way that Hermione found unbearably inciting. Harry's breath was hot against her temple and she felt the wetness on her hot cunt increase and the aching tingling under her belly get pleasingly warm.

She took her hand out of Harry's pants and ran her hands over the hem of them before pulling them down to his knees in one swift and skilled movement that had been practiced a thousand other times.

She looked into Harry's eyes and his emerald green ones were dark and heavy with a desire that clearly was as urgent as the one that she felt in her lack of breath and in the warmth below he stomach. Their eyes locked as Harry's legs skilfully sneaked between her own and he took her right leg by the knee and threw it around him, where she wrapped it hardly and steadily around his arse. His eyes held her own and Hermione leaned in and kissed him tenderly and softly, feeling his tip tentatively positioned on her entrance. She drew back and stared at him and next second, Harry was inside of her.

Her breath caught up in her throat for a moment and then she moaned loudly and grabbed his arse strongly with both hands pushing him deeper inside. Harry buried himself deep within her and they both stood silent and motionless for a moment. She breathed in the musky essence of Harry and ran her hands across his still clothed back. She savoured the moment while it lasted and then felt Harry grabbing her other knee and wrapping it too around his waist. He pulled her up by the arse penetrating her even deeper.

She moaned wildly and immediately took his mouth in hers; thrusting her tongue into his mouth as she felt him thrust into her.

She heard the music from the movie downstairs, consciously holding on to the thought that Ron and Ginny were downstairs, and that up there in her study, Harry was shagging her fantastically against her books. Harry broke the kiss and pushed her harder against the bookshelf drowning her in the feeling of completion that she felt as he plunged within her. She was starting to lose control or grasp on any rational thoughts, her mind had completely focused on Harry and his penis penetrating her.

Books to her left and right fell to the floor as she was pushed against the shelves every time Harry plunged his cock deep into her cunt. She felt her orgasm building up quickly, in a maddeningly fast series of feelings all of which followed each other rapidly. Harry thrust inside of her and she met his thrust eagerly and completely unconsciously. There was only Harry and the amazing feeling she experienced when he pressed her against the bookshelf and his cock buried inside of her.

The feeling of Harry as he drew back slightly and plunged back inside. The feeling as he kissed her mouth at the same time that he moved his hand between them and touched the tip of his fingers to her clit. The feeling as he rubbed furious and fast circles over it, and thrust inside of her at the same time. The sound of the books falling; the sound of the wood hitting the concrete wall; the sound of her hips moving in time with his own and crashing against each other in what was a perfectly practiced motion that never failed to make things new.

She was going to come; she could feel it, in the spiral of sensations that was ignited in her clit and inside of her cunt where Harry's hardened cock rubbed tightly and warmly against her walls. She could feel the spiral rising up from the spot in which the base of Harry's penis rubbed against her. She could feel her orgasm building up quickly and rather crazily.

She and Harry had had quickies before. They sure had. But nothing compared to the fact that Harry, by taking her in, in her favourite room in that flat, was making a long time fantasy come true, and what was better, he was exceeding all her expectations at that.

She was being pushed so hard against the bookshelf that she knew she'd have terrible marks and bruises on her back by the time she's woken up next morning. But in the delightful dizziness she was feeling, Hermione could only concentrate on her ridiculously fast approaching orgasm.

And then, she heard it.

Someone coming up the stairs. She could hear the footsteps above the music, getting closer, and closer. And the spiral feeling that she knew announced her orgasm, increased infuriatingly. She was shaking against Harry's body; her legs wrapped around his waist tightly and her hands grabbing him by the arse, holding out for dear life.

Harry broke their kiss and looked into her eyes.

He had heard the footsteps too, and he had been, just like her; pushed immediately over the edge.

Hermione had placed the locking charm herself, but her mind still played around the thought of being discovered. She didn't stop to question why it only provoked her even more, but it was the fact that she could hear Ron's footsteps outside the door and watch Harry's face as he pushed his cock into her that set her off.

Then Harry pressed his lips to hers strongly and quickly for only a few seconds, not going further into the kiss. He drew back and whispered in her ear.

"He's out there, but he can't hear you," he whispered hoarsely. "Don't hold back."

And in perfect timing, Hermione moaned her orgasm loudly as her body trembled in a series of pleasurable spasms that ran through her body like electricity. In time, she felt the base of Harry's cock become hot against her and felt him spilling his release inside of her.

She kept shaking against him as he, himself, placed one of his hands against the bookshelf for support as he came within her.

She took a deep breath in and began to relax slowly against Harry when she heard the knock on the door.

Harry was panting against her shoulder, burying his face on her hair.

Neither one of them stopped in the attempt to regain their breaths, Ron was outside the door, but he couldn't get in. That was still their moment, and in an unspeakable agreement, they didn't do anything to end it.

"I take it you have a Silencing Charm," Ron's voice came from the other side of the door. "But Neville's in the fire."

Harry and Hermione both raised their heads in time to meet each other's wide eyes.

