URST by JanieB

Rating: R
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 12/12/2005
Last Updated: 17/12/2005
Status: Completed

This story begins when Harry, Ron and Hermione move into a house together and Harry starts to
“notice” Hermione and Hermione starts to “notice” Harry. Naturally, the path from URST to RST is
not terribly smooth (what fun would that be?). I’m sure you know what that stands for, yes? If not,
come in, read and you will find out… *Janie grins cheekily*




1. URST - Chapter One
---------------------



Author's Note

Please read and enjoy - this is just a big dollop of fun and fluff!

And just in case: URST = UnResolved Sexual Tension. RST? Well, that's pretty obvious,
isn't it? *Janie grins*

And as always, a million thanks to my dear cyber-friend, Kirsti!

URST

By JanieB

Chapter One

This little story is set in London…our beloved trio left Hogwarts behind them four years
previously (and Harry left Voldemort's smoking remains behind around about the same time).
It's summertime in old London town and the trio are on the move…

Hermione flopped onto her bed and sighed.

And wondered how she could be so *stupid* when she was so clever.

In the room down the hall, Harry groaned as he fell onto his bed.

And wondered how he could be so blind when it was really so bloody obvious.

And while Hermione was sighing and Harry was groaning, Ron was walking out of the front door of
their shared house, rolling his eyes in total disgust. As far as *he* was concerned, both of
his best friends were complete and utter *prats!*

As he walked along, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Ron shook his head in
total exasperation. The three of them had only moved in together a mere month ago, each of them
having followed various career paths since leaving Hogwarts - career paths that now, fortuitously
(or so they'd thought) brought them all together once more. Ron, for one, was currently all for
bailing out.

*Bloody prats!* he thought. *They're driving ME crazy as well as themselves and they
just won't bloody well* *wake up**! Honestly! You'd never know Hermione had done
better in her NEWTs than any other witch or wizard in the history of Hogwarts (Little Miss “Me?
Books and cleverness? Oh poo!”).* Ron snorted. *And as if THAT wasn't bad enough, on the
other hand he had Harry-**s**aviour-of-the-whole-bloody-world-Potter who you would THINK,
considering he'd had witches from six to sixty either trying to get his autograph* *or get
his pants off, or both, he would recogni**se,* *would* *KNOW, when he was attracted
to a girl**. But nope, Hermione was too clever and Harry was too blind.* *Yep,
p**rats**, the pair of them**.*

*The whole bloody charade had begun the day they'd all moved in* *together**,
one month previously**…*

`Ron! Which rooms are we each having?'

`Dunno! I'm not fussed - just pick one, Hermione!' Ron was carrying a stack of packed
cardboard boxes and couldn't see a bloody thing as he staggered in the front door of Whimsy
House, 3c, Leprechaun Lane, newly acquired by Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and Harry
Potter.

`Harry! Which room do you want?'

Harry's muffled voice echoed down the stairwell from the second floor. `I don't really
mind, Hermione. You choose first, you're the girl.'

`Sexist wizard!'

Harry came out to the landing and looked down at Hermione as she was walking up the stairs to
begin her inspection of the four bedrooms, Crookshanks at her heels. Hedwig and Pig were both on
perches in the kitchen, Hedwig watching all the activity with dignity, occasionally glancing at Pig
with undisguised scorn as he ran incessantly up and down his perch.

`I'm being nice, you ungrateful witch!' laughed Harry.

Hermione playfully poked her tongue out at him before ducking into one of the two bedrooms on
the first floor.

Ron staggered up the stairs to the first floor and took the first door on the left walking
straight into Hermione who was surveying the room with a critical eye.

`Ouch! Ron!'

Ron peeked around his stack of boxes and grinned at Hermione.

`This is my room!' he called out. `I can't carry these damn boxes any further!'

He laughed as he put the boxes on the floor and turned to see Hermione's “well, what do you
have to say for yourself?” expression.

Ron ran his fingers through his rather messy, red mop. `Sorry, Hermione - I didn't see
you!'

Looking slightly mollified, Hermione emerged from the front bedroom of the first floor - now
officially Ron's room - and quickly skipped up the stairs to the second floor, walking past
Harry who was still standing on the landing, and into the front bedroom.

`This is mine!' she cried almost immediately, eyeing the beautiful bay window overlooking
the tree-lined street and the park in the middle of the square. While it was directly above
Ron's room, it was a little longer than his and after closer inspection, she noticed it also
had an en-suite. She opened the door and peered in, delighted by the sparkling white cleanliness.
She noticed a door on the other side and walked over to look, expecting it was probably a
cupboard.

As she pulled the door opened she jumped back, letting out an almighty squeal as she did so.

Harry was standing there, his hand out, obviously just about to open the door himself. He
chuckled as Hermione squealed and crossed his arms as he leant against the door jamb, waggling his
eyebrows at her, grinning.

`Harry! You frightened the living daylights out of me!' Hermione stood, hands on hips,
frowning ferociously at Harry.

`Totally unintentional, I can assure you,' he told her, thinking how cute she looked while
trying to be angry at him. Being angry at him had never been one of her strong points.

Rolling her eyes, Hermione stepped forward and resting her right hand on Harry's shoulder
and her left on the side of the doorway, tried to lean through the small gap and look into the
other room. Harry looked down at Hermione's hand resting on his shoulder; he could feel the
warmth of it through his t-shirt. It was a very nice hand - slender fingers, pretty nails that were
well cared for, but not too long; he fleetingly wondered why on earth he was suddenly noticing
Hermione's hand.

`Mine,' said Harry, not moving, still looking at her hand. As Hermione turned her head to
look up at him, he lifted his eyes from her hand to her face. A face he'd known for almost half
his life, framed with the same thick, brown hair which today she had twisted up and caught in a
large clip. He could see she wore no make up - not that she needed it, he thought musingly; her
cheeks were flushed from the summer heat and exertion; this close, he could see her eyes held many
shades of brown and gold. For the first time he noticed she had thick, almost black, eyelashes and
finely shaped eyebrows. His eyes dropped to her mouth - now curved with a mischievous smile.

`Really? You're prepared to share a bathroom with a *girl*?'

`As long you're prepared to share it with a *boy*,' Harry replied, grinning.

Hermione's smile faltered and for the space of a heartbeat their eyes locked. *Not a boy.
A man*.

Hermione's hand suddenly leapt from Harry's shoulder and she giggled, turning sideways,
her back to Harry, and slipped past him and into the room he'd claimed for his own.

`A double bed?' remarked Hermione, surprised.

`After that bloody cupboard under the stairs and the smallest bedroom with the smallest bed in
the house I like *space,*' replied Harry with feeling.

It was a little bigger than the front room Hermione had chosen and as she walked to the large
windows overlooking the back garden she thought perhaps Harry may've gotten the pick of the
bunch. When she spoke this thought aloud, Harry agreed. `Except for the bathroom-sharing
thing,' he said with a chuckle.

`Nonsense! I'm not one of those women who hog the bathroom for hours on end!'

Harry, still standing in the en-suite doorway but having turned, now faced into his room; he
held his hands up defensively in front of himself, a look of mock terror on his face.

`Far be it from me to accuse you of such a horrendous thing!' he cried.

Hermione huffed, but smiled.

`We should probably work out a schedule now,' she said thoughtfully.

Harry rolled his eyes. *Trust Miss Efficiency…*

`Later, Hermione, after all it's only Saturday - we have the whole weekend.'

Ron appeared in the doorway. `This yours?' he asked, looking at Harry.

`Yep,' replied Harry. `Comes with a bathroom-hogging witch as well, I believe.'

`Harry!'

`Sorry - with a *non*-bathroom hogging and very *efficient* scheduling witch,'
amended Harry, chuckling at the indignant look on Hermione's face.

Ron grinned at Hermione. `I wonder which one of you is going to regret this first.'

`You sound as though you can't wait for something to go wrong,' said Hermione, crossing
her arms.

Ron shrugged and winked at her. `It's only a matter of time,' he said smugly.

`Come on,' said Harry. `Let's get the rest of the stuff inside. And Ron - find your wand
so you won't have to actually *carry* anything!'

`Hear, hear!' cried Hermione. `He's dangerous with boxes!'

Ron laughed as he turned and headed down the stairs, Harry and Hermione right behind him.
`I'll just borrow Hermione's.'

`You will not!' cried Hermione, stopping on the first floor landing. `Don't you dare
touch my wand, Ronald Bilius Weasley or -'

`I was kidding, Hermione! Mercy!' cried Ron as he clattered down the final flight of stairs,
Harry on his heels, Hermione still on the landing.

`Shut it, you two, and move it - I'm hungry.'

`That's usually my line, Harry. Come on, Hermione - you've got more stuff than Harry and
I put together!'

Hermione resumed her journey down the stairs. `You know very well, Ron, that most of my “stuff”
is made up of *books*!'

`Yeah, about the same number of books as there are in the library at Hogwarts! Madam Pince'd
be downright jealous.'

Ron fortunately found his wand; it was down behind the front seat of his car. `I
*don't* want to know how it got there, thank you very much,' said Hermione tartly when
a dreamy smile crossed Ron's face and he murmured something along the lines of, `Last
night…Luna…'

Between the three of them, it took less than an hour for each of their new rooms to be ready for
them to sleep in, although they each still had quite a few unpacked boxes stacked along their
bedroom walls. Crookshanks was happily ensconced in his basket in Hermione's room.

In unspoken agreement, Ron and Harry let Hermione “organise” the kitchen at the same time as she
supervised the positioning of the furniture.

The ground floor of their flat consisted of a large sitting room that overlooked the street and
directly behind that was a newly fitted-out kitchen; a large square island bench separated the
kitchen from a good sized dining area, both of which looked out over the back garden. The rest of
the floor held, besides a loo, small bathroom and a laundry, a small room which for the time being
held the remainder of their unpacked boxes.

`There!' said Hermione happily as the last plate settled itself on the shelf.

`Good! Now we can eat!' cried Ron.

A loud `Yoo hoo!' followed by the tapping of high heels on the tiled floor, preceded Ginny
into the kitchen.

`Hi, Gin! In the kitchen,' called Ron. `Knew she couldn't resist coming and checking out
our new place,' he told Harry and Hermione, grinning.

As she walked in, Ginny looked around, hugging each of them hello. `It's just gorgeous!'
Pig was twittering excitedly - he'd always been partial to Ginny.

`I'll put the kettle on,' said Hermione, `have a seat.'

Ron groaned as he, Harry and Ginny sat at their new, square table.

`We need *food* here, not *tea*!'

`Tea first, then food,' said Hermione firmly. `I'll make some sandwiches.'

Harry jumped up. `I'll help - I can do sandwiches.'

Once they each had a steaming cup of tea, Hermione helped Harry to finish making the sandwiches.
Then, reaching up for a plate from the shelf, she realised she wasn't quite tall enough as the
tips of her fingers touched, but couldn't grasp the plate. Harry stepped up behind her and as
he reached up he became aware of a fresh, clean fragrance. Without thinking, he dipped his head
slightly so that his nose touched Hermione's hair and took a deep breath. `Mmmm, you smell
nice,' he said quietly.

Hermione turned her head and looked up at him as he pulled the plate from the shelf.

Hermione smiled. `My shampoo smells nice, you mean,' she told him, taking the plate from
Harry, then stood there, trapped between the bench and Harry.

Harry, feeling a little bewildered as to why exactly he'd been smelling Hermione's hair,
stood there, looking down at her.

`Harry?'

Harry shook his head. `Sorry,' he muttered, as he stepped back, watching Hermione as she
walked back to the bench and began piling sandwiches on the plate. Then, putting thoughts of
Hermione's hair aside, he quickly joined her and began to help.

That little moment hadn't gone unnoticed by Ginny and Ron who had exchanged quizzical looks
before shrugging it off as Harry headed for the table with the now laden plate of sandwiches.

Ginny, as it turned out, was the first of a constant stream of visitors who came to wish the
trio well in their new home, mostly their old friends and fellow Gryffindors from Hogwarts and of
course, Luna.

In the end, they invited everyone for dinner that evening, Harry designating himself
chef-for-the-night.

