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The alarm clock on Hermione's bedside table beeped loudly, insisting she rise from an alcohol-induced sleep to face another day. She had a full schedule ahead of her, and she was taking off the following day from work to spend the night at the Burrow to help with the final preparations of the wedding, but she wanted to stay in bed.
Hermione groaned as she realized she'd caught the sniffles from the rain the night before, and her eyes, crusted with sleep and cold, watered as light poured in from the open window. In her current state it seemed God himself was determined to punish her for her overindulgence in drink the night before by using the sun as an enemy. The clouds had not completely gone, but they broke apart, allowing the sun to sporadically glare at her through the window. Waving her wand, she closed the heavy drapes and swung her feet out of bed and onto the cold parquet floor.
Her belly churned at once, and for a moment Hermione sat frozen, pleading fearfully with her stomach to just hold down the bile long enough for her to get to the bathroom. She slid off the bed, groaning as her stomach bubbled and churned, and shuffled miserably to the full bath just off from her bedroom.
The toilet welcomed a smelly conglomeration of bile, undigested beef stew, and wine. She retched until she dry heaved, and then rinsed out her mouth and washed her face. Her head throbbed so terribly that she though it would be the death of her. Could one die from a headache, she briefly wondered. Looking into the mirror, Hermione saw she had puffy, swollen eyes, complete with dark circles and deathly pale skin.
"Please God…let me get through this and I'll never drink again."
She remembered the countless times she'd uttered that same prayer in the partying days after Harry had defeated Voldemort, and, despite her physical misery, she began to chuckle. It didn't last long, as laughing, moving, and generally having the audacity to breathe made her head throb.
Gingerly, Hermione reached up into the medicine cabinet and found a bottle of Pepperup potion. Unfortunately, there was only half a dose left. Moaning, she took what little bit was there, watched steam pour from her ears, and then threw the bottle into the rubbish bin beneath the sink. Her headache was reduced from deathly unbearable to merely excruciating, but her stomach was still sensitive and bouts of nausea threatened to overcome her several times as she showered and dressed in Muggle jeans and a white t-shirt, and trainers.
Even with her physical misery, Hermione had not been able to shake the memory of what had happened at Harry's flat the night before. He'd been about to kiss her, she was sure of it. The idea of kissing Harry Potter was absurd. They'd always been the best of friends, nothing more. They were not even remotely attracted to one another.
It was the wine, she thought. Wine made people do strange things. Things they regretted. She was glad she'd left before they did something to ruin their friendship.
I'm not attracted to Harry, Hermione told herself. He's not attracted to me either. It was a fluke. It was the wine, and our happiness at seeing one another after being apart for so long. We're best friends, we love each other, but that's all it was….
Blaming the incident between her and Harry of the previous evening on the wine, and keeping up a steady stream of reassurances that settled her already frantic nerves, Hermione grabbed her briefcase, and the report she was supposed to have given the previous afternoon to Angelica Pepper, and Apparated to the ministry, a pair of standard black robes tossed over one arm.
*
*
The healer's office, located just off the atrium, and across from the cafeteria, was blessedly empty when Hermione arrived.
"Hello Miss Granger," the healer, an older wizard with gray hair, a wizened face and kind brown eyes greeted her as she entered the office.
"Mr. Parks," she said, pulling on her robes.
"You don't look as if you feel very good."
"I don't," she admitted. "I had dinner last night with an old friend and had too much to drink."
"Ah," he said, smiling and going over to a shelf of potions. He perused them with one long, thin finger and then settled on a small white bottle. He mixed it and a few other ingredients into a cup, stirred, and handed it to her, along with a slice of bread.
"This is very spicy," he said, "but it will make you feel better. Drink that, then chew the bread, and then spit it into the cup."
