And here's another one. Hope it measures up.
Thanks so much to my beta-reader, Aurabolt!
Standard disclaimers apply.
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Chapter Eleven - Taken with the Notion
In which all they needed was a whisper.
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Hermione apparated to an empty house. It was dark, lifeless, and the only sound disturbing the silence was the ticking of the Black Grandfather Clock in the warded cupboard under the stairs.
She was alone again, and it felt so very weighted that she could have fallen to her knees and cried out.
Her head throbbed, worse than ever, and she immediately sought to take some of Harry's ache-away potion. The headache was so bad that she upped the dosage some. It had a bit of sleeping draught in it, but that was just as well. She could sleep off the heavy misery pressing on her.
It was all too much to bear. She didn't want to go up to her soundless room and be alone with her thoughts. She needed some kind of life, and at that moment, the only thing she could think of was the viewing room.
The telly was not life, but it was a welcome substitute.
She groaned at the parallels of what she was doing now with what Lysander had been telling her in the last few days. It only emphasized the fact that he knew exactly what she was going through.
Hermione took the potion and dressed in her summer pajamas.
She went to the viewing room and settled on the couch. She flicked on the television set.
Flipping through channels, she thought maybe something funny would get her mind off the edge of things. She spotted a fat man in a dress.
And obese middle aged man wearing a tutu: perfect.
Twenty minutes into the show and she still wasn't laughing. She was, in fact, feeling quite sleepy and feeling dreadfully miserable. Her mind continued to process the thoughts that had so plagued her when she first got home.
And so she let herself think about what happened in the library. The things Lysander said to her; the feelings it invoked. She recalled his promises, and how, for a brief moment, she had wanted to give in.
Since when have I been so weak? she wondered drowsily; miserably.
Everyone gives in to weakness at some point.
She closed her eyes, lowering her head to the cushion.
You've always known Harry can't return your feelings. What makes the hurt different than what it was before?
Lysander is the difference. Lysander makes you forget.
A tear slipped down her cheeks.
She didn't want to forget, did she?
Sometimes, you do.
Sighing, Hermione rubbed her tears away.
You knew this day would come.
What day?
The day when you'd have to let go of Harry.
I've never held him back.
No, but sooner or later, he'll notice, and maybe you wouldn't have to tell him, but being Harry, he wouldn't want you to suffer. Being Harry, he'll say nothing, while silently, the guilt eats at him, and yet he wouldn't know what to do with you. So you'll make it easy for him; help him get through it, the way you always do.
I don't know if I can.
Yes, you can. You've died for him once. Living for him should be manageable.
She sighed in the dark as the light of the television played off her skin.
Tell him. Moving on would be simpler that way, and perhaps you don't have to resort to taking someone else's love for the sake of sanity, because you don't want to forget. You don't want to forget at all, no mater how painful remembering could be…
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Harry stepped out of Department of Mysteries and trudged the silent hallways leading to the stairs.
It was dark and eerily silent.
He had made his way down to the ninth level earlier through the dungeons and it wasn't much different. It looked as empty now as it was when he first arrived, yet he felt something nagging in his brain.
That would be the Dedisco spell that Unspeakable cast on you, I think.
He frowned. He wished that Unspeakable hadn't erased his memories pertaining to the Unspeakable's identity. If he ever had the notion of going back to the Department of Mysteries for further help on the same matter, he'd want to be able to consult with the same person.
The Unspeakable said he'd… she'd… oh, bloody hell, I can't even remember if it's a man or a woman!
Annoyed, he emerged from the dungeons and made his way to the fireplaces.
The Unspeakable promised to contact me if he… she had anything.
After Harry left the Auror Department that evening, he had gone straight to the Department of Mysteries to see if anyone could shed some light into Bespelling Charms.
Knowing that everything he said there would be kept secret, he hadn't been cautious about disclosing everything he had found out about Lysander Athanasius, and why it was so important that Harry find out why he thought Athanasius so repulsive. Somewhere in the course of his conversation with the Unspeakable, he had mentioned Hermione, and it was because of this that the Unspeakable took such great interest.
The Unspeakable had many questions, and she, possibly a he, took down notes every so often with a Quick Quill Quoter.
All things considered, Harry remembered everything about the conversation, except who or what the Unspeakable was.
At any rate, it didn't matter, as he felt an overwhelming sense of trust for the same Unspeakable that promised to contact him should significant information turn up.
Harry looked at his watch. It was ten. Hermione said she'd be home.
He arrived at the fireplace and he flooed to the atrium. He had the phone booth all to himself, and as soon as he reached Muggle level, he apparated to Grimmauld Place.
In the darkness of the house, he saw the soft glow of the television in the viewing room. The sound was down and he wasn't sure if the soft sniffling came from the telly, or from her.
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Hermione heard the crack and knew Harry had arrived.
She wondered briefly if he was angry with her, or if Remus gave him her message at all.
It hardly matters. After tonight.
She didn't call out to him. Somehow, if she had some excuse to put it off, yet again, she would take it, but then the light of the television would betray her to him, if not the soft sound of her sniffling.
"Hermione?"
She blinked drowsily as she took calming breaths, hoping she would sound normal when she spoke. "Hey, Harry."
She didn't. She sounded nasal, and she cursed under her breath, because now he'd know she was crying, and he'd asked. She wouldn't be able to put it off anymore.
She remained stretched out on the couch, trying to hide her face in the pillows, but she wouldn't be able to keep anything from him if he went to her.
He was by her in an instant, looking so terribly concerned for her that what she had to say to him was all that kept her from throwing her arms around him. He whispered her name gently, soothingly.
