Scholarly Interests

LadyTuesday

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 21/04/2006
Last Updated: 02/10/2007
Status: in_progress

PLEASE READ CHAPTER TEN: THIS IS AN IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE REGARDING THE FUTURE OF THE STORY.

Chapters

1. Posing the Question

2. Addressing the Issue

3. A More Intimate Grouping is Needed

4. The Question Warrants Further Study

5. To Touch Upon a Delicate Topic

6. Loose Lips Sink Canon 'Ships

7. Hermione Makes Out Like a Bandit

8. Harry Lends a Hand

9. Ginny Tries, Hermione Flies, and Harry Spies with Gawking Ey

10. A Letter to my Readers

1. Posing the Question

Scholarly Interests Chapter One – Posing the Question

“Oh, come on Hermione; you can’t mean to tell me that with you being you, you haven’t noticed that there’s one huge subject that they’re not teaching us?”

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head, choosing to disguise her reddening cheeks in the expanse of her thick riot of curls. “Yes, Ginny, I know. But as I’ve already told you the last twelve times you’ve hinted at it, if it’s not something Hogwarts chooses to teach then we really can’t—”

“And I told you,” the redhead returned with a snarky grin, “that it’s not exactly as if we always follow the rules, is it?”

“Well, yes, but that’s different than purposely holding a secret group to teach something that we know isn’t sanctioned by Hogwarts. We don’t know what kind of punishment there’d be for this; why it could land us in—”

“The exact same kind of trouble Harry almost faced with the D.A.,” Ginny finished.

“Exactly!” Hermione said with an airborne jab of her quill, but then quickly realized that most of the air had just been let out of her argument. She sighed. “Now, Ginny, honestly … have you even thought of who is going to teach this class?”

“Hermione, it’s not a class, it’s a small study group of friends. And it’s not exactly rocket science, it’s sex.”

“Maybe so,” Hermione responded, trying to work the embarrassed flush off her cheeks, “but who’s qualified to teach people about sex aside from some of the teachers – who most certainly would not agree – or some of the girls in my year – who you most certainly do not want to teach you about sex – hmm? And besides, if it’s ‘just sex’ and not rocket science, why do you need to form a group to teach about it?”

“Touché,” Ginny said, but then sat back from the table, reclining on the back two legs of her chair, and bit her bottom lip as she pondered. “The teaching certainly is a problem,” she said, more to herself than Hermione. “But I’m certain I could come up with someone.”

“Hrmph,” Hermione said and returned to her Transfiguration essay. It really was ridiculous how her palms were sweating just the tiniest bit. And she was even more annoyed at how her heart was now fluttering madly. She couldn’t quite get a good grip on her quill. She couldn’t help it, the topic just made her a bit jumpy.

*****

Over the next hour, Hermione caught Ginny staring her no less than seventeen times.

Eighteen.

Nineteen.

Twenty— “Ginny, what are you leering at?” Hermione growled angrily overtop of her essay on hellebore uses in Potion making.

“Nothing,” Ginny said hurriedly, returning her eyes to her own star chart. But it wasn’t long before she raised her eyes to Hermione’s again. “Did your parents ever talk about it with you?”

“Hmm?” Hermione muttered, still writing. “Talk about what?”

“Sex. Did your parents ever talk to you about it?”

“Of course,” Hermione said primly. “We had quite a thorough talk about it after I came home from third year because they figured I’d be getting – well, you know that soon I’d be … that I’d have…”

“Your period?” Ginny offered helpfully. She smirked as Hermione colored deeply about the cheeks.

“Yes, exactly.” She cleared her throat and went back to her essay.

“Third year? You were thirteen before you had the painters in?”

Hermione cleared her throat and flushed deeper. “Yes, nearly fourteen. ‘Late bloomer’ as my mother put it. I bloody hated that phrase.”

Ginny chuckled along with Hermione, but let that particular part go because she could see it made Hermione self-conscious.

“My parents never talked to me about it,” Ginny said wistfully. “I suppose that they figured that with six boys ahead of me they wouldn’t have to tell me about sex because either one of them would tell me or I’d figure it out on my own. Merlin knows I love Dad, but I don’t think he’d make it through ‘the talk.’”

Hermione laid down her quill and laughed. “Oh, trust me, I know how you feel. My parents gave me three books and said, ‘Come to us if you have questions.’”

Ginny smirked. “Books? So it’s genetic! Why am I not surprised?”

Hermione smiled warmly and chuckled.

“Were the books good at least?”

“Oh yes,” Hermione said, her stomach flip-flopping as the nervousness came back. “One in particular. Very thorough, I learned lots.”

“Hmm,” Ginny said.

After a few minutes of silent, Hermione felt Ginny’s eyes on her as she was writing.

“What?” Hermione said.

“You said the book was thorough?”

“Yes, very thorough. Why?”

“Hmm,” Ginny mumbled. “Do you have it here with you?”

Hermione looked up with narrowed eyes. “Yes,” she said, her voice breaking, “I keep it here for … reference. Why?”

Ginny smiled at her but turned to look around the room. “I’ve found someone qualified to teach the group.”

“Oh, really? Who is …” Hermione said, and then trailed off. “No.”

Ginny smiled again and handed her a sheaf of paper. “Any idea how to write a lesson plan, Hermione?”

“No!” she said forcefully. “Absolutely not! I can’t … I couldn’t … I wouldn’t possibly be able to—”

But Ginny was already up from the table, wandering around the common room. When she heard Lavender and Parvati giggling from the corner and Ron’s hissed, “Ginny!” Hermione figured she’d better start writing that lesson plan.

*****

Hermione was shaking so forcefully the next morning at breakfast that she was certain that people would think she had developed some kind of nervous disorder overnight. And she wasn’t so certain they’d be wrong. Everyone within a five-foot radius at the Gryffindor table was staring at her over their pumpkin juice, trying to pretend they weren’t staring. She had come down early in the hopes of polishing off her breakfast before she had to bear the looks that Harry and Ron would no doubt be giving her.

“Blast it, Ginny,” she hissed across the table, “people are staring at me as if I’m some sort of horrid pervert. And it’s entirely your bloody fault.”

Ginny did not appear ruffled by this very uncharacteristic swearing out of Hermione. “Relax,” she said, spooning some porridge into a bowl. “They’re just curious.”

“Curious, is it?” Hermione said with a skeptical scowl.

“Well,” Ginny said, trying to hide a smirk, “that and …”

“And what?” Hermione said. Her voice was growing louder with each word and she was unaware of the fact that she had now added at least eight spoonfuls of sugar to her tea.

“That and … they’re sort of … flabbergasted that you’re the one teaching about sex.”

“Why would they be flabbergasted at that?” Hermione’s voice had gained at least an octave of pitch and a decibel or five of volume.

By contrast, Ginny’s voice was all the quieter. “Well, you have to admit that you’re not the worldliest girl in Gryffindor when it comes to boys.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?!”

“Hermione,” Ginny said, making a subtle hand motion to reduce her volume. “It’s just that … well, you’ve never really had a fellow apart from Ron, and you and I know how fast that died at the end of the summer without anything coming of it. And for all your time hanging around with Harry and Ron as a group …”

Hermione’s face reddened and she narrowed her eyes dangerously. “What about my time with Harry and Ron?”

For the first time, Ginny looked uncomfortable. “There are two current theories running … that you’re either ‘one of the guys’ and don’t have any experience with either of them whatsoever …” Ginny trailed off, looked away, and cleared her throat.

“Or?” Hermione said, her voice a harsh whisper.

“Or … the three of you have some sort of standing … er … arrangement. With all of you. Together.”

“WHAT?” Hermione roared.

Half of the Great Hall turned their heads in the direction of the two prefects, rubbernecking around each other to see what the commotion was. In response to a stern look from McGonagall and raised eyebrows from most of the other teachers, Hermione eased back into her seat and stared furiously at Ginny.

“They think that Ron and Harry and I are … are …!” Hermione stammered.

“Having a secret, wildly erotic threesome?” Ginny offered with more flippancy, it was clear, than she felt. “Yeah, I reckon that’s about it. Ugh,” Ginny grimaced, “Ron in a threesome … that image will linger in a rather unfortunate way. But anyway, the bets on that option are pretty low.”

“Bets?” Hermione said, horrified.

“Most people are going more for the idea that neither Ron nor Harry has noticed you’ve got tits.”

Hermione harrumphed loudly. She was thoroughly annoyed at the fact that she couldn’t decide whether this saved her reputation or destroyed it, and as such, she wasn’t sure if she was relieved or insulted. She didn’t have the time to voice any of these consternations, however, as the population of Gryffindor table had just increased by the arrival of the final two members of the supposed Gryffindor ‘trio,’ as it were.

“You’ll never believe what Parvati Patil just asked me,” Ron said, a stricken look on his face and an embarrassed flush creeping down his neck.

“Somehow I think I would,” Hermione muttered, casting a dark look at Ginny.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione and then sighed as he filled his plate. “I know what you mean, Ron. You know, I thought I was famous before,” he said around a mouthful of toast. “I just received somewhere around fourteen absolutely scandalous propositions and I haven’t the foggiest idea why. And Eloise Midgen just asked me if it’s true what they say about men who ride long broomsticks.”

As incensed as Hermione had been with Ginny, she couldn’t help it. Both of the girls failed to contain a riot of laughter that had bubbled up at the completely gobsmacked look on Harry’s face.

“What?” Harry asked amidst the chuckles coming from Ginny and Hermione.

“You had better get away while you can, Gin,” Hermione said, becoming easier with the topic through their laughter. “Or people will think that you’ve joined Ron, Harry and I in the sack.”

Harry’s’ fork clanged loudly as it hit his plate and Ron overturned an entire pitcher of pumpkin juice in shock. “Excuse me?” Ron asked incredulously, as Ginny made a gesture towards the boys, indicating that Hermione should explain.

“Oh, no you don’t, Ginevra Molly Weasley,” Hermione said, her hands naturally going to her hips. “You got us in this mess; you can bloody well explain to them what’s going on.”

Ginny took a deep breath, looked uneasily between Harry and Ron, and then launched into the story of the new ‘study group of friends’ that would most likely be meeting up later in the week.

“I suppose it’s a bloody good think we don’t have Umbridge around anymore,” Harry said, after several moments of uncomfortable silence.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t fancy asking permission to form this particular group.”

“And how,” Hermione said, smiling despite herself.

“Pardon me, Professor,” Ginny said in a sickly sweet voice, “would you please give us leave to hold a large orgy in the Room of Requirement?”

“Ginny!” Ron hissed.

“Well, that would be the best spot for it to go on without getting broken up.”

