Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company are the creation and property of JKR. I'm just borrowing them for a bit. Remember that warning in the Prologue? It starts here, so if any of that stuff bothers you please stop here.
CHAPTER 2:
The Burrow was in an uproar the second Harry and Hermione appeared in the fireplace. Harry was quickly whisked away to the bedroom he was sharing with Ron.
Five minutes later, Remus Lupin and Tonks were on the scene, bringing a slightly confused Madam Pomfrey with them. As soon the Hogwarts matron understood that a student was injured and that Hermione was unharmed, she headed upstairs to tend to Harry.
Lupin and Tonks questioned Hermione closely about what happened, but all she could tell them was the bit she'd seen. She had arrived just in time to see the stranger looming over Harry, but as to how the fight began or who he was, she had no idea. Hermione had had enough presence of mind to do one thing though.
She presented the icepick, carefully wrapped in a bundle of cloth, to Lupin and Tonks. The tip of it was stained with what must be Harry's blood.
The former Defense Against Dark Arts teacher gently placed it on a table and uncovered it gingerly, as if it might explode. He heaved a sigh of relief when nothing happened.
Tonks cast a spell to expose any enchantments on the makeshift weapon, but it revealed nothing. "That explains it," she said. "It's an ordinary icepick, not even slightly charmed. No wonder it got through the Aurors. We've set up alarms to screen for weapons in Diagon Alley," she explained as Hermione looked confused, "but since an icepick is a common household item, none of the alarms went off."
"So it's safe?"
Lupin looked at the weapon suspiciously. "I doubt it. It doesn't make sense. Why attack Harry with such an awkward weapon?"
"It almost worked," Tonk said darkly.
"Yes, but still. Why not do something that'll make it more dangerous?"
Hermione suddenly gasped. "Poison!"
"Of course!" Lupin took out his wand, muttered a word and tapped the icepick. About an inch of the tip began to glow with a sick greenish sheen. "We need someone to identify this right away, and find an antidote," he said grimly. Wrapping it up again, Lupin handed it to the Auror.
Tonks grasped the slim bundle firmly and apparated out of the Burrow.
Lupin turned back to a clearly worried Hermione. "Tell Madam Pomfrey to watch for signs that Harry's been poisoned. I'll talk to the Weasleys." He softened his voice as he spotted the barely restrained fright in the girl's eyes. "We're not sure it's poison. And even if it is, they can't have brewed it too strongly, or the Aurors would've sensed that, too. We're just being careful, okay?"
Biting her lip, Hermione nodded and sped upstairs without another word.
Lupin sighed. Why did this damn war have to be fought by children?
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Harry dreamed. Whether it was from the events of the day or the herbal brew Madam Pomfrey had given him to dull the pain as they healed his wound, he had fallen asleep almost immediately.
In his dream, he was with Ginny again at Hogwarts during his sixth year, in what he had come to think of as the last carefree days of his life. They were in his Gryffindor room, and somehow he had arranged it so that none of the others were there. It was just him, in his dark muggle sweatshirt and jeans, and Ginny, in her Hogwarts robes, sitting on his bed.
Soon they were in each other's arms and kissing, Harry hungrily attacking Ginny's lips as her hands buried themselves in his hair.
He fumbled his glasses off so it wouldn't get it the way, letting it fall to the floor.
He traced her lips lightly with his tongue, and when Ginny opened her mouth to let him in and her tongue slipped out to meet his, Harry lost it. He leaned forward, pushing Ginny down with his weight until she was lying on the bed with him partly on top of her.
Oh Merlin, she felt incredible beneath him! He could feel her breasts and soft curves pressing against his chest and stomach. He broke their kiss momentarily so he could tug the ties of her robe open, revealing a thin cotton blouse and short skirt ensemble underneath.
That was when it started to get weird. To his blurred vision, Ginny's red hair gradually seemed to darken, until it was more a chestnut kind of brown. He ignored it and kissed her again, his tongue snaking in to tryst with hers again. He was surprised when she squirmed, and risked a quick glance. Had her hair always been as curly as that? And her features seemed sharper, a little more knowing and stubborn.
