Unofficial Portkey Archive

This is to compare how many hits I get on an NC-17 story to my other. Also because Emma Watson is a fox. If you're reading this, you are now a statistic. It contradicts tons of things in book six, and as such, contains no spoilers. This Christmas-break idea has probably been done more than a dozen times, but I didn't take the time to find out, so know I'm not attempting to steal anyone's thunder. You'll find that each is slightly out of character, but not so much as to be unpleasant or horribly unrealistic. I don't own Harry Potter. Please enjoy.

Christmas rolled around from behind winter's oppressive chill, a hint of warmth amidst the troubled times. It overtook the blanket depression of His return, as though The Dark Lord would not dare show his face during a holiday so holy and pure. The tang of cinnamon and citrus wafted through the very halls, coupled with chocolate and cream; the air itself seemed to be celebrating.

One boy (who lived) was not looking forward to the festivities. He would have to leave his friends for number four, Privet Drive, where he had spent ten Christmases without holly jollies or so much as a stocking on the mantle. Sixth years which passed their apparition tests were allowed to return home in this way to surprise their families, and Hermione might be among them.

Harry would be boarding the familiar scarlet engine to leave the castle grounds which he had long since called home. A chill managed to seep through the window of the dormitory where he lay, contemplating every way to escape this horrible fate. The train would bear him away from the life he loved to dump him ceremoniously into a world without magic.

It was time to go, and students were rousing and beginning to pack their things for a brief stint of family time. Harry remained in his bed; he wouldn't be taking anything back to his relatives' for fear of having it confiscated as "...funny-looking, and probably dangerous, Petunia!"

The numbers in the dorm were dwindling as boys said their goodbyes, and those with girlfriends would doubtlessly kiss their crushes extra to tide them over downstairs in front of the fire. Thankful for an interjected introduction, Ron pulled back the curtain of Harry's four-poster and shook him; he opened his eyes with the pretext of drowsiness.

"Harry!" he said, obviously excited to be returning to the coziness of the Burrow, "Harry, it's morning!" Why did he expect Harry to share his enthusiasm? Oh. Right.

He snapped awake with the vision of Number Four fading into the faces of the smiling Weasley family. He wasn't going back to those horrible people after all. He wouldn't have to face Diddy Dunky-Dums or an empty sock upon the hearth. He might even get presents. He swung his legs over the bed, fully awake, letting the morning light and cold sting his eyes.

"Where is she?" he said dumbly, Hermione on his mind.

"Eh? She's getting dressed," (the prospect of which make Harry grin the tiniest grin) "She's changed her mind again about coming, you know; going to go with her parents."

Damn. That's right. No Hermy for Christmas. Oh well, he'd get over it. He never felt as complete without Hermione's presence, throwing around nit-picks and suggestions, making that darling face of defiance whenever Ron said something offensive about house elves or study ethics. He allowed her to fill his mind as he got dressed.

O she was pretty. He imagined her chestnut hair up, then down, then up again, and in her robe, without it, and with it again. He smirked at his private screening of her getting dressed. Or undressed.

"You coming?" Ron implored impatiently. Harry had been lacing his shoe for thirty seconds. He managed to gather this and that and waltz down to the common room without thinking of her again.

The sight of her waiting for them downstairs was one to behold; o did she ever look good. She was dressed to go already, wearing a festive jumper that just barely reached the hem of her belled jeans. He pictured her belly button centimeters above. She looked very out of place amidst the robed students bustling in and out, gathering last minute possessions and indeed exchanging overzealous goodbye snogs.

She saw Ron first, and he received a hug before Harry got down the steps, the stretch revealing a wide sliver of her back. He fumed at Ron in the back of his mind and felt his face flush. When Harry approached her she said nothing; did nothing; but her eyes passed over his with a hint of loneliness, as one looks at a beloved pet someone else is going to take care of in their absence.

"Are you appariting to London?" he asked conversationally, a little flustered by her lack of greeting or farewell. He passed her by on his way to help himself to refreshments laid out, no doubt, by house elves the night before. She smelled better than the delicious hint of chocolate in the air.

"I changed my mind again," she said reproachfully, as though expecting retribution for her second change in plans. Harry positively beamed at the opposite wall, biting the head off a Chocolate Frog.

A mass of students made their way down to Hogsmead Station through snow that pooled around their knees with every step. Harry was so grateful she was coming to spend the holidays with them that he had to stop himself from skipping several times.

Ron seemed even cheerier too, and they all discussed what they wanted for Christmas, including brooms and books, and boxes of booze (Ron's idea of a Very Merry Christmas). They were all freezing and soaked by the time they made it aboard the train.

The three of them stuck together through the throng and found an unoccupied compartment; not difficult considering the train had all its cars and half its usual fare. The first part of the ride passed in comfortable silence, a few Christmassy conversations here and there as the excitement built. They were each in good humor, and Harry felt the spirit of the season welling as thoughts of the Burrow filled his mind.

So often it was now that his burden overtook his emotions, but on this day it was so far removed from thought that he enjoyed himself unconditionally. He was silently extremely grateful for the carefree nature of a holiday trip with his best friends.

During stints of quiet, or while the other two occupied themselves in idle chat, he reflected on their friendship. For the first time since puberty blindsided him years ago, he was looking at Hermione in a new light. She had always been there as his friend, but she wasn't just one of two anymore. Maturing together over time grows an indivisible bond between two hearts, and hormones lead to viewing that bond in different ways.

Damn she was pretty. He watched her double over slightly, laughing at something Ron said. It pulled her top up to show the small of her back again. Harry caught himself leaning up hopefully for a look at her panty line, and so did she.