"Why are you crying?" he asked, gentler still. He reached out to her, to take her in his arms probably, but she squirmed away.
She couldn't bear to have him touch her now. If she let him, she would falter. "N-No… don't touch me."
She wished she had said it better than that, but any less would have prompted him to do the exact opposite. He didn't insist. Instead, he looked at her with such worry that she had to wonder whether having him touch her had been a better alternative.
He brought out his handkerchief and this she took, wiping her eyes and cheeks as dry as she could get them. "What… what happened?"
There was a careful edge to his tone, as if he were afraid to tip some kind of balance. She understood it for what it was. He was wondering if Lysander had made her cry.
In a way, Lysander did, but Hermione wasn't about to tell Harry that. He would definitely take it the wrong way.
"I just-I just made myself cry, Harry," she whispered. "I've been thinking a lot and-" She took a deep breath. "I've come to realize a few things, is all."
He settled himself on the floor beside the couch. He wasn't going anywhere. Mindful of what she told him earlier, he didn't touch her, but he stayed close.
She gave him a plaintive smile.
"I'm listening, Hermione."
She recognized the words as her own and remembered how much she meant them whenever she said them to Harry or Ron. She knew instinctively that she could trust him to listen. "I've been thinking about love."
He was still; frozen actually.
Did he see what was coming? Had she scared him?
When he didn't take off and run, she figured it was a pretty good sign for her to go on; more so when he asked, "What about it?"
"That's it's complicated, and wonderful and powerful." She let out a breath, turning on her back to look at the ceiling. Lethargy was pressing down on her eyes right now, but the rush of emotions was pumping that last bit of adrenaline she needed to get through this conversation. "I spoke to Lysander tonight and he told me he can love me… or make me believe he does. I'm not sure what."
Harry said nothing, and she was glad for it. Any kind of tirade from Harry would've made this harder.
"It's… " She searched for a word and found it. "…disturbing when I began to convince myself that being loved and making me believe I'm loved is the same difference. But when I think about it more, it's easy to let myself be fooled, yes? When I'm with Lysander, he makes me feel beautiful, and desired and fascinating and… well, so many nice things that I couldn't help but-give in sometimes, you know?"
His breath caught, but still he said nothing, the intensity of his gaze the only sign that he was really, really listening to her. She looked in his emerald eyes and it was almost as if something inside it was dying. She couldn't be sure.
"It feels good, I suppose," she said, thinking she couldn't stop her words, or she'd lose her place. "He promised that he'd make me feel like that for as long as I wanted. And it's… it's so terribly tempting, but…"
Something lit back up in his eyes. "But?"
She chuckled bitterly. "It's still not love, isn't it? I mean, for him it might be. But for me… it's not love. I know what love looks like. I've seen it. What I feel for Lysander can never be love. But I'm afraid that I'd want what he has to offer anyway, because the man that I do love doesn't want me, and that hurts. It hurts everyday, and that pain goes away when Lysander is with me. Maybe if only for the numbness, I might give in during a moment of weakness."
"Hermione…" He reached for her hand, and this time, she let him.
"I'm afraid, Harry, that if the numbness gets so intoxicating, I might forget what love feels like. I don't want to lose love because I killed it. I don't-I don't want to look like Madame Rosmerta who seems to never want to feel anything ever again. When I saw her the other day… it was just so awful. I wanted to speak to her, convince myself that there was still something inside her that was alive; that people couldn't become like that, but she didn't speak to me. She said I should save my pity for others. I wasn't pitying her, Harry. I just wanted to know if a person can be as cold as they say they are. Well, they can, and I don't want to become that. I want to learn to get on with my life in spite of the pain, because that means I'll never forget. The pain will be there always, but more a memory and less a heartache each day that passes. And that's handy, I suppose, because what if we have to face something like Voldemort again? If I didn't know what love was, if I had forgotten it, then I can't use its power anymore, can I? I won't be able to protect the ones I love and that's bloody terrifying."
She felt the pressure of his hands before he reached up and caressed her cheek gently.
"How can a man not love you back?" he asked softly. "He's not worth anything if he can't love you back."
She shook her head, smiling sadly. "Don't say that, Harry."
"Why not? It's true. You're a wonderful woman, and you shouldn't have to settle for just anybody. A man who can't give you what Lysander says he can, and much, much more isn't worth the ground you walk on. He's dirt. Do you understand?"
"Don't say that," she whispered so softly it was almost like a breath. "Because it's you, Harry, and you're so important and precious to me. I can't stand to hear you disparage yourself like that."
She reached up to touch him, and he was staring at her, open mouthed and shocked.
She couldn't bear to hear him say that he couldn't love her that way. If he spoke the words, she would lose it completely. And resigned as she was, she was determined to tell him everything she felt.
Pulling him closer, she kissed him, and for a moment, he was frozen in her embrace, but seconds later he was responding to her kiss, soft lips upon hers. Eyes closed, she lost herself in the sensations, seeking to deepen their kiss with a tilt of her chin.
I'm dreaming, she thought, the fog of lethargy suddenly coming down upon her as the emotional effort of her confession exhausted her completely. Oh, yes, I am dreaming, and it's such a wonderful dream at that…
Because this kiss felt like he did love her back; lips everything she had imagined them to be. The velvety touch of his tongue gliding against hers spread heat through her. The pressure of his hands buried in her hair and running up and down her arm made her feel desperately wanted.
Dreams are just so lovely that way…
She thought maybe she heard the whisper of her name and she smiled, eyes blinking languorously.
I won't let him turn me away in this dream. Never in dreams.
