Biding My Time

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company are the creations and property of JKR. I'm just playing around in a totally non-profit way. The title is from Skunk Anansie's song “Secretly.” This is my first PK story, but it has also been posted elsewhere. It starts out R/Hr but ends up H/Hr. Reviews appreciated. =)

Warning: This story is fiction, and it's rated NC-17 for a reason. It does not contain rape nor advocate non-consensual sex in real life. But because of the plot and the subject matter, certain scenes may come close. If this disturbs you, or you're underage, or dark fics are not your thing, stop right now.

PROLOGUE:

Severus Snape was nervous. He hid it well, but there was an unusual briskness in his pace and a deep line in the middle of his forehead that almost cleaved his brow. Only one person – if you could still call him a person at this point – made Snape nervous.

The doors to a darkened room creaked open as he approached. As soon as he was through them, he sank to his knees. “Lord Voldemort.”

“Severus.” The low voice was like ice even in the haughty potion master’s veins. “I have heard some disturbing news. There are some who say you betrayed me.”

Even though he could barely see, Snape carefully kept his head down. There were times when Voldemort did not want anyone to look upon him. “My lord,” he protested, “I slew your enemy! I helped the Death Eaters escape.”

“You were not supposed to kill Dumbledore,” the shadow hissed, “that task was for young Malfoy!”

“Forgive me, but there was no time, and the other Death Eaters would not trust me until I had taken an unbreakable vow to Malfoy’s mother to protect him.” Snape hesitated. “The son of Lucius is young and I am his godfather.”

He could almost see Voldemort’s sneer. “Such softness in you now that was not there before. Perhaps you spent too long with that old fool.” To Snape’s relief, Voldemort motioned him to his feet. “But he is a dead fool, so it no longer matters. Now, tell me, what of the boy?”

There was no need to ask which boy the Dark Lord referred to. There was only one that mattered. “I don’t see how he can disrupt your plans. I have never seen anything remarkable about him,” Snape stated truthfully, “save for the fact that he has been uncommonly ... lucky.”

“And yet the others claim that you protected him.”

“My lord, I was only following your orders,” the potions master said as calmly as possible. “The boy was supposed to be kept for you.”

“Alive, yes, so that I may slay him.” The shadow seemed to quiver with suppressed glee. “But not unharmed! In the confusion, he could have been captured and brought to me. You had him at your mercy and yet you let him go. Why was that?”

The flat, curious tone alerted Snape to the danger he was in. He knew instantly that if he could not allay Voldermort’s suspicions, he would not leave this room alive. “If you want the boy hurt, my lord, I believe there is a way. I have been observing him for years. But it may end with his death, and it will not be directly at your hands. In that sense, you may find my plan disappointing.”

“Continue.” The shadow sounded amused. “At whose hands shall he suffer?”

“His own. Or his friends’.”

There was a short silence, and then the room shook with a sibilant crawling sound that made even Snape want to cringe. It was Voldemort’s laughter, heard for the first time in a dozen years. “No, it can’t be. It’s too easy!” he gloated. “Is this truly possible?”

For the first time since he had entered the room, the Severus Snape straightened and assumed his normal confident bearing. “My lord, I have watched them for years. I believe that what I have in mind will work.”

“Tell me your plan.”

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company are the creation and property of JKR.

CHAPTER ONE:

“Have we got everything?” Harry Potter glanced at his friends as they walked along Diagon Alley.

Hermione Granger peered at the list she was holding. “Almost. Well, just one more thing, really.”

“What?” Ron Weasley raked a hand distractedly through his red hair. Bloody shopping!

“Our gift to Bill and Phle – I mean, Fleur,” she quickly amended. “We have to hurry, too. Your mum’s going to want these things soon.”

“I can’t believe they forgot so many things at the last minute!” Ron complained. “We barely have two days to go.”

Harry spotted the annoyance on Hermione’s face. Ron hadn’t exactly been a great help on this trip. He’d been complaining non-stop since Mrs. Weasley had sent them off to run some errands. “I’ll take care of it,” Harry volunteered, handing his shopping bags to Ron. “You guys go ahead and give your mum this stuff.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Typically, it was Ron who actually said it. “Um, maybe that’s not such a good idea ...”

“Oh for pity’s -!” Harry nearly swore. It didn’t take a lot to set him off these days, not since the loss of Dumbledore. “The Death Eaters are not going to attack me in the middle of Diagon Alley! There are probably more Aurors than shoppers around.”

“Harry, we’re just worried,” Hermione said reasonably.

The dark-haired youth sighed. “Look, just go, okay? I promise I’ll be right behind you. Can’t take that long to find something.” Besides, this was probably the best chance Harry had to spend some time by himself. There were precious few days left between now and the tasks he had set for himself. Find the horcruxes. Find Snape. And somehow, kill Voldemort.

Thankfully, Hermione acquiesced. She nodded, grasped Ron by the wrist and led him protesting through the crowd. Right before they disappeared from sight, though, Harry noticed that Hermione’s hand had slipped lower, so that his friends wove their way through the alley holding hands.

He frowned. Well, it had only been a matter of time, really. He didn’t know why he felt so surprised. Shrugging, the young wizard turned and headed in the opposite direction.

Behind him, a rough-looking man in a cloak peeled away from a shop window and followed in his wake.

========

Contrary to his prediction, it took Harry awhile to find a likely-looking shop. He realized at that point that he’d never really shopped for a wedding gift before, and that it was a whole different undertaking from buying gifts for his friends. He’d known Ron and Hermione for years, and had a clear sense of what they would find interesting.

Harry liked Bill Weasley well enough, but he was pretty much clueless as to what Bill actually liked. As for Fleur, he had no idea at all.

So the young wizard started looking for a generically suitable wedding present, which is a harder task than it sounds. He was finally down to a starter set of fine silverware versus a group of crystal goblets, when it happened.

The attack came out of nowhere. One moment he was standing quietly in front of a display, waiting for the shopkeeper to show him some wares of a different design. In the next there was a stabbing pain in his right side.

Harry’s Quidditch-honed reflexes enabled him to whirl away just as his attacker moved to stick him again with what looked like a silver icepick. Instinctively, he kicked at the stranger’s shin. The man howled and tried to grab him.

The teenager attempted to run past his attacker while reaching for his wand, but a hard shove from behind caused him to sprawl headfirst into a table full of crockery. The wand flew from his fingers.

The stranger lurched towards the dazed boy, closing the distance fast despite his lumbering gait. The slim icepick gleamed maliciously in his hand.

Harry scrambled for his wand, but knew he’d run out of time. He was moving too slowly, and the man was coming on too fast. A large, meaty hand grasped him by his shirt.

“Impedimenta!”

Suddenly the man was flying off his feet. The bulk of him crashed into a wall and slid down into an unconscious heap on the floor.

“Harry! Harry, are you alright?” Hermione ran forward, her wand still at the ready in case the attacker was faking. She had shouted the spell aloud, as much to distract the would-be assassin as out of sheer nervousness. When it looked like the man was out for good, she turned her full attention to her dazed friend. She helped him to his feet.

“Hermione? What’re you – you didn’t go back, did you?” Harry realized in an aggravated tone. He knew he should be thankful, but for some reason he was annoyed, too. He picked up his wand.

For her part, the girl looked suitably apologetic. “I did. I was almost at the floo when I got this bad feeling. I shoved the packages at Ron and ran back. Here,” she said as the tall boy stumbled, “lean on me a little.”

“Sorry, I’m still a bit ...” Harry grimaced as he placed his right arm around her shoulders for support. Hermione placed her arms around his middle to steady him, and suddenly Harry realized that he was practically embracing his best friend for the first in what seemed like a very long time. Hugged, yes. Hermione was a girl and she was a lot more demonstrative than the two blokes who were her best friends. A sustained contact, though, the last he could remember was when she had literally rushed into his arms when the three of them had first been reunited at Sirius’ house, back when Harry had first found out about the Order of the Phoenix. But there hadn’t been so many curves to her then.

He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling embarrassed and awkward. “Maybe I should sit down for awhile.” He grabbed a stool and gratefully sank down.

“Are you hurt? Oh Harry, you’re bleeding!” the girl exclaimed.

“I am?” He looked down at himself but couldn’t see anything. Oh yeah, he’d been stabbed.

“Not there,” Hermione said, “here.” She lightly touched a spot on his right side near the back, just below his ribs.

Harry tried to crane his neck, but couldn’t see it. “Is it bad?” It wasn’t painful, at least.

“I’m not sure, I can’t see it.” Hermione frowned. “Take off your shirt.”

“You’re joking.”

“This is no time to be modest! All I can see right now is the blood on your shirt. I need to look at,” she swallowed, “the damage. I’ll just lift it, okay?”

He nodded, and felt a sting as the girl tugged his shirt upwards. Hermione carefully prodded the area around the wound. He heard her sigh in relief. “It’s trickling blood but not badly. We should get you back home so the others can take a look at it, though. How do you feel?”

“Woozy, but that’s probably because the guy knocked me down.” Harry grimaced as she pulled his shirt back in place. “Who is he, anyway?”

“Probably a Death Eater,” the girl surmised, “but I don’t understand how he could’ve gotten past the Aurors.”

“Merlin’s beard, what happened here?!” The shopkeeper, newly returned from the storeroom, gaped at the mess in front of him. He nearly dropped the boxes he was carrying.

Hermione immediately pointed at the culprit, who was still unconscious. “That man came in here and attacked my friend.”

“But why would ...?” Harry could practically see the shopkeeper’s eyes bugging out of its sockets as he slowly put things together. Teenage boy. Scar revealed by mussed up hair. Sudden outbreak of violence. “You, you’re - oh this is horrible!”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quickly. “I’ll pay for any damage -”

“No, no, not at all!” The balding man was shaking his head emphatically. “Mr. Potter, sir, it’s an honor. But to have this happen to you in MY shop, it’s ... it’s just ...” he stammered. “You must not think badly of us, sir! We really do have good security. I don’t understand how this could’ve happened.”

He sounded so distressed that Harry found himself trying to reassure the man that of course he didn’t think badly of the place, could’ve happened anywhere really. From the corner of his eye, the young wizard spotted Hermione turning away to stifle a grin.

Finally, she took mercy on him and interrupted. “I’m sorry, sir, but we have to get this looked at. If you could do us a favor and explain what happened to the Aurors? I’m sure they’ll be here soon.”

“Of course, of course! But please, you must let me do more than that! Here,” the shopkeeper pushed the boxes he was still holding into the startled boy’s hands, “take these, free of charge. Is there anything else you’d like? Something for your girlfriend, maybe? We have some lovely pins.”

Harry flushed. “She’s not -”

“I’m not -” Hermione squeaked.

“There has to be something,” the shopkeeper waved their protests away. “At least let me give you a token for your trouble. Here, it’s from our new line for Hogwarts students.” He grabbed a small velvet box off of a display table and opened it.

Inside was a platinum replica of a rampant Gryffindor lion. Even to Harry’s unschooled eyes, the emblem was exquisitely made. Every line of their House symbol was etched in precise miniature. A tiny ruby flashed at the point where the eye was supposed to be. “I don’t think ...”

“Please.” The man sounded near tears. “It’s the least we can do for what’s happened here today.”

When her friend looked like he was going to protest again, Hermione bent near his ear and whispered, “Harry, take it and let’s get out of here! We’ll be stuck here for hours if the Aurors catch us. And we do need to have your wound looked at.”

Because he was still dizzy, Harry gave in. The last thing he wanted was to spend hours being grilled by the Ministry. The shopkeeper happily pinned the Gryffindor lion on his cloak as Hermione took the boxes of silverware and crystal from him. As quickly as she could, she ushered her wounded companion through the shop doors and away.

The shopkeeper stared after them for a bit, nonplussed at the speed of their exit. Then he turned his attention to the slumped figure on the floor. His eyes widened. Where was the icepick?

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?

=========

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.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company are the creation and property of JKR. I'm just borrowing them for awhile, and I'm sure not making any money doing it. :(

CHAPTER THREE:

The next day, Harry felt well enough to get on his feet. The first thing he noticed was that someone had taken the trouble to clean and press his robes. It hung neatly from a hanger, the new Gryffindor pin winking brightly on the dark cloth.

There was an awkward moment when Ginny stepped in to greet him. She’d obviously been worried, and Harry would be lying if he said he wasn’t touched.

At the same time, he could feel a barrier between them now. It had been self-imposed at first, but now it was simply there. And though they both regretted it, he sensed that she felt it, too.

Harry hit the showers as soon as Ginny left. She was on her way to the wedding rehearsal. She’d told him that, in case he didn’t feel up to joining them, Mrs. Weasley had left some food in the kitchen.

The teenager was still groggy, probably an after-effect of Madam Pomfrey’s brew, and it was only when he finished his shower that he realized he’d left his clothes and even his glasses in the room. Good thing everyone was gone, he thought, else it’d be embarrassing. He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped into the hallway.

Right in front of Hermione, who was just entering the hallway. She gasped and stared at the green-eyed youth in shock. Because Harry wasn’t wearing his glasses, he didn’t notice her right away. She stood rooted to the spot as he approached.

If she’d never really noticed how Harry had changed and grown over the years, she certainly got an eyeful now. The boy who used to be about her height now towered over her by at least a head-span. He was lean and toned, probably from Quidditch, if a little pale, and the unruly dark hair on his head was now sprinkled lightly on his forearms and legs and, most intriguingly, in a line that arrowed down from his navel into the depths of the white towel.

“Her-hermione!” Harry stammered, as he finally focused on the girl who stood frozen in her bridesmaid’s dress. He clutched at his towel in equal shock. “I thought everyone was gone!”

Hermione finally came to her senses. She averted her eyes. “Um, sorry. Ginny said you were awake and I wanted to tell you about what Tonks and Lupin ...” she trailed off in embarrassment. The Head Girl wasn’t used to the sight of scantily clad young men. She had no brothers, and at Hogwarts the uniforms and robes covered just about everything. Now, thanks to this incident, her first real, live not-from-a-book-or-telly image of a nearly starkers man was that of her best friend!

Harry didn’t let her finish. “Give me a minute. Meet you in the kitchen!” He ran past her and slammed into his room.

For a moment he just stood behind the door. He relaxed only when he heard Hermione’s steps turn and fade away. Harry sighed in relief. Had she noticed? Because the moment he’d gotten over his shock, he’d felt himself stir under the towel.

For the first time, he was absolutely grateful to Fleur. The dresses she’d chosen for the bridesmaids had left Hermione and Ginny spluttering. Even after those two had insisted on some changes, they were still low-cut, strapless affairs that left the girls’ arms, shoulders and most of their backs bare. If you were taller than the girls – and Harry and most of the boys were – you could even see a bit of cleavage. Which, as Fleur said, was the point.

Now what? He could hardly greet Hermione with a hard-on. He decided, not very rationally, to just take care of it quickly. He picked up his wand and cast a silencing charm. Then he dropped the wand and the towel and reached for his shaft. He already had the image in mind ...

... The girl’s look of shock turned into something else as the half-naked boy, after a second’s hesitation, continued his approach. He stopped only when he was right in front of her.

“Harry ...?”

“Shh.” He reached out and cupped her face in his hands and kissed her. After a few seconds she got over her surprise and started to respond. When she opened her mouth, he brought his arms around her and maneuvered them until Hermione was sandwiched between him and the wall.

He was still dripping wet from the shower, and now the water from his body was turning her thin bridesmaid’s dress into little more than a sheer veil over her body.

Hermione gasped as Harry’s hands found her breasts and gently squeezed. Her nipples hardened as the boy rolled them between his fingers through her dress. His green eyes were dark as they stared at her half-seen breasts. Then they rose again to meet her flushed gaze. “Let me see you,” he asked hoarsely, as he continued to play with her.

When she didn’t answer, he dove down and captured a nipple in his mouth. His tongue licked and thrust at it so roughly through the gossamer material that Hermione was afraid it would tear. She wove her hands into hair and tugged. “Harry, wait!”

Reluctantly, he broke off and gazed up at her, all his desire in his eyes.

Hermione’s face softened the way it had last night, only this time it was directed at him. “We don’t have time,” she said regretfully. “I came back early to see you, but the rehearsal might finish any minute.”

“You came back for me?” he asked, marveling.

The girl nodded and looked around nervously. “There’s no time for what you want,” she repeated, “but there is time for something else.”

“What – Hermione!” he rasped, as she traced the hard ridge of his penis through the towel.

“Let me see YOU, Harry.”

He nodded frantically. The towel dropped and pooled around his feet. Harry bucked as Hermione carefully took him in her bare hand. He braced his hands against the wall as she began to stroke him with her soft, warm fingers.

Suddenly his legs felt weak. “`Mione, I’m too excited, I’m not going to last long.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, as her hand started to move rhythmically over his length. “Sometimes, Harry, people just want to do things for you. You have to accept that.”

In astonishment, Harry watched the proud, brave Gryffindor sink to her knees. “You. don’t. have. to,” he managed to get out, unintentionally mimicking her words as his hips began to rock to the rhythm she set.

She smiled, and it was brilliant. “I think that’s one of the reasons why I want to.” She took him in her mouth and flicked her tongue over the swollen head of his cock ...

... “Hermione!” Harry bucked and cried out as he came. He tugged madly until the very last spurt. By the time he finished, he was panting for breath.

Grabbing his wand again, he cast a quick cleansing spell. The whole thing had taken about five minutes, and if he didn’t hurry, Hermione would start wondering what was taking him so long.

He hastily opened a drawer and grabbed a fresh shirt and khakis. At the last moment he decided to bring the cloak for cover, in case he had any more embarrassing reactions to his best friend. He was still straightening the shirt when he got into the kitchen.

The way Hermione was bustling around told Harry that she was still embarrassed by the episode in the hallway.

“Um, sorry `bout that,” he mumbled, raking a hand through his unruly hair. These days it seemed he had a lot to apologize for.

The girl shook her head. “My fault. I should’ve knocked or shouted or something.” She placed the sandwich and bowl of soup Mrs. Weasley had left for Harry on the table, but remained standing a few feet from him.

Harry realized how hungry he was. “What about you?” he asked, draping his cloak over the chair as he sat down.

“They served food at the rehearsal.”

The teenager began to wolf the sandwich down. Hermione had thoughtfully reheated the roast beef and the soup, and after an entire night of Madam Pomfrey’s brews they tasted great. “So, you were saying? Lupin and Tonks?”

“Tonks passed by the Ministry. They’re holding your attacker, but they haven’t identified him yet. He wasn’t a Death Eater, though. No mark,” Hermione explained. “Lupin took a sample of the stuff on the icepick to this old potions professor, Snape’s predecessor at Hogwarts, actually. He says it’s definitely Snape’s work, but he doesn’t think it’s a poison, either.” She bit her lip in that way that said she was worried.

Harry looked up from his soup. “Well, at least it hasn’t killed me yet,” he tried to joke.

Hermione’s head snapped up and she actually glared at him. “That’s not funny!”

“No?” Suddenly he was ticked off. The attack and everything else had ruined the last normal thing he’d been looking forward to. The teenager could no longer pretend that things were normal, or that they would go back to the way they were. Dumbledore was gone for good and, just when he was about to set off for the horcruxes and Voldemort, things were happening to him that he couldn’t understand.

He couldn’t even talk to anybody about it. Normally he would tell Ron, but in this case that was impossible. And who else could he approach? How would he explain the fact that he was suddenly wanking off to images of his best friend, who was also his other best friend’s probable girlfriend?

“Guess you’re right, as always.” His voice was cold. “I mean, Dumbledore’s dead, in no small way thanks to me, and I’m supposed to get this powerful wizard that killed him, right? Only I’ve got no idea where the horcruxes are, and now I’ve got this thing running around inside me that could explode any minute. You’re right, Hermione,” he repeated, “it’s not funny. But then, nothing’s been funny for a really long time.” He stood up. He’d lost his appetite.

Hermione looked stricken. “Harry, I ...”

He whirled away from her, grabbing his cloak from the chair. He had to leave before he gave into the urge to shake her ... or else kiss her hard, spill everything and try his best to wrest her from Ron. The only thing stopping him from giving into either impulse was the sure knowledge that he would lose her. And probably Ron, too. “I’m going for a walk.”

==========

Harry wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he decided to turn back. He only noticed that the sky was getting dark and that it was starting to get chilly. He drew his robes around him to ward off the cold. However pissed he was, he knew it wasn’t right to make people worry. The Weasleys had always been good to him, and this was Bill’s wedding after all.

He had already decided not to go. It was pointless now, and besides, he didn’t think Bill and Fleur deserved to start their life together by being pawns in some stupid Death Eaters’ plot.

For several years now, Harry had lived with the knowledge that Voldemort had him marked, but this time it felt like someone had painted a big red target on his back.

“... I can’t help it. I’m worried about him, Ron.”

Harry ducked behind an old oak tree and some bushes just as his friends came into view. Even in the failing light it was impossible to mistake the bright fiery head and that mass of wild curls. As quietly as he could, the bespectacled teenager crouched down and watched them.

Away from everyone else, the couple was holding hands once more.

“He’s probably walking around, like he said. You shouldn’t worry so much. Harry’s a tough bloke. He’s gone through worse than this.”

“I know, but something’s different this time. I can’t put my finger on it. Before the attack, Harry was touchy, but now ...”

“I’d be touchy too, if someone tried to stick me,” Ron stated reasonably. “What happened when you came back, anyway? You never said what set him off.”

Harry was sure that Hermione was blushing, though Ron might not notice in the half-light of approaching dusk. “Nothing,” he heard her say after a short pause, “he made a joke about not being dead yet and I sort of got on his case.”

Ron actually laughed. “That’s all? I thought for a sec it might’ve been because you told him about us.” He said it lightly, but there was a question somewhere in his words.

Hermione stopped abruptly. “What is there to tell?” she asked quietly. “We’ve been going around like this” - she held up their linked hands - “and we’ve snogged a few times but ... well, what are we, exactly?”

It took Harry a few seconds to place the expression on Ron’s face at that point. Then he had it. It was the same look that Harry had seen a dozen times on his teammate right before a serious Quidditch match.

The redhead was completely nerve-wracked. He started a couple of phrases, tried to start over, bungled it and finally threw out his hands in frustration. “Oh dammit, I am just absolute rubbish when it comes to words!”

“Try, Ron,” his companion urged, but she was smiling at him.

“Alright, alright.” The tall boy fidgeted. “I know I’ve been a jealous, half-witted prat this last year. Ginny says she can’t even understand why you like me. But you know how much you mean to me, right, Hermione?” Ron took a deep breath. Oh to hell with it, just spill it, you wanker! “You know I ... I’d do anything for you.”

For a moment Hermione was silent. Then she called Ron’s name in a voice that Harry had never heard before, husky and soft and impassioned. She looked open and vulnerable as she pulled the redhead to her, so different from the girl who’d stood toe to toe with the most discriminatory purebloods at Hogwarts, who wasn’t content until she’d beaten those who’d called her mudblood in every way that mattered.

But that wasn’t what was on Harry’s mind right then. As he watched their two shadows meld, saw Ron’s arms wrap around Hermione tightly, watched the girl stand on tiptoe so she could better meet the boy’s eager lips, something in him came to life. Oh yes, it was his old friend, that large and scaly creature that erupted in his stomach and clawed at his insides. Only it was much bigger now than it had been with Ginny. This time it seemed to practically take over his whole body.

Harry clutched his wand so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Blood pounded in his brain. There was a savage urge to tear those two apart, to strike Ron senseless and take his place.

It shouldn’t be like this, he thought wildly. It should be my arms around Hermione, my lips ravaging hers, my hand slowly moving up her hips to her side to ...

Just as Harry was about to hurl himself at them, Hermione broke the kiss. “Wait, Ron,” she whispered, her hands dropping to his arms, stopping him.

The lanky redhead let her go. He was breathing hard, too, and he looked just as surprised as she was at the sudden intensity of it all. “Too fast?” he finally managed, sounding a bit sheepish.

“A little,” Hermione answered honestly. “I wasn’t expecting ...”

“Me neither,” Ron admitted, but there was an extremely pleased expression on his face. “So, should we tell everyone?”

“Tell everyone what?” she asked innocently.

“Hermione!” He sounded slightly hurt.

She smiled, and went into his arms. “I’m just teasing,” she reassured him, hugging him around the waist. “We should probably tell Harry first. If we’re going after the horcruxes soon,” her voice turned serious, “he has to know. But first we have to find him.”

“I bet he’s back at the Burrow already,” Ron quipped, nuzzling her one last time. “Let’s go. It’s getting chilly. Phle - Fleur will kill me if you start sneezing tomorrow.”

Harry waited for the pair to disappear before he got slowly to his feet. Neither of his friends would’ve recognized him then, the iron set of his jaw and the blazing anger in his eyes. It was a face he had shown to only two people - Snape, and Lestrange when he realized that she had killed Sirius.

“I won’t lose you,” he whispered to the darkness. He clutched his robes closely as a particularly cold wind blew. What he had seen had wiped out all questions and doubts from his mind. Now all that existed was the primal need to act. As Harry stalked off, a plan was already forming in his mind.

Disclaimer: Nope, still not mine. This is going to be one of those smutty chapters, and Harry will turn dark for a couple of chapters. You have been warned. :)

CHAPTER FOUR:

“Harry, got a second? Hermione and I want to talk ...”

The pair stopped as soon as they came through the open door of the bedroom. The sight that greeted them was totally unexpected. Their friend was fully dressed for travel, down to his robes. He had a bag open on the bed, and was packing his clothes.

Hermione looked alarmed. “Harry? This isn’t because ...” When they’d met up right before dinner, there hadn’t been time to talk, but each had apologized to the other for overreacting.

The focus of their attention barely spared them a glance. “No, I just don’t feel up to attending the wedding anymore. I told your parents and Bill after dinner,” he informed Ron.

“Where are you going?” Ron asked.

“Grimmauld Place, for now. There are a few books I want to look up in Sirius’ library. Now that I think about it, some of them might help to pinpoint the horcruxes.”

That seemed to alarm his friends even more. “You’re going alone?” Ron spoke up again. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

Harry shook his head. “Lupin and the others warded the entire house a few days ago. Nobody can apparate or even floo in without being cleared first. It’s probably the safest place for me right now. Besides, I’m not going to be alone for long. Lupin will come once he’s through finding out about that potion. Hopefully I’ll have some information for him by then.”

“Have you found something?” Hermione asked, her curiosity piqued.

“I’m not sure,” he said evasively. “I just remember reading something before, when we first stayed at Grimmauld, but I didn’t know about the horcruxes then so I didn’t pay it much attention. The problem is, I don’t remember which book it is.”

“Oh well, Hermione knows the books in Grimmauld,” Ron volunteered. “She spent ages in the library when Sirius - I mean ...”

“There were a lot of historical tomes and biographies,” Hermione quickly covered the mention of Harry’s dead godfather. “You’re right, some of them might mention where the Hogwarts founders’ things are.”

Harry studiously kept his eyes on the bag he was stuffing. It was now or never. “Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to help me look? You’ve always been great with books. And to tell you the truth, I’m not looking forward to staying at that big awful house by myself, with just Kreacher and those miserable portraits for company. You too, Ron.”

The redhead looked miserable. “I can’t. I promised my mum I’d stay at least till the day after to help them clean up.”

Harry already knew that, of course. Actually, he was counting on it. But for appearance’s sake, he snapped his bag closed in an eloquent display of disappointment. “I understand. See you guys in a few days then.”

And just as he knew, or hoped she would, Hermione stepped forward. “Wait, Harry. Ron can’t, but there’s no reason why I can’t go ahead and join you. I can floo in right after Bill and Fleur’s wedding.”

The dark-haired teenager assumed a doubtful expression. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to take you away from the wedding just to look at some books.”

“It’s alright.” She glanced at Ron, who swallowed his disappointment and nodded. “I can pack before the wedding, change my clothes after and go. I should arrive by suppertime.”

Harry didn’t miss the look his friends had exchanged. Obviously they had made plans for the reception. Now he was doubly glad he’d decided to do this. Not only would he not have to spend the whole night ogling them enviously, he’d stolen their night together. He still had a chance, and he’d make the most of it!

This time the smile he showed them was genuine. “That’d be great! I’ll see you then. You guys have a great time tomorrow.” He hefted his bag and prepared to leave.

Ron blocked his way. “You sure about this, mate? It’s not too late to change your mind. Why don’t you stay for a bit? You know my family would love it if you came. You can always leave early if it gets too much.”

For the rest of his days, Harry would wonder what would’ve happened if he’d taken Ron up on his earnest offer. The friend he had been up to that point would have. It was at that moment that the he began to suspect that things weren’t quite right with him. That attack – what did it do to me? But the moment he tried to think, it was as if a great cloud descended on his mind. Everything was fuzzy.

Then he looked at his friends, and a clear image sprang into his mind of him kissing Hermione as Ron had done earlier, and the moment passed. “I’m sorry, I have to do this.” The apology was heartfelt, too.

In the future, the trio would remember this as the last, uncomplicated moment of their friendship. The apology would also be the last time Harry spoke to both Ron and Hermione before he completely messed up their lives.

========

That night, the Boy Who Lived tossed and turned in his bed in Grimmauld Place. Harry had felt so tired from the events of the last few days that he hadn’t even changed clothes. He just tossed his cloak and bags on the floor and collapsed on the bed ...

In the middle of the night, he woke to someone shaking his arm. “Alright, what’s wrong?” It was Hermione, in sweater and jeans, looming over him. “You’ve been in a bad mood all week. You’ve been avoiding us, and now you’re holed up here.”

“You followed me here to ask that?” he asked disbelievingly. “For pity’s sake, Herm, it’s the middle of the night! Just leave it alone.”

“I won’t! I’ve been trying to figure it out and I couldn’t sleep and I’ve been so worried - hmph!”

Harry took advantage of the girl’s surprise and quickly wrapped his arms around her. He sank down on the bed without breaking the kiss, taking her with him so that her body was trapped on top of his. She struggled, but he was holding her tightly, and she only succeeded in squirming against him. He began to stiffen as the constant movement mashed her breasts up and down against his chest. He knew the second Hermione felt him because she abruptly stopped moving.

Harry broke the kiss, short of breath. “Tell me why you’re here,” he asked huskily.

“I was ... worried,” she stammered.

“So worried you had to floo in alone in the middle of the night?” he mocked her lightly. His green eyes were penetrating. “Does Ron know you’re here?”

He saw a flash of guilt in her eyes. “No. I didn’t want to bother anybody. I just wanted to talk to you.”

“That’s not the entire truth, Hermione, and we both know it.”

“What truth? I - Harry!” she exclaimed, as he bent his knee between her legs and raised his muscular, trouser-clad thigh until it was resting against the crotch of her jeans. Experimentally, he moved his thigh against her.

“You want this.” Even to his own ears his voice was hoarse. With his arms he held her down a bit so that his thigh could press more tightly against her center. Using his strength he began to push her down at the same time he moved his leg, rhythmically grinding her against his thigh. He watched in satisfaction as Hermione’s mouth opened in a silent “oh!”

“You want ME. Say it, Hermione.” But she stayed stubbornly silent, her face flushed and her eyes screwed shut. “All these years and you never thought about what it would be like between us? Not once?” He knew she must have. They were hormonal teenagers, and what with the Daily Prophet and half the people at school at one time or another calling them an item, the thought must’ve crossed her mind. “I have. Often.”

While she was pondering the significance of his admission, he stretched and kissed her again. It wasn’t long before he was running his tongue across the seam of her lips, seeking entrance. When she didn’t respond, he nipped her lower lip with his teeth.

She gasped in surprise and that was his chance. Thrusting his tongue into her mouth, Harry rolled until she was pinned beneath him. Hermione’s eyes shot open as the movement brought his hardness against her stomach. Then he was sliding down until he was between her jeans-clad legs and his erection was touching her crotch.

Harry plundered her mouth, exploring every nook and cranny. Now that his weight was helping to hold her down, he was able to snake one hand free and between them. Before Hermione realized what was happening, he had lifted her shirt until it was bunched up above her chest.

“Fantastic,” she heard him groan as he gazed at her half-nakedness. She cursed herself for being in such a tearing hurry that she hadn’t even put a bra on before she left the Burrow.

Then all thought flew from her head as his mouth lowered to taste her breasts. “H-Harry!” she stuttered as he kissed and licked her every inch of her breasts. Only after this exploration was finished did he begin to suck one nipple and then the other.

He could only use his mouth. His hands were gripping her wrists now and he brought them up so that her breasts sprang towards his eager lips even more. He was sucking so hard that she felt part of her breast slip into his mouth. He lapped at it eagerly, his tongue circling her nipples, and then flicking over them in fast, tight movements that had her arching off the bed.

Hermione came back to her senses only when his hands released hers so they could unbutton and unzip her jeans. This time her hands gripped his.

“I just want to touch you, Hermione,” he said soothingly. He parted the opening of her jeans as wide as it would go, revealing white silky knickers. He stared in fascination. Her knickers were translucent and he could see the outline of a dark triangle beneath.

Curiously, he trailed one finger in a straight line over the center of that triangle.

The girl beneath him sucked in her breath. At the same time she tried to pull his hand away. “Stop, I can’t. I’m, I’m with Ron now.”

Though Hermione didn’t know it, it was the worst thing that she could’ve said. At the mention of his best friend’s name, the large and scaly monster slumbering in Harry’s gut sprang to life again. It wanted, demanded, that Harry put a stop to this nonsense. It mocked him - what, thought you were doing so well? But she hasn’t forgotten him, has she? You have her arching off the bed but all she can do is think of him. Pathetic.

The raven-haired wizard shook her hands off and lifted himself up until he was half-kneeling between her legs. He regarded her silently, taking in every inch of the girl spread out before him. Flushed face. Lips swollen from his kisses. Marks beginning to form on her breasts from where he had been so rough. Nipples dark and distended from his suckling. Her knickers, and that intriguing patch of dark underneath.

By the time the boy’s gaze came back to her face, Hermione was blushing with embarrassment. She crossed her arms in front of her and covered as much of herself with them as she could. Then her eyes went wide as Harry took off his shirt and threw it on the floor.

“You say it’s Ron you want,” he said through clenched teeth as he undid the buttons on his trousers, “but for some reason” - his green eyes flicked over her half-naked form once more - “I’m having a hard time believing you.”

“It’s the truth!” she insisted.

“Then prove it.”

“What? How?”

Instead of answering her, he grasped one of her hands and brought it palm-up to his chest. However much she pulled he just held it there.

When her efforts to free her hand subsided a little, he asked in a unexpectedly gentle voice, “Do you trust me, Hermione?”

At any other time she would’ve said yes immediately, and it surprised Harry how much it hurt when she hesitated and eventually answered, “Right now, I – I don’t know.”

