Rescue Mission

uvagirl

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 10/09/2005
Last Updated: 17/09/2005
Status: completed

Harry and Hermione never got together during their school days, they’re older now, and they’ve been separated for a while. Harry’s been having LOTS of fun with every sort of woman imaginable, except with the one he really wants. We know what will happen, but they’ve got to get through some laughter and tears first. Final chapter - story complete. ----------- ADDED BY FIC CO-ADMIN (gal-texter) in 2008: Please read this: http://talk.portkey.org/index.php?s=&showtopic=14633&view=findpost&p=237718

Chapters

1. Reunion, with Laughter

2. Truth, with Tears

3. Love, with Lust

1. Reunion, with Laughter

A/N: This is the first part of a three-chapter story that combines humor, angst, and romance. Most of this was written prior to the publication of Book Six, so it should be considered as AU now (references to non-HBP Dumbledore, Snape, Fudge, etc.). Also, it was written before my previously posted stories, and put aside after extensive mining of it for jokes and lines in those stories. But, after some revision, it seems to stand pretty well on its own.

Warnings are given for humor in my usual poor taste and - please excuse the wordplay - smut in very good taste! Possibly, this could have an R-rating, but to be safe, I’ll call it NC17, due to part of the third chapter.

And, of course, I disclaim any ownership of Harry, Hermione, et al, who are the property of the usual suspects. Please enjoy, and thanks in advance for any kind reviews.

Rescue Mission

Chapter 1: Reunion, with Laughter

The young woman was grateful for the powerful air conditioning, as she walked down the thickly carpeted hallway on the top floor of the high-rise luxury condominium. Although it was early in the evening on the last day of August, outdoors it remained uncomfortably warm and humid, even for London at this time of the year.

When she arrived at her destination at the end of the hallway, she stopped and took a deep breath. She was having second thoughts and beginning to believe that she might be making a terrible mistake. But, in spite of her misgivings, Hermione Granger pressed the button that sounded the buzzer that summoned the person who opened the door.

At first, Harry Potter only stared at her, but then he smiled. He started to offer his hand, but with his smile widening, he embraced her in a firm hug. He broke away and stepped aside to allow her to enter. They faced each other without speaking for over a minute.

Hermione saw a man who was lean and hard in body, but who retained still an air of youthful vulnerability, that was accentuated by his simple attire of faded jeans and a white tee shirt. His dark hair was as unruly as when she had seen it for the first time, almost thirteen years ago, and his extraordinary eyes were the same striking shade of green as she remembered. As much as his deserved fame, undoubtedly those eyes were responsible for the constant stream of women who tried to climb into his bed. Quite a large number of them succeeded in doing so, if the magical tabloid press reports were to be believed. She thought that he was a really good-looking young guy, especially since he had replaced his nerdy eyeglasses with contact lenses. Excepting only the famous scar on his forehead, the horror and tragedy that no young man ever should have experienced for so much of his life had not marked him, at least outwardly.

On further reflection, she realized that there were the slightest traces of bags under his eyes, as well as red in them. But, their resigned sadness had given way, if only briefly, to a sparkle of genuine happiness when he had opened the door and recognized her. ‘I wonder . . . ’ she thought.

Harry saw a slender young woman dressed in a white blouse and tan slacks, whose naturally bushy brown hair had been caged into a large ponytail with only partial success. Her brown eyes looked larger than he remembered, and she seemed to be slightly taller. He assumed correctly that both of these differences were due to the modest makeup and high heels that she had worn only very rarely during their student days. If she carried a few extra pounds of weight, it was not noticeable, and she looked much as she had in her late teen years. She never had been a stereotypical "centerfold beauty" of the statuesque, blue-eyed blond sort, with a huge chest and a small bum, but Harry still thought that she was smashing in her own special way.

He was taken aback by the look she had given him just as he had reached out to hug her. ‘Did she . . . COULD she . . . I wonder . . . ’ he thought.

They left the entrance hallway, walked into a large sitting room, and sat down next to each other on a huge over-sized sofa.

"So, it’s been what, over a year, since we saw each other last?" said Harry.

"It was at the Great Feast at Hogwarts celebrating the fifth anniversary of end of the Dark Wars, Harry," said Hermione. "I remember it as if it happened yesterday. I . . . we never did get a chance to talk much, what with your ‘fan club’ surrounding you the entire time."

"Well, welcome to my home, such as it is," said Harry. "How exactly may I be of help to a representative of the hard-working, caring, tasteful, and ALWAYS truthful press?"

"Now, Harry, you know that I do this only temporarily to earn some money," said Hermione. "I’m on summer holiday, and in two weeks, it’s off again to the States. I’ll be back at Harvard to continue my doctoral work."

"I didn’t know that grad students took long holidays," said Harry.

"Many don’t, but I’ve found that getting away for a while works well for me. Also, since technically, I’m only ‘on loan’ as an exchange graduate assistant, special leave is permitted," said Hermione. "Of course, I just wouldn’t feel right doing nothing for more than two entire months, hence the job."

"Still the once and always little workaholic, aren’t you? By the way, are you planning to be a professional student for the rest of your life?" asked Harry.

"Of course not!" replied Hermione. "Actually, I’ve finished all of my research and a first draft. So, I have only to write the final version of my thesis and to defend it. Well before Christmas, I’ll be a freshly minted ‘Doctor of Magick’ with a dual degree from BOTH Harvard AND Hidden College, Oxford, no less! Then, I’ll have to leave the ivory tower and get a job, where exactly, I’m not yet certain."

"Obviously, school still agrees with you, Hermione. You look great!" said Harry. "Or, have you met someone special? Should I be expecting some time soon either to see an engagement notice in The Daily Prophet, or to receive a wedding invitation concerning one Doctor Granger giving away the hand of another?"

"Thanks, and no to any such things in the near future," said Hermione. "I have so little spare time, and almost none for any sort of social life. I have dated a couple of fellow students over the past few years, but nothing special is happening now."

"Refresh my memory, please," said Harry. "Your owl note indicated that you wanted to interview me for Witch Weekly, didn’t it? Or, was it for some other distinguished purveyor of wizarding ‘news,’ using that four-letter word very loosely?"

"Harry, please," said Hermione.

"I can make it easy for you," Harry interrupted, getting to his feet and beginning to pace. "How do you fancy this for a lead sentence?"

"Harry Potter, ‘The Boy Who Killed You-Know-Who,’ recently has been dating Miss X, the pure-blood heiress, who confided to this reporter the real reason why the now twenty-four-year-old man still is referred to as ‘a boy’ by every woman he disappoints."

"Harry," began Hermione.

"Of course, that sort of thing is written only when the press is feeling NICE! More often, I’m ‘Shag ‘em and Send ‘em Packing Playboy Potter,’ who has broken yet another heart or marriage. Also, there’s the ever-popular horned and tailed ‘Demon Rapist Harry,’ whose insatiable appetite spells doom for every female who crosses his path. Conveniently just in time to make the current press deadline, he has ravished, despoiled, or otherwise defiled yet another previously innocent young witch, usually a schoolgirl, and ALWAYS mind you, for HOURS on end."

"Harry!" Hermione tried again, but she couldn’t help but to start to giggle.

"Only on the rarest of occasions am I ‘the eligible bachelor’ or just plain ‘Harry’ or . . . so you think it’s funny! Have you ever read any of the ‘My Night of Terror with Harry’ stories in that piece of pornographic trash, Witch World Fortnightly?"

"Is that the one written, edited, and published by Lavender Brown and the Patil sisters, our old classmates?" asked Hermione, still giggling. "I have heard about it, but I’ve never actually seen a copy."

"Indeed, it is," said Harry. "To use it to line the bottom of Hedwig’s cage would be to do a grave disservice to bird droppings. The only good thing about it is that it’s printed half as often as are the weekly gossip rags. Unfortunately, every issue contains ten times as much libelous garbage as do any of the others. Most of what Lavender, that walking dictionary picture of a dizzy bit-, er, I mean WITCH, writes is so farcical and over the top that no one should take it seriously, but many do!"

"But, Harry," said Hermione, "you know that Lavender always was a bit scatterbrained."

"You don’t have to remind ME!" exclaimed Harry. "By the way, YOU played a ‘victim’ role in one of Ms. Brown’s more recent excursions into her ongoing courageous revelations of my unbridled depravity during our days at Hogwarts."

"ME!" said Hermione. "But, what - "

"Oh, you weren’t mentioned by name, but the implication was inescapable for any former fellow student of ours who happened to read the article," said Harry. "In this particular fairy tale, ‘a Gryffindor female prefect who was one of Harry’s best friends’ - wink, wink - allegedly caught him screwing some innocent - what else - first or second year girl. After rescuing the poor lass, she suffered the same ‘fate worse than death,’ among other grievous assaults of sexual natures, albeit in more graphic detail."

"Why, that’s terrible," said Hermione, trying very hard to keep a straight face and not succeeding very well.

"The next issue had ‘Sissy Boy Harry’ serving as the ‘Star Pincushion’ for a Slytherin House gay gangshag! Immediately following that one - " Harry went on, but Hermione tried to interrupt.

"Harry, stop it!" she demanded.