`Going for brownie points, mate?' remarked Ron on one of his trips to the fridge to top up
drinks.

Harry looked up from chopping vegetables, puzzled. `Who with?'

`Hermione, of course!' Ron opened the fridge and peered in, looking for the open bottle of
wine.

`Why would I be trying to score points with Hermione?' Harry resumed chopping.

`Dunno, really. Not that you need to. I'm the one that should be trying to score points. She
never gets annoyed with you.'

Harry stopped chopping again and looked at Ron who was now pouring wine into some glasses.
`That's not true,' he said.

Ron glanced up his friend. `Yeah, it is. When does she ever get annoyed with you?'

`Well, for instance, this morning, when I gave her a fright...'

`Ha!' cried Ron sceptically. `What'd she do?'

`She stood there frowning at me -'

`She stood there frowning at you?' Ron scoffed. `She didn't yell at you or call you by
your full name or threaten to hex you?

`Well, no, not exactly -' Harry's brow furrowed in thought. *She'd rolled her eyes
and then seemed to just forget it.*

`Told you so!' cried Ron triumphantly. `She doesn't get angry with you Harry, or annoyed
- not really, not ever. With me - I just have to mostly open my mouth and I'm in
strife.'

Harry stood stock still and as a myriad of situations flickered through his memory he realised
Ron was right. He couldn't remember Hermione being truly annoyed or angry with him since
they'd left school - and even back then, she'd virtually always told him why she was angry
and then forgiven him with her next breath. He'd never wondered why although he did so now.

Hermione chose that moment to come into the kitchen bearing an empty plate, stopping when she
caught sight of Harry making like a statue.

`Harry? Are you all right?'

Harry turned and looked at Hermione.

`Yeah…' was all he managed, thinking how great Hermione looked in black, hip-hugging pants
and an aqua halter neck top that clung to every curve. *Hermione's got a great figure -
she's got lovely - oh crap! What in the name of Merlin am I doing thinking about Hermione's
-*

`He's just realised you never get angry and yell at him,' said Ron, interrupting
Harry's line of thought, smirking as he replaced the wine bottle in the fridge.

`Ronald Weasley! How can you say such a thing?! Of *course* I get angry with Harry!
Honestly!'

Ron looked at Harry and rolled his eyes, his expression plainly conveying, “See? What did I tell
you?”

Hermione put the plate on the sink and throwing a fierce glare at Ron over her shoulder, walked
out, Harry's eyes fixed on her retreating form. *Her very* *shapely* *retreating
form…*

Ron put the drinks he'd prepared on a tray and followed Hermione, telling Harry, `She
definitely has a soft spot for you, Harry my man; always has had.'

Harry stood, deep in thought, and still hadn't moved when he felt a hand on his arm, causing
him to jump. It was Hermione.

`Harry?'

He turned his head and looked blankly at her, the wheels still slowly turning in his head
although he wasn't sure precisely which wheels or where they were leading him.

`Hmm?'

`Don't worry about Ron - I *do* get angry with you, but you're different from Ron.
More sensible perhaps. Ron seems to rub me up the wrong way so easily although I'm sure he
doesn't mean to. I'm pretty sure I can annoy the hell out of him, too, though. I'll try
hard to bite my tongue with Ron from now on because I want us to be able to live together here - it
really should be great.'

Harry smiled at her, putting down the knife he'd been using. Then he reached out and wrapped
his arms around her, drawing her to him in a hug, feeling Hermione's arms close around his
waist. He turned his head sideways and rested his cheek on her hair, closing his eyes as he once
again drank in the clean, fresh smell.

When Hermione pulled back, Harry lifted his head and looked down at her, smiling as he loosened
his hold on her.

`Harry? What?' Hermione was giving him a very puzzled look.

Lifting one hand, Harry lightly touched the end of her nose with the tip of his forefinger, then
slipped his whole hand to the side of her face, pushing it through her hair which she'd brushed
out for the party. Reaching the nape of her neck, he curled his fingers around its softness, his
thumb gently rubbing the smooth skin beneath her hair, and smiled at her.

`Hermione, you're wonderful just the way you are. I don't know what I'd do without
you. I don't think the three of us are going to have any real hassles living together.'

Hermione laughed, releasing the tension she'd suddenly felt which had been caused by
Harry's seemingly nonchalant caress. She was sure he'd never touched her like that before
and it was a little unsettling. Or perhaps he had, but she'd never noticed before. She mentally
shook her head. *No more wine for me tonight,* she thought. *It's messing with my mind
and imagination!*

Harry's delicious casserole - `Blame Ainsley!' he told everyone (referring to the
popular British television chef, Ainsley Harriot) - was very well received which was, as Ron told
him, either because they were starving-bloody-hungry or just extremely polite.

Hermione, having just begun her “be-nice-to-Ron” campaign, bit her tongue when she'd just
been about to say, `Ron, don't be so *awful!* Harry's cooking is perfectly wonderful
as you very well know!'

She looked at Harry as Ron spoke and couldn't help but giggle when she saw a look on
Harry's face that told her he knew precisely what she'd been about to say. And he knew she
knew. And she knew he knew she knew. And neither of them even gave a second thought to that little
feat of mind reading; they just shared one of their knowing smiles...

TO BE CONTINUED.

-->



2. URST - Chapter Two
---------------------



Author's Note

Thank you all for your lovely reviews! *Janie beams*

Another day - another chapter! And more tomorrow

URST

By JanieB

Chapter Two

The next morning Hermione insisted they finish unpacking after they'd cleaned up from the
previous night's impromptu party.

Ron grumbled, but Harry knew he didn't really mind. He wondered if Ron and Hermione would
ever stop bickering and decided they probably wouldn't - that was the way they were, the way
they'd always been and no doubt the way they were going to be for good.

As they sat down for their tea that night, tired but pleased with themselves, Hermione once
again brought up with Harry what she called their “shower schedule”.

`I have to be at work by nine, you don't have to be there until nine-thirty, so I'll go
first. What time do you normally get up, Harry? I'm usually awake by seven.'

`Seven?!' exclaimed Ron. `Why so early when you don't have to be there until
nine?'

`Because, Ron, I like to get *organised* before I go to work,' Hermione informed him
patiently.

`Get *what* organised? You get up, have a shower, eat breakfast and go!'

Harry laughed out loud, Hermione rolled her eyes.

`*Things,* Ronald! That's what I have to organise - lots of *things!* I'm not
going to bother elaborating.'

Shaking his head, Ron looked at Harry for support.

`Oh no, leave me out of this!' Harry told him, causing Ron to snort in disgust.

`So, Harry,' said Hermione, resuming her “shower schedule”, `I usually go for a half hour
walk first thing; I'll be out of the shower by eight. Is that all right?'

Harry grinned at her. `That's perfect, Hermione. Just make sure you lock the door to my room
in case I sleep walk to the loo or something!'

Then it was Ron's turn to laugh. `That'd be downright dangerous, mate - you'd
definitely cop a “Hermione Hex” if you did that! I'm glad she picked the room next to yours and
not mine!'

Hermione looked at Harry, her eyes sparkling with amusement. He knew what she was thinking: As
if she'd even consider sharing a bathroom with “Mr I-hang-my-towel-on-the-floor”!

Once they'd cleaned up, they all sat down in the living room on their new couch. It was a
white four-seater because they wanted plenty of room. Harry sat at one end, Ron the other and
Hermione in the middle; she had a large blue cushion that she leant on when they watched
television, and on which she rested whichever book she was currently reading.

Tonight, they watched a movie, `Four Weddings & A Funeral”. Hermione, of course, had seen it
before, although Harry and Ron hadn't.

When it was finished, Ron, despite having laughed at a number of scenes, told Hermione he'd
pick the movie next time, if that was all right. `I'll go make some tea,' he finished.

`Well, I don't suppose I could expect Ron to be enthusiastic about a Muggle movie. What
about you, Harry?' asked Hermione, turning to look at her other friend.

`Well,' Harry began, slowly; he didn't feel over-enthusiastic about the movie and had a
feeling he'd probably enjoy whatever Ron chose a lot more, but as usual, he didn't want to
hurt Hermione's feelings. `It wasn't bad, I suppose. That crazy girl reminds me a bit of
Tonks.'

Hermione smiled. `Harry, diplomatic as ever! Still, as long as it's not a lot of
blood-and-guts, I'll watch whatever Ron picks next time - it's only fair!'

`I must say,' commented Ron as he walked back in bearing a tray with three mugs of tea, `I
didn't think you, Hermione, would watch a movie in which they say “fuck” so much.'

Hermione laughed. `They manage to make it funny in this movie - and I very, very rarely
swear.'

`But you *do* swear?' Ron sounded as surprised as he felt.

`When the occasion calls for it,' said Hermione briskly, taking a mug from the tray Ron was
proffering.

When Ron took the tray to Harry, they exchanged a look, wondering what occasion could possibly
call for Hermione to swear, not sure that it would a good thing to find out.

When they'd finished their tea, Harry sent the mugs off to the kitchen with a wave of his
hand and they all went upstairs together, Hermione going first, then Harry and Ron last. They all
stopped on the first landing and Hermione hugged Ron, wishing him good night.

`This is working out really well, don't you think,' she said, smiling.

`I reckon,' Ron replied, grinning back at her before shaking Harry's hand. `Second night
in our new home.'

`Yep,' said Harry, laughing. Last night they'd done the same thing on going to bed, only
it had been “First night in our new home”, naturally. `And Hermione's right,' continued
Harry, `it's going to be great.'

As Ron's door closed, Harry and Hermione turned to walk up the last flight of stairs. Harry
slung his arm across Hermione's shoulders, pulling her closer.

`This is so much better than living alone,' he told her. `I feel really lucky to have you
and Ron.'

`We're all lucky to have each other, Harry,' Hermione replied warmly, putting her arm
around Harry's waist and squeezing, watching their feet move in unison as they climbed the
stairs.

When they reached Hermione's door, not far from the top of the stairs, Harry turned as they
stopped and wrapped his arms around her. Just as he'd done last night. Hermione sighed happily,
resting her head on Harry's chest as her other arm went around Harry's waist. Just as
she'd done last night.

And then, suddenly, it wasn't like last night at all. It was only a moment but it was filled
with many things. With Harry's realisation that hugging Hermione felt wonderful - that Hermione
felt wonderful! Hermione realised that she'd never been so aware of Harry before - of his
*maleness -* and realised too, that she could hear his heartbeat and that as his arms squeezed
around her more tightly, it seemed to be beating faster… and faster… and then Harry, who suddenly
knew that this was *not* your average goodnight hug, quickly released a rather flustered
Hermione who equally quickly dropped her arms and backed towards her door, her hands reaching
behind her for the door knob.

`Well, night,' she said unevenly. `Sleep tight.' She opened the door and turned quickly
to enter, avoiding Harry's eyes.

`Night, sleep tight,' replied Harry automatically, standing and looking at Hermione's
door after she'd shut, wondering what the hell had just happened.