“Harry!” Ron said, a little louder.

“Indeed. The room could even provide the contraceptive potion without the messy hassle of asking Madam Pomfrey!”

“Hermione!” Ron practically shouted. His mouth was hanging open a few inches. “Have you all lost your bloody minds?”

Hermione ignored him and turned to Ginny. “Suppose for one second that, hypothetically speaking, I was willing to teach this—”

Harry cleared his throat and Ron shifted in his seat.

“Study group of friends. Who would we be inviting?” Hermione finished.

“Well, the people that showed honest interest,” Ginny started, “… you know, in something other than a laugh or an actual orgy, were Lavender and Parvati—”

“Oh, Lord,” Ron muttered.

“Dean, Seamus, Neville, and Luna,” Ginny finished. “Oh, and the four of us, of course.”

“The four of us?” Harry asked, his voice cracking.

“Well, naturally, I assumed the four of us. I mean, if Hermione is teaching, and it was my idea … well, naturally I didn’t think you two would pass up an opportunity like this.”

“What do you mean, opportunity?” Ron said.

“To talk about sex with girls, you giant berk,” Ginny said, shaking her head at her brother.

Ron started to rebut, then apparently thought better of it, coloring in the cheeks and looking down with a sudden fixation on the cuff of his robes.

Hermione blushed furiously. “You know, Ginny, perhaps this wasn’t such—”ermione blusheHermione blushed furiously

I think it’s a great opportunity,” Harry interrupted. When Hermione stared at him, gape-mouthed in shock, and Ginny smiled, Harry looked down at the table. “I mean to learn something, of course. When’s the first meeting?”

Ginny smiled. “Tuesday at 8 o’clock. The Room of Requirement.”

2. Addressing the Issue

A/N - I can't possibly tell you all how touched I was at the response to the first chapter of this fic. It just started out as something goofy and silly and (soon to be) smutty and I am SO glad that everyone likes it as much as I do! So here it is, chapter two! Thanks for the love, and don't forget to review.

Love and snuggles,

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

Chapter Two - Addressing the Issue

Hermione paced the corridor nervously, her head ringing with frantic thoughts.

Please, I need a room where we can discuss this … I need somewhere classy, understated … something tasteful so this won't get ridiculous …

With a small pop, a doorknob appeared on the wall next to her and Hermione grabbed at it, practically vibrating with nervous energy as she heaved the door open and walked into the Room of Requirement. She was pleasantly surprised as she strode over the doorsill, feeling her knees go weak with relief. She didn't know what she had expected - in her most horrible nightmare, it had been some hideous, sado-masochistic version of the Potions dungeon - but this was definitely perfect. The room had modeled itself to feel quite like the Gryffindor common room: there was a semi-circle of nine large, plush armchairs with a fireplace off to one side. At the center of the semi-circle and facing the other chairs was a tenth armchair, but this one had an easel and a bookstand set next to it with several different colored fat-nibbed quills. Along the sides of the room, and very tastefully set into the tapestry-covered walls, were shelves stuffed with books of all different shapes and sizes, each in a discreetly labeled section according to subject.

She recognized a few of the books that were by Muggle authors: Changing Bodies, Changing Lives; Sex and Sensibility, and a variety of other manuals on puberty and sexuality geared at teenagers. She didn't recognize the ones written by wizards, but felt that the titles made them similar in intent. But she nearly had a heart attack at the collection tucked into a shelving unit underneath the window seat at the bay windows in the back of the room.

Hermione became more and more enthralled as she read the titles, shaking her head in disbelief. “How to Make Love Like a Porn Star,” she mumbled, “The Ultimate Guide to Fellatio … good grief, the wizarding ones are even worse …”

She plunked onto the window seat and picked up a few that were stacked on the cushion next to the panes of glass. “Well, this isn't surprising; I suppose I should have expected the Kama Sutra. At least it's reputable; and shelved at the back. The Wenchy Witch's Guide to Perfect Wand Handling … oh, for God's sake.”

“Hey, wand-handling is an important issue, I'm sure.”

Hermione screamed as she looked up and found another pair of eyes watching her. Even though she felt perfectly foolish for it, she couldn't help the instinct to stash the `wand-handling' manual behind her back to shield it from view.

“Don't worry, Hermione,” Harry said with a smirk, “I won't tell Ginny that you've been reading the ones with the less scholarly bents to them.” He grinned at her as she blushed, hopped down from the window seat and quickly drew the curtain around it.

“I wasn't reading it. I mean, I was just … looking at … the pictures,” she stammered, trying to cover up the fact that she had actually been considering reading the book when he had showed up.

“The pictures, eh?”

Hermione followed Harry's gaze to the floor, where The Wenchy Witch's Guide was lying open, a host of animated wizarding pictures showing step-by-step instructions on some rather illicit activities.

“I … erm … well, of course I didn't mean those pictures … I just meant that … that is to say,” Hermione babbled. When she could think of nothing better to say under the growing amusement on Harry's face, she merely finished with, “Oh, bloody hell, I give up. I'm Flooing home this instant.”

Harry chuckled but Hermione could see that his cheeks were redder than usual, one hand was jammed in a tight fist into his pants pocket and the other was tugging at his tie. In an effort to take off the pressure, Hermione did what she always did in these situations. Talk.

“What are you doing here so early?” Hermione moved quickly back across the room to where she had plunked her bag down on the front armchair. She began unpacking the books, handouts, and charts that she had prepared for the evening's meeting.

Harry shrugged and dropped into the armchair nearest hers in the loop. “I didn't have anything better to do after dinner and I figured you might need some conversation to loosen you up.”

“Loosen me up?” Hermione parroted, damning the slight hiccup in her voice. “Why would I need loosening up?”

“I figured you might be a tad nervous.”

“Oh, that's silly; what would make you think I'd be nervous?”

“Well, for one thing,” Harry said, “you're crumpling the hell out of that chart in your hand.”

Hermione quickly dropped into a chair, laid the chart out on the bookstand nearby and commenced smoothing it out. Hermione turned to face Harry and assure him she most certainly was not nervous, but she couldn't force the words out of her mouth. Instead, she enlarged the now smooth chart and hooked it up on the easel next to her. She busied herself in a similar fashion for several minutes before she realized that Harry had simply been sitting there watching her putter around the front of the room. She eventually sat down to await the arrival of the rest of the group.

“Hermione,” Harry said quietly, “are you sure this is a good idea?”

Hermione smiled weakly. “Nope. In fact, I think it might just be one of the stupidest ideas Ginny has ever had, if not the very dumbest.”

Harry grinned in return but he was blushing and avoiding her eyes. “How are you going to get through it then? I don't know if I could.”

“By reminding myself that I'm the only one qualified to teach you dunderheads not to put things in the wrong places.”

They both laughed a bit too loudly before retreating into an uneasy silence. Both were visibly relieved when a short time later, Ginny ambled through the door, followed closely by Neville, who was determinedly looking at his shoelaces. A few minutes later, and humming to herself, Luna wandered in, followed by Lavender and Parvati, who dissolved into giggles the instant they saw Hermione's chart. Just before the appointed meeting time of 8 pm, Dean, Seamus, and Ron meandered through the door, obviously trying to appear as if they weren't at all unsettled or embarrassed by the topic they had come to discuss.

“So,” Hermione began unsteadily, “uh … welcome.”

Everyone shifted a bit in their chairs and smiled somewhat awkwardly.

“Well, we all know what we're here for, so perhaps we should just get right to it.” Hermione fought back a small smile as she noticed the panic in many of the pairs of eyes at her chosen wording. However, getting back towards a more scholarly ground, Hermione found herself much more at ease. She rose from her chair and handed out some pieces of parchment she had made that contained a smaller version of the charts she had set up next to her chair.

“Now, we really can't talk about sex without first discussing anatomy,” she said, more confidently than she felt. “So if you'll all just take a look at the handouts I made up, we'll start out with -ahem- the female genitalia.”

Hermione could have heard a cotton ball drop onto plush carpet in the second or two between the echo of her voice off the walls and the rustle of parchment as nine people tried to pretend that they were looking at anything other than a diagram of female sex organs. She charged on anyway. “Now, starting between the ages of 10 and 14, most females will begin experiencing changes to certain body parts and bodily functions—”

*****

She was losing them, she could tell. The attention that they had been giving her went from nervous but rapt at the outset to a broken down state of complete discomfort, as they were now. Frankly, Hermione was astonished that they had paid attention for this long. At just after 10 pm, she was quite impressed that she had managed to cram a reasonably thorough lesson on the biology and anatomy of sex into their heads, and she was satisfied that stopping at this juncture would lead nicely into her next lesson for later.

“So, I think that'll be all,” Hermione said, stretching a bit and closing her book. “When would you like to meet next?”

Everyone looked at various spots on the wall and floor and stammered all at once. Hermione thought she heard snatches of conversation that suggested next week … next month …. She couldn't understand; had she done that badly? And then it her hit; she giggled. No one wanted to seem too eager for fear that they'd be laughed at for wanting to meet right away.

“How about on Saturday?” she offered. “Would anyone object terribly to missing the beginning of the first Hogsmeade day?”

It was clear to her that Ron, Dean and Seamus very much objected, but they seemed a bit keener on missing when Harry said, “It would give us plenty of time to discuss delicate subjects.”

It was generally agreed that they would all meet on Saturday, just after breakfast. “And bring some questions for discussion!” Hermione chirped happily as they all set out.

-->

3. A More Intimate Grouping is Needed

DISCLAIMER: You know I don't own it... I only own the ridiculously thin veil of plot covering the smut (that I swear, is coming soon ... no pun intended ^_^)

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's enjoyed this story so much and for reviewing. I promise there won't be as big a lapse before the next chapter. Enjoy. ~~ ** LadyTuesday** ~~

PS - Sorry about the HUGE lapse! I didn't realize that I had submitted the next chapter at all my sites but this one! Sorry! The next chapter will be coming much faster, I promise!

Chapter Three - A More Intimate Grouping Is Needed

Hermione gobbled her breakfast with a fervor that made Harry, Ron, and Ginny stare. She merely smiled at them and kept going, eager to get up to the Room of Requirement early to set out a few of the things she had procured for facilitating discussion today. True, many of the items were Muggle `tricks of the trade' that might be liable to confuse the pureblood wizards among them, but she didn't let that stop her. Now that she had been able to gain an even keel on the subject - by making it more a scholarly project than an actual exploration of sex - she was eager to perform to the very best of her abilities. And drag everyone else with her, if necessary.

Ginny smiled as Hermione got up from the table and slung a messenger bag over her shoulder. “Want me to come help?” she asked.