He closed his eyes briefly. “I guess I deserve that.” When he looked at her again, he said softly, “Before this goes any further, you should know that I love you. Yeah,” he affirmed as she stared at him in disbelief, “I’ve been such a git, trying to deny it all these years.”

She considered him for what felt like a long time. “What ... what do you want?”

Harry released a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. “Touch me. Anywhere you like,” he said in a low voice.

She swallowed, obviously nervous. “That’s it?”

“No, I want to touch you. Wait,” he interrupted because she was about to protest. “I’m not going to take anything else off, and I’ll only use my hands and mouth.” In a fit of inspiration he added, “Those rules don’t apply to you. You can do whatever you like, so long as you keep one of your hands on me during the whole time.”

She bit her lip. “That’s it?”

He saw how close she was to acceding. “Five minutes, `Mione. If you want me to, in five minutes I’ll stop. You can go, and we’ll never tell a soul.”

“And if I – you, er,” for the first time in ages, Hermione was at a loss for words, “that is, if you ... win?”

Just having her say it made his heart pound faster. He was so close, so near to what he had wanted for years. He dropped his hand so that it was no longer imprisoning hers. “You tell me.”

She breathed uncertainly. “Al-alright.”

At any other time, Harry would’ve started by kissing her again. He badly wanted to. But with so much at stake and so little time, he went straight for that he thought would be his best bet.

Hermione squirmed as Harry touched her through her knickers. He used his thumb explore her slit until he found the nub at her center. Slowly, he ran circles over her clit. Every now and then he would brush directly over her nub.

It was starting to affect her, he saw. Hermione was straining with the effort not to move to the motions of his hand, but her legs had opened imperceptibly wider. Harry smiled when he saw this. Time for the next move.

Leaning forward, he snaked his other hand towards her breast. At first he just ran the calloused surface of his palm over her nipples. When they were nice and pointed again, he started flicking them with his fingers.

Up to this point, Hermione had kept her end of the bargain by keeping her palm flat where he had left it on his chest. But a few seconds after Harry started touching both breast and clit, her palm curled into a loose fist. With the back of her hand and fingers, she began to trace the surface of the raven-haired boy’s chest. She seemed pleased at his sudden indrawn breath.

“Hermione,” he groaned when her fingers brushed over a nipple.

Encouraged, Harry did a daring thing. He moved from his relatively secure place between her legs and knelt by her side. He smiled at the girl who looked up at him in confusion.

Then she threw her head back as he took one nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue and sucking on it greedily. At the same moment, Harry slipped his fingers into the opening of her jeans and into her knickers.

Hermione bucked against his hand as his fingers burrowed into her wet curls. He slid around a bit before finding her clit once more. With his bare fingers this time he circled it. Then he got a wicked idea.

The girl shuddered as Harry began running his tongue around her nipple at the same pace his fingers were circling her clit. The slow matching movements were driving her mad. Unconsciously, her palm flattened against his chest and began slipping down until it was resting at the slack waist of his open trousers.

She was so close. Harry couldn’t resist. With his free hand, he guided her hand from the waist of his trousers to its unzipped crotch. For a second, Hermione just let her hand rest there, a teasing, warm presence near his arousal.

Harry groaned. “Hermione ... please.”

She froze, and for an agonizing moment he thought she would pull away. Then he felt her lightly trace his arousal through his boxers, running her knuckles along his hard length. He felt her tug down at the waistband of his boxers at the same time he crooked and slipped his middle finger into her, making her jerk.

From then on it was a different kind of contest, each trying to see who could bring the other off first. Harry suckled on her nipples hungrily while his finger dove in and out of her. Soon he was finger fucking her as fast as he possibly could.

Hermione’s hand ran up and down his length, smearing his pre-cum all along his shaft. When he was slick enough for her to speed up, she began running a thumb over the head each time she reached it.

They were panting for breath, their movements faster and more erratic with each passing moment.

The boy felt the muscles in his belly clench, and as much as he tried to stop it, he lost the struggle when he heard her whisper, “I want you, Harry. I want to see you come ...”

... He woke crying out his release. Only then did Harry realize that he had been dreaming. His cock was still twitching and spilling in his trousers. He lay there for a minute until the sensations faded, till there was only the sticky mess in his crotch to remind him of what had just happened. Finally he sat up and buried his head in his hands.

‘It was just a dream,’ he thought brokenly, ‘another DAMNED, GROTTY dream!’ Only this one was the worst yet. It had seemed so real. Hermione’s hands touching him ... it made him hate waking up.

What the blazes is wrong with me? Harry felt like he was going stark raving mad. Was he really going to push through with this plan? Was he going to do something like that to one of his best friends, who’d been through every imaginable danger with him for the last six years?

If he did this, it would be a betrayal of the worst possible sort. And he would be betraying not only Hermione, but Ron too.

But Merlin, he wanted her! He only had to close his eyes for a minute, and she would be there, writhing beneath him, wanton and starkers and more than willing.

Maybe it won’t work. Maybe things’ll change and they’ll get here together. Or Hermione won’t make it. Or she’ll sense something and leave before I do anything stupid.

But Harry knew this was all wishful thinking. In the end, it would be in his hands. And if Hermione came alone, he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist.

Disclaimer: None of the characters or anything in the Potterverse belongs to me. That said, it's definitely time for another warning: This is, in terms of the two main characters, the worst and darkest chapter of this story. Everything – their friendship, what they thought they knew about each other, their trust in each other – falls apart in the space of one night. It's part of the story, it's necessary, and more importantly, it's temporary. This story will end well, in every sense of the word. But if you're the slightest bit uncomfortable with anything mentioned in the first warning (see Prologue), please turn back now. PK is teeming with other, probably better, and certainly sweeter stories. This is not one of them. This story is about how cold, evil, manipulative men attempt to destroy everything important to Harry and Hermione, and how they can survive it, and perhaps love each other after.

CHAPTER FIVE: BETRAYAL

There was something wrong with their friend. That was Hermione’s foremost concern. If it turned out that the icepick was tainted with some slow-acting poison or some brew that would harm the boy Voldemort had marked as his enemy, she needed to be there to stop it. That, as much as compassion for Harry’s situation, convinced the girl to forego the reception and the dance with Ron she had been looking forward to. This seemed to be a more immediate need.

Even Ron was starting to worry. He’d promised to floo in by noon the next day at the latest. Together, they would watch Harry’s back, as they had done quite a few times before. Not for a second did the Head Girl think she was in danger from one of her best friends.

It was only when she stepped through the huge fireplace at Grimmauld, brushing the soot from her clothes, that she felt a frisson of uncertainty.

The Harry that stood to meet her as she stepped from the fireplace was nothing like the boy she was used to. For one, he wasn’t wearing his glasses. For another, he was dressed as formally, and in some cases even more finely, than any guest at the wedding she had just left. Midnight black dress robes swirled around his lean figure, relieved only by the stark creamy whiteness of a pure silk shirt. And the way he strode towards her. At that moment, Harry seemed taller, purposeful.

Dangerous.

Then he smiled, obviously pleased to see her, and that melted away.

He took her bag and led her to a nearby table. “I hope you’re hungry. Since I took you away from the reception, I got us some dinner.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she saw the table. It was laid out with fine china, silverware and heavy silver candlesticks. “If I’d known you were going to this much trouble, I wouldn’t have changed out of my dress.” Suddenly she felt self-conscious in her casual knit cotton blouse and jeans.

He smiled at her again. “What you have on is fine. I just felt like dressing up. I bought these clothes for the wedding and I didn’t want them to go to waste.”

It sounded so reasonable that she accepted it. “Where are your glasses?” she asked curiously, as he pulled a chair for her.

“I’m trying out a new spell. Seems to work on my eyesight for short periods of time.” He sat across from her. “Eat up. If you want more, just tell me. I made enough for three. I was half-expecting Ron to show,” he explained truthfully. Actually, there was still a small part of Harry that would’ve been relieved to see the redhead. It would’ve saved him from having to choose between going ahead with this or not.

“You made all of this?” Hermione was amazed. The food was succulent, at par with anything she’d ever had in a restaurant. It made her realize just how hungry she was. “It’s good,” she said appreciatively.

“When you’re the unofficial orphan maid, it helps to know how to cook,” Harry half-joked. It earned him a sympathetic look. Everyone knew how miserable he was whenever he had to live with the Dursleys.

When they were about halfway through dinner, Harry excused himself and came back bringing a bottle of currant wine. “Thought it would make a nice change from pumpkin juice,” he grinned. “You’re of age, after all, and I nearly am.”

It wasn’t hard to convince his companion to try some, specially since alcohol wasn’t officially allowed at Hogwarts. As Head Girl, Hermione had to keep that rule at school, but she wasn't such a stickler when she was just with her friends. She had actually told Harry once that she was starting to develop an appreciation for wine, both the muggle and wizard varieties.

They sipped wine all throughout dinner and after, when Harry removed his outer robes and lit a fire. He seemed a little more relaxed now, but he was still more formal than usual in his dark vest, silk shirt and black trousers.

Hermione noticed the miniature Gryffindor lion gleaming from his vest. She recognized it as the pin that the shopkeeper had practically foisted on Harry after the attack. Funny, she had never seen her friend wear jewelry.

She was about to ask him about it when the boy moved a couch in front of the fireplace with a flick of his wand. They ended up sitting next to each other, the half-empty bottle of currant wine nestled between them.

“I don’t think I can get anything done tonight,” Hermione admitted as he poured her another glass. She was feeling pleasantly tipsy from the food and the wine. She was sitting sideways on the couch, facing Harry, her legs partially tucked under her. She tilted her head so that it was resting against the back of the couch. “You’re going to make some woman really happy one day, my friend.”

Except for that last part, it was almost what Harry wanted to hear. “Was this okay, then?”

“Are you daft? A strapping, good-looking guy who cooks and sets up a fancy dinner at a moment’s notice? Not to mention Quidditch team captain and all that,” she teased. “Who can resist?” Hermione was only half-joking. She thought whoever Harry ended up with would be lucky indeed. It was too bad that he and Ginny hadn’t worked out. She liked Ginny.

He swirled the wine in his glass self-consciously. “Am I ... good-looking?”

She nearly laughed at how serious he was. “You’re kidding, right?” she asked, reaching over to ruffle his hair, which was neater than usual tonight. “After half the girls at Hogwarts tried to slip you love potions last term, don’t you know?”

If she hadn’t been drowsy from the wine, Hermione would’ve caught the way Harry’s eyes lit up as her fingers brushed against his hair, and the strange expression on his face. She only had time to wonder why he was starting to lean over like that, when Harry kissed her.

Hermione was too surprised to pull away. It wasn’t unpleasant, really, Harry’s lips sliding against hers, just unexpected and ... at this point, totally unwanted. She and Ron were finally, tentatively starting to work things out. For this to happen now was, well, complicated and absolutely awful.

When he drew away, Hermione’s eyes were wide with shock. “I – what did you ... why?” she stammered.

Harry brushed a finger against her cheek. “I’ve wanted to do that for awhile now,” he admitted.

She said the first thing that came to mind. “Harry, Ron and I ...”

“Don’t.” She was surprised at how hard he sounded. “I know this is sudden. I - I want a chance, that’s all.”

For one of the few times in her life, Hermione was absolutely speechless. Harry was sweet, and he had had a hard life. The last thing she wanted to do was to hurt him. But she’d be lying if she even let him think that she could choose him now, not when she’d just promised Ron that she’d give this thing that had been brewing between them a chance. She licked her lips nervously. “What brought this on? I thought you and Ginny - and before that there was Cho ...”

Harry shook his head. He had liked those girls; he still liked Ginny. But when he thought about them now it was as if they were a faraway memory. Even with Ginny he’d accepted that their time together was finished. “Do you remember the Yule Ball during the tournament? That day you came down the stairs, all dressed up like we’d never seen, I remember staring. For a moment I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. And then later I noticed Ron, and the way he was looking at you with his mouth hanging open.”

He ran his hands through his hair, turning it unruly again. “Honestly, I tried. I didn’t want to come between you because you’re my closest friends. But I can’t pretend anymore. Maybe it’s everything that’s happened recently, but I just can’t hide what I feel.”

Harry took her hand, the one that wasn’t holding a wine glass, like he had a dozen times before. Only this time he turned it upwards so he could graze her palm with his lips. “I dream about you every time I fall asleep,” he murmured. “When I’m awake all I can think about is you. I love you, Hermione.”

The appalled object of his declaration tried to pull her hand away, but Harry’s hold was too firm. Again, it wasn’t unpleasant, what he was doing. Rather the opposite, actually. Her palm seemed to become increasingly sensitive as he began to press kisses on it. Then, to her shock, she felt the tip of his tongue peek out to taste her skin. She opened her mouth to protest. “Har-!”

Harry was a seeker, had once been Hogwarts’ youngest seeker, in fact. The instant he saw his chance, he seized it. Before the girl could complete his name he was kissing her again, with more force this time. He slipped his tongue into her open mouth. He leaned into her until she was trapped between the armrest of the couch and his body.

Hermione could feel how literally hot he was - his lips, and the hands that that came up to grasp her arms almost burned through her clothes. Any doubts she had about the seriousness of his declaration was quickly dispelled by his hungry mouth plundering hers. Any attempts she made to talk, to reason with him, only brought her tongue flashing against his. The sounds she made in protest sounded like whimpers.

Then it clicked. Harry in his strange, formal clothes. A dinner carefully prepared. Wine and a fire. And before it all, a skillfully executed scheme that had gotten her here. Alone.

Suddenly, Hermione felt lost. This was her best friend. She had practically grown up with him. They had saved each other countless times, and he had planned this. This night had never been about the horcruxes. This was a ... seduction.

She pushed him away, and was surprised when he let her go. She was confused when she got up and he made no move to stop her. Maybe she had it wrong? Maybe Harry just wanted to tell me how he felt? He only watched as she took one step towards the fireplace.

Of course she would have to put out the fire, Hermione thought, before she tottered.

Then, as her legs turned to jelly, she understood. She looked at the boy who had been her friend as the shock of betrayal coursed through her. He had gotten up when she started to sway and now he was standing next to her. He caught her as she fell.

“Harry,” she called. And whether she called out to him in a misguided plea for help, or whether his name was a curse on her lips not even Hermione could say as she spiraled into unconsciousness.

======= Last chance to stop. See warning above. =======

“You shouldn’t have come. I was hoping you wouldn’t.” There was an expression of regret on the young wizard’s face as he looked down at her. Then he turned his head briefly towards the door and raised his wand. “Colloportus.”

Those were the first words Hermione heard when she came to. For the first time, Harry saw only confusion in her usually knowing brown eyes. She couldn’t even speak.

It was the drug he had used to spike her food, he knew. It had been far more potent than he’d expected, or maybe it was the combination with the wine. He had actually begun to worry when she finally woke.

Harry carefully placed his wand on the night table, making sure it was out of her reach. He unbuttoned his vest and shirt but left them on. Somehow, he had the illogical idea that leaving his clothes on might make her panic less.

“I know about you and Ron,” he whispered as he got into the bed next to her. He grasped her wrists when she tried to raise her hands between them. “You want to know something, Hermione? I’d trade anything for what Ron’s got. Parents and a family that love him, watch over him, and now he’s got you. What do I have?” he asked bitterly. “An empty house that’d suit the darkest of wizards and galleons in a vault. But everyone who cares about me is dead.”

Hermione found herself weakly protesting, “That’s not true. You have the Order ... friends ... Ron ... me.” Some part of her was hoping that he would remember that she was his friend and that she could talk him out of this.

His emerald stare bored into her. “You say that, but the two of you are involved now. Soon I’ll just be the pesky bloke who gets in the way.” He felt wetness forming in his eyes, but forced it back. “Hermione, what I have right now? I’d give it all up for you. Tell me to leave this fight and run away with you, and I’ll do it. Or ask me to hurl myself at Voldemort and his Death Eaters tomorrow. Be with me, and I’ll do anything you say.”

“You can’t mean that,” she said desperately. It was hard to think. Just stringing the words together required a lot of effort.

It didn’t help that she was barely finished speaking when Harry moved in to kiss her deeply. As his tongue twined around hers, his fingers ghosted over her neck and jaw, making her shiver. Then his lips were there, moistly following the path laid out by his fingers.

“I do,” he whispered against her skin. “I'll do anything. Just stay with me tonight.”

A whimper inadvertently escaped Hermione as his lips found a sensitive point on her neck and gave it particular attention. She found herself tilting her head in response to the pressure, and he took advantage of it, sucking and nipping at the tender skin so tightly both of them knew it would bruise.

Hermione shut her eyes. A part of her was practically screaming at these events, but the rest of her felt like it was floating. It was almost as if she was watching Harry do these things to her instead of experiencing it.

Some of it, she thought groggily, was probably denial. And the drugs. Oh Merlin, Harry drugged me. My best friend is planning to ... NO! He’d never do that, not Harry ... Dammit, Granger, face facts! You’re supposed to be smart. What do you think is happening here? If this were any other boy, you wouldn’t even be anywhere near this situation. Focus!

While the girl was striving to steel her mind awake, Harry moved so that he was on top of her, straddling her thighs. He captured her lips feverishly as his hands began to run down the buttons of her blouse. I have to see her! He wanted to know how much of his dreams were true.

Hermione’s eyes snapped open the moment she felt the cool air hit her bare skin. The detachment she had been feeling up to this point began to give way to mounting panic as the dark-haired boy popped the last of the buttons.

Harry leaned back, keeping his eyes on the girl’s face as he started pulling her blouse open. Only when he felt the material bunch at her sides did he finally dare to look down. The sight of her breasts straining through a thin satin bra exceeded anything he had ever imagined simply because they were real.

“Brilliant,” he said admiringly. “So beautiful,” he rasped as he cupped the almost bare mounds through her bra, feeling their weight for the first time.

“Harry, please don’t.”

He closed his eyes. He had never heard her voice sound so small before. He almost gave in. There was a part of him that was actually screaming, ‘What the bloody hell are you doing? You heard her. Get your sodding hands off her, you bastard!’

But there was also that other voice, scaly, serpentine, the creature that had shown up when Ron and Hermione were snogging. `And then what?’ it asked dryly. ‘Stand aside for the redhead, like a good little boy?’ In almost parseltongue smoothness, it crooned, ‘After all you’ve been through, don’t you deserve at least one night with the woman you love?’

“Why, so you can go to Ron?” he responded angrily. Then he softened and gazed at her imploringly as he lowered his body over hers. “Why not me, Hermione? Give me a chance, I only want to please you. I promise I’ll make it good.”

The jolt he felt as his bare skin finally made contact with hers for the first time made Harry almost roll his eyes in pleasure. His trouser-clad erection was digging into her thigh now. He couldn’t help rubbing it against her a little.

If she could’ve, Hermione would’ve shot off the bed. Fully awake now, she began struggling in earnest as Harry slipped a rough hand inside the cup of her bra and lifted one coral-tipped breast free.

“Harry, no!” she shouted as she felt a strange hand freely palming her bare breast.

But he was lost to her. The second he felt the unique smoothness of her nipple pushing against his fingers, all the young wizard could think of was seeing and feeling more of her. Harry slipped an arm under the struggling girl and held her tightly against his body as his other hand snaked up to push the blouse off of her shoulders. He yanked the offending cloth down from the back and left it bunched halfway down her arms, trapping them.

“No!” Hermione cried out again, as she felt him slide the straps of her bra as far down as they would go. Soon both her breasts were freed, and the cups that were now under them were pushing them up, offering them for the boy’s inspection.

For a moment Harry gazed at her half-nakedness in stunned awe. He had never seen anything so perfect. Unable to resist, he began planting kisses on them frantically. His left hand reached for the nearest breast and cupped it. He found the nipple and began rolling it gently between two fingers. Then he lowered his mouth over the other rose-darkened tip.

The girl under him jerked as Harry swirled his tongue experimentally around the nipple in his mouth. She had never let anyone get this far, and although she had touched herself in curiosity a few times there was absolutely no comparison between her awkward fingers and the sensation of Harry’s hot mouth engulfing the sensitive tips of her breasts.

It didn’t change the fact that this was the last thing she wanted, and that she didn’t want to go where this was going. But Hermione wasn’t in the habit of deluding herself. This was pleasure spiking from her breasts to a warm place low in her belly.

Only it was so bloody wrong! She bit her lip hard to stop a whimper from escaping. She would not let her body betray her. She would not give him the satisfaction or the encouragement.

But Harry had already sensed something amiss. She had gone silent and stopped moving. He lifted his head and looked at her, and there was a familiar expression of concern on his face. “Hermione?”

The girl could feel tears prickling behind her eyes because for a second it was as if her friend was back, the boy she’d grown up with. She appealed to that boy now. “Harry, stop this. Please. I ... I don’t want to. I don’t want my best friend to – to ...” She couldn’t continue. To be raped was always one of a girl’s worst fears. But for it to be done by someone she trusted and truly loved as a friend - the mere thought of it sent her tears spilling.

Her words seemed to strike some chord in him. “Oh `Mione, don’t cry.” He lifted himself up a little and brushed a knuckle across her cheek to wipe some of the tears away. “I’m sorry, I – I don’t know ...”

But whatever else Harry meant to say was lost as a sudden blow sounded against the door. It was so loud that it reverberated throughout the room.

“Harry! Hermione!”

Both teenagers’ gazes whipped towards the door. The voice was one they recognized instantly. Lupin.

“Tonks,” they heard him say, “together!” Again, the door shook under their combined blows but did not open.

The noise galvanized Harry into action. He rolled off the bed, grabbed his wand and pointed it at the door. “No, you’re not taking her from me!” he yelled defiantly. “Colloportus maxima!” A blue point of light flew from his wand and shimmered around the door.

While he was distracted, Hermione sat up and quickly fixed her clothes. Her eyes frantically roamed the room. Where had Harry placed her wand?

“Harry!” It was Lupin again. “Do not do anything rash, do you understand? You’re under a spell. It’s making you do things you would never ordinarily do. It will try to make you hurt Hermione.”

“I would never hurt her!” the young wizard denied hotly. “I love her! You’re lying, you just want her too! Leave us alone!”

There was a second’s pause, and then it was Tonks who answered in an oddly calm, methodical voice. “Harry, listen to me. No one is trying to take Hermione from you. We’re only trying to help. We just want to know if she’s okay.”

At the mention of her name, the girl got to her feet, carefully keeping the bed between her and Harry. “I’m alright!” she called out. As she feared, her voice brought her tormentor whirling around to face her.

Sounding relieved, Tonks addressed the witch directly. “Hermione, listen! Is there anything you see on Harry that’s new? Some object you’ve never seen before?”

The girl’s eyes instantly flicked to the Gryffindor miniature still pinned to Harry’s open vest. “Yes.”

“He has to take it off,” Tonks said urgently. “It’s part of what’s making him act this way.”

Hermione lifted her gaze to the young wizard’s face.

His expression was wary, full of distrust. “No.”

“What would be the harm?” she asked, trying to reason with him.

“No.”

Think, girl, think! “Then you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t believe you,” Hermione said in as cool a voice as she could manage.

He looked confused. “What?”

“You say you love me, but what if it’s just this spell talking? I mean, what are you afraid of? Tonks and Lupin are outside. The door’s barred. What difference does it make if you take the pin off or not?”

She thought she had him. If his mind was as addled as it seemed ...

Then Harry chuckled. “Clever, Hermione. I’ve always liked that about you,” he continued, smiling. “Alright, I’ll do it. On one condition.”

“Yes?”

“Come here.”

Oh no way. No way in hell.

“Fair trade,” he said reasonably. “You want the pin? You can have it.

All I want in return is a kiss.”

“No,” she whispered.

The half-smile fell and Harry turned serious. “I’m not a fool, `Mione. I know Lupin and Tonks are about to break down that door. I just want one willing kiss from you, one kiss from the woman I love that I don’t have to take. That’s all.”

Hermione stared at him in disbelief. “You know that’s not possible. Not after what you tried to do.”

The young wizard actually hung his head. “Yeah.” Slowly, he turned so that he was facing the door again. He raised his wand. “I guess this is it then.”

“What’re you doing?” she exclaimed in alarm.

Harry quirked a brief, dead grin. “I’m going to fight, Hermione. Till Lupin and Tonks have no choice but to kill me. You see, I gambled everything that mattered to me tonight. I lost. You and Ron will hate me now. So none of it matters anymore, does it?”

“You’re mad!”

Again that humorless smile. “Probably.” He took a deep breath. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I hurt you. I just wanted ...”

“I think I can guess what you wanted!” she retorted sharply.

“No, `Mione,” he said in the gentlest voice. “All I wanted was to love you for one night. In my dreams, you always gave me a chance,” he mused wistfully.

Stark, barking mad. Either that or ... Suddenly the girl’s mind latched onto something. What had Lupin said? A spell? There were entire philosophies built around the question of how much you could hold a person under a spell responsible for his or her actions. Hermione knew because she had studied every one of them. Real life had also provided plenty of examples. Madam Rosmerta was the most recent one, struck by an Imperius Curse, and way before that, a young Ginny, an unwilling victim to the ghost of an unclean memory.

Which meant she had a choice to make. She could let Harry fight it out. After his betrayal, she could stand seeing him get hurt. Surely Lupin and Tonks would be able to take him down without killing him. But then anything could go wrong. What if Harry managed to hurt them in the process?

“Put the wand down.” Her voice shook as she took a tiny step forward. Even though she had faced so many dangers before, she had never been so frightened in her life.

Harry glanced at her and, without a single word, laid his wand down on the night table. He didn’t take his eyes off her even when the door shook again, harder this time.

His hands clenched at his sides as the girl stopped inches away from him. He fought off the urge to grab her, and as he did for a second his mind cleared. You’re under a spell. It will try to make you hurt Hermione ... No way would I do that. NO way ... Oh Merlin, what am I doing?!

“Take it,” he told her through gritted teeth. Sweat stood out on his forehead.

“What?”

Harry shut his eyes. “I can’t do it. Just thinking about trying makes me ... just take it off, Hermione!”

She didn’t have to be told twice. Hermione grabbed the pin from his vest and wrenched it away.

And was instantly assaulted by feelings so strong that it literally took her breath away. She gazed in disbelief at the tiny piece of jewelry in her hand. The ruby eye of the miniature lion seemed to wink at her.

Godric’s blood, this is what Harry’s been feeling?! It was as if every nerve in her body was switched on. It felt almost exactly like that day in the woods with Ron, but a dozen times worse.

Except that it wasn’t Ron her body was singing for now. It was the tall, lean, raven-haired wizard standing in front of her who had her complete attention. Had she never really noticed how attractive he was?

“Harry.”

His eyes flew open at the new note in her voice, and at the touch of Hermione’s fingers tugging his head down and gently winding through his hair. “Hermione.” He breathed her name for an instant before his lips found hers.

It was the sweetest and longest kiss he had shared with her all evening. With a muffled cry of joy, Harry enfolded her in his arms.

When the door finally gave way, that was how Lupin and Tonks found them. It took a lot of convincing (and in Harry’s case, a lot of tugging, swearing and finally a knockout spell) to pull them apart.

Hermione watched as Harry was safely bound and levitated back to his bed. Lupin took the pin from her with a gloved hand and carefully tucked it away in a box.

Then Tonks gently placed a blanket over the shoulders of the shivering girl. “Are you alright, Hermione?” she asked gently. Lupin hovered nearby, but he had the sense to keep his distance from the distraught young witch.

“No.” With that one softly spoken word, Hermione's control dissolved. She clung weakly to the sympathetic Auror and wept brokenly for the friendship she had lost tonight. Whatever else happened, she knew she would never trust Harry, or anyone else, the same way again.

Author's note: I know the outcome looks even worse now than in the past chapters, but believe it or not this was planned to be an HHr story from the start. It just needs some time to get there. Reviews appreciated. Flames will be incinerated. `Nuff said.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company are the property and creation of J.K. Rowling. This is purely non-profit stuff I made up. Please review. :)

CHAPTER SIX:

The day before:

The young cloaked wizard resisted the urge to tug nervously at his robes. It would only draw attention. Instead he blew into his cold hands, obscuring his face in the process.

Finally he reached his destination. It was a shop for common foodstuffs and household supplies, a mundane place he had never entered in all his life. He quickly made his way to the safety of the tall shelves at the back of the store.

I can’t believe I’m doing this. And for those gits! Then again, this wasn’t really a mission of mercy, was it? He shouldn’t fool himself. This was about survival and playing his cards right.

He didn’t have to wait long. A couple of minutes passed, and a short, familiar figure carrying a mini-basket entered the store. Whistling merrily (something the boy had never seen it do), the house elf went along the shelves, picking items here and there.

As soon as it was level with him, the wizard grabbed the house elf by the neck and yanked it back into a corner.

The house elf’s eyes bugged out as it got a good look at the narrow face within the confines of the hooded cloak. “You!” it squealed in fright. It squirmed and nearly got away. “Hel-!”

The boy clamped his hand over the small figure’s mouth and gave it a good shake. “Shut your bloody trap, Dobby! If you want to save your precious Potter you better listen to me!”

Predictably, the house elf stopped struggling, though its eyes still boggled in fear.

“You find someone from that stupid Order, do you hear? You find them and tell them exactly what I’m going to tell you!” Draco Malfoy, the youngest Death Eater in recent history, hissed. “And you make sure they know who this comes from. If their side wins, I want them to remember I saved their sodding golden boy and his friends. Do you understand? Now listen.”

Early the next morning:

Ron was up to his elbows in soap suds and dirty plates. His cleaning charm hadn’t gone quite the way it was supposed to. I am such a berk. I should’ve asked Mum to let me off or traded chores with the twins or Ginny or something.

He couldn’t believe he was stuck in the Burrow while Harry and Hermione were starting the search for the horcruxes. Not that he envied a night spent in a musty library, mind you. It was purely the company he was after.

He easily pictured them in his head – Hermione poring over some old thick tome, scribbling madly in the crinkly new parchment paper she liked so much, getting more absorbed as the minutes ticked by. Harry really trying to keep up with her but gradually getting twitchy, tapping his quill and what-not, before finally finding some excuse to take a break.

Ron gave his best mate half an hour, an hour at the outside. Not that he stood a better chance. If Ron were there, he and Harry would’ve gotten into at least one game of wizarding chess before returning to those books. No, when it came to books and research and sheer perseverance and cleverness, the girl of the trio ruled hands down.

Hermione. Since he was alone, Ron let the grin he always got these days at the mention of her name practically take over his face. She was maddening, that one. So smart and gutsy, because it took guts to be the way Hermione was - a teenage girl who believed unapologetically in the rules, who adored studying - but always breaking the rules for her boys.

The grin split wider as he remembered her blushing to almost Weasley-red at that, some committee head coming up to the Head Girl and asking if she’d let “her boys” exhibit a few Quidditch moves for the incoming first years.

“Why don’t you ask them?” she asked loudly, waving in obvious embarrassment at the two Gryffindor players trailing a couple of feet behind her. At least, it was obvious to her friends.

Ron and Harry had traded quick conspiratorial grins.

“`Course we will,” the redheaded Keeper affirmed, casually draping an arm around the astonished girl’s shoulders. “Anything she says.”

“We always do what she says,” the famous team captain nodded sagely, putting his arm around her, too.

“Otherwise, she gets mad and trust me on this,” Ron told the wide-eyed third year student, “you don’t want to get her mad at you.”

“Definitely not.” Harry wagged his head at the horrifying possibilities. “She knows hundreds of curses,” he confided. He glanced around. “From the restricted section.”

“And she doesn’t mind using them. That’s probably how Harry’s survived You-Know-Who for so long,” Ron mused.

“Sometimes she tries them on us,” Harry explained helpfully. “For practice.”

They got away with about ten more seconds of that before the enraged Head Girl broke away and chased her friends around the grounds with her wand drawn.

That was a good day. Dumbledore had still been alive then, had seemed indestructible, actually. Ron sighed. Sometimes he wondered what it would’ve been like if he’d come to his senses earlier.

It would’ve been nice to just enjoy Hermione’s company without You-Know-Who looming over everything. `Course, he’d always loomed but with Dumbledore there it felt safe, they knew they’d be okay somehow. When Ron thought of all the time he’d spent with Lavender, when he could’ve been taking long walks with Hermione, sneaking into empty classrooms and ducking into corners with her ...

There was that grin again. If anyone had asked him earlier, Ron would’ve probably said that snogging his best friend, who happened to be a girl, would be weird. It had been weird – for all of two seconds – and then those SPARKS! He could barely restrain his hands from going all over her when they were alone. About the only thing that stopped him half the time was the knowledge of how good Hermione was with hexes.

Heck, if she had any idea how often he wanked with her name drumming on his lips these days, she’d probably hex him anyway. But it’s not like he could help it. She made him feel so -! Like the other day in the woods, when he couldn’t get enough of her. He had wanted her so badly and he just couldn’t stop himself. Before Hermione had grabbed his arms, the tips of his fingers had grazed the underside of her ...

Okay, not good to have these thoughts in the kitchen! You want your mum walking in on you like this?! Determinedly, Ron went back to washing the dishes the muggle way. He would never understand how Harry and Hermione could do these things without going bonkers at the sheer monotony –

Ron stilled at the sound of someone apparating. He eased his hands out of the sink and made sure his wand was within easy reaching distance. Just in case.

He was relieved when a familiar but exhausted-looking Remus Lupin walked into the kitchen. “Professor?”

There was no greeting, no preliminaries. Just – “Ron, I need to speak to your parents. Where are they?”

“Outside, sir,” he replied, wiping his hands on a nearby towel. “Should I call them?”

Lupin shook his head. “No. Just continue what you were doing. I need to talk to them in private. But I will need to speak with you after,” he said in a regretful tone. He was out the door before Ron could say another word.

Hang on, wasn’t Lupin supposed to join Harry and Hermione at Grimmauld? Ron looked around quickly. Now where were those new Extendible Ears Fred and George were showing off last night? No way was he going to be left out of something that probably concerned his best mate and his girl.

At Grimmauld Place:

Harry would never be able to explain it. Somehow he shook off the binding spell, broke the seal on his room and made his way into the sitting room where he and Hermione had had dinner last night. He slumped into the couch that was still facing the fireplace.

The mental images came fast and sharp. Him and Hermione having dinner. Sharing a bottle of wine and joking around like good friends. Him catching her surprised mouth in a swift kiss. Then again, her body straining between him and armrest of the couch. And later, Hermione pleading as he stripped her. Touched her with force and without permission. Him!

What have I done? Harry buried his face in his hands. It didn't matter if he had been under some spell that had sent his blood boiling. He had betrayed her. Betrayed Ron.