A little later, as he lay in bed, staring out his window at the stars, his mind replayed the
moments from that weekend that had struck him as a little unusual although he hadn't bothered
working out *why* they were unusual*.* But now, going over all of them at once…starting
with Hermione's hand on his shoulder yesterday morning, through the whole hair-smelling
incident in the kitchen, remembering how she looked at the party last night, to just now, when
he'd hugged Hermione. He realised that somehow Hermione had stopped being just Hermione. Maybe
it was the years between leaving Hogwarts and not seeing her every day and now, moving in together
again… Maybe it was Ron telling him Hermione had a soft spot for him and that she was never angry
with Harry the way she could be with Ron. Maybe it was just how, well, attractive, she was.
*Attractive hell - she was bloody gorgeous and downright sexy!* Harry grinned in the dark.
Then he groaned as he felt the familiar surge and hardening. *Oh my God. How bloody weird is
this?* He half laughed and half moaned. *Bloody hell. I've got the hots for Hermione.
Sweet mother of Merlin. Crap.* He rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. *No! NO! Damn
it to hell - NO! I can't. It's* *ridiculous**. She'll think I'm some kind
of crazy if I come on to her. Coming on to Hermione. Like I can imagine that. Crap.* He could
just see it: *Morning, Hermione. D'you know something weird? I've just realised I fancy
you.* *Should we go out? Then again, we know each so well and we've known each other for
so long - let's just skip the whole getting-to-know-you thing and jump straight into bed. How
about it?* And thinking about being in bed with Hermione prevented him from falling asleep until
well after midnight and only then because he forced himself to think about Hagrid and Flobberworms
and Blast-Ended Skrewts and Snape and so on and so forth…

When Harry woke the next morning he sprang out of bed at the same time as he yelled, `Oh
no!' on seeing the time. It was nine fifteen. He had fifteen minutes to get to work. He barely
made it and the rest of the day, as he taught DADA to trainee Aurors, he found his mind insisted on
wandering off. Mostly in the direction of Hermione. He hadn't seen her that morning as
she'd been gone some time when he woke up. As the end of the day neared, he found himself
becoming increasingly nervous at the prospect of seeing her. Which was ridiculous. But it
wasn't really. After all, last time he'd seen her he hadn't been thinking about things,
imagining things. Things like - well, things that any healthy, normal twenty-two year old male,
whether Muggle or Wizard, thought about when it came to girls. Things he was thinking about when it
came to Hermione. He wondered if he'd be able to meet her eyes. He wondered if she'd notice
anything different about him. He certainly felt different.

When she arrived home shortly after he did that evening, Harry would've been relieved to
learn that Hermione didn't notice anything different about him at all. The reason for her not
noticing, however, would've also interested him greatly…had he known about it.

Hermione was in the throes of denial. Because after Harry hugged her the previous night - and,
let's be honest, she'd hugged him right back - she'd stumbled to bed and refused to
think about how Harry had felt (so nice and hard and *male!*), or how he'd smelt (so
*Harry!*) and especially not about how *she'd* felt, pressed up against Harry, the
feeling of her breasts being pressed against his chest. Nope. Definitely not thinking about any of
that. Not thinking about Harry. No, no, no. Crookshanks had come to the side of her bed and lifted
himself up, his paws on the edge of the bed. He'd miaowed at her and when she opened her eyes
and looked at him she'd frowned.

`Oh, Crookshanks. This is so weird. I am lying here *not* thinking about Harry. I can't
think about Harry. Not like *that.* It's just too weird to think about Harry - well, to
think about, oh, for instance, *kissing* him. Shit. I just thought of kissing Harry.'
Hermione screwed her eyes shut and buried her face in her pillow. *I'm going crazy! Why in
the name of Merlin am I thinking about kissing Harry? Argh! It's almost perverted! He's my
friend - he's like my brother.* Except there was no way you hugged your brother like that,
pressing against him, wanting to kiss him and run your fingers through his hair and - stop! NOT
thinking about Harry, remember? Not thinking about Harry, not thinking about Harry. And it was
close to midnight before she fell asleep. *Not* thinking about Harry…

Crookshanks gave a disgusted little miaow and went back to his basket.

When Hermione had arrived home, it was to find Ron and Harry sitting at the kitchen table having
a cup of tea, Ron jumping to his feet to make her one when she walked into the room.

`I'll get you a cuppa!' he called, grinning.

`Thanks, Ron,' she said gratefully, smiling back. She moved towards the table, smiling at
Harry, hoping that he couldn't see past her usual hello smile. He didn't. He was too busy
trying not to stare at her. She was wearing white pants with a pale blue, tailored shirt. Her hair
was up as it always was when she went to work.

`How was work?' he asked as she took a seat, picking up the letters on the table and sifting
through them.

`Busy,' she said, giving him a quick smile. `You?'

`Fresh batch,' he said, referring to the new trainees that had begun that day.

Hermione chuckled. `Which means they're so busy gawping at *the* Harry Potter they
don't learn a thing for the first couple of weeks.'

Harry rolled his eyes as he nodded, a lopsided grin in place.

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. That grin had stopped her anger dead in its tracks on more
occasions than she could ever recall. Now it fuelled her desire.

*Bloody hell - I'm thinking about him like* that *again!* Hermione dropped her
eyes again, ostensibly looking at the post once more.

`Here you go,' said Ron, placing a cup of tea in front of her.

`Thanks, Ron,' she said, opening a letter from her mum first, recognising her writing.

Ron looked at Harry and noticed he was staring at Hermione while she read her letter.

*Hello, hello, what've we got here?* he thought with amusement. *Harry looks a little
smitten if I'm not mistaken.* *Feels a b**it weird**, though**.* His
eyes shifted to Hermione. *Wonder if she's noticed?*

Harry's gaze shifted back to the Daily Prophet in front of him the second Hermione looked
up.

`Oh, lovely! Mum and Dad want us all to come over next weekend for a pool party, would you
believe? They've had a swimming pool put in - mainly for Dad for exercise, ever since he had
that scare with his heart. Mum says we should go Saturday, we'll have a barbeque Saturday night
and we can come home Sunday afternoon. She hasn't seen either of you for ages. That all right
with the two of you?'

Ron shrugged. `Fine with me, Hermione - do you think she'd mind if I brought Luna
along?'

`Shouldn't think so,' replied Hermione. I'll owl her and let her know.'

Hermione turned and looked questioningly at Harry.

`Fine with me, too,' he said, smiling.

`You want to bring someone, too?' Hermione wanted to bite her tongue off as soon as she
finished speaking. *Bloody hell, what made me say that?! Stupid witch!*

Harry's eyebrows went up.

`Um, well, no thanks. Got no one *to* ask, actually. At the moment.'

Hermione gave him a quick smile and returned to reading her mum's letter. Which took a while
due to the enormous relief that had flooded through her when Harry said he didn't want to ask
anyone else; it seemed to affect her vision as her eyes became stuck on the same line. All of which
was cause for concern. Because she wasn't thinking about Harry like that. No, no, no. She
really wasn't. At all. Really.

TO BE CONTINUED.

-->



3. URST - Chapter Three
-----------------------



Author's Note

OMG! I usually like to reply to each of you who review but I'm afraid there's too many
and I sadly don't have enough time! So please - consider this your own thank you - I always
read my reviews (sometimes twice! *Janie grins*) and I want you to know I appreciate you taking the
time to write them.

Now - onto Chapter Three! (Half way to RST folks!)

URST

By JanieB

Chapter Three

The following Saturday was a clear, hot day. Perfect for a pool party. Luna had been unable to
come as her father needed her help with his investigation into Twirly Twizzers. (`Don't
ask!' begged Ron of his friends.)

*Perfect for torture,* thought Harry as he did yet another lap of the Granger's new
pool. Why hadn't he realised earlier that a pool party meant wearing swimmers. Trunks for boys.
Bikinis for girls. And Hermione was a girl. In a bikini. Delightful sort of torture, perhaps, but
torture nonetheless…

As he reached the end of the pool he stopped swimming and stood, leaning back against the side
of the pool, both his elbows propped on the coping behind him; he appeared to be resting. He was
actually taking the opportunity to study Hermione from a distance.

She and Ron were both sitting on the edge of the pool at the opposite end to Harry, their legs
dangling in the water. Hermione's parents were inside preparing for the barbeque. Harry could
see the two blurred forms at the other end of the pool well enough to know they were chatting as
they sat there.

*Blurred is good,* he told himself. Far less disturbing than the sharp, clear image of
Hermione-in-a-bikini that from this day forward was permanently etched into his memory. Which, now
that he was dwelling on it, returned to make its umpteenth appearance in his mind's eye very
much to the detriment of his composure.

*Bloody hell, not again!* Harry dropped his head forward, closing his eyes, desperately
pushing the tantalising picture aside before - *too late.*

*Just great. Now I'll need to do more laps before I can get out this bloody pool without
embarrassing myself. Bloody great.* *Bloody bikini. Bloody hell.*

`Didn't know Harry was so into swimming,' commented Ron at the other end.

`Nor I,' said Hermione. `Actually, I think he's avoiding us.'

`What makes you say that?'

Hermione shrugged. `He just seems to be keeping to himself today. Didn't want to play Marco
Polo. He hasn't said anything to you?'

Ron shook his head. `Nope. He seemed fine this morning.'

`I'm sure there's something bothering him. I wonder what it is?' Hermione mused.

Harry *could* tell her, but of course he wouldn't.

They'd Apparated to the Granger's back garden just after three that afternoon.

After greeting her parents, Hermione had run up to her old room to get changed. Harry and Ron
spent a few minutes talking to the Grangers before heading upstairs themselves to get changed in
the spare room. As they emerged, towels slung over their shoulders, Hermione came out of her room
wearing a very pretty, sheer white, sleeveless shirt over her white bikini, her hair in a thick
braid down her back. She was carrying a rolled up beach towel and a tube of sun screen; she smiled
happily at the two of them before preceding them down the stairs. Harry was mesmerised. He had been
the second she'd emerged from her room. He couldn't take his eyes off her slender form or
her very cute bum as he and Ron followed her down the stairs and out through the kitchen to the
back garden. Mr and Mrs Granger were lying on their new sun lounges, both wearing hats.
Hermione's mum, Harry noticed, was wearing a one-piece costume but still had a slim,
attractive, figure. Her dad, since it was discovered six months earlier that he wasn't as
“heart healthy” as he should be, had worked hard and his new eating habits and exercise regime had
rewarded him with a much slimmer figure.

There were two other sun lounges and Hermione dropped her towel on one, Ron and Harry placing
theirs on the other. Ron had already walked to the edge of the pool and dove in as Harry reached up
to remove his glasses. He froze in mid-action. Hermione had slipped off the sheer over-shirt and
was draping it over the back of the sun lounge. Harry had never seen Hermione in a bikini before or
in anything even remotely as brief as this. To his eyes, it seemed to consist of nothing more than
triangles and strings. And despite the fact that it seemed to reveal more than it hid, it was
driving him crazy *knowing* what it hid, even without seeing it. Poor Harry. Then his mind was
taken off hidden things as he watched Hermione squeeze some sun cream from its tube and began
smearing it liberally down her arms and over her shoulders.

`You want some?' asked Hermione, looking up at Harry.

`Some?' repeated Harry stupidly.

`Sun cream. Ron should have some on, too, with his skin.' Harry left his glasses on and
dropped to sit on the sun lounge.

`Sure. I don't want to get sun burnt.' *And I do want to keep watching you.*

Now she was spreading the ubiquitous cream across her chest and down over the exposed parts of
her breasts. Harry felt distinctly faint. *I'm staring at Hermione's breasts.* *And
I'm getting an erection and I won't be able to stand up. Crap.*

Hermione smoothed the cream down her stomach and then bent over to put more on her legs.

Harry wanted to groan - really badly and very loudly. But he couldn't. He could only sit and
stare. It was lucky Hermione's parents were busy watching Ron and that Hermione herself was
preoccupied with covering herself in sun cream. Then she was sitting beside him, turned a little so
that her back was partially towards him; she was holding her hand over her shoulder with the tube
of sun cream in it.

`Do my back?'

`Sure,' he said automatically, although since all the blood in his body was now concentrated
in one extremely *hard* place, he didn't know how his brain was working well enough for
him to actually speak. He took the tube, noticing it was slippery with cream from Hermione's
hands.

*I have never been so bloody hard in my life. It hurts. How in the name of Merlin am I going
to get out of this?*

He squeezed some cream onto his hand and began to rub it into Hermione's shoulders,
spreading it down her back…along the curve that was her waist and over the flare of her hips. It
was pain and pleasure at the same time.

`Right to the edge of my swimmers, Harry,' said Hermione sounding a little impatient,
`otherwise I'll get burnt and your lower back is very vulnerable.'

She wasn't a gorgeous witch. She was a cruel, cruel torturer. Definitely. He was in enormous
pain and she was the cause. Aside from the *sight* of Hermione, he now had to deal with the
*feel* of Hermione. It got worse. Because when he finished, his hand tingling from the last
few passes with the cream right to the top edge of her swimmers, as requested, his hand unavoidably
grazing her bum, she promptly took the tube of cream back and told him to turn around. Which he did
quick smart before she could see the highly visible effect she was having on him. So, the
*sight* of Hermione, the *feel* of Hermione and now the *touch* of Hermione. Perfect
fodder for huge erections, endless daydreams - and utter frustration. When she'd finished,
she'd given him back the cream, `You do the rest, I'll see you in the water,' and Harry
had sat there, taking as long as he could to put the wretched stuff on, deliberately *not*
looking at Hermione as he searched desperately for images that would render him able to stand
without embarrassing himself and everyone else.