And seconds later, tired like she had never been before and her mind soupy with potion, she drifted into heavy sleep.
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Hermione woke up to the dim light of a morning being born. The soft comfort of her own bed sheets making her sigh contentedly. It was morning, but very early morning. It was still dark outside.
For a moment, she was terribly disoriented, wondering about why it felt strange to wake up in her room.
Because you weren't in your room when you fell asleep.
She gasped as the flood of memories from last night poured into her consciousness.
Oh, shit.
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!!!
Stifling a groan, she pressed her hand to her eyes.
What have I done?
I told him, that's what! And I kissed him!
Now you've done it, Granger! You've totally screwed it up!
But… had he been…?
Did he kiss back…?
No, silly, you were dreaming! I think…
The potion, she thought with a groan. That stupid ache-away! I must have taken too much!
Stupid, stupid, STUPID NINNY!!
She was going to cry. She just knew she was going to.
She realized Harry must have carried her to bed. Or maybe levitated her. At any rate, the soporific effects of the potion had kept her asleep throughout the transfer.
She didn't even want to think about what Harry might be feeling for her at the moment. It was too devastating.
Hermione shifted just so she could bury her face under her pillow.
Maybe I can suffocate myself, or else never leave my pillow again.
But she found that her movements were hampered because a certain dead weight pressed against her back and waist.
Eyes widening, she felt for what it was and realized it was a hand, and an arm, and a body…
Someone was with her on her bed, and it could only be Harry.
Oh, dear God… did we…? And I can't remember…?
Sod it, Hermione! How can you not remember if anything like that happened?
She examined herself in the dimness and realized she was still in her sleepwear, and a quick inspection of Harry behind her confirmed that he hadn't even changed out of his clothes from the previous day.
Oh, honestly! Boys can be so disgusting! She winced at her own thoughts. Hermione, you ninny, stop being so obsessive and focus on the more important issue right now!
He stirred, muttering something under his breath which sounded suspiciously like her name, and his hold on her loosened. He didn't wake.
It was beyond her to figure out what possessed him to bring her up to her room and stay with her, but if she were to hazard a guess, it would have to be everything she loved about him, how he was considerate, and kind and such a dear, sweet man…
Goodness, I don't think I can deal with his rejection quite yet.
Quietly, she crept around her room and got ready for work.
It was dreadfully early. Five in the morning to be exact, but she had to get away, and if she had to be in the office by six, then by God, she was going to be there by six. It would give her enough time, at least, to brace herself for Harry's inevitable: "Hermione, I'm sorry, but I can't return your feelings. You're my best friend. I will always love you as a best friend."
"Bloody hell. Like I'd ever be ready for that," she muttered softly as she twisted her hair up in a tight bun. Her hair was still wet from the shower, but she didn't care. It would be harder to get her hair in a bun if it were dry. She was on the run, so there were details she could forgo just this once.
She was ready in less than an hour, and selecting her footwear from her shoe-closet, she clasped her Mary Janes and her briefcase in one hand and crept out of her room.
She hurried down the stairs as noiselessly as she could.
Mischief so-far managed, she headed out of the house, quickly slipped into her shoes and apparated to the Ministry of Magic.
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It was impossible to concentrate, of course. She tried. She really did. She liked to think that most of the things she did was productive, especially when all she wanted to do was sit and mope, but when her mind was running a hundred miles an hour on something not related to work, it was impossible to focus.
When she looked at her brief and read, "The defendant in question questionably alleged that he wasn't where they said he was at the time the thing happened…" she knew she was about as useful as Cornelius Fudge in the war against Voldemort.
It wasn't the first time Hermione found her brain to be uncooperative. Even the brightest witch of the age had her off-days, and whenever she was faced with such a situation, she resorted to the next best all-purpose solution to any problem: cleaning.
So clean, she did. She started with the waiting room and worked her way into the office. She could already imagine Heartcomb and Archibald freaking out at the lost mess. If she gauged those two correctly, they knew exactly where Centaur Semantics Simplified by Ed D. Hoarse and Mistaken Identities in Shapeshifters by Dee Dean Dewitt were not supposed to be.
But she figured they would manage. Lord knows the shelves were spitting out books just because they wanted attention. They were in a horrible state of disorder, after all.
She was half-way through the length of shelves when she heard Archibald and Heartcomb's anguished cries from the front while they arrived for work.
"Egad, Granger! What have you done?" cried Heartcomb.
"Just a bit of cleaning, Mr. Heartcomb," she called back in a soothing tone. "No need to panic. Just tell me what you need and I promise I will find it for you."
"But the books!" moaned Archibald. "They're-they're-"
"In the shelves, where they should be," said Hermione. "Honestly, Mr. Archibald, the disarray in this place! How do you find anything?"
Thus she elevated her obsessive tendencies to nagging.
"She cleaned, Thane! Cleaned! We'll never find anything now!"
Hermione rolled her eyes and let them stew on the scourgified state of the office. They needed something to talk about during morning coffee, anyway. Griping about how clean everything was would be good for them.
She went back to her task and she labored to return a book to a top shelf. She tiptoed.
I'm not that small! she thought stubbornly. She refused to use her wand and resolved to get that book up there if she had to climb on the rung of the shelves to get it done.
She froze when she felt someone press against the length of her from behind, gently taking the book from her upraised hand and slipping it into the shelves for her.
The smell of freshly soaped skin, zest-scented hair and the very presence that was him told her who it was.
She turned abruptly, falling back against the shelf when Harry didn't budge.
"H-Harry! U-Umm, what are you-" She reddened at his steady gaze, losing her trail of thought.