"A literally horse-hung Harry was causing severe diplomatic problems between the Ministry of Magic and the Forbidden Forest Centaur Herd. It seems that every filly and mare had become so infatuated with his ‘big business’ that they were attempting to leave their stallions!"

"Harry, stop it NOW!" yelled Hermione. "I know that all sorts of tripe has been written about you! If you’ll remember, I was there when it started, courtesy of Rita Skeeter! Please, please simply consider the source of it! Besides, no one possibly could believe Lavender’s ridiculous gossip."

"Oh really? You should have seen some of my mail immediately after the ‘Great Centaur Scandal’ was revealed. I received no less than SIXTEEN proposals of marriage, including one from Lavender, herself, accompanied by an admittedly interesting looking bra and a, er, used pair of knickers! Apparently, she got so worked up writing the story that she started to believe it, and she decided to prove it to me! And, those were the ones only from WITCHES! They do not include less formal propositions from assorted gay and switch-hitting wizards, porn producers, and others of dubious inclination or intent."

"Harry," Hermione tried, but Harry was undeterred in continuing his rant.

"Also, adding insult to injury, some clowns clearly not playing with a full deck from the ‘Wizards for the Ethical Treatment of Magical and Other Possessors of Sentience’ sent a howler threatening legal action against me!" said Harry. Then, eyeing her suspiciously, he asked, "you’re not a member of WETMOPS, are you? By the way, do female centaurs even exist?"

Again, Hermione started to say something, but she could no longer contain herself. Her giggles turned into loud laughter. After glaring at her for a moment, Harry gave in and joined her. Eventually, he was able to compose himself.

"I . . . you’re right, Hermione. You’re the last person in the world whom I should accuse of harboring any ill will, but after being written about week after week as I have been, particularly during the last four years, anyone would get worn down and would tend to be a little touchy," Harry said.

"Harry," Hermione began, but she was interrupted again.

"OH, SHIT!" he exclaimed so suddenly that Hermione visibly flinched. "I may or may not be losing my mind, but I’m definitely being very rude to a guest. What would you like to drink? I’ve got Muggle sodas, and the usual pumpkin juice and butterbeer, including some of each in the fridge - they are quite good chilled, American-style, you know - and I’ve got fire whiskey and a pretty decent selection of wine, if you’d prefer something more muscular."

"A glass of white wine would be nice," said Hermione.

"Dry or sweet?" he asked. "Let me guess. You look like a ‘dry’ sort to me, and no blue wordplay is intended!"

Hermione rolled her eyes but nodded affirmatively, and Harry left the room. He returned rather quickly with an opened bottle and a pair of glasses, which he placed on the low table in front of the sofa.

"We’ll need to let this breathe for a few minutes," he said, "but it doesn’t need to be decanted, though some picky sorts might think so when they’re dealing with a few fancy white wines. You’re not a wine snob, are you?"

"That was awfully quick," Hermione said, raising an eyebrow. "It’s almost as if you had these ready." She rotated the bottle to look at the label, and she gasped. "My God, Harry! This is a Romanee-Conti Montrachet, one of the rarest wines in the world! It must have cost more than a hundred galleons!"

"Ah, actually I didn’t pay anything for it. It was a ‘thanks-for-your-hospitality’ gift from a recent visitor from France," Harry said, and he blushed. "Do you remember Fleur Delacour’s little sister, Gabrielle?"

"Harry Potter, you ARE a beast!" exclaimed Hermione. "She was only eight years old or so during the Triwizard Tournament, which would make her - "

"Eighteen now, I think, but I’m not certain of her birthday," finished Harry, and a dreamy look appeared on his face. "And by the way, she isn’t exactly LITTLE anymore. She insisted on expressing her thanks for my ‘rescue’ of her during the second task, and I thanked her back. We ‘thanked’ each other five or six times that night, if my memory serves - "

"Please, I do not need or want to know the details," Hermione cut in, and then teasingly, she added, "so, you really are shagging schoolgirls and stealing their innocence, you horrible, cradle-robbing brute!"

"A ‘recent’ schoolgirl might be more accurate," admitted Harry, "but as to any alleged ‘stolen innocence,’ I suspect that I followed a very long line after the rightful claimant. As the old saying goes, if that little bundle of joy had as many sticking out as she’s had stuck in, she’d look less like a veela and more like a porcupine!"

Both of them burst out laughing.

"Still, we CAN’T drink this," said Hermione. "It’s far too valuable to waste so casually."

"Wrong, Miss Granger, intrepid girl reporter! Indeed, it is too valuable for me to waste it only on myself, or on some bimbo who wouldn’t appreciate it, but - " said Harry.

"So, are you implying that I’m a bimbo who does enjoy fine wine?" asked Hermione, interrupting him.

"BUT, drinking it with one of my oldest friends is its best possible use, and besides, it has been opened," continued Harry.

"Well, if you insist - " Hermione began, but Harry cut in, with a gleam in his eye.

"Being an extraordinarily concentrated Chardonnay, it is rather higher in alcoholic content than it may seem to be from the taste. So, be warned that even as we speak, the lecherous Mr. Potter may be operating in ‘ravishing mode.’ He may have lewd and lascivious designs on your virtue, and his plying you with an expensive variety of ethanol may be a mere tactic."

"Oh, wonderful! I’ve been targeted by ‘The Great Lover’ himself! What makes him believe that I have any virtue that’s worth ravishing? Never mind, and don’t answer that! Harry, shut up and pour me a glass," said Hermione.

"Okay, but consider yourself fairly warned," said a grinning Harry as he filled their glasses.

Both of them sipped their wine in silence. Hermione looked around the large room, and she spotted only a single object that revealed the magical nature of Harry’s household. After a while, she broke the silence.

"Harry, is that what I think it is?" she asked, indicating the glass-fronted display frame on the wall above the fireplace.

"Yes, it’s Voldemort’s wand," answered Harry. "Before he was removed from office, that wanker Fudge tried on three different occasions to steal it ‘legally.’ The first time, there was an alleged crying need for the Department of Mysteries to examine it. The next attempt was on behalf of the Ministry’s museum. I didn’t bother even to read the details of the third excuse made up by that thieving horse’s arse."

"But, Harry," Hermione began, but Harry continued.

"Needless to say, every time, the Wizengamot upheld my rightful ‘claim by conquest.’ Old medieval magical laws and customs can be useful at times."

"Don’t you feel that it’s a bit dangerous to have it displayed so openly?" asked Hermione.

"Not at all. Should any thief manage to get it and to try to use it, he’ll be in for a shock. It’s been ‘deactivated’ or ‘denatured’ or whatever it’s called, so now it might as well be a bludger bat as a wand."

"Harry, are you sure? If - " Hermione began.

"Trust me, Hermione," Harry replied. "The day after Fudge’s first attempt, I had an interesting communication. Fawkes, the phoenix, delivered a note and a special one-time-only untraceable portkey from Professor Dumbledore. The note requested that I pay him a visit, and that I should bring Voldemort’s wand."

"This sounds intriguing," said Hermione.

"It was," replied Harry. "Upon using the portkey, I found myself NOT at Hogwarts, but rather in the front room of Ollivander’s Diagon Alley wand shop. Guarding the door was an assortment of aurors, including such heavy hitters as Mad-Eye Moody.

"Remus and Tonks were there also, and they escorted me to the ‘behind the counter’ area of the shop, which was a magically enlarged vast warren of passages, workshops, and storerooms."

"We entered a weird round room, made entirely of stone and featuring a square rock table or altar in the center. Mr. Ollivander and Professors Dumbledore and Flitwick were there, and they were talking with a fourth person, who turned out to be old Mr. Tofty, whom you may remember as one of our OWL and NEWT examiners."

"Sure, I remember him," said Hermione. "Wasn’t he the small, bald, and ancient-looking one?"

"The same," said Harry. "Next, Professor McGonagall and our favorite greasy git, er, distinguished Potions teacher, Snape, came in with a bubbling, smoking, and foul-smelling cauldron. As they placed it on one corner of the table, everyone in the room looked in my direction. McGonagall smiled, and she said ‘hello.’ Of course, Snape just sneered at me in his usual charming manner, so I returned his greeting with the universally appropriate single finger salute."

"Harry, you didn’t!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Most certainly, I did!" Harry replied. "I did smile and say ‘you’ll always be number one with me, too, professor,’ or something similar. And, it seemed to be popular with most of the gathering. While old Tofty clucked his disapproval, Dumbledore, Flitwick, McGonagall, and Ollivander all tried to keep their faces straight, but the twinkling in their eyes betrayed their true sentiments. Remus chuckled out loud, and Tonks laughed so hard that she started to hiccup! Snape left the room, but McGonagall stayed, and she motioned for me to join her, Remus, and Tonks in a corner."

"What sort of potion was in the cauldron?" Hermione asked.

"I haven’t the foggiest idea," Harry said. "Judging from the smell, it could have been the Potion Master’s dirty socks or shorts."

"Well, what happened next?" said Hermione.

"We waited for a few minutes, and when Fawkes arrived, the show began."

"What did they do exactly?" said Hermione.