"What are you looking at?" she inquired, still chuckling at Ron's comment, which had gone wasted on Harry. He looked up at her face too quickly and she smiled too wide. His heart melted in place and dripped down somewhere into the region of his lap. She ignored his silence and they continued joking about using pet Skrewts to light fireplaces, or some such.

Over the past several years, he had come to love her. He knew it now, and recalled (with a well-timed smile alongside their banter) a time when her place in his heart was occupied by others. It seemed so long ago, and Harry wondered where to draw the line between having thought of her as a friend and a female. He wished Ron would suddenly remember an appointment at the opposite end of the Hogwarts Express.

Ron pulled his robe from over his head to reveal that he had dressed in plain clothes already, and as though at Harry's telepathic whim, he wandered from the compartment, saying something about going to look for Ginny.

"You'd better change too, Harry," Hermione told him wryly. It was with great concentration that he avoided blushing. He obliged by digging though his only luggage for muggle clothes. The car seemed claustrophobic now as he changed, and several times he checked to see that she was facing the wall. Only once he finished pulling on his jeans did he realize she was seated in place to see his reflection in the window.

"Hey! Were you looking at my butt?" he exclaimed in mock accusation. She failed to save face and laughed her head off, giving up her charade to half-watch him pull on his shirt. Harry was quite impressed with himself now, and made a show of pulling on a tee, though she suspected she wouldn't notice his attempts at tensing his abdomen to look taught and sexy. When he sat down, he made sure it was on her side of the car.

They exchanged patient looks of appraise, eyeing each other up with a mixture of equal parts lust and innocence. Some of the innocence might've been feigned, but Harry noted that the other was definitely not. He felt like giving up his own charade and kissing her; maybe it would be romantic. Maybe he'd get to fu -

"Whelp - almost there, then," announced Ron as he was opening the door and stepping in, accompanied by his little sister. Harry and Hermione both snapped their heads to look opposite directions, facing no one. It was impossible to hide their embarrassment, as well as their prior ogling; Harry noticed his rapid heartbeat slowing.

"And what have you two been up to?" Ginny made fun, stifling her trademark giggles. When they both said Nothing at the same time, each laughed. It was, to Harry's great relief, forgotten, but he and Hermione continued to make eyes at each other significantly as the pair of Weasleys took the opposite bench seat.

He had flirted with her in recent weeks, and she had shown no signs of backing down. In fact, she was positively returning his advancements, especially just now. The line between Friend and Female became infinitely more distinct, and Harry knew which side of it he was on. The look in her eyes the rest of the otherwise lighthearted trip showed she assessed the same thing.

Mrs Weasley, dressed in her usual awful attempt at fitting in, (a loud nightgown and bunny bedroom shoes with an unmatched scaly leather purse) was waiting for them outside Nine and Three Quarters, just beyond the barrier. As always, no one noticed them passing through the wall of solid brick.

There was no one else with her, and she greeted them each with vociferous maternal nags and hugs and tidying adjustments. ("Geroffme, my hair looks fine mum" - At which point, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny exchanged hearty grins.)

They had to take a muggle bus to reach walking distance of the Burrow, and the trip through the countryside was largely uneventful, apart from Harry's unvoiced smug belittlement of Ron's hair-straightening. It gave him something else to share with Hermione. They sat close together, which everyone else noted in silence.

To miss Weasley's delight, Fred and George met them at the entrance of the home. She hadn't been expecting them. They told her Charlie would be spending Christmas with Bill and Fleur in Romania; something about Gringotts hosting a dragon festival. Nobody mentioned Percy.

"Get your things, then, come on," she urged merrily, ushering Ginny into the house, preceded by the others. Everyone had packed light, perhaps expecting a holiday haul to carry back to school. Harry and Hermione edged into the doorway together, brushing stomachs. They each apologized to the other for show, though both might've been guilty of conspiring separately to do so.

Something big was up; something was going to be different forever, whether for better or worse. They were flirting heavily all though dinner; Harry risked a game of footsy with her under the table which became a topic of general discussion when she brushed Ron's leg on accident. Their faces burned for the rest of the meal. Ron seemed impressed rather than jealous, which had been Harry's previous suspicion.

It was Christmas eve-eve, and the Burrow was decorated accordingly; the clock which showed the entire family in "mortal peril" was concealed by a large tree which filled the house with the nostalgic scent of the season. They were all, save Ginny, who retired early by choice, allowed to drink. By one in the morning, when Miss Weasley finally noticed the time, each of them was exhausted from a mix of fatigue and Irish eggnog.

In the space of roughly four hours, Harry had impeccably managed to move from his end of the couch to Hermione's, and in the cheer of the alcoholic noel, they were just shy of outright cuddling. His arm had crept around her and her head found its way to his shoulder. No one seemed perturbed by this, and in fact, before sending them off to bed Ron's mom commented tipsily that she was: "Glad the two of you aren't trying to hide it anymore,"

("After all, everyone knew you were peas in a pod,")

The Burrow had more than enough space to accommodate them, and before retreating to separate rooms and separate beds with separate dreams, they kissed. The pretext of mistletoe was unnecessary, although it gave them the excuse they'd been longing for. It wasn't gratuitous; maybe each was too inebriated to risk moving too quickly; but it sealed their unvoiced intention with a short wet promise.

Eh? EH? Well, I'll write more to this quickly; there was a certain resolution to the first story I posted here, but this one is wide open. I know I don't do a lot of dialogue; and I know I use too many semicolons. It's a rushed approach, and only makes sense with the context that they'd been flirting for ages, but I want to attempt a love scene between them and I simply don't have time to build up to it as adequately as Rowling had by book 6.

Will they screw? Please read and review!

Hippie, August 5, 2005