She drank down the potion, and indeed it was spicy. It had a strong cinnamon and black pepper flavor, and her mouth set on fire. She quickly put the bread into her mouth and sucked on it, moving it about her mouth. It soothed her tongue, brining her relief, and when the burning had nearly gone, she spit the bread out. She noted by the time she was done her headache had gone, and her nausea had been reduced to mild queasiness.
"Thank you, Healer Parks."
"No problem," he said. "You'll be all better in an hour. Be sure to sign the forms at the door to bill your insurance, and you're all done."
Hermione slung her robes over her head, realizing she'd left her bushy hair down, and signed the forms by the door. Waving good-bye to the healer, she left and got in queue for the lifts. The older women from the day before smiled at her, but she merely turned her head, pretending not to have seen them, and waited for the next lift.
"Morning."
"Harry," Hermione said, as Harry stepped in line beside her. She was a bit late for work, due to her detour to the healer's office, which explained why she was running into him now.
They stood in silence, his hands shoved into his pockets. Apparently what had happened the night before had not been solely in her imagination, and it had left him feeling awkward too.
"So," he said. "I was thinking that it would be nice to eat lunch today."
"Yes," she said dryly, "it would be nice to eat lunch. I find I like to eat lunch every day."
Harry chuckled and nodded. "Perhaps we could enjoy lunch together, then?"
"I was about to ask her that same question," said another, heavier voice. Kevin Kettlebottom had approached and Hermione had not even heard him. "Mr. Potter."
"Mr. Kettlebottom," Harry said. Hermione looked between the two men. Kevin had an inelastic grin on his face that failed to reach his eyes, and Harry didn't bother with a phony grin of his own. He merely gazed serenely at Kevin, straightening his back and giving himself a two inch height advantage over his blond counterpart. Both men had green eyes, but they were polar opposites. Kevin's had clouded and gone very deep, while Harry's seemed to shine vividly.
"Well, we could all eat together," Hermione suggested, wondering what was going on. It couldn't be jealousy over her, for Kevin had no claim on her, and Harry was a platonic friend.
"I don't want to intrude," Harry said, bowing formally to her. "I'll see you at the wedding this weekend. Hermione."
He turned on his heel and stalked away. Harry had never, in the eleven years she'd known him, been so formal with her. Watching after him in bewilderment, she allowed Kevin to steer her into the waiting lift where a few of her co-workers were already waiting, watching her with closed expressions.
"Are you wearing jeans under your robes?" Kevin asked, examining her legs.
"Oh, yes," Hermione said.
"I thought I saw you with him last night," Kevin said, his voice was laced with suspicion and Hermione knew that everyone in the lift was listening in for theirs was the only conversation now. "You must have gotten home too late to pick out something…more appropriate for the office."
Hermione pulled her mind away from Harry and looked up at Kevin. He was fishing to discover if she'd spent the night with Harry. It annoyed her. He was jealous when he didn't have a right to be. So they'd had one lunch date; that didn't entitle him to question her about her personal life.
"I overslept this morning," she said coolly. "Besides, I have a few case resolutions in a rural area to look into."
"Rural," he said, nodding. "Well then, it would make sense not to soil good clothes on someone's farm."
The lift jangled to a stop and Hermione hurried out, suddenly wanting to be away from him.
"I'll stop by your office at one," Kevin said. Hermione nodded and waved him away, heading for the beverage table to pour a cup of strong coffee. Taking a stale, hard donut from the tray, she slipped her report in the bin hanging on Madam Pepper's office door, and headed for her cubicle to sign off on her cases from the previous day.
*
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Dull, mindless case reviews filled Hermione's morning, which gave her entirely too much time to think about the encounter outside the lift, and silly theories that Harry could have been jealous over her played through her mind. She wondered how she'd really feel if it turned out to be the case, and surprisingly she didn't find it at all unpleasant, just odd.
A romance with Harry….
Hermione had never allowed herself to really contemplate such a thing. Though she was aware of how handsome Harry was, she'd never entertained fantasies about him; she'd never tried to spy him naked, or topless, or gazed upon his lips and wondered what it would be like to taste them. She'd never lain in bed at night and imagined his rough hands on her hot, soft flesh….