But it was the last kiss he could not forget. That final sweet kiss taunted him, teased him with possibilities that would never be. I love her. He’d told her that last night, had said it in his dreams, but now, with the pin gone, Harry knew for certain that it was true. But that didn’t stop me from hurting her, did it?

For the first time in his life, Harry Potter felt absolutely worthless. He realized he had been serious about fighting Lupin and Tonks last night. He had wanted to die. I’ve lost her. And once Ron finds out ...

There was a popping sound, and someone was grabbing him, hauling him to his feet, and Harry was looking into a pair of blazing blue eyes.

“Bastard!” Ron roared.

The dark-haired boy found himself flying at the end of his best mate’s fist. He felt his lip split at the impact and blood trickle down his chin. The thought of fighting back didn’t even cross his mind. Finally, someone was dishing out the treatment he deserved.

When he got his breath back, he picked himself up and slowly made his way to the friend he had betrayed.

Ron didn’t let him down. As soon as he was within reach, the taller boy swung again, this time catching Harry square in his gut. “What did you DO?!” A blow accompanied each question.

“How could you do that to her?” Ron's shove made him stumble.

“Bloody Judas!” A familiar pain blossomed in his nose, and Harry knew that it was broken again.

“We said we’d protect her!” A particularly vicious blow sent him down again.

This time Ron didn’t even let him get up. “Do you remember that?!” he screamed, punctuating his words with a flurry of swift kicks to the prone boy’s stomach.

“We said we’d never let anything happen to her again!” Strangely, Ron sounded like he was near crying as he gave the boy who had been his best mate the worst beating of his life. “And YOU - !”

Dimly, Harry sensed other people coming into the room, trying to pull the enraged boy off of him. Clutching his stomach, he rolled and unsteadily got to his feet. His voice was thick as he tried to speak around the blood in his mouth. “Don’t. I deserve this ...”

A completely cold voice brought them both to a halt. “This isn’t about what you want.” Hermione trained her lifeless eyes to Ron. “Or you.”

“Hermione ...” Ron lifted a hand towards her.

The girl stared at the smudges of blood on his knuckles. “We need to wash those,” she said in the same distant voice. She looked at the others who had arrived at the same time she had. “Professor, Tonks, can you take ...?”

Harry bowed his head. She can’t even say my name. Somehow, it hurt more than all of Ron’s blows put together.

“How did you get out?” Lupin asked in a grim tone as they escorted Harry back to his room. The older man glanced at Tonks, but she only shook her head. She’d been with Hermione.

“I don’t know,” the youth answered dully. “I remember wanting to know if she was okay, but I knew she wouldn’t want to see me so I went downstairs.”

Behind his back, the Auror and the former professor exchanged a significant look. It was starting already.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company are the property and creation of J.K. Rowling. The only things that're mine are the purely non-profit story below and a couple of plot-necessary magical items. Reviews are always appreciated. :)

CHAPTER SEVEN:

“I thought I’d find you here. Would you mind?” Lupin indicated one of the chairs across from Hermione, who nodded.

A couple of seats away, Ron shut the book he’d been pretending to read. Since his arrival two days ago, he was always at Hermione’s side. At the same time he sensed how uncomfortable she was in any male presence, and kept some distance.

The former professor fiddled uncomfortably with an open Hogwarts: A History book. “We’ve found out some things,” he began hesitantly, “but I understand if you don’t want to hear about it.”

Hermione leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms in front of her. “Ron, can you excuse us?”

The boy clearly didn't like being left out. “What? But why? Hermione -”

“Please.”

“Fine!” he snapped and stomped off.

Hermione sighed. She sensed how badly Ron wanted to know what was going on, but she wasn’t ready to talk about what had happened yet. Besides, she had an idea where this discussion was headed. She turned her attention back to her old Defense Against Dark Arts teacher. “It’s an augmenter, isn’t it?”

Lupin was stunned. So that’s why she’s been in the library all this time. “You really are the brightest witch of your age.”

The girl’s lips actually twitched at that. “At first I thought it was some kind of love charm, but it didn’t fit the facts,” she confessed.

“What have you found so far?”

“An augmenter can be in any shape or form, although it’s normally a small item. Pieces of jewelry are favored because of their size and romantic association, but basically it’s anything that’s charmed to magnify what a person feels. The augmenter usually targets feelings of love or lust.” The way she recited it reminded Lupin starkly of the precocious thirteen year old he’d first met on the train to Hogwarts.

Poor girl. He nodded and said softly, “Then you know that it acts only on what’s there.”

Hermione looked down. The books had led her to almost the same conclusion. An augmenter was not like the love potion Ron had accidentally ingested last term. It didn’t manufacture feelings that didn’t exist. But she still wasn’t ready to believe it. “There was never anything like that between Harry and me.”

Lupin said very gently, “When I first met you, I was glad to see the bond between the three of you. But I always got the feeling that you and Harry got along better. As friends, I mean,” he clarified as the girl shifted to protest. “Maybe it’s because, unlike many of the students at Hogwarts, you and Harry come from strongly muggle backgrounds. You don’t have to explain to him, do you, what a telly is?” he tried to joke.

More seriously, he continued, “Hermione, the bond between you and Harry has always been strong. Maybe you’ve always cared for each other deeply as friends, but emotions, especially powerful ones, are not easily compartmentalized. Sometimes you care for a person on many levels. Eventually, some of those feelings you act on and some you don’t. There’s no shame in it.” He paused. “You touched the augmenter, didn’t you?”

The girl flushed. Of course Lupin would remember how Tonks and he had found them. “Yes. It let me understand a little of what Harry felt. It’s very strong,” she said in an objective tone, “but ...”

It doesn’t explain what he did. When she had held it, she had felt desire, yes, and she had kissed Harry. But nowhere in that had been the urge to hurt or to force. Unless ... “There’s something else, isn’t there? The attack.” Because of everything that had happened Hermione had nearly forgotten about it. “Professor, what’s going on?”

“This isn’t going to be easy for you to hear,” he warned. “We’ve received information from a highly unlikely, but so far reliable, source.” He didn’t think he needed to mention young Malfoy at this time. “The attack on Harry was meant to do two things: let a Death Eater plant the augmenter, and get a highly specialized potion into his bloodstream.

“The substance on the icepick.”

Lupin nodded. “The clever thing is that the augmenter and the potion boost each other’s effects, but they do work separately as well.”

“What is it?” the young witch asked, curious despite herself.

The older man looked positively grim. “The potion is called the Coerceo Solvamus, usually referred to simply as the Solvamus. It was outlawed a hundred years ago. Almost no one remembers how to make it anymore.”

“Except maybe former Hogwarts potions professors,” his companion guessed caustically. “What does it do?”

“In a word? It drives you mad.” The lycanthrope tried to rein in his disgust. The Coerceo Solvamus was a new low even for Snape, but to use it on a mere boy and a former student was practically unthinkable! “Sorry. The potion breaks down a person’s inhibitions.”

The girl looked puzzled. “That doesn’t sound too bad.”

Lupin’s eyebrows rose. “You think so? Hermione, you must realize that most of our lives are spent learning to control what we feel, do and say.” He straightened in his chair and suddenly it was as if he was her Hogwarts professor again.

“Our inhibitions to a certain point define who we are, because it involves a constant choice of what we will and won’t do. It takes years of everyday living to build restraint. The Solvamus strips you of that in days,” he revealed darkly. “How many people do you think can survive that sort of mental strain? Wizards and muggles alike have gone mad from the Solvamus.”

“The worst thing about it,” he continued, “is that it targets exactly those passions and feelings over which the victim has been exercising the greatest control. In short, what that person considers to be a moral restraint, some impulse or emotion that he absolutely must rein in. Add to that the fact that the augmenter magnified Harry’s feelings a hundredfold ...”

He did not notice, until it was too late, that the color had drained from Hermione’s face. When she finally spoke, her voice was trembling with suppressed horror. “Are you ... are you telling me that ... Harry has always wanted to do those things to me?” She sounded horrified.

Oh Merlin forgive me. In his indignation, he had forgotten to whom he was talking to. “No,” he replied quietly. “I’m saying that Harry must have had feelings for you for a long time, and that he made a firm decision somewhere along the way to bury them as deep as he could. There’s a dam bursting inside him now, and considering what he was up against, Tonks and I are actually surprised he was able to fight it for so long.”

He took a deep breath, reluctant to continue. “I’m sorry, but there’s more. Again, I’d understand if you’d rather not ...”

To his surprise, the young witch actually muttered several expletives under her breath. Then she nodded.

“It was all part of a plan. It’s heartless, but Tonks and I agree that you must know.”

The girl was visibly bracing herself. “Go on,” she said in a near whisper.

“Another cruelty of the Solvamus is that it wears off exactly at the moment its victim completely breaks free of his restraint. The Death Eaters thought that Harry wouldn’t be able to resist, that, with the augmenter, he would break within hours, not days.”

Lupin forced himself to meet the young witch’s eyes. “If Harry had succeeded in his ... plans that night, if at the moment of the act, he returned to his true self, what would he have done?” What would Harry or Ron do to anybody who truly hurt Hermione? He could guess. The Marauders would have torn anyone apart who would’ve dared to attack Lily that way. Not that he and Sirius had even been half as close to Lily as Harry and Ron were to Hermione. “I think we already know what Ron would do.”

Hermione looked ill. “That’s what this is? Another attempt on Harry’s life? Only this time Harry was supposed to kill himself, or Ron would've...?”

“Or you, if you were defending yourself.”

He could give her no more than a moment to absorb it. “There’s one last thing.” Suddenly the thin man looked old and tired. “I’m sorry to say you were right the first time. The Solvamus isn’t classified as a poison, because, as I just told you, that’s not it’s real purpose. But eventually the struggle between the person and the potion takes a toll on the body, specially the heart and the brain. We went to Snape’s old potions professor with a sample of the Solvamus. He estimates that we have seven more days to find an antidote. If we don’t ...”

He could see that Hermione already knew what he was going to say, but he had to anyway. “Harry will go mad, or die.”

================

Would you like to see him? It’s perfectly safe. Harry’s unconscious while we’re treating him, and Tonks and I will be with you the whole time.

Lupin departed soon after his unexpected offer. He left an extremely conflicted girl behind.

Do I want to see him? Hermione bit her lip. The mere thought made her heart drum nervously. She hadn’t told anyone, but when she closed her eyes at night she was still haunted by images of Harry looming over her, of his wild feral gaze as he unbuttoned her blouse and palmed her breasts with rough hands.

It had been the face of a stranger. More, it had been the face of a man she could fear ... and hate.

She was afraid he would always look that way to her now.

Hermione had never hated Voldemort and his Death Eaters more than right at this moment. How DARE they? How dare they mess with us this way?!

The truth was her friendship with Harry and Ron had become one of the anchors of her life. It was something she felt would be there no matter how much time passed, or how they changed or what else happened. The boys knew her as few people ever would. All the bits - from her at-times irritating bossiness to the idealistic but misguided heart that founded S.P.E.W., to the compassion and the protectiveness, the determination, and yes, the cleverness that applied equally to school and, surprisingly, to breaking the rules, too – and they accepted her, no, actually liked her for all of that.

Hermione had learned from them, had become the person she was now in part because of the boys and what the three of them had been through. A better person, she felt, who knew how to risk everything when it was important enough. For all her love of books, she felt that some of the most valuable lessons she had learned over the past years had come from being with Harry and Ron.

Like learning how to tell when something was important enough to risk everything for.

“Books! And cleverness! There are more important things – friendship and bravery and -”

How to be brave.

Standing between her friend and a convicted murderer. “If you want to kill Harry, you’ll have to kill us too!”

How to love. How to be steadfast.

“You said to us once before that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We’ve had time, haven’t we?”

Hermione covered her face with her hands. She felt like weeping. Should I turn back now? She could, and she knew that no one would blame her for it, Harry least of all.

“Are you alright?”

She dropped her hands, and found Ron standing in front of her. He looked worried, and she could see that he badly wanted to comfort her but didn’t know how.

She reached out to him, and his large hands gladly enveloped hers. He sat down in the chair next to her, facing her. They sat that way for awhile, not saying anything, just holding hands.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, meaning it.

He grimaced. “I should’ve been here sooner. If I had -”

“No, don’t even think it!” she interrupted fiercely. “I just, I can’t bear `if’s’ right now.”

For a second he seemed like he might argue the point. Then he relaxed, and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She was hesitant. “Some. How did you find out?”

“Lupin came to the house to see my parents. I eavesdropped. I came here straightaway and ... well, you saw the rest.” He didn’t think Hermione needed to know how murderous he’d felt. If they hadn’t interrupted him, he might very well have beaten Harry almost to death.

But she was looking at him curiously. “Ron, when we came in, what was that bit about you and Harry promising not to let anything happen to me?”

“Oh.” He felt the color rise in his cheeks. “It was years ago. We never told you, but we were really shaken up when the basilisk petrified you. It was just wrong, seeing you like that. One day we got to talking and we sort of agreed that, since we were the blokes in this gang and all, that we should be the ones taking the risks. So we made a pact, you know, the way kids do.” He cleared his throat. “Not to let anything happen to you if we could help it.”

Now it was Hermione’s turn to look like she was about to argue. Instead she let out a deep breath. “That was very sweet. Thank you.” But her eyes flashed as she said it, and Ron knew what that meant. She wasn’t about to stop taking risks and doing what she thought was right.

In a way, it made him glad. For the past few days the young witch had been pale and quiet, not saying much and burying herself in books. So unlike the girl Ron had grown up knowing. Well, except for the books part. “What did Lupin want?”

“They found out what’s wrong with Harry.”

Ron frowned. “That’s it? I can tell them what’s bloody well wrong with that -”

“We were supposed to kill him,” she interrupted his rant. “Or let Harry kill himself.”

“WHAT?!”

Hermione quickly told him about the augmenter and the Solvamus. Although she left a lot of details out - particularly the part about Harry’s long-buried feelings - there was enough to make Ron grasp what the Death Eaters had planned.

When she finished, Ron’s eyes were wide. He’d known all this time that the Voldemort and his Death Eaters were evil personified, but this! Was there nothing these people wouldn’t stoop to? “You mean to tell me Harry’s going to die if ...”

“Hermione! Ron!” Tonks ran breathlessly into the library. “Come with me right now!”

The pair shot to their feet. “What is it?” Hermione asked as they sped after the Auror.

“Harry did it again. I saw it with my own eyes this time. One second he was lying on the bed completely immobilized, and the next he was running past me.”

“Where did he go?”

Tonks looked uncharacteristically grim. “The roof.”

===================

It’s a long way down. Harry adjusted his glasses as he gazed dispassionately at the street below. He had never realized before how tall and narrow Grimmauld was. He wondered what would happen to the charm that kept the house invisible from the muggles below once he jumped. Would the magic keep him hidden even after he fell, or would his body suddenly appear on the pavement out of nowhere? Probably the latter, Harry thought.

From behind, he heard the crunch of slate as someone else climbed out the attic window onto the roof, like he had. “Remus,” he said, using Lupin’s given name for the first time. “Tell Hermione and Ron I’m sorry.”

“Tell me yourself.”

He whirled around so fast that he nearly stumbled.

“Careful!” Hermione gasped as a small piece of tile broke away under the sudden movement and plunged to the pavement below.

Harry actually closed his eyes for a second. The sight of the brown-haired witch instantly set his heart pounding. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re not safe around me,” he said bleakly.

“Did you really expect us to just stand by and let you do this? Shouldn’t you know us better by now, Harry? Don’t you know me?”

“Don’t try to save me this time, Hermione. I’m not worth it.” He said it with absolute conviction. “What I did to you ... what I still want to do,” he swallowed. “Do you remember how mad I was when I thought Sirius betrayed my parents? To me, turning on your friends is one of the worst things in the world. But it’s exactly what I’ve done.”

Hermione found herself in the strange situation of trying to save her attacker from harm. No, not her attacker, she told herself. Harry. “It wasn’t you,” she tried to reason. “It was the pin and the drug in your system. Ask Lupin if you don’t believe me.”

The dark-haired wizard seemed to hesitate. “What drug?”

“Come inside and we’ll tell you.” Hermione held out her hand.

“Better do what she says, mate.” The slate crunched under Ron’s feet as he stood next to the girl. “You know how she is when she doesn’t get her way.”

Harry looked at the pair of them in disbelief. “There’s no way you can forgive me for this. Things between the three of us will never be the same.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. Then Ron held out his hand, too. Ironically, it was the same hand he had used to pummel Harry a few days ago. “You’ll never know, will you, if you stay out here? Let Lupin tell his story. I want to hear it myself.”

Harry stared at their proffered hands and suddenly he was filled with a deep thankfulness for his friends. Even if I do every single thing that’s expected of me, nothing I do will ever mean I deserve this. He nodded shakily. Then he let them guide him in.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company are the property and creation of J.K. Rowling. The only things that're mine are the purely non-profit drivel below and a couple of plot-handy objects like the augmenter and the Solvamus. This is going to be one of those NC-17 chapters.

CHAPTER EIGHT:

It didn’t mean that everything was forgiven or forgotten. Even Harry knew that. As soon as they were all inside, his friends quietly fell back and watched as Lupin and Tonks led him away.

When he was gone, Ron and Hermione let out the breaths they hadn’t been aware of holding. What Harry had said - that things would never be the same between the three of them - was probably true.

But when they had held their hands out, they had promised him a chance.

“You okay?” Ron lifted a hand up to the witch’s shoulder.

She flinched, surprising them both.

“Bloody hell, Hermione,” he whispered. Although she had told him about Harry’s condition she had pretty much skimmed over the night itself. “What did he do to you?” What he had overheard Lupin telling his parents wasn’t much help. Ron had stormed out the second he heard that Harry had attempted something unthinkable. “Did he ...?”

The girl shook her head. Even Lupin and Tonks didn’t know how close Harry had gotten, because she had had her clothes back on by then. If they had arrived a minute later ... “He didn’t get that far. Can we ... not talk about this now?” Objectively, Hermione knew why she was taking this so hard. She had been relatively innocent, and it had been Harry.

Ron clenched his jaw, and the girl knew he was angry at being shut out. To her relief, he let it lie. He held his hand out and they walked back to the library.

The brown-haired witch sat down at her accustomed place and picked up her pen, but the redheaded boy merely stood and stared at the open Hogwarts book. “Why are we doing this?” he asked, running a finger across the page.

“I mean,” he clarified as Hermione looked up, “why are we still looking for the horcruxes?”

She carefully put aside her pen and parchment. “Do you want to stop?”

“Shouldn’t we? Shouldn’t you?” Ron closed the book with a thump. “I feel like we’re being such goody prats. He does this, and we’re still helping him out.”

“What are we supposed to do?” She sounded tired. “Let him jump? Let Voldemort win?”

“It’s just – it’s bloody UNFAIR!” the redhead exploded. “If he were anybody else but Harry-bleeding-Potter, he’d be on his way to Azkaban by now! Instead, Lupin and Tonks are mollycoddling him and we’re doing his dirty work.”

“That’s not what we’re doing!” she denied.

“Well it sure looks like it to me! What else would you call it?”

“What needs to be done.”

“According to who? Some prophecy from mad-as-hatters Trelawney? We’ve only got Harry’s word for that, haven’t we?” he struck out wildly. “What if he lied, what if he’s been playing us for years?”

“I don’t believe this! The basilisk, Ron!” she reminded him incredulously, “Quirrel, Tom Riddle, Cedric’s and Sirius’ deaths, and Snape killing Dumbledore - are you telling me we imagined it? Or that Harry somehow staged it all? Will you listen to yourself?”

It was actually a silly idea, he knew that, but the fact that she punctured it so easily just annoyed him even more. “Why are you even defending him?” Ron demanded angrily. “Did you like it that much?” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.

“SHUT. UP.” Tears stood in Hermione’s eyes and her chin trembled. “I can’t believe you said that.” She slumped down into her chair, suddenly nerveless.

“Oh man, Herm, I’m sorry.” Ron was sincerely appalled. “I’m a right foul git, okay? I didn’t mean it. I’m just mad. I keep coming back to how I should’ve been here with you that night.”

“It wasn’t your fault. Or mine. And maybe not even all Harry’s,” she was able to say after awhile.

Ron bit back a retort. He was back to being furious at Harry for what he had done, and jealous as well. Hermione’s reaction had suddenly made him wonder how far his erstwhile friend had gotten. It was a good thing he hadn’t felt like this earlier, or he would’ve shoved the dark-haired teenager right off the roof.

He needs to understand. Hermione fiddled with the small jewelry box that had been sitting next to her books all this time. “If you want to have an idea about what Harry’s been going through, touch this.” She clicked the box open and showed him the Griffyndor pin.

“Just touch it?” he asked warily.

She nodded.

Ron didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. At first he didn’t feel any different, but as his thumb lingered on the cold metal that began to change. A warm wave started to sweep through his body, trailing sparks along the way.

His blue eyes went wide as the wave grew into a fire. As he focused on the nervous girl in front of him, he suddenly knew only she could quench it.

“Hermione,” he growled, stepping around the table towards her. It was only her alarmed gaze that stopped him. He grabbed the chair next to her and clenched his hands on the headrest. “What the bloody blazes is that?”

“The augmenter I told you about,” she replied, trying to cover her apprehension. “The shopkeeper practically forced it on Harry. It takes what you feel and magnifies it ...”

“Like a love potion?” Ron grimaced. He’d had bad experiences with love potions.

“No, it doesn’t make you fall in love or anything,” Hermione corrected unthinkingly, “it just works on what’s there.” Oh no, why did I say that?

It was too late to take it back. The redhead blinked several times as the significance of her words slowly sank in. “Doesn’t that mean that Harry actually ... likes you?”

The witch found that she couldn’t lie to him. “I don’t know, Ron” she said miserably.

Her companion sank into a chair, his expression completely stunned. Harry never said anything. No, he distinctly remembered Harry telling him about how Krum had come up to the younger Hogwarts champion one day to ask about Hermione and Harry, and how Harry had made it clear that they were just friends. “But – but,” he sputtered, “Cho. GINNY.”

Hermione winced because Ron unknowingly echoed the same question she had posed to Harry a few nights ago. “I don’t know,” she repeated. She sighed. “Lupin thinks Harry may have felt something at one time ... and decided not to act on it.”

“Because of me?” Ron was torn between getting angry and being horrified.

“Because of US,” Hermione amended. “Harry said he didn’t want to come between us,” she remembered.

The young wizard still had a look of utter bewilderment, as if things in his world had just turned upside down. “Then you should get away! The Cor – the Sol - the potion’s still in him, innit? You’re not safe.”

Her head came up and her eyes bored into his. “So we let him die?” she asked quietly.

Ron’s blue eyes went wider than she had ever seen them. He’d forgotten all about the seven-day deadline.

“If Harry dies, Voldemort wins,” Hermione went on matter-of-factly. After what had just happened, she was angry enough to use their enemy’s name without a qualm. “If Voldemort wins, he will come after everyone who stood in his way. You. Me. Your family. Maybe even mine. Somehow I don’t think Death Eaters will distinguish much between muggles and wizards when it comes to that,” she reflected.

“So what can we do?”

“I wish I knew.” The girl sighed. “Maybe we can see what Lupin and Tonks are doing with Harry. If they’ve found a way to treat him, all we need to do is to wait.” She said it hopefully, but without much confidence.

“What can I do?” Ron asked, feeling useless.

“Come with me?” she asked softly, looking up at him. “Even just as far as the door if you don’t want to see him.”

“Oh Herm.” Ron moved until he was crouching beside her. He grasped her hands tightly. “Of course I will.”

================

They eventually agreed that Ron should wait outside, even though he was willing to accompany her into the room. If Harry was under the sway of the Solvamus again, they didn’t know how he’d react to the other boy’s presence.

“Just give me a shout,” he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze before she knocked.

Tonks opened the door a crack, and then wider to let the girl in. “Wotcher, Hermione.”

The girl cast a swift glance around as the door closed behind her. The first thing she noticed was that Lupin was nowhere in the room.

The bright-haired Auror sensed her surprise and explained, “We’re taking turns. I sent Remus off to get some rest. Harry’s deep into a dream trance right now so it’s safe. We’ll know if he starts coming out of it.”

Hermione nodded and took another step into the room. “Is that a pensieve?” she asked, glancing at the shallow stone basin placed next to Harry’s bed. It was emitting a faint silvery glow.

She approached it curiously. As a Hogwarts student, she knew what a pensieve was. They had read about it in a number of books and discussed it in class. But Harry was the only one among them who had actually touched a pensieve. Harry had told Ron and her about how he had used a pensieve and seen Snape’s memories of his dad and the Marauders, and how Dumbledore had used it to show him bits of Voldemort’s past.

“Of a sort, yes. This one has been modified to absorb dreams rather than memories, though. There’s a difference in the runes.” Tonks pointed to several symbols etched into the stone.

As interested as she was, Hermione found her eyes straying to the prone figure on the bed.

She had been expecting, because he was supposed to be in a dream trance, that Harry would be asleep. In a sense he was. He was stretched out on the bed and his eyes were closed. Someone had taken his glasses off and drawn the covers on top of him. But “repose” was the last word anyone would use to describe him now.

Hermione had seen her friend asleep a number of times. She had sometimes found herself sneaking amused glances at him when he dozed off over his books, his hair mussed up and his glasses askew. At those moments, it seemed like all his cares and worries tumbled away and he was merely a boy instead of the Boy Who Lived.

This time Harry tossed and turned, and the sheets continuously bunched in his restless hands. There was an edgy, tight-wound expression on his face. Hermione had seen it before, when Harry was about to face a Hungarian horntail, and when he had led the D.A. to face off against Death Eaters.

This is what he looks like when he has nightmares. Ron had told her a couple of times about how Harry would sometimes startle his dorm mates in the middle of the night with his restless cries. How the tousle-haired wizard would wake with a shout, and how the other boys would pretend to be asleep so as not to embarrass their friend. None of them envied Harry’s dark visions.

Tonks laid a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder. “I know it looks bad, but that’s because the potion is trying to fight the pensieve. We’re drawing his dreams away and the Solvamus doesn’t like that.”

Hermione thankfully turned away from the disturbing sight. “Are the dreams causing his condition?”

“No, but they play a part. The dreams are a symptom of the potion, of Harry’s walls breaking down, but they also feed his obsession. By siphoning some of that away, we disrupt the cycle.”

“Can’t we break the cycle?”

The Auror shook her head. “Not this way. Unfortunately, this is only a temporary measure, something to help Harry maintain control. We’re still looking for the cure.”

“Professor Lupin said we only had seven days.” There was an anxious edge to Hermione’s voice.

The older woman stared at her, surprised that Remus had revealed that much. It was one thing for the members of the Order to deal with hard truths; they were adults. Privately, she agreed more with Molly Weasley on this point and preferred to spare the young trio as much as possible. After all, when she was sixteen and seventeen, Tonks didn’t have to worry about Dark Lords and death threats and now, potions that turned friend against friend and threatened madness and death.

But Voldemort won’t spare them, Remus had argued more than once. And like it or not, these three have and probably will go through more horrifying things than most of the Order put together.

“No one can say that for sure,” the Auror finally answered. “It’s been a hundred years since anyone studied the Solvamus. The records we’ve found do show that most of the victims went mad and eventually died, or arranged their own deaths rather than give in to the Solvamus. But I’ll be the first to admit that what we have on the Solvamus is far from complete.”

“They committed suicide?” Hermione was aghast, remembering how close Harry had been to the edge of the roof, how a tile dislodged by his shoe shattered into pieces on the street below.

It was starting to sink in, how serious a mess Harry was in, how they could truly lose him this time. We need to know more, understand more! If there’s no more information on the Solvamus in general then we need another source ...

Suddenly, the young witch stared at the stone basin. “Harry once said that you could see the memories stored in a pensieve.”

“Well yes but ...” Tonks trailed off as she realized what the girl in front of her had in mind. “Oh no, Hermione, don’t even think it. What’s in these dreams, it’s not Harry.”

“That’s not quite true, is it?” was the bitter reply. “Trust me, this isn’t about curiosity. I’m the last person who wants to see what Harry planned for me. Just remembering that night, how one of my best friends suddenly turned on me, treated me like - like - ” Hermione couldn’t suppress her shudder.

The bright-haired woman gazed at her compassionately. Unlike Remus, she immediately suspected that more had happened in that room before they’d arrived. The teenage girl had been too shaken up for it to be a matter of a few stolen kisses. “You won’t like what you see,” she warned. “You could end up hating him.”

“Even if I do, I’ll continue to be on the Order’s side. I’ll help in any way I can because it’s the right thing to do,” Hermione said decisively. “Besides, if there is anything in there that we do need to see, I’d prefer that I ... rather than ... I don’t want anyone else seeing it! Even if it’s not really me.”

Tonks mulled it over. Unlike Hermione, she was aware of exactly how little progress the Order had made in finding an antidote. “I suppose there’s no harm if we try for a few minutes,” she said slowly. “Provided you promise me that if it’s too much you’ll stop. And if I think it’s going too hard I’ll pull you out myself.”

The girl nodded. “How do we do this?” Now that she was actually going to go through with it, she sounded nervous.

“Come here.” The woman stirred the contents of the stone basin with her wand. The glow within it pulsed and brightened momentarily. “When you’re ready, bend and touch your face to the silvery substance.”

“I’ve never done this before,” Hermione admitted as she stood next to the pensieve.

“Don’t worry, it’s simple. See this cloudy swirling stuff? The second you touch it, it will be as if you’re actually there, in Harry’s dreams,” Tonks explained, “but only as a spectator. Remember, no matter how bad it gets, nothing in there can harm you. You don’t need to watch everything as it happens, either. You can will yourself backwards and forwards. Ready?”

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded.

“Take it slow.”

The young witch did, and as soon as her nose met the bright ephemeral substance she slid into another world ...

... where Ginny was morphing into her. Harry’s voice hoarsely asking, “What’s the harm? I just ... I want to feel you. No one will ever know.” Moving against her, hooking her leg around his hip so he could press against her more, mouthing her name as he moved, until her hips were rising to meet his ...

... she watched in open-mouthed mortification as a well-remembered towel pooled at his feet. Harry bucking as the dream Hermione took him in hand. The real Hermione blushed as she was treated to the sight of her friend’s bare, firm arse and the look of amazed rapture on his face as the girl of his fantasies sank to her knees. “You don’t have to.” “I think that’s one of the reasons why I want to ...”

... “All these years and you never thought about what it would be like between us? Not once?” Harry daring her and, once the dare was accepted, his tongue swirling on her breast. His fingers diving into her jeans. The dream girl’s hips bucking to the movements of his hand. “Please, Hermione.” His voice pleading until she reached for him ...

... The two of them standing in front of a fireplace, a couch behind them ...

Oh no. NO, not this! Hermione almost wrenched away before she realized that the room she was seeing did not belong to Grimmauld. No, this warm, cluttered place was the Gryffindor common room. Hermione paused. There was something familiar about this scene, too, something that tugged at her memory. Because she wanted to figure it out, Hermione stood back and let the dream play on around her.

“Wait.” Harry spoke up just as she was about to step forward. “Hermione, stay a while longer.”

“Harry, I’d like to, but Professor Dumbledore said the fireplace wouldn’t be connected to the floo network for very long.” Hermione reluctantly moved to pick up her coat.

“I know, but ... there’s always the Knight bus!” he exclaimed. “I’ve ridden it before. I’ll come with you if you like, drop you off right at your doorstep. It’s just a couple more hours,” he continued persuasively. “Write your parents a note saying you’ll be home for dinner. Hedgwig will deliver it.”

He looked so hopeful that she gave in. She scribbled a note and they watched as the owl flew straight away. “Now what?”

“Um, want to take another walk?”

She laughed. “It was fun, but no thanks. I think we’ve broken in my new boots enough for today. Actually, if you don’t mind ...” Hermione sat down on the couch and took her shiny new winter boots off. She stretched out her legs and rubbed her stocking-covered feet. “That’s so much better,” she groaned.

Harry sat down next to her. “Here, let me.” He scooted closer and maneuvered her legs so that they lay on his lap. Without another word, he started massaging her feet and legs, his fingers digging with just the right pressure through the denim.

“Harry!” she protested, embarrassed for some reason. But he ignored her and continued, and after awhile she just sat back and let it go.

“Are you sure those boots came from your parents? Seems more like whoever gave them to you doesn’t like you very much,” he teased. “Ruddy little torture devices.”

“I’ll have you know they’re expensive, extremely lovely torture devices and they go perfectly with my new coat,” she defended, gesturing at the camel-colored winter coat carefully draped over an armchair.

He grinned. “So much for the rumor that Hermione Granger hasn’t a single vain bone in her body.”

“Everyone’s got a weakness,” she huffed loftily.

“Yeah? Is it worth getting a sprained ankle for?” the raven-haired wizard asked sardonically. Using thumb and two fingers to form a pincer, he ran his hand from calf to ankle, but the thick denim kept getting in the way. Impulsively, he slipped his fingers under the cuff of her jeans, found the tops of her socks and pulled them off.

Startled, the girl tried to wriggle away. “Hey!”

“Shh. Relax, Hermione.” With a look of complete concentration, Harry returned to his task. His strong warm hands slipped easily into the loose bootleg of her jeans. They slid from a spot below her knee to the tendons in her ankles, kneading and probing the muscles just so along the way.

The young witch groaned appreciatively as the boy switched to the other leg. His strong fingers seemed to find and ease out every knot and strain. “How’d you get so good at this?”

“Quidditch. I know what sore muscles feel like.”

Slowly, Hermione eased back down. As the massage continued, she began to get drowsy. Harry and she had walked all over Hogsmeade and what seemed like most of Hogwarts that afternoon, and the rest of her body was starting to realize how tired she was.

Harry swallowed as he glanced at the girl who lay supine beside him. He had never seen her so open and at ease before. Hermione was usually rushing from one thing or another – classes and school or her causes or, well, him. He realized he liked seeing her like this ... and that touching her was affecting him much more than it should.

Unconsciously, he started to reduce the pressure he was using and the way he was touching her began to change. Soon the tips of his fingers were dancing teasingly over the smooth skin of her legs.

Hermione opened her eyes when the young wizard lightly began drawing circles around her knees, not quite believing what he was doing. When his fingers tentatively tried to wriggle up further into her jeans, brushing against the more sensitive skin of her thighs, she sat up and placed her hands over his through the denim.

Silently, Harry withdrew his hands. They stared at each other, both flushed and brimming with feelings that they had never associated with each other before.

“Harry -”

“Hermione -”

“You first,” the girl offered.

“I - thanks,” he stammered, feeling more nervous than he had ever been around a girl in his life. A hundred times worse than asking Cho to the Yule ball. “I mean, for coming over today. This was a perfect day. The happiest Christmas I’ve ever had.”