Still, he couldn't stop now. They were so rarely alone, and his dream-self knew that these days wouldn't last. His strong Quidditch-roughened hands held her arms down to keep her in place. He pressed a kiss near her ear and then trailed open-mouthed kisses down her jaw, nipping her with the edge of his teeth a couple of times. She wriggled a bit at that, and he took the opportunity to move into a better position, scissoring and tangling with her legs until he was resting between them.
It was when he instinctively thrust against her, his face buried against her neck, that her hands came up between them and scrambled to push him away. He lifted his head. He must be moving too fast. He opened his mouth to apologize.
But she spoke first. "Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione protested. "I thought we came up here to talk."
"I'm sorry, I - " he started, bewildered. Hadn't he come up here with Ginny? And then he realized that he didn't mind that it was Hermione here and not Ginny at all. This felt so right somehow, his body pressed intimately against this girl. "It's just ... Hermione, I've wanted you for so long ..."
She was staring at him in shock. "Let me go."
He couldn't. How could he? He had held in his feelings for years. He had felt a jolt the day she had come down to dance with Victor Krum, and then had looked across and seen the same sort of daze on Ron's face. "I'm sorry," he repeated, taking her hands and pulling them up, pinning them above her head. He groaned as the movement brought Hermione's breasts flush against him.
"We shouldn't do this!"
He couldn't answer her. He had no arguments against her, because she was right. But that didn't stop him from grinding against her. Her skirt had ridden up, and he felt the hardness in his jeans bump into the barely-covered promise of her core. "Please, Hermione," he breathed.
Just then he did something, hit some spot that made her breath hitch for a second. It excited him, justified what he was doing somehow. Quickly he encircled both of her upstretched hands in one hand so that his other hand could be free. With his right hand, he unzipped his jeans so that it was just his boxers and her knickers between them. Then he grabbed her left leg and forcibly hitched it around his thigh, so that he could settle more firmly against her.
Experimentally he moved, angling his erect cock against her, watching her face closely. He knew he'd found the spot again when her eyes momentarily fluttered shut. "What's the harm?" he asked hoarsely. "I just ... I want to feel you. No one will ever know." By no one, he mostly meant Ron.
In his dream, she seemed to be swayed by his argument. She opened her eyes, and he saw the knowledge and pity in them, and realized that, just like his dream-self, this Hermione knew. Soon Dumbledore would die, and their last safe shield against Voldemort would be gone. It was with this foreknowledge that she allowed him.
He moved to kiss her, and this time she let him, parting her lips to let him in. His right hand caressed her cheek and her neck - he still didn't dare to let her hands go - and then, emboldened by her willingness, he trailed his fingers lower. He kissed her long and hard, thrusting his tongue into her mouth at the same moment his thumb swiped over her nipple. When Hermione made a sound in her throat, he cupped her breast through her blouse and rubbed and kneaded until her nipple was standing stiffly beneath his fingers.
He had never been so hard in his life! All this time he hadn't stopped rubbing against her. He began rolling his hips a little as he thrust, watching her reaction. To his delight, the sensation made her screw her eyes shut. She arched against him, making him groan at the added contact. Experimentally, she began moving her hips to meet his.
Harry couldn't stand it any longer. He let her hands go and used both of his hands to raise and brace himself a little above her. This angle was better, and only the wet thin cloths of their underwear was preventing him from penetrating her now. He rocked against her faster, calling her name over and over, like a mantra. He was so close, and there was only one thing missing to make it perfect...
"Harry," she whispered, without even a trace of protest in her voice.
In his sleep, he smiled. Yes, that was it.
"Harry." Her breath lingered near his ear.
He opened his eyes and saw her hovering over him, and gave her an intimate smile.
Hermione smiled back, but there was a puzzled look to her, because there was a quality to the raven-haired boy's smile that she'd never seen before.
Harry blinked. Wait a minute. She was looking down at him? Wasn't she supposed to be ... Then it all came crashing back. He wasn't at Gryffindor tower. The year with Ginny had ended. Dumbledore was gone.
A quick glance confirmed that he was at the Burrow, and across the room was the other bed where Ron had fallen asleep. Obviously Ron hadn't planned to sleep, because he was still in the clothes he'd been wearing earlier and his position was awkward, his legs dangling over the side of the bed.
Harry scrambled for his glasses, thankful that it was so dark that his friend couldn't see the physical effects the dream had had on him. What the bloody hell was that? He'd had wet dreams before, of course, but seldom that intense.