Hermione suddenly blinked, gulped down a mouthful of excess saliva, and forced her mind away from that train of thought altogether. No, she'd never thought of those things with Harry, and she never would. He was her friend, only her friend, and it would stay that way.
The coffee having done its job by waking her up, now had worked its way through her kidneys and into her bladder. She put her quill down, checked to make sure her purse was locked securely in her desk, and went to the ladies room.
Hermione was just finishing up when two women entered. She recognized their voices as women who worked in her department, Janet Forsythe and Beth Bender.
"I mean it's just disgusting," Beth was saying. "I couldn't believe my ears when we were in the lift."
"I know," Janet answered. "Harry Potter and Kevin Kettlebottom in competition over Hermione Granger of all people. I mean, they're only the two most desirable bachelors in the world."
Janet had said Hermione's name as if she were speaking of some loathsome, filthy thing instead of a human being.
"What does Granger have that I don't?" Janet asked.
"She has nothing on either of us, Jan. She's a bushy-haired, skinny little Mudblood, and I'll be damned if I can figure out what hold she has over men like Harry Potter and Kevin Kettlebottom."
Hermione flung the door of her stall open, angry, and confronted the comically shocked faces of Janet and Beth.
"Oh! Hermione!" Beth said, holding a hand to her rather flat chest and breathing heavily.
"Pardon the bushy-haired, skinny little Mudblood," Hermione said angrily, "as she washes her unworthy hands, would you?"
She shoved between them, and they stepped hurriedly apart. Hermione forwent drying her hands. She didn't wish to be in the room with them any longer than she had to, and they said nothing else in way of an apology, and watched her with cool gazes as she exited the washroom.
Hermione blinked back tears of anger and hurt. Even after so many years, that word still got under her skin, it still hurt. As she moved blindly along toward the office pool she berated herself. She'd faced down Death Eaters, she'd put herself in danger for friends and strangers alike without crying, yet that one word could still hurt enough to wet her eyes with tears. She supposed part of her chagrin had to do with the fact that before hearing Janet and Beth refer to her with the ugliest epithet in the Wizarding world, she'd believed them to like her. They'd always been so friendly.
The clock set into the corridor that led to her office pool chimed once, signaling the one o'clock hour, and the lift clanged to a stop with Kevin waiting inside.
"Ah, Hermione," he said, but the smile slid off his face when he saw her wet eyes which she was still blinking furiously. "What happened?"
"Nothing," she said. "Let's go to lunch."
Hermione glared at Janet and Beth, who'd emerged into the corridor from the bathroom. They gave Kevin charming smiles, ignoring her completely.
"Ladies," he said, nodding to each of them before stepping in behind Hermione. Once the lift reached the atrium, Kevin opened it for her and stepped out behind her. "Did they say something to offend you?"
"I'm a grown woman," she said. "I don't need to cry to someone every time something happens."
"You're upset, Hermione," Kevin said, falling into step beside her, keeping pace with her fast, angry gait. "Why don't you talk to me?"
Hermione sighed and then told him what had happened. Kevin frowned when she was finished.
"I'm very sorry," he said. "That's terrible. The Ministry should make that word illegal. There should be an automatic ten Galleon fine for uttering it."
Hermione smiled despite herself. "Kevin, really."
"There should. Someone such as yourself should never be made to feel inferior by the likes of their kind."
"I've never felt inferior," Hermione said honestly. "I know I'm as good as any pureblood, if not better. It's just…I don't know. It's not important."
"It is to me," Kevin said softly.
Hermione suddenly felt very warm and entered the cafeteria, grateful to be able to busy herself with loading her tray. They found a table, all the while enjoying conversation about her upcoming work schedule, about the case resolutions she would have to work on that afternoon.
Though Hermione didn't find her job the least exciting anymore, Kevin seemed genuinely interested, and that is what mattered to her.