"In terms of what I saw, the wand was placed on the table, levitated about a foot above it, and then moved sideways directly over the cauldron. After a few minutes, the wand was moved away from the cauldron to the center of the table, but still levitated above the surface. Then, Fawkes used it as a perch. As to the theory, I’ve no idea," said Harry, "except for the broad picture. In essence, the four wizards performed some very old spell that ‘reclaimed’ the wand’s core magical object, which was a feather from Fawkes. At least, that’s what I gathered from the slightly contradictory explanations from Tonks and Remus."

"Go on," said Hermione.

"It involved four sets of synchronized lengthy incantations in ancient languages. According to McGonagall, and confirmed later by Dumbledore, each of the four ‘performers’ handled three different languages. Mr. Ollivander spoke the incantations in Old, Middle, and New Kingdom Egyptian; Mr. Tofty did them in Phoenician, Aramaic, and Hebrew; Professor Flitwick spoke them in Sumerian, Hittite, and Assyrian, and Dumbledore used Minoan, Ancient Greek, and Latin."

"But, Harry!" Hermione interjected, "most of those languages are so ‘dead’ that no one possibly could know how they were spoken!"

"Hey, don’t ask me for fine details, Hermione," Harry responded. "If you’ll forgive a crude metaphor, I was only the piano player in that particular whorehouse! As a bystander, I had no idea what they really were saying. But, what I saw with my own eyes was that the feather literally flowed through the wood of Voldemort’s wand and back to Fawkes’ tail, whereupon he performed his immolation and rebirth routine."

"Very interesting," said Hermione.

"Finally, Mr. Ollivander plucked the wand from the ashes and handed it to me. Professor Dumbledore assured me that what I had seen had happened, and that the wand now was nothing but a piece of wood and was completely harmless in a magical sense. I asked Mr. Ollivander if he wanted it, but he just smiled and indicated that it was mine, and that I should consider keeping it as the ultimate magical conversation piece."

"I suppose you’re right," said Hermione. "After all, those four wizards are among the very oldest and most knowledgeable ones alive today."

Harry refilled their glasses, and they lapsed back into quiet appreciation of the rich white Burgundy. After another prolonged silence, Hermione spoke again.

"Mmmm, this is inordinately good."

"Indeed, it is," said Harry.

"Harry, why do you make it so easy for the gossipmongers?" asked Hermione.

"What do you mean?" said Harry.

"Well, if you didn’t publicly date every young witch with a chest size larger than her IQ, or with a burning desire to have ‘Harry Potter Was Here’ tattooed on her bum, then what would they have to write about?" said Hermione.

"They’d still write whatever they felt like, and far too many of their devoted readers would accept every word as revealed truth," Harry answered. "Hermione, you’re a decent and honest person, but you’ve been insulated in the academy from the real world for too long."

"But - " Hermione started, but Harry continued.

"Almost no one with an IQ larger than her chest size, or in the case of a male, his penis length, actually reads or writes most tabloid trash," said Harry. "To put it bluntly, readers and the writers who pander to them are gullible fools for the most part."

"Harry, you’re wrong. There are not that many people like that," replied Hermione.

"Really? Have you run across any crumple-horned snorkacks recently?" asked Harry.

"Are you citing Luna Lovegood as evidence? How many others are like her?" Hermione replied.

"Well, let’s try a somewhat stronger example. I seem to recall one year at Hogwarts when a large number of intelligent folks were well and truly suckered by the wizarding equivalent of a Muggle snake oil salesman," said Harry.

"Who are you talking about?" asked Hermione.

"I refer to the female student admirers of the distinguished Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher of our second year, the former best-selling braggart and liar, Gilderoy Lockhart," said Harry.

"Oh," said Hermione, beginning to blush slightly.

"OH?" said Harry, with a grin. "So, you do remember otherwise perfectly sensible young witches getting the tops of their desks wet from their drooling, and possibly the seats a bit moist from a different bodily secretion. Is it true that some of them needed to change their knickers after DADA classes, possibly including the smartest and most level-headed second year witch of all?"

"I . . . I resent your insinuation," said Hermione, with a giggle accompanying her blushing face.

"Hmmm, " said Harry. "You resent it, but you don’t deny it!"

"For heaven’s sakes, Harry," said Hermione, "you’re talking about teenagers and even pre-teen girls!"

"Aha! Case closed!" said Harry triumphantly. "And they accuse boys and men of thinking with their ‘small heads’ only!"

"Okay, Harry, I think I get your point. Since you’re certain that you’ll be damned in the press whether you do or don’t, you might as well do . . . at least the enjoyable things."

"Ten points, Miss Granger!" said Harry

"Still, why haven’t you found some wonderful girl to settle down with every night?" asked Hermione.

"Well, that both is and is not my problem. A few nights each week I do settle down with a girl I hope will be wonderful. Unfortunately, it’s usually a different one each time, and only very rarely are any of them even close to being wonderful," Harry said.

"But, there must have been someone special among your conquests, or even some yet ‘unconquered’ woman worthy of special feelings," said Hermione.

A different dreamy expression appeared on Harry’s face, but he said nothing. An awkward silence continued, during which Harry emptied the remaining contents of the bottle into their glasses. They exchanged smiles, and Harry got a thoughtful expression on his face. Hermione simply watched him.

Finally, Harry ended the silence so suddenly that his excited voice almost caused Hermione to drop her glass.

To be continued . . .

A/N: Chapter Two will be entitled "Truth, with Tears," and will be posted very soon. All three chapters have been written, and only very minor revision and proofing remain.

2. Truth, with Tears

A/N: Here is the second installment, wherein laughter gives way to teary confessions, and the stage is set for the big climax. Thanks for your reviews and please enjoy.

Rescue Mission

Chapter 2: Truth, with Tears

"But, there must have been someone special among your conquests, or even some yet ‘unconquered’ woman worthy of special feelings," said Hermione.

A different dreamy expression appeared on Harry’s face, but he said nothing. An awkward silence continued, during which Harry emptied the remaining contents of the bottle into their glasses. They exchanged smiles, and Harry got a thoughtful expression on his face. Hermione simply watched him.

Finally, Harry ended the silence so suddenly that his excited voice almost caused Hermione to drop her glass.

* * * * *

"HEY! I’ve got just the subject for your article, and it’ll be an exclusive! How does ‘Harry Potter’s First and Only True Love’ sound as a title, both to grab readers for Witch Weekly and to earn a nice pile of galleons for you?"

"It sounds interesting," said Hermione.

"It’s more than interesting; it’s perfect. Adding to its attraction are the facts that its author was both a classmate and one of the closest friends of the subject!" said Harry. "It’s settled, then. So, how do we begin? Do you want to ask questions, or would you prefer for me simply to tell the tale first?"

"Why don’t you begin the story, and I’ll interrupt only if I think of a really important question requiring an immediate answer," said Hermione. "You don’t mind if I use this Muggle micro-recorder, so you?" she added, removing the device from her purse and placing it next to the wine bottle on the low table in front of them. "Before you ask, it has been charmed to work in magical households." Just as she started to press the "record" button, Harry spoke.

"Okay, but wait just a minute," said Harry. "Before we start, let me take care of some pressing business. Would you care for some more wine?"

"I don’t know . . . perhaps one glass. What else do you have?" asked Hermione.

"I do have another very special wine that is supposed to be quite nice, if you don’t mind something that’s sweet," said Harry.

"Alright," said Hermione. "Why don’t you see if you can surprise me."

He picked up the empty DRC bottle and the glasses, went to the kitchen, and returned with two fresh bottles and another pair of glasses. After placing the glasses on the table, he held the first one up so Hermione could see it clearly.

"This is a fine imported California white, by the renowned vintner E. & J. Gallo, from its famous ‘Thunderbird’ vineyard, vintage, who knows or cares but probably a month ago or so," said Harry, grinning at her.

"You definitely have been dating bimbos with no taste, Potter! Pour that piss back into the dragon, and either cough up some more decent stuff, or I might just leave!" said Hermione.

"Would it be safe to assume that you have similar lofty opinions of Night Train Express, White Rocket, and Mad Dog 20/20?" Harry asked, with a wider grin.

"Hell, yes!" Hermione answered, "that is, no, I’m NOT interested in any of them unless I need to clean an oven or to remove some nail polish!"

"Thunderbird does quite a good job in removing old varnish from broom handles, too," said Harry, "however, I don’t suppose Wild Irish Rose, Ripple, or generic muscatel would be appealing to your discriminating palate, would they?"

"I don’t think so," she replied, laughing.

"The muscatel is in a very pretty cardboard and plastic three-liter box, but you’re still saying ‘no,’ I guess? Obviously, it would be equally futile to offer Cisco, Sly Fox, Boone’s Farm, or Bali Hai."

Hermione simply laughed harder.

"Well, that exhausts most of the contents of my cellar. However, I do happen to have another very nice French number, a modest little Bordeaux Sauternes, but it’s only a half-bottle," said Harry, displaying it. "This is a 1975 d’Yquem, and it’s supposed to be pretty nice stuff."

"My goodness! That’s another of the most expensive wines made anywhere! The ‘hospitality’ rendered to Little Miss Gabrielle by ‘Potter’s Stud Service’ REALLY must have been impressive!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Actually, this one was from Big Sister Fleur, and for God’s sake, please don’t tell any of the Weasleys about it. But . . . WHAT a witch!" said Harry, with both a large grin and a far away look.

"Come back down to earth, Harry, and please refrain from being so crude as to give yourself an erection in my presence . . . at least for a while, until I’m much drunker," said Hermione.