He didn't seem upset, and for all his staring, she noted affection in his eyes. He seemed anxious, and his body language suggested he wasn't going to let her get past him through the aisle.
She leaned back, waiting for him to speak.
He did. "You could've levitated it, you know."
She hadn't quite expected that. She blushed. "Y-Yes, well, you could have, too, but you didn't."
"That's because I can reach it."
She wasn't sure what she should say next. "Right."
Perfect logic, Hermione.
"Why didn't you wake me up when you left for work?" he asked softly, throwing her for another loop.
Goodness, this is an emotional ambush, is what it is! She wasn't prepared for this tender assault.
The way he leaned his hand up on the shelf behind her was intensely distracting, as if his beautiful green eyes weren't bad enough.
"I-" she stammered. "I didn't want you to feel awkward… after what I said last night. I'm not… I'm not expecting you to return my feelings, Harry. I just-I just really needed to kiss you last night, and-thanks, for not turning me away. I knew you wouldn't. You're such a kind man that way, but I'll be fine, now. You don't-really-you don't have to tell me you only think of me as-well, your best friend. I know that already, and I will always cherish that, just that I can't go on pretending anymore. I just had to tell you, because there are so many thoughts and feelings swirling in my head these days… so yes, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I'll move out of Grimmauld Place if it gets too awkward for you. I really don't mind, Harry. It's my fault… so… there…"
It was, to her, the lamest closing ever. She lowered her gaze, partially embarrassed, but also partially relieved that she had gotten it over with.
He gently tilted her chin up with the touch of her fingers.
She was completely unprepared when his lips descended upon hers, engaging her in a kiss that was infinitely more moving than what they shared the previous night.
The sweet caress of his tongue laced fire through her, and the press of his lips was possessive enough to thrill her.
She didn't bother to figure out why he was kissing her this way; it was so easy to get lost in it, so she wrapped her arms around him and responded in all the ways she dreamed she would.
It was decidedly a kiss of the knees-turned-to-jello-variety, and she found herself falling back against the shelves again, depending on Harry to hold her up, and hold her up he did, enfolding her in his strong arms as the kiss lingered.
When finally, they pulled apart, Hermione could have slid boneless to the floor.
"Oh…" she breathed, blinking languorously. "… my!"
It almost seemed he was surprised by that reaction, but he smiled briefly before he began to press kisses all over her face; on her eyelids, her nose, the corner of her mouth, and when his lips traveled to her jaw and neck, the kisses slowed, with soft, intimate suction. He certainly seemed to be enjoying himself.
She closed her eyes, an involuntary, contented smile spreading on her lips. "O-Oh my… Harry… "
"You're not going anywhere, Hermione," he murmured in her ear between the slow kisses. "You're staying right where you are… with me, because you mean more to me that anyone and anything in this world and I've been a bloody idiot for being too afraid to tell you."
She pulled away from him to stare him in the face, not quite believing what she was hearing. "Y-You're not an idiot!"
The moment she said it, she realized how spectacularly inane her words were. Really, she could've said something better, like, "Oh, you mean so much to me, too!" or even "Kiss me again!" but she supposed Harry's lips short circuited her brain, somewhat.
"I am," he said. "Two and a half years, Hermione. I've loved you for two and a half years."
"I've loved you forever, and I knew it in the fourth year. I think I rather botched it up worse than you."
He obviously didn't know what to say about that. He seemed to struggle with the thought a bit before he decided he didn't need to say anything. So he just kissed her again, and it was a lip-lock even more engaging than the last.
Maybe it was the high his touch brought, but somehow, she had managed to convince herself that everything Harry had done for her in the last few months suddenly made perfect sense.
Of course he loved her. That would explain a lot of things, now wouldn't it? The looks they exchanged, the way he held her, the way he took care of her, the way he disdained the men who paid her attention.
She shuddered. She rather liked that he had been jealous all this time, even if she would never, ever admit that it pleased her more than she was wont.
When they separated, she was gasping for breath.
"Good Lord, Harry!" she breathed. How could she get so taken by a kiss? Did he practice it or something? Or was he just naturally fantastic at it?
"I couldn't believe what you were telling me last night," he said against her lips. "I thought I was going to lose you to that-that prat!"
She tiptoed to catch more of his lips. "Never!"
"But you said you were tempted-"
She cut his words off with a kiss and he happily obliged her by responding to it.
"And then-" he paused to suck softly on her lower lip "-you kissed me… I thought I had died and gone-" he paused with a groan as he let her tongue roll lazily against his "-and gone… well, somewhere really, really good."
"Harry," she whined softly. "You should've said something!"
"I didn't think you saw me that way."
She sighed, and out of sheer frustration-wasted years-really, she almost wanted to cry. "Good gracious, and I thought I was paying close attention to you…"
"And you gave me advice about women! Why?!"
She pouted. "I just wanted you to be happy!"
"Shite… what a mess…"
"Well, goodness, I'm not exactly of the Cho and Ginny, variety! How the hell was I supposed to know?" she said defensively.
He sighed, tilting his head back helplessly to the heavens, or probably just the WizCOF ceiling. "You're of the Hermione variety, Hermione. What I feel for you has absolutely nothing to do with Cho or Ginny. I wouldn't have you any other way."
"Do you really mean that, Harry?" Her mind was going on overdrive again. She could have taken a book and hit her head with it repeatedly. Was this really happening? Was this, really?
She couldn't believe any of it, but oh-he was quite warm and real. And he was holding her. It was wonderful; more than she ever imagined it would feel.