"Not very exciting, I know," Hermione said, taking a sip of milk.
"You say that a lot," Kevin said. "Don't you like your job?"
"It's not what I thought it would be," Hermione admitted. "I thought I'd be helping people."
"You do," he said. "I specifically remember a case you handled, where a man accidentally turned his daughter into a pelican and couldn't figure out where he went wrong in the charm. When he tried to undo it she came back pink with feathers instead of hair and you were the only one in your department who was able to help. You saved that girl from a lifetime of ridicule."
Hermione smiled. "Yes, I know I help people…"
"It's not as satisfying as you thought it would be," he said, nodding. "You want to help, but you want it to be exciting, and maybe a little dangerous."
"Yeah," she said, nodding. She was surprised by how well he understood her. "You're not using Legilimency against me, are you?" she said, smiling.
Kevin grinned and placed his right hand over his heart. "I solemnly swear I am not, nor would I ever. It's just that I know your history. You did a lot of amazing things very young in life. Everything after that has to be anticlimactic."
Movement behind Kevin caught Hermione's attention. She saw Harry standing from a table, taking his tray with him as he walked by, apparently unaware of her presence.
"Harry!" Hermione said, waving her hand and beckoning him to come over. She thought she heard a small noise from Kevin, a sigh, or perhaps a light grunt. She looked at him, but his face was inscrutable.
Harry nodded at her and emptied his tray, but instead of coming over to her table, he left without another look back. A stab of bewilderment and hurt pierced her chest, and she was surprised by the intensity of it. Harry had never snubbed her, and had it not happened just now, she never would have believed it possible.
"How rude," Kevin said, looking after Harry, and though his face was turned from her, she thought she saw a flash of satisfaction pass through his eyes before he looked back at her.
"Well, it's getting late," Hermione said. "I really must get going if I want to finish up at a decent hour."
"You're not coming in tomorrow, are you?"
"How did you know that?" Hermione asked, surprised that he was that familiar with her work schedule.
"I assumed you wouldn't, not with the wedding so close. I'll see you Saturday, at the Weasley residence."
"I look forward to it," Hermione said, allowing Kevin to escort her to the lifts before going back to her office to collect her robes and bag.
*
*
Hermione sighed. The clusters of clouds that dotted the sky were beginning to once again congregate into one solid, black mass. Cool breezes blew away the summer heat that had returned as the clouds had dissipated. Though it was not from cold, it was far from hot, making early summer feel more like mid-autumn.
Hermione's last case of the day took place on a small Muggle milk farm. Apparently the man's neighbor, a wizard, was trying to help the farmer out of a tight spot when his aging cows milk output had begun to decline. Unfortunately his spell overshot and the cows began spraying milk, so much so that once all containers, buckets, cups, pots, and pans the farmer owned had been filled to capacity, the poor animals began to flood the barn. By the time a member of the Squad had rectified the situation, the ground was saturated with milk going sour in the summer heat.
Hermione looked down in disgust at the sticky white lumps of curdled milk stuck to the bottom of her trainers. She'd taken it upon herself to Vanish the excess milk and Obliviate the farmer before leaving, but his property held a beautiful pond that was now reflecting the tumultuous sky, and she'd decided to sit for a moment before going to Ginny's flat to try on her bridesmaid dress once again.
The increasing breeze blew across the surface of the pond, rippling it at first, but quickly turning those ripples to choppy little waves. She gazed at the tumultuous surface, identifying with it, for her own life felt much the same way.
Harry's question from the previous night came back to Hermione. When had they become grown-ups? When had being an adult, when had living life, become a thankless job that began the moment she woke up and didn't end until her eyes closed in sleep at night? She knew she was too young to be so jaded, but she couldn't change her dreary world view.