"I . . . uh . . . I’m sorry . . . " stammered Harry.

"I’m joking, Harry," said Hermione with a smile. "Nevertheless; a cad, a bounder, a rotter, what aren’t you? When virgin schoolgirls aren’t enough to slake your lust, you chase after the wives of friends, too!" exclaimed Hermione.

"Well, the roles of ‘chaser’ and ‘chasee’ were a touch ambiguous with Fleur. Anyway, she claimed that she was separated at the time," said Harry defensively, "and apparently she was . . . at least for that one night . . . and maybe a couple or four or five more evenings . . . but, it’s over now!"

"Sure, Harry," said Hermione, with a wink. Then she wrinkled her nose and added, "by the way, you don’t REALLY drink all of those . . . ‘wines’ that you mentioned, I hope?"

"Of course not!" said Harry. "It seems than when it became known that I appreciated fine wine, a couple of my friends, Dean and Seamus, who fancied themselves as great wits, but who only were half right, decided to give me an assortment of the world’s finest skid-row libations as a birthday present."

Hermione giggled, and Harry went on.

"Basically, if it was over seventeen percent in alcohol and dirt cheap in price, or if it looked like soda pop, or if it seemed to belong in an old-fashioned barber shop with bottles of hair tonic, then I got one!"

"Then, you don’t drink to excess, Harry?" asked Hermione, her concern evident. "It is quite easy to become . . . "

"An alcoholic?" Harry finished her question. Then, affecting a W. C. Fieldsian accent, he muttered, "my dear, it’s easy to quit drinking; I’ve done it a thousand times!"

"It’s NOT funny, Harry!" said Hermione.

"Sure, it is," said Harry. Continuing his impression of ‘the Great Man,’ "the most harrowing experience of my life occurred during one of my extended quests to track down the Dark Lord. I lost my corkscrew and was forced to survive ONLY on food and water for a entire week!"

Hermione stared at him, so Harry decided that a change of the subject might be in order. But first, he tried to reassure her.

"Hermione, each of us has had two full glasses of Burgundy, and we’re about to have one glass each of this. Then, I promise you, the bar closes for the night . . . okay?"

She nodded in agreement.

"Let me try something, if you can keep a secret," said Harry.

He wriggled the fingers of both of his hands slightly, and the foil capsule seal bulged and then rose up and off the top of the wine bottle. Hermione gave a gasp. He moved his fingers again, and the cork also rose up and out of the neck, and then both flew into Harry’s hands.

"Harry!" she exclaimed excitedly. "You’re doing this sort of magic now without using either a wand or spoken words? Why didn’t you use it earlier?"

"Well, I’ve had the occasional bottle or glass go a bit astray and break, and not always when I’ve been under the influence," said Harry. "I’ve been doing it for several years, but I never wanted to advertise the fact. There’s no telling what sort of conniption fits those gits at the Ministry of Magic might have if they knew. Besides, Mr. Ollivander is a kindly old soul, and I’ve no desire to ruin his wand business."

"But, Harry, this is really important!" Hermione began.

"It’s also potentially very troublesome," Harry interrupted. "One night I was, er, entertaining a Muggle lady guest, and after having had more than a few drinks, I forgot her non-magical nature and accidentally summoned another bottle from the kitchen. I’ve never seen any woman move so fast to leave, screaming like a banshee all the way down the hall to the elevator." He looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he added, "of course, it probably didn’t help matters any when I charmed her blouse and skirt to chase after her."

"But, Harry - " Hermione tried again.

"Please, Hermione, let’s drop it for now," said Harry, as he poured the golden wine into the two new glasses, and then handed one to her.

They sipped the thick, sweet, golden elixir in silence for a minute or so.

"Damn if this isn’t pretty good stuff," said Harry, smacking his lips.

"You are an uncultured barbarian!" replied Hermione. "This is a hell of lot more than ‘good stuff!’ It’s fantastic! Someone once poetically described tasting a great Sauternes as being the closest thing possible to ‘drinking flowers,’ and I do believe that he was correct."

"I said that it was good, and I wonder how it would do as an ice cream sundae topping," said Harry.

"You’re hopeless, Potter," Hermione began, but then she noticed his smile and his winking eye. "You lousy prat! Are you pulling my leg?"

"No, but I wouldn’t mind doing so later, once I’ve gotten you drunk enough. I confess that even I would not use anything that costs a galleon per spoonful as an ice cream topping," Harry replied with a grin.

"Try it this way, Harry," said Hermione, and she took a sip, tilted her head back slightly, closed her eyes, and began to wriggle her tongue around just behind her pursed lips as she sucked in air.

Harry almost dropped the bottle that he had just picked up to refill their glasses.

"HERMIONE! That looks almost obscene!" he exclaimed. "Must you demonstrate to me your collection of off-color facial expressions?"

"Oh! Am I getting ‘The Great Bedroom Wizard’ all worked up?" Hermione said, and then she smiled and added, with a deadpan expression, "I’m truly sorry if I accidentally turned on your ‘love engine’ prematurely, Harry."

Harry emptied the small remains of the half-bottle into their glasses and sighed.

Ignoring her last gibes, he said, "as is usual, Miss Granger, you are correct. This stuff really is fantastic, and to my taste, it’s much better than any dry white Burgundy, no matter how expensive or great it’s supposed to be. Of course, recalling the sources of the two bottles, I’d have to admit that Fleur also was a good deal better than was young Gabrielle!"

"Spare me any further reminiscences of your sordid behavior with loose women," said Hermione.

"Well, to be sure, neither was a virgin, but to be fair, I wouldn’t call either of them ‘loose’ exactly," said Harry.

"STOP!" said Hermione, trying hard to glare at Harry, who tried to glare back. Then both of them burst out with laughter.

"Okay, okay, you win! Where were we? Oh, of course, the story. Here we go," said Harry. Hermione reached down and started the recorder.

"Harry Potter’s First and Only True Love," he said, clearing his throat, "as told to Miss Hermione Granger."

"She must have been Ginny!" interjected Hermione excitedly. "No, I bet Cho was the one! Or, could Parvati have been - "

"HOLD IT, Miss ‘I’ll-Interrupt-Only-If’ Reporter," said Harry. "Am I going to tell my story first or not?"

"I . . . you’re right. Please go on, and I promise to be quiet," said Hermione.

"Now THAT’S about as likely as the sun rising tomorrow in the west," said Harry, "or Snape shampooing his hair!"

"I promise," said Hermione. "Please continue."

"Fine. Here goes," said Harry.

"First, before revealing the name of the woman who was my first and only true love, some background information not well known to the general public will be helpful. While I was a student at Hogwarts, my close physical resemblance to my father, James Potter, was noted repeatedly by everyone who knew him. But, we were so very different in most other ways."

"He was born into an old wizarding family, and I was raised as a Muggle. In fact, I was aware neither of the magical world in general, nor of my personal background in particular, until only shortly before I entered Hogwarts."

"By all accounts, my father was extraordinarily gifted in magical abilities, so much so that while in his early to mid-teens, he and some of his schoolmates were able both to teach themselves animagus abilities, and to create an extremely powerful new magical object. In addition, he was a fairly talented Quidditch player, and he managed to engage in all sorts of creative mischief making. With the notable exceptions of my defensive abilities against the Dark Arts and my natural flying and Quidditch skills, I was pretty much an average student in most other areas of magical study."

"One enormous difference between us was that my father was proud of and even reveled in his abilities. He did so even to the point of being, to put it charitably, a conceited showoff, at least through his fifth or sixth years of school. By some accounts, he also spent a good part of those two years not only attempting to get, but succeeding to a surprising degree in getting, into the beds and bodies of a fair number of his female schoolmates. On the other hand, I remained a virgin through my fifth year due to my lack of developed social skills and of confidence with girls. I left Hogwarts two years later still a virgin, due to my very painful conscious choice not to endanger the girl I secretly loved or any other by getting involved seriously with her."

"My father became utterly changed in personality and behavior for one reason, his love for his fellow student and my future mother, Lily Evans. She was more than a match for him in magical ability, in pure intelligence, and in strength and quality of her character. Undoubtedly, an additional attraction for him was her extraordinary beauty. James simply never had met any other girl who refused to be seduced quickly and easily by his personal charm. He changed into a genuinely decent man because he could not win her unless he did so, and after he changed, from his seventh year in school until his death, he never so much as looked at another woman."

Harry paused, took a few sips of wine, and then addressed Hermione.

"What, no questions yet? Well, I’ll offer a few clues before continuing. To the best of my knowledge, the girl I loved never knew it, although she might have suspected something. We never kissed in a serious way even once, but still, I really loved her, my one true love."

"She was neither an ‘older woman’ of sixteen or seventeen when I was a youngster of eleven or twelve, nor was the opposite the case. In short, we were of about the same age, and I was attracted to her at first sight, because she was so striking in her personality and in her looks. She continued to grow prettier every year that I knew her."

"As I hinted already, I made the deliberate decision during my last two years at Hogwarts not to try to get involved physically with the one I loved, or even to inform her of my feelings. This was because at the very end of my fifth year, I was informed by Headmaster Dumbledore of the exact nature of the famous prophecy thought to have been lost forever only recently before, during the famous battle in the Department of Mysteries."