Hermione shrugged. She wasn't really eager to have someone else see all the items she had purchased, but as it was just Ginny … “Sure, come on along,” Hermione said brightly, “I suppose I could use another perspective on things.”

Ginny finished off her toast and pumpkin juice and dashed after Hermione, who seemed to be capitalizing on her long-legged frame and business-like gait even more than usual. “Slow up there a moment, would you?” Ginny called after her.

Hermione flushed as she slowed her pace.

“What are you in such a hurry for?”

Hermione shrugged. “Oh, I don't know. I just suppose that I want to get this right.”

“Relax, Hermione,” Ginny said with a smile. “You'll do fine. And if not, they're all too daft to know the difference. Besides, I doubt you've considered this, but I don't think things will be quiet as smooth as they were last time.”

Hermione didn't answer right away; she was pacing the corridor in front of the room of Requirement, beckoning back the meeting room for their group. “Hmmm?” she said, as she turned the knob. “Why do you say that?”

Ginny smirked as she ambled into the room and dropped into the nearest armchair. “Because you expect people to actually talk today.”

Hermione stopped her activity and turned to Ginny. “So?”

“Hermione, you do remember what we're here for, don't you?”

“Of course I do, how could I forget?”

“Well,” Ginny said slowly, with the air of someone talking to a five-year-old, “you can't ask teenagers to talk about sex and not expect them to react in one of two ways.”

“What ways are those?” Hermione asked. She sat down in the chair next to Ginny.

“Well, they're either going to be like Lavender and Parvati and be giggly, immature and generally stupid about it all…”

“Or?”

“Or they're going to be too embarrassed about the idea of talking about their naughty bits in front of a group to even ask a question, let alone answer one.”

“Hmmph,” Hermione said. She didn't want to admit that she had a sneaking suspicion that Ginny was right.

“Especially with that bag of contraptions you have there,” Ginny said, pointing to the rucksack which had been abandoned on the front table, next to her armchair.

“You think this was too much?” Hermione said, moving over to the bag and scrutinizing its contents.

Ginny rose, walked past Hermione to the bag, and plunged a hand in with a wry grin on her face. When her hand resurfaced, she brought out an astonishingly large purple vibrator in the shape of a tongue. “You don't think that this is a tad intimidating for our second meeting?”

“Well,” Hermione said, coloring, “I figured that it would be good to give people an idea of what was out there and …” When Ginny continued smirking, Hermione scowled. “Oh, stop it; I thought it was a good idea.”

“It is,” Ginny replied. “But not right away. It's a bit … too much just now.” Ginny reached towards the bottom of the bag and pulled out a small cardboard box. “What are these things?”

Hermione laughed. “They're called condoms. They're to stop girls from getting pregnant.”

Ginny unearthed a single package from the box and examined it. “What? Do you … eat it? It looks like a candy coin to me … is it medicine? A snack?”

Hermione snorted through her nose. “Ah, no. They are shaped to … well, sort of like a balloon really, only they go onto … onto a boy's …”

Ginny was twirling the condom package idly from finger to finger, but had redirected her attention to the bag of `toys' that Hermione had brought with her. Losing interest in Hermione's verbal floundering, she commenced fishing around in the bag for the rest of the collection. “Where in Merlin's name did you get all this stuff? Or, more to the point, the money for it?”

“Some of the books in the back shelf had rather elaborate order forms. Seeing as how I had some birthday money left over, I decided to do a little … field research,” Hermione said in her most studious tone of voice.

Ginny cackled. “These are fabulous.” The redhead grinned mischievously as she held up what was clearly supposed to be a wizard's hat and tapped it with her wand. When it began to hum loudly, vibrate, and emit a sort of musky scent something like cologne, Ginny threw her head back and howled with laughter before jabbing it into Hermione's stomach. Hermione squealed in surprise and laughed as she pushed the younger girl away.

“Tried any yet?” Ginny said, winking ostentatiously.

“No! I wouldn't … not if I was going to bring them to the group. That's so … unhygienic!”

Ginny smiled again. “Well if you're not going to, could I borrow one later?”

“Ginny!” Hermione said, scandalized, but smiled despite herself. Ginny had picked up the tongue one again and was pulling a face, with her own tongue put out, to resemble the contraption. Hermione couldn't help the flood of chuckles that poured out of her throat.

“That's terribly attractive, you should do it more often,” Hermione said.

Ginny laughed for a moment, but then her face lit up with a sudden realization. She rummaged around in Hermione's bag until she found a more anatomically correct vibrator and unearthed the condom package again.

“Wait, wait, I know,” Ginny said and triumphantly ripped open the condom package. “So they go on like this, yeah?” she asked, rolling the prophylactic onto the head of the plastic penis.

“Exactly,” Hermione said, smiling.

Ginny held it away from her and studied her handiwork with a serious face. “It's not terribly sexy you know. Leave it to Muggles to want to wrap their bits in little pieces of cling film.”

“It's not cling film,” Hermione huffed and began to launch into an explanation of their purpose.

Ginny, however, had other plans. She headed off the rest of Hermione's diatribe on the sensibility of condoms by prodding Hermione with the now vibrating penis, immensely amused when the older girl squealed and moved away. With an impish grin, she began to chase Hermione around the room with the whirring instrument, brandishing the thing like a samurai sword. Releasing a triumphant cry, Ginny tackled her to the floor and began tickling her with the very realistic head of the toy. Both girls laughed riotously as Ginny straddled her waist, pinning her to the floor, causing Hermione to squirm against Ginny, fighting for freedom. She was losing spectacularly amidst shrieks of laughter.

“Well,” said a voice just over their heads, “isn't this just the fantasy of every teenage boy in the world? Or fairly near it, I'd say. You're both still fully clothed, so it could use some improvement, but all in all—”

Hermione looked up from the floor into the upside-down face of Harry Potter. Ginny was still astride Hermione's waist, gape-mouthed in surprise, the vibrating penis still dangling from her grip as she remained poised above Hermione's stomach.

“Er,” Ginny floundered before she gathered her wits and turned of the vibrator.

Hermione practically leapt into the air when Ginny moved enough to allow her to get up. She hurried back across the room and began stowing the toys they had unearthed back into her rucksack. “You're right, Ginny,” Hermione said, trying to keep her voice light, “I think this is definitely too much for the second day. And you,” she added in Harry's direction, “need to work on your timing—”

“I'd say it's worked out very well for me so far,” he interrupted with a grin.

She put her hands on her hips but couldn't keep from smiling. “How do you always manage to catch me at the most embarrassing possible moments?”

“Just lucky, I guess,” Harry said.

*****

Silence.

Hermione hung her head and squeezed the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. She hated to admit that Ginny was right, but here she was, standing in front of nine people, most of whom were old enough to be considered adults in the wizarding world, and yet they couldn't bring themselves to ask questions about the subject they had come here to discuss.

“Well,” Hermione said, trying to cover the silence, “you can't mean to tell me there isn't anything you want to know about sex? I mean, we've only talked about anatomy so far; I wanted you to give me an idea of where to go next.”

Everyone stirred anxiously in their chairs but still remained silent. Ginny cleared her throat and opened her mouth, but when Hermione looked at her hopefully, she too shrank into embarrassed silence.

“What about kissing and things?”

Lavender and Parvati started giggling.

“All right,” Hermione said, “more to the point … raise your hands if you've kissed someone before.”

Lavender and Parvati started laughing even louder than before and Lavender put her hand up quickly. Eventually, Harry's hand rose tentatively, and Ginny smiled and put hers up. Dean and Seamus looked at each other uncomfortably before Dean raised his hand too. Neville blushed and started at the floor; Ron, after a dark looked from Lavender, coughed but then surreptitiously raised a single finger. Luna started humming `Love and Marriage.'

“All right then, so … so it's Neville, Luna, Seamus, and Parvati that haven't—”

“What about you then, Hermione?” Seamus asked loudly.

“Well, of course she has,” Parvati said chirpily. “Wasn't she the favorite of Viktor Krum?”

Parvati giggled, but Lavender scowled. “And if not, she was certainly the favorite of Cormac McLaggen last year and someone else more recently.”

Ron harrumphed loudly, but then gave Hermione a pointed, expectant look.

“Actually, I haven't,” Hermione said, barely audible. Her cheeks quickly became scarlet.

“What?” Ron said, abandoning all pretense of embarrassment or manners.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Viktor and I … it wasn't … well, it wasn't like that. I mean to say that he wanted it to be but I didn't … anyhow, as for the other …”

Ron cleared his throat, in an interesting counterpoint to Hermione's and Harry, sensing disaster, cut them both off.

“Let her be,” Harry said. Everyone turned to look at him. “Let her be, unless you all want to share every detail of your snog history.”

The entire group quieted except for Luna, who merely said, “Those who don't remember history are doomed to relive it.”

Hermione looked to her, an eyebrow raised, before continuing. “So, if half of us have had a bit of experience, but the rest of us haven't, then perhaps we should just have those who—”

“Hermione, we can't just blather on about snogging people,” Dean said, his voice cracking.

Hermione sighed. “Well, then we can go back to asking questions ….” As the entire group recommenced clearing throats and looking away, Hermione rolled her eyes. “Honestly, I don't see what—”

Ginny raised a hand to Hermione, interrupting her gently. “I think that it's that nobody wants to ask questions in front of the whole group.”

Hermione glanced around at a chorus of nods. She did some quick thinking and her face lit up with an idea. “All right then, we'll split the group up into pairs. That way you only have to ask one person. Will that do?” At a chorus of small nods, Hermione continued brightly. “Okay, let's try and pair up the people with experience with those without it as much as possible. So … Dean, you can be paired with Parvati—”

“Does it have to be boys with girls? I dunno if I feel comfortable asking those sorts of questions to girls,” Neville asked, flushed.

“How else do you expect us to ask questions?” Lavender said with a scowl. “A girl can't ask another girl a question about a boy's bits, now can we? Isn't that the point of this whole thing?”

Ron just smirked smugly and crossed his arms. “I don't know what all the questions are going to do … it's pretty straight forward, eh? Insert Tab A into Slot B, and all that?”

All the boys of the room started to laugh, even Neville chuckled quietly, but Ginny just folded her arms across her chest and sneered back. “Don't forget about pressing on Button C,” she said slickly and crossed her legs, making all the girls snicker.

For a moment, Ron looked frozen and then the smile slid off his face and he turned and whispered to Harry. “There's a Button C?”

Over a raucous wave of laughter from the girls, Lavender spoke up, “Can I register my request that I not be paired with Ron?”

More laughter from the girls echoed as even Harry broke into a shy smile. Ron scowled and Hermione continued with the pairing, trying to hide a grin.