"What if I told you I'm not of the Krum or Lysander or even Ron variety?"
She scowled. Well, that was absolutely non sequitur!
"Harry!" she cried. Then she paused, realizing that he had just gotten his point across.
He laughed, pleased that she understood, and he kissed her again.
Hermione thought there was perhaps nothing better than snogging the best friend you've loved for the better part of your life on a Friday morning, so she let him, and she let herself, too.
She pulled herself closer against him. She had wanted this for so long, and now that it was happening, she needed to experience it in every possible way.
When his deepening kisses began to elicit moans from her throat, she had a vague feeling that perhaps they had to stop. She was at work for goodness sake, and they were acting like ruddy hormonal teenagers!
But it felt so terribly good kissing him like this, and it would be a shame to stop.
He groaned at the sound she made, pressing her bodily against the shelves. He pulled away momentarily, hissing through his teeth. "Good Lord, Hermione…"
"We really have to stop now," she managed to mutter through their kiss.
He mumbled something about making up for lost time when Heartcomb's yell from beyond the shelves cut through the pleasurable haze like a scalpel.
"Granger! My quills have been decimated! Where are they?"
Harry muttered a curse and something disparaging about senile, impotent men.
She slapped his shoulder pertly. "Harry, be respectful!"
"Well-"
She made up for the corporal punishment with a tenderly placed kiss. "I'll talk to you later, Harry. I must get back to work."
"So do I, but you don't see me going-"
"Harry!"
"Alright, fine. Lunch. I'll come by and pick you up…" He planted one last breathtaking kiss on her lips, looping his arm around her waist. His hand began to make its way south of her back and she waited for his touch quite excitedly.
"Granger!" cried Archibald from way up the office.
"Bugger!" Harry hissed, separating from her. "Those fools can't do shite without you-"
"Go now," she said, pushing him out to the main aisle.
Archibald stood at the other end of the office. "Where in heaven's name are Draco Malfoy's briefs?"
Harry turned to her. "Look here, I don't think I'm comfortable about you keeping Malfoy's underpants."
"Case briefs!" she cried, sputtering into a laugh. "Harry, just… I'll see you later, alright?"
He smiled, caressing her cheek gently. "Later." He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead as he turned to leave.
She watched him go, hands in his pockets. He was whistling, and there was a certain bounce to his step.
Archibald glared as Harry passed him. Harry dealt him a jovial salute.
He left with Archibald watching him.
When Harry was gone, Archibald turned to her. "Granger, that boy is batty!"
Hermione grinned.
"Well, then, Thane," said Heartcomb from his office. "I suppose that means he'll fit right in with us!"
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Harry took Hermione to lunch at the Cocina de la Madre, mostly because it was quieter there and because it was such a cozy place.
They were led to a relatively secluded table for two. When they sat, Harry began to hitch his chair closer to hers, only to find that she was doing the same thing.
They looked at each other and he broke out in delighted smile. She chuckled, blushing a bit.
"If I wasn't so happy, all this sap would make me sick," she muttered.
He laughed softly, draping an arm on the back of her chair and moving as close to her as he could. He watched her face, reveling in the brightness of her eyes, and the glowing blush on her cheeks. He thought she was positively lovely.
Some of her hair had come loose from her bun, and for someone like Hermione who was always the picture of perfect poise, this mildly disheveled state was as sexy to him as anything.
Never minding that they were in a public place, he kissed her, coaxing her tongue to do that wonderful thing it was doing that morning. Her soft, accommodating lips felt luxurious. It was beyond him to understand how he had managed to deprive himself of her kiss in the last nineteen years of his life.
They separated, and he felt the hot touch of her breath on his lips. It made him want more.
"Oh my…" she whispered.
He was really beginning to love those two words to distraction.
The waiter seemed to take their momentary separation as an opportunity to ask them what they would want to drink.
Who the hell cares? thought Harry in lazy satisfaction.
Grinning at his hypnotized state, she ordered non-alcoholic drinks for them.
"We're going back to work, so…" she said by way of explanation.
He smirked. "We are? I think maybe I'd rather stay here all day."
She grinned, her fingers flirting with the ties of his office vest. "You understand that I'd love that, but Heartcomb and Archibald would simply fall apart without me."
He let her play with the laces, liking how she twirled the ties around her fingers possessively; it was rather hot, actually. He kissed the soft flesh just behind the lobe of her ear, tasting the skin there ever so lightly.
She squirmed and made a sound. She seemed to like what he was doing, because her hand came up to hold his head gently in place. Her fingers in his hair felt electrifying and he was more than happy to trail slow kisses down her neck.
He could vaguely tell that their drinks were being placed on their table and the waiter coughed uneasily.
Harry didn't care much, but Hermione placed their order in a dignified tone. Never mind that he was nipping her ear and smelling her berry-scented hair.
The waiter left in a hurry.
She laughed softly. "The waiter was dreadfully embarrassed."
"Tell him to sod off. I have a lifetime of remedial snogging to catch up on."
She smiled, running a finger lightly along his jaw. "We have to talk some time, Potter…"
He returned her smile, his climbing passion calming with the soothing tone of her voice. He reached up and gently ran his thumb over the apple of her cheek. "Then we'll talk."
She put her hand above his. "Harry, you are my best friend… but I'm not sure if I really know what that means, between us. I've always done things for you because I was in love with you, even when I didn't know I was in love. I'm not sure if I ever marked the difference between love and friendship."
"Of course you did. And you know the difference, don't you? If you didn't, you might be snogging Ron right now."
Her eyebrow twitched, and Harry almost laughed at the idea of Ron and Hermione snogging in the common room like Ron and Lavender. Almost.