Harry paused again, and then he said to Hermione, "here is the first part of your news scoop."

"While the record of the prophecy, in the form of a glass sphere, had been destroyed, its information still was readily available, because the original prophecy had been spoken to Dumbledore himself! Reduced to basics, the prophecy indicated that I was destined to kill Voldemort or to be killed by him. Given the increasing power of the psychic connection between Voldemort’s mind and mine, he would have detected instantly any new strong bond that I made with another person. Further, given that Voldemort also was aware of the main part of the prophecy, it is not difficult to guess how he would act toward anyone he knew to be special to me. Under no circumstance could I dare to endanger anyone, least of all the one person I loved most."

"You see, I already knew that I was responsible for the death of Sirius Black, my godfather, and even worse, the prophecy itself proved that my birth was the root cause of the chain of events that led to the deaths of my parents. Add to the death toll, or to a related list of close calls for which my very existence was partially responsible, the names of Cedric Diggory, Arthur, Ginny, and Ron Weasley, and even yours, Hermione."

"Harry, you were NOT responsible, and you shouldn’t feel responsible for what happened!" Hermione interrupted.

"That’s quite easy to assert or even to believe intellectually, but emotionally, in my heart, I cannot help but . . . " Harry started to say, but then he shrugged and continued the story.

"Consider for a moment all that had happened to me through my first five years in school. Add to it the absolute certainty that I would become either a murderer or a murder victim in the not so distant future, and ask yourself what would any fifteen-year-old do? It should be understandable why I could not bear even the possibility that I might contribute in any way to any harm to yet another person, least of all to her, my one true love."

Harry paused yet again, choking back tears, and he was gratified to see that Hermione seemed to be equally as affected.

"Harry, you’ve explained why you had to do what you did, but Voldemort and his followers now are gone forever. They can’t harm either you or her at all!" said Hermione, sniffling, and trying mightily to hold back her own tears. "Is she still alive?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Is she still as pretty as you remembered her to be?"

"Yes, with a qualification. She’s even more beautiful today."

"Do you know where she is? Is she married to someone else?"

"Yes and no."

"Do you still love her?"

"Yes, and I always will," replied Harry.

"Well, why don’t you go to her and explain things just as you have to me?" asked Hermione, somewhat exasperated.

"Oh, I shall, and fairly soon I think," said Harry. "But, you’re distracting me. I haven’t quite finished the story yet."

"By all means, do so," said Hermione, now literally sitting on the edge of the sofa.

"There remains the answer to the question of why I never made my feelings known to her earlier, during my fourth or fifth years, before I learned of the prophecy, but after both of us were, to put it delicately, physically able to have become involved. It was not due to my lack of social graces or of confidence, which were effects rather than causes of the real reason, which was simple cowardice."

"Harry, that’s not possible," said Hermione.

"Ah, but it is, or rather, it was," said Harry. "In fact, it was a distinct lack of courage of several different sorts on the part of ‘the bravest boy in the world.’ By the way, that’s the second of what will be three parts of your news scoop. The young lad who could and actually did face down and best Voldemort on a number of occasions, including once as a baby and twice more even before his teen years, in fact was scared to death of the beautiful girl he secretly loved."

"The first and a less significant sort of cowardice was that paradoxically I was petrified that if I made my feelings known, then she might have indicated that she felt the same! Inevitably, it would have followed that I, or worse, that she might suggest that we find for ourselves a somewhat private place with a reasonably soft surface and fuck each other senseless! Reduced to its simplest, I was deathly afraid that as a lover, I wouldn’t be able to fulfill her expectations."

Harry paused and smiled, and Hermione smiled also.

"Now, THAT is a scoop! Can it be true that Harry Potter, the Star Stud of the magical world tabloid press and the breaker of innumerable feminine hearts, once was unsure of his bedroom skills?" asked Hermione, laughing.

"You’re welcome, and it is, and it was," said Harry. "A second superficial type of cowardice was that I genuinely feared that my one true love might have refused to believe me. To be blunt, she might have thought that I was just a randy teenaged male trying to get into her knickers."

At this, Hermione smiled and nodded her head in understanding.

"It’s time to describe the most important type of cowardice, which also will reveal the identity of my first and still my only true love, the third and the biggest news scoop for your story. Are you ready for the ultimate truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Miss Reporter?"

"I am, so get on with it," said Hermione.

Harry took a last sip of wine and put down his glass. He sat back down on the sofa next to Hermione.

"This form of cowardice involved the possible consequences if my loved one did not reciprocate my feelings. But, it was not that she might say that she didn’t feel attracted to me, or that while she was attracted to me, she didn’t feel ready yet to get involved physically. While such conversations would have been embarrassing, and might have caused some awkwardness between us for a while, they did not frighten me."

"You see, in spite of how wonderful and beautiful in so many different ways that she seemed to be to me, she did have some problems of her own. She was insecure to the point that she felt that she had to prove herself constantly, usually in the classroom, and sometimes in trying to be a mother figure to her friends. Possibly it was because she was Muggle-born, or maybe it had some other cause."

Harry slid closer on the sofa to Hermione, and he wrapped one arm around her back.

"Have you guessed her, my one true love’s, name yet?" asked Harry. "You should have, because I’ve mentioned it several times, including in the last sentence! But, I might have mispronounced it, almost as a foreigner unfamiliar with English names might have done."

Hermione felt confusion at first, and then amusement, as she recalled Viktor Krum’s mangling of her name, "Herm-own-ninny," ten years ago. Then, she felt a rushing in her head and a chill up and down her spine, as she was jolted back to the present by her recognition of the first three words of the slightly stilted phrase that Harry had used several times, "her, my one true love." Was he really saying her name as "HER-MY-ONE," which was how some folks, and not just foreigners, occasionally mispronounced it, or was this choice of words purely coincidental? But, before she could answer, he continued.

"Also, she had an issue with her own physical self-image. For some utterly inexplicable reason, she saw herself as being plain and ordinary, but she could not have been more wrong from my point of view. I was attracted to her, my one true love, from the moment when I met her on my first train ride to school."

As Harry’s words sunk in, Hermione felt both her face start to flush and her chest begin to pound. "Harry," she said, and she dropped her head and began to cry.

"Only two months later, I KNEW that I loved her," Harry continued, hugging Hermione closer. "It happened when she did one of the bravest things I have ever seen. She was lonely and had been so since the beginning of the school term. She had been hurt and put into serious danger by a couple of her classmates. Yet, she had the extraordinary courage to offer to them the most precious thing she possessed, her unconditional loving friendship."

Harry put his hand under her chin, lifted it, and looked straight into her tear-filled eyes.

"What scared me so terribly was not that you would have rebuffed my certain-to-be-clumsy romantic advances, but that you might have ended that simple but wonderful human friendship."

Harry kissed her gently, barely brushing his lips against hers.

"To answer some of your earlier questions more fully; yes, you are very much alive, and definitely, you are more beautiful now than ever. Most certainly, I do know where you are, which is in my arms at this very moment. Lastly, I do still love you very much, and I want to prove it to you, if you’ll let me."

He embraced Hermione, and when she buried her face in his shoulder and began sobbing, he simply hugged her more tightly, and stroked the back of her head.

After several minutes, which seemed like hours, Hermione’s crying subsided.

"My first and only true love," said Harry "is there any possibility that you ever can forgive me for being the most inconsiderate fool and the biggest idiot who ever lived?"

"Maybe . . . if you . . . " Hermione said, and she pulled herself away from his embrace.

"Anything!" said Harry.

"Well . . . first, I have a confession of my own," said Hermione. "I . . . I . . . I always felt the same about you from that very first day on the train! BUT," she continued, showing a little anger, "you never said or did anything bout your feelings! Do you have any idea of how many nights I cried myself to sleep during our sixth and seventh years because I was worried sick for you, and I was afraid that you didn’t care for me?"

"I thought I explained that after I heard the prophecy - " began Harry.

"But I didn’t know that THEN! Even though I do understand about that time now, what about before then?" said Hermione. "Also, I refuse to accept your claims of cowardice as having any relevance today! There’s only one way that I can forgive you, which is for you to tell me now what you wished you had said when we were younger."

"I thought I just did," said Harry quietly.

"You did, but only in a very roundabout way. Anyway, I want to hear it again, just as you would have said it," said Hermione, attempting a weak smile.

"But . . . of course, you have every right," said Harry, smiling himself. "Let’s see, to do this correctly, may I just kneel, or should I prostrate myself before Your Ladyship?"

"Shut up, and speak to me," said Hermione, now definitely smiling, "if you understand the intent of that logical contradiction."

"Okay, here goes," said Harry, trying to control his laughter. "Hermione, we’ve known each other and have been the best of friends for quite a while, and there is something special that I must share with you."

"Yes, Harry, and what is it?" asked Hermione. "By the way, have you finished tomorrow’s homework?"

"Bugger tomorrow’s schoolwork, ‘Mummy!’ I’ve got something much more important to say. Hermione, I’ve fallen in love with you. You’re the most fantastic and wonderful and beautiful girl I’ve ever known, and I want . . . I want you to know that I think . . . I want . . . I . . . " said Harry.

"What exactly are you trying to say?" asked Hermione.