“As I was saying, Dean, you go with Parvati, Neville,” he looked up at her, fear plain on his face, “you go with Ginny …”

Neville sunk just a tiny bit, but smiled nervously over at Ginny, who seemed to be trying to hide confusion.

“Right, so that leaves Lavender with Seamus and … erm …”

Hermione looked at the people who had yet to be paired up. Ron, Harry, Luna and herself. Ron was looking at her expectantly once again and Harry was staring at his lap. Unexpectedly, Hermione realized that Luna was gazing pointedly at—

“Ron, you go with Luna and I'll pair up with Harry,” she finished quickly.

She could feel the eyes of everyone in the room on her face as she looked down at her parchment, scribbling the names of the pairs. She could almost feel the wave of indignation coming from Ron and the confusion of the girls sitting on her right-hand side. Ron's partiality for Hermione was clear despite their recently flubbed relationship from the summer, but the way he had been staring at her just now had unsettled her. Her knee jerk reaction had been to distance herself from it and now her throat was tight and she felt nervous that someone would question her judgment.

“All right then, everyone?” Hermione said, looking around the room.

Lavender and Seamus had already moved next to each other, grinning and making big cow eyes, while Parvati seemed to be sizing Dean up from across the room. Ginny smiled at Neville but threw a questioning look to Hermione before scribbling some notes into the pad on her lap. Ron had crossed his arms around his chest and was looking at Luna doubtfully, who seemed to be completely unruffled by the scowl. Harry, however, had tilted his head to regard her strangely, as if he'd never seen her before. He looked as if he were either going to start laughing or break into pieces. It unnerved her.

“Well,” Hermione said,” if nobody has any problems then I'd say we can just split up into pairs and decide when to meet within our little groups. Now,” Hermione fished for a calendar that she had stowed in her bag, “there are ten weeks before Christmas holidays; let's say that we take the nine weeks for group work and meet back on the Friday night before everyone leaves for home?”

There was another general murmur of assent and then everyone began moving towards their partner. On her way to a blushing Neville, Ginny sidelined Hermione. “What are you on about partnering me with him? I mean, Neville's sweet and all, but—” Ginny cast a hooded gaze over to where Harry was straightening up, chuckling at something Dean had said and smiling at Parvati.

“Come on, Gin,” Hermione said softly, “you and Harry broke up six months ago. It would just be awkward and uncomfortable if you tried to talk to each other about those sorts of things. Same thing with me and Ron. Things are … easier this way.”

Ginny nodded gravely, and then composed her face before heading over to Neville with a winning smile. Ron was staring at her from across the room as Luna chattered happily about being more than willing to work around his prefect duties and Quidditch practice.

“Hermione …”

Harry's voice surprised her and she squeaked in surprise, upsetting the bottle of ink she had been stowing in her bag so that it splashed across her jumper.

“Blast!” she growled, and muttered “Scourgify.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, “I didn't mean to startle you.”

“That's all right,” she replied without raising her eyes. “So when would you like to get together for our first meeting as a pair?”

Harry ignored her question. “Why did you pair us up, Hermione? Ron—”

“Oh, I thought it only too appropriate,” she gabbled over his sentence, “Head Boy, Head Girl, you know. Rather like those old American Muggle movies about the cheerleader and the head athlete, you know, and—”

“You're not afraid of what Ron will say?” Harry asked over top of her stream of words. After a moment of silence from Hermione, Harry put out his hand and turned her chin so she was forced to meet his eye.

She squirmed for a minute under his gaze but steeled herself. “No,” she lied confidently. “After the way he's behaved for the last few months, I would really feel uncomfortable asking him those sorts of questions.”

Harry nodded, but there was something odd in his expression.

“Besides,” she continued a little softer, “I trust you Harry.”

“Mmm,” he said absently, his face unreadable. “Trust. Right. Well, I trust you too, Hermione.”

Hermione waited, sensing there was more he needed to say; when it didn't come, however, she found the measure of his gaze uncomfortable. “So,” she said brightly, “when should we meet?”

“As soon as possible,” Harry answered and smiled. “I've lots to ask.”

“Excellent,” she said, trying to keep her curiosity from putting questions to him already. “How about this coming Thursday night then? Right after Quidditch practice?”

“Perfect,” Harry said and then strode out the door quickly.

-->

4. The Question Warrants Further Study

A/N – Here it is, chapter four. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it. BTW, you will see here that I have made it clear that this includes Half-Blood Prince. I should warn you though: as this is mostly PWP and silly, fluffy PWP at that, I will include details from Half-Blood Prince, I will take liberty with them as I see fit. So if you’re a strict constructionist and plan on flaming me for wiggling around with the details, don’t bother. I know that not all of them are strictly accurate and I don’t care. Take it in the fun spirit it’s meant. Thanks and enjoy!

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

Chapter Four – The Question Warrants Further Study

Hermione was inattentive to say the least in her Potions class that morning. Her head had been buzzing with questions and confusion since Saturday when Harry had said he had lots to ask. Her nerves jangled as she distractedly chopped roots for her Sleeping Draught potion.

What questions could Harry have to ask her of all people? Would she be able to answer them? What if she didn’t know the answer; would he ask for another partner? What could he possibly have to ask her that he couldn’t ask the whole group? Honestly, it stood to reason, didn’t it, that if he was going to ask someone a question regarding being a girl, shouldn’t he ask someone he actually considers a girl? And he certainly didn’t look at her as if she had any distinctly female parts when—

“Hermione, if you don’t mind what you’re doing, you’re going to leave a gouge that can’t be patched,” Harry said, jerking Hermione out of her train of thought that had currently resembled a bullet liner.

Her head popped up as she regarded Harry – his face thick with a smirk – and then she looked back to her chopping. She had, in her distraction, allowed her knife to drift away from the roots she’d been dicing and was now scoring the desktop beneath her right hand in swift, jagged strokes. Hermione gasped in surprise, reddening in the cheeks as she received a pointed glance from Slughorn, who would unknowingly make a fool of her if he found her doing something this ridiculous. Hermione chided herself as she tried to repair the damage to her roots and surreptitiously repair the table with her wand. She’d have to be a little more composed if she was going to make it through today and tomorrow’s lessons before her meeting with Harry tomorrow night, post-Quidditch. She was mentally ticking off a few questions to write down for tomorrow when she felt a tap on her shoulder and she squealed in surprise.

“Potter,” Pansy Parkinson jeered from across the room, “can’t you refrain from goosing your Mudblood pet during lessons? It’s distracting to those of us who are actually studious workers.”

Harry glowered in response and opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione grabbed his arm in warning. He grumbled a bit instead and went back to his potion, whose light green surface was gently sparkling.

“You’re awfully jumpy today,” he said as he counted the strokes of his wooden stirring spoon. “Nervous?”

Hermione’s throat tightened in panic at the idea that he could so easily guess her distraction. But then she noticed he was glaring at Pansy. “What her?” she responded as easily as she could. “That little cow is just looking for any reason to restore her boyfriend’s name by sullying yours. No worries; I could brew this potion in my sleep.”

“Which is good, considering the amount of attention you’ve been giving it,” Harry said with a smirk, earning him a playful slap on the arm.

“You’re really enjoying being a better student than me without the Half-Blood Prince fiasco, aren’t you?” Hermione returned with a mischievous grin.

“You know it,” Harry replied. “I hate to sound like a traitor, but it’s much easier doing the tough ones without Ron here.”

Hermione scowled, her hands instinctively flying to her hips. “I told him that if he’d just apply himself, he could’ve past that final exam last year with flying colors! If he put half as much time and effort into his studies as he does into Quidditch practice and strategy, he could have done so much better. Honestly, I don’t understand how anyone who can understand flight patterns and such could be so awful at—”

Harry dropped his wooden spoon and threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “Peace, General Granger, peace!” Harry smiled. “Hermione, when are you going to let that tirade go? Those tests were six months ago, and who knew Slughorn would be so tough about letting people continue in N.E.W.T.’s classes?”

Hermione muttered to herself as she turned back to her potion, complaining that it wasn’t shimmering the way that the textbook had said it should be doing at this stage.

“I wasn’t talking about Pansy, though,” Harry said as he tossed in the last potion ingredient. Hermione looked at him; he seemed to be trying to be casual, but was failing; his face was reddening just a bit and his hands faltered. “I was wondering if you were nervous about tomorrow night.”

Hermione concentrated hard on the spoon she was stirring with and forced cheerfulness into her voice. “No, of course not,” she said brightly. Harry nodded.

“Okay, a little,” she conceded after a moment.

Harry grinned sheepishly. “Me, too.”

“Silly really,” Hermione said, as much to herself as to him. Her hands worked themselves into a steady rhythm as she stirred and counted.

“I mean, it’s not as if it’s some stranger,” she said, her voice gaining confidence. Harry just nodded. “And it’s only questions and all.”

Another nod.

There was some silence between them as they worked on their potions. Harry cleared his throat a few times, but smiled over at her as she began mumbling about shimmer again. Harry laughed outright as she scowled into the cauldron.

“Come on, blast you,” she muttered. “Shimmer! It’s not that hard!”

Hermione looked back up at Harry as he chuckled. He picked up a flagon from his desk and carefully ladled a dollop of the potion into the bottle. Muttering a quick charm as he stoppered it, the panel on the front emblazoned itself with his name. He had become much more composed these days; serious and studious, Harry had grown up. She blushed as she wondered just what else growing up had done for Harry.

“Look there, you’ve got it after all!” Harry said, pleased and pointing to her potion. Over the lip of the cauldron, Hermione could see a delicate glittering steam rising.

“Shimmer,” Hermione said with a grin.

“See, you’re just a late bloomer,” Harry responded and wandered off towards the front of the class with his beaker.

Hermione frowned in spite of herself as she too stoppered a beaker of potion and neatly penned her name on the front in crisp, careful letters. First her mother and now Harry with that phrase.

“Late bloomer,” she muttered in frustration. Oh, we’ll just see who’s a late bloomer, Hermione thought, and a delicate, just slightly wicked plan wound its way into her mind. Hermione Granger was determined to be a late bloomer no more. If only she could pull it off …

*****

“Blast!” Hermione muttered as her quill dribbled ink all over her lips and chin. She’d been nibbling on the nib of her quill as her hand dangled over top of the parchment she was pretending contained her Arithmancy essay; apparently her mind had wandered far enough from the essay she was supposedly writing that she began to chew on the quill in full force, the result being the ink that smeared her chin when the tip splintered beneath her teeth. She swiped the back of her hand across her chin without thinking and then swore in frustration when she realized that this had only served to smear the ink from its channel down the side of her lip and jaw into a veritable river that now covered both her lips and the far side of her face. Hermione scowled and dropped her head into her outstretched hands. And then shrieked in anger when she realized the ink had been transferred, now, from her hands to splotches across her forehead.