When, Hermione continued to muse sadly, had she allowed herself to settle for being lonely? She tried to examine her life with a neutral eye. She had a job she believed in on an intellectual level, for it was responsible, and she did help people in some ways, but the excitement of it had long since worn off for her. She was healthy. Her family and friends were safe…but she was alone.
It was possible, she knew, to be alone, but not lonely, but that was not the case for her. She was lonely. She was living a life that she was only marginally satisfied with, and it was impossible to be truly happy in circumstances like that.
She thought back to the days when she, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Luna had been a tight unit, fighting side by side against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. At that time, when the future had been so uncertain, there was one thing that had never been in question: she was loved, needed, and above all else, wanted.
Many people loved her, she knew this, but no one was in love with her.
Many people needed her to do her job, but no one needed her to complete them, to comfort them, to be their voice of reason and the calm eye in the storm that life could so easily become.
Many people wanted her to visit, to be their friend, to come around, but no one wanted to reach out to her in the dead of night and make love to her, hold her, kiss her.
No one.
An image of Kevin's handsome face came to her. He was interested in her. He was misguided on some things, his morals were slightly questionable, but he was interested, and she believed he had his heart in the right place. He would need and want her, and perhaps, if things went on long enough, he would love her. She could give him a chance. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad. She could, she mused, learn to love him.
But could she return those feelings? She tried to imagine the feel of Kevin's arms around her, looking into his green eyes to see passion for her burning within, she felt nothing in return.
Then, as the mirage of an oasis rippled up from the heat of a desert floor to take shape in the desires of a dying man desperate for life-giving water, the blond hair of her mental image of Kevin darkened to black and became a wild mess, the deep green of his eyes lightened, becoming vivid and bright, until it was no longer Kevin who looked at her, but Harry. He looked at her as he had the night before, eyes hooded, filled with longing, sweet, delicious breath coming in faster, lighter gasps, and one powerful arm circled her waist, heavy, and solid, reaching, needing, wanting….
Then, with the blink of an eye the mirage was gone, and Hermione was left staring at the pond, shaking her head. What she felt for Harry wasn't passion. It was friendship, and what he felt for her was the same.
I'm just lonely, she reasoned with herself. That's all, lonely. The love I feel for Harry is old and familiar, and…platonic. He's a good friend, and I'm depressed, and I'm looking for someone to save me.
Well, she was a woman now, not a little girl. She could save herself, and she would do it without allowing herself to further wallow in self-pity.
Hermione slapped at what she thought was a bug on her cheek, but her fingers came away wet. It wasn't a bug after all, but a tear.
*
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"Ginny," Hermione said, sighing in exasperation. "The dress is perfect."
"No," Ginny said, shaking her head and examining her reflection in the mirror. "There's something off, and I can't put my finger on it."
"Yeah, you," Hermione groused.
Ginny's flat was empty save for the kitchen furniture, a mattress on the floor of her bedroom, and a few cups to drink out of. All of her personal belongings had been moved to the house she and Neville would share in Hogsmeade. Hermione was grateful it was only her and Ginny. She didn't feel much like company as she checked the fit of her bridesmaid dress. Ginny walked around her, looking over every detail, frowning.
"It's too long," Hermione said.
"No," Ginny disagreed, continuing to shake her head.
"To short?"
"No."
"Too tight, too loose, the color doesn't go with my hair, my eyes, what is it?"
Ginny looked sharply at Hermione. "What's wrong, Hermione?"
"Nothing," Hermione said, holding up a small bouquet of white and red roses that had been put under a refreshing charm to keep them from wilting. According to Ginny, they had been passed down from her great-great-grandmother on her mother's side, but they were just as fresh as they were the moment they'd been cut almost a hundred years previous.
"Hermione, we're as good as sisters. You can tell me anything."
"I know."
"So confide now," Ginny said, squeezing Hermione's arm comfortingly, "before you do something to ruin my wedding."
Hermione looked up and Ginny burst into laughter. Her skin was glowing, as was her hair and eyes. Hermione didn't think she'd ever seen someone look so happy.