"Well . . . uh . . . I think we should . . . uh . . . expand our friendship," Harry mumbled.

"Do you mean that you want to date me?" said Hermione.

"Uh, I had some other things in mind also. I would like to date you, to hold your hands while I kiss you, and . . . and I’d like to do so much more," said Harry. "I want to hold more than just your hands, and I want to kiss more than just your lips. I want to . . . to . . . "

"Are you trying to say that you want . . . to feel me up, to get into my knickers and . . . and . . . and TO SHAG ME, Harry?" said Hermione.

"Well . . .er, uh . . .yes and no," said Harry.

"Hmmm. It seems to me that it must be EITHER yes OR no," said Hermione.

"I meant yes AND no," said Harry. "No, I do not want simply to shag you. No, I do not want simply to make love TO you. But, YES, I do very much want to make love WITH you!"

"Good grief, Harry! That is a truly wonderful way to put it," said Hermione. "Did you actually make that up yourself, or did you steal it from some writer?"

"Look, Hermione, if you don’t feel like doing anything now, or if you don’t feel ready, or if you want to wait until you’re married, or even if you don’t like me enough, then just say ‘no,’ and we can still be the best of friends, can’t we?" said Harry.

"Of course, we can, IF I say no," said Hermione. Then, she got a serious look on her face, grasped Harry’s head in both of her hands, and kissed him quickly. "But, I’m NOT saying no!"

"Uh, that’s great," said Harry.

After taking a deep breath, Hermione looked directly at him and said, "Harry, is there ‘a somewhat private place with a reasonably soft surface’ where we can go right now?"

To be continued

A/N: The interesting wordplay conceit of "her, my one (true love)" = "her-my-one true love" = "Hermione, true love" was the actual initial inspiration for this story, which was then built around it. I don’t remember exactly from where the idea came originally, though it might have been from an old interview with JKR, which related different mispronunciations heard by the author. Two chapters are down, and there’s one to go, in which Harry and Hermione will have some laughs and finally will "get together," in every sense of the words.

3. Love, with Lust

A/N: Here is the final part of this brief story. Thanks for the reviews, and please enjoy.

Rescue Mission

Chapter 3: Love, with Lust

"Look, Hermione, if you don’t feel like doing anything now, or if you don’t feel ready, or if you want to wait until you’re married, or even if you don’t like me enough, then just say ‘no,’ and we can still be the best of friends, can’t we?" said Harry.

"Of course, we can, IF I say no," said Hermione. Then, she got a serious look on her face, grasped Harry’s head in both of her hands, and kissed him quickly. "But, I’m NOT saying no!"

"Uh, that’s great," said Harry.

After taking a deep breath, Hermione looked directly at him and said, "Harry, is there ‘a somewhat private place with a reasonably soft surface’ where we can go right now?"

* * * * *

"Huh?" said Harry.

"Your eloquence overwhelms me!" said Hermione with a grin. "There is a bedroom in this place, I assume, where it might be more appropriate to continue what I hope will be a truly long and in-depth . . . discussion?"

Harry recovered from his initial shock, grinned back at her, and then very quickly he picked her up, slinging her body over his shoulder. In spite of her squealing protests, he carried her into his bedroom and dropped her onto his king-sized bed. She sat up, looked around, and laughed out loud.

"What’s so funny?" asked Harry.

"It’s not exactly what I expected to see in the bedroom of the notorious ‘Great Lover of the Wizarding World.’ While the bed certainly is large enough for serious debauchery, what’s with the plain Danish Modern furniture? Where are the stocks, chains, handcuffs, and whips? Where are the ceiling mirrors and the wall murals depicting satyrs chasing nymphs with three-foot erections?"

"Why on earth would I want pictures of nymphs with huge pricks?" said Harry, laughing.

"I . . . you know what I meant, you evil man," said Hermione, and then she added, "it is quite a normal and nice bedroom."

"That’s only because you haven’t looked in the closet and seen the love basket and rope assembly. It hooks on a special ceiling attachment with a pulley system, and the whole affair can be spun, raised and lowered, or both can be done simultaneously. There’s a strategically located hole in the basket, padded of course, where you can sit," said Harry, leering at her.

"STOP IT!" laughed Hermione. "I don’t want to hear any more about your vile, disgusting, and perverted practices. I believe that you had mentioned good, clean, old-fashioned ‘senseless fucking,’ or something similar?"

"Never would I use the word ‘clean’ regarding sex. It’s always a bit ‘dirty,’ at least if you’re doing it right! Anyway, I said that we would ‘fuck ourselves senseless,’ I believe," said Harry.

"It was that we would ‘fuck EACH OTHER senseless,’ actually," Hermione said, correcting him. She hesitated, and then she added, "so, are you going to do something before I get scared and chicken out?"

Harry reached out and pulled Hermione to her feet so that they faced each other. He kissed her on her lips briefly. He pulled off his tee shirt, and then he unbuttoned her blouse and helped her out of it. He kissed her again, and then they helped each other out of their jeans and slacks. He looked at her beige bra and matching knickers and smiled.

"A front snap always is convenient," Harry said, as he popped it open and slid the straps off her shoulders and down her arms.

He knelt in front of Hermione and rubbed the side of his face against the front of her knickers, then he pulled them over her hips and down to her feet, and he helped her to step out of them. He stood up and they faced each other, drinking in each other’s bodies. Harry started to lower his boxer shorts, but Hermione took his hands in hers.

"Harry, as you see clearly, my body is NOT that special, and it hardly can be called ‘beautiful’ by anyone," said Hermione, hanging her head, and after dropping his hands, reflexively crossing her arms across her chest.

"Hush your mouth," said Harry, as he reached out and lifted her chin.

"But it’s true," said Hermione, her lower lip quivering. "You must have seen lots of better looking ones. My breasts are - "

"I said to hush," said Harry, and as he placed a finger across her lips, he continued, "we definitely have to do something about your self-image situation, don’t we?"

Then, he took her hands in his and pulled them to her side. He cupped the sides of her high cone-shaped breasts very gently with his large hands, massaging her small nipples into an erect state with his thumbs. Then he released them, lowered his head, and licked each nipple. He stood back up, took her hands into his again and slowly spun her around, first in one direction, then in the other, and then back to a position facing him.

"Sorry, Miss Granger, but that will cost Gryffindor quite a few points, either for being grossly ignorant or for telling deliberate lies!" said Harry.

"Harry - " Hermione began, but Harry interrupted.

"Hermione, you ARE beautiful, period! You’re every bit as lovely as I have seen in my most wonderful dreams of you," said Harry.

"Harry - " Hermione began again, but again Harry placed a finger across her lips.

He spun her around again, and he knelt behind her and said, "this is just a down payment for an old debt."

He kissed her once in the small of her back, and next he kissed each of her ass cheeks a half a dozen times. He rose, spun her around, and facing her again, he reached around and began to massage her bum.

"What the devil are you - " Hermione started to ask.

"I made a down payment on an old debt, just as I said," smiled Harry. "I figure that during our seven years together at school, you probably felt like making the request ‘kiss my arse’ to me at least a dozen times a week. Of course, you were both too nice and too much of a lady to say it in so many words."

"ONLY a dozen times a week?" Hermione replied, smiling also.

"Well, I plan on doing my best to settle the debt entirely this evening, though you’ll be receiving a lot of the kisses on certain other portions of your beautiful body," said Harry.

"I still think that my bum is a bit too large, and - " said Hermione.

"Hush, again!" Harry interrupted. "My lifestyle of the past few years has not been very admirable, and it has done nothing good for my sobriety, reputation, or moral character. But, I think it is fair to say that I’ve been exposed to about as many young, attractive, and very healthy females and their body parts as has any man. So, when I speak about yours, it is with no small amount of expertise."

He smiled at Hermione, and then for the first time, he REALLY kissed her. The next thing she realized, they were on the bed, with their mouths locked together and with their tongues intertwined.

Harry pulled his lips away, and said, "THAT was just a preview, Hermione! But, we had better take care of the necessities right now, before we get more than a little out of control. That is, if you wish to continue . . . "

"Could you get my handbag, please," said Hermione.

Harry nodded and flicked his hand, and the large handbag zoomed from the living room through the bedroom door and onto the bed. While Hermione rummaged in its depths, Harry went to his dresser, opened a drawer, and extracted two small vials of liquid, both containing the same combination contraceptive and prophylactic potion. He sat back down next to Hermione on the bed.

"Yours or mine or both?" he asked.

"Both, just to be extra safe, I think," she replied, after she withdrew two vials from her handbag and scrutinized their tiny handwritten expiration dates.

They exchanged one vial of each other’s potions, popped the tops, and drank them in front of each other. Next, Hermione withdrew her wand from the purse, tapped it on her abdomen just below her navel, and muttered some inaudible words. As she turned to put it away, her purse tipped over, spilling a thin square package onto the bed. She blushed and reached for it, but Harry’s hand snatched it first.

"Hmmm," said Harry, "a genuine ‘Bertie Botts Every Flavor Condom!’ I see that you are a very naughty girl who patronizes the ‘back room - adults only’ section of Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes, since they have exclusive distribution rights for these particular novelties. AND, it is an ‘Extra Large - Crowd Pleaser’ in size! Should I be jealous of some very special wizard friend, whom you haven’t mentioned, my dear?"