It had felt so real. Even now, as he glanced at Hermione, standing next to his bed in her robe and flannel pajamas and a blanket thrown around her shoulders to ward off the cold, Harry felt the urge to pull her down to the bed with him.
"Sorry to wake you, but Madam Pomfrey said you should take this every four hours." The girl handed him a steaming mug of what smelled like very strange tea.
"Thanks," he said hoarsely, gulping the potion down. As he had hoped, the sheer nasty taste of it killed whatever lingering effects the dream still had.
As Hermione put the mug away, Harry surveyed the room again and noticed the chair that had been drawn up next to his bed. "Have you guys been watching over me?"
"Just for tonight," Hermione said as nonchalantly as she could. She knew that these days Harry was sensitive about being made a fuss over. "We've been taking turns, even Ginny," she said carefully. To her surprise, Harry barely reacted.
"Tonks came back while you were asleep," she continued. "It's not poison or at least, nothing they can identify right now." She tried to hide how troubled she was. It was a potion, which meant that Snape must be involved. However much they disliked him, any Hogwarts student would attest to the former professor's mastery of potions. If this was his work, anything could happen.
She needn't have worried; Snape was the last thing on Harry's mind. He sat back with a guilty sigh. He was really grateful to have Ron and Hermione. They were two of the best friends a bloke could ever have. He couldn't believe he'd treated Hermione like that, even in a dream. If he'd hesitated before about going after Ginny because she was Ron's sister, Hermione was off-limits twice over. Things had been brewing between Ron and Hermione since they were thirteen.
"What's wrong?" Hermione, having noticed how her friend had gone silent, came and sat next to him on the bed. She was plainly concerned.
Just like a sister or a long-time friend, Harry told himself firmly, but his heart still sped up a bit. "N-nothing."
"Are you feeling feverish?" It was one of the symptoms Madam Pomfrey had told her to watch out for. She wished fervently that the Hogwarts matriarch hadn't gone to help Tonks identify the substance on the icepick. Anxiously she felt Harry's forehead. She was surprised at how warm he felt, not feverish exactly but there was a sheen of sweat on his brow.
"I'm fine!" Harry snapped, grabbing her hand. She shouldn't touch him like that, not after that dream and these new impulses he was trying to sort out. He felt even guiltier when Hermione threw him a bewildered look that was also a bit hurt at his sudden vehemence. "Sorry," he mumbled, and he didn't even realize that he was still holding her hand. "It's just ... I wanted this to be a normal day."
She understood his frustration perfectly. "I know," she sighed "I was hoping for the same thing." Instinctively, she squeezed his hand for comfort. "It was fun going around for a while. It felt like we were kids again, shopping for school supplies."
Harry wondered how long he could hold her hand like this without her thinking it strange. "Guess I owe you one."
To his surprise, she nearly laughed. "Oh Harry, none of that! We've been doing this for so long, it would get really confusing if we started to keep track."
Her smile was so infectious that he found himself grinning back at her. And that was the difference, Harry realized. He'd loved Ginny, but he'd had to break their relationship off to keep her safe.
There would be no such consideration with Hermione. Even if he tried to keep her away, she wouldn't stand for it. There had even been times, like with the basilisk, that she'd gone off on her own for her friends' sake. They were in this together, all three of them. It was that thought, finally, that made him release her hand.
Just in time. Ron stirred and slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Oi, nice to see you awake. What's so funny?" he asked, as he caught their matching smiles.
Hermione stood up. "Nothing you wouldn't have missed if you'd kept awake. Think you can take your turn this time?" she asked archly.
Ron had the grace to look embarrassed. "Sure." Then, more softly, "Sorry, `Mione."
Harry quickly looked away as Hermione's expression softened at the rare apology. `I should be happy for them,' he told himself fiercely.
But that wasn't what he felt as the girl walked towards the redhead and gave him a swift peck on the cheek. "Good night, Ron. Harry," she nodded, and left.
Ron blushed wildly at this display of affection in front of Harry. "What?" he asked belligerently, as he felt the other wizard's eyes on him.
"Nothing," Harry said tiredly. "I'm going back to sleep. You don't have to stay up, just set an alarm or something." He ignored his friend's protests and threw the blanket over his head. The last thing he wanted, he realized, was to find out exactly how things lay between Ron and Hermione.