"He needs you to go in now, he says they caught him, whoever you've been looking for." Ron's voice said.

"You guys have to go!"

~*~*~

"There either is or is not a way things are. The colour of the day, the way it felt to be a child. The feeling of saltwater on your sunburned legs. Sometimes the water is yellow, sometimes is red. But what colour it may be in memory depends on the day. I'm not going to tell the story the way that it happened. I'm going to tell it the way I remember it."

~*~*~

Paperwork was something Hermione never minded.

Harry hated it, with a passion; but she felt rather comfortable doing it.

It was almost like a lingering habit of her younger self; the feeling of her school years, the kind of things that young Hermione Granger, in spite of all the Big Bad hunting honestly and thoroughly enjoyed.

And so it became almost like a habit for them; they'd catch a bad guy, and Hermione would stay to do the paperwork, while Harry would go settle the legal stuff with Neville.

Truth to be told; Hermione loved that unspoken agreement of them. She loved to have the office to herself; to stare out the window whenever she felt like it, to pace around fishing for ideas and even to stare dreamily at Harry's desk without being conscious of the silly smile that would play across her lips.

Which, was the reason she didn't welcome the knock on her door around noon that Monday, as she sat on her desk writing the paperwork from their weekend catch.

She sighed, leaned against her chair and cursed under her breath at the idea that vanished into thin air as she lost her concentration.

She rubbed her temple, looking at the clock behind Harry's desk and shocked, as she realised that it was already past midday and that she had been working non-stop since Harry left her around eight.

She changed her mind rather quickly and welcomed the distraction.

"Come in," she said to the door.

Shock followed as the door opened and Parvati Patil came in.

Hermione got up rather quickly from her chair and stared at Parvati. Truth was, she didn't look much different than she did back in their school days. She was still fairly good looking; rather stylish and it seemed to Hermione, quite shallow.

Parvati had, though, acquired a rather imposing presence that she didn't possess back then; and which Hermione thought, she had probably developed in her way up to the Editor In Chief of Witch Weekly.

Much as she tried though, Hermione was unable to hide her surprise when she got up to greet Parvati.

"Parvati," she said, rather breathless. "Well... what… what a surprise!"

"Hermione," Parvati said, extending a hand that Hermione shook. "I imagine, it's been a while,"

"Why yes it has!" Hermione said, trying to shake the surprise off her. "Hmm…. How've you been?"

"Well, you know," Parvati said, impassively looking at her purse, playing it around her hands. "I'm doing alright, how about you?"

"Good, I'm… I'm good." Hermione answered, completely transfixed at the fact that she had shared a bedroom with this woman for seven years and now had nothing to say to her.

"You, I… What can I do for you?" Hermione asked, motioning to Parvati to take the chair in front of her desk. Parvati fidgeted around, still playing her purse around her hands, and switching her weight from one foot to the other slightly.

"Is Harry around?" she asked, not taking the seat and looking at the floor.

"Umm, no, he's with Neville over at the Ministry," Hermione answered, well, of course, she thought. She wanted something from Harry.

"Good," she said, raising her head and truthfully staring at Hermione for the first time since she stepped into her office. "Hermione, listen,"

Parvati stopped moving her bag and grabbed it hard, looking at Hermione in the eye, and Hermione was again, felt unable to hide her surprise.

"I have to talk to you," she said. "And, I was thinking maybe you would agree to have lunch with me so we can discuss this some place out of here,"

Truth was, Hermione didn't ask many questions. It had to be said that she and Parvati had never been friends. Sure, they'd been roommates, but Hermione was sure any of them would have willingly changed the situation if they could have.

She was in a position to say that she was hardly one of Parvati's first choices for a girl's lunch out; and if Parvati had something to say to her, that involved being out of her building, then it was hardly unimportant.

And fact is; Hermione was right.

They were sitting in a small restaurant in muggle London. Parvati had ordered white wine and Hermione's glass had just been filled by the waiter. Parvati drank from her glass before sighing and looking at Hermione.

"Here's the thing," she said rather heavily; as if it took quite an effort from her to speak out the words.

Hermione drank from her glass and stared at Parvati; feeling a strange unease in her stomach, a mixture of nervousness and curiosity, like the one she had felt the first time she had given a speech in Primary school.

"One of my reporters," Parvati began. "She was interviewing some Quidditch players in Los Angeles a few weeks ago, and she…"

Hermione felt all blood drain from her face before Parvati spoke the words, in an irrefutable realisation of what it was Parvati was about to say.

"She saw you and Harry."

Hermione felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dropped on top of her head. She felt the shock and the preoccupation fall upon her almost as if it wasn't even herself being shocked and preoccupied.

Parvati stood on the opposite side of the table, staring at Hermione, waiting for a reaction from her. Hermione, totally aware of that fact, still remained speechless.

She had never thought something like that could happen. Everything was carefully planned. How careless had they been? How could she have thought that no one was ever going to find out?

How did it ever occur to her that she and Harry could keep such a secret locked away?

"Hermione?"