"I don't believe that ever would have happened," she said in a careful tone. "Everyone used to tell me that Ron and I had this 'sexual tension' thing going for us, but honestly, all that fighting just made me miserable. Besides, when you're snogging or shagging someone, isn't sexual 'chemistry' more important?"
He certainly hadn't been prepared to answer sex questions just yet. "Well… I s'pose…"
She waved the question away. "Between you and Ron, it was always you. There was hardly a doubt in my head, just that it was obvious you didn't want me, and that I was willing to settle for-well…"
"Ron?"
"Don't tell him I said that. It will hurt his feelings abominably. I did fancy him for a spell, mind you, but… " she shrugged.
"Of course I won't tell him that. But for what it's worth, he really thinks that you would have been miserable together, too."
She frowned. "Wonderful. The man I was willing to 'settle with' was dumping me even before we got together. That's another notch on my loser belt."
Harry laughed, rubbing his lips lightly on her cheek before kissing it. "You are not a loser, Hermione. You never were. Ron just-well-he couldn't handle you, is all."
She arched an eyebrow. "Oh, and you can, Mr. Potter?"
"Well, you know me… always willing to take up a challenge-oww!"
She had pinched his ribs and he grinned, nonetheless amazed at how resolute she could be when something got in her head, no matter how small, or how big, the matter was.
"Seriously, Hermione… who knows you better than yourself?" he asked, softly.
She kissed him briefly. "Who else?"
"That's right. And we've always known each other, in a way, from the very moment you came looking for Trevor in our cab."
A giggle escaped her, endearing her to him even more. "How you must have hated me back then. All bossy and high and mighty."
"I didn't hate you. I was thinking, 'This girl's not eleven in the head. She's eleven, but she's-like-going on forty.' You were amazing, actually! I wasn't quite sure what to make of you, but even then, I knew some of you, didn't I?"
She laughed. "I think maybe you did, Harry! At least you didn't think I was a nightmare."
"Never thought you were. I thought it was hilarious, the way you'd get on Ron's case. Le-vi-OHH-sahh!"
"Oh, is that why you saved me from the troll?"
He grinned. "Maybe. I'm not quite sure what possessed me, but I just knew you were going to be in trouble and that I didn't want anything like that happening, especially not because Ron drove you to that bathroom. And then when you told McGonagall that lie to get us off the hook, I was hopelessly in love with you."
She hit him playfully. "You were not in love with me."
He pretended to think about it. "Probably not, but I desperately wanted to keep you as a friend. I'd just turned eleven, you know. I didn't think about snogging girls until four years later."
"And by your count, you didn't think about snogging me until seventh year."
"Well, you know, being best friends with you was so comfortable, Hermione, among other good things about it. I didn't fancy things like snogging getting in the way of what we had. Your friendship was so important to me."
She smiled. "I know."
"Then Ron fancied you so it would've been pretty rotten of me to-"
"Ron thought he fancied me."
He shook his head. Ron wasn't a super brain in many things, but Ron certainly knew what he liked. "He did fancy you, for real, but he thought you were too important to him to just snog without a second thought. I reckon he thought about it too much, was the problem. Besides, if he played you, he knew he'd get it from me."
"If he played me, he'd get it from me." She tugged at his laces.
He stifled a growl of delight at that. Who knew a bossy Hermione could turn him on, so? It probably showed in his eyes, because he noticed the blush rising in her cheeks.
"So," she began. "Are we going to tell him?"
Slightly distracted, he had to scramble to reorganize his thoughts. "Tell him?"
"About us."
"Oh! That, yes… well, that's not going to be much of a problem. He-ahem-knows how I feel about you…"
Hermione frowned, thumping her hand heavily on the table in annoyance. "You tell him but you don't tell me?"
He rolled his eyes. "We've gone over that."
"Right. I'm just pissed, I suppose, that you two can go and talk about me and I couldn't go talk to either of you about any of it. I love the both of you, you understand, but sometimes I wish I had girl friends to talk to."
"You had girl friends!"
"Oh, yes, right! I can talk to Ginny, your ex! Or maybe to Lavender, Ron's ex! Or why don't I just go to Parvati, no one's ex but the Daily Prophet's gossip columnist?"
Harry paused. "I see your point. Sorry 'bout that."
"It's not your fault," she muttered. "If it were Lavender and Parvati who rescued me from the Troll, I don't know if I'd be up to telling them things anyway."
Harry's brain hurt just thinking about Hermione giggling with Lavender and Parvati… in Divinations, even!
"Honestly," she said, her smile returning. "I wasn't ever quite one of the girls, was I? I didn't even think you saw me as one."
He laughed at this, eyebrow arching as he let his laughter settle into a smile. "Are you joking? The thing I loved most about you was that you were a girl. Ron's my best mate, you understand. We're both blokes and we understand each other on a level wholly unattainable by the opposite sex. We don't have to talk if we can settle things with fists, Quidditch or a pat on the back; that doesn't make my friendship with him better than yours, but it doesn't make it less, either. With you, because you are a girl, it's about talking, and being sensitive and being affectionate. I liked that so much. You were my special girl, and no one but Ron could understand that. Now we're together… I'll take good care of you, Hermione."
She smiled. "You always took care of me."
He grinned, wiggling his eyebrow. "Well, this time, I expect something in return."
"Harry!" She laughed, but she proceeded to "return" the care he had given her in the most accommodating manner.
They managed to talk more when their food arrived.