"Harry, please give it back," Hermione said, blushing furiously. "And, I did NOT purchase this . . . this THING. I . . . I was in their store, and once I find out which one of those Weasley prats planted this in my purse when I wasn’t looking, I’ll make him wish he had never been born!"

Harry smiled and handed it to her. Then he said, "an unkind person might inquire as to what you WERE looking at or purchasing in that part of the store, but certainly not a gentleman such as Harry Potter!" He hesitated, and then added, "seriously, Hermione, do you prefer that I use a condom?"

"Why?" asked Hermione, with a puzzled expression. "We’ve taken potions, and . . . "

"I wasn’t referring only to pregnancy or disease prevention, Hermione, but to the fact that, er, direct contact with a certain male bodily fluid can be a bit off-putting for some women," Harry said.

"Oh," said Hermione, and she hesitated.

"Hermione," Harry said, and he lifted her chin up and looked directly at her. "You . . . you aren’t still a virgin, are you?"

"Harry, I’ve got to say something before we begin," said Hermione, after taking a deep breath and lowering her head. "I . . . I . . . I don’t have much experience. I’m not a virgin, but . . . but, I might as well be one," she stammered.

"Darling Hermione," said Harry. "I don’t care a bit about your experience, or how extensive or lacking it may be. I love YOU, the person, and not your past."

"No, you don’t understand," she continued. "I’ve slept with two different guys a grand total of three times, and . . . and I didn’t feel much of anything. I think I may be frigid, at least with ordinary sex."

"NO!" said Harry, and he grabbed Hermione’s shoulders and shook her hard. "Look at me, and listen carefully. If you didn’t enjoy sex before, it was not YOUR fault. It was because of the ignorance or possibly even the inconsiderate selfishness of your partner."

He kissed her hard again, and then he said, "Hermione, you have masturbated at some time in your life, have you not?"

"I . . . yes, of course . . . sometimes, I . . . " she said, blushing deeply.

"I don’t care about the details, whether it involved a simple use of fingers, a vibrator, or a lucky cucumber! The point is, did you bring yourself to an orgasm?" Harry asked.

"Uh . . . yes," replied Hermione, in a small voice and still blushing.

"There’s the proof that you’re NOT frigid. If anyone, including you, could figure out how to manipulate your body and get results, then clearly it does work as designed, does it not?" asked Harry. Before she could respond, he kissed her again, and said, "Hermione, I really, really, really love you, and I am going to enjoy the next few hours more than any other thing in my life! I am going to do my absolute best to make you feel happier than you ever thought possible!"

"You said ‘hours,’ Harry? I’ll believe that when I feel them! But, no matter what you say, or how you say it, even you cannot talk me into an orgasm. So, shut up, kiss me, and then please fuck me senseless," she replied, and she grabbed Harry’s head with both hands, pulled his lips to hers, and thrust her tongue inside his mouth.

* * * * *

Over the next hour, Hermione was proven to be very mistaken. Not once, not twice, but three times, Harry "talked" her into extraordinary and memorable orgasms, at least in a manner of speaking.

‘How is it possible,’ she wondered, ‘that ANYONE, much less her very own Harry, could be so bloody fantastic and do such wonderful things with his tongue and a pair of fingers?’

Much later, she would recall a few snatches of conversation in the time between what Harry had referred to as "preliminary foreplay" - the three greatest orgasms of her life, up until then - and the soon to be forthcoming "main event."

"I suggest that we’ve thoroughly disposed of the obviously false rumor concerning some sort of ‘frigidity’ on your part," said Harry. "In fact, I’d say that you may be the most ‘un-frigid’ young woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of pleasuring!"

Hermione finally found her voice, slightly hoarse following significant amounts of very loud screaming.

"I . . . I . . . I insist on returning the favor," she said. "By the way, Harry, why DO you still have on your shorts? You’re not embarrassed by my seeing ‘Little Harry,’ are you? I trust that he is at least a bit larger than your finger."

"Well, fair is fair, and since you do insist," said Harry, getting off the bed and standing up.

"I should tell you that I’m probably not going to be very good with my mouth - " began Hermione.

"Trust me, Hermione. I can guarantee to you absolutely that while some women may be better or more experienced than others, there truly is no such thing as BAD oral sex to any man!" said Harry.

He dropped his boxers and stepped out them. He looked straight at Hermione.

"Hermione, meet ‘Little Harry,’ and ‘Little Harry,’ meet Hermione. I hope you’ll become very good friends," said Harry.

"OH . . . MY . . . GOODNESS!" said Hermione, her eyes almost popping from her head, as she gazed at Harry’s partially erect penis.

"I think he really does like you, Hermione! See, he does want to play . . . Hermione . . . HERMIONE, are you there?" said Harry.

"I . . . IT . . . WOW!" was all that she could say.

"Hermione, it’s just a penis," said Harry.

"THAT’S not ‘just a penis,’ it’s . . . it’s . . . " said Hermione.

"Hermione?" said Harry.

"There’s no way that . . . that all of it EVER is going to fit - "

"Trust me, Hermione, enough will to get the job done!" said Harry.

"I’m really not sure - " said Hermione.

"I am!" said Harry.

Hermione was mistaken again, and Harry turned out to be right. In fact, to Hermione’s great surprise and even greater pleasure, Harry was "right" four separate times over the course of the next couple of hours, with each one for Hermione lasting longer and being more pleasurable than the time before.

At last, after Harry’s promised "hours" had proven to be no exaggeration, both young lovers collapsed in the arms of each other, utterly exhausted.

* * * * *

Though he didn’t realize it until the next morning, Harry Potter had undergone a profound change over a relatively short period of time, beginning with his opening his door to Hermione Granger.

When he awoke, he felt entirely differently than he had on every other "morning after" with every other woman he ever had slept with. Always in the past, he had experienced both feelings of guilt and strong anxiety.

He felt guilty because, in spite of his having taken pride in trying to give pleasure as well as to receive it, always, he had been concerned more with own enjoyment. Ultimately, he would realize on every next morning that he had used yet another woman as a means to his own ends. That he felt guilty afterwards did speak well of his underlying decency. That he couldn’t stop himself from continuing in his self-indulgent behavior indicated both that he was all too human and that he needed help.

He felt anxiety over such questions as, "is she still here?" or "am I still at her place?" and "how can I get rid of her?" or "how soon can I get away?" and variations on those themes.

However, this morning was very different precisely because during the previous evening he had verbally unleashed feelings that he had suppressed for more than half of his life. Then, to the object of those feelings, he had devoted himself to giving as much pleasure as he was able. Most important of all, those feelings had been reciprocated. Harry realized that he loved and was loved, and he made decisions that would change the rest of his life.

He slipped out of bed very quietly, visited the bathroom and took care of a very pressing need to relieve his bladder. Next, took a quick shower, and then, he went to the kitchen, started the coffee percolator, and put the teakettle on the stove.

While he waited on the coffee and the water for the tea, he heard stirring in the bedroom, and shortly afterwards, the shower running.

When he returned to the bedroom, Hermione was back in bed, sitting up and smiling at him. He looked at her and wondered again, as he had the night before, just how it was possible that the beauty of the whole person who was Hermione Granger could be so immeasurably greater than was the mere sum of her separate parts.

"Are you okay, Hermione?" he asked. "How are you feeling?"

"Never better!" she replied, her smile widening and becoming almost impossibly more beautiful.

There was nothing that Harry rather would have done than to leap first onto the bed, and then onto Hermione, and shortly to hear yet again much louder confirmation as to exactly how she was feeling. But he restrained his impulse, and he simply asked her what she’d like to drink.

After each of them had a first morning cup, tea for Hermione and coffee for Harry, he cleared his throat and looked at her with a serious expression.

"We need to talk about something . . . some things, actually," Harry said, as he climbed back into the bed and wrapped his arm around Hermione. "I’ve made some decisions about my future, and they involve - I hope - you, as well."

"Oh?" Hermione said.

"This is supposed to be a secret - at least for a while - but I know that you can be trusted not to blab it around," said Harry. "This school year, beginning today, will be Headmaster Dumbledore’s last."

"Really?" said Hermione, avoiding Harry’s eyes as she spoke.

"Yes," said Harry. "Next year, when he retires, Professor McGonagall will become Headmistress, and there will be two important faculty positions that will need to be filled. Both Dumbledore and McGonagall have been offering to me a job for the last couple of years, and . . . and for next year I’m going to accept."

"You’re going to be the new teacher of Transfiguration and Head of Gryffindor House?" asked Hermione, still avoiding Harry’s gaze.

"ME, HEAD OF HOUSE?" exclaimed Harry, with a laugh. "Hell, no! With my background history as a student, the first time I tried to take points or to discipline a rules-breaker, probably the ground would crack open, and I’d be swallowed into the bowels of the earth!"

Hermione giggled, and Harry continued.

"No, it’s Defense Against the Dark Arts for which I’m in demand," he said. "Two weeks ago, I had lunch with both Dumbledore and McGonagall, and I told them that I’d think about it. I intended to decline again, but I’ve changed my mind. At the same time they asked me who I thought might make a good successor to Professor McGonagall, but I wasn’t sure. However, I am now."

"Are you . . . are you thinking about ME?" asked Hermione.