Hermione tried to shake those thoughts off her mind and focus on Parvati, who was searching her purse for something.

"She," Parvati was saying; she took an envelope out of her bag and handed it to Hermione. "She took pictures."

Hermione's eyes widened as she grabbed the envelope from Parvati and took out at least ten pictures that she scanned in a hurried fuss. She and Harry in The Ivy, eating lunch, Harry grabbing her face in the street, she and Harry, kissing in The Ivy, she and Harry walking holding hands.

Hermione wished to have a nightmare. She wished to wake up and realise she had dreamed the whole thing. She wished to vanish into thin air.

And then it came to her. Parvati was going to publish that in the magazine; she was only telling her out of respect, or out of habit or to drive her mad.

"Hermione?" Parvati repeated.

"Oh my God!" Hermione whispered as she looked at a picture of her and Harry hugging on the terrace of The Ivy.

"Hermione?"

Hermione raised her eyes, tears swelling in her eyes, as she prepared herself to beg Parvati not to publish any of what she had there. Readying herself to ask for Parvati's mercy. She realised she wasn't thinking properly, but her eyes wouldn't focus on something other than the pictures in her hand and her brain wouldn't think of anything else but the thought of those pictures being printed in Parvati's magazine.

"Parvati, I…"

Parvati interrupted her, raising a hand to her and speaking up.

"Listen Hermione," she said. Hermione didn't know why, but she remained quiet and listened to Parvati.

"I don't expect you to believe that I have any intentions to publish any of this in Witch Weekly," She said firmly. Hermione released a breath she didn't know she'd been holding and felt the threatening of her eyes to shed the tears she felt swelling.

Parvati reached her hand out and placed it on top of Hermione's. Hermione was shocked by her gesture, but her shock was overtaken by the fact that she was actually touched by Parvati's gentleness.

"Look," she said. "Alice, the reporter who took these; she, for some reason, came to me with it, instead of running it in this week's edition for everyone in the magazine to find out,"

Hermione looked at Parvati, trying to advert her eyes from the pictures she was still holding in her hand.

"I hold respect for you, and I hold respect for Harry," she continued. "I'm not going to tell anyone, and I've asked Alice, well… actually I've threatened Alice not to tell anyone," she sighed. "But you've got to be more careful!"

Hermione sighed and stared at the table, unable to believe her situation.

"Hermione, I can't cover up for you two," Parvati said with a heavy sigh. "This time, it was Alice who found out and who, luckily came to me before anyone… but that may not be the case another time, and I…"

Hermione raised her eyes back to Parvati.

"I can only control what my magazine writes, not anyone else's."

"Parvati, I," Hermione said. "I don't know what to say," she said truthfully.

"Say that you are going to be more careful!" Parvati answered. "Hermione, don't you get it? I'm coming to you! But someone else, in another publication will not come to you if she sees this!"

Hermione understood that by 'she', Parvati meant Lavender.

Parvati and Lavender had had a big fallout when they went into different publications. Lavender was the owner of the new Witch Talk. Lavender had gone mad that it was Parvati instead of her that had been made Senior Editor, and she had gone and had installed her own magazine to compete against her. It was no secret, to anyone, that Lavender was a much more soulless reporter, and that she would have more than one reason to sell them out.

"If she finds out," Parvati said. "She won't doubt to publish it, she'll want to sell it out, and as it is," she sighed. "She doesn't like you, because she still has a thing going on for that Ron thing in our sixth year."

Silence fell. Hermione knew Parvati was right, but she felt far too shocked to tell her so. She was amazingly grateful that Parvati was doing what she was doing, she felt astonished that Parvati had grown to become that woman sitting in front of her. She was thankful she was actually mistaken earlier that day when she met Parvati. Because she had little left of the Parvati she had been in their school days.

Hermione sighed.

"Thank you," she said truthfully, staring at Parvati in the eye. "Won't you put your job in the line for this?"

"No," Parvati said, sipping her wine. "We're doing fine as it is on sales, and William, the owner, is quite fond of me, besides," she sipped her wine again. "What he doesn't know doesn't hurt him."

"Parvati, I…"

"You're surprised I'm doing this, I know." She leaned against her chair and looked at Hermione sympathetically. "People change," she said with a smile.

"I'll say," Hermione answered with another smile.

Suddenly, Parvati broke into laughter. Hermione looked puzzled at her.

"Then again," Parvati said through her laughter, gracefully taking a sip of her wine. "Truth is, I always thought it was going to be Harry and Hermione in the end!"

Author Notes:

Thank you all for reading, truthfully and honestly, I'm grateful and flattered that you waited so long for this chapter. I deeply and sincerely apologise for such a long wait. I adore you all.

Quotes in this chapter:

1. "There was so much love in this house" From Minority Report by Steven Spielberg.

2. "How did it come to this, saints in heaven? How did it happen to him?" From "The Red Violin" by François Girard.

To petrynronlover: I tried to read your story but it's like locked or something, I'm not a FF.net user. Perhaps you could e-mail it to the address on my profile? I'd like to read it, I really would!