It disturbed her for some reason. They had done nothing special, just walked and talked and laughed all afternoon. Surely something so ordinary shouldn’t make up anyone’s happiest Christmas. She found herself half-protesting that there would surely be better ones someday, that next time they’d do something really interesting.

“No,” he insisted, “this was perfect just as it was.” He steeled himself and took the plunge. “Because I was with you.”

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, touched to the core. No one had ever said anything like that to her. And this was Harry, who deserved so much more. When she finally spoke, her voice was husky. “Tell me what you really want for Christmas, Harry.”

Emerald eyes locked with hazel. “It depends. Anything?” he asked carefully.

“Within reason,” she warned softly.

After what had just happened, he knew exactly what to ask for. “I want to see your legs,” he said in a low voice.

For a moment the boy was sure she was going to shoot him down. Then she slowly lay back down again. “O-okay,” she said nervously.

She was expecting him to simply remove her jeans, but that’s not what he did. Harry ran a forefinger over the sliver of skin showing between her jeans and sweater before he carefully unbuttoned the snap of her jeans. He smiled at her indrawn breath and leaned down to plant slow, sucking kisses on her belly. He took his time, drawing bits of Hermione’s increasingly sensitized skin into his mouth, sometimes grazing them with his teeth.

Hermione dug her fingers into the couch as she let herself fall under the spell of Harry’s lips. A warm fire was growing low in her belly and there was wetness pooling further down still. When the young wizard began to probe her navel with the tip of his tongue, a soft moan left her lips. It felt so good that she nearly missed the fact that his hands were pulling at her zipper.

Then Harry was hooking his hands into the waistband of her jeans. He slid the denim past hips, thighs and knees until they were bunched at Hermione’s ankles. He lifted himself momentarily to pull them off and throw them away. He didn’t take his eyes off of her the entire time.

Wordlessly, he bent down again, this time to plant kisses on her gorgeously bare legs. He started on her ankles and slowly worked his way upwards. Some of the kisses were the same as the ones he had planted on her belly, sucking, nipping, biting little things. At other times it was just his warm, dexterous tongue sliding against her skin ...

Hermione whimpered as Harry made his way up to the inside of her thighs, and suddenly he was filled with a fierce desire to hear her make more sounds. He brought his hands up to spread her legs further apart and attacked her ferociously, using his teeth more, sucking harder, leaving marks on her pale creamy skin. Soon Hermione was tossing her head back and biting her lips to hold back her cries.

Harry tore his glasses off impatiently when they got in the way. At this point, he didn’t need perfect vision. He was reveling in his other senses, touching and feeling and tasting her, listening to her little whimpers. And as he got closer to her center, smelling the faint hints of her arousal.

He wanted more. He wanted to know what she’d sound like if she screamed his name. “Hermione, let me ...”

She looked at him dazedly. “Hmmm?” She gasped when a thumb skirted the inside of one thigh, skirting closer and closer until it was tracing the line where thigh met pelvis. The very tip of his thumb snagged the edge of her knickers.

The uncertainty was plain on her face. “Harry, no one’s ever ... and you might not like it.”

“I want to.” The thought that he was the first to get this close to her made his heart pound. He leaned over and kissed her tenderly on the lips. “Let me try?”

“Even if,” she swallowed, “I might not be able to give you more than this today?”

He favored her with one of those rare, wide smiles. “You already gave me a perfect day, and you gave me this. I wasn’t expecting either. I just want to do something for you.”

The brown-haired witch took a deep nervous breath, and nodded.

It was encouragement enough. Harry started by fondling Hermione through her knickers. He traced the lines and dips of her sex through the thin cloth, paying close attention to her reaction. When she began to look less anxious and more aroused, he began rubbing her core faster with the palm of his hand.

With a surprised moan, the girl surged towards him, pressing her mound desperately against his hand. Her hips began to rock in time with the movements of his hand.

The sight of Hermione starting to lose it was almost too much for him. Quickly he yanked down her knickers to mid-thigh, finally exposing the maddening triangle of curls that he desperately wanted to explore. Slowly and uncertainly at first, he began to touch her, running one and then another finger through the downy hair and dipping into her increasingly wet sex.

Then his forefinger slipped between the soaked lips of her slit and found the tender bump of her clit. He pressed firmly against it, making her cry out. Impatiently, Harry used his thumbs to part her pussy so he could better see her. He began circling the hooded nub with his fingers, hearing her breath hitch. When he swiped the calloused pad of his thumb over it, she jerked forward. He started alternating between the two, and she never knew when the teasing circles would suddenly give way to a hard direct rub that had her biting her lips to keep from screaming out.

Suddenly Harry yanked her knickers all the way off so he could position himself between her legs, his face hovering right above her sex. Hermione tossed her head as she felt his hot breath blowing against her sensitive flesh. She was dying to let him continue, but at the same time she was still extremely shy about what he was planning to do. “Harry, you don’t have to ...”

“Hermione, look at me.” He waited until her eyes were on him. He was grinning. “Are you still worried I won’t like it?” He bent his head, stuck out his tongue and deliberately licked the length of her slit.

“Harry!”

Merlin, he loved the way she called his name with such abandon! Harry was determined to have her do it again. This time he attacked her clit, his tongue stabbing and repeatedly rolling the wet nub. When Hermione was panting and repeating his name in broken whimpers and jerking her hips in uncontrollable passion, he found her opening and slowly slipped a finger inside. The girl froze for a second.

The raven-haired wizard lifted his head. “Hermione.” he whispered, and although he couldn’t see her clearly, he saw her head tilt towards him. “Come for me,” he demanded softly.

Without waiting for an answer, Harry renewed his attack on the young witch. His hot mouth closed on her sex and his tongue and lips lapped at her folds and her swollen clit. His thick, calloused finger began to pump in and out of her tight channel, slow at first, and then faster as the wetness made it easier to slip in and out. Soon her fluids were dripping all over his hand and mouth.

Unable to help herself, the girl opened her legs wider and lifted her hips in time to meet the thrusts of Harry’s demanding tongue and fingers. For the first time Hermione brought her hands to Harry’s head and buried them in his dark locks, trying to push him down harder on her. His name fell from her lips in a torrent of broken whimpers. The feeling deep in her belly was ratcheting up, building and building. She couldn’t stand much more ...!

It was one last, unbearable stab of his tongue on her clit at the same time as his finger rubbed against something incredibly sensitive inside her that finally did it. Hermione screamed his name as she climaxed. Her walls clamped and pulsed around Harry’s finger as a last gush of fluids rushed into his mouth.

When her orgasm finally subsided, Hermione pulled Harry up until their faces were almost touching. She kissed him tenderly, and tasted herself in the process. It was a strange taste, but if Harry wasn’t bothered by it, neither would she. “Oh lord, Harry,” she breathed, “I had no idea it could be so, so ...”

Harry wrapped his arms around her. His erection was digging into her side, and as much as he wanted to do more, he knew she wasn’t ready yet. He buried his face in her hair and kissed the side of her neck. “Merry Christmas, Hermione.”

This time the word sank in. Christmas! Hermione willed the dream backwards, to before the time she and Harry were standing by the fireplace.

Hermione quickly pulled away from the pensieve once she confirmed her suspicion. She hoped Tonks would not notice how flushed she was, or at least attribute it to something other than the dream she had just witnessed.

“You have to stop. The pensieve’s starting to drain his memories!” she explained hurriedly. “There are all these dreams in there that are absolute rubbish, but this one ...”

At Hermione's insistence, the Auror waved her hand at the pensieve and the glow in it seemed to subside for awhile. She motioned for the girl to continue.

“You know how Harry spends nearly every Christmas at Hogwarts?” Hermione asked. “Everyone else goes home but Harry prefers Hogwarts to the Dursleys any day. One time, on impulse, I asked Professor Dumbledore for permission to visit Harry. It was near Christmas and I wanted to give him his present. I’d never seen anyone so happy to see me. I ended up staying all afternoon and it was one of the best days I’d ever spent with anyone.”

Tonks looked doubtful. “Hermione, it could just be a dream taken from memory.”

“No, the details were too exact,” the young witch insisted. “We walked to Hogsmeade and all over the grounds. There was ice on the ground, and Harry held my hand because I kept slipping in my ridiculous new boots. At the end, when I had to floo back, he and I both hesitated. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him to come with me, but I thought, what would my parents say if I suddenly brought home a boy to spend Christmas with us? Even if it was Harry ... so I didn’t. I felt guilty about it all day. I sensed that Harry was on the verge of asking me to stay, too, but we never talked about it again.”

“Please, we have to put this back,” Hermione entreated. “I don’t care about the rest of the dream, but if Harry was really happy on that day I don’t want him to lose the memory of it.” He’s had so few good memories.

“Alright, alright,” the Auror said soothingly. She touched her wand to the pensieve and then to the unconscious wizard’s forehead. “I’ll let him just sleep for now, poor boy. Did you find out anything?”

“I ...” Hermione hesitated as the embarrassment over everything she’d just witnessed came surging back again. “There’s something, but I need to think about it first. Is it alright if we talk about it later? Professor Lupin needs to hear it, too.”

Tonks nodded. “Tell us when you’re ready. I’ll tell Remus about the pensieve. It could be the Solvamus’ doing again.”

The young witch got up to leave, then hesitated as something occurred to her. “Tonks, that night ... When did you and Professor Lupin arrive? What time did you find us?”

The Auror thought a bit. “We disapparated right after we got confirmation that the potion was a Solvamus. We went to the Weasleys first because we thought you’d be there, and then straight here. Around ten I suppose? I can’t be more exact than that because we weren’t paying attention to the time.” She looked closely at Hermione. “What is it?”

“I got here at eight,” the young witch said slowly. “I remember because I was sorry to leave the reception but I wanted to get here early enough to get some real work done. Harry and I had dinner. We talked, I passed out. That means ... I was unconscious for over an hour.”

“Hermione?” Tonks started forward. “What’s wrong?”

“I ...” Hermione swallowed and shook her head. “I have an idea but I have to check some things first.”

“Alright.” With concern in her eyes, the woman watched the younger girl leave the room as if she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. Poor girl. Poor Harry. And yet she could not help thinking that Harry was also lucky. Despite what had happened, his friends had not abandoned him. Tonks wondered, though, how much longer that would last.

A/N: This chapter's a bit longer than the last. It also contains one of the last one-sided “dream sequences,” meaning most of what happens next between Harry and Hermione will actually take place, as opposed to just being one of Harry's dreams. I really enjoy the reviews (111 at the last count, yay!), so here's hoping for more. ;)

Disclaimer: The Potterverse is the creation and property of J.K. Rowling.

Warning: I'm afraid this is one of those difficult chapters (see previous warnings ... this is fiction, it's dark and it deals with sensitive issues ... if you're not comfortable reading it, please read something else etc.). For the first time Hermione confronts Harry about what happened, and the missing hour. It's not as bad as Chapter 5, but you might want to skip the flashback in italics.

CHAPTER NINE:

Hermione emerged from Harry’s room looking pale and troubled. She told Ron about the pensieve, but not that she had used it to enter Harry’s dreams. Aside from sheer embarrassment, Ron would be livid if he knew just how graphic those dreams were.

And yet that wasn’t what caused Hermione to hurry to her room, lock the door and run a long, nervous shower. It was only when she was shakily dressing again that she realized the wetness on her cheeks wasn’t water but tears. She sat up on her bed, hugging her knees, and stared out into space.

I was unconscious for over an hour.

Back in Harry’s room, the realization had sent her heart thrumming with fear. An hour! Insensible and alone with a boy who’s every hormonal impulse had been boosted by not just one, but two magical artifacts. Had he ... did he after all?

Aside from checking herself, Hermione had cast every spell she could think of to make sure. As far as she and magic could tell, she was ... intact.

It didn’t make sense. Harry had gone through all that trouble. Why would he stop right when she was defenseless? He had every opportunity right there.

Before touching the pensieve, Hermione had braced herself for the slew of rape fantasies she was sure she was about to witness. But however disturbing Harry’s dreams were, she was forced to admit that they weren’t exactly that. In those dreams, Harry eventually gained the dream witch’s tacit or even active consent. In one fantasy, Harry had even had her take the initiative.

In my dreams you always gave me a chance.

When Harry had said that, she had dismissed it as bitterly and easily as his sudden protestations of love. Now it was starting to sink in that maybe he’d been telling the truth.

Which meant that Lupin was right. Somewhere in there, fighting the potion with every breath in his body, was the boy she had always cared for deeply.

Out of nowhere came a memory - the three of them, younger, standing side by side. They were at Hogwarts for what was nearly the last day of school, watching the Beauxbaxton and Durmstrang students depart. They were standing over a stone balustrade just high enough for their hands to rest on.

She had taken the boys’ hands – she had felt inexplicably sad and apprehensive that day - Harry’s in her right and Ron’s in her left. To her surprise Ron hadn’t shied away, hadn’t even glanced at her. But Harry had looked down when he felt her hand, smiled at her briefly in that sweet way he sometimes had, and grasped her fingers firmly in his before turning his attention back to the flying coach and the underwater ship.

It was that boy Hermione fretted over and wanted the best for, and for any of that to happen he had to live. In the solitude of her room, she could admit that what Lupin had hinted at was true - she had never allowed herself to think of what she felt as being in love with Harry, certainly not in the same prickly, maddening way she associated with Ron - but she did love the sad youth with his raven locks and emerald eyes. She wasn’t even twelve when she’d vowed to do everything she could to keep Harry safe and alive. She would stand between him and Voldemort any day.

But she had never once thought it would be like this! Life-threatening danger she was ready for, but this - this filth the Dark Lord had thrown their way wasn’t something she was sure she could deal with.

What do I do now?

================

“Harry.”

The young wizard stirred. Befuddled and groggy, he opened his eyes and automatically groped for his glasses. “Yeah?” he asked sleepily. For a second he couldn’t remember where he was. Had he been knocked out by a bludger? Or is it time to go somewhere? He’d lost count of the number of times he’d woken up to Hermione’s voice ...

Then it all came rushing back. His eyes shot open and he scrambled back from the figure sitting by his bed so quickly that he almost fell off. “Hermione!” he croaked in shock.

Whatever trepidation the girl had been feeling at talking to Harry vanished. His funny awkward panic was so much a part of the person she’d grown up with that it made her relax her guard. For the tiniest bit. “Tonks is just outside,” she informed him warningly. “We need to talk.”

Her face was serious and puzzled, and so utterly familiar at that moment that Harry could almost believe that the last few days hadn’t happened. “O – okay.”

“That night, what happened while I was out?”

Harry turned pale at her words.

“I was unconscious for a long time, wasn’t I?” she probed. “Just tell me, Harry.”

He obviously didn’t want to. He’d been relieved when he first realized that no one had figured out how much time he had spent with Hermione before Lupin and Tonks had found them. He had hoped that it would stay that way. Hermione hated him enough as it was.

But the witch’s expression was intractable. “I carried you upstairs. I ... kissed you,” the boy confessed in a shaky voice. He had trouble meeting her hard hazel gaze. “I - I touched you. I ... made you touch me.”

She stiffened. “What did you do?”

Finally, haltingly, he told her. And because she wouldn’t let him, this time he kept nothing back.

-------- Last chance to turn back. You can always skip this part and resume later ------------

Harry carried his unconscious burden carefully up the stairs. When he reached his bedroom he laid her down gently on the bed. His heart beat furiously the whole time. He was sure that at any moment Hermione would wake and hex him senseless, but through it all she didn’t stir. Only her steady breathing assured him that she was alright.

He sat on the edge of the bed and for several minutes he just watched her as he had done many times before. The difference between then and now lay in how hungrily his eyes roved over her.

The young wizard didn’t know how long he stayed that way, fighting the urge to touch her. He felt that it was different, more dishonest somehow, to touch her now than when they’d been on the couch. He couldn’t say why. It wasn’t trepidation; Hermione would already be blazingly angry with him for what he’d done so far.

She’s going to be furious when she wakes. He grinned at the thought but it quickly faltered. The step he had taken tonight, even if he stopped right now, changed everything.

“What am I doing?” he mused as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face.

Once there his fingers could not resist straying and curling against her cheek. He traced the familiar lines of her face until he was running his thumb over the curve of her lips. I’ve never touched her lips before, he marveled. I’ve held her hand, hugged her, taken her arm, patted her shoulder. Touched her in the little ways allowed between a boy and a girl who were best friends.

Suddenly it wasn’t enough. “Wake up, Hermione,” he whispered as he bent down to taste her again.

He couldn’t believe how impossibly soft her lips felt. The kisses he had stolen downstairs had been fast and awkward. This time he could savor the sensation and marvel at how sweetly her breath mingled with his. He’d imagined kissing her for so long. Mostly he squelched the idea as soon as he could, but the first time it had taken him unawares. They were alone in the woods and thirteen, and he was suddenly absurdly conscious of the fact that he was a boy and she a girl and there was no one around but a distracted hippogriff. He had gripped his hands tightly to keep himself from moving. Then they had started to talk, and after that they were simply friends again.

This time he felt like nothing could keep him away from her. He pressed his lips to hers again, more firmly this time. Before he knew it he was lying down beside her. One hand buried itself in her hair and tilted her face up to meet his kisses. The other snaked its way down the smooth column of her neck.

He didn’t know how long he spent like this, but eventually the one-sided kisses weren’t enough. He wanted to know the body he’d been dreaming of for days.

His lips trailed down her neck while his hands traced each intriguing curve through her clothes. He flattened his palms when they met the bare bits of skin revealed by her disarrayed clothing.

He wondered what it would be like if she touched him. The thought was irresistible. With trembling hands he grabbed her left hand and brought it to his aching groin. If he closed his eyes it was easy, so easy, to pretend that she was awake and moving her hand over his length.

“Oh yeah, like that,” he groaned, as his right hand tightened over hers and her fingers rubbed harder against him through the cloth of his trousers. Soon the rhythm of their entwined hands was driving him mad ...

Until Hermione made a sound and stirred. Startled, Harry scrambled off the bed. While he stood there, breathing hard and watching her wake, he realized that the door to his room was still open.

The young wizard walked over and closed it. And that was it, the point when Harry knew he couldn’t hold back. He wanted her and this was his only chance. Tonight, he would wrest her from Ron. To the devil with the consequences!

By the time he finished, Hermione had her arms unconsciously wrapped around herself protectively. In some ways what Harry had told her was both better and worse than the images she’d been torturing herself with.

“How could you do that to me?” she finally managed. There was a world of hurt and shock in her words.

“I’m sorry. I would give anything to take it back,” Harry answered in self-loathing. As remorseful as he was, he couldn’t deny the stirring in his blood. His fingers tightened on the sheets as they tingled with the memory of what it felt like to touch her, the pliant softness of her skin. “If I’d known what those dreams would lead to, what I’d do to you ...” he trailed off miserably. What sort of monster am I turning into?!

He struggled to clear his head. “Lupin told me about the drug in my system.” For the first time since Hermione had entered the room, Harry looked directly at her. She was astonished at the fury pouring from his sharp green eyes. “I will find Snape, and when I do he’ll PAY! I’ll do whatever it takes,” he snarled through gritted teeth. “I’ll take both him and Voldemort down, and I don’t care if I have to die to do it!”

Hermione had seen her friend in this kind of rage only a few times before. Despite everything that had happened, the glittering hate in his eyes disturbed her. Only, this time she was angry too. “For what they did to you, they deserve it.”

“For what they made me do to you.” The raven-haired boy shook his head. “It doesn’t matter so much if it’s me, do you understand? They’ve been after me from the first and I guess after all these years I’m used to it. But this, this happened only because you and Ron are the people I care about most. And Snape knows it, damn him.”

And there it was, the opening Hermione had been looking for. “What does Snape know, Harry?” she asked slowly, knowing he couldn’t refuse to answer her, not now.

His gaze dropped again. “It was when he was supposed to be training me in Occlumency. Snape kept darting in and out of my head, daring me to stop him. He found some memories of you and suddenly he stopped. He did that sneer of his and said he wondered how ‘Ms. Granger would feel if she knew.’ I was indignant. I thought of course a friendless git like him wouldn’t understand our friendship.”

“What memories?” she pressed.

“Just memories.” When she stared at him, waiting, he continued reluctantly, “Us running away from Lupin when he turned werewolf, watching you dance at the Yule Ball, that night when you patiently and tirelessly made sure I learned the Accio spell, the time we argued because you insisted I teach Defense Against the Dark Arts since I knew what it was like to face Voldemort ...” Stop hedging, Potter. She deserves the whole truth.

“Other times. When you hugged me or took my arm while we were walking, or squeezed my hand. Those were some of the first times anyone touched me like that ... I mean, affectionately,” he explained quickly as her eyes widened. “With the Dursleys it was always ...” he trailed off as a feeling rose in him. And suddenly he was certain that he wanted that from her again. That, and if possible, more.

He tried to fight the emotion down but it was so much harder now. Like trying to cage a lion that had tasted freedom. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“It was Voldemort and Snape,” Hermione spat. But she sounded too much like she was trying to convince herself too.

“It was me.” Harry swallowed as her eyes snapped up to meet his. “In the end, it was me. I’ve wondered and I ... I wanted ...”

“This is the Solvamus talking.” There was a cold warning in her voice.

“Please don’t think I would’ve ever hurt you if those things hadn’t been in me,” he pleaded. “But Lupin explained how the potion works. I’m responsible because in the end it was my feelings that -”

“STOP.” Hermione got to her feet so fast that her chair scraped back. Tears glimmered in her eyes, but there was fury also.

“You should’ve told me!” she finally burst out. “All this time I thought we were just friends and I was safe with you. I would’ve - I should’ve been more careful!” she cried.

Her last words caught Harry’s attention. “You should’ve been more ...? Hermione, don’t tell me that you think this is somehow your fault!” He was absolutely incredulous.

“Maybe. I mean, I’m a girl, aren’t I?” she asked caustically. In her head she was hearing all the loose talk and the insinuations that had hounded her uncommon friendship with Harry and Ron over the years. “I’m supposed to watch myself around blokes. I’m not supposed to go around hugging them and hanging around them alone ...”

“That’s just plain idiotic!” Harry cut in, sounding argumentative for the first time in days. “You never acted that way around other blokes. Just us and that’s because we were your friends, your best mates! We’ve known each other since we were kids and we’d been through so much. You treated us like we were your brothers! If we started feeling different, then that was our lookout wasn’t it?” He sounded genuinely indignant and even mad.

Hermione was so surprised at his outburst that for a second she couldn’t think of anything to say.

The boy raked a hand through his hair. “Look, I know I should’ve told you, but I honestly thought I had it under control. I didn’t want things to get awkward between us and I didn’t want to lose your friendship just because of some stupid impulse. Then it got obvious that you and Ron ... then Ginny came along and I really liked her, and I thought I was past it ...” He took a deep breath. “So it’s not your bloody fault! Dammit, Hermione, you’re smart enough to know better! Don’t ever let me hear you talk crap like that again! Don’t even THINK it.”

The girl stared at him. Now that Harry had mentioned Ginny, she couldn’t resist asking, “And Cho? I’m not trying to pry,” she added quickly, “but it is hard to understand.”

“I liked her,” he confessed, a red tinge in his cheeks. “Maybe not as much as Ginny because it never got that far, but it just didn’t work out. With Cedric hanging over us we should’ve known that it wouldn’t,” he said matter-of-factly. “A lot later I realized that I kept getting thrown off because I was unconsciously expecting her to act more like you. I mean, I’ve seen you cry and get scared, but in the end you pulled yourself together and did what you thought needed doing. I was young. I couldn’t understand why, if she liked me, she’d break into tears over Cedric even when she was with me.”

“Oh Harry, that’s not fair,” Hermione broke in with a touch of reproach. “It must’ve been unimaginably hard to deal with. If it had been Cedric who’d returned alive with your body, I would’ve ...” She shuddered.

“So you do care for me a little.” Harry couldn’t help sounding pleased.

She looked at him steadily, and for a second he thought he’d gone too far. Finally she responded, “I always have. Don’t pretend you don’t know that.” She raised a hand and covered her eyes. “What are we going to do with you?”

It was as if they were back to being friends, discussing their next move in the face of another crisis. With his throat tight, Harry fought the surge of feelings inside him as he struggled to answer. “There’s nothing you can do. Just go,” he forced himself to say.

“What?”

“It’s not safe for you here. The potion’s still in me. I can feel it working.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m clutching the sheets, trying to stop myself from grabbing you.”

Hermione nodded and stepped away. She did not miss the way Harry twitched as she made to leave the room, but in the end he stayed where he was.

She did not look back.

=============

After a restless night mulling things over and over, a drawn-looking Hermione met with Lupin and Tonks in the library. She scanned the room. “Ron?” she asked.

“I asked him to keep watch,” the former professor replied. “Harry’s asleep now, but seeing how easily he’s been slipping past our binding spells, it’s probably better to have someone on guard. So long as Ron doesn’t try to kill him again, Harry should be in good hands.”

Despite his attempt at levity, Lupin was shooting her an odd look. Being more familiar with the trio than most, he knew how unusual it was for one of them to be deliberately kept in the dark. He did not understand why Hermione had sent an owl in the middle of the night asking him to keep Ron occupied while the three of them met.

As if she’d heard his unspoken question, the young witch said, “I need to talk this over first. If I’m wrong then Ron doesn’t need to know about this. Ever,” she declared, her eyes flashing.

Lupin and Tonks exchanged glances and waited.

Hermione sank down into a chair across from them and fiddled with a quill nervously. “Professor, Tonks told me the two of you got here at ten?”

The lycanthrope considered briefly. “Around that time, yes.”

“Harry fed me a drug that rendered me unconscious,” she stated flatly. This came as no surprise, because they had called in Madame Pomfrey to check her that night. The next part, though, was something only she and Harry knew. “I only woke up a few minutes before you arrived.”

The girl’s earlier request to speak to Harry alone suddenly made horrific sense to Tonks. “Are you telling us that Harry ...? Hermione got here a lot earlier, Remus,” she explained to the confused man. “She could’ve been out for a long time before we arrived.”

The former professor looked alarmed as everything clicked into place. Dear Merlin, with the Solvamus and the augmenter both working on him, the half-crazed teenager must have -- “Hermione,” he choked, “I’m so sorry.”

“No, no!” the focus of his sympathies cut in hastily. “He didn’t - I’m not, I wasn’t,” she stammered. Oh brilliant, Granger. She took a deep breath and continued more steadily, “Harry had me completely at his mercy ... but he didn’t do anything ... much until I woke up.” That wasn’t quite true, but Hermione didn’t want to be the one to tell them that Harry had groped her for the better part of an hour before she regained consciousness.

“I think,” she tried again, “that I may have found a flaw. There might be a way to save Harry. But I don’t know if I ... if it’s possible.”

She could see that they didn’t understand what she was talking about. “This plan, it was ruthless, and low ... and fiendishly clever. Harry hurts me and kills himself, or one of us does it for him. Or he goes mad trying to resist the Solvamus. Any which way it happens, Voldemort wins.” She laid it out as objectively as if she were speaking about a particularly vexing problem in Arithmancy. “It almost worked; it still might. But it’s possible that they made a mistake.”

The two adults leaned forward with bright relief etched on their faces. At that moment, Hermione knew that what she’d been right in her suspicions. The Order had not found a way to save the boy who might be their only hope against Voldemort.

“The plan is founded on Harry ... forcing himself on me,” she started again. She shied away from the word rape. She raised her face towards them, and they were alarmed to see that her eyes were brimming with tears. “If you take that element out ... if – if I were willing ...”

Strangely, it was Lupin who immediately rejected the idea. “NO.” Such sacrifices should not be necessary, he thought, not from children. What kind of victory would it be if it was founded on sacrifices like these?

Tonks was shaking her head. “Hermione -”

“Wait.” The young witch held up a hand that barely trembled. “Think it through. It doesn’t make sense. You were the ones who said that no one’s ever resisted the Solvamus. You add the augmenter to that and you can see why the Death Eaters thought Harry would break down in hours.”

She turned to Lupin. “Professor, you say that he was able to fight it for so long because he has uncommon self-control. That may be, but I can’t believe Harry’s that different from those wizards who were targeted so long ago. Take it from me, he does get angry and he can get pretty impulsive.”

During the few times that she and Harry had argued (like over the Half-Blood Prince’s book), he had returned her sallies right back. Some people thought Harry was a saint. She knew better. He was usually quiet, and compared to Ron he was the soul of sensitivity, but she had also seen him lose it a number of times. She still remembered how Harry had screamed at her and Ron the first time he’d set foot in Sirius’ house after a particularly trying summer at the Dursleys. It didn’t mean that Harry wasn’t a good person. But he could be stubborn and impetuous, and he was no more gracious at being crossed than the next man.

“I’ve been mulling it over for days and there’s just one logical explanation. The augmenter boosted the Solvamus, yes, but I think it hindered it, too.”

“Explain that.” Despite her shock, Tonks found herself leaning forward curiously.

“Historically, we’ve been told that the augmenter works on love and lust. I was unconscious and helpless for at least an hour. If all Harry wanted was THAT, why wait for me to wake?”

The Auror considered the question for a moment. “You mean Harry really cares for you, and the augmenter boosted that, too?”

Unlike before, Hermione didn’t try to deny it. “He does,” she answered with a certainty that hadn’t been there before. “The three of us have been through too much for us not to. So Harry hid what he felt because he chose our friendship over his feelings. For much the same reason, Ron and I stuck to his side despite the danger to ourselves and our families. Harry didn’t ask us to. He never had to.”

She pressed on. She wanted to make her point while they were still listening. “That’s where they miscalculated. Maybe Pro – Snape,” she corrected herself. After everything he’d done, the potions master had lost all right to the honorific. “Maybe he did sense that Harry was on some level attracted to me. Harry told me Snape had access to his mind when he was being trained in Occlumency,” she informed them. “But that attraction didn’t cancel out the fact that we genuinely care for each other, too.”

“Harry’s been able to fight the Solvamus because the feelings he has for me weren't canceled by the attraction. Harry loves me. Which means that the way to save him,” Hermione steeled herself but her voice still shook, “is to give him what he wants. It won’t be r-rape, and Harry won’t kill himself when the potion wears off.”

“Absolutely not!” Lupin exclaimed.

“Professor, when we first spoke, you told me we had seven days. By tomorrow there will only be five! Does anybody even know for sure that there is an antidote?” Her hunch that the Order was facing a blank wall in their search for Harry’s cure was confirmed by the stricken look on their faces.

Tonks regarded the young witch uneasily. She had the feeling that the girl hadn’t come up with this idea on impulse. “You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”

Hermione lowered her gaze. “I sensed the flaw soon after what Professor Lupin told me, but rejected the idea. It was unthinkable. But when I saw Harry’s dreams ...”

How to explain this? “Look, there’s no right and wrong in dreams, no need to hold back,” she said. “You can give in to every secret impulse because it’s not real. Most of the time you don’t even have a choice because the dream will bring you where it thinks you need to be or want to go. But Harry’s dreams weren’t ... As disturbing as they were, they weren’t what I feared or expected. I saw want, I saw desire, jealousy and anger, but not force.” She flushed at the memory of what she’d seen.

“That’s why Harry had to wait for me to wake up,” she concluded. “Because he was telling the truth. He was gambling that his dreams could come true. It’s not enough that he gets his way. Harry ... Harry wants to win me.”

Lupin was shaking his head. “Even if you’re right, do you realize what you’re suggesting? I remember how scared you were when we broke into that room.”

“Remus,” Tonks said reproachfully.

“But she has to understand --”

“I think she already does,” the pink-haired Auror answered shortly. “Give us a few minutes alone? Please.”

The wizard pushed his chair back. “Hermione,” he tried one last time, “I know you’re worried about Harry, but please think this over very carefully.”

Once the library door shut behind him, Tonks didn’t waste any time. “I think your plan’s brilliant and very brave, but Remus has a point. Do you have any idea what you’re proposing?”

The younger witch bit her lip. “If I do this, the potion will wear off. It won’t kill him and ... Ron won’t because it’s my decision. That leaves Harry. So long as he’s convinced that it wasn’t,” she hesitated over the word to use, “non-consensual --”

“Which means,” Tonks interrupted softly, “that it can’t be.” She let her words linger. “You said it yourself, Hermione, but do you understand what it means? The key to your plan is for you to be willing. Not pretending to be,” she stressed, “but truly willing. There’s a huge difference.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide. “You mean ...?”

The Auror nodded, her expression uncharacteristically grim. “I have a feeling that when that potion wears off all that boy will see is how he drugged one of his best friends and pawed her until she was in tears, and how he tried to steal her away from the bloke who might as well be his brother. Unless you can show him otherwise, it won’t be Ron we’ll have to worry about,” she continued bleakly. “Whether it’s right then or days or months after, Harry won’t be able to live with himself.”

A/N: You really didn't think it was going to be that simple, did you? `Course not. >:) The aim's to have them fall in love, not just shag (though there will be that too). Which brings me to the recurring question, is this really an H/Hr fic? The answer's still yes, and like I've said a few times (see reviews) that's been the plan all along. The original summary of the plot I wrote out says so. I may write an alternate ending in the future (which will probably be posted elsewhere), but first I want to finish this as it was originally conceived. The funny thing is, even if I do write an alternate ending, it's not going to be R/Hr either. That pairing just isn't that interesting to me (no offense meant). So ... please review, and I'll try to respond to any questions you might have. Portkey's got this great system where the author's reply is sent directly to your email. Should work even if you're “anonymous” so long as you leave an email address.

Disclaimer: The Potterverse belongs to JKR. I'm just taking the characters out for a really strange ride. ;)

CHAPTER TEN:

Hermione got unsteadily to her feet. Her mind burned as she turned and walked unseeingly towards one of the bookshelves.

Tonks is right, she realized. There was little that Harry valued above his friendship with her and Ron. It was something of a sacred thing to him. Oh, who was she kidding? To all of us. With Dumbledore dead and Hogwarts virtually closed, it was one of the few constants left in their lives.

So of course it was a perfect target for the Solvamus. In her mind, she saw again how furious Harry had gotten when he’d thought Sirius had betrayed his parents, his godfather’s close friends. It was the first time she’d seen Harry with murder in his eyes. He could easily turn that fury on himself.

“Hermione, turn `round.”

She did, and was jolted when she found herself standing a few feet away from the emerald-eyed boy she’d been thinking about. He didn’t move, merely studied her carefully as she nervously stepped back.

She’s terrified. He shook his head. “You see?” he asked, but again it was Tonks’ voice that came out. “It scares you just to be in the same room with him.”

The fear gradually left the young witch as she realized that the shapeshifting Auror had merely taken Harry’s form. “That’s not fair! You surprised me!” she protested.