"Who else?" said Harry. "You’d be perfect, the best possible choice! You did say that you expect to be finished with your studies before Christmas, didn’t you? And, you said that you hadn’t yet made any other future plans, so . . . "

"Well . . . yes, but . . . you’re not going to try to talk me out of returning to the States?" said Hermione.

"Never," said Harry. "I know how much time you’ve spent on your studies, and I suspect that you enjoyed them immensely. You wouldn’t be . . . YOU, if you didn’t! As much as I’d love for us to set up permanent housekeeping right now, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to do so. But, to return to the original subject, what’s the problem? I remember how you used to talk about how wonderful and worthwhile it would be to teach for a living. And, what better place possibly could exist for teaching than Hogwarts? As to when, waiting for a year will work out quite nicely. Even if you don’t get back home until after the winter holidays, it’ll still leave plenty of time for the most important business of all."

"What ARE you going on about, Harry?" asked Hermione.

"Our wedding . . . what else?" said Harry. "You don’t think for a second that after last night - and I don’t mean only the enjoyable bedroom exercises - I’ll ever be satisfied with any other woman, do you?"

Hermione opened her mouth, but no sound emerged, so Harry went on.

"Think seriously about what you want, Hermione. You know that I’m filthy rich, with more gold to my name than Croesus or Midas ever dreamed of, so whatever you desire, I’ll provide. We could obliviate as many Muggles as is necessary, and put the Royal Family weddings to shame with an extravaganza in Westminster, or maybe a sunrise ceremony at Stonehenge would be more to you liking, or . . . choose anything else that your heart desires."

Hermione continued to avoid making direct eye contact, which Harry finally had noticed.

"What’s the matter, Hermione?" he asked.

"I . . . I don’t know . . . I really do like the idea of returning to Hogwarts, but are you certain that it’s what you want to do? As to the other . . . subject, you . . . you don’t have to marry me, Harry, just because we’ve slept together," she replied.

"Of course, I’m certain . . . IF it can be with you," said Harry. "Actually, it MUST be with you. Can you imagine the field day that the press would have if the insatiable libido of ‘Harry Potter, Ravisher of the Innocents’ were to be released upon Hogwarts and its supply of potential teenaged witch ‘victims,’ without having first his having become a respectable, married man? That aside, the real reason I want you as a wife is that I love you . . . I always have and I always will."

Hermione smiled, but she said nothing.

"Look," said Harry, "if you want to think about it, or even if you really want to pursue some other career, that’s okay, but please tell me that you’ll become my wife. We can live anywhere that you want, and . . . I never thought much about my life of the past few years, but I KNOW now that it happened only because of my earlier stupidity and cowardice. I spent it in a fruitless search for another ‘Hermione,’ but I never found one even close to the original!"

Hermione was silent for a long time, but finally, in a small voice, she said, "okay."

"GREAT!" said Harry, leaning over and kissing Hermione’s forehead. "Impossible as it may seem, you’ve made me even happier than I was last night!"

They spent the next hour in bed, simply holding each other and making small talk. Then, over Hermione’s not terribly strong protests, they arose, got dressed, and had a breakfast more substantial that tea and coffee.

Next, each wrote a note regarding certain teaching positions, and they dispatched Hedwig to deliver them to Hogwarts.

They left the apartment and paid a visit to a jewelry shop, where, over Hermione’s much stronger protests, Harry insisted on buying for her an engagement ring holding a diamond that seemed large enough to choke a fully grown dragon.

Next, they went to the Diagon Alley office of The Quibbler, where they gave to Luna Lovegood Weasley and her father an exclusive news scoop of their engagement, even posing for a few photographs.

After a few other stops, made mostly to renew old acquaintances and to spread the word of their new relationship to friends, they entered the premises of a certain joke shop located at Number 93. Fred Weasley, co-proprietor of the establishment, had the misfortune to be present, while twin brother George was taking a break. Upon greeting Harry and Hermione, and after noticing the expression on her face, Fred made a second mistake, by attempting to run for it.

Hermione stunned him and added a binding charm to immobilize him. Ginny Weasley came into the front of the shop from the storeroom area, and upon seeing Harry and Hermione, she squealed in delight and embraced both of them. When she noticed Hermione’s new piece of jewelry, she squealed even louder, and more hugs and kisses ensued.

"What’s with ‘Prat Number One’ there on the floor?" she asked, finally noticing her brother.

"Last week, the git slipped THIS into my handbag," said Hermione, removing the joke condom package and showing it to Ginny. "Even if it wasn’t him, he did know about it, as he tried to escape before either seeing it or my saying anything."

"You’ve got to teach him a lesson," said Ginny, and after looking at Harry and blushing, she added, "come here a moment."

They moved away from Harry, and went into a whispered huddle. Upon emerging from their brief discussion, both witches had beet-red blushes.

Hermione cast on Fred a charm or spell unfamiliar to Harry, but its effect provoked immediate and profound sympathy. Suddenly, a bodily appendage normally located between the legs of a wizard had taken the place of Fred’s nose, and presumably the opposite had occurred, as well.

After Ginny opened a package labeled ‘Patagonian Pepper Puff’ and blew across its contents in the general direction of Fred’s body, sure enough, verification was obtained that a perfect swap had happened. The upper front of his trousers emitted slightly muffled sneezing sounds.

The girls laughed uncontrollably, and Ginny spoke up, "I wonder what would happen to his new, er, ‘nose,’ if I could get a couple of over-endowed and under-dressed Knockturn Alley tarts to come in here? On second thought, I really, really do NOT want to see it! But, this could give an entirely new meaning to the term ‘blow job,’ couldn’t it?"

Hermione giggled, gave a thoughtful look in the direction of Harry, and said, "I’m thinking along different lines. Do you realize that with the right wizard, a lucky witch could have regular and oral sex simultaneously?"

Harry didn’t quite faint, but he did feel light-headed, and he suspected that his face might be exhibiting a blush similar to those earlier ones of the two girls. "Uh, Hermione . . . remind me NEVER to do anything to get you angry."

Hermione smiled at him, and she responded, "well, Harry, I’d never do such a thing to you, no matter what you did . . . and at least as long as you continue to . . . to perform satisfactorily, we’ll have no need to consider alternative anatomical arrangements, will we?"

The binding and stun charms began to wear off, and Fred moaned. Hermione walked over to him and said, "we’ve got to be on our way, but I have something for you, Fred." She tossed the Bertie Botts condom package to him and added, "here, since it is still the allergy season for some people, you might need this in case you get a runny . . . nose!"

Fred sneezed, through his actual relocated nose, and with alarm, he looked down at his trousers. Then he reached up, and very gingerly, he felt his new ‘nose.’ Quickly, he ran behind the counter, pulled a small mirror from somewhere, and looked into it. He cut loose with a scream that would have provoked envy from any Muggle horror film heroine.

"Don’t worry, Fred," said Hermione, over her shoulder, as she and Harry headed for the door, "I am VERY proficient in charms and spell-work, and I assure you that this one will last only for twenty-four hours." She hesitated, winked at Ginny, and said, "or was it twenty-four DAYS? Oh, well, you’ll know for certain by this time tomorrow! In the meantime, you DEFINITELY will want to keep your ‘nose’ out of other people’s business!"

They returned to Harry’s home, had dinner, and retired to the bedroom quite early in the evening. They made love only once, and then held each other, both of them about as happy and contented as they could be.

"Do you want to know something, Hermione?" asked Harry.

"What?"

"I can’t help but to have the strange feeling that somehow and in some way, it actually was you, and not I, who orchestrated what happened last night. I think that you’ve done for me what Lily Evans did for James Potter without my realizing that it was happening. Did you actually intend to bring me to my senses, to save me from myself, and to help me finally to grow up and to become a real man?"

Hermione snuggled closer, gently stroked the side of his face, and just smiled. She considered confessing everything immediately, but she rejected the thought.

‘No,’ she said to herself, ‘maybe I’ll tell him tomorrow, or maybe I’ll tell him in twenty years, perhaps on our anniversary. Harry doesn’t really need to know right now that I accepted the job at Hogwarts over two months ago, or that I talked with McGonagall and Dumbledore about their offer to him at that time, and again just last week!’

Her real "mission accomplished," the latter two words being the entire message on her note written that morning, Hermione contemplated her forthcoming wedding. As interesting as Harry’s suggestions had been, not to mention other ideas of her own, she knew exactly what wanted. The only negative aspect was that they’d have to wait exactly an entire year.

* * * * *

So, Harry gave up his life of meaningless fun and games and Hermione completed hers of university study, and shortly after the Christmas holidays, she informed him of what she believed would be the ideal wedding.

Then, on the next September 1, they apparated to London from Hogwarts, where they had been busy with the rest of the faculty in preparing for a new school year, their first as teachers. Former Headmaster Dumbledore, who would officiate at the ceremony, and Ron and Luna Weasley joined them, and their small party made its way to King’s Cross Station. From a special platform, they boarded a special train, and they made their way to a very special compartment. During their return trip on the Hogwarts Express, Harry and Hermione became both Mr. and Mrs. AND the Professors Potter, and they lived VERY happily ever after . . . or did they?

The End?

A/N: I’m thinking about a sequel, but I can’t make any promises.