As Hermione dove into the water she was grateful for its coolness. She'd decided during the
previous week that all the thoughts of Harry that had been plaguing her were just so much stuff and
nonsense. And today she had a chance to prove it. Having Harry put sun cream on her was a perfect
opportunity to prove it wouldn't bother her, just as she'd be able to put some on him
without it bothering her. Which it didn't. Not really. Well, not much. Well, except - when the
hell had Harry developed muscles and things? Why had it feel so good to be rubbing her hand over
his back? Why did she wish she could put cream on all over him? As she'd been doing it,
she'd looked at his hair and had a sudden urge to run her fingers through it, wanting him to
turn around - wanting him to kiss her - wanting him…

*Shit!* she thought as she broke the surface and began swimming to the other end. The
bloody sun cream experiment hadn't helped at all. The Harry thoughts were *not* going
away. In fact, they seemed to be multiplying. Wretched little buggers. But still she stubbornly
held on to the belief that this was just some passing aberration - that somehow these rebel
thoughts and feelings would somehow magically disappear. It was just a phase. When she reached the
other end, she stood, looking back. Harry was still putting sun cream on, painstakingly slowly.

`Wanna race?' said Ron as he emerged from the water beside her.

`What sort?' she asked with a grin.

`Breast stroke.' To his credit, Ron kept a perfectly deadpan expression on his face.

Hermione gasped, then burst out laughing, giving him a gentle shove in reproof.

`Nice pair, Hermione,' he grinned cheekily before ducking under the water and swimming
away.

Now *that's* how it should be with Harry, too - natural and easygoing fun. Only for
some reason it wasn't.

Harry finally managed to get from the sun lounge to the swimming pool, Hermione's parents
departing shortly afterwards to begin preparations for their barbeque.

Ron had tried to get a game of Marco Polo going, but Harry was reluctant. The prospect of having
to touch Hermione or have her touch him was more than he could handle at the moment.

So now here he was, *not* getting sunburnt thanks to Hermione's sun cream, standing at
the one end of the pool while his two best friends sat and chatted at the other.

He dropped his head, staring down through the water at the dual image of his feet and the
reflection of the sky above. Then Hermione swam into view, her arms stretched out in front of her
as she curved up through the water and emerged directly in front of Harry, water cascading from
her. She'd told Ron she was going to find out what was bothering Harry. Harry flattened himself
against the side of the pool as much as was humanly possible although while Hermione was wiping
water from her face and hair, he couldn't help himself - he was staring at her breasts again.
Wet and glistening with water and sun cream and - *sweet mother of Merlin!* He could see her
nipples pushing through the thin, white material of her top. With a superhuman effort, he dragged
his eyes upwards to see Hermione looking highly amused, one eyebrow arched, a half smile on her
face.

`Nice pair,' she said saucily.

Harry shook his head and stared at her, his mouth dropping open. Had he heard right?

Hermione laughed. `That's what Ron said.'

Well, if Ron had commented on their mutual friend's obvious charms and she was laughing…

Harry grinned at her. `He's dead right. Nicest ever.' *Merlin's beard! I can't
believe I just said that!*

Still laughing, Hermione reached for his arm and pulled. `Come on, Ron's gone to get a beach
ball he brought with him. We'll have a game of volley ball before we eat.'

When he returned, Ron used his wand to create a net across the centre of the pool then jumped in
with the small beach ball he'd brought with him. They decided Harry was probably going to be
the best player with his Seeker reflexes, so Hermione and Ron teamed up against him. Harry
didn't mind as this afforded him the best seat in the house when it came to Hermione-watching.
This was much safer than Marco Polo.

Mr Granger was rightly proud of his cooking prowess on the barbeque and the three friends
declared themselves afraid to return to the water for fear of sinking under the weight of all the
food they'd eaten.

Hermione stretched out on the sun lounge, complaining happily at the full state of her stomach.
Ron decided to risk another swim (`Just take it easy, though, Ron,' Mrs Granger warned him),
while Harry joined Hermione, lying on the sun lounge beside hers.

`Nice way to spend a weekend,' she murmured, smiling across at Harry.

`Agreed,' he answered, deciding to turn on his stomach just in case.

It was just as well, because he inevitably ended up looking over Hermione. She had her eyes
closed and he wondered if she was napping. He risked a quick look down the length of her body and
when he saw her eyes were still closed he took his time, lingering on the swell of her breasts as
they slowly rose and fell in time with her breathing, over her taut, flat stomach and along the
lean length of her legs and then all the way back up again - to find two, unreadable brown eyes
staring across at him. His eyes widened in shock and they simply stared at each other for what
seemed like an eternity but was in fact only seconds. Then Harry muttered, `Sorry,' before
burying his face in his arms which were crossed under his head.

`I'll go and give mum and dad a hand to clean up,' said Hermione in a voice that
attempted to sound light and normal but was in reality a little too high pitched and
breathless.

Harry waited until he heard the screen door close before risking a look around. Ron was walking
towards him and sat down, dripping wet, right where Hermione had just been lying.

`What the hell's going on with you two?' he asked, taking his towel from the back of
Harry's sun lounge and towelling his hair and face.

Harry looked up at him.

`What're you talking about?' he asked, doing his damnedest to sound puzzled.

Ron froze for a second and stared at him. `You know exactly what I mean, mate.'

As Ron resumed rubbing himself dry Harry pulled himself up to a sitting position.

`Nope. There's nothing going on,' he replied determinedly.

`Yeah, right, but if that's how you want it,' Ron grinned at him, `I think I'll make
me a little bet on how long before you and Hermione -'

`Not another word,' said Harry darkly.

Ron laughed outright. `So be it! For now. Come on, let's go see what they're up to
inside,' wondering what his chances of getting some pudding would be.

The next morning, as if by magic, Harry and Hermione were able to put the previous day behind
them and they had a wonderful day. It was even hotter than the day before and the five of them had
numerous games of volley ball with varying combinations of teams since there were an odd number of
participants.

When they arrived back home that evening, tired and full but happy and relaxed, it was as though
the tension between Harry and Hermione had evaporated.

But not for long, because of course, they were fooling themselves, something they'd both
become very good at…

TO BE CONTINUED.

More tomorrow…

-->



4. URST - Chapter Four
----------------------



Author's Note

Thank you EVERYONE for your fabulous reviews - I'm lovin' it! But enough of that *grins*
- here's a little more URST to brighten your day!

URST

By JanieB

Chapter Four

Due to Hermione's ability to completely ignore all thoughts and feelings *not*
connected with friendship in respect of Harry, she and Harry actually managed a week of easy-going
camaraderie.

The trio's decision to live together continued to appear to be an excellent one - as long as
Ron didn't share in the cooking, they'd discovered. Harry and Hermione shared that duty
while Ron was on clean-up duty every night, Harry and Hermione taking turns to assist him.

`I don't mind,' Ron told them magnanimously, `I'm much better at eating and cleaning
up than cooking.'

Ron did wonder at his two friends' apparent reversion to their old friendship but decided it
wasn't worth worrying about - he'd much rather think about Luna, anyway.

The Saturday following the pool party, Luna invited the three of them to her flat for dinner,
along with her father and a few other friends. It had been an interesting evening, although
Hermione found herself drinking rather more than she normally did which naturally had nothing to do
with the fact that she was seated next to Harry at the table. It certainly wasn't because
Harry, in his black jeans and charcoal grey shirt, looked dropdead sexy (that being a totally
objective observation, of course). Also, the fact that he was very attentive all evening definitely
wasn't the reason that a flock of butterflies had Apparated into her stomach, Hermione
resolutely ignoring the fact that she couldn't give any other reason for the wretched things
taking up residence. She did find it a tad annoying that a lot of glasses of wine seemed to have no
effect their ability to fly, either.

Harry offered to take her home shortly after they'd had some coffee (which hadn't helped
- she still felt a little giddy) and Hermione happily accepted. After saying good bye to everyone,
they Apparated back to their own living room.

Hermione knew she was still a little tipsy. Harry knew it too and for some inexplicable reason,
the tension between them made a sudden, unbidden return as they stood, smiling awkwardly at each
other.

`Well, I'm off to bed.' Harry walked to the door, intending to go straight up to bed. He
turned at the doorway to say goodnight to Hermione and found her looking at him from across the
room, a strange expression on her face. Harry suddenly felt as though he couldn't breathe
properly and took a step backwards, overcome with nervousness. Hermione suddenly seemed…dangerous.
Tantalisingly so.

`Harry…' He felt his stomach clench at the sound of his name spoken in a soft, breathless
voice that was very un-Hermione-like. And then she was walking towards him - slowly and carefully
to avoid tripping or stumbling he supposed, although she certainly didn't seem unsteady. He
seemed to lose control of his eyes at this point - they insisted on travelling down over
Hermione's slender curves, watching her hips sway slightly as she continued to get closer. When
his mesmerised gaze decided to make the return journey to her face he found it lingering over the
tantalising swell of her breasts beneath the soft, black, silky material of her dress. When he was
looking once more at her face he realised she was much closer, that if he reached out, he could
touch her. *And he so badly wanted to touch her…*

Two more steps and she was standing right in front of him, lifting her hands and placing them on
his firm, flat stomach, her eyes holding his as she slid them slowly upwards, over his chest, until
they rested on his shoulders. His senses were being assaulted from so many directions that Harry
felt light headed. Hermione's hands seemed to have left a trail of fire in their wake - he
could smell her perfume, a soft, sexy scent - her hair was shining and her eyes - they were
luminous and Harry was certain that he could see desire in their depths. He could feel the warmth
being radiated by her body it was so close to his.

He stood there, gazing down at her, tentatively putting his hands on her waist. Hermione lowered
her eyes and he knew she was looking at his mouth. He could see her lips were slightly parted and
he knew exactly what was going to happen - he was going to kiss her. Or she was going to kiss him.
It didn't really matter. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear nothing else and as he
pulled her closer he felt her arms wind around his neck and she was looking at him again, her eyes
swimming with anticipation. As he slowly dropped his head he saw Hermione's eyes close and just
as he closed his own, their lips so close he was sure he could taste her, they were startled by a
very loud, strange noise. They both raised their heads in fright, looking at each other first
before breaking apart and looking around.

Ron was standing in the living room.

Hermione groaned softly, Harry not so softly. *Holy crap, Weasley! First prize for the worst
timing in bloody history!* thought Harry as he had a fleeting vision of himself hexing Ron.

Ron was mortified. Luna stepped out from behind Ron, looking at them questioningly. `What's
wrong? Why did you yell, Ronald? Is everyone all right?'

`*Not* all right!' whispered Hermione fiercely, glaring at Ron over her shoulder.
`I'm going to bed, goodnight everyone,' she announced and headed for the stairs.

`Ronald, what's going on?' asked Luna.

`Sorry, mate,' said Ron to Harry.

`Don't be, s'probably for the best,' said Harry, although they both knew he
didn't mean it.

Harry heard Hermione's door close said goodnight himself as he turned to the stairs.

Hermione lay on top of her bed, fully clothed, one arm across her eyes. She heard Harry's
foot steps on the stairs, then passing her door before being silenced as he closed his bedroom
door.

She didn't know whether to scream or cry. Probably both were in order. She couldn't
believe she'd just done what she'd done. She'd practically *jumped* him! It was
that bloody wine. Had to be. She was still trying to cling desperately to the last shreds of her
illusion that Harry was still just her friend. A friend who was very much a man. A man she wanted
to - *no!* No! Damn it! It just wasn't right!

She felt Crookshanks jump onto the bed near her feet and curl up, purring.

`Crookshanks,' she whispered, `what's wrong with me?'

She felt him push his head against her feet in sympathy.