“Do you think it’ll be easier if you knew beforehand?” Tonks asked skeptically. A wave of her wand sent her borrowed form shimmering until she was back to her real appearance.

“Do you think this is easy for me at all?!” Hermione shot back. “Do you think I WANT to do this? If this were anyone else, I wouldn’t even - !”

Tears stood in her eyes as her voice fell to a whisper. “But ... this is Harry. To give myself to someone who cares so much for me, when I care for him, too ... to save his life when he’s saved mine ...” the girl continued shakily. “I HAVE to try, do you understand? Do you think I could live with myself, if Harry died when I had the means to save him?”

A brief silence descended between them.

Tonks sighed. “That doesn’t change the fact that your plan calls for willingness. If you’ve never even thought of Harry that way -”

“I ... have.”

The admission was uttered so softly that Tonks wasn’t sure at first that she’d heard it.

Hermione was remembering the dream where Harry had challenged her. All these years and you never thought about what it would be like between us? Not once? With most everyone teasing them at one point or another, of course she had.

She bit her lip. “During the Triwizard, I ... wondered. Ron (who was being a total git!) had this insane idea that Harry wanted all the glory for himself. They had this terrific row, and Harry and I ended up spending a lot of time by ourselves. There was even one point when I thought ...”

“One more time,” she said. “You’re doing the inflection wrong. Its Accio -”

“Enough!” In a move that surprised them both, Harry grabbed a nearby book and hurled it against the wall of the common room. “We’ve been at this all day and it’s just not working! It’s nearly one in the morning, just HOURS ‘til the first task, Hermione! I’m never going to learn the Summoning Charm in time!” His face was tight and full of frustration. “What the bleeding hell was I thinking? What the hell am I DOING? I’m not ready for this ... I’m too young, I don’t know enough!” Suddenly it began to spill out, all the anxiety and confusion he’d kept bottled up inside since Dumbledore pulled his name out of the Triwizard cup.

Normally, Hermione would’ve chastised her friend for his intemperate language, but in this case it was easy to understand. Harry’s scared, she realized as she took a good look at him, and who wouldn’t be in his place?

Truth to tell, so was she. The thought of Harry facing a full grown Hungarian Horntail, with nothing but his wand and a fourth-year’s knowledge of magic, twisted up her insides. She couldn’t do a simple “Wingardium Leviosa” now if she ...

The girl’s head snapped up. Oh of course! Granger, you daft girl ...

“Harry,” she said softly, “we’re doing this wrong.” She nodded towards the couch in the middle of the common room. “Lie down.”

The unexpected request instantly stopped his tirade. “Huh?”

Her only answer was a smile, a slow, snarky type of grin with a dash of know-it-all in it. Harry was thoroughly familiar with it by now, and although it could sometimes be annoying, today it reassured him. It meant Hermione had what she sometimes called an “aha!” moment.

“What is it?” he asked, curiosity displacing his qualms as he placed his wand on a side table and lowered himself on the sofa.

“You’ll see.” She tossed a pillow at him. “Put your head up on the rest.” When it was done, she stood up next to the end of the couch. “Comfy? Now close your eyes.”

He placed the throw pillow under his head and looked up at her inquiringly, beginning one of their wordless exchanges. Hermione, what’re you - ?

Her grin widened a little. Trust me. Come on, we don’t have all day.

The boy sighed and shut his eyes. He heard the familiar rustling of robes and wondered what she was doing.

And then he felt her warm hands touch his face. For some reason his breath hitched as fingertips gently traced imaginary lines across his forehead, his temples, down his cheeks, until they reached his jaw and started up again.

“You – we,” she amended softly, “are too wound up. We can’t do spells if we can’t concentrate. You’ve been at this all day. You know what you need to about the charm. Forget the deadline.” Her palms settled gently against the sides of his face. “Just let yourself absorb it, Harry. Relax and listen to me.”

She went over the intricacies of summoning again. Harry didn’t know how long he lay there. With his eyes closed, he found himself in a world surrounded by Hermione - her voice, the reassuring faint pressure of her hands, the light scent of strawberries. She recounted the important points of the spell, speaking in tones no louder than a murmur, and yet he didn’t miss a thing.

“Got it?” she asked softly.

Harry gradually opened his eyes, and wasn’t surprised to see her face hovering just a few inches above his own. So that was the rustling. Hermione must’ve knelt down so she could better reach him.

“I think so.” For the first time today he smiled at her. “Thank you.” He took one of her hands and, completely on impulse, kissed it. And then he sort of forgot to let it go.

“Harry?” This time it was her turn to sound uncertain, because the kiss on her hand and the expression in his eyes was something new.

“`Mione ...” His voice was husky and his face was flushed. It would take so little. He squeezed her hand and thought, If I raised my head a few inches ...

If I leaned down a little more ... Hermione swallowed, her eyes drawn to Harry’s lips. Oh Merlin, she - they were actually going to do this, throw caution to the winds.

BONG!

The two teenagers sprang apart as the common room’s grandfather clock loudly chimed the hour.

When it was finished, Harry and Hermione looked at the clock, and then at each other. And laughed. Typical, that. But there was also a bit of relief mixed into it. Not today, then. Today and probably for the coming days they would still be best mates. No need to complicate that. Not yet. With the tournament looming, it was probably better that way.

Hermione went to the table and handed Harry his wand. “Try it now.”

The boy got to his feet. He stood in front of the fireplace and glanced at the objects nearby. He decided to try something easy first. He raised his wand. “Accio quill!”

To his surprise the quill launched itself off the table and flew straight towards him. He caught it just before it went past him.

Harry stared at the quill disbelievingly in his hand for a wordless second. Then he looked up triumphantly at Hermione.

The snarky grin was fully in place. “What’re you waiting for? Go on, try something else.”

The present-day Hermione shook her head. Compared to what they’d faced since then, preparing for the Triwizard Tournament seemed like nothing now. “But so many things happened ... Harry still had this big crush on Cho, Ron came to his senses, and Cedric Diggory died.”

“Which brings us to another point. What about Ron?” Tonks asked gently, sure that this was the winning question.

The young witch’s chin lifted. “I’m going to tell him. He has every right to know, and it wouldn’t be fair otherwise. I just hope that he ... understands.” But Tonks could see by the way Hermione’s eyes glimmered that she thought he wouldn’t. It was no secret that Ron Weasley had a jealous streak a mile wide. It was also obvious that the girl cared a great deal for the redhead and thought she was going to lose him.

And yet she’ll do this anyway. How in the world did Harry find friends like these? The Auror knew that she was losing the argument in the face of Hermione’s determination, but she wasn’t ready to give up. Mentally she flung every filthy curse she could think of at Snape and his ilk. Sodding bastards.

“Look,” she said, “we don’t need to decide on anything tonight, right? Sleep on it, Hermione, talk to Remus.”

For a second the girl looked like she was about to protest. Instead she nodded timidly. “Tonks ...?”

“Yeah?”

“Is there another way?” Hermione asked in a choked voice. Just like that, the façade of certainty crumbled, leaving behind a plainly frightened girl who wasn’t even eighteen.

Impulsively, Tonks reached out to the teenager and held her tightly. “We’ll find one, Hermione, you’ll see.” She hoped for their sakes that it was true.

==================

Much later, when Hermione had calmed down, she left Tonks and found Lupin in Harry’s room. Ron had long gone.

She watched as the professor carefully “drained” the unconscious teenager of his dreams and stored them in the pensieve. Since Hermione’s discovery – that the specially crafted pensieve was starting to siphon off Harry’s memories as well as his dreams – Lupin and Tonks couldn’t rely on the automated spell they’d been using up to then. Instead, they began to remove the Solvamus-fed dreams manually.

The process was slow and a lot more taxing for the adults, and, unfortunately, no less dreadful for Harry. The brown-haired girl watched as Lupin carefully drew the covers around the boy’s trembling form.

“He’s like a son to you, isn’t he?” Hermione didn’t know what made her say that. It just slipped out.

Lupin looked surprised. Then he said reflectively, “In a way, I suppose. It wouldn’t be hard, having a son like Harry.” He gave a last tug at the blankets. “He reminds me so much of James and Lily.”

She hesitated. “Is he very much like them?” His parents were an understandably touchy issue with Harry. Although he often told Hermione and Ron about the discoveries he’d made about his parents, it was still a long way from getting a real sense of them.

“He favors James mostly. Same obstinacy, same penchant for getting into trouble. But he’s got his mother’s luminous green eyes.” For a second Lupin’s face shone, and Hermione got a glimpse of the lad he’d been a long time ago. “You would’ve liked them, I think, though you would’ve probably gotten along better with Lily than with James. He could be a prat sometimes.”

“Lily, on the other hand ... she was considered something of a prize, you know,” he mused. “Half the lads at school thought James had the most amazing luck and the other half were just plain envious. Even Sirius and I envied him, not in a bad way of course. We were happy for him, but at the same time ...” Lupin shrugged good-naturedly. “You actually remind me of her a bit. She was clever, really good at charms and potions, and she had a sharp sense of humor.”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m nothing like that. I’m not popular or anything.”

“I didn’t say she was popular. I said she was prized,” he corrected.

“That’s never been me, either.” It came out a bit more sharp than she’d intended.

Forgetting himself for a second, Lupin grinned. “Well, to Harry and Ron you certainly are,” he said, before realizing how awful that sounded under the circumstances. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -”

The girl turned away. “It was the Solvamus.”

“Not true.” Lupin shook his head. “It’s always impressed me, this bond that the three of you share. It certainly surpasses anything we had as the Marauders.” This time it was his voice that held a bitter note. In the end, it had been a Marauder who had betrayed James and Lily, and resurrected Voldemort. “I think Severus picked up on that. He would’ve been blind not to see it. I noticed it as early as on that train trip to Hogwarts, and I didn’t even know who the three of you were.”

“Tell me,” he asked, slipping into a tone reminiscent of his teaching days at Hogwarts, “do you know what most people do after a Dementor attack?”

When Hermione shook her head, the professor continued, “Nine times out of ten, they run. Aside from how horrific the attack itself is, the Dementors leave a trail of invisible dread behind them that everyone instinctively tries to get away from as quickly as possible. But that didn’t even cross your minds, did it? There you were, two thirteen year-olds who’d just witnessed a horrific attack, bent over this insensible boy.”

“Of course not.” The young witch sounded indignant. “Harry was unconscious, we couldn’t just leave him.”

“But that’s precisely it. Do you know what was even more remarkable about it? The three of you just went on after that, discussing what had happened and what to do next as if the attack had been nothing more than a particularly bad Quidditch match. Oh, you were shaken by what had happened, but in the end you were more concerned for Harry.”

Lupin steepled his hands together and gazed at her over the triangle of his fingers. “Do you think that just applies to Harry? Do you think that, if the situation were reversed and the Dementors had gone after you, the boys would be less staunch or less worried? I heard about the Triwizard tournament, how Harry wouldn’t leave the water until he was sure you were safe.”

Hermione had the grace to blush, but she still pointed out that Harry had waited until everyone was safe.

“Oh we heard. Moral fiber,” Lupin intoned with a wide grin. “Sirius and I felt absurdly like proud parents when we found out. In that sense Harry’s an improvement on James, on all of us, when we were that age. Perhaps because life has tried him more.” He said the last sadly, and Hermione sensed that his thoughts had shifted to the present.

Strangely, she felt she had to console him. “Whatever Harry says, it’s not his fault,” she said in a low voice. “I know him. I wish he’d been more honest with me, but whatever his feelings he wouldn’t have done this to anybody. Not without those THINGS messing up his system.”

Hermione’s attempt to comfort him was both amazing and incredibly touching. Lupin spoke softly, “Don’t do it, Hermione. If not for your sake, then for Harry’s. Don’t give the boy another thing to regret. If he hurts you, it will be more than he can bear. I may not know him as well as you do, but I know Harry enough to be sure of that.”

Hermione gazed at him, and then at the dark-haired boy. She stepped closer to the bed and hesitantly stretched out a hand. “You told Harry about the potion.”

Lupin guessed that it was the first time the young witch had dared to touch the boy who’d attacked her. He found himself holding his breath. “Yes.”

Hermione lightly grazed Harry’s motionless left hand with a fingertip. He’s so cold. When she stepped away, the figure on the bed seemed calmer somehow, the rise and fall of his chest even and sedate. “But not about the deadline. Not that in a week he could die, or go mad.”

The older man hesitated. “No.”

“But you told me.”

His stricken look was answer enough.

When Hermione spoke again, her tones were a strange mix of sadness and coldness. Even though she addressed Lupin by his honorific, they both understood that she was now speaking to him as an equal. “Understand one thing, Professor. I don’t want to do this. No girl in her right mind would. I’ve struggled against it; I never even wanted to mention it. So the fact that I have means that I’ve attacked it with every argument I could think of, both logical and emotional, and in the end they all lost to a single consideration: I don’t want Harry to die or to go insane. And I’ll throw in another one that the Order will understand: We can’t let Voldemort win.”

“Maybe you didn’t tell me so it would come to this, but it’s done. I can’t pretend that I don’t know, and I can’t act as if I never thought of a way to save him.” She paused, and there was a faraway look in her eyes. “We – Harry and I - once talked about what it meant, that we’re in a war now. If we lose ...” A shudder passed through her. Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first – that’s what Malfoy had said a long time ago.

“If there is another way, trust me, I want to be the first to hear about it. But in the meantime, we need to discuss my idea with Snape’s predecessor ... hypothetically, if possible. We need an objective opinion. Will you do that for me, Professor?”

Lupin could only nod, his throat tight as Hermione said goodnight and departed. Why was he so surprised, he thought, that the girl had figured out the consequences and was doing her best to face them squarely?

He and Sirius had found themselves discussing the trio once, analyzing them individually. They both loved Harry, were fond of Ron, but every time they came to Hermione, Sirius would break into one of his rare smiles. “You should’ve seen her, Moony. Stepped right between me and Harry in a flash, and me looking exactly like a crazed killer escaped from Azkaban. She’s going to be something, that girl.”

Lupin nodded. Hermione was an amazing student. “Yes, she’s so smart and -”

“Oh that’s not half of it!” Sirius interrupted, leaning forward. “She was scared, flying around on Buckbeak and even facing me. It’s not like Harry and Ron, half the time they go in like we used to, half-cocked and consequences be damned, you know? That’s not how the girl works. She minds, you can see it, but she doesn’t let it stop her. That one doesn’t stop thinking, Remus, not even when she’s frightened. You mark my words, she’s going to be a formidable witch one day.”

After what had just happened, Lupin didn’t quite agree. “You were a bit off, Padfoot,” he whispered to the darkness. “Seems to me that she is already.”

===============

That night it was Hermione’s turn to dream. It was set in the past, but she sensed immediately - the way you simply knew in dreams - that she and Harry were a mix of their past and present selves.

“Do you have a minute, Hermione?” Harry’s face was grave as he waited for her to get up. It was Friday and, like everyone else, he had shirked his school robes for casual clothes as soon as the last class was through.

The brown-haired girl glanced up at him. She’d been sitting on the steps with some of the younger Gryffindors. She noticed fleetingly that she and Harry had both chosen muggle wear again, jeans and comfortable shirts and, in Harry’s case, a light hooded jacket. She excused herself, and pretended not to notice the knowing looks and titters as she joined the famous bespectacled youth. Without needing to discuss it, they slowly headed away from the crowd of milling students.

Funny how things turned out. Hagrid had once called the three of them the most pitiful bunch of misfits he’d ever laid eyes on. Now look at them. She, a muggle-born, was a prefect and promising candidate for Head Girl no less, while Ron was prefect and Quidditch Keeper, and Harry ... well everyone knew who Harry was, and not because he was captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

They walked quietly side by side for awhile. Harry had a tight nervy look on his face and his fists were crammed into his jacket.

Only when they were far from everyone did Hermione speak. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He didn’t even try to pretend that he didn’t know what she was talking about. “Is it really so hard to understand, Hermione? I didn’t want to ruin the way things were, and I didn’t want to get between you and Ron.” It was much the same explanation he’d given her earlier. “And to be completely honest, half the time I wasn’t sure what I was feeling. We’ve been friends for so long, and I’ve always felt strongly about you. It was just ... easier not to define that.”

“And you’re sure now?” she asked caustically.

Harry stopped and turned towards her. They were by the lake now, and he scuffed his shoe on the stony bank. “Do you remember when we went off to rescue Sirius at the Ministry?”

She nodded.

“You nearly died,” he said in a whisper. “From the moment you were hit, it was like everything shut down for me. Nothing else mattered until Neville told me you were alive. But then Sirius died and I ...” He swallowed. Even now, talking about his godfather left him aching. But at least he could talk about Sirius now. He could still barely speak Dumbledore’s name.

Instinctively, and because this was a dream, Hermione reached for his hands the way she used to. “I’ve always wanted to tell you how sorry I was about Sirius. I know how much you loved him.”

Harry bent his head. “You shouldn’t be sorry. You helped me save him once, and you tried to again at the Ministry. He admired you a lot, my godfather. He said you were smart and had a lot of spunk ...”

She smiled at that. ‘You really are the brightest witch of your age.’ It was one of the grandest compliments she had ever received and coming as it had from a normally taciturn wizard, well ... Sometimes, when Hermione was feeling discouraged, she’d bring that memory out and bask in it a bit.

“... and that I was a brainless git if I settled for less than that. He caught me agonizing over Cho, you see,” Harry explained. He looked down at their joined hands. “He saw right through me. I should’ve listened to him.”

She didn’t know what to say. She was about to pull away when he spoke again.

“What would you have done, Hermione, if I’d come to you like this and asked you out?” he asked abruptly.

This time she did pull away, but he only let go of one hand. “Harry, I asked Ron - ”

He interrupted hurriedly, “Not at this time you haven’t. Don’t you remember this day? This was before you asked Ron to the Slug Club party. Before me and Ginny,” Harry explained in a patient tone. “Ron was finishing something and we were waiting for him in the courtyard where all the other students were. I was razzing with Neville and Seamus, and you were surrounded by this admiring group of third years. You looked so earnest talking to them and suddenly I thought, ‘I could do it now. Just walk over and ask. The worst she could do is turn me down.’”

He shook his head regretfully. “In the end I didn’t because it felt like the whole of Hogwarts was looking over my shoulder,” he explained. “After years of denying dozens of rumors about us, well ... and then you asked Ron to the party, and I saw Ginny with Dean ...”

“You can’t tell me you regretted being with Ginny!” Hermione exclaimed.

“No, being with Ginny was one of the best times of my life. For awhile, it felt like life was ... normal,” he said wistfully. “But however much I want it to be, my life’s not normal, is it? And it doesn’t change the fact that I should’ve asked that day. I wish I’d tried and found out about us first.” Suddenly green eyes locked gazes with brown. “If I had, Hermione, what would you have said?”

The girl fought the urge to look away. She’d forgotten how disconcerting it could be, being at the receiving end of one of Harry’s challenging, young/old, emerald stares.

It had been there even when they were kids newly arrived at Hogwarts, she thought. It had taken her awhile to understand how an eleven year old could look so sad. Over the years it had just gotten worse. ‘I’ve seen death,’ those eyes said now, the same ones that saw thestrals where most people only saw air, ‘and sometimes it comes looking for me. But I won’t give up hope.’

“I ...” What would she have said? She would’ve been taken aback, but would she have turned him down? “I don’t know. Probably sit there stunned for a bit, mortified that you’d ask in front of the whole school.”

Surprisingly, Harry grinned. “Nice answer, Ms. Granger, but a tad evasive I think. What would Professor McGonagall say?” he asked in mock shock.

She couldn’t believe he was actually teasing her! It was as if they were really back in their last year at Hogwarts. “I believe I’m free not to answer, Mr. Potter, since it was a purely hypothetical question,” she said in her best schoolmarm’s voice.

“Alright then.” There was a nervous tone in his voice, and suddenly the young witch knew exactly what was coming next. “Hermione, would you like to go out with me? Lunch this weekend at Hogsmeade?”

And just as she expected, she found herself tongue-tied. “I - goodness!”

“Is that a no?” He sounded genuinely curious.

“No. I mean, yes! I mean – you’re laughing at me, Harry James Potter!” she fumed indignantly.

“Sorry!” he managed to gasp. His eyes were tearing over from the effort to stifle the merry sounds rising from his throat. “It’s just, I knew I’d be nervous. I never once thought you’d be, too.”

“I’m not nervous, you twit, I’m stunned!” Hermione exclaimed. “You realize those words just changed everything between us?”

Serious now, she withdrew her remaining hand. “I probably would’ve gone out with you, Harry,” she added quietly. “I would’ve,” she repeated, “and if it hadn’t worked out, or worse, if it had, things would’ve been completely awkward from then on.”

“Because of Ron,” he muttered.

“Because of the three of us. Oh Harry, it’s different when somebody likes you, you know that. Then you’re not best mates anymore, are you? You can’t act around a bloke the same way when you know - and everyone else knows - that he likes you.”

He looked at her in disbelief. “You’re joking. What do you think I’d do? Jump you if you take my arm?”

“Of course not!” she denied immediately, forgetting for the moment that that was almost exactly what he’d done. “It’s just that you can’t do certain things because it can all be misconstrued. Oh for pity’s sake!” she exclaimed in exasperation, because his expression was still indignant. “Are you daft? What would you think if another girl acted like that with you? Wouldn’t you think that she liked you? And if it turned out later that she didn’t in that way, if after that she turned you down, wouldn’t everyone else think that she – that I - was leading you on?”

Harry pursed his lips. “I never thought about it like that.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sometimes you’re just as thick as Ron.”

“Maybe.” He averted his gaze at her second invocation of Ron’s name, but this time Hermione caught the glint in his eyes.

Jealousy? But Harry back in all their years at Hogwarts had never shown jealousy. Unless ... She placed her hands in her pockets and studied him closely. “This isn’t a dream, is it?” she asked flatly.

He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Not exactly. Wait!” as she stepped back, poised to flee. He held up his hands placatingly. “I didn’t plan this, Hermione. I don’t even know how I got here, but now that I am, please ... You’re not in danger. The Solvamus - I don’t know why, but I think I’m free of it here.”

“Get out of my head, Potter,” she demanded tightly.

“Please, you have to listen - !”

“No. NO!” The girl was both furious and fearful, an explosive combination. “First you take advantage of me, and now you’re in my head! I don’t have a single reason to do anything you ask,” she spat.

“I know, but please,” he begged, “trust me on this –“

“That’s just it,” she cut in again. “I don’t trust you, Harry! Get OUT!”

The words seemed literally to stun him. Harry tottered as if he’d just received a nasty blow to the head, and it was all he could do to stay on his feet.

His throat moved soundlessly, but in the end his shoulders slumped in defeat. “S-sorry,” he whispered, and it was obvious from the way his voice shook that he was trying not to break down in front of her. “If – if you ever change your mind ... just call me ...” He gave up as his voice cracked. Without another word, he turned and sprinted away.

Her heart pounding, Hermione watched him flee. He looked so small, she thought, as if he had had all the fight torn out of him. It surprised her that she was near tears herself. There was a painful feeling in her chest and she didn’t know why. She could only think: I did that. I said the one thing neither of us ever thought I’d say ...

And then the next thing she knew she was waking to the sound of somebody pounding on her door. She grabbed her wand.

“Hermione, you awake? It’s Tonks. Sorry `bout this, but we need the three of you in the library, right away.”

With a sigh of relief, the girl reached for a robe. “Coming,” she mumbled loud enough for Tonks to hear. She stifled a yawn, then abruptly froze. Had she heard right? The three of them?

Heart pounding, Hermione tightened the belt on her robe. They had not been together since she and Ron had drawn Harry in from the roof.

Had it been real? Or was it just a dream? She knew she was about to find out.

A/N: Unlike the previous chapters, which were posted elsewhere before and only needed some editing, this one is totally new. That should make some readers happy (hi, tabitoo!). Personally I thought this chapter was a bit too long, but somehow I didn't think you'd mind. >;) That's the good news. The bad news is posting will probably take longer from now on (have to write and edit and, knowing me, re-write). So tell me what you think. As usual I'll try to answer any questions.

Disclaimer: HP and company belong to JKR. `Nuff said.

CHAPTER ELEVEN:

The second Hermione laid eyes on Harry, she knew that it had really happened: he had entered her dream and somehow the two of them had spoken.

She knew because everything about Harry - from the way he slumped in his chair to the way he hung his head – spoke of defeat. He stayed that way, not looking at anyone even when Ron trailed in.

“What’s going on?” the redhead asked drowsily.

Because of the hour, all of them were in various kinds of sleepwear. Ron and Harry wore their usual loose, faded shirts over striped pajamas. Lupin, Tonks and Hermione had thrown on robes.

“We have a visitor.” Lupin stepped aside, revealing a large man who was seated nonchalantly in an armchair.

Ron started in surprised. “Ma -”

“Professor Moody!” Hermione interrupted quickly. She couldn’t believe Ron had almost called Moody “Mad-Eye” to his face!

Judging from the battle-scarred Auror’s wry grimace, her save hadn’t been quick enough. “Plain Moody will do,” he growled. His revolving magical eye swiveled towards Harry before settling on them one by one.

“First things first,” he snapped. “We’ve just received information that a contingent of Death Eaters, personally selected by Voldermort, will leave for Ireland tomorrow evening to retrieve ‘something important’ to the Dark Lord.”

Tonks frowned. Suddenly the woman with shimmering purple hair was all business. “Something important? That’s not much to go on.”

Mad-eye Moody shrugged. “From what our ... source overheard, it seems to be an artifact that’s small enough to carry. We don’t know what it is, but if it’s got Voldemort himself interested, I say it’s worth finding out.”

Hermione exchanged glances with Ron. He looked puzzled at first, and then his eyes widened. A Horcrux! They snapped their gazes to Harry, but to their frustration he showed no sign that he’d even heard Moody’s statement.

“You’re thinking we can beat them to it?” the younger Auror asked slowly.

The large man nodded. “We’ve been given a list of the locations they’ll search. Seems even they haven’t been told what it is yet. Voldemort’s playing this one close to his chest.”

Hermione’s mind was whirling. What to do? For Merlin’s sake, Harry, look at me! Was Voldemort gathering all the Horcruxes, or just this one because Ireland was too far away for comfort?

“As for that other matter,” Moody continued, his eyes on Harry, “I have the potion. I came back as soon as I could, but we don’t know if it’ll do any good.”

As everyone looked at the Auror in confusion, Lupin explained, “Moody was in France this morning. There’s an old member of the Order there, a retired alchemist who specializes in magical plants. He’s the only one we know of who’s dealt with the Solvamus before.”

“You mean you’ve found a cure?” Hermione was nearly breathless with excitement. First the Horcrux, now this! If there was a chance ...

“We don’t know,” the thin man answered. “This formula hasn’t been made in decades, and even the alchemist, er -”

“Faveure,” Moody supplied.

“- isn’t a hundred percent sure he got it right.” Lupin glanced at Tonks. “We should contact Madame Pomfrey, find some way to test -”

“I’ll take it.”

The interruption surprised everyone. They turned towards the boy who’d quietly spoken.

“Harry, that’s not a good idea,” Lupin protested in a tone that was the epitome of let’s be reasonable. “Faveure assisted on exactly one Solvamus case more than forty years ago. He made some notes but he was only an apprentice then and it was his master who prepared the potion. What he gave us can easily do more harm than good.”

“We know it’s not poisonous,” Moody rumbled helpfully. “He tested it on some rabbits. Effects weren’t pleasant, but when I left they were still alive.”

Both Ron and Hermione looked faintly horrified at this.

Harry’s head was still bent. Nobody could see his face, but his words came across clearly. “I don’t care what it does,” he declared tonelessly. “I don’t want to be this way anymore.”

Hermione couldn’t help herself. It was late, and here they were, faced with one important revelation after another, and the wanker at the center of all this mystery was barely paying attention! “Oh that’s just brilliant, Harry,” she snapped sarcastically. “Take it before we know what it does. I suppose if it fries your brain we can always shop for a new one.”

At the sound of his name, the boy’s eyes finally rose to meet hers.

At the touch of his gaze, Hermione nearly stepped back. She had always been pretty good at reading Harry, but this once she wished she couldn’t. The misery in those eyes!

The thought came again: I did that.

The dull ache in her chest returned with a vengeance. Only this time, because she was alert and prepared, Hermione began to recognize – no, to acknowledge what it was.

Concern. No, more than that. Pain at Harry’s pain - something that she’d felt first when she learned about the cupboard the thin boy with the sad eyes would return to in the summer.

Even back then, the injustice of it had rankled her. Nobody should have to suffer like that! And then, as the years went by - nobody should have to endure one test after another, each one worst than the last. It just wasn’t fair!

The ache in her chest clutched at her again, and finally she knew exactly what it was. Pain - because I caused Harry pain. The young witch closed her eyes as the almost-forgotten emotion swept over her.

Around them, Lupin, Tonks and even Ron were following her last statement with their own remonstrations, but Harry wasn’t paying any attention to them. His eyes were riveted on Hermione, because for a second after their glances had met, there had been a look on her face that had been utterly familiar ...

Hermione searched her feelings carefully. She wasn't imagining this, was she? Was it really back, her connection with the dark-haired boy? Yes. Her emotions were finally catching up with what her mind had already accepted – Voldemort and Snape had effectively poisoned Harry that night. They had used and twisted the pure feelings a young boy had harbored for most of his life for their own ends. As for her, Hermione didn’t kid herself. She was no more than a pawn in their game, a handy tool in Harry’s destruction.

It was as unforgivable as the worst curse. For Harry as well as for me. But it hadn’t worked because Voldemort and Snape had miscalculated, had underestimated the depth of their feelings for one another.

On the strength of his regard for her, in the end, Harry had been able to resist something a thousand wizards before him had been unable to. Not completely, but just enough so that on the strength of her feelings for him, and because Harry had been able to hold back enough to make it possible, now, at last, there was a chance that she could forgive him.

I can forgive him. How could the Death Eaters understand that, when she herself was amazed at the possibility? Not forget – no, not yet or maybe not ever – but we can move past this. We can go on.

You haven’t won, Voldemort, Snape, the bloody lot of you! Hermione exulted. You haven’t destroyed what’s between Harry and me. I swear you’ll never come between us again!

It was as if he’d heard her. The young wizard stood up slowly, ignoring the others still talking around him. He didn’t attempt to approach her, but something in him leapt as Hermione looked at him with fire in her eyes.

“Why does it matter?” Harry challenged her, but his voice was soft, careful. Give me one good reason. And don’t tell me it’s for my own good, because I don’t much care what happens to me anymore.

Because I care. Don’t you know by now that I won’t let you hurt yourself? “It matters,” she returned quietly.

The instant the words left her mouth, Hermione realized that she’d made up her mind. Just like that, she knew what she had to do next.

Harry, Ron and she were the closest of friends, tried and tested as much by the darkest wizard who’d ever lived as by their own idiosyncrasies, their peers, and the pressure of living in a wizarding world that was descending into war.

They were a trio.

It was time to trust in that.

She didn’t delude herself. It could fail. Last year it had seemed like the three of them had been drifting apart. But in the end Hermione believed the ties that bound them would hold. She believed in her boys, in Harry most of all, because he had never let her down when it counted.

“Harry,” she found herself saying, “I wish we could talk like we used to back in Hogwarts.”

The others looked at her, puzzled. What did that have to do with anything? But Harry nodded and for the first time in days there was something like hope in his face.

She turned to the boy at her side. “Ron, would you mind coming with me? I’m sorry, but I’m really tired, I don’t think there’s much we can contribute tonight,” she said to everyone else.

“Sure, Hermione.” With a quick Lumos, Ron pointed his wand to light their way.

When they were well away from the others, he asked excitedly, “Do you really think it’s a Horcrux? What’re we going to do?”

“I don't know. Give me a minute to think.” Hermione tried to keep the nervousness out of her voice. In her heart, she knew that it was time to tell Ron.

===============

When they got to her room, Hermione sat down on the edge of her bed as Ron closed the door behind them. “We have to speak with Tonks. It sounds like they’re going to leave in the morning.”

“Should we tell them about the Horcruxes?” Ron asked, sitting down beside her.

The girl shook her head. “We can’t. It’s Harry’s secret, not ours. Besides, Professor Dumbledore never told them, and he must’ve had his reasons. Which means ...”

“Yeah?”

“How do you feel about visiting Ireland?”

His mouth dropped open. “Blimey. Are you kidding me?”

“It’s the only thing I can think of right now,” Hermione confessed. “Harry aside, we’re the only two people who know about the Horcruxes, Ron! If this is an article that belonged to the Hogwarts founders, Tonks and Moody could easily overlook it. You heard them. They’re thinking in terms of a magical ‘artifact.’ At least you know what we’re looking for - Slytherin’s locket, Hufflepuff’s cup, and something that belonged to Ravenclaw or Gryffindor.”

“That’s not much to work with. Do you think they’d let me come with them?” he asked doubtfully, but there was excitement in his voice too. However much he tried, the redhead was never really one for research. Running about all over Ireland though, that had its appeal. Not to mention they had an excellent Quidditch team ...

Hermione grinned at him knowingly. A bookworm Ron would never be. “We’ll have to convince Professor Lupin and Tonks. Maybe we can talk to them after they’re finished with Harry.”

The lanky youth sighed at the mention of their friend. “I guess you’ll stay here then, do more research?”

She could’ve left it at that. She was really tempted to. But it wouldn’t be right. “Ron, I need to tell you something.” She took a deep breath. “Harry was in my dreams.”

He misunderstood. “You mean, you dreamt about what he did to you?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I dreamed that we were back at Hogwarts, and that we were talking. Then I realized he was actually there, that somehow I was really talking to Harry.”

The boy frowned. “What do you mean ‘really talking’ to him? Did he hurt you?”

“No, he ... he said that he was free of the Solvamus in my dreams.”

“And you believe him?” he asked incredulously. From the expression on her face, Ron saw that she did. “Bloody hell.” He ran his hands distractedly through his hair in a way that was strangely reminiscent of Harry. “First he can break through Lupin’s binding spells, now he’s in your head. What’s going on here?”

Suddenly Hermione was staring at him in stupefaction. “Ron, that's – that’s brilliant!”

“What?”

“How could I have missed something so obvious? Professor Lupin and Tonks must know. I have to ...”

“Hermione,” Ron said patiently, “you’re talking to yourself.”

“Oh. Sorry.” But she still looked distracted.

The boy rolled his eyes. “Just go on with what you were telling me about Harry before you go off chasing after Lupin and Tonks.”

Again Hermione was faced with a choice. Ron would leave for Ireland tomorrow, and maybe by the time he came back, everything would be okay and he wouldn’t know any better. Only, if she left things to lie like that, she would be deceiving him. And if she betrayed Ron like that, even their friendship wouldn’t survive.