Ron guffawed loudly as she crumpled the paper in front of her, broke her quill and threw it into the fire in an angry fit. His laughing stopped abruptly, however, when she reached across the table and used his Defense Against the Dark Arts homework to blot the stains off of her forehead. He snatched it back quickly and started to smirk again as she gathered up a section of her robes to remove the marks from her chin.

“Bad day?” he asked with a smirk.

“Shut it,” she snapped, but couldn’t help the smile that melted across her face as he leaned back in his chair and surveyed her.

“Didn’t realize you were getting so worked up over that Arithmancy job,” he said. “Let it go and do something else for a bit, eh? That’ll help.”

Hermione’s pride twitched at being told study tips from one Ronald Weasley and she couldn’t help her hackles rising again. “Oh and you’re such an expert. Tell me again why you’re not out practicing Quidditch with Harry and Ginny? Don’t think you’re up to it tonight, do they?”

For a moment anger flitted across his face, but then he resettled in his chair. “In a lovely mood, aren’t you?” he replied. “No, they’re just training up the new Chasers and doing some maneuvers. It’s not a full practice, just a brush up. They said having a keeper out there would be a waste.”

“Hmm,” Hermione answered. She knew she shouldn’t be picking at him, it wasn’t his fault she was jumpy. But she just couldn’t settle on anything, especially not homework. Of course, she wasn’t actually doing homework; not that Ron knew that. She was jotting down a few questions, tips, and ideas to bring up tonight in her meeting with Harry. But if she didn’t get through the next half-hour until he was done on the pitch, it wouldn’t matter.

After a few moments of silence in which Hermione jotted down a few more questions for Harry, Ron finally lifted his head from his homework and stared at her.

“What?”

“What’s really bothering you, Hermione?” Ron asked.

When she raised her head, Hermione looked back into Ron’s hazel eyes and was surprised at the amount of concern there. She wasn’t certain how to word the situation to him without his getting upset, so she merely opened her mouth to rebut.

“And don’t say, ‘nothing,’” he said before she could speak. “I can see it; you’re practically twitching with nervousness.”

Hermione chewed on the bottom of her lip for a moment before looking Ron in the eye. “You promise you won’t be … you?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that last part and say that I promise not to be upset.”

Hermione smiled a bit. “I’m meeting with Harry tonight. For the group thing.”

A flash of his typical stormy anger crossed his face for a moment but he composed himself. “Oh.” He cleared his throat a bit before continuing. “Well, yeah, I could see how that would make you nervous.”

“Ron, I—”

“It’s all right, Hermione,” he said, holding up a hand. “I’m not angry any more.”

She paused a moment to make sure she’d heard correctly. “Are you sure?”

“Well, not entirely, but I can understand why you didn’t partner with me.”

“Really?” Hermione asked, astonished. She wasn’t 100% certain she understood herself; sure, the reason she gave Ginny was viable, she just wasn’t certain that was the whole reason.

“Yeah,” Ron said, “I do understand. It’s … okay.” He still looked troubled for a moment, but then grinned. “I suppose you’ll have an easier time of it than I will with old Loony Lovegood.”

Hermione smiled and opened her mouth to retort something in Luna’s defense, but a loud commotion coming from the portrait hole cut off her response. Ginny and the two beaters trooped in, Ginny telling a spectacular story of a dive she had made during a previous practice, complete with sound effects and wild hand gestures. Behind them, Harry followed, quiet but with an amused smile on his face, carrying his broomstick and a sodden towel. Large splotches of gritty mud covered all four of them and all appeared soaked to the skin.

“Rough practice?” Ron called out to the group.

Harry smiled and made a ‘so-so’ hand gesture. “The pitch was soaked from the rain and Jack,” Harry cast a dark look in the direction of the younger player, “slipped off his broom half-way through a maneuver. It’s a bit more difficult to catch falling people than a Snitch. Quaffle got covered in mud, so we got covered in mud and then Ginny—” Harry stopped in the middle of his sentence and cast an eye between Hermione and Ron. “Eh, I’ll tell you about it all later. Wretched mess.”

Harry started up the stairs, pulling his Quidditch robes and sweater over his head as he went. He stopped at the top of the staircase and leaned over the rail, bare-chested, to call down to Hermione. “I’m going to hit the bathroom and clean up a bit. Meet you in the Room of Requirement in about an hour, all right?”

Hermione nodded mutely as Harry drifted away into his room and then returned in his dressing gown, a towel and change of clothes in his hands. She barely noticed that he waved to her on his way out. Something stuck in her windpipe as she tried to resume normal activity. Her whole throat had closed off as she had watched Harry hang over the balcony without a shirt on. She wasn’t sure exactly what, but something flip-flopped wildly in her stomach as she packed up her belongings and got ready to meet Harry in the Room of Requirement. She wasn’t sure she could go ahead with her plan any longer.

On a dim level, she knew she could back out of it and he’d be none the wiser, but she couldn’t decide whether seeing Harry half-naked made her want to back out of the plan, or proceed more forcefully than she had before. With reddened cheeks and a racing heart, Hermione strode out of Gryffindor Tower and out towards the Room of Requirement.

*****

Hermione looked around in nervous surprise at the room that had materialized before her. She had expected the return of the meeting room that they had used for their group discussions the first two times, but, while there were distinct similarities between the two, it seemed that she had walked into a completely different room. Which, in essence, she had. And she couldn’t put her finger on why it surprised and unsettled her so much, but she couldn’t seem to stop fidgeting as she walked the space.

It was much smaller, of course, but the room felt more expansive and accommodating than it actually was. The bay window appeared at the back of the room again, with a similar selection of books, although the curtain surrounding the window now appeared in front of the panes of glass – presumably to shut out possible in-lookers – instead of in front of the seat itself. A large fireplace covered almost the entirety of the right-hand wall of the room, heating the space nicely without being overpowering. A collection of antique bottles, whose contents Hermione could only guess at, covered the mantle of the fireplace. Hermione turned to walk the other side of the room.

She dropped her bag into one of the sturdy wooden chairs that flanked a carved tea table just large enough for the two of them. On top of the table were a set of dual silver inkwells, some blank parchment and, to Hermione’s surprise, a calendar chart reading “Week One” with space to fill in “Day’s activities.” Unnerved that the room seemed already to be preparing for her ideas regardless of whether Harry went along with it or not, she continued moving about the room. Once she circled away from the table that had been set closer to the door on the left-hand side, Hermione discovered a cozy little alcove she had skipped over before. On the thick red wallpaper behind the table was a set of clothes hooks, presumably for cloaks that they might be wearing, but, oddly, beneath them were a series of shelves, most of which were empty. They looked similar to the shelves in her closet at home that she placed her sweaters on. The bottom two shelves boasted of a set of soft blue flannel sheets and a thick chenille blanket. Hermione smiled. Certainly, the room would get drafty if there was a big window at the back, and it was very considerate that blankets had already been laid out. Certainly, they wouldn’t be sitting at the table all the time.

With a grin on her face, Hermione moved to the last corner of the room she had yet to explore. Just behind the shelves on the wall, a thick velvet curtain jutted out, partitioning the last part of the room off from what seemed to be the more formal portion. When Hermione pulled back the curtain, she felt her heart begin to race again. She couldn’t be quite certain why, but the sight of the large, plush couch made her jumpy. It had been angled towards the center of the room, presumably to catch more warmth from the fire. The thick cushioned back seemed to turn from fuchsia to crimson to purple and back again in the flickering light from the fire, and, for reasons Hermione felt somewhat unsure of, she felt the need to light the sconces around the room and dispel some of the atmosphere of … whatever it was that this room was creating. She pulled the curtain back around the couch area and returned to pull the tea table towards the center of the room. For a moment, she simply just sat in her chosen chair at the table and stared at the dark mahogany top, wondering if she could actually go through with what she had planned.

*****

After a few minutes of complete silence, Hermione shook herself to sanity and then began carefully writing out a series of questions, issues and problems that she had hoped to discuss with Harry sometime over the next 9 weeks. She knew that many of them were complicated or delicate questions that they would have to work up to – to ask them now would only cause embarrassment, she was certain – but hopefully Harry would be more mature about this than most of the other boys, so she was reasonably certain that eventually her questions would get answered. And then maybe she wouldn’t have to resort to that other plan.

Hermione looked down ruefully at her list and the manner in which it had been organized. Most of the questions were of a non-specific, general nature. She had reasoned that it would be best to ask questions that were more broadly based to avoid the possibility of embarrassment due to invasion of personal privacy. Being most pleased with her success on that front, Hermione folded her list and her hands atop it, waiting for Harry to arrive.

A few minutes later, the door to the Room of Requirement swung open to admit Harry. His hair still damp in places and his cheeks rosy from a warm shower, Harry moved easily across the room, scanning it as he went, and smiled to Hermione. After a precursory walk around the small space, Harry deposited his towel in one of the wooden shelves behind Hermione’s chair and plunked down across from her, a small smile painting his face.

Hermione felt her cheeks warming to match his as she caught the scent of the spicy new bubble bath in the Prefects’ bathroom and the lemony shampoo she often chose to use herself. Flustered by this new reaction to Harry – Hermione chalked it up to the knowledge of the topic at hand – it was a moment before she gained her tongue enough to talk.

“Well then,” she said and cleared her throat, “I suppose we should get right to it, yeah? Are you … prepared?”

Harry shifted nervously but plunged a hand into the pocket of his bottle green dressing gown and produced a sheaf of parchment, covered with Harry’s scrawling hand and splotched a bit with watermarks. “Revised a bit after thinking things over in the bath,” Harry answered in response to her raised eyebrow.

For a minute or two, they both just stared at each other and then down at their lists in alternating stints. Finally, Harry mustered his courage and spoke. “Well, I … I guess the best place to begin would be to ask … well, how does a—a woman know that she’s attracted to a fellow?”

Hermione looked away for a moment. “You mean physically attracted? How does she know?”

Harry nodded.

“Well, it’s different for every lady but I ….” She cleared her throat a bit and then steeled her courage. This question and answer nonsense had been her idea, after all, hadn’t it? “I usually get little jumps and skips in here,” she laid a hand over top of her heart, “and I feel all nervous and fluttery. And my cheeks usually get hot and I can’t stop fidgeting or smiling, and sometimes I feel like I’ve just had a whole load of sugary candy and—” Hermione let her voice die off. She was very aware of the way Harry was looking at her. She knew her cheeks must be red enough for him to notice by now, and she hadn’t stop fingering the quill she’d laid by the parchment. She tried to get a hold of herself. “Does that answer your question?”