She sighed. *Harry. That's what's wrong with me.* She'd managed to explain away
the few odd moments with Harry during the weekend they'd all moved in. But ever since last
weekend at her mum and dad's, when she'd opened her eyes to see Harry *looking* at her
as they lay on the sun lounges, she'd been unable to “explain it away”. So instead she'd
ferociously ignored every thought and feeling concerning Harry. Refused to think about it. And so
far it had worked. Things had been “normal” again this week. Until tonight. She groaned softly in
the dark. She had to finally admit defeat. *Just say i**t!* she said to herself
scornfully. *You fancy your friend. A lot.* *A really big lot. Shit.*

She was surprised to feel a sense of relief.

`Just bloody wonderful, Crookshanks,' she whispered. `Bloody brilliant.' She thought of
Harry in the next room. In bed. Then decided that was *not* a good thing to think about. Not
if she wanted to sleep.

But she couldn't stop the replay of what had happened downstairs as it unrolled over and
over again in her head.

Harry walking away from her, turning to say goodnight - that's when it hit her again just
how good looking and sexy he was, how much she *wanted* him. And she'd just reacted
without thinking. She groaned softly in the dark. *I can't believe I did that whole seductive
walking and stroking thing!* *Gods, I was so close to kissing him - bloody Ron! Blast him to
hell and back!* Then she groaned once more. *What must* *Harry think of me after that
little performance**? How can I face him tomorrow? What will* *h**e say?* *What
will I say?*

As it turned out, nothing.

When she woke, still dressed and on top of the bed, Hermione berated herself as she headed for
the bathroom. She knocked tentatively and receiving no reply, opened the door a little and peered
in. Empty. Relieved, Hermione did what she should have done last night - brushed her teeth and
washed her face, changing into track pants and a t-shirt before walking slowly down the stairs,
feeling her stomach churning with nerves. She could hear the wireless and realised it was probably
Ron listening to the Wizarding Wireless as he always did on Sunday mornings.

She walked into the kitchen, calling a falsely cheery good morning to Ron who was sitting at the
table with the Sunday Prophet and mug of tea, his now empty breakfast plate pushed aside.

`Morning, Hermione. Sleep well?'

`Where's Harry?' she asked, without hearing Ron's greeting, noticing immediately
Harry wasn't there.

*Not so well, I**'d wager,* thought Ron. `Harry? He's gone out for a
walk.'

Hermione poured herself a mug of tea and joined Ron at the table.

`Listen, Hermione, I'm really sorry about last -' Ron began.

Hermione put her mug down. `Don't be,' she said softly. `I don't know what the hell
I was thinking. It was too much wine.'

Ron sighed. `Hermione, if you and Harry feel like that about -'

`We *don't*!' Hermione broke in fiercely. Maybe if she said it often enough
it'd be true. In the cold light of day, she found herself once again doubting everything.

Ron sighed again, rolling his eyes. `Fine. People always go around kissing and ogling each other
when they're not in the least bit interested in each other. All sorts of silly buggers are at
it.'

`Sarcasm is unbecoming, Ronald.'

`So's denial.'

`And we didn't kiss.'

`More's the pity. I could kick myself from here to Hogwarts and back.'

Hermione's eyes suddenly glistened with tears.

`Ron,' she whispered, `I don't understand. I don't know how or why. But it can't
be right!'

Ron reached out with his hand and took Hermione's.

`Stranger things have happened, Hermione. Why don't you just talk to Harry?'

Sniffling, Hermione managed a sad little giggle. `And say what, exactly? Harry, I've
suddenly developed a real fancy for you?'

`What's wrong with that?'

Hermione pulled her hand out from under Ron's and wiped the tears from her cheeks with her
palms.

`Everything, Ron.'

`I'm sorry, Hermione. I guess I'm just rubbish at all this sort of stuff. Lucky that
Luna just asked me out.'

Hermione looked up at him in surprise. “Did she really?'

Ron smiled as he nodded.

Hermione laughed this time before saying, `But it's different with Harry and me. I mean
we've been friends for so long it just feels really peculiar to feel like this! I just
don't know if I could - well, I just don't know…' she trailed off, her cheeks flushing
with embarrassment.

`You don't know if you could actually shag him, you mean?'

Hermione dropped her head to the table top and groaned.

`Hermione?'

She raised her head and looked at Ron. `Actually, if you hadn't come home when you did last
night, I'm sure that's precisely what I would've done!'

`Well, then, get a little pissed and jump him!'

Hermione gasped as she jumped to her feet. `Ronald! This is NOT a joking matter!'

`Who's joking?' replied a bewildered Ron. He'd rather thought it was a good
suggestion.

`Joking about what?' came Harry's voice from the doorway.

Hermione jumped back as Ron jumped to his feet, both of them looking guilty.

Hermione didn't know where to look and mumbled something to Harry about speaking to Ron and
that she was going for a walk. Then she bolted, making a beeline for the front door, charging down
the front steps and across the road where she headed for her favourite bench in the park. She sat
down, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap as she tried to calm herself.

*Shit, shit, shit! Stupid, ridiculous witch! How much of an idiot can I be? I should've
just sat down calmly and thought of some funny retort and continued on as though I hadn't been
trying to seduce him last night and that he didn't look* *utterly adorable* *just
now* *in his oldest jeans and a white t-shirt and -* *oh, do* *shut up Hermione!*
She dropped her head into her hands and thought she might cry again. Or die from embarrassment and
idiocy.

`You all right, miss?'

Hermione looked up to see an elderly gentlemen looking at her with great concern.

She gave him a weak smile and nodded. `Yes, thank you, I am. I'm just a little
confused.'

`Well, that happens to the best of us, at times, doesn't it? Take care.' He tipped his
hat and smiled at her before walking on.

Hermione sat back and took a few deep breaths. She certainly couldn't stay here all day.
She'd just have to put on a brave face and act as though nothing had really happened. That way,
she may retain a few shreds of dignity.

She stood up and squared her shoulders, realising that her stomach was once again doing that
awful churning thing but she ignored it and headed back for the house. *Get it over and done
with,* she told herself.

As Hermione sped out the front door, Harry gazed after her and wondered if he should follow
her.

`Wouldn't go near her just yet, mate,' said Ron quietly.

Turning back to Ron who'd once again taken his seat at the table, Harry joined him, dropping
a bag of croissants he'd bought to show some purpose for his walk.

Placing his arms on the table, Harry groaned.

`Ron? What am I going to do? I feel as though she's dead against having anything to do with
me except as a friend - and yet I'm sure there's something more there. Well, not really
sure. Hoping. But it's as though she doesn't want it - she's fighting it.'

Ron closed his eyes and rubbed them. *Great. First Hermione, now Harry.*

He looked at his friend. `Harry, mate, I don't know if I can help you. Hermione will kill me
if I repeat anything she's said.'

`She's said something? To you? What? And *I'll* kill you if you *don't*
tell me!'

`Listen, I just told her she should talk to you. She's confused. I'm a bit freaked out I
have to say. It's a bloody weird situation after all these years.'

`You and she weren't weird back in school.'

Ron grinned at him. `Yeah, we were. That died a natural death pretty damn quickly.'

`Like me and Ginny.'

They grinned at each other before Harry reminded him of his imminent death if he didn't spit
it out.

`Not fair,' said Ron firmly. `Want me to tell Hermione what you've said?'

Harry looked as though he was contemplating a really horrible hex when Ron spoke again.

`See? I can't tell you if I can't tell her.' *Bloody revolting spot to be caught
in!*

`Right. I suppose. Fine,' said Harry. `I'll just pretend nothing's bloody happened
until -'

`Until you both explode under the pressure. I just don't wanna be around when that
happens,' said Ron with a realistic shudder.

`Won't happen that way,' said Harry firmly. `So, like a game of chess, then?'

`Sure! I love to win,' grinned Ron.

When Hermione returned, it was to find Harry and Ron engrossed in a game of wizard's chess
at the kitchen table.

`Back!' she said brightly, and unnecessarily. `Cup of tea boys?'

`Yeah, thanks,' said Ron and Harry in unison, without looking up. As Hermione moved around
the kitchen making tea, Harry cast a few surreptitious glances at her. And while Ron's rook
viciously attached one of his knights, he made a decision. Somehow, somewhere, some way, he was
going to talk to Hermione and find out exactly what was going on in that clever, pretty head of
hers. And bloody soon, too. *Besides,* he thought with a grin as he risked another look at
her, *she owes me one helluva kiss.*

TO BE CONTINUED.

-->



5. URST - Chapter Five
----------------------



Author's Note

Nearly there, just one last torture - I mean chapter! LOL!

And thanks a million to each and every one of you who took the time to review - you are all
LEGENDS! Janie xoxoxo

URST

By JanieB

Chapter Five

Hermione slept in the following morning and it was, she decided, Harry's fault because
she'd lain awake so long the night before. Thinking about Harry. She'd given up trying
*not* to think about Harry because it had become quite impossible. Thoughts of him seemed to
fill her every waking moment. And stopped her from sleeping, which created even more waking
moments. Filled with thoughts of Harry.

As she made her way to the bathroom door, she could make out the sound of the tap over the basin
running. Taking a deep breath, she swallowed and knocked. The tap went off.

`Harry?' she called tentatively through the door.

There was a slight pause before Harry answered. `Just finished, come in.'

She hesitated a second, her hand resting on the doorknob. He hadn't had time to leave, had
he? Should she wait? But Harry had said he was finished and to go in - he wouldn't say that if
it *wasn't* all right. Would he? Besides, she so desperately hated being late for work she
decided she was being silly, opened the door and walked in.

The first thing she saw was damp skin, still glistening with drops of water from the shower -
Harry's back. Harry's very smooth, well muscled back. He had a dark green towel wrapped
around his waist and was wiping his face with a hand towel having just finished shaving. Their eyes
met in the mirror and on seeing the confused expression on Hermione's face, Harry dropped his
hands a little and said, `What?' oh-so-innocently. Harry, you devil…

`You're - I didn't - you said - finished - still wet - but - just a towel -' at this
point Hermione stamped her foot and muttered something distinctly unladylike under her breath as
she glared at Harry.

Harry kindly ignored her obvious confusion. `I have finished. All yours.' Hanging the hand
towel up, he picked up his glasses and put them on then grinned at her as he walked past her and
left the room, Hermione's eyes glued to his retreating figure.

*Harry, half-naked.* *Freshly shaven.* *With wet hair.* *Just perfect*.
*And probably nothing on under that towel. Shit.* Hermione glared at the door as it closed
behind Harry. She was certain he'd done that deliberately. She gritted her teeth in frustration
as she headed for the shower.

A few minutes later as she stood in the shower with the water cascading over her, Hermione went
over the whole incident and came to the conclusion that he *had* done it on purpose. She
didn't know why, but she was sure he had. This called for serious action on the bathroom front,
so once she was finished, she charmed her en-suite door; it would turn navy blue when Harry was in
there and white when he wasn't. That way, she didn't risk running into half-naked Harry
again. While forced to acknowlede that running into a half-naked Harry was actually a rather
pleasant occurrence - very bloody pleasant, if she was to be honest - it was still dangerously
unsettling. And she certainly didn't need more unsettling. Especially not of the dangerous
sort.

From that morning onwards, they were exceedingly polite to each other for the rest of the week,
causing Ron to roll his eyes more often during those five days than he'd done in the last five
months.

*Bloody gits!* he thought as he watched them dance around each other, frantically
pretending they didn't fancy the hell out of each other. You could cut the air with a knife
when they were in the same room - even *he* could sense that! And more than once he cursed at
himself for arriving home at precisely the wrong moment the previous weekend.

By Friday, he was considering spiking their drinks and letting them get on with it, but decided
the hexing that would follow when he was discovered really wasn't worth it. Let the gits sort
it out themselves.

Harry couldn't seem to find the right moment for the talk with Hermione that he'd
promised himself - at least not yet. He wondered if he'd gone too far on Monday morning with
the “bathroom incident” which had actually come about purely by accident. He had in fact finished
shaving when Hermione had knocked on the door and so he thought nothing of telling her to come in.
As soon as he'd seen the expression on her face, though, he felt a surge of triumph; she'd
definitely been a little perturbed at seeing him like that. *A little taste of your own medicine,
my love,* he'd thought with satisfaction.