“Will you promise to listen?”

The absolutely serious way she asked made Ron nervous. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

She nodded, throat tight.

“Alright. Go on.”

=================

Fifteen minutes later, a tired Lupin and Tonks were making their way to their rooms when a dark figure burst out of Hermione’s room, and slammed into them, actually knocking Lupin down.

Tonks had her wand out and pointed before she realized who it was. “Ron, what in the name of - ?”

The young wizard, illuminated by the glow of her wand, didn’t even answer. He stared at them angrily, almost accusingly, from where he’d also fallen on the hard, cold floor. It was easy to see that his cheeks were wet. In another second, he had scrambled to his feet and run away.

Tonks and Lupin looked at each other. Hermione! Suddenly wide awake, the couple opened her door.

They found the young witch on her bed, staring sightlessly at the flaming logs warming her room.

Tonks approached carefully. “Hermione, are you alright?”

The girl didn’t even glance at her. “We ... broke up. He – he made me choose, and I ... couldn’t.” Her voice shook as a single tear made its way down her cheek. “I couldn’t choose him ... over Harry’s life. I just - I couldn’t. He – he said – he called me -” She brought her hands to her face and sobbed.

This is going from bad to worse! Lupin didn't know what to do. He was torn between approaching, and trying to find a nice, quiet way to back out of the room. Death Eaters and werewolves he could handle. But crying teenage girls? That was way beyond his field of expertise. Thank Merlin Tonks was around!

The young Auror gently laid a sympathetic hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Is there anything we can do?”

To their surprise, Hermione actually answered. In tones whispery and fragile, she said, “You have to take ... Ron with you tomorrow. If he still wants to go.”

Tonks and Lupin exchanged startled looks. “But we’re going to Ireland tomorrow.”

“You'll need him.” The girl took a steadying breath. “Before all this happened, Harry ... asked us to help him look for something. It might be the same thing the Death Eaters are searching for. It’s hard to explain but ... Ron will know what it is.” She cast her tear-filled eyes at the Auror. “Please.”

Moody’s going to kill me. But Tonks just couldn't bring herself to refuse. With luck, the boy won't even want to go. “Alright,” she agreed reluctantly, “if Ron asks we’ll take him.” There was a slight emphasis on the world “ask” that no one missed.

Lupin didn’t know what possessed him at that point. Hermione was quieting down, and they could’ve left her then, but instead he found himself asking, “Is there anything else?”

The girl looked up at him with a clear hazel gaze.

Oh dear Merlin, she knows.

“Yes.” Hermione’s voice was still soft and ragged from crying, but there was also something underlying it that bordered on angry. “I think it's high time, Professor, that you told me once and for all what’s going on. Harry walks in my dreams. How can he possibly be doing that?”

A/N: This chapter still seems a bit rough to me, but I hope you like it anyway. Reviews, including constructive criticism, are appreciated. Long, positive reviews, however, definitely encourage my writing muse (no surprise there)! Thank you for reviewing twice, melissa! And to everyone else whose reviews I wasn't able to respond to, sorry about that, but I was trying to get this chapter up. =)

Disclaimer: If you still don't know who Harry Potter and the Potterverse belong to, I've got to ask – where have you been these last several years?

CHAPTER TWELVE:

The former professor and the Auror traded glances, but waited quietly for Hermione to continue.

“What’s funny is that it was R-ron who noticed.” The girl stammered on the boy’s name, but grew steadier as she went on. “Harry broke through your binding spells. Last night he was in my dreams. He was actually there, talking to me. We were never taught how to do that.”

Lupin stirred. “They weren’t MY binding spells, Hermione. They were Tonks’. Auror-class bindings,” he stressed. “As for your dreams, I have heard of a way, similar to Legilemens, but it’s difficult magic and access to training is usually restricted to Healers. Harry has been doing very advanced magic ... without using spells and without his wand. We took it away from him the night we got here.”

“And you didn’t think to mention this to me?” The young witch was torn between anger and hurt. She had trusted them with everything since the night they had rescued her from Harry. Why couldn’t they do the same?

Tonks saw the look on her face. “We weren’t really hiding this from you,” she explained gently. “If you remember, we did mention Harry slipping his bindings once or twice. It’s just that we’ve known very little ourselves.” Not to mention, we didn’t want to scare you any more than you already were. How frightened Hermione would’ve been if she’d known how little they could control Harry?

Lupin moved from his position by the door. “It was only after Moody talked to Faveure that we got some clarity.” He sat near the girl. How to explain this? “Tonks, let’s tell her about the cases.”

The Auror nodded. “As soon as I could, I went back to the Ministry. The records were a bit spotty, but eventually there was some mention of wizards who’d taken the Solvamus after it was outlawed. I made copies, and Lupin and I went through them while we were guarding Harry. We began to notice a pattern. Or more accurately, the old Aurors who were assigned to apprehend those wizards did.”

In spite of herself, Hermione’s curiosity was piqued. “What was it?”

“These wizards were displaying feats of magic no one had thought them capable of before. One wizard who’d barely passed his NEWTs was suddenly doing non-verbal magic. Another who’d never displayed the talent was doing Legilemens as naturally as if he’d been doing it all his life.”

“So when Harry slipped his bindings, we weren’t surprised,” Lupin said, “because we thought it was a side effect of the Solvamus. But Faveure, or at least Faveure’s teacher, thought differently. He believed that the Solvamus was created precisely to allow a person to connect to his talent for magic directly, without needing to channel magic through spells or through a wand. The loss of control is incidental. Simply put, it was supposed to be a shortcut. Take it, and you can do advanced magic without mastering the spells.”

“But that’s impossible!” Hermione protested. “No potion can grant or increase a person’s ability to use magic.”

“No, of course not,” Lupin agreed. “But we’re not talking about giving magic to someone who doesn’t have it. This is about access to one’s,” he searched for the right word, “innate talent, if you will. The Solvamus isn’t creating anything. After all, we already have the ability within ourselves, with or without wands, potions or spells. But most of the time it’s as if our magic is behind a door, and we need wands and charms to unlock it. Think of the Solvamus as another key.”

He saw that Hermione was about to argue, and held up his hand. “I don’t say I agree with the theory, but magic is in a great part instinctive. Take Harry and yourself. You were both raised by muggles. No one taught you magic – I can’t imagine the Dursleys even mentioning the word to Harry - but at a certain point you simply did it.”

Reluctantly, she had to admit that. “That’s how they discovered me. But what does all this have to do with the Solvamus?”

“As we grow up, we’re taught to control ourselves, to erect walls between what we want and what we’re expected or allowed to do,” the former professor explained. “By the time our magical abilities manifest, that control is so tightly in place that we have to resort to rituals to draw that talent out. The theory behind the Solvamus is, if you can bring those walls down, you can access that power at will. You wouldn’t need to a charm or a wand then. The magic would respond to your wishes.”

“Remember when Harry, er, blew up his uncle’s sister?” Tonks asked, when she saw how doubtful Hermione was. “We think this is like that. He had no spells and no wand then, just anger because the daft woman had insulted his mother.”

“The Solvamus was supposed to break down the barrier that prevents wizards from intuitively controlling their magic,” Lupin continued. “What better way to unleash instinctive magic than to unleash your instincts?”

“Unfortunately,” he grimaced, “the potion doesn’t distinguish between magical and emotional controls. It brings everything crashing down. So the Solvamus reduces a person to a creature of instinct, driven by his deepest desire until he achieves it ... or until he can’t stand it anymore.”

For a moment, Hermione was silent as she tried to absorb everything revealed by the adults. In the end there was only one question that mattered. “What does this mean for Harry?”

“We’re not sure,” Tonks replied in all honesty. “If Faveure’s potion works, Harry will be the first person on record to have survived the Solvamus. But at least he’ll be back to normal.”

“Oh, not quite normal, I think,” Lupin disagreed. “Magic responds to Harry, doesn’t it? He’s got a feel for it. That’s increased because of the Solvamus. I have a feeling that if Harry makes it through this, he won’t lose what he’s gained in terms of magic.”

“You mean ...?”

“If he survives,” he said soberly, “I believe Harry can become something none of us have seen in our lifetime - a powerful natural wizard.”

=========

By the time the pair left, Hermione felt so drained that she simply sank back into her bed. But she wasn’t too tired to think. In fact, her mind was racing.

Something was still ... amiss. She went over what Lupin and Tonks had told her again. It doesn’t make sense. If all Harry felt was a crush that he never acted on, why did the Solvamus affect him so forcefully?

Her eyes flew open. Lupin said the person would be `driven by his deepest desire.’ But surely I can’t be Harry’s - !

It was impossible, unthinkable! No matter what Harry had told her in the last few days, she had seen him fall for other girls. He had moped, fretted and sulked like every other teenager in Hogwarts. She just couldn’t believe it.

There’s only one way to find out.

She took a deep breath. If I’m brave enough.

Hermione closed her eyes, and allowed her consciousness to slip away. It wasn’t hard to do. After all, it was close to dawn and after everything that had happened tonight, she was physically and emotionally exhausted.

When she “opened” them again, Hermione found herself standing on a crooked wooden bridge, her arms resting on a thick beam railing. The view was both breathtaking and habitually familiar. Hogwarts.

She looked down at herself. She was in her Hogwarts uniform, sans robes. Okay, I’m here. Now what? “Harry,” she called nervously.

She glanced about her. She recognized a few Gryffindors and a cluster of Hufflepuffs from her year walking by.

“Harry, I need to talk to you.” Even if this was a dream, she couldn’t bring herself to shout. As it was a couple of passing first-years threw her a curious look. Oh it was one of the three, the girl. Wonder what they’re up to now?

She studiously ignored them. She tried again, this time calling his name in her mind as well. “Come on, Potter.” Oh this is just plain ridiculous -

“Hermione?”

She took a steadying breath, and turned around.

Harry was standing a couple of feet away. Like her, he was dressed for his classes in vest and tie. She could tell he was nervous because he was doing that little jig he sometimes did, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. She bet he wasn’t even aware of it.

“You, er, called?”

“Is that really you, Harry?” Stupid question, but for some reason she needed the confirmation.

He nodded.

She began, “About what I said –”

He knew her well enough that he could guess what was going to follow. “Don’t, Hermione.” His voice grew hard. “I deserved it. Besides, it’s safer for you, really, if you don’t trust me.”

“I thought you said you were free of the Solvamus in here.”

“The Solvamus doesn’t change the way I feel,” he said grimly.

It was the perfect opening. “And what is that exactly, Harry?”

“Huh?”

“How do you really feel ... about me?” she asked carefully.

The boy’s expression grew guarded. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“That is complete and utter shite.” If the circumstances were different, Hermione would’ve laughed at Harry’s shocked expression.

She turned back towards the railing. She’d almost forgotten how beautiful Hogwarts was. Somehow it was easier to do this while looking at all that before her – the expanse of the lake, the mountains in the distance.

She felt Harry slowly approach until he was leaning on the bridge, too, standing next to her like he had dozens of times. Only now he was careful to maintain his distance.

“I’ve been thinking about last year, all the disagreements we had,” Hermione began. “It felt as if the three of us were growing apart, like we were each going our own way. And there was a ... distance between two of us that I’d never felt before. I didn’t imagine that, did I?”

The boy didn’t answer, but he didn’t deny it either.

“I know I had my part in it, but it wasn’t that simple, was it?” Hermione continued slowly. “You knew I couldn’t stand the way you were putting so much faith in the ‘Prince’s’ book, not after what we’d been through with Riddle’s diary, much less how you were using it to cheat. Because that’s what you were doing, Harry – cheating - and you knew it would be a hard thing for me to stand, even in a friend. But you kept playing it up.”

“I suppose that you getting better marks than me in Potions would’ve been ... aggravating,” she admitted, “but I honestly think I would’ve been happy for you if you’d done it yourself. But doing it through Snape’s book! Harry, you know me. I’ve worked hard to get to this point. None of this -” she stretched her hand out to indicate the expanse of Hogwarts before them, “comes naturally to me. I don’t have your instincts, the legacy of your parents or Ron’s background. It rankled to see you just glibly taking the easy way out.”

“Hermione, it wasn’t like that,” Harry protested. “It’s not like I planned it. I didn’t do it to spite you. It’s just, I enjoyed it, you know? I was getting good marks in Potions for the first time.” He frowned. “Maybe it was cheating, but at the time ...”

“You didn’t care?” She rolled her eyes. “The point is ... last year wasn’t just about me drawing back, was it? You were pushing me away, too. Why?”

He looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he denied gruffly.

“Are you going to make me say it?” she asked sadly. “Alright I will. That n-night, Harry -”

“Hermione!” He whirled around and stepped towards her in alarm.

“- you said you loved me -”

“Stop!” He was so close now they were barely inches apart.

She wouldn’t be deterred, even if she was starting to shake. “- I didn’t believe you, I thought it was the potion -”

His hands rose and grasped her arms. “Enough! Dear Merlin, it’s hurting you! Please don’t talk about it anymore,” he begged. “I’m sorry, Hermione, I’m so sorry. I hurt you so badly that night ...”

She looked at him, and raised a hand to touch a tear spilling down his cheek. Pain at my pain? “It is you, isn’t it, Harry?” she asked, a note of wonder in her voice.

“Of course it’s me!” he answered shakily. Suddenly conscious of their situation, he released her. “If ... I know this is impossible ... but if there’s anything I can do to -”

“You can answer me.” Her demand was couched in the softest of tones.

Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Alright,” he mumbled. Although she was perilously close to his secret, he still couldn’t bring himself to tell her. Not after that night and the hell he had put her through. He was ... no longer worthy.

A deprecating grin hovered around Hermione’s mouth. “I’m going to sound terribly presumptuous and full of myself.”

He heard the doubt in her voice and looked at her in disbelief. How could she still not know? No, wait, of course she knew, he’d told her already. But she didn’t believe it, he realized. How can that be? “You won’t,” he assured her. “Not if it’s true.”

Now it was her turn to look nervous. “Professor Lupin said that the Solvamus goes after the most difficult barriers first. It’s taken this long for it to sink in, what that means.”

Hermione took a deep breath and plunged in. “This can’t be something as simple as a crush or you stopping yourself from falling in love with me. If that were the case, surely there are other things you feel about more strongly? Giving the Dursleys a good beating, for instance, or maybe Malfoy, or losing all sense and going after Snape. How can this be stronger than all of that?”

“Unless,” she paused, searching his face, “you loved me already. Is that it? Or is that still too simple? Tell me, Harry, when did you decide that you would stop loving me?”

It was a wild guess and for a second she thought he would deny it. Then he whispered, “When you nearly died.” He didn’t need to explain; they both knew what he was referring to.

“You were by my side.” His voice grew hoarse. “You were fierce, brave and wonderful, and you saved my life. Then suddenly that purple bolt shot from Dolohov’s wand, and right in the middle of saying my name you fell. I think I loved you long before then, Hermione, but I only completely understood what I felt that night. Then Sirius died, and I was in the hospital wing waiting for you to wake, and I realized it could never be. For your sake AND mine.”

Hermione stared at him. “You don’t want to be in love me.”

“No,” he admitted. “You’d be twice the target you already are if I did. Voldemort and his bloody Death Eaters would go after you to destroy me. They’d be right, too.”

“It’s been hard, these past months without Dumbledore, but somehow I managed to go on. But if I lost you, I don’t think I could ... When I thought you were dead, I lost it. I couldn’t even move until Neville said you were breathing. It was the worst moment of my life.” Harry stepped closer, and slowly, so she could step back if she wanted to, he raised his hand and laid it on the spot where the purple flame had passed just above her breasts. “It’s still there, isn’t it, Hermione?”

There was nothing faintly sexual about the way he was touching her, even if the heel of his palm was grazing the curve where one breast began. No, this was something deeper, more fundamental than that. And she had never seen Harry’s eyes that deep a forest green before.

When Hermione moved to cover his hand with hers, it felt like it was the most natural thing to do. “Harry, it wasn’t -”

“It WAS!” he insisted. “It was my idea to go to the Department of Mysteries that night, wasn’t it? When you fell, that was all I could think of. ‘Don’t let her die, because if she does then it’s my fault!’ I’m the reason someone’s dead again! Only this time it was you, and I couldn’t live with that. Because then I would’ve killed the one girl who mattered to me most ...”

He was trembling, she could feel it through his hand, hear it in his voice. “I would give anything for you not to be in that kind of danger again, Hermione. Do you understand? Even if it meant losing any chance to be with you, I couldn’t risk it – and I couldn't risk feeling that way again -”

Hermione couldn’t stand any more. “Enough!” She’d always known that Harry carried some guilt about what had happened to her that night, but she’d never guessed the extent of it. He was reliving it before her, and the stark, bare bones of his pain was more than anyone their age should have to bear. “Harry, look at me. It’s over! I’m alive, we made it. Please stop, oh Merlin I can’t stand to see you cry ...” They were barely inches apart, and suddenly it was the easiest thing for Hermione to tip her face up to meet his.

Harry didn’t dare move. This was unthinkable, impossible - but it was happening anyway. With her free hand, Hermione was tugging his head down so she could brush a kiss, like a benediction, on his forehead, then quickly, across the salty grain of each cheek.

She stopped only when she became conscious that he was frozen in place. She drew away minutely, just enough so she could stare into the blurred, disbelieving emeralds of his eyes.

She saw only Harry.

“I’ve loved you for ages,” he whispered, but his voice was still broken, bereft of hope. He tucked a finger against her cheek because somewhere along the way, she had started crying too. “But what was true then is the same now, if not worse. You’re not safe around me. I’ve hurt you. All my life I swore I’d protect you, but look at what I’ve done!”

“It was the potion and the augmenter, not you.” Now, finally, she was saying it with her whole heart. She believed it completely, because this boy standing in front of her would never hurt her. He’d throw himself into a thousand fires for her sake. She knew, because she would do same for him.

What was it, this thing between them? Hermione had never stopped to define it. They had called it friendship all their lives, and yet Harry and she were undeniably connected in ways she doubted Ron would understand. She remembered Harry’s question from her last dream. If Harry had come to her before Ron did, would she have given him a chance?

Yes. She realized belatedly that she was still holding Harry’s hand against her chest. I’m not frightened of him. I could never be, not of the real Harry. But what happens when we wake? She drew his hand away. Why did this have to happen now, this way? Why couldn’t we have time – oh Merlin, how much time did they have left, four, five days?

She looked at her friend, the boy with his tousled hair and weary eyes. Harry’s saved my life and I’ve saved his. What kind of bond does that make?

It's time to find out.

“Harry ... what if I said I ... wanted to give this a chance?”

It was literally the last thing he expected. “Wh-what?”

“Think about it. I know you decided that it shouldn’t be, that you wouldn’t even tell me, but it's all out now. I guess that throws the ball my way, unless you still think it’s a completely horrible idea?” She smiled at him. It was a small one, but genuine.

Harry was still stunned. “But you and R-ron,” he sputtered.

The smile evaporated. “We ... broke up tonight.”

“What?!” Harry winced at his clever response. He didn’t know how many more shocks his system could take tonight. “But you left together and you were talking,” he said in bewilderment.

“Yes, well, we had words.” Hermione's tone was frosty. Then she sighed and relented. “You know how we are. We argued. Ron’s leaving for Ireland later today. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

Harry watched her for a second. He touched her shoulder briefly. “Are you alright?”

His earnest concern was almost her undoing. She clutched the railing tightly, blinking back tears. “I – he said some things, things I never thought I’d hear from Ron.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What things? What did he say?”

“That’s between me and Ron, Harry,” she said reprovingly.

“But Hermione -”

“He was angry.” She tried to stay objective. “He had every right to be. I think that maybe he didn’t mean it, not really.”

“You argued about me, didn’t you?” Harry guessed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“You keep saying that,” he said bitterly, “but people keep dying and getting hurt around me. How many times does that have to happen before it becomes my fault?”

“Hey, this isn’t about anyone dying,” she reminded him gently. “This is about you and me, and something you should’ve told me about a long time ago.” She hesitated. “I don’t know if this will work. Whatever I said before, I do trust you, here and now. But once we leave this dream the person you become under the Solvamus frightens me,” she admitted with brutal honesty.

“So I guess there are two things I need to hear from you, Harry. The first is do you want to try?”

He was torn. “I -”

“Don’t answer now,” she said, “think about it. You had your reasons for making that decision. Tell me tomorrow.”

Relief flitted across Harry’s face. “The second?”

“Will I be safe with you even outside these dreams?” The answer to this was more important than Harry could know. If what Lupin and Tonks had told her was true, soon there would be very little they could do to control the youth. “I can’t go through that again,” she told him tightly.

“I don’t want to risk that, either ... which is why I’m going to take the potion if they clear it, Hermione,” he said seriously. “Don’t try to stop me.”

“I won’t. So long as it doesn’t get you killed,” she quipped.

He actually smiled at that. “Nothing has so far,” he returned, with just a trace of cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow, and this time don’t give me such a hard time calling you,” she said in mock annoyance.

“Hey, I’ll probably be here before you.”

Her brows knitted. “Is that even possible? It’s my dream after all.”

Harry pursed his lips. “You know, I have no idea. I could try, I suppose.”

She glared at him. “Don’t you dare!”

He raised his hands placatingly. “Alright, alright. Merlin, anybody tell you that sometimes you can be scary?”

“Believe it,” she said sweetly. “Good night, Harry.”

He nodded, turned to leave, and stopped. “Hermione.”

“Thank you.”

And then he was gone.

The moment she was alone, Hermione let herself sag against the banister. That's it then. The decision was now in Harry’s hands. If he refused, she would abide by it. She would not seduce (funny to think I could actually seduce someone! take that, you Lavenders and Pansies) him while he was under the influence of the Solvamus. It would be the same as taking advantage, because under the potion Harry wouldn’t have the ability to say no.

Now, finally, she could sleep. And dream other dreams.

A/N: I have no excuse. Well, actually I've got several, but to make a long story short, I don't think I'd have the energy to go through that kind of month again. It started with me getting sick and then snowballed from there. My apologies for the long wait, and thanks for your patience. To those who were worried, let me say flat out that I'm not giving up on this story. Lastly, I never expected to get so many reviews, and such involved ones at that! Thank you, and I hope I hear from you on this chapter, too. :)

Disclaimer: The Potterverse belongs to JK Rowling. 'Nuff said.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

Ron watched as the sky and the world around him turned from black to pearly grey. The skin on his arms pimpled from the cold of near-dawn and he was shivering in his thin pajamas and short-sleeved shirt, but he didn’t think of reaching for one of the blankets piled on the bed.

Inside he was numb. The cold didn’t even register.

The thing is, I’ve always been a bit of an insecure git. Being the sixth and youngest brother in a brood of competitive blokes did that sometimes. There was always someone ahead of you, someone who’d done the deed first and better, thanks.

There was a lot to live up to, and not much left to do that would let Ron distinguish himself. At least that was the way it seemed to him. At Hogwarts, Bill and even that poofter, Percy, had been head boys, while Charlie had made Quidditch captain. So what was left for him? Ron couldn’t even match the twins for sheer troublemaking. (Ginny didn’t count and anyway, she was the youngest, the only girl and the seventh child. She was special by default.)

Which left him: not particularly bright, not spectacularly athletic, nor very mature Ron Weasley. Famous mainly by association with one Harry Potter, the so-called Boy Who Lived.

So why would Hermione want me? It was probably the crux of his jealousy, this feeling that he was somehow lacking. Take Hermione. However annoying she could be, the girl was undeniably brilliant. Harry or no Harry, the girl would’ve shone as brightly as the sun. But me? He wasn’t like Krum, a world-famous professional Quidditch player at 17. Nor like Harry, who had been, for good or ill, the focus of the wizarding world for some time. What do they see in me?

When they were in their fourth year, he had let that envy take over. But he’d gotten past it eventually, and Harry, for all his moodiness, was quick to forgive.

Then Ron had done it again. This time last year, he’d been an utter prat to Hermione. All because he’d been jealous and Ginny had needled his ego. But Hermione had forgiven him too, and they’d moved on.

... and forward. Ron wasn’t much for feelings and stuff, but he was finally ready to acknowledge what everyone else had already guessed. He was interested in the witch of the trio, had been since they were fourteen. She drove him mad. He could hardly believe it when she indicated, not so much with words, that she wanted to give it a try. For once it looked like things were going to work out for one Ronald Bilius Weasley.

Until last night. Until Hermione told him what she’d discovered, and what she might have to do. She got that far before he lost it. Harry, something in him growled. Why the HELL does it always have to be Harry?! He saw red, and he acted on it.

The thing about growing up with someone? You knew which buttons to push. Ron knew exactly how to hurt Hermione. That night, he put the knowledge to use.

“This is what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it?”

“What?!” she asked in bewilderment. “Ron, of course not, I -”

“Don’t you fucking deny it!” His voice rose. “Not when you’re here asking for MY permission to shag the Boy-Who-Bleeding-Lived!”

“It’s not like that! You know it’s not like that,” she protested. “We’re still looking for other ways, but Harry could die -”

“I. Don’t. Give. A. Fuck!” Abruptly he laughed, an ugly sound that echoed between them. “Or is this how you’ve wanted to play it all along? Huh, Hermione?”

She instinctively backed away as he loomed over her. “I don’t understand you.”

“Don’t you? That’s funny, when you’re supposed to be so smart,” he sneered. “I should’ve listened to them. To think I wasted all these years trying to defend you from their slurs. What do you know, those Slytherin snakes were right after all ...”

Hermione paled. Suddenly she saw where this was heading. No, he wouldn’t! “Don’t,” she whispered, but she was already bracing herself. “Ron, don’t.”

It was a plea easily ignored in his fury. “Why shouldn’t I, when it’s true?” he asked with false sweetness. “Maybe one wizard really isn’t enough for a mudblood slut like you.”

He followed this slander with an equally unthinkable act. He grabbed her by the arms, and before she could talk or move, harshly ground his lips against hers. It was like no other kiss they’d shared since they’d started. But then, this wasn’t really a kiss. It was an act meant to punish.

When he let her go, Hermione stumbled back and sank down on the bed behind her. Her eyes, full of shock, never left his face.

Ron was breathing hard. His eyes widened as they met hers, the red haze dissipating in the face of her obvious pain. He looked at his large hands in bewilderment. Merlin, what’ve I done? “Hermione -”

“That’s the second time.” Hermione’s voice was barely a whisper.

“Wh-what?”

“That day in the library, you asked me if I liked it. If I liked what Harry did to me.” Her eyes welled with tears. “I’ve kissed you, I kissed Viktor a long time ago. Harry nearly raped me. Is that all it takes to make me a slut in your eyes?”

“No! Hermione, I ...” He reached out towards her, apologetic now, but she shrank back. “Look, I was just angry! You can’t expect a bloke to take that kind of thing sitting down,” he said defensively.

He expected her to reply with some kind of argument that would rightfully take the wind out of his sails. Instead, all she said was, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Ron was horrified. “No. No, you can’t mean that! I’m sorry, alright? I didn’t mean any of it!”

She closed her eyes briefly. “You did. The way you kissed me just now,” she touched her lips, “like I wasn’t anyone that mattered to you. Like I was beneath you. Like I was just a ... mudblood.”

He flinched. Of course he didn’t! Not for a second! He’d been her friend, her defender for years. So he’d stumbled today. Surely that couldn’t wipe out all the times he’d stood up for her. He opened his mouth to deny it.

“Ron, I know you,” she said warningly. She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m tired. Please leave.”

“Hermione,” he protested, near tears himself now, “we can’t end like this. I – I love you.”

He thought it would sway her, and it finally hit him, how thoroughly those few words and that hurtful kiss had ruined things between them, when her only answer was a defeated, “I once thought you did.”

He couldn’t stand her steady pained gaze. He knew her enough to see that he had wounded her on some fundamental level.

Ron found himself backing off, desperate to escape those desolate brown eyes. Just before he got to the door, he bent his head. “Do what you have to do,” he whispered, grasping at the only straw he thought would somehow make things right between them. “Save Harry. I’ll show you. I’ll come back, and none of it will matter to me.” His voice shook as he fumbled the knob behind him and ran away, from her and from what he had done to her.

The redhead buried his face in his hands. Why did I do it? When Hermione had already begged him not to continue? More importantly, Where had those words come from? As angry as he’d been, there had been a moment when he’d hesitated because something in him knew that it would change things irrevocably between them. But in the end the desire to lash out had overridden everything.

He had hurt her before, of course, but those had mostly been because of carelessness and insensitivity. He had never actually set out to hurt Hermione, not when she was one of his best friends, not when he was supposed to love her!

Somewhere inside a voice piped cryptically, ‘Oh really? Not counting the whole snogging thing with Lavender?’

Ron flushed. That was more about me, not her.

If you say so.

The boy got up and paced restlessly. I hate it here. From the second he’d set foot in Grimmauld, everything had started going wrong.

He needed to get away and get his bearings back.

Then he remembered. Harry could die.

Ron clenched his fists. Who gives a sod? But images of Harry weakly dragging himself to his feet to receive Ron’s drubbing, and Hermione’s matter-of-fact voice echoed in his head. If Harry dies, Voldemort wins ... If Voldemort wins, he will come after everyone who stood in his way. You. Me. Your family.

He swore. He couldn’t let that happen, could he? Let Harry die, let Hermione and the wizarding world down. Let Hermione live, however briefly, in a world where the insults he’d thrown at her last night would be the least of her worries ...

Whatever else I’ve done wrong, I’ve always been a good friend. Always! I’m not letting Bloody-No-Name get his hands on them, even if sometimes I’ve felt like killing them myself! That was best mate’s privilege, and no one else’s.

Muttering angrily, Ron drew out his wand and started packing his things. He hoped Tonks wasn’t going to hex him for disturbing her this early.

==========

Hermione woke up late the next day, and the first thing that struck her was how much better she felt. It was as if a burden had been lifted.

It was silly, she knew; they were still facing the same problems they had been yesterday. But somehow it felt like they had a real chance now. Because Harry was really with them again. Or maybe it was something as simple as she’d gotten a good night’s sleep for the first time since this whole sorry mess had started.

It didn’t last, of course. She was stepping out of the shower, towel-drying her hair, when someone knocked.

Sighing, she dropped the towel, and the tune she’d been unconsciously humming, and ran her fingers quickly through her curls. “Come in.”

“Wotcher, Hermione.” Tonks entered. Her hair was a relatively somber bluish purple today, and she was dressed for traveling in a Weird Sisters’ shirt and patched jeans under weatherproof robes. She held out a letter. “This is from Ron,” she said simply. “He’s coming with us.”

The girl flushed. “Thank you. Is he - are you leaving soon?”

“Well I am. He actually left earlier with Moody. We’ll meet up in Ireland later. Might attract less attention that way. Should be okay so long as Ron doesn’t call Moody Mad-Eye to his face.”

Hermione’s grin was sheepish. “I wouldn’t worry. Poor Ron, he’ll probably be too scared to say anything at all.”

“Moody does have that effect sometimes,” Tonks agreed with a grin. “So ... are you going to tell me what we’re after?”

The simple question made the younger witch freeze. “I’m sorry,” she said sincerely, “but Harry only had permission to tell Ron and me.”

The Metamorphmagus gave her a steady look. “Dumbledore?” At the girl’s nod, Tonks sighed. “I respect that, but you realize it’s going to be difficult, traipsing all over Ireland without any idea of what to look for.”

Hermione hesitated. That was true. And we ARE in a race against the Death Eaters. Thinking quickly, she reached for a piece of parchment, spelled it, and scribbled something down. “When you get to Ireland, give this to Ron.”

Tonks glanced at the parchment before tucking it into the folds of her robe. An eyebrow rose. “A traveling limerick?”

“That’s not what Ron will see.” The note told Ron it was okay to describe the objects they were looking for to the Aurors, so long as he didn’t reveal what they were. “Hopefully.”

Clever girl. Guess this is it then. But Tonks found herself reluctant to leave. The previous conversation between her and Hermione hadn’t stopped bothering her. Circumstances had somehow placed her in the role of Hermione’s confidant, and although she had never thought of herself as the kind of person to run to for advice, it seemed that that was exactly what was needed here. None of this will matter if the potion we got from Faveure works. But if it doesn’t ... I just want to be sure that I’ve done everything I can. “Hermione, if Faveure’s potion fails, are you still thinking about ...?”

The brown-haired witch looked away. “Only if it’s necessary ... and if Harry allows it.”

“You’ve spoken to him?” Tonks didn’t bother to hide her astonishment.

“After you left last night, I had another dream. I ... called him and we talked. When Harry’s there, he’s not affected by the Solvamus.” Hermione made a face. “He pretty much told me not to get in the way if they clear the potion.”

Tonks could almost see what the girl was thinking. But if they don’t or if it doesn’t work, there’s no avoiding the other matter. “Can I ask you a personal question?” At Hermione’s cautious nod, the older woman continued, “Have you?”

What? Oh that. The girl blushed and shook her head. “Ron and I, er, but not ...” she stammered, thinking that she was going to die of embarrassment any second now. Speaking of snogging Ron to Tonks of all people! Why didn’t the ground open up and swallow her now?

Tonks was a bit embarrassed too, to tell the truth, but she was determined to make her point while she still had the chance. After all, who knew how long Ireland would take? “Then this is going to be that much harder,” she pointed out. She hesitated. “Can I make a suggestion? You’ve never done this before. If it comes to that, you should take your time, build up to it. Get used to ... Harry touching you.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. But that would mean spending time with Harry, treating him like ... and letting him treat me like - !

“If you can’t even stand the thought of him touching you, it’s not going to work,” the Auror said with brutal frankness. “If you just lie there and take it, it will scare you in the end. It’ll be your first and it will all be strange, and it will hurt.”

Her voice became gentler. “You deserve so much more, Hermione. Do you understand that? A person’s first should be loving, whether or not it works out in the end. Don’t let Voldemort and his ilk cheat you out of that,” she said firmly. “You said yourself that Harry’s feelings are not about lust. If that’s the case, then allow this to be about him loving you, and not just the spell. It’s the only way -”

“- to save him,” Hermione finished. Because I have to be willing else Harry will -

“Oh, you daft -!” Tonks shook her head in exasperation. “That’s not the point. All throughout you’ve made this about him, about saving Harry. But this can’t be just about him, Hermione, because it involves you, too. It has to be about both of you.”

Her expression softened. “Don’t neglect yourself in all of this. You’ve been very brave. I understand now why Remus has such faith in the three of you, because you obviously care deeply for one another.” Enough to do things for each other you would otherwise never do. So Ron goes to Ireland to save his friends, even if he’s steamed at them, and Hermione is willing to sacrifice a part of herself to save Harry from death, and Harry would’ve never been able to stand it if he’d hurt Hermione that night. Snape, that oily bastard, read him so well! “Having seen that, I feel I can say this with some authority: Harry won’t appreciate being saved, Hermione, if in the process you get badly hurt. Don’t make this harder on yourself than it already is.”