There were quite a bit of things to catch up on. While they had hardly spent any time apart in the last eight years, the barriers of their hidden feelings had kept quite a few things from each other's awareness. With the barriers suddenly gone, new thoughts came pouring out, gaps were filled in and questions were explained.
Harry loved it all. Hearing her tell him how third year was one of her favorite memories, holding him while they rode on Buckbeak's back, and how pivotal fourth year was to her feelings. She spoke about moments in the fifth year that meant so much to her, and she admitted to him how sixth year had been such a difficult time for her.
"Well, there was Ginny, of course," she said, reddening. "But it was-it was everything else about you and Ron. I felt somewhat faded in the background that year, and I hadn't been useful to anyone at all, and I thought maybe that was the problem."
He looked at her sheepishly. "It had nothing to do with you, Hermione. Ron and I were terribly preoccupied."
She smiled at him wanly. "Yes, you were. And then you hated me for getting on your case with the Half-Blood Prince…"
"I didn't hate you."
She shrugged. "I was a terrible nag, I admit. I lacked attention, and I was most horrible to Ron. Then Ginny told me off about Quidditch and it was like everything I ever did meant nothing because I can't appreciate Quidditch like everyone else."
"I'm so sorry I let her say that…"
"Don't be silly, Harry, it wasn't your fault. Though I could tell you were rather pleased someone had the guts to tell me to shut up."
He sighed, pulling her close. "It wasn't like that."
"I hated that year for many reasons. You and Ron didn't need me, and that's all I ever really knew, you know. To be needed. It was my function in the trio. So when you stopped needing me, I-well, I panicked. What else was I there for?"
It somewhat pained him to hear that. She had said something similar, when she was yelling at them that night she got home late. He wished he could have told her that what they wanted of her was more than just books and cleverness.
But why wouldn't she think that? he asked. Every time she got confined to the hospital wing, neither he nor Ron had ever been there to see her awake. She had been there for them, but not quite the other way around, right? He had taken her for granted when he should have treated her better.
Could have; would have; should have… well, I'll just have to make up for all that, won't I?
"Sixth year was… a strange year," he said.
"It was a horrible year. I was mean to everyone, nobody liked me, I treated Hagrid like dirt and-and Dumbledore died. Nothing was good about that year."
He nodded. "Seventh year wasn't much better, now was it?"
"No. I lost my parents."
"I would've done anything to get them back for you."
"I know. You and Ron were wonderful. You both really took care of me."
He took her hand and squeezed it. "First time you ever needed us. Ron and I were determined to make it count."
"Did you-did you do something to Ernie McMillan then…?"
Harry hesitated. "Ron spoke to him. Ask him."
She glared. "Maybe I won't. I'll let Ron have that, gratis. Consider it as a token of my appreciation for his sensitivity."
He grinned, laughing inwardly at Ron's good fortune. He played with the loose ringlets of hair brushing against her cheek. "So… Ernie McMillan… nice chap, wasn't he?"
"Nice enough." Her eyebrow arched momentarily as she pushed a caper around on her plate.
"You said you and he-" he cleared his throat "-snogged, was it?"
"Once."
"So you and he didn't…?"
She shot him a playful sneer. "And what are you going to do about it if we did, hmm, Potter?"
He felt himself redden. "Nothing, really. Just… maybe… I can find out where he lives-"
"Harry!"
"Kidding! I'm only kidding!" He gave an awkward chuckle. "Just so I don't 'accidentally' hex him when next we meet."
She glared. It didn't exactly scare him.
He might have said something along the lines of liking it when she got riled up for nothing, just before he leaned it to take a kiss.
It was easy to forget they were in a restaurant. It's what he liked best about muggle places. They didn't know him; they weren't going to make a fuss about The Boy Who Lived, shamelessly snogging Hermione Granger.
In the Cocina de la Madre, he was just some bloke who couldn't keep his hands off his girlfriend.
A delightful moan escaped her, then she pulled away, embarrassed that she had lost herself for a moment.
There was no way he could keep himself off her after that.
He cast a Transeo charm over them, and he whispered that she didn't have to worry about getting noticed, and would she please do that wonderful little sound again.
He was generously rewarded for his efforts.
The Cocina de la Madre was rapidly becoming his favorite restaurant and he would be most happy to bring his business to them again.
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Hermione arrived at Grimmauld Place that evening wishing Harry could have been with her.
She had a lot of work to do in the WizCOF when she got back from her very satisfying lunch, and she wasn't able to leave the office until after seven thirty.
When she dropped by the Auror department, she saw that Harry had just finished a meeting with Shacklebolt, Tonks and Remus.
Hermione came up to the desk he shared with Gail. "Let me guess; Death Eater sighting."
Harry gave her an apologetic smile, rubbing her arm affectionately.
She had smiled back, needing no explanation. She turned to his partner. "Hullo, Gail. You running with this bloke tonight?" She jerked her head towards Harry.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world," replied Gail, winking.
Hermione squeezed his shoulder, looking at him pleadingly. "Be careful."
He smiled, exchanging significant looks with her. "Always."
He did no more than cup her face and caress it as he left to join the other Aurors, but his brief gaze was searing enough to shoot rippling warmth through her.
Gail had merely arched her eyebrow, causing Hermione to blush.
So Hermione headed on off home by herself, remembering a time that she would never have let Harry run off to danger by himself.
Now, standing in the middle of their living room at home, Hermione noted with pleasure that the lights were on all over the house.
"Ron?"
"Here!" he cried from the kitchen.
She smiled upon seeing that he was looking rather studious with all the papers surrounding him on the kitchen table.
"Thank Merlin you're here," said Ron. "I was getting hungry!"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "If it's not homework, it's food. Honestly, Ron! It's nice to know I'm needed."