“Well, erm, sort of.” Harry smiled a bit. “Well, not really. I meant, how does a lady know that she’s excited?”

When Hermione merely tilted her head to the side questioningly, Harry sighed. “It’s a bit more obvious for us boys, you see …” He gestured vaguely over his lap and it was a moment before Hermione took his meaning.

“Oh,” she said quietly, and then, “Oh! You mean, how do we know we’re,” Hermione forced the word out, “aroused?”

Harry blushed crimson, but nodded.

“Well, as I said, it’s different for every lady, but …” Hermione floundered for a moment as she searched for a mature way to explain it without being mortified or getting the giggles.

“Do you remember the anatomy chart of the whole female body I made for the first class?” Without waiting for Harry’s answer, she steamed on. “You see, when we start getting excited, our whole bodies heat up and we get kind of jittery and warm. And then, well, this usually happens when it’s cold, but you see our, erm, nipples get sort of … hard, I suppose you could say, but not hard really in a sense of wood or metal obviously, but more in the sense of tightened flesh really, and then we get sort of tingly in the region of—”

Hermione realized with sudden clarity that she was babbling incessantly and Harry was so embarrassed that he had practically dropped his head to the table. “This isn’t going to work at all, is it?” Hermione said suddenly.

Harry’s head perked up and he returned her gaze alarmedly. Almost panicked. “What do you mean?”

Hermione sighed. “Well, I thought at first that we could just ask questions of a general nature and answer them as we know best without getting too specific. If we could avoid using personal anecdotes or examples, you see, we could avoid getting embarrassed.”

Harry nodded and smiled weakly but said nothing.

“But I can see now that it isn’t going to work.”

Harry seemed startled and, given the amount he had been seemingly embarrassed, most unaccountably disappointed. “Well, we shouldn’t just give up, should we? I mean, I still have a lot of things I wanted to ask and have answered and all and … well, I know it’s embarrassing, but it’s too important to let that get in the way isn’t it? You said so yourself.”

Hermione pondered this and rested her chin on her upturned hand, her elbow poised over top of her list of questions. “Oh, I’m not suggesting that we abandon the effort completely, I’m just saying that I don’t think this question lark is going to work really. I hate to admit I’m wrong, but there it is.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. She could tell that he was beginning to see her point, but completely baffled at whatever it was she might be suggesting to remedy the problem. Hermione sighed. She had circled back to her original plan – the one that she had secretly hoped she wouldn’t have to use – and found that it was really the only thing that would answer their issues for all and good.

“What are you suggesting?” Harry asked slowly.

“Field research,” Hermione said after a moment. “I think it’s the only way to really set things straight. Find out for sure.”

“What do you mean, ‘field research’?”

Hermione leaned across the table and looked Harry straight in the eyes. “I think we’re just going to have to get to the heart of sex by doing it all ourselves, Harry. Field research.”

*****

Harry had merely sat across from Hermione, his mouth gaping open, as she scrawled down a precursory calendar. She was mumbling to herself, grimacing as she added things and scratched things out.

“Well, this is no good,” she said after a few moments. “In order to get a really thorough look at everything, I’m going to have to go back through my textbooks, make a list of activities we should cover and then portion them out throughout the rest of the nine weeks. If we started each different category of action with one meeting early in the week – preferably Sundays, there’s less to do – then we could call another meeting later in the week if we felt anything needed more explanation, and we could have a week to perfect each category—”

“Field research,” Harry mumbled, as if he’d heard nothing else Hermione had said. Suddenly, Harry practically shouted at her. “Hermione, you can’t be serious! You’re not suggesting that I … that you.... You mean to say that you think we should do all those things? With each other?”

“Well, yes,” she replied calmly. “An academic project, if you want to look at it that way. We’d be exploring the subject together because it is necessary to do so in pairs and reporting our findings together. It’s really not all that different from Potions or Divination; you must do in order to learn!” She smiled at her own logic; it really did make the most sense.

“It’s a lot different than Potions or Divination! You … I,” Harry sputtered. “Don’t you realize what you’re suggesting? You’re saying that we should … and we’d have to be … naked and all!”

Hermione raised her eyebrows and beamed at the fact that she no longer blushed. “Well, naturally; that’s the only way to go about it properly.”

“Hermione, you know that if your little ‘project’ goes off as necessary we’d actually have to,” Harry paused to clear his throat, “have sex, you and I?”

Hermione drew a few even breaths. “I know it sounds like I’m asking a lot, but honestly, think about it as a sort of learning project. First of all, we approach this subject because we want to learn. Secondly,” Harry tried to interrupt, but Hermione held up a hand to stop him and continued, “think about all the stories you’ve heard about people’s first time with their fellow or their girlfriend. They’re all wretched, aren’t they? And all because people our age really don’t know what they’re going on about with their bits and their partner’s bits and it’s all just a great big old mess. Now, if you think of what we’re endeavoring to do, we would be sacrificing our virginities to each other, true; but in the long run, it would be a sacrifice well spent. We learn to … work the bugs out, I guess you would say, with each other and then we each won’t be a big, silly twit when we want to have a go with someone we really love and want to do it with. If you look at it that way, it really does make much more sense than trying to piece together information from questions we may or may not think to ask, doesn’t it?”

Harry opened his mouth for a moment, but then shut it. Hermione lost her serenity for a moment as Harry’s gaze swept over her – strangely probing and inscrutable – and she fell silent as he regarded the table top. Finally, when she was nearly certain he wouldn’t speak again and nearly packed away her list, Harry nodded.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said. “It’s just … weird.”

“I know,” Hermione said sympathetically, and patted Harry’s hand. “But look at it this way: it’s just me. We’ve known each other for almost seven years now; if there’s anyone I trust, it’s you. And I know you trust me. So we’re both in good hands, really.”
Harry nodded again silently, picking at a groove in the table and staring intently at his finger’s work. Eventually he raised his head and spoke quietly.

“Given the circumstances,” he whispered, “I guess there’s nobody better I could trust to do this with me.”

Hermione smiled and laid her hand on top of his. Without looking directly into her eyes, he flipped his hand over to grip hers, palm to palm. Hermione felt curious warmth from the contact, but spoke nothing of it. She thought Harry’s hand twitched just a bit in hers, so she decided to say something cheery.

“Well,” she said with a grin in her voice that drew his eyes to her own, “we’ve got the first step down anyhow. Holding hands would be the first step.”

Harry grinned at her and tightened his hand in hers. “I hope you know what you’re getting the two of us into.”

Hermione returned his squeeze and winked at him cheekily. “We’ll find out, won’t we?”

5. To Touch Upon a Delicate Topic

Chapter Five – To Touch Upon a Delicate Topic

Hermione marched into the common room, her head held high and a proud smile on her lips. She wasted no time in moving over to where Harry was, grouped in front of the fire with Ron, Ginny and Neville, in the semi-circle of their favorite armchairs. Harry and Neville looked up as she came near.

“Well, it’s taken a few days, but I’ve finally worked out a plan, Harry,” Hermione said, and moved to hand him the calendar she’d drawn up.

Harry hastily rose from the armchair and all but knocked it over in his haste to grab the sheaf of paper before anyone else could see its contents. “Excuse us,” Harry muttered to the other three and steered Hermione by the upper arm to a quieter corner by the windows.

“Hermione,” he said after looking around for possible listeners, “I know that you’ve decided this is merely an academic quest, but perhaps it would be best if we kept our studies to ourselves, all right?”

“Of course, Harry,” Hermione said brusquely, but her cheeks pinkened as she spoke. “Now, as you’ll see—” she pointed to the schedule of lessons, “—I’ve worked out a time for everything. A week per subject grouping. And as we’re a bit pressed for time, given everything I think we should include in our study, we’ll have to start with a bit of a lesson tonight – just preliminary stuff, really – and then proceed onto the next week’s lessons tomorrow. We did say that Sunday was the best day to start each new lesson, didn’t we?”

Harry hadn’t answered. Actually, it was Hermione who had decided pretty much everything, but he didn’t fancy starting a row just to point that out. He did recognize that there didn’t seem to be any other sensible approach to the matter, but it still made him a bit nervous. After a moment he remembered that she’d asked him a question and he managed to nod. He looked down again at the small, neat handwriting that Hermione had used to lay out their plan for the next nine weeks.

1. 21 October – Week I: Non-sexual touch/contact

2. 22 October – Week II: Closed-mouthed kissing

3. 29 October – Week III: open-mouthed, tongue kissing/”making out”

4. 5 November – Week IV: Over-the-clothes touching/fondling

5. 12 November – Week V: Mutual Masturbation/sexual exhibition

6. 19 November – Week VI: Under-the-clothes/skin-on-skin touching, Partner-based hand stimulation – Harry receive

7. 26 November – Week VII: Under-the-clothes/skin-on-skin touching, Partner-based hand stimulation – Hermione receive

8. 3 December – Week VIII: Oral sex

9. 10 December – Week IX: Intercourse

10. 22 December – Final Group Meeting; discussion of findings

Harry’s stomach felt as if it had dropped away completely and suddenly thought he might die from sheer embarrassment. “I don’t know how you can be so normal about all of this,” he said weakly. “It doesn’t make you nervous even a little?”

Hermione opened her mouth, but Harry cut her off.

“Never mind,” he said, raising a hand and sighing. “I know, I know … think of it as a school project; I trust you … blah blah blah …”

Hermione’s mouth pinched tightly shut and she bit her lip to keep back and angry tirade. After a few deep breaths, she calmly replied, “Now, as I said, we have to cover a bit of ground right away. I planned it so we’d have an extra week or so at the end to—” For the first time, Harry saw a tick of nervousness in her face, “perfect things, if need be. So I’d like to get started right away. Are you busy this evening?”

Harry looked quickly towards the fireplace where Ron, Ginny and Neville were now trying desperately to pretend they weren’t interested in what the two had been talking about so secretly for so long. Harry looked back at the list, and wondered if he’d make it through Saturday night without worry if he didn’t agree to meet her.

“No, I’m not busy,” he said at last. “It’s probably safest to meet in the Room of Requirement, right?”

Hermione nodded. “But I don’t think we should dart away just yet; it would arouse a lot of suspicion. Maybe in an hour or two? When more people have gone to dinner?”

Harry tried to pretend his stomach hadn’t dropped away again when she used the word “arouse.” He nodded and looked at his watch. “It’s 5:30 now … let’s say we’ll meet at 7:30, after dinner.”