“How do I do that?” Hermione asked quietly. “How do I forget what he did to me, or ignore the fact that it could happen again?”

“You don’t,” was the determined reply. “This isn’t like before, when all of us, including Harry, had no idea what was happening to him. This time we’ll be careful, and Lupin will watch out for you.”

“I never did thank the two of you ...”

“None of that,” Tonks insisted. “I only wish we’d gotten here sooner.” Something else occurred to her. “You do know that none of it was your fault?”

She knew she’d hit something when Hermione looked away. “Maybe not, but I was stupid, putting myself in that position.”

Oh Merlin, she means it. “Just for the sake of argument, what did you do that night that was so stupid?”

Hermione flushed. “I came here alone, and we were drinking.”

Tonks sensed that, with Hermione, the best way to handle this was to attack it logically. “Let’s have a good look at this ‘stupid’ situation you put yourself in, shall we? You went here by yourself to work on something with ... a total stranger? A boy you barely knew in school? Some bloke you picked up in a bar?” She paused. “Draco Malfoy?”

That got the expected reaction. “Of course not!” Not in a million years, the girl’s expression said.

“So you had dinner and you were starting to get smashed with a friend you’ve known for years. Was this a friend you’d been alone with before?”

Countless times. Specially during those months when Harry and Ron hadn’t been speaking. Hermione nodded. “But ... I knew something was off when I saw Harry in those robes. It bothered me, but I ignored it.”

“And you’ve been beating yourself up for it ever since,” Tonks guessed. “Look, it’s good for you to learn to trust your instincts,” she said seriously, “but in all honesty, if anybody else was in that same situation, would it even occur to you that they were slightly to blame for what happened?”

“No.”

“Doesn’t make much sense not to apply the same standards to yourself, does it?”

“I ... guess not.”

Tonks didn’t miss the doubtful tone in her voice. “Can I tell you something? As Aurors go, I’m young and a bit on the clumsy side,” she said deprecatingly, “but when you train to be an Auror, among the things they teach you is that there are situations - what you went through, but also muggings, kidnappings and the like - where the victim tends to suffer episodes of self-doubt. There’s this tendency to shift the blame from the attacker to yourself – ‘If I hadn’t done that,’ ‘If I hadn’t gone there,’ ‘If I hadn’t taken a walk that night.’ But however you look at it, in the end, it was someone else’s decision to attack you, not the other way around.”

She held the younger witch’s gaze, willing her to accept her next words. “You said no, Hermione. It’s not your fault that he didn’t listen. None of it was your fault. I’m only glad it didn’t get as far as it could have.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the girl let out a shaky breath. “Al-alright.”

“Good girl.” Tonks winced. Bloody hell, I’ve been reduced to parodying Ron’s Great Aunt Tessie. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in a week or two then.” She grimaced good-naturedly. She turned to leave, but stopped when she heard her name.

Hermione had her head down. “About Harry ... I don’t know what to do. We’ve been through a lot together, and we need him with us if we’re going to win this. I ... want to set things right between us. When I spoke to him last night it seemed so easy to do that, but that was the real Harry, the one who’s free of the Solvamus. Now though ...”

The purple-haired witch considered the question for a few seconds. “Hermione, you calling Harry into your dream ... did that have anything to do with Harry insisting that he take Faveure’s potion?”

She nodded.

“But the Harry who offered to take the potion last night without regard for the consequences is the same Harry who’s under the influence of the Solvamus, isn’t he?”

Hermione looked at her uncertainly. “Are you saying I should ... trust him?”

“Good Merlin, no!” Tonks exclaimed. “I’m afraid that’s something he’ll have to earn back. But what I am saying is that IF you’re sure this is what you want, if you really want to know how much of Harry is still in there despite Snape’s awful drug, maybe you should talk to him. Make sure it’s done in a safe place and that you take precautions,” she warned, “but face him, Hermione. One way or the other, you’re going to have to eventually.”

=========

“You’re joking!”

Lupin watched the teenager fidget, shoot to his feet, pace the room restlessly, and sink down on the bed again – all in the space of about fifteen seconds. “`Fraid not.”

“But I haven’t even taken the potion yet!”

“Seems to me you’ve got enough potions floating around in your bloodstream already,” the older man quipped.

“Professor -!” Harry threw him a look that clearly said, You’re not helping!

Lupin coughed, hiding a half-grin behind his raised hand. “Sorry. Why so nervous? It’s not like you haven’t done this before. If I remember right, you’ve spoken with Hermione already.”

That did nothing to assure Harry. “That was different,” he muttered,” she just walked in.” Merlin, the way his heart had leapt! But then, right after, the things he had to tell her, the look on her face. I told her she wasn’t safe around me. Why is she doing this? “How can you possibly agree to this? What if I - this is mad!”

“Don’t you think it’s time to find out? Harry,” Lupin admonished gently, “remember what I told you. The potion may not work at all. Don’t put so much faith in it. And no, before you ask, they haven’t finished testing it yet.”

“The more reason we should wait!”

The older man watched his charge closely. He had never seen Harry this nervous before, not even when the boy had been about to face a boggart they both knew could turn into a Death Eater, or worse. Usually Harry had a tendency to rush into things, not the other way around.

And yet, for the life of him, Lupin wished he hadn’t caught something else, too - the flash that had come into those green eyes when he had first told Harry that Hermione wanted to see him ... alone.

He had no doubt that the boy’s protests were real, his worry genuine, but it was obvious that a large part of Harry wanted this, too. Wanted to see Hermione, wanted to be alone with her. Who knew how far that craving went?

Which is why I’m staying close, the lycanthrope thought grimly, all trace of amusement gone. Tonks and he had both seen how Harry had improved after the treatments with the modified pensieve and the removal of the augmenter, but the problem was they didn’t know if it was enough. How much control does he have?

“Professor, you have to postpone this,” Harry insisted. “It’s a bad idea, can’t you see that?”

Privately, Lupin agreed. He had never liked this idea from the first.

But right before she’d left, Tonks had said, “If they really thought something needed doing, do you think we could stop them, Remus? Not all of Hogwarts has been able to do that. They’ve been facing down Voldemort since they were what – twelve, thirteen? Hermione knows what’s at stake. She has a good head on her shoulders, even if she’s so much younger than you,” she smiled. “Give her a chance. Guide her if you can. She’s not above asking for help when she needs it.”

“Tonks, you can’t expect me to support this,” he’d answered. “Of age or not, I’m not going to let a young girl make some loveless sacrifice -”

“She loves him,” the Auror had interrupted quietly. She took advantage of his surprise to continue. “Maybe not in the way we’re accustomed to thinking about love, but there’s a depth to it I doubt any of us jaded adults can understand. Remember, she’s been risking her life, and expulsion,” she added with a grin, “for Harry since they were tiny first years. And vice-versa.”

“Jaded adults?” Lupin remonstrated. “You’re just a few years off from them.”

“Almost ten. Compared to you, I’m sure that doesn’t seem like much,” she teased. “Seriously, Remus, there’s a bond between them. We’ve all seen it, and we – including those two – have always called it friendship and left it at that.”

“You’re saying there’s more?”

“The Solvamus’ effect on Harry proves that, doesn’t it?” she asked. “On his side, at least. I think it’s only starting to sink in for Hermione, that there might be more to what she feels for Harry.” Tonks noticed how troubled he still was. She took his hand. “Remus, all I’m saying is if they want to explore that, maybe it’s better to take a supportive stance. I think Hermione’s leery of getting hurt, too, but she knows what’s at stake and she’s determined to see where this is going. At least this way we offer her some protection. Will you do that, luv? Watch over her, over them both, while I’m gone?”

Lupin’s attention shifted and focused on her. “I’m going to miss you,” he said gruffly.

Tonks’ expression was pure mischief. “`Bout time. I was starting to wonder whether my boyfriend was planning to kiss me goodbye.”

He grimaced. Boyfriend indeed! He hadn’t been a boy in quite a while. But these days he could be quite as giddy as one. “Come back safely and you can have all the kisses you want,” he continued in the same crusty tone, but he was smiling as he embraced her.

“I’ve no use for future promises,” she scoffed, linking her hands around his neck. “Kiss me now, Remus,” she demanded teasingly.

“Professor?”

Falling out of his reverie, the older man turned. Harry was regarding him curiously. Completely on impulse, Lupin asked, “Do you love Hermione?”

The effect was startling. The boy flushed, his cheeks turning bright pink. He mumbled.

“Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

Harry sighed. “I said it’s complicated.”

Lupin almost laughed. “Yes, it always seems that way, doesn’t it? Listen, all I am in this is the messenger, Harry. It’s really up to you. Do you want to see Hermione or not?”

Harry tried, he really did. He struggled with himself. Because of all the things in his life that had scared him so far, this prospect of being alone with Hermione easily ranked in the top ten. Which was ironic, because they’d done it before, countless times, and never with a second thought.

But this time was different. If I do anything – anything at all – that will be it. Hermione will never trust me again. I’ll lose her for good.

“Will I be safe with you even outside these dreams?” She had asked him that.

Merlin help him, they were both about to find out.

Harry looked up at Lupin. “I’ll do it.”

I can’t lose her.

I won’t.

But inside him, the fires leapt.

A/N: I can't believe there are 330 reviews! I'm sorry that at a certain point I couldn't reply to them. That was about the time my computer started going bonkers. That's the only technical term that fits. It didn't crash, exactly, but it was getting there. `Nuff of that. I hope you like this chapter enough to leave a few reviews. =)

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company belong to You-Know-Who (and I don't mean Voldemort).

CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

Hermione was a mass of nerves. Honestly, this is worse than waiting for OWLs, and probably worse than taking NEWTs! Assuming I ever get to do those.

She flipped a page of a book and scanned it. It made as much sense to her as the previous page did – absolutely nothing. It was incredibly frustrating.

Faced with the myriad problems the trio had gone through before, including the prospect of a newly resurrected Voldemort, the young witch had burned the midnight oil more times than she could count. She was used to digesting reams of information before finding anything useful. So why was she absolutely frazzled at the prospect of meeting her best friend of six, seven years?

It’s just Harry, she tried to tell herself.

Or will it be? That was the problem. In her dream, she had looked into his eyes and seen nothing but the boy she’d known all her life.

Today she had no idea whom she would meet. Would it be Harry, or would she end up facing him again, the monster who dwelt in his potion-soaked skin?

The girl covered her face. Maybe this meeting wasn’t such a good idea. But Tonks was right: It had to happen sometime, and if had to then Hermione wanted to do it on her terms, on her turf if you will.

That meant the library.

Give everyone else their Quidditch pitch, their little fiefs on the grounds, their corners of the common rooms (unless it was late at night, in which case the trio tended to take over a cozy spot in Gryffindor tower).

But the library had always been her territory. Even Viktor Krum had somehow known that.

Hermione smiled at the memory of how the normally surly youth had come in everyday, sneaking glances at her as she studied, and how he had approached her almost diffidently to ask her to the Yule Ball. It was that unexpected shyness that had made her say yes.

Viktor was a good man. When they’d met, the seventeen year old was already a star athlete. The Bulgarian was taciturn and fierce-looking, but he had girls fawning over him like flies. He was also a product of Durmstrang, a school that catered only to purebloods. Yet he had been nothing but gentle with the fifteen-year-old muggleborn who’d caught his eye.

Recognizing in each other something extraordinary, he and Hermione had remained friends despite the distance between them. I should drop him a note, she thought guiltily. It had been awhile since her last owl and Viktor’s reply. Their continued correspondence was another thing that drove Ron nutters.

Speaking of Ron ... Her eyes fell on the redhead’s still unopened letter.

She picked it up with trepidation. She’d been deeply hurt last night. She understood what had made Ron go off, but she’d never expected the venom of it, or the form it would take. If anything, Ron tended to go even more ballistic than Harry over insults to her bloodline.

Oh for goodness’ sake, it’s Ron! Even angry, in the end he had done what was right. That in itself proved that her faith in their bond as a trio was justified. So why was she so nervous about a simple note?

She tore open the seal. The scrap of parchment was covered in Ron’s familiar scrawl and, except for the seal, not spelled in any way.

“I’m sorry,” it said. “I didn’t mean it.”

The girl shut her eyes. Ron was contrite, no doubt about it. She’d seen it in his eyes when he apologized. He was almost as shocked at his actions as she was. But she also sensed that those words had come from somewhere ...

Hermione heard a click, and footsteps padding across the stone floor. When she opened her eyes, Harry was there, standing across her with the table between them.

Undoubtedly the Solvamus was still strong within him. His green eyes glinted as they swept over her face, her form that was visible over the table, the honey-brown curls of her hair.

Then they fell to the parchment on the table. Even upside down, it wasn’t hard to make out.

Harry’s face darkened. He recognized Ron’s handwriting immediately. “What did he do?”

His tone was demanding, almost belligerent. Hermione wouldn’t have it. If she didn’t tell him last night, she certainly wouldn’t now. She tucked the letter away. “I already told you it’s not your business, Harry. Stop asking.”

He obviously liked that even less. “You used to tell me everything, but where Ron’s concerned, it’s none of my business?”

She lost her temper then. Hermione shot to her feet so fast she sent the chair scraping back. “You, of all people, do not have the right to get mad at Ron on my behalf! Yes, we argued! We always do; we probably always will.” For the most part she was terribly fond of the boys, and awfully proud of being their closest friend. But all week long she’d felt gradually trapped between them, tugged in opposite directions by their conflicting needs and by her devotion to both of them. Their growing jealousies were hemming her in, and she had had enough. “Get used to it!”

Harry flushed. He seethed at her fierce defense of Ron. But he had to admit that she had a point. “Alright,” he bit out. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “What is this about? Have they cleared Faveure’s potion?” Of course not, he thought a second later, else Lupin would’ve already told me.

“This isn’t about that.”

“What is it that can’t wait, then?

“There’s something I have to know,” Hermione said slowly. “Harry, I trust you, do you understand? I trust you in my dreams, and when the Solvamus is gone, and you’re back to normal, I know things will be right between us again. But right now ...”

A frisson of fear crossed his face. “You shouldn’t. We’ve both seen what I can do.”

“But that’s the question, isn’t it? Will you do what you did last time? There’s no augmenter now, and I know Lupin and Tonks were treating you ...”

“I told you before, that doesn’t change how I feel!” he reminded her harshly.

“Which is what?” Hermione kept her voice calm, even as she mentally ticked off where Lupin was, standing just outside the door, and how close at hand her wand was. “What are you thinking right now?”

“You really want to know?” Suddenly his eyes were blazing. “I want to kiss you,” he growled, “and I don’t want to stop there. I want to taste you, to trace every inch of your softness with my mouth and hands. And then I want to pull your body against mine so I can feel you shaking like a leaf when I ... pleasure you.”

Hermione felt the blood rush to her face. Ask a stupid question ... and it did not help that she was blushing! Keep calm. You have to see where this goes. “You’re very confident.” Her doubtful tone was deliberate.

He didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m determined.” He smirked; there was no other way to describe the brash grin playing along his lips.

“Right. I’m sure that’s all it takes,” she said with a bit of scorn.

That didn’t faze him either. “Oh I haven’t yet - all the way, if that’s what you’re asking, but I do know something about a woman’s body. But more importantly, Hermione? I know you.” His gaze was heated as he gradually moved closer. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what I’d like to try, and what I think you’d like. Why don't you let me show you?”

The girl swallowed. This was definitely not the shy youth she’d known all her life! But was there enough of him left to show control? Now they would find out.

When he was near enough, Harry took her hand and tugged her closer. In one quick glance, he took in everything - how nervous Hermione was, how tautly she was holding herself, and how her wand was still in its usual place, tucked into a special pocket of her jeans.

His free hand flicked towards it.

“Hex me,” he whispered.

“What?” The witch’s hand was already hovering next to her wand, an automatic response to his sudden movement.

“Cast a binding spell. You know how,” he said in a low, persuasive voice. “I hate seeing you scared of me. You’ve never been scared of anything in your life.”

“That’s not true. A lot of things scare me, Harry.”

But he sensed that the idea appealed to her. “Do it,” he whispered again, his breath warm against her ear. “After what I’ve done, turnabout’s fair play, isn’t it?”

The girl hesitated. She remembered Tonks and Lupin telling her about how Harry had simply shaken off their binding spells. The thought that this could be a trick flitted briefly through her mind. But nothing so far suggested that Harry was aware of his growing power, or that he was exercising it at will. After all, he had stayed bound throughout the treatment with the pensieve.

She tried to remember the circumstances under which Harry had broken through his bindings. The first was the night he’d been caught by Ron. The second – a mental image, sharp as life, of Harry turning on the roof at the sound of her voice, his trainers dislodging a tile that fell to the street far, far below ...

It was a sharp reminder of what she was trying to prevent. Hermione took a deep breath. “Maybe you’d better sit down.”

Harry nodded. He released her hand, chose a comfortable-looking chair with armrests and pulled it into the middle of the room. Keeping his eyes on the girl, he sat down. Now that she was actually going to do it he couldn't help tensing up. Being hexed was rarely a pleasant experience.

It didn't escape her notice. “Relax,” she admonished. “This was your idea. You don’t want to be stuck in a position that’ll give you muscle cramps.” She gave him a few seconds, in case he wanted to change his mind. Then her wand swung out. “Immobulus!”

Harry found his legs, arms and torso instantly frozen but, “Hey, I can still move my head!”

“You wanted to be able to talk properly, didn’t you?” For the first time in ages, the young witch favored him with a snarky grin. Casting a partial freezing charm was considered to be quite difficult.

“Wouldn’t an Incarcerous have been easier?” he found himself asking. This wasn't what he’d been expecting.

“The way I feel right now? Would you care for rope burns?” she asked pleasantly.

“Er, no.”

“Then don’t criticize.” As he’d guessed, now that she was in control Hermione seemed to be more at ease. “Now what?”

His smile was smug. “Since I can’t move, that’s really up to you.”

She approached him. He didn’t know what to expect. He was hoping that she’d sit by him and talk to him now, maybe tell him what Ron had done.

But that wasn’t what happened. Harry wasn’t aware of it, but as usual some of his hair was falling over his eyes. Hermione knew he couldn’t move. Automatically, as she’d done dozens of times before, she threaded her fingers through his hair and brushed the unruly dark locks back.

The move was so easy, so casual, that Harry knew that Hermione had done it without thinking. He bent his head. A feeling, sharp as a spike, lanced through his chest, and because he couldn’t move, he couldn’t hide the tears that suddenly sprang to his eyes.

The sight alarmed Hermione. “What’s wrong? Is the spell hurting you?”

“It’s nothing.” He cursed the tremor in his voice. “It’s just you ... used to do that a lot.”

She looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

How could he explain now, of all times? If he told her now how terribly he missed the easy ways between them, she would think that it was just another ploy of the potion.

The irony was nothing could be further from the truth. At this moment, Harry would give anything to return to the way things used to be - for Hermione to casually flick something from his shirt, or tug his tie straighter before Snape’s class, or squeeze his hand, or take his arm. All of that's lost now ...

“Tell me, Harry.”

With an effort, he collected himself. “My life’s the way it is. I accept that. But it’s built in a way that ...” he trailed off. How best to explain? “I’ve seen Ron at the Burrow, and you with your parents. The way they hug you, or how Ron’s brothers will suddenly have him in a headlock or how his parents bustle around him.”

“I’ve never had that,” he said matter-of-factly. “Sometimes Lupin or when they were still ... Sirius and Dumbledore,” he swallowed, “or Ron and the guys, when we won a match ... but you know how blokes are.”

Dammit, he was babbling! “You shouldn’t touch me. I understand that. But you have no idea what it meant to me, that there was finally someone in my life who would. Until Ginny came along, there was only you, and even then it was something to look forward to. Not in a perv way,” he hastened to add. “But it was great that someone was finally like that with me, and that sometimes I could return the favor.”

Hermione didn’t know how to react. Harry had mentioned something like this before, that she’d been one of the first to show him physical affection. But what that meant hadn’t sunk in until now. It’s not just that I was the first, he’s saying that I was the only constant ...? Dear Merlin.

She hadn’t realized. That’s what got her. All along she’d simply assumed that Harry was self-contained. He had always had an odd gravity about him, even when they were children.

“They really did a number on you, didn’t they?” she asked, a thrum of anger in her voice.

“Huh?”

“Sorry, been reading a lot of American noir,” the girl explained. Mentally, she was kicking the Dursley’s collective arses. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I am?” It was his turn to look confused.

“I shouldn’t touch you.” Her expression was grave. “Things between us being what they are.”

His heart sank. Harry nodded, and turned his head away.

“Oh don’t be like that. Look at me.” When he wouldn’t, Hermione grazed his cheek with the back of her fingers. Just as she thought, the light touch caught his attention instantly. When he jerked back towards her, she saw that his eyes were still bright with hurt. She sighed. “Harry, you should know by now that where you’re concerned, I don’t always do what’s wise.”

Gently, she carefully traced the line of his tears, wiping all traces of them away. “Is this all right?”

Not trusting himself to speak, Harry nodded.

“I never had a problem touching you,” she mused as she reached the strong line of his jaw. His character was beginning to show in his face, she thought. There was sheer bloody determination in that jaw, the set of his chin. “You’re right. I didn’t think about it; I didn’t even notice. It just happened. I was never that way with anyone else, not even Ron.”

Harry’s jealousy sparked again at the mention of Ron, but not by much. Hermione’s hands were astonishingly distracting. He was too busy trying to lean into her light touches to offer more than a token, “Because you had this ... tension.”

To his surprise, the young witch laughed. “Harry, we were eleven! Tension?” she scoffed. “I’m sure I wasn’t even aware of the word. Outside of physics of course,” she couldn’t resist adding. “My family’s affectionate, so maybe this is just the way I am with people who’re close to me. But Ron’s not comfortable with things like that. He tends to shy away, especially in public. I couldn’t’ hug him in a hall full of people, because he wouldn’t like it. I never got that from you.”

He held her gaze. “You won’t ever.”

The solemn tone of his voice altered the mood between them. Suddenly this wasn’t just about friendly affection anymore.

Hermione bit her lip as she allowed her hands to fall and follow the curve of his neck, until they were resting on his shoulders. She was surprised to encounter an unexpected strength there, corded just beneath the rough cloth of his shirt.

Sometimes she forgot how strong the boys had become, with their athletic prowess. How sleekly powerful Harry was, in particular, because despite his unassuming ways he’d been a Quidditch seeker since they were first years.

For his part, Harry was making no effort to hide how much the little she was doing affected him. It was obvious in his half-lidded stare, in the way his breath hitched as her hands began to pan across his shoulders.

There was something enthralling in all of this, Hermione slowly realized, in having this kind of effect on a person. The thought suddenly crossed her mind that there would be no guessing games with Harry. None of the drawn-out dances between girls and boys.

It was heady stuff this, being wanted and knowing it. Is this the way Lavender and Angelina, and boys like Malfoy, feel? Up to now, it was a power Hermione had only heard about but hadn't personally known.

And are you starting to think that you have it now? The girl started at the familiar wryness of her inward voice. Forgetting all about the Solvamus, are we? Didn’t Harry as much as say that without the potion, he would’ve never told you how he felt? That he didn’t want to feel this way?

Hermione froze. What was she thinking?! More to the point, what was she doing? She was ... enjoying this, enjoying touching Harry like this!

“I’m sorry. This isn’t right or fair,” she whispered. She gripped his shoulders briefly, as if to steady herself, before releasing him. “I keep forgetting you’re under the influence.”

Before Harry could open his mouth to protest, but she was already stepping back.

When she was about three feet off, she drew her wand out and pointed it at him. This time she used no words.

The invisible fetters fell away. Reflexively, Harry rubbed his arms and tested his legs. When he stood, there was a sharp urge to leap towards her but he fought it down. For now, he was content to let her see it plainly on his face. “No apology necessary,” he dismissed her contrite words with a crooked grin. “Feel free to ... take advantage of me anytime.”

She blushed, but she was also indignant. “This isn’t funny, Harry.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Because you think it’s not ‘right or fair’ that you just – what, Hermione? – touched my face, my shoulders? What a monstrously shocking thing to do.”

“There’s a valid ethical concern here!” she said heatedly.

“Why?” he challenged. “Because I liked it?” He stepped closer. “I liked it,” he affirmed huskily. “I’d also like it if you did more. Do I need to tell you that?”

“Harry, you’re under the influence of a powerful drug.” Hermione wasn't sure who she was trying to reason with, him or with herself. Oh Merlin, what had just happened? She’d never counted on this!

Her reasoned statement only seemed to annoy him. “How many times do I have to say that Snape’s potion doesn’t change the way I feel?” Harry asked irritably.

“How do you know that? How can you be sure?” Hermione argued. “You as much as admitted that you decided not to love me. Why did that change, if not because of the potion?”

“Oh for Godric’s sake!” Harry snapped. “There was no ‘change,’ Hermione, because I was never able to do it! I tried! But I couldn’t stop feeling the way I did. It was always there, right under the surface.” His eyes narrowed at her doubtful expression. “You don’t believe me, do you? Oh sorry, I forgot, it’s only that other fellow you trust. Everything that comes out of my mouth right now is just shite as far as you’re concerned!”

“Harry!”

“Fine!” He threw up his hands. “Just tell me. When I was with Cho, or even with Ginny, or if I had any fancy bird on my arm or had twenty veelas doing their mating dance in front of me,” he added caustically, “do you have any doubt, any doubt at all, that if you called me I wouldn’t leave them in a heartbeat to be by your side?”

“That’s not -”

“Just answer the question,” he demanded. “Picture it. I’m with Ginny. Maybe we’ve just come in from practice or we’re in Hogsmeade. You run up to me and tell me to come with you. You don’t even give a reason. What do I do, Hermione? Do I fob you off with some excuse?”

She tried to imagine it. She honestly couldn’t. “No.”

Harry regarded her quietly. “Meet me at Hogwarts.”

She didn’t need to ask him what he meant. “Alright.”

===============

This time there was no need to call him. By the time Hermione arrived (it took awhile to doze off again), Harry was already waiting for her. This time they met by the lakeside.

For the sake of her own peace of mind, she decided not to inquire too closely into whether he had really gotten there ahead of her, or if it only seemed that way.

The dark-haired boy scolded her as soon as she was close. “You shouldn’t have done that, Hermione,”

“I had to.”

“You could’ve warned me at least.”

“I couldn’t. I didn’t know myself that I was going to do it until I asked Professor Lupin to arrange the meeting,” she admitted. “Anyway, it wasn’t so bad.”

He was looking at her as if she’d sprung horns.

“Really, it wasn’t,” she tried to reassure him.

“You really have no idea, do you?” he asked slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“I – he – oh bloody hell!” Harry swore. “This is going to sound ridiculous, but I’m going to talk about myself in the third person for awhile, okay? To distinguish between me as I am right now, and him, the potion-addled bloke. Got that?” Without waiting for her answer, Harry plunged ahead. “The thing is ... he thinks he’s found a way.”

The look she gave him was puzzled. “A way to what?”

“First you have to understand something. I want you,” he admitted in a rush, his cheeks staining red. “The Solvamus makes it impossible to ignore that. When he wakes, it’s the primary thought in his head, how to make you want him ... how to make you his. Got that?”

The girl bit her lip and nodded.

“Today he discovered,” Harry continued slowly, bracing himself for the inevitable explosion, “that you like being in control. He’s going to use that against you, Hermione.”

“WHAT?!” Surely he didn’t mean ...? She threw him a gobsmacked look. Oh hell, he did! “But that – that’s ridiculous!” she spluttered.

“Is it?” Was it her imagination or was Harry actually teasing her for a second? “Forget how it sounds,” he dismissed, though the fleeting mental image of a leather-clad Hermione almost made him grin. “You like planning out your life, you like having things in a certain order. And considering what ... happened,” he continued more seriously, “maybe you do need to be in control. So you can stop him anytime you want to.”

She considered that briefly. “Does that mean he will?”

Harry raked his hands through his hair. “He - I will. However thick he is, he realizes now that he almost lost you last time. He really doesn’t want to hurt you, Hermione. The augmenter and the potion together were just too much, it made him snap. Besides ...”

“Besides?” she prompted.

“It’s different now. With you and Ron, um, well,” he trailed off. Then he cleared his throat and tried again. “A lot of what drives him mad is the thought that he’s got no chance, that you’re with ... someone else.”

This third person thing was giving Hermione the beginnings of a fierce headache. “You mean you’re jealous.”

Harry didn't deny it. “Maybe I’ve always been. That doesn’t mean that I’m not happy that Ron has everything he does. But sometimes I wish so badly that ... and it drives me crazy when he fails to appreciate how good he’s got it!” He sighed. “But if you and he are no longer together, then that’s different. It changes everything.”

The young wizard straightened, and when their gazes met, Hermione knew that she was facing that other part of him. She was familiar with this Harry, too, though he wasn’t quite the lad she saw everyday, or the one poisoned by Snape’s drug. No, this was the boy who’d faced Voldemort again and again, and somehow found the strength to live.

“Harry ...” she began warningly, like she often did when he was about to embark on something reckless.

Naturally it didn’t deter him. Once Harry was decided on a particular course of action, he could be astonishingly stubborn. “I don’t need any more time to think, Hermione. I know we should wait for Faveure’s potion to clear, because of the way that the Solvamus is influencing me. But I want you to know right now that if you’re serious about giving me a chance, I want it.”

She tried again. With her sense of fairness, Hermione felt like she had to. “Harry, maybe this isn’t the best -”

“Hey, I know that this doesn’t necessarily mean that we’ll end up together,” he continued gently. “It’s really up to you, I promise. Just don’t ask me to fight it anymore. There’s so much to do, and sometimes it feels like every year, every passing day just piles it on. Maybe soon I’ll even have to fight for the right to breathe.” Harry shrugged, to show her that he was half-kidding. “So don’t argue with me on this one. Besides, you can’t win.”

The raven-haired wizard smiled. “You asked what I wanted. I wish you’d asked sooner, or that I had the sense to own up to it earlier and tell you.” This time his hands were warm and shy and welcome as they lightly clasped hers. “All this time, Hermione? All I’ve wanted in the world was you.”

A/N: Oh look there's actually WAFF in this one. Who would've ever thought? Didn't plan it that way but it just kept ending like that. What do you think, too much? Not enough? Just right? Again, thanks for your patience and to everyone who wrote reviews. Hearing from you guys makes my day. :)

Disclaimer: The Potterverse belongs to JKR. I'm just borrowing them for a bit. I've also borrowed some of Pablo Neruda's poems. These are excerpts from the English translations of “Sonnet XI” and “Don't Go Far Off.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

All he wanted was her.

If anything, that was more true when he woke. Even in what Harry liked to think of as his “potion-addled state,” Hermione brought him a kind of peace. Not the pretend-normal peace that he had had with Ginny, but the kind brought about by the knowledge that whatever else he had to face, he would not be alone.

Harry was stubborn, and privately he was convinced that those who stood with him would either leave or die. Somehow that did not apply to Ron and Hermione, maybe because the three of them had been through a lot already. As Hermione had once said, they’d had time to turn back, more time than anyone. But they’d chosen not to.

The brave, bookish girl exemplified that determination. That she had stayed even when he had turned on her – well that was proof enough for anyone. The irony was, now that Harry had finally told her what she meant to him, it seemed like events were conspiring to take her away.

Almost immediately after their talk, Lupin called them together. The members of the Order testing Faveure’s potion needed assistance. Of course Hermione had left to help.

Harry hadn’t seen her since. The first evening – trying to sleep knowing she was nowhere within reach - was awful. But when he woke to a second day without her, there was an emptiness in him so immense that it left a physical ache in his chest.

With Hermione gone, though, so was the main reason to restrain him. Once Lupin extracted the boy’s promise not to leave Grimmauld, the professor left for some hours to attend to his own affairs. The older wizard did not tell his charge of the spells that barred the exits. Harry would find that out for himself if he tried to break his promise.

The arrangement suddenly left Harry on his own. He prepared and ate brunch, showered, and spent his free time prowling the house, stalking through the rooms restlessly like a big hungry cat. He found himself once in Hermione’s room, but discovered that being surrounded by so many of her things only made her absence harder to bear.

Finally, the young wizard wandered into the library. The girl’s quill and parchment were still on the large table, positioned carefully next to an equally neat stack of books. He ran a finger over the feathered quill fondly. Typical Hermione.

He didn’t want to disturb her research, and in his current state he had no taste for books of magic. So he turned towards the shelves, and discovered, to his surprise, some volumes that didn’t appear to be as old or as worn as the rest.

He picked one out. Muggle books?! Here? Finding a muggle book in the Black family library was like finding a steak in a vegan’s fridge.

Someone must’ve left these. Harry couldn’t imagine Sirius having much interest in muggle books, although his godfather had spent his last few days holed up in Grimmauld. But for some reason the books looked vaguely familiar.

Intrigued, the boy opened one. Oh bugger, poetry. Harry rolled his eyes. Why couldn’t it’ve been something interesting, like a good murder mystery? He was about to put it back, when a line caught his attention. His eyes widened and before he knew it he was pulling another volume off the shelf.

Hours later, a brown-haired witch, indistinguishable in dress from the muggles walking along the street, apparated nearby. She strode into the gloomy house that held no barriers for her.

Hermione was tired, and not merely in the physical sense. The Order members refining Faveure’s potion were brilliant, but they were not aware of the specifics of Harry’s condition. That was where she had proven useful. Without giving too much away, she made sure they had the necessary details.

It was another singular display of Professor Lupin’s kindness and tact. This was his way of telling her that the choice was now hers. She could tell or hold back as much of the tale as she thought best.

In the end, she chose as Lupin had and for much the same reason. Because the other members of the Order would not understand. The other wizards and witches weren’t like Dumbledore or Lupin or the Weasleys; they had only a passing acquaintance with the Boy Who Lived. While intellectually they might accept that Harry had acted under duress because of the Solvamus, they had no clear idea what kind of person he was to begin with. Hermione would not let their first insight into Harry be his near-betrayal of her.

Her only real complaint was how long the process was taking. As precious hours passed, Hermione found herself increasingly consumed by her worry for Harry. She had actually dreamt last night that she had returned to Grimmauld too late, that he was already insane.

Lupin had passed by briefly in the morning and reassured her that that wasn’t the case. Maybe the treatment with the pensieve had helped, or maybe it was something as simple as it wasn’t time yet. By the professor’s count, they still had two days, maybe two nights.