"Well, it's all you're good for, isn't it?"
She whipped her wand to pelt him on the face with a dirty dishrag. Years ago, she wouldn't have gotten the joke. Things have changed, since then.
Ron tossed the rag aside with a mild protest, grinning despite himself. "Harry off chasing bad guys, again?"
"Umm-hmm." She brought out some steaks she had begun marinating the other day.
Ron scoffed. "You'd think that after Voldemort, he'd be done with all that, eh?"
She smiled, taking out a skillet and heating it. "You think so?"
Ron gave it a moment's thought. "On second thought, no. Wouldn't be Harry if he just up and went Quidditch Pro, or something. If he was anything like that, he wouldn't have went and saved you from the troll."
She laughed, marveling at the parallel this conversation had with her conversation earlier with Harry. "No, I suppose not."
Ron fell silent as she busied herself with some asparagus and leftover potato wedges. She turned the oven up to pre-heat. She thought Ron was busy with his papers, but when she looked over her shoulder, she saw that he was giving her a ponderous look.
"What?" she asked.
His brows knotted. "How've you been, Hermione?"
She laughed. "Well, that's rather random, Weasley. You know how I've been."
He shrugged. "Harry's right. We've neglected you. Well, I have. At least he got to spend some nights and weekends with you. I can count the times I was there for you in the last few months."
His concern touched her. "It's alright, Ron. You had your thing going. You needed it."
"I guess so, but I can't help but feel that I have to make it up to you, big time."
"Oh, don't be silly, Ron!"
"No, really. You were always there for me, even if you were nagging me the whole time."
She laughed, smiling at him fondly. "I love you, Ron. You know that, don't you?" And she knew he wouldn't misunderstand her.
She was right.
"Well, duh. Of course!" he said. "And I-you know-" he rolled his eyes "-love you too, Granger. Not the way Har-" He stopped, and reddened. "Are you making steaks?"
"Not the way Harry does, you mean?" she asked, eyes twinkling. "Yes, I reckon, not. You don't get snogging rights like he does."
His eyes widened. "He's told you…" he said breathlessly. "And you… you feel the same?"
She rolled her eyes. "Honestly! D'you think I'd let him snog me if I didn't?"
"Well, he was so sure you didn't see him that way!"
"Harry Potter can be wrong, too, you know."
"Well then, that's just-that's just wicked! Kinda weird, I must admit… but wicked!"
She grinned. "I'm glad you approve."
"I think this is a much better arrangement than the Harry-Ginny thing, because cor, I wasn't sure what I was going to do if they started shagging. I mean, she's my sister for Merlin's sake!"
She scowled. "Alright, then, let's not talk about that, please?"
"Sorry. So… does he snog better than Krum?"
"Ron!"
"I'm just-"
"If you must know, infinitely better, but Krum's a poor comparison. Harry snogs much, much better than Lee, and that's saying something."
"Lee Jordan? That bastard! I knew it. I knew it! I saw him make googly eyes at you and I thought maybe he was just confused about what you were saying, because you can get that way a lot of times, you know; confusing."
"Thanks, Ron."
"Seriously. And you know what else has been bothering me? Did you and Ernie McMillan--?"
"Oh, honestly! Why do you all have to know if Ernie and I shagged? Even Harry tried to ask! It's un-bloody-believable!"
"Well, you know, all that private space had to count for something."
"It's Ernie, Ron. Closest thing he's ever come to turning anything on is a light switch!"
Ron liked that. He laughed. "You mean he never even tried with you?"
"Oh, he tried. It was pathetic. We snogged once, sure, and seeing as it did nothing for me, I figured that was the end of that, then the next day he goes to me and says, 'What are your thoughts on the next level, Hermione?' Honest to Merlin, I thought he was talking about N.E.W.T.s, the way he said it. When I realized he was talking about sex I was mildly afraid constant exposure to him would kill my libido completely."
Ron thought this hilarious. "So it wasn't Ernie. Lee?"
She glared at him. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Ron smirked.
She gave him an appraising look. "You know, Ron… maybe there is something you can do to 'make it up to me'."
He arched an eyebrow. "Oh? This doesn't involve getting naked and putting on a bunny costume, I hope?"
"Goodness, where the hell did that come from?"
"There was this girl, see…"
Her piercing gaze stopped him.
"I guess you're not too keen on knowing the details," he muttered.
"No. As I was saying… Harry's birthday is coming up."
"And you want to throw him a party! Well, I'm absolutely down with that!"
"You realize this is important, Ron. He's never quite had a real party for his birthday. The Dursleys certainly never threw him one and-well-we were all just too busy in Hogwarts and after that to throw him a proper celebration. So this has to make him feel special. We might make the guest list a bit larger than our immediate circle, but we'll still keep it exclusive with people he knows rather well. Most importantly it has to be a lot of fun, so yes, I suppose with what I'll be asking of you, there might be a bit of fanfare, but nothing that will drive him spare. You know how Harry gets when people go nuts about him; he gets this dazed look on his face…"
Ron grinned. "Seems easy enough. Where do you want to hold it?"
"Right here would be fine. Lord knows this place has to be livened up with something festive, don't you think?"
"Agreed! But what do I have to offer in our dynamic little duo?"
"Well…" said Hermione with a grin. "I'm thinking maybe Harry rather misses playing a really good game of Quidditch…"
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A/N: Sexual tension resolved! At least as far as snogging is concerned, anyhow…
Next chapter, I consider a filler, but I think you'll like it… ::wiggles eyebrows like a perv::