"I want what you have with Neville."
"Sorry, Neville's taken," Ginny said, standing from her crouch in front of Hermione to sit beside her, "but Kevin Kettlebottom isn't."
"Not you too," Hermione thought, rolling her eyes. "How could you possibly know about him?"
"Harry," Ginny said. "He's angry about the two of you."
"Is he?" Hermione said, trying to sound nonchalant, but inside she felt a sudden wave of excitement and child-like giddiness she thought she'd scream and roll about the floor, thrashing like a mad woman. She chided herself for her feelings. It was just Harry, after all. He was just her best guy friend.
"I can't really blame him."
"Why?" Hermione asked. She half-hoped Ginny would confide that Harry was sick with jealousy.
"Don't you know?"
"Know what?"
Hermione looked at Ginny in bewilderment, and Ginny looked as if she wasn't entirely certain how much she should tell.
"Maybe you should ask Harry," Ginny said.
"Ginny, what about Kevin and Harry?" Hermione demanded, her elation of a few moments ago evaporating like water on a hot desert rock. "They don't like one another, why?"
"Kevin is Lucius Malfoy's youngest nephew," Ginny said, as if that should explain everything.
Hermione's mouth fell open. How cold this detail have gotten past her? And why hadn't she seen a family resemblance before?
"Harry doesn't like Kevin because he's related to the Malfoys?"
"No, Harry doesn't like Kevin because they nearly killed one another the night Harry killed Draco."
Hermione thought back to the night of Draco's death. They'd all been there during that battle, and they'd all left together to return to the flat they'd shared in London at the time.
"I don't recall meeting Kevin that night."
"You wouldn't," Ginny said. "Harry was called to the Ministry to give a report, after you and Ron were um…indisposed."
That part, Hermione remembered quite well. "Oh, right."
"I went with him. Kevin was beside himself with a rage. He drew his wand, tried to duel with Harry, tried to kill him."
"And Harry didn't press charges?"
Ginny gulped and looked away. There was something she was holding back, and it was beginning to annoy Hermione.
"Are you trying to protect me from something? I'm a big girl, Ginny, I can handle whatever you have to say."
"I asked Harry not to press charges. I was upset already…Hermione, do you know why Harry and I broke up?"
"I assumed you'd grown apart," Hermione said.
"We did, but it wasn't that simple."
Ginny stared out of the kitchen window, becoming lost in thought. Her skin was flushed red, and her freckles stood out in sharp relief. Hermione waited patiently for her to speak.
"I made a mistake," Ginny said. "Harry was so involved in finding the Horcruxes, he was so angry at having to team up with Snape and Draco to accomplish that…he stopped touching me, stopped talking to me, or even really looking at me. I was hurt and lonely and…"
Ginny drifted into silence and Hermione's stomach went cold with dread.
"Oh, God," Hermione said, suddenly seeing where Ginny was going. "You didn't. Not with Draco-"
"Do you think I'm proud of it?" Ginny snapped, angry but somehow managing to look contrite at the same time.
"No, of course I don't," Hermione said. "I'm sorry, I rushed to judgment."
Hermione remembered how hard it was to get through to Harry in the last few months leading to the final fight with Voldemort. She'd never considered how it had been from Ginny's unique standpoint, as his lover.
"I never slept with Draco. I turned to him, I confided in him. He was like a snake. He saw I was vulnerable and he took advantage of the opportunity. I kissed him once and that happened to be the time Harry caught us. I think what hurt Harry most was that I'd let Draco get close, while he'd gotten so far away."
Ginny turned from the window and busied herself making tea, but her profile was heavy with regret and sadness.
"Anyway," she continued with a deep breath. She sat at the table and brought Hermione some tea as well, "Harry and I broke up after that. Voldemort fell, Snape was killed, and I thought it was over. All of it, the whole damn thing, but then Draco had to go and be stupid and try to pick up where Voldemort had left off. That man was such as fool."