Then on Saturday evening, when Hermione was going out with “the girls”, she came downstairs in
her new dress which, she complained, she couldn't do up herself and would Harry please give her
a hand. Ron and Harry were sitting in the living room watching telly and Ron shook his head in
utter disgust, unseen by his two friends who were too wrapped up in each other. `Wand broken, is
it?' he muttered under his breath, casting a sour glance at Hermione, but not daring to say it
loud enough to be heard.

Harry, ever the gentleman, stood up as Hermione turned her back to him and scooped her hair up
with her hands, presenting the undone zipper to Harry. His hands were a little unsteady as he
grasped the zipper and pulled, watching as Hermione's gleaming skin disappeared inch by inch.
It was when it was pulled right up that Harry realised there was something he hadn't seen. A
bra strap. Hermione wasn't wearing a bra. She turned around to smile her thanks, looking for
all the world as innocent as a child. He couldn't help it - his eyes went to the deep vee of
her halter neck dress, then he quickly looked up her.

And that's when he said something really stupid while grinning cheekily down at
Hermione.

`Nice pair.'

Hermione fixed him with a cool look of disgust. Then without saying anything, she turned on her
heel and walked to the hall table where she picked up her evening bag and wand and with a terse,
`Goodnight,' promptly Disapparated.

Ron pressed the “mute” button on the remote control and groaned.

`Harry, Harry, Harry!' Ron melodramatically clapped his hand to his forehead. `What the hell
were you thinking, mate? Sweet Merlin!'

Harry dropped back on to the lounge.

`It just slipped out!' he moaned.

`That's gonna take a bit of getting out of, that is. You're a right git, mate. And
she's gonna make you pay for that little slip up.'

Oh, yes indeedy.

And pay he did. Sunday morning dawned hot and sultry. Hermione was as sweet as honey and
insisted on preparing breakfast for the three of them. They were too scared to disagree.
Afterwards, she told them she'd brook no arguments, they were all going to her parents' for
a swim to escape this horrid heat. And they were still too scared to disagree.

`I'll go get my things, you two get yours and we'll leave. I owled Mum yesterday just in
case and she said it was fine, although she and Dad are away this weekend. I have my spare key. Oh,
and Luna said she'd come, too. I asked her last night.'

As Hermione ran lightly up the stairs to her room, Harry and Ron looked at each other
stunned.

`Payback,' said Ron ominously. *You poor sod, Harry.*

Harry felt that since he had in fact stepped out of line a little when doing up Hermione's
zipper, he deserved to be punished. So he did take it like a man. Mostly. However, the torture
reached the point at which he thought he'd served his sentence and enough was enough.
Unfortunately, Hermione appeared to be totally unaware of this limit and Harry became increasingly
morose.

She'd paraded around in that bloody white bikini (w*hite bit of nothing!* Harry thought
viciously, unable to keep his eyes off her) all day and after lunch, when Luna suggested they play
a game in the pool, Hermione clapped her hands in delight. Harry had no doubt whatsoever it was all
prearranged.

`Great idea, Luna! Let's!' cried Hermione. `Harry and I against you and Ron. Us girls on
their shoulders - first one to fall off loses!'

Harry was transfixed. Hermione was going to be sitting on his shoulders. Hermione in that white
bit of nothing. Squirming. Her legs wrapped around him. Legs he'd have to hold. He thought he
just might drown himself. Or Hermione. Or both of them. Death seemed eminently preferable to the
torture facing him.

Of course, he didn't drown, but he certainly gathered enough data for a lifetime's worth
of daydreams about one Miss Hermione Granger. Ron felt sorry for his friend but was as helpless as
he was. Besides, he completely enjoyed having Luna riding his shoulders and squirming.

When they arrived home again late that afternoon (Luna having Disapparated straight to her own
place as she had an early start the next morning), they decided to have a light snack for tea which
Harry said he'd prepare. Anything to keep himself busy and not too close to
She-Who-Could-Torture-You-Blind. Ron and Hermione were sitting up at the kitchen bench, chatting
amiably while Harry worked, chopping onions and celery. Hermione glanced every so often at Harry, a
speculative gleam in her eye. It hadn't escaped her that he'd been very quiet all
afternoon.

Ron tried to ignore it, but eventually, while Harry had his head in the fridge looking for the
eggs, he leant over and whispered, `Will you stop it?! Haven't you tortured the poor man enough
today?!'

Hermione looked at Ron, genuinely surprised.

`Tortured?' she whispered back, frowning. Hadn't she just *tweaked* his ear,
metaphorically speaking? Or so she thought.

`I'll just run out and cut some fresh chives,' said Harry, closing the fridge and taking
the scissors from the drawer.

Hermione and Ron both smiled at him and the second the back door closed, they were whispering
fiercely at each other once more.

`Yes*, tortured*! Hermione, have a heart! Do you know what it does to a bloke when a girl
prances around in a bikini, especially a girl that looks as good as you? On top of which, he
fancies you and that makes it much harder than when it's just any good looking girl. You're
tormenting him. And teasing him.'

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. Like most girls, she truly didn't realise the
impact she had on the opposite sex, wizard or not, young or old. `I never thought of it like
that,' she said softly. `Oh, Ron! I didn't mean to be awful, I just wanted him to suffer a
little.'

Ron looked heavenward, shaking his head. `Hermione! Suffer a *little*? More like
*colossal* suffering! He has been *tortured**,* I can guarantee it! I'm a male
and if I was Harry with the hots for you and you did what you did today I'd be *dead* from
- from sheer bloody *frustration*!'

He looked at her, sympathy in his eyes. `Hermione, you girls really don't know what you do
to us blokes sometimes, do you? Just go a bit easier on him, all right?'

Hermione felt a little guilty. She'd been so busy thinking of herself and her “revenge”, she
hadn't considered that what she was doing might go beyond “tweaking”.

After they'd cleaned up, she and Ron joined Harry in the living room to watch some
television and when they sat down, she turned to Harry. She was fully prepared to make amends.

`Harry?'

Harry looked up at her, wondering what she had in store for him now, feeling a little
“battle-weary”. And he didn't think he'd been more frustrated in his whole life. *It*
*was b**loody* *painful**!*

`I'm sorry.'

Harry lifted his eyebrows in query*.* *Just “sorry”?*

`For today,' said Hermione in reply.

`What about it?'

`Well, the way I acted.'

`I didn't notice anything.' *She wasn't getting off* that *easily!*

Ron dropped his head into his hand. *Bloody hell. Harry was pissed off and although he
didn't blame him, he knew that Hermione was genuinely sorry and now Harry was going to throw
it* *back i**n her face. Prize prats. He was getting really fed up with the two of
them.*

`What anything didn't you notice?' asked Hermione, her voice a little tense.

Ron wished he could disappear but he was also afraid of drawing attention to himself.

`About the way you acted.'

`Really?'

Ron groaned softly. *Bad. This was bad.*

`Really.' Harry turned back to the television. He had suffered *seriously* the whole
day and he wasn't going to give in without a fight - regardless of cute, apologetic
Hermione.

Hermione stood up and Ron just *knew* she was seething. *They're gonna blow!* he
thought, wondering if escape was possible at this late stage.

Walking a few steps, Hermione stood between Harry and the television set.

`Yes?' asked Harry, looking up at her. *Damn, but she looked desirable!*

`Harry James Potter -'

*Ah ha*! thought Ron triumphantly*,* **finally***,* *she's actually
angry with him!* But his triumph was shortlived…

`The one and only. What can I do for you?' said Harry a little caustically; he was pretty
fed up, enormously frustrated and feeling quite put out. And Hermione looking so *downright
d**elicious* certainly didn't help matters.

Hermione stood, hands on hips, glaring at him and before he could engage his brain, he spoke,
saying exactly what was on his mind.

`You look so bloody cute when you're angry,' said Harry as he stood up, something close
to a smirk on his face. Hermione instinctively took a step back to give him room, still glaring at
him.

Ron was hoping desperately they couldn't hear his whimpers. He needn't have worried;
they weren't aware of anything except each other.

`In fact,' growled Harry, `after what you've done to me today, I think you deserve
something in return. In fact, you owe me this, Hermione.'

So saying, he grabbed one of her shoulders, his other hand gripping the back of her neck,
pulling her to him. Then he kissed her.

Only neither of them was prepared for the impact their first kiss would have on each of them.
Harry lost all coherent thought the second his lips touched Hermione's. A single, triumphant
word echoed in his mind: *Yes!*

Hermione immediately melted against him, her arms instinctively curling around his shoulders.
Just this single passionate contact of their lips gave him a taste of everything he knew he'd
ever need. Or want. And oh God, *how* he wanted her! The hand on her shoulder quickly dropped
to her waist, Harry's hand splayed across her lower back, pulling her hard against him,
uncaring that the effect she had on him manifested itself swiftly with one of the hardest, most
painful erections he'd ever experienced, one that she couldn't possibly ignore.

Hermione was unable to stop herself from moaning longingly and pleadingly into Harry's mouth
which seemed to inflame him and made him press himself into her even harder. *At
last**!*

Ron was spellbound. *What? No explosion? Maybe this was it, finally…**bit weird, though,
seeing Harry kiss Hermione like that**, I mean really**…*he couldn't look any
longer.

Dragging herself up from a well of intense desire, Hermione remembered she was feeling pretty
insulted, starting with Harry turning down her apology. Between the “I didn't notice anything”
to the “you deserve something in return” she'd lost her feeling of remorse for what she'd
done to Harry and regardless of how incredible it felt to be kissed by him, she was *hurt* and
*insulted* and so now she twisted out of his grasp, crying `Damn you, Harry!' in a
strangled voice before running across the room and up the stairs. Harry, stunned, stood gaping at
the spot where she'd been.

Ron decided total stillness and silence on his part was the smartest move.

Harry didn't notice Ron at all. He stood there, eyes closed, thinking of how
*infuriating* Hermione was - and how much he wanted to run after her, grab her and kiss her
again. *And the rest, Potter!* he thought desperately, because he sure as hell wanted to do a
lot more than just kiss her. *Sweet mother of Merlin! He didn't think* *he'd ever
been so bloody frustrated in his life!*

Ron watched as Harry turned and left, taking the stairs two at a time as he sought the solitude
of his room. Ron was in awe of the enormous stupidity people in love were capable of, particularly
when they refused to admit they were in love. *Prats!* he thought for the umpteenth time, glad
he'd escaped the “explosion” unscathed.

Hermione flopped onto her bed and sighed.

And wondered how she could be so *stupid* when she was so clever.

So *stupid* as to not realise that these feelings for Harry that had surfaced had been
simmering below the surface for some time. So *stupid* as to not recognise them for what they
were and trying to pass them off as a “temporary aberration”. *Stupid. He must think I'm
every kind of idiot after today!* she agonised. She turned over and buried her face in her
pillow.

In the room down the hall, Harry groaned as he fell onto his bed.

And wondered how he could be so *blind* when it was really so bloody obvious.

So *blind* that he hadn't seen past Hermione's “act” today, too bloody *blind*
to see she was sincere in her apology and so pathetically *blind* he hadn't seen that
telling her she was cute and then kissing her was just *stupid.*

And while Hermione was sighing and Harry was groaning, Ron was walking out of the front door of
their shared house, rolling his eyes in total disgust. As far as *he* was concerned, both of
his best friends were the biggest bloody gits he'd ever met!

Hermione wanted to scream in frustration. But instead she cried herself to sleep and then she
dreamed. About Harry kissing her. Only Crookshanks heard the soft, pleasurable noises she made as
she dreamt.

Harry wanted to roar *his* frustration. Instead he found himself staring at the ceiling,
reliving that kiss over and over. Which was really not conducive to rest or sleep but he
couldn't stop.

When Ron eventually returned after his walk, he found they were both still in their rooms and
shrugging to himself, went to make himself a last cuppa before going to bed.

He did go up and knock gently on Hermione's door, wanting to make sure she was all right,
but there was no answer so he just went to bed; he wasn't game to attempt contact with Harry
tonight.