“Right then,” Hermione said brightly and practically bounded away towards the fireplace and pulled up a chair next to Ginny. Harry leaned back against the window sill for a moment and watched her as she talked animatedly with his fire-haired ex-girlfriend. This might just be the stupidest thing he’d ever agreed to.

*****

Harry thought he might have to stop in a bathroom to throw up more than once on his way to the Room of Requirement. It was just … odd. The whole situation. First of all, the idea of doing anything like what was planned with Hermione was just strange. He reasoned with himself that teenagers did this sort of thing all the time, and that it was really nothing all that unusual. In fact, tonight’s lesson on hand-holding and cuddling and that sort of thing was even far below what he’d had experience with himself. He’d gotten quite a bit further than just hand-holding with Ginny. So why did it bother him so much then?

It all came back to Hermione. It was the fact that he’d be doing it all with Hermione. And though Ron seemed not to have noticed she was a female until fourth year, Harry had certainly noticed and thought that he treated her accordingly. He had never really stopped to consider Hermione having sex and things – the thought was too strange to entertain – but it wasn’t as if he considered her incapable. The plain matter of the fact was that he just couldn’t imagine Hermione Granger doing all that groping and kissing sort of stuff. Hermione was just not the sort of girl who did any of those sorts of things. She was too … good, maybe. Smart, perhaps. She was above all that nonsense.

He found that he was sweating lightly as he walked down the hall and scrubbed his hands across his face and the back of his neck as he moved. He really had to get a grip on himself. Whatever he thought of Hermione and whether or not she should be shagging people, he had to get used to the idea that she would be shagging him in a matter of weeks. It was just the only thing to be done, really. And if he couldn’t even stop fidgeting at the idea of holding her hand, how was he ever to manage other things?

“Stop it,” he said out loud, looking down at his shaky fingers. “It’s just Hermione, and it’s just holding and cuddling and that sort of thing. She’s hugged you before, this is no different.”

A few deep breaths outside the door to the Room of Requirement settled his stomach enough that he didn’t feel he was going to make a fool of himself. He just couldn’t seem to get a hold of why he was so nervous about this whole thing. It was just Hermione, after all.

He walked inside, his hands still sweating just a tad, but his heartbeat slowed from a gallop to a steady trot. He could handle this. He could handle Hermione Granger, thank you very much.

*****

“See? Not so bad,” Hermione said gently as they sat on the sofa towards the back of the room. Harry was smiling – awkwardly and a bit nervously, but he was smiling – and Hermione squeezed his hand just a little bit.

“It’s just your hand, Hermione. We’ve touched before. No big deal.”

Harry’s voice cracked just a tiny bit as he said it, but as Hermione had not acknowledged that fact, Harry allowed himself to lean back against the couch. Hermione followed suit. Sensing that the whole thing made him jumpy for reasons she could not discern, Hermione tried a different route. She started talking easily about her day, engaging Harry in discussions about a few class assignments, a laughing invective about the quality of the lamb chops for dinner, asking him more about Quidditch practice for the day. As Harry began to focus more on the conversation, the easy back and forth about the events of the day and classes for tomorrow, she felt his hand relax within hers. He had been wound as tightly as a coiled bedspring when he came in, but as he sank into a typical conversation between the two friends, she felt him ease with the situation. At several points in the conversation, he even raised their joined hands and used hers to gesture pointedly in his story about Quidditch. Hermione smiled. Perhaps she wasn’t as ‘girly’ as Lavender or Parvati or even Ginny, but woman’s intuition was not entirely foreign to her.

A draft swept the room with a gust of air outside, and Hermione shivered. Without pausing in her comments on his story, Hermione inched closer to Harry and, seemingly without thought, Harry laced an arm over her shoulder. They talked for another few minutes or so before Harry seemed to realize what had happened. His arm stiffened against her shoulder, but, to Hermione’s satisfaction, he did not remove it. Harry kept talking, a little stiffly now and his arm tense.

When his conversation dropped off, Hermione looked up into his face and said, “See how easy that was? Nothing to be afraid of. As natural as anything, right?”

Harry nodded but couldn’t seem to make himself relax. The problem was that it had been easy. Perhaps a little too easy. This was Hermione after all. And when she curled herself against his chest – if Harry hadn’t known this was Hermione, he would have used the word “snuggle;” Hermione Granger just didn’t “snuggle” Harry Potter – he found it all too easy to just let his arm wrap underneath hers, his finger absently stroking her elbow.

“Easy,” he said quietly. “You’re right.”

Hermione’s heart was pounding wildly, mostly because she felt Harry’s skip nervously within his chest, underneath her hands. She sat up a little. “I know that this is a little strange, Harry. It’s okay if you’re not entirely comfortable with it.”

At a note of something in her voice, he didn’t know what but it was something different, Harry turned slightly to look at her without removing his arm from her shoulder. “It’s not,” Harry started uncertainly. “It’s not that I’m uncomfortable with you, Hermione; it’s just that this isn’t anything that I’d imagined we’d ever be doing. I mean, not the touching and the hand-holding and things. That’s the easy part. It’s the … other stuff, you know.”

Hermione nodded. “I know, Harry. It’s odd because we’ve been best friends for so long and our relationship has always been so different from this sort of thing. I know it’s strange. Well, I won’t tell you to ignore the fact that we’re friends, because that’s what’s going to make us able to share these sorts of things, but maybe ….”

For a moment, Hermione trailed off to collect her thoughts, and then she stood up suddenly and positioned herself standing in front of Harry at the couch. She offered him both of her hands to raise him to standing. When he stood, she pulled him closer to the fireplace and took a step away from him, breaking contact between their hands for the first time in almost an hour.

“I want you to look at me, Harry. I want you to look at me and not see Hermione that you met on the train when you were eleven and who has been beside you for all the stupid, crashing things you and Ron have gotten yourselves into for the last seven years. I want you to look at me – really look – and see Hermione Jane Granger, who’s an 18 year-old young woman who wants to know more about sex and who’s asked you to be her first lover.”

Harry’s heart seemed to have stopped, but he suddenly knew what she was asking. “Then you should look at me, too, Hermione. And you should look past Harry who you’ve had to fish out of trouble too many times and who’s copied your homework and who’s going to need your help to either protect or perish soon.” His voice caught oddly at this last, but Harry seemed determined to brush it away as Hermione’s face pinched with worry. “Forget all that. And just see Harry James Potter, a 17 year-old man who’s scared and curious, whom you’ve asked to be your first lover. And who accepted.”

For a moment, neither moved a hair. The room was still but for the crackle of the fireplace which heated their skin now and took the chill from the room. In that long moment that neither moved, Harry’s eyes were locked to Hermione’s, trying to decipher that language, so very foreign, that he saw in her eyes. But then his gaze moved across her face, took in her pale skin; the warm brown eyes themselves; her nose, long and turned up at the end; the heavy pink lips that covered white teeth, no longer too large in proportion. He took in the curve of her jaw, the long line of her thin neck, her broad but softly-rounded shoulders. Long fingers. Her figure and features were an odd jumbled of the parents he’d met a few times: her arms, nose and legs maybe a bit too long, like her father; her feet and shoulders maybe a bit too wide, like her mother; and with a hiccup in his throat he let his gaze drift across her hips and breasts, maybe just a touch too small for her frame. Hermione could not be called beautiful, really, but for the first time he saw what was there, and felt his face flush, his pulse quicken, and his heart stick in his throat. He took a step closer to her.

Hermione felt just the littlest bit dizzy as Harry approached her. Her gaze roamed across his form when he took his eyes from hers, and she saw, clearly maybe for the first time, what Ginny had talked about all those years back. Harry was not tall; he could never be called that, really. But he stood nearly a head above her, and his form was sleek underneath his clothing. He really was the perfect build for a Seeker: his frame was small but sturdy, broad-set shoulders and small hips, and with none of the gangly disproportion of most boys his age, none of the absurdly large feet or fingers. Nothing on Harry seemed out of place or order. His skin was pale and just the smallest bit pink, his eyes as clear as emeralds, and deep. He had a strong jaw and strong shoulders for all of his smaller build. She gazed down and smiled. Soft hands. She remembered, with a pleasant shiver, how soft they had felt against her palm, her shoulder. His legs were nicely muscled but not bulky and she was sure his chest would be the same, the tale of hours spent on his broomstick. She blushed as her eyes returned to his face and she wondered at the feel of those thin pink lips. What else had Ginny been right about?

When he moved forward and brought her into his arms, Hermione felt as if she’d been waiting for that moment all her life. She relaxed into his caress, smiling as his hands glided along her back. She raised her own and let them skim up across his arms, lacing around his neck and allowing one to droop down his shoulders, the other moving up into his hair. She did not have to fight to keep her breath slow and steady. It really did seem natural. So easy that when Harry’s head dipped to move his face into the hollow of her throat, she did not even have to think to glide her gaze up and place her forehead against his shoulders.

Harry was very nearly overwhelmed. It was easy. Again he thought perhaps far too easy, but when Hermione’s hand threaded gently into the wild tangle of his black waves, it seemed like the rightest thing in the world to drop his head to her shoulder and breathe in deep the scent of her skin. He didn’t even feel himself skitter at all when her lips pressed gently against his shoulder. He unconsciously moved up to nuzzle his nose against her ear, and the smell of her hair filled his head, completing whatever spell had settled upon them both. It was nearly another hour before either of them thought to untangle their limbs and walk back to the common room, and when they moved back towards Gryffindor Tower, Harry’s hand no longer shook as it took Hermione’s.

6. Loose Lips Sink Canon 'Ships

Chapter Six - Loose Lips Sink Canon `Ships

Hermione smiled as she leaned back from the Common Room table. Things had started out a bit awkward, but she was certain they'd gotten over the roughest patch, and that tonight's meeting would go much more smoothly. The content would prove an interesting step towards their final goal. She had already made her lesson plan for the evening, so now all there was to do would be to sit back and observe the results.

“Hermione!” A furious whisper rang through her thoughts.

Hermione looked up towards the end of the table to where Harry was bent over his Potions text, trying to appear as if he were working, but with his head cocked in her direction.

“Yes?” she responded calmly.

He leaned toward her but kept up the pretext of work. “You're impossible to get notice from when you're thinking, you know that?”

Because of the reproach in his voice, Hermione stiffened her chin and glared back. “Yes, Heaven forbid I actually think; especially as it was for your benefit.”

Harry's face lit with mischief. “Thinking of writing my Potions essay, were you? Please say you'll put me out of my misery.”

Hermione's glare intensified. “No,” she said with disdain, “actually, I was planning for tonight's lessons.”