There was anger in her voice, and it was born of the injustice of senseless loss. Hermione wondered if Ginny had told her everything. Was the loss she was angry about in regards to Draco or Harry? Perhaps it was both, and Hermione decided not to press. Every woman had her secret places, deep in her heart, that no one else had any business peeping into. This was one of Ginny's.
"Harry was sent to bring Draco in. You know how that went. He was forced to kill Draco, but Kevin was close to him. He was like an older brother to Draco, and he wanted revenge. I convinced Harry that what Kevin had done was out of grief for his cousin, to let it go."
"Do you regret it?" Hermione asked, allowing her tea to go cold, forgotten.
Ginny shook her head. "No. I think Kevin is a good man, Hermione. Harry can't see it because of the past he's had with the Malfoy's, but Kevin was never like them. You can see that for yourself."
"Yeah," Hermione said. "I can see it."
"If you're lonely, and I can see that you are, open yourself to the possibility. Harry's a good friend, but he's not your father, no matter how overprotective he may act. Don't let him decide who you give your heart to."
But it wasn't Harry's over protectiveness that gave Hermione pause; it was her confused feelings. The way Harry had departed the lunch room earlier that day without coming to say hello had hurt her more than she cared to admit, and that night at his apartment, that she felt she was making too much of, but it at the same time had been so significant.
It was an almost kiss, Hermione said to herself miserably, looking at her reflection in the still surface of her tea and thinking back to the previous night. Almost kisses don't mean anything…do they?
Standing, Hermione turned back to the mirror and examined the dress. It was at that moment she realized the flaw in the dress that Ginny could not.
"The dress is too long, Ginny," she said softly.
Sighing heavily, Ginny looked into Hermione's eyes, a hand on her shoulder. "Yeah, Hermione. I believe you're right."
*
*
Night fell, Neville arrived with a bottle of wine and eyes only for Ginny, so Hermione bade them a good-night. She returned to her cottage in Hogsmeade and found Hedwig the second perched outside her bedroom window, waiting patiently. She opened the window and allowed the bird to enter on a cool, wet breeze, quickly untying the letter before giving her an owl treat and a sip of water.
Dear Hermione,
I want to apologize for my behavior
earlier today in the cafeteria. It was
uncalled for. I hope you'll meet me
tomorrow for a walk. I'm coming to
Hogwarts to meet with Professor
McGonagall tomorrow morning at
nine. I think she's going to
hit me up to take over the job of
Defense Against The Dark Arts. I
keep turning it down, but she's
determined to have me. Do you think
we could walk around the lake once
for old times' sake?
Harry.
Hermione scribbled down a reply, telling him she would meet him beside the lake at ten a.m. Once she tied her response to Hedwig's leg she quickly undressed and climbed into bed, wide awake.
Images of the look in Neville and Ginny's eyes as they'd gazed at one another arose in Hermione's mind. She could imagine what they were doing at this very moment, and it depressed and frustrated her to realize she hadn't made love in over a year.
Frustration ebbed into a surge of need and desire. She called up an image of Kevin's face to replace Ginny and Neville, and feeling slightly self-conscious, she rested one hand casually on her chest, and eased the other under the blanket to rest on her lower stomach.
I can't do this, Hermione thought in embarrassment, but her body ached with need. It had been so long....
She entertained a fantasy of Kevin's lips on hers, of his hands running over her body, but the longer she thought of him the more the heat of her need cooled. Something was lacking.
Harry's face kept attempting to intrude. Hermione fought it. She had never tried to pleasure herself to an image of Harry, imagining it would be too awkward. Taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly, she allowed Harry to replace Kevin.
As an image of Harry's lips claiming hers, his tongue searching her mouth, his hands exploring her body, pressed against her, hot with need, she felt her nipples harden, and heat pooled between her legs.
Sighing with content, Hermione pushed one hand under her blouse, and the other deep into her knickers.