From the next morning and for the rest of the week, Harry and Hermione worked assiduously at
avoiding each other and were quite successful. Hermione would leave early for work, Harry would
stay late at work, eat at the Leaky Cauldron and Apparate straight to his room. He saw Ron in the
mornings, but didn't mention what had happened the previous Sunday. Hermione he saw in the
evenings, but she didn't mention it either.

By Friday morning, Ron was read to knock their silly heads together.

He told Harry that morning he was the biggest git he'd ever met and he should just
apologise. Harry simply stared at him and said nothing. He didn't know how he was going to set
things right with Hermione and his current turmoil prevented him from thinking clearly.

Hermione just looked blankly at Ron when he tried to explain to her, that same evening, why
Harry hadn't accepted her apology. She, too, was in turmoil, wondering how she and Harry were
going to sort out this mess.

They were both quite exhausted by the end of the week and when Ron reminded each of them about
Dean Thomas's birthday party that Saturday night, they both felt relief; it was the perfect
excuse for them to be in the same room without either of them having to take the initiative; a
party, with plenty of other people around, would make things a lot easier.

The party was being held at The Burning Broomstick, a wizard pub that had a large courtyard in
the centre, perfect for gatherings such as this.

They still managed to avoid each other during the day that Saturday, but it was inevitable their
paths would cross eventually.

They finally met on the landing that afternoon as Hermione was on her way downstairs, Harry on
his way up. Ron was in the kitchen when Harry left, saying he was going to get ready, and he'd
had heard Hermione's door so he knew she was coming downstairs. He couldn't help himself -
he crept over to the kitchen door to listen in.

The sound of their footsteps ceased. Silence. Ron waited. Then, `Hermione. How are you?'
Harry sounded tense, he thought.

Hermione's voice was soft as she answered, `I'm - well. Harry.'

Just saying his name made her pulse quicken. They stared at each other for a moment, Harry
looking up at Hermione, two steps above him. She was dressed in those figure-hugging black pants
again, he noticed, although this time she wore a halter neck top in some sheer sort of floaty
material; it was white and reminded him of that *other* white outfit of hers…

`You?' asked Hermione. Ron shook his head. They sounded like proper twits, the pair of
them.

`Same. Thanks. See you at the party?'

Hermione gazed down into those green eyes she knew so well. His damn hair made her fingers itch;
she so desperately wanted to run them through those messy black locks.

`Of course you will.'

Ron rolled his eyes. Not a very auspicious beginning but at least they were finally speaking to
each other.

An hour later, they all met in the living to Apparate to the Burning Broomstick. Hermione was
first to give Dean a birthday hug before moving off to say hello to everyone else.

Harry shook Dean's hand, his eyes locked on Hermione.

Seeing her earlier had made his heart race and he desperately wanted to speak to her, finally,
and clear things up. So he could kiss her again. He'd never wanted anything so desperately in
his life as much as he wanted to kiss her again. *And* *the rest*, he thought
ruefully.

He watched as she stopped to talk to Neville and Ginny, then headed towards them. Before he
could reach them, however, Seamus Finnigan stepped up beside Ginny and after shaking hands with
Neville and giving Ginny a hug, he turned to Hermione and hugged her. But then he didn't let
go. He left one arm around her shoulders and was leaning down, talking to her. He saw Hermione nod
and after a few words to Neville and Ginny, they walked off.

Harry stood, stunned. *What the hell was that?* *He didn't think Seamus had ever
shown any interest in Hermione before**.* *Not with my woman, you don't!* he
thought. His eyes darkened with annoyance and frustration and squaring his shoulders, he followed
them through the crowd to the back of the courtyard where they slipped into a side room, closing
the door behind them.

As he reached the door, Harry hesitated. He didn't quite know what was going on, but he sure
as hell wasn't letting another man close himself in a room with the woman he, Harry, wanted.
And loved. That thought wasn't even a shock. It just fitted neatly and perfectly into his
consciousness.

This was it. The showdown. If there was the *slightest* chance Hermione felt something for
him, and he was sure she did, he wanted to know. *Needed* to know. Now. Bugger Seamus.

Harry knocked sharply and waited, feeling more nervous than he'd ever done.

`Come in,' called Seamus.

Harry walked in, Hermione's eyes widening at the sight of him. She and Seamus were sitting
side by side at a small table, an open book before them.

Seamus jumped up and held out his hand.

`Harry! Good to see you again!'

Harry only realised he'd stopped breathing when he took a deep breath, smiling as he shook
Seamus' hand. Then he looked at Hermione and his expression softened. `Hi,' was all he
said, smiling, gazing at her with so much longing it made Hermione very glad she was sitting down;
his expression and that smile made her knees weak.

Hermione smiled back as she mouthed “hello”, before looking down at the book once more, too
flustered to hold Harry's gaze.

`Good to see you, too, Seamus,' said Harry. `What's up?'

`Oh, I found this book and I was pretty sure Hermione would know of it. I got it for a song and
I just wanted to show it to her, find out if it's genuine.'

Harry felt relief flood through him and then realised Hermione was watching him, a small smile
on her face. He smiled self-deprecatingly at her as he shrugged, knowing he was completely
transparent to her.

After assuring Seamus he'd paid for the real thing, the three of them left the room, Seamus
offering to buy them all a drink.

`No need, thanks anyway,' said Harry. He looked at Hermione. `Hermione and I have a - um -
an *appointment* of sorts. If that's all right.'

`To be sure!' said Seamus in his soft Irish brogue. `I want to talk to Dean, anyway.
Haven't seen him for an age. See you later you two!'

Seamus moved off and Harry and Hermione were left looking at each other.

`An appointment?' said Hermione, amusement evident in her voice.

Harry shrugged and gave her a crooked smile.

`First thing I could think of.' He looked at her and the look in his eyes made her wish they
were alone somewhere; she felt as though an internal fire had been lit and was *raging* inside
her.

`Harry -' She stopped, not really sure what it was she wanted to say.

`Yes, Hermione?'

She shivered. His voice was so low and sounded so warmly intimate she thought she might melt on
the spot.

Gathering up her courage, Hermione said quietly, `We're not going to be just friends
anymore, are we?' But as she said it, she looked down at her hands, overcome with
nervousness.

She watched as his hands reached out and took hers, lifting them up, her gaze following them.
Harry pressed first one, then the other, to his lips as Hermione looked on, her pulse racing.

`No, my love.'

Hermione's breath caught in her throat; Harry's voice was low and husky and seemed to
reverberate right through her, leaving a tingling anticipation in its wake.

Harry took both her hands in one of his and held them to his chest, his free hand curling around
her shoulders, pulling her close.

`Harry, I'm sorry, I really am, for -'

`I'm sorry too. But let's forget it. We were both - as Ron said - prize prats.'
Harry gave her another of his heart-stopping smiles.

`We were, weren't we?' she agreed, smiling back.

`And now we're not.'

`Excuse me,' said Ron, startling them both. `Would you two mind taking this someplace
else?'

Harry and Hermione looked around at him, then realised that nearly everyone was watching them;
they'd been too wrapped up in each other to even notice.

Harry looked back down at Hermione. `What do you say, we take this someplace else?'

`I say yes.'

`Is this it?' asked Ron. `You're sure this time? No more bouts of idiocy? No more
driving your best friend here totally spare?'

Harry and Hermione both laughed, shaking their heads.

`We promise,' said Harry.

`Cross our hearts,' said Hermione.

`Just as bloody well. Now scat.'

And scat they did.

TO BE CONTINUED.

RST tomorrow (or Sunday at the latest) dear readers!

-->



6. URST - Chapter Six: RST
--------------------------



Author's Note

And now, time for a little RST dear readers…enjoy.

URST

By JanieB

Chapter Six: “RST”

Ron unwittingly stole the spotlight from the birthday boy (Dean didn't really mind because
he's such a nice Wizard), regaling everyone with hilarious anecdotes of Harry and
Hermione's “journey to love” as Luna sweetly put it. Everyone was enthralled by any story that
involved The Chosen One and *his* chosen one.

`More like journey to bed, you mean!' muttered Ron in Luna's ear, earning himself a
swipe on the arm accompanied by a lecture about being romantic and *nice*.

`I think it's soooo romantic,' sighed Ginny a little later, sitting down next to
Dean.

`What? Harry and Hermione?'

`Uh huh. Don't you?'

`More like soooo inevitable if you ask me!'

Meanwhile, the two people who were the hot topics of the evening at Dean's party had
Apparated home where they were feeling pretty hot themselves…

********** ********** ********** **********

After Apparating back to their living room, Harry immediately put Anti-Apparition Charms around
the house just in case Ron changed his mind about staying at Luna's that night; he wouldn't
allow any interruptions, not *this* night. No way.

Standing behind the couch, facing one another and just inches apart having Apparated together,
Harry and Hermione were smiling helplessly at each other, their hands loosely linked between
them.

`We're someplace else now,' Hermione reminded him. Those damn butterflies must've
been hiding in some corner of her stomach and breeding because it felt as though there were tens of
thousands of them battling it out inside her. *I'm going to sleep with Harry,* she thought
wildly. *He's going to make love to me -* **we're** *going to make love. I
can* *hardly* *believe it. But I can hardly wait, either…*

`We are,' Harry agreed, `but we're not yet where we *need* to be.' Adrenalin
surged through Harry as he dropped Hermione's hands and bent to scoop her into his arms. He was
so ready for this - so ready to show her how much he loved her and wanted her. He Apparated them to
his room, his heart swelling with victory because he held everything he would ever need to he happy
right there in his arms and she was smiling at him, her eyes luminous with love and trust - and
intoxicating desire.

Once in his room, Harry set Hermione gently on her feet, smiling as he watched her gaze move to
the ceiling, her gaze widening in surprise.

`You like it?' he asked proudly, turning to look up at the ceiling of his room which
he'd charmed to look like the sky outside. Being a summer's night, it was a clear, dark sky
with stars sharply defined, twinkling almost knowingly in their set positions. It was just
perfectly romantic…

`It's just amazing! How did you do it?'

`Not so hard when you know how. Reminds me of home.'

`Of Hogwarts.' Not a question, a statement of fact.

Harry nodded. `My only home. Until now.'

`And now?' Hermione's gaze returned to Harry's face and she couldn't help
herself, she lifted her hand and ran it through his hair - something she'd wanted to do for so
long now.

`Now, you're my home. Wherever you - *we* - are, will be home.'

Hermione glanced up once more at the starry ceiling.

`It's beautiful!' she whispered, her gaze returning to Harry.

`*You* are beautiful, Hermione,' said Harry, his expression serious as he brought his
hands up to cup her face. Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing into him. She could
feel the evidence of his desire for her; he could see hers for him in the depths of those luminous
golden brown eyes he loved.

He covered her mouth with his, tenderly at first but very quickly his hunger for her drove him
to thrust his tongue into her mouth, one hand dropping to her lower back as he pushed into her. His
desperate longing and lust for her were uppermost in his thoughts and his mind, body and soul were
committed to the physical expression of love that lay ahead of them.

Harry had slowly moved them backwards to his bed where they were now both lying on their sides,
still fully clothed, their arms around each other and their legs entwined, kissing deeply and
passionately. Hermione found the proof of Harry's desire for her unavoidable - and
intoxicating. She wanted him, as she'd never wanted any other man. She could feel the innate
yearning of her body - its' need and overwhelming hunger for a man - *this
man**.*

But she had to tell him.

Harry's lips were feverishly kissing the length of her neck as his hands roamed over every
wonderful, delicious curve of the woman he loved, instinctively seeking those parts that would
elicit the most pleasurable sounds just for him; it was then that she managed to gasp out what she
needed to tell him.

`Harry?'

`Hermione…' his voice was ragged with desire and Hermione, almost delirious with her own
overwhelming lust for this man, came close to not telling him.

`Harry - I've never -' *oh God! He'd found her very taut nipple through her
clothes and was gently squeezing it and rolling it - Hermione could hardly speak for the sensations
this sent through her whole body* `- this is -' *sweet mother of Merlin! How could she
think, let alone talk, when he was doing* **that!** Harry had trailed his hand down her back,
over the curve of her hip and was running his fingers inside the low band of her pants, slowly back
and forth, teasingly just above where she so avidly desired his touch. `Harry,
*please!*'

Harry raised his head from the crook of her neck where he'd been alternatively kissing and
sucking, slowly and seductively. As their eyes met, Hermione felt her head spin at the sheer
intensity of his lust for her, clearly visible in his striking green gaze.