Two days. Two nights. Hermione walked into the house with the thought drumming in her head. She called out. When she got no answer she automatically headed towards the library ... and was startled to find Harry there.

The raven-haired teenager was sprawled on a small couch. He appeared to be dozing. His glasses rested on a couple of open books perched haphazardly on a low center table in front of him.

She sighed in relief. At least if the books were any indication he wasn’t mad yet. Curiously, she approached to peer at the slim volumes. Maybe Harry decided to look into the Horcruxes himself.

She blinked. That can’t be right. She leaned down. Nope, it wasn’t her imagination. Poetry?! Harry? Although the bespectacled wizard was more widely-read than Ron, he had never shown much patience with verse unless there was a spell involved. Hermione scanned the open page.

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.

Silent and starving I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day

I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

She flushed and picked the book up, carefully dislodging Harry’s glasses onto the table. She was so absorbed, so bemused by the idea of Harry reading poetry, that she did not notice him stir behind her.

Harry could barely believe at first that the girl whose absence haunted him was actually here, inches away from him. Although her back was turned, he could easily imagine her puzzled expression as she bent over the books he’d taken. Her eyes, he thought, would be the color of warm honey.

Suddenly, fiercely, he wanted those eyes on him. He murmured her name.

She turned her head towards him. Maybe it was because she was tired, or maybe it was the sheer relief of seeing him after imagining the worst. For whatever reason, Hermione was not in the least nervous when she found herself trading a brief silent gaze with the boy who at this time was both her closest friend and an unpredictable stranger.

For a moment, it was as if she were seeing him for the first time. Harry wasn’t handsome, in the same way that she wasn’t strictly pretty, but the years were turning him into a striking individual. He contemplated her under moody lashes, his irises a deep dark green as he rose from the couch.

Hermione turned back towards the books, staying in place as Harry stood behind her. She straightened, but did not shift away, when he moved so close that the line of body pressed against hers. Hermione could feel the warmth radiating off of him as he peered over her shoulder at the slim hardbound that still lay open in her hand.

Harry couldn’t possibly know what part she’d been reading, but he continued where she left off. “I hunger for your sleek laugh, your hands the color of a savage harvest, hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails ...” he intoned in a sleep-roughened voice. His breath tickled the tip of her ear. “I’m glad you’re home, Hermione.”

Something about the way he said home made the young witch’s heart beat faster. She had to remind herself that this wasn’t home, no matter how long she stayed. Not even if unplottable Grimmauld had become one of the few places where she felt safe. Casting for a way to change the mood, she murmured, “Poetry, Harry?”

“It helps.” He moved to take the book, but Hermione wouldn’t let him.

She held it up, her finger on the page. “It ... helps?” she asked, one eyebrow raised high.

“It just does.” Harry shrugged defensively. “You have no idea what it’s like, having all this shite in my head and not being able to put it into words. I don’t know how to explain how I feel, but somehow this bloke does. So yeah, it helps.”

“Hey, I’m not making fun of you,” she said. “It’s just that you never seemed interested. Sonnet XI ... Neruda’s a good poet, isn’t he?”

“You know him? You’ve read this stuff?” Harry looked stunned.

For some reason, his obvious surprise annoyed her. “Why is that so shocking?” she asked. “I’m a bookworm, remember? Last time I checked this,” she waved the tome around, “was a book.”

“Yeah, but it’s not your kind of book.” The second the words were out, Harry realized he was in trouble. “I mean, er, it’s not about spells and school and Hogwarts: A History ...”

Too late. “What does that mean?” Hermione turned around, her eyes narrowed. “Just who do you think left those books here? How many muggle-borns do you know have access to the Black family library?”

That was why they looked familiar! He could picture the slim volumes now, one or two squeezed in among the pile of books Hermione was always lugging around. “These are yours?” But that meant ... He swallowed. “You read them when we were at Hogwarts?”

The girl nodded, too irritated now to notice the new intensity in his face. “Of course. Or on the train, to pass the time. Any chance I get, actually.”

Harry shut his eyes. How many times had he seen Hermione absorbed in a book? How many times had she sat down mere inches from him, chewing her lip as she read? How often had Ron and he rolled their eyes, utterly sure that their friend was burying herself in something mind-numbingly boring? And all the time she’d been filling her head with words like these, words that spoke of wanting and loving, longing and loss?

It was a revelation. Unlike the rest of Hogwarts, he’d always known that Hermione was passionate underneath that sensible exterior. He’d seen it in the way she threw herself in her causes. But how had he missed the fact that she had a sensual side as well? The thought – the sheer possibility - that she might open that part of herself to him filled him with elation. What else don’t I know about her?

For her part, Hermione was still wrapped up in her indignation. Dry, dusty scholarly tomes - did they really think that that was all there was to her?

“Shall I prove it?” she asked dryly as she put the book down. Hermione had never made an effort to memorize any of the poems she’d come across, but she had read them so many times over the past years that the words just came to her:

“Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because –-

because –- I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”

At the start she was angry, almost strident, but as she went on her voice softened in obedience to Neruda’s longing words.

“Don’t leave me, even for an hour, because

then the little drops of anguish will all run together,

the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift

into me, choking my heart.”

Hermione sighed. Her annoyance receded as the poem brought forward other memories. “I read that over and over, the first time I left Hogwarts for the summer. That bit about the trains reminded me of school. Hogwarts opened a new world to me, showed me that magic was real, that I wasn’t alone. Then they told us we weren’t allowed to do magic outside. Leaving Hogwarts for the first time felt like leaving magic behind.”

Her remembered sadness was so real, so poignant, that Harry instinctively moved to comfort her. “Hey, it’s alright,” he said, hugging her. “Those rules don’t apply to us anymore, anyway.”

The eminently practicable way he said it made Hermione laugh. “I knew there was a bright side to fighting Voldemort.”

Harry waggled his eyebrows. “What do you think I’m in it for?”

The sheer absurdity of it got her laughing again, and soon he joined her. It was such a release, sharing a laugh together, that they just gave into it. By the time they came to a stop, they were both teary-eyed and breathless.

And then, of course, Harry didn’t want to let her go. His arms were loose around her, but they remained there. Hermione was still flushed from laughing, her lips curved in a mirthful smile. At this moment, there was nothing in the world more precious to him.

Their eyes met again. Harry inclined his head infinitesimally closer.

Hermione went still, but the trace of a smile did not leave her lips.

He bent his head and kissed her cautiously, more slowly than he had ever kissed anyone in his life. The pent-up need of the last two days surged inside him but he determinedly kept it at bay. She’s giving you a chance. Don’t ruin it. Oh Merlin. Her mouth was incredibly soft, her breath warm and sweet. And when her lips moved tentatively against his for the first time, he thought he would die.

His hands shifted from her back. Harry stepped back and tugged gently at her wrists, and to his amazement Hermione followed his lead until he felt the couch hit the back of his legs. He sank into the couch and pulled her down with him, holding her with his eyes.

When she was beside him, he cupped her face. “I really missed you,” he said thickly. Then he kissed her again.

Hermione had no idea what possessed her, but she let him. She put the constant anxiety of the last two days aside. Right now, being surrounded by Harry’s warmth was just what she needed.

Encouraged by her response, Harry began to tease. He nibbled the fullness of her lower lip before dropping kisses on her chin, her jaw, the smoothness of her cheek. One hand curved around her neck while the other buried itself in the curls of her hair. When he returned to her lips, he pulled her closer until their torsos were touching.

The young witch made a sound as he sucked on her lower lip. He was pressing harder now, his lips more insistent. Slowly they parted and the tip of his tongue brushed against the seam of her lips.

She knew what he wanted. What astonished her was she wanted it, too. But just as she began to open up to him, they both heard a sound that made them freeze.

It was the call of “Harry? Hermione?” and the sound of a stout wooden door swinging shut. Professor Lupin had returned.

Harry swore. After one last swift kiss, he retrieved his glasses and retreated as far from her as the couch would allow.

Hermione strove to compose herself. She ran one hand quickly through her hair. Without a mirror it was all she could do. Suddenly feeling the need for cover, she grabbed one of the books and pretended to read from it.

“There you are.” Lupin strode into the room and dropped tiredly into an armchair. If he was surprised to see them together, he didn't let on. He addressed the girl first. “I passed by the potions people again, but they told me you’d gone ahead. Have you told Harry the good news?”

She cleared her throat. “I was just about to,” she answered, carefully averting her eyes from the boy. “Harry, the potion is almost ready. They had to make some adjustments; after so long Monsieur Faveure wasn’t too precise on the measurements of an ingredient or two. It should be ready tonight. Will they bring it here, professor?”

“I might fetch it myself,” Lupin said casually. He wanted to keep the people to see Harry in his current condition to a minimum. He met Hermione’s eyes briefly, and saw that she understood that. “I’m sure between the two of us, we can administer the potion.”

The young witch inclined her head. “From what I understand, there’s nothing special that needs to be done. Harry just needs to drink the potion.” It was the aftermath she was worried about.

As if he’d heard her, the older man nodded. “Just in case, I’ll have some people standing by.” He grimaced. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have my own potions I need to see to.” He did not notice the hard stare Harry threw at him as he exited the room.

Hermione smoothed her jeans nervously and stood. “I guess I’ll go, too. See you later, Harry.”

She got as far as the shelves, before she felt Harry’s hand snake around her wrist. Before she knew it, her back was to the shelf and he was kissing her hungrily.

For a moment Hermione was swept up in his warmth again. This time she could feel the entire length of his body pressed against hers. Merlin, the leanness of him! “Harry,” she groaned. “Wait. We can’t.” Her hands, trapped between their bodies, reluctantly pushed him away.

Harry was breathing hard. It took all of his willpower to stop. He spoke for the first time since Lupin’s arrival. “What’s going on between you and Lupin?” he growled.

She gaped at him. “What?”

“You were trading looks with him, Hermione! Is that why you want me to stop? Because you don’t want him to see us?”

“Are you crazy? Me and Professor Lupin?!”

When she said it like that ... Harry raked his hand through his hair. “I ... sorry. It’s just, this wordless stuff ... it’s something you do with me. Ron sometimes,” he admitted reluctantly, “but mostly me.”

“You’re jealous,” she realized, amazed.

“In this state? Constantly.” His smile was rueful.

She shook her head at him, like he was a nine-year-old. “Patience, Harry. We’re nearly there. In a few hours you’ll be free.” Hermione prayed that that was true. “You know better than anyone that Professor Lupin’s a good man. He only has your interest at heart. I wish I could convince you of that.”

“You can.”

“How?”

“Kiss me,” he said seriously.

Hermione looked at him searchingly. Her first instinct was to say no, and his face told her that he was expecting that. But there was a bit of wild hope mixed in there, too. “Close your eyes, Harry. Arms at your sides, okay?”

He did. She turned them, so that he was the one with his back to the shelves now. He felt her supple hand on his cheek, guiding his head down. His heart thudded as he felt the first soft brush of her lips on his.

And then Hermione was kissing him. Not just letting him kiss her or returning his kiss, but taking the lead now, tormenting him with her warm, wet mouth. He kissed her back with a vengeance, but she would not give up the lead.

Harry’s hands fisted at his sides. He was desperate to hold her, raging to take this further. In another second he would have given in.

Somehow she sensed that he was near his limit. She withdrew and by the time Harry opened his eyes, Hermione was standing a couple of feet away.

“Do you believe me now?”

“Hermione ...”

She ducked his gaze, bit her lip. Suddenly the bossy girl was a picture of uncertainty. “I missed you, too, Harry.” Then, swiftly, before he could say anything, she left.

A/N: I'm constantly amazed by the number of people who review each chapter. Thanks, everyone! A special thanks to those who've been reviewing “anonymously” since I haven't been able to reply to a lot of them. This chapter didn't quite go where it was supposed to. It was supposed to be about Harry taking Faveure's potion. Imagine my surprise when I ended up writing a snog-fest. Must be that phase of the moon or something. ;) Not as heated as some would like, but considering that there was only going to be the one kiss at first, that's an improvement right? Any complaints about delaying the potion stuff to the next chapter? :D So how do you think the story's going so far?

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company belong to JKR. I'm just taking them for a somewhat odd, non-profit spin.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN:

A rather flustered Hermione Granger climbed the stairs to the second floor. Her heart was still beating faster than normal, and it had nothing to do with the fact that she was practically running up the steps.

The Gryffindor was known for her objectivity and sharp analytical mind, and those tools were no less incisive when she turned them on herself. What was I thinking?! To let Harry kiss her under the circumstances was one thing, but why had she kissed him so thoroughly when it was her turn? And why did I enjoy it so much?

“... you like being in control. He’s going to use that against you.” That was Harry’s warning the night before she left.

At the time she’d laughed it off, denied it. But after what had happened a few minutes ago, the idea was somehow less ludicrous than before.

How could she deny the thrill she’d felt at having Harry tremble under her hands, straining with the need to hold back? And the way she had leaned full against him to take possession of his mouth! What had possessed her?!

What was going on? When Harry had told her what his “other self” had “found out” about her, he hadn’t sounded all that surprised. In fact, it had seemed reasonable to him. “You like planning out your life, you like having things in a certain order. And considering what ... happened, maybe you do need to be in control.” Those were his exact words.

Was he right? Was this some kind of reaction to what had happened between them? Or – and this possibility was far more disturbing - was this a facet of herself that she was just discovering?

The young witch was so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the approaching figure until he was practically in front of her.

“Professor?” She peered at him. The poorly-lit Grimmauld often lived up to its name, but even in the bleak light the frown on the older wizard’s face was apparent. “What’s wrong?” she asked sharply.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to get back. Was Harry ... alright?”

Did he try anything, was what Lupin meant. Hermione hoped he wouldn’t notice her flush. “He seemed better,” she replied truthfully. “I think the treatments with the pensieve helped.”

“Good.” Although he sounded relieved, the frown did not leave the wizard’s face. Abruptly, he said, “I just received a message. There are complications. We have to administer the antidote immediately, and we can’t do it here. Faveure and some of the other members of the Order have set up a place and are already on their way there.”

“Why? What complications?” she asked in alarm.

“Something happened during the last test. Our people think it can be dealt with, but the proper equipment has to be in place.” He took a deep breath. “I can’t take you, Hermione. The place is one of the Order’s safe houses. It’s unplottable, and I only have clearance for Harry. Besides, we’re not sure what difficulties may arise if you’re there when we --”

“Do I get a say?”

The pair started at the sardonic interruption. As one, they turned towards its source.

Harry leaned against a nearby wall, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He gazed at Hermione. “I want her with me,” he said tightly.

Lupin shook his head. “I’m sorry, Harry, but as I was explaining, that’s not possible. It turns out that the antidote has a short lifespan. We have to do this now,” he said tersely. “To prepare another batch could take days.”

“Then I’ll take the next batch! I want Hermione with me,” the dark-haired youth insisted. “I’m the one who was dosed with the Solvamus. You tell your uppity friends to clear her or I won’t do it!”

His defiance alarmed Hermione. Oh Merlin, she’d almost forgotten that Harry wasn’t aware of the deadline! His life and sanity were at stake with every passing day, and he didn’t know. The treatments with the pensieve seemed to have steadied him for awhile, but there was no way to know if it had affected the deadline as well. Two or three days. That was all they could be sure of.

“Harry, wait,” she began reluctantly. “The potion’s ready, and it is important ...”

He didn’t even let her finish. “No.”

“Harry, be reasonable,” Lupin tried.

“NO!” The youth glared at the older wizard as he approached, but when he spoke his words were addressed to Hermione. “You don’t understand what it feels like to be without you,” he told her roughly. “I can’t go through another day of that. Don’t ask me to.”

Lupin took a step towards him. “I know how you feel, but time is short. Come with me or I’ll be forced to -”

Harry’s head snapped towards him. “You can try,” he growled.

Hermione stepped between the two men just as a chill breeze sprang up and swirled menacingly around the dimly lit corridor. “Professor, please. Excuse us for a minute.”

“But -” The older man checked his protest as he caught her eye. “Five minutes. I’m sorry but that’s all I can give you.”

When Lupin was out of sight, Hermione turned back to the dark-haired youth. “Harry, don’t you want to take the potion anymore?”

“Of course I do! But the original plan was to do it here, with just us and Lupin. Why, suddenly, do I need to leave? Why does it have to be done in some safe house with a bunch of wizards I’ve never met before?” Harry marshaled his reasons, ready to argue with her. “And I really don’t like not having you with me -”

“Me neither.” The girl grinned at his obvious surprise. “I want to be there. Otherwise, I’ll be sick with worry the whole time you’re gone. I wanted to see you ...” she broke off, her throat suddenly tight. All this time, she’d assumed that she’d be present when Harry took the potion. And if it worked – oh specially if it worked! – to watch as the Solvamus left him. To look into his eyes, and hold his hand, and know that he was really Harry again.

“Hey.” The boy had known the witch too long not to notice the way her voice caught. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It’s silly.”

“No, it’s not. Tell me.”

“I was ... I was looking forward to seeing my friend again.” Hermione raised tear-filled eyes to him, hoping he would understand what she meant and not take it badly.

The sight of her near-tears shook Harry. Even before he’d been dosed with the Solvamus, it was something he’d never liked to see. Then and there, he made a decision. “You will.” He gripped one of her hands tightly. “You’ll see him again and he’ll be just like before,” he vowed.

He said it with such sadness. It took a second for Hermione to guess why. “He doesn’t need to be exactly like before,” she said shyly. “I wouldn’t mind him being more open with me ... about the way he feels.”

Harry smiled. Completely and openly for the first time in ages, it seemed like. “He – I will. I’ve been a stupid sod, haven’t I?”

“Your words, not mine,” Hermione quipped in sudden mischief. As expected, that got another grin. She’d forgotten how wonderfully a smile could transform Harry’s face.

Too bad it was so fleeting. “Guess we’ll have to do this Lupin’s way,” he sighed.

“For now,” she agreed with the same lack of enthusiasm. It hadn’t escaped her notice that Lupin was being evasive. But he cared about Harry, and if what he’d said about the lifespan of the potion was true, they really didn’t have much time.

She loosened her grip on Harry’s hand, and normally that would’ve been his cue to let her go.

But this was still Harry under the Solvamus. And though he acknowledged the necessity of going with Lupin, the prospect of being without Hermione again was driving him spare.

Hermione looked up, and what she saw made her go still.

There was need in his eyes, and anguish, and somewhere mixed in all of that, a possessive streak that was disturbingly close to something she had seen before.

“Harry, let go.” She said it softly, but it was no less an order for that.

“I don’t know how to.” His voice was ragged. “It’s too soon, Hermione. You just got back. I can’t do this again!”

Hermione refused to be cowed. “Let go, Harry, or you will lose me. I swear it.”

She waited one beat, two. In another second, she would’ve reached for her wand or shouted for Lupin.

She didn’t need to. Shakily, Harry released her and stepped back. He shoved his hands into his pockets, as if to imprison them. “I – I’ll go get ready.” He walked away quickly.

On his way, he met the returning professor. Lupin spoke to him briefly, and Hermione caught something about “clothes” and “a few days.”

The witch barely hid her surprise in time. A few days?! When her former teacher was near, she didn’t say anything, just looked the older man straight in the eye.

“We’ll take care of him, I promise,” Lupin said.

She nodded tightly. She hoped so, because if Harry came to harm, it’d be because she had convinced him to go. “I trust you, Professor. I just wish you would trust me.”

The blunt remark took him aback. “This wasn’t my idea, but I honestly believe that this is best.”

“The problem with that, Professor, is that you might be wrong,” Hermione said coldly. “I know Harry better than you do, and you hardly know me at all. We deserve to understand what we’re getting into - you said that yourself once. Or did you change your mind about that, too?” Without waiting for a reply, the irate girl stalked off.

=======

Harry assembled his things with practiced ease.

Hermione watched him from her place by the door. She didn’t know who was more surprised when she knocked, her or Harry. “Need help?”

He shook his head and turned back to his bag. Like her, he was obviously used to packing by hand. Since they both came from muggle households, she and Harry usually had to assemble their things without magic the night before they returned to school. Underage wizards were not allowed to use magic while they were home during school holidays, particularly if they were around muggles.

“Think I should bring my invisibility cloak?” Harry asked.

“You have it?” she asked in surprise. Of course! Lupin and Tonks don’t know about the invisibility cloak. “Probably not a good idea. They’ll be watching you pretty closely.”

He nodded, and for some moments there was only the sound and bustle of Harry moving from wardrobe to bag.

Hermione eyed him uncertainly. She still felt strangely unsettled by the whole business. Why was that? Was it disappointment that she wasn’t going with Harry and Lupin? That’s ridiculous. The important thing is that Harry gets the treatment he needs. It doesn’t really matter that I won’t be there.

“Bloody hell!”

The soft expletive brought Hermione out of her introspection. She had heard it often enough, but usually not from the green-eyed boy.

Harry dropped the clothes he’d been holding. “I don’t want to do this!”

“You don’t want to take the potion?”

“You know I do!” He ran his hands through his hair in obvious frustration. “I just thought this would go differently,” he muttered.

So had she. She’d pictured being by Harry’s side, maybe even holding his hand, lending him support as he took the antidote. But before she could say anything about that, he was talking again.

“Hermione, why won’t you come with me? Don’t you want to?”

She couldn’t believe her ears. “Harry, don’t be ridiculous. Of course I -”

“No, you don’t.” Suddenly Harry was standing right in front of her. “I know you! Nothing could stop you if you really ...”

Nothing, except the looming deadline. Nothing, except the fact that Harry was clearly becoming unstable. One second he was nearly the boy she’d always known, but in the next ... But he wasn’t like this when I arrived. He was in control. He kissed me, but he was able to stop. What’s so different between now and then? And then she knew.

“Harry, I’m on your side,” she stated. “I don’t like Professor Lupin’s idea any more than you. I already told you that, and I certainly made it clear to the professor. But the potion is important.”

The teenager took a deep breath. “I know, but I really hate this. You don’t know how it feels, Hermione,” he continued raggedly. “When you’re not around, when I can’t even touch your mind, everything feels empty.”

Silence fell between them at his awkward admission. Then Hermione said, “Well ... who says we can’t?”

“Huh?”

“Touch minds, Harry.” For some reason she found herself blushing. “We’ve been meeting in my dreams. Why can’t we do that even if we’re apart?”

“But,” Harry thought of the distance, of the unplottable safehouse he was supposed to go to, “I wouldn’t know how to find you.”

“Yes, you would. Just think of Grimmauld. I’ll take a nap after you leave, and I’ll call out to you.” She gave him a depreciating half-smile. “I’m so tired, it’ll be easy.”

“You haven’t slept much, have you?” he asked suddenly. Now that he was paying attention, it was easy to catch the tell-tale signs. He knew the look of Hermione pulling an all-nighter. Actually, they’d all seen each other in this state at one time or another.

“Sorry.” He was appalled that he hadn’t noticed earlier. “I’m being a right ass, aren’t I? Standing here, spouting off, when you must be exhausted.”

And there he was again, the Harry she’d known all her life, his awkward concern real and touching. “It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” she dismissed lightly.

“Yeah, but you always seem to be taking the brunt of it,” he said gruffly. He wanted so badly to touch her that he shoved his hands into his pockets again. “Go sleep. I’m okay.”

She nodded. Then, completely on impulse, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck, Harry.”

She left quickly, but nor before she saw the boy lift a hand to his cheek. And smile.

==========

Of course she couldn’t sleep yet. She waited downstairs until the men were ready. Because of the wards around Grimmauld, Lupin and Harry would have to be outside before they could apparate.

Lupin arrived first. “What about you, Hermione?” he asked. “You don’t have to stay. You could go home. I’d owl as soon as we have news. Or I could get someone to stay with you. Maybe Arthur or Molly could drop by? Or you could stay with them. I’m sure you’d be welcome at the Burrow.”

Hermione bit her lip. The mention of Ron’s parents brought another question to mind. “Professor, do Mr. and Mrs. Weasley know ... everything?”

To her immense relief, the wizard shook his head. “I told them about the Solvamus, and that Harry ... attacked you under its influence. They know you were hurt, and that the potion’s caused Harry to obsess about you, but not the details.”

So Ron rushed over knowing only that Harry hurt me, Hermione thought. But he began to guess what actually happened when he saw how I was, and how Harry was acting. And then I told him that Harry hadn’t gotten that far. That’s why Ron suddenly acted the jealous prat. The red-haired boy had never taken surprises of that kind well. “Maybe it’s best for now that I stay. If you take more than a couple of days, then we’ll see. You will return here after?”

“Of course.” Lupin hesitated. “You will be careful? Don’t forget that there are Death Eaters about. Have your wand close at all times, and just in case anything happens while we’re gone, use this.” He handed her a small, flat leather pouch the size of a keycase.

She glanced at it curiously. “What is it?”

“The bronze medallion inside is a portkey. One touch will instantly transport you to a wooded park outside London. It’s not registered with the Ministry, but it’s keyed to my wand and Tonks’. If you use it, we’ll know.”

Predictably, Hermione’s eyes lit up with interest. She opened the pouch carefully and examined the medallion. Then she shut it and slipped the case into her jeans pocket. “How clever! I’ll return it as soon as I can. Thank you, professor.”

“You’re welcome.” The girl’s obvious delight and curiosity elicited a grin from the jaded wizard. He was glad that some things about his former student hadn’t changed. He’d bet a dozen galleons that at this moment the Gryffindor prefect was recalling the process for turning objects into portkeys, and wondering how they could be hidden from the Ministry of Magic. Given time, she would probably figure it out, too.

A bit reluctantly he brought matters back to the subject at hand. “I’m sorry about this,” he said awkwardly. “If we had time, I’d explain.”

“Just cure Harry, Professor. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m glad you got him to see reason. I would’ve hated having to bind him -”

“Like I said, you could try.” Harry moved down the stairs. He had a knapsack slung over one shoulder. “Though I’d agree to be bound in any way if that meant Hermione could come with us.”

“Sorry.” Because Lupin didn’t want to go through another argument, he muttered a brief farewell to Hermione and stepped outside, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Harry shrugged and turned to the brown-haired witch. “I’ll see you later, I guess?” His eyes sparkled.

“Later,” Hermione agreed.

“Get some rest,” he said, touching her hand.

“You, too. As much as you can.” Hermione moved her hand, and their fingers caught. Now that he was actually leaving, she felt nervous and worried. “You will take care? Come back safely.”

“Don’t I always?” he grinned.

“Harry Potter, this is not a joke!” she said, exasperated that he could poke fun at a situation that had them both on tenterhooks.

“I will. I promise, Hermione,” he soothed when he saw how serious she was. “Whatever happens, I’ll come back to you.”

“You better. And in good shape,” she added for good measure.

“Whatever you say,” Harry agreed, smiling at her concern for him.

The smile evaporated when Lupin called him. The two teenagers nodded at each other, not quite able to bring themselves to say goodbye. They parted quickly; Harry strode outside.

Hermione shut the thick wooden door behind them. Slowly, she made her way upstairs. She wondered if this was how Harry had felt when she had left. Suddenly the old mansion seemed grimmer than ever.

=========

As the tired witch predicted, it wasn’t hard to fall asleep. But the rest of it wasn’t so easy. For some reason, the control she’d been able to exert over her dreams eluded her at first. She had no idea how much time passed before she finally found herself in Hogwarts.

This time she was sitting on one of the huge boulders dotting the lakeside. She called out Harry’s name several times. It was a long, nervous wait before the familiar figure in shirt, jeans and jacket appeared.

“Finally!” Hermione got to her feet, and smiled in relief. Until this moment, she hadn’t been sure that this would work. “How are you?”

Harry was frowning. “Unconscious, I think. They put me to sleep almost as soon as we arrived.”

“Are there a lot of wizards?” she asked curiously.

“I’m not sure. At least five. I met Faveure. He’s much older than Snape, and he’s got these fantastically thick eyebrows. They look like furry caterpillars, like they’d go crawling off on their own given half the chance.” He waggled his eyebrows to demonstrate, making Hermione laugh. Impulsively, he hugged her. “I’m glad this worked. I didn’t think it would.”

“I wasn’t sure, either.” Now that he was here, she could admit it. She hugged him back. “I’m so happy to see you, Harry. I’ve missed you, the real you.”

“Was he giving you a lot of trouble then?” he mumbled into her hair. No need to explain who “he” was.

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“I noticed,” he said wryly. He drew away and held her at armslength. “You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I know.” She knew he was referring to the way she had let his potion-addled self kiss her. He looked so somber. She touched his face gently. “Harry, I did miss you.”

“We’ve always missed each other, but that’s never translated to snogging before,” he pointed out, trying to make light of it. He would’ve succeeded, too, if he hadn’t been blushing.

Hermione turned a matching red. “Don’t ask me to explain. It just felt right at the time. Actually, it feels right ... now,” she slowly realized.

His eyes widened. “Hermione?”

“If I kissed him, why not you?” she argued, tipping her face up towards his. “Because believe me, I missed you more.” It was true. This was the boy she’d known all her life; he had never hurt her and she trusted him. This was the real Harry, and a kiss between them would be different. But how different? Suddenly, she realized that she needed to find out.

Harry swallowed. He could see that she was completely serious. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

“I know,” she repeated. “Maybe that’s part of why I want to. Only,” she hesitated, “would you understand if I said this doesn’t change things between us? I’m not sure where this is going yet. I wish I could, but it’s all a bit sudden, and Snape’s potion ...”

Her honesty and directness, so typically Hermione, took his breath away. “I don’t deserve you,” he said in utter earnestness. “I don’t deserve any kind of chance. What I did to you -” What the waking part of me still wants to do, he was about to say.

“Stop.” Her fingers hovered above his lips. “This is not the time to talk about that. Will you kiss me, Harry?”

He found that he couldn’t answer her. His throat moved but no words came out. Come on Harry, you’ve faced Voldemort, Death Eaters and giant snakes, he scolded himself, surely you have the courage to kiss the one girl you’ve always wanted. But in the next second all his doubts assailed him. What if it didn’t work out? He was risking their friendship, trying to shoot for something more. What if it destroyed their relationship? He remembered how he and Cho barely spoke to each other now. It would be unbearable if that happened to him and Hermione.

But then, things had already changed. He had told her how he felt, and his waking self had pushed those boundaries further. And that, finally, was what made him act. He couldn’t let her only kisses come from that potion-addled bloke! If by some miracle all of this worked out, it would be him and Hermione, and he had to remind her what he was really like.

Brushing all doubts aside, he cradled her face gently in his hands. He tilted his head and leaned forward to brush Hermione's lips with her own. Oh they were so soft, and sweeter than anything he could’ve imagined. He struggled to keep it light at first, but each time he returned to her lips the contact lasted a little longer, until he was pressing fully against the wet softness of her mouth.

He parted his lips slightly to catch hers, and groaned as she kissed him back. Her hands sank into his hair, drawing him closer, and suddenly his world was Hermione – the scent of her, the warmth of her, the reality of her in his arms. Merlin, he could do this forever! His hands fell to her neck as he began to tease her lips with his tongue...

Suddenly, something yanked at him. There was a vicious tug on his insides that practically jerked him away from her.

“Hey, what’s ...?” Hermione’s soft gaze sharpened as she met wide, confused green eyes. “Harry, what is it?”

“I ... I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean ...” Her voice became urgent as he doubled over. “What’s wrong?” She was by his side in an instant.

“I don’t know - ahh!” He clutched his stomach, shutting his eyes in pain. “The potion – it’s ... Merlin!” he exclaimed as another cramp wracked his body.

“Harry!” She wracked her mind frantically for anything that might help. But there were too many unknowns! Would magic even work in this dream state? “Tell me what I can do, how to help!”

“I - I don’t ... can’t ...” Even the effort to speak took its toll. He opened his eyes as another spasm of pain shook him. He felt the tug again, much stronger now, and suddenly he knew that he didn’t have much time. With his last breath, he struggled to warn her. “Hermione, be careful. The Solvamus numbs regret, doubt ... He - he’s not as sorry as I am about ... He doesn’t realize how much he hurt you ... He only understands that doing things that way will make him lose you ...”

And right before her shocked eyes, from under her hands, Harry faded and disappeared.

Hermione bolted awake. “Harry!” She grabbed her wand, flew out of her bed and out the door. She had no idea where she was going, except that she had to get out of Grimmauld and find Harry.

She was halfway down the stairs when the thick door at the bottom of the hall shuddered and swung open. She froze in shock.

Because Harry was there, standing in the doorway. He was pale and disheveled, his clothes were in disarray, and there was a strip of cloth dangling from his right arm.

Instantly Hermione understood why Lupin hadn’t wanted to take her. Either they couldn’t use binding spells, or he and the others had thought the spells wouldn’t be enough. They had tied Harry down.

And he had broken through it all. Harry had escaped at least five experienced wizards and their spells, and the physical restraints that held him! The realization sent Hermione’s heart thudding. Lupin and Tonks had told her about Harry doing something like this before, but this was the first time she’d seen it, or at least the clear aftermath of it, herself.

Even through the apprehension, Hermione was riveted by the jagged thick strip of cloth on the boy’s wrist. Harry, what did they do to you? What did you let them do? Because the fact that Harry was standing before her now was an obvious display of power.

His head lifted and he saw her. “Hermione,” he groaned. And then he stepped inside, stumbled and started to fall.

“Harry!” Putting all other considerations aside, Hermione ran to catch him. She got there barely in time to keep his head from hitting the hard stone floor.

She cradled his head carefully in her lap. He looked exhausted, almost as bad as the day he’d returned from the trial with Cedric’s body and the Triwizard Cup. “What happened?” she asked softly.

“Took the ... potion,” was all he could manage before he lapsed into unconsciousness.

Hermione bit her lip. It was only one look, she told herself, one quick glance into green, blurry eyes, and who knows what he’s been through? But she couldn’t shake the conviction that the boy in her arms wasn’t the Harry she’d just kissed in her dreams.

A/N: I'm really sorry this took so long, specially because the last chapter received the most number of reviews (which I really loved – thanks, everyone!). Lots of things happened recently, none of which made me feel like writing. Let's put that another way – my writing turned to mush, and I don't mean the good kind. Actually, it still feels like that. :p So much for my July objective (I was aiming, with a bit of cramming, to finish this before the 7^th HP book came out, but that's not possible anymore). I think it might be because I've lost some belief in the things I've tried to write about here (love, enduring friendship). Like I said, lots of things going on right now.

That this chapter was posted at last is mostly due to herdanhar's review. I'd just come from a trip, I decided to check email, I read the reviews and after danni said she'd read the whole story again because she'd missed it, I just had to. So you see, reviews do help. Thanks, danni. :) Just to be clear: I am not giving up on _Biding_. If it takes another year (though hopefully not), I'll finish it. I just need some encouragement. :)