`Please what, my love?' Harry's voice was a hoarse whisper.

`I think you should know that…' Hermione, faced with a fully sexually aroused man who
didn't question his partner's ability to join him in this erotic journey they'd
embarked upon, wondered momentarily about the wisdom of telling him. But since she couldn't lie
to him, not even by omission, she continued, `…I've never done this before…' her voice
trailed off as she watched him, holding his gaze so that she could read his reaction.

`What did you say?' rasped Harry, frowning slightly as he struggled to comprehend the
meaning of her words.

Hermione took a deep shuddering breath. `I've never made love to a man. Before now. Before
you.'

This information was quickly digested and as the magnitude of it hit home, Harry pushed himself
up to a sitting position, turning and dropping his legs over the side of the bed; Hermione quickly
moved to kneel beside him, draping her arms around his shoulders.

Harry turned and looked at her and she could see the astonishment in his eyes. She smiled,
arching one eyebrow as she said, `Is it so surprising?'

With all her knowledge and wisdom and cleverness she'd never given herself to anyone -
hadn't *wanted* to give herself to any of the few “boyfriends” she'd had. But here,
*now,* she was Harry's - and no one else's.

Harry turned towards her, lifting one leg from the floor, bending it across in front of him;
Hermione kept her arms around his shoulders as he grasped her waist and pulled her closer so that
she was now sitting beside him with her legs bent to one side.

`Do you know,' he leant forward and kissed her softly, `that I never gave it any
thought.' He kissed her again. `It wouldn't have mattered to me if you'd had another
lover, but -' another kiss, `- the fact that you haven't, that I will be the first man to
make love to you -' another, longer, kiss `- is something so precious that I don't have the
words for it.'

`So I haven't frightened you off?' she asked, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, relief
in her voice.

`God, no!' laughed Harry, pulling her to him and rolling them both over so that they were
lying facing each other once more. `I have *never* been *this* hard for so long in my
life. You've been *killing* me!'

Harry's smile left his face as Hermione's hand moved down his body until he could feel
it resting on his still achingly hard erection.

`Feels very much alive to me,' she said softly.

Harry couldn't speak, so he kissed her instead, pulling her against him, her hand still
trapped between them, the movement of her fingers against him driving him half crazy.

`Harry, get up,' whispered Hermione as she pulled back a little.

`What?'

`Get up!'

Harry groaned. `This better be good.' This was going to be *very* uncomfortable in his
current condition.

Hermione stood up after him, moving in very close. She smiled up at him and then he felt her
fingers on the buttons of his shirt; she was undoing them.

His breathing became more rapid as he realised what she was doing: she was undressing him.

`Hermione…'

`It would've been downright silly, not to mention a little difficult, to undress lying
down.'

Harry couldn't help but chuckle.

`Merlin's beard! No one but *you*, Hermione…' He didn't need to finish. He
couldn't, anyway, because she'd just pushed his shirt off, letting it drop to the floor and
now she was undoing his jeans which once more brought her fingers into tenuous, tantalising contact
with his still throbbing erection.

He automatically stepped out of his jeans as they fell, kicking them aside.

`So - boxers.'

`What?' Harry felt as though he'd said that way too much that evening.

Hermione's fingers danced lightly over his stomach and chest as though she wanted to make
sure she touched every inch of him.

`We girls always wonder. Boxers or briefs?'

`You do?'

`Not any more.' She wrapped one hand around his neck and pulled his head down so that she
could kiss him, then other hand once more moving down to curl around his hard member through his
black, silk boxers. Harry groaned into her mouth, one hand lost in her hair, the other running down
the curve of her back before cupping her bum, his fingers digging gently into her.

Their lips parted slightly and Harry said, `You keep doing that.'

`What?'

`Touching me.'

`You don't like it?'

`Of course I like it! I'm just -'

`Surprised?' Hermione sounded amused.

`Since you've never -'

`But this is *you*, Harry, and *me.* Somehow it just seems natural. You want me to
stop?'

Harry smiled against her lips. `Evil witch - don't you dare!'

In answer, Hermione's fingers tightened around him forcing a low, harsh sound from Harry.
Then suddenly the delicious pressure was gone and Harry opened his eyes. Hermione stepped back just
a little and grasping the bottom hem of her top, pulled it off, dropping it on the floor.

`I like touching you,' she said in softly husky voice. `You feel good.' She pulled the
zipper in the side of her pants down, still looking at him. `And that's for me, isn't
it?' Her words had barely registered since most of Harry's attention was on what she was
doing and how she looked rather than what she was saying. She was wearing a creamy, lacy concoction
of a bra - a low cut one. Then as she pushed her pants off, he saw the matching g-string. He felt
light headed as it hit him he was finally going to see all those “hidden bits” that had haunted his
every dream for weeks now. Then he realised she'd asked a question and lifted his eyes to meet
hers. She looked both amused and pleased; she could see her very obvious effect on him.

`What?' He'd said it again.

Hermione reached behind her for her bra clasp. `I said, that's for me, isn't it?'
She momentarily looked down at the bulge in his boxers.

Luckily he realised what she meant *before* she dropped her bra on top of the clothing
spread on the floor and he managed a very hoarse, `Yes,' before she bent down and took off her
g-string, after which he was no longer capable of speech. He quickly removed his boxers and taking
her hand, pulled her back to the bed with him. His hands, lips and eyes spoke for him - his hands
were everywhere, gently feeling their way over every inch of her, his lips never leaving her skin
for more than a second and every time she looked into his eyes she saw a world of tender, loving
longing in them.

Hermione was squirming delectably beneath him when Harry suddenly rolled to one side and propped
himself up on one elbow.

`Harry!' Hermione's soft cry held mild distress at the loss of all those pleasurable
sensations.

`Sssh. Close your eyes.'

Hermione did as she was told, gasping softly when she felt first, his mouth on her nipple and
secondly, his fingers slowly brushing over the small triangle of curls, then running along the
sensual dampness of the crevice beneath before slowly pushing two fingers into her wet warmth, the
pad of his thumb seeking the hard, sensitive little nub that, when he found it, caused
Hermione's back to arch, her hands reaching up above her head to grasp the black, wrought iron
bed-head. She gave herself up to the exquisite sensations coursing through her, realising dimly
that Harry was doing this for her because this was her first time.

Harry didn't stop the insistent circling and rubbing with his thumb nor let up his attention
to Hermione's nipple and when he felt she was close to climaxing, he lifted his head and
watched her through a haze of love and lust - *this woman, his lover - his life -* as wave
after wave of ecstasy crashed through her; dragging his name from the depths of her being as she
came.

When her breathing slowed and she became still, Harry gently withdrew his fingers and spread his
hand on her lower stomach, pushing his other hand beneath her shoulders to clasp her neck,
massaging it gently before lifting her head and kissing her tenderly.

Hermione brought her hands to his face; tears glistened in her eyes as she smiled at him. `That
was just - so - I don't have the words for it,' she ended, using his words.

He grinned at her, his hand moving up over her stomach to cup her breast, kneading gently, his
thumb playing with the nipple, making it taut once more.

`Just tell me you love me,' he whispered.

`I love you,' she whispered back, then kissed him again, bringing her hands down, using them
to urge him to move - to roll on top of her; he did so willingly, Hermione wrapping her legs around
him. She was amazed at how right and just plain bloody wonderful it felt to have him between her
legs and she told him so.

He held himself up on his elbows, gazing at her. `Are you all right? I mean - are you sure
-'

Hermione knew what he meant. `Harry, it's fine - this is what I want - with *you* -
I'm absolutely certain.' She could feel the hard length of him between them and manoeuvred
herself, lifting her hips slightly until she could feel the end of his penis pressing against her
still wet entrance. She pushed her hips up so that he entered her just a little. Harry moaned,
burying his head in the crook of her neck.

`Harry, please, look at me,' she asked softly.

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. `You watched me, let me watch you.' She ran her
hands down his back and spread her hands over his arse, lifting her hips a little more. Harry
moaned again, lifting his head, his eyes closing. He wondered if she could know the enormity of the
effort needed for him to not just thrust himself into her - it was taking every ounce of
self-control that he had. He'd never before had to do this so slowly.

Hermione pressed down with her hands and he slid a little further into her. *God in heaven!
She was so damn tight and hot and wet and -* and then he felt it, that internal obstruction. He
looked down at her again. She knew it too. He saw a tiny flicker of fear in her eyes, then it was
gone. He heard her whisper, `Make me yours, Harry,' just as she pulled him into her, tightening
her legs around him at the same time.

He heard her gasp in pain and froze, torn between his desperate need for release and his
deep-seated desire to protect her. But he was now buried in her all the way and he knew he
wouldn't be capable of keeping still for very much longer - and then she whispered again,
`Don't stop! Please!' and he was free to follow his instinctive need to thrust. He looked
down at her - she was gazing up at him, then she looked down between them, Harry straightening his
arms so that they both watch as he repeatedly plunged into her. Hermione thought it was one of the
most erotic things she'd ever seen - until Harry pushed into her hard, one last time, and his
whole body stiffened as the strongest orgasm he'd ever had ripped through him. It gave her the
most incredible feeling knowing *she* had brought him to this - had given him this
pleasure.

He collapsed back on to his elbows almost immediately afterwards, but managed to keep his weight
off her. Hermione's hands were moving possessively up and down his back as she lightly kissed
his face, everywhere, murmuring his name and telling him over and over she loved him.

Then he kissed her again, long and hard. When he lifted his head he smiled down at her.

`That was the single most - best - damn it, no words for it again!'

Hermione smiled up at him just before Harry rolled onto his back, pulling her to him, her head
resting in the crook of his neck, his hand idly playing with her hair. She had her arm across his
chest and he wrapped the fingers of his other hand around it, both in a cocoon of happy
contentment.

`Did I tell you I love you?'

`No,' said Hermione, smiling into his neck.

`I do, you know. More than I thought it was possible to love anyone.'

`I know exactly what you mean, because that's how I feel.'

`You will marry me, won't you?'

`One day.'

`Thank you.'

`You're welcome. Harry?'

`Mmmm?'

`We're going to do this again, soon, aren't we?'

`Oh, yes.'

`Good.'

Harry turned his head and kissed the top of her head. `I love you, Hermione.'

`I love you, Harry.'

********** ********** ********** **********

Ron kissed Luna goodnight and Apparated home; he'd decided against staying at her flat,
mainly because her father was staying with her for the week and he'd much rather sleep in his
own bed than on Luna's couch. He got a rather nasty shock when he found himself standing
outside his front door instead of in the living room.

*Funny.* *Had he done something wrong?*

He tried again, picturing the living room.

He opened his eyes to the sight of the front door.

*What the hell's going on?*

He lifted his hand to knock on the door when it dawned on him.

*Anti-Appa**ri**tion Charms.* *It h**ad to be Harry**'s
doing**.*

He chuckled, shaking his head. *Of course, you prat!* he told himself. *So -
f**inally!* *Hallelujah!* He punched the air before Apparating to the Burrow. He'd
surprise his mum and dad - who were fast asleep - in the morning. *Looks like* *I get to
spend the night with that noisy old ghoul in the attic**…**lucky me**.* *At
least I won't have to put up with th**ose two b**eing such idiots any longer.*

As he settled under the covers in his boyhood bed he suddenly groaned. *Merlin! Now instead of
them acting like* *prize* *prats* *and great gits**, I'll have to
bloody* *well* *put up with them snogging and smooching and carrying on all over the
place! Bloody hell!* He sank down further in his bed and pulled the cover over his head, trying
desperately *not* to picture being at one end of the couch while Harry and Hermione snogged
ferociously at the other end…

::Sigh:: You just can't please some people, can you?

FINIS

Author's Note

Was that good for you? Hope so! lol!

I wish you all a happy and safe Christmas! Thank you for reading and an especially big thank you
to all you darling reviewers! *Janie blows kisses*

See you next year!

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