“Oh,” he said quietly. There was a tick of nervousness in his face and he looked away before nodding. “Tonight then. What time?”

Hermione shrugged. She would have preferred to set a stationary meeting time, but was certain that it would look drastically suspicious to any Gryffindors who didn't already know about their “small study group of friends.” And the less that knew about that, the better; anyone who had not been to the meetings and saw Harry and Hermione regularly disappearing might assume that they had less than scholarly interests in mind. And while Hermione could honestly admit that she didn't care in the least - she'd dealt with such rumors during their fourth year from that awful Rita Skeeter - it was an aggravation that neither she nor Harry could really afford at this point.

“The later, the better, I think,” Hermione replied at length. She looked around the common room; it was full now, just before dinner, and wouldn't clear of people who could oversee them leaving until much later in the evening. “No need to arouse any unnecessary attention.”

“After curfew, then?” Harry said with a grin.

Hermione returned it. “Being Head Girl and Boy certainly does have marked advantages. None of the teachers would stop the two of us out after hours, so I'm sure we'll be safe.”

“Indeed we will. Eleven-thirty in the Room of Requirement? That all right?”

Hermione nodded absently. It would be a long night if she didn't even start her lesson with Harry until 11:30, but in the long run, she knew it would be worth it. She began to pack away her school work. There were nearly four hours until she would meet with Harry, but she definitely had some things to accomplish before then. She smiled at Harry, who settled back into his Potions essay, before dashing to the upstairs girls' dormitory. She was going to need to call in reinforcements.

*****

At 10:45, Hermione stood over a sink in the Prefects' Bathroom next to Ginny, a grayish pencil dangling perilously close to her eye, scowling at her reflection. A deep smudge skidded across her lid when she tried to hold her hand steady.

“Less is more, honey,” Ginny said with a frustrated huff. “Less is more.”

Hermione made a noise in her throat, charmed the smudge away and tried again.

“You know, this is much easier if you just do it with your wand.”

“I know, but I want to do it the real way, like my mother taught me,” Hermione said. “I never thought I'd actually use that lesson from when I was twelve, I'll tell you that.”

“Obviously,” Ginny said, smirking. “You're hopeless. Why are you suddenly interested in make-up anyhow? It isn't like you have a fellow, and you're really not so tragic looking that you need to put on make-up just to go to bed.”

Hermione grimaced at Ginny's reflection. “Thank you for that overwhelming vote of confidence. It just happens that I have an appointment tonight, and I want to look a little nicer than usual.”

“An appointment?” Ginny asked incredulously. “At this hour of night?” And then realization dawned on her face.

Hermione busied herself with applying a sweep of pinkish shadow (that belonged to Ginny) across her eyelids.

“You mean … you're meeting a boy, aren't you? Hermione, you little minx, I never would have imagined!” Ginny shook Hermione's shoulder and giggled. “No wonder you wanted my help to look decent for a change! You're going off to have a snog, aren't you?”

Hermione cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable at how close to the mark Ginny had come without knowing it. She made a non-committal noise and straightened up to do something about her hair.

“Who is it then?”

Hermione studiously ignored her and continued fussing with her golden brown tresses. She swept them up off her neck to assess the affect. It would be the most suitable, she thought, so as to keep the unruly strands from getting in the way. Ginny began tugging at her shoulder.

“Come on, after calling me up here to help, you have to tell me! I'm just dying to know who's finally good enough for you!”

Realizing that the ignoring trick wouldn't work (as Ginny's tugs had become impossible to ignore or shrug out of), Hermione took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips. “Don't get too excited; it's just Harry.”

Ginny froze. “Harry?” she asked dubiously. There was frost in her voice, though she tried hard to tamp it down. “Come on now, you don't really expect me to believe that after all this time, you decided to reopen that old shoebox. Especially given recent events with my brother.”

Hermione colored. “No,” she said quickly, “and I'd really thank you not to mention that unfortunate crush from a long time ago,” she emphasized the words heavily, “ever again. No, it's just our individual study pair meeting tonight.”

Ginny nodded, but then looked skeptical. “Then if it's just Harry, why all the fuss?” Wordlessly, Ginny moved behind Hermione to where she had been struggling with her curls and began to sweep the riot of strands up into a loose swirl at the back of her head. “Hermione?” she said when the girl had not responded.

Hermione felt her throat tighten. She didn't really want to admit why she was going through all this, but the two girls had been through enough, shared enough secrets. Ginny deserved to know. “It's for Harry's memories, you see.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Hermione said and then trailed off, sighing. “This is the first experience either of us has ever had with sex, and you know how dreadful most people say their first sex encounter is. I guess I just supposed that a teenager would have a better chance of remembering fondly if the person they're exploring with is someone pretty to look at. And Harry, of course, is quite lovely, but I… I'm—”

“Oh, Hermione,” Ginny said, wrapping her arms around the older girl's shoulders, “you're quite fine-looking, you know?”

Hermione sneered. “High praise, coming from the girl who said she'd come to help so I'd `look decent for a change.'”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” she said dismissively. “Besides, it's not as if you're actually sleeping with him or anything ridiculous like that.”

“No,” Hermione said a touch too quickly. The other girl didn't seem to have noticed.

“So why the fuss?”

Hermione shrugged, but checked her appearance regardless. “What about lipstick then?” she said quietly.

Ginny smiled. “Well, if it were me, I'd charm it on so it wouldn't come off on his face when you snog … but you won't be snogging, so I suppose it doesn't matter.”

“Thanks, Gin,” Hermione said, purposely forcing a sense of finality into her voice. Ginny, apparently, got the message without it being broadcast and waved to Hermione as she turned to leave.

When the door had swung shut behind the redhead, Hermione picked up her wand and pointed it gingerly at her lips.

*****

Even in his own mind, Harry hated the cliché that occurred to him, but nevertheless, it still surfaced: in that moment before Hermione's lips touched his own, the air seemed to hum with magic. There was something tangible in that nervous energy in the air and he felt all of his muscles twitch with it in that instant just before she pressed her lips against his. Her lips were soft, softer than he'd have imagined them to be. Once he was certain she wouldn't notice, he opened his eyes to regard her face. Her eyelids fluttered lightly as her breath rushed in, and Harry felt her bottom lip move just the tiniest bit against his. He felt his heartbeat skip just a bit and he felt a strange tingle race the length of his arms (folded uncertainly in his lap). She started pulling back away from the kiss and Harry quickly closed his eyes, unaccountably frightened of what her face might show.

When he opened his eyes, he looked straight back into the warm, cinnamon depths of Hermione's, strangely electrified by the unreadable expression there. She had not pulled away very far, so her face was large, looming across his field of vision. He studied her expression, inexplicably wanting to commit it to memory. She seemed pleasantly dazed. And then, with a crashing thud that was nearly audible, she went back to being the Hermione he had grown up with for seven years.

“Not bad, Harry, not bad. But perhaps this time, I think it would be better if you maybe tilted your head just a tad more to the right, and if you could try and put a bit more pressure with your lips. I think that would yield a bit better results, honestly, in the long run and—”

Hermione continued on this vein for several more minutes, discussing the finer points of kissing, but Harry had stopped listening after a moment or two. From all her bluster, you'd think she was the one who'd had snogging experience, which she'd said she hadn't. Not that Harry's experience had been all that extensive - only two girls, after all, and with Cho it had only happened the once - but he had kissed Ginny quite often and was reasonably sure he'd done a respectable job. She'd never complained, at least. But Harry just sat patiently, nodding his head at whatever Hermione regurgitated from the `reputable sources' that she said she had consulted. He had a suspicion they really were reputable journals of opinion, somehow, and not some Muggle women's magazine or something. And he was reasonably certain that's why it wasn't going as well as she'd like. It was all too clinical.

Eventually, he realized she'd stopped talking and was waiting for him to be ready to try again. Harry sat up straighter and Hermione leaned in towards him. Suddenly inspired, Harry threw up a hand between them and stopped her.

“What's the matter?” she asked, a slightly panicked look just disappearing behind her eyes.

“Nothing,” Harry responded, “just let me …”

He trailed off and there was confusion in her eyes, but as Harry reached a hand up to place at her cheek, she closed her mouth over top of whatever question she had been about to voice. He stroked his thumb gently across the low hollow of her face just above her jaw and he could see her breathing quicken just a touch as Harry leaned towards her and stopped with his lips suspended a few millimeters from hers. Her eyelids fluttered shut again, and when her lips dropped open just the tiniest bit and her breath caught in her mouth, Harry instinctively knew that this was the perfect moment. He ran his tongue lightly over his lips before pressing them against hers.

Hermione sighed out a breath against Harry's lips as he kissed her lightly and Harry felt his heartbeat begin to thud swiftly within his chest. His hand slipped past her cheek to gently press against the nape of her neck, pulling Hermione closer to his chest. As they leaned back against the arm of the fainting couch behind Harry, Hermione laced an arm each under Harry's shoulders and around his neck, bringing her chest flush against his. Harry's ears were roaring dully. Their lips moved apart just the tiniest bit as Harry tilted his head in the opposite direction, the tender skin clinging as their mouths opened; Harry tasted her exhaled breath, sweet like the caramel candy she'd had after dinner, before she closed her lips to press again against his.

Hermione's pulse began to race like a thoroughbred stallion just out of the gate at Ascot. She could barely think; her senses were clouding so fast. Given the fact that they'd been so close and quiet for so long last night, just savoring the feel of each other's bodies, she'd assumed that the exhilaration of nearness would have been absent - or, at least, much more manageable. She could see now just how wrong she was, and while her body leapt at the rediscovered euphoria, her mind whirled dizzily. They were merely pressing lips together - or were they? It seemed so much more than merely that - and this was her reaction; how could she ever stand to do more? She felt that she'd be torn apart by sensation. Harry was gently, almost absently, kneading the back of her neck with his hand, and when her body unconsciously pressed itself flat against his chest, she felt nearly sick with pleasant disorientation. And then it happened, and Hermione panicked. When Hermione had pressed into Harry's body, he had taken her at her mark and Hermione felt Harry's tongue trace just slightly across her bottom lip.

Warning! her mind shrieked. She wasn't ready for next week's lesson; not here, not now. Certainly not in this dizzy tailspin she was experience, before she'd prepared herself for what it would be like. She pushed away from Harry with both hands upon his chest, just short of the zeal that would have betrayed panic. She stood up and crossed the room, breathing easier with each inch of space that grew between them.

“Right, I think we've got it,” she said quickly. “Don't you?”

Harry opened his mouth, but Hermione charged on without allowing him a chance to answer.

“There's not much to it, closed-mouth kissing, is there? So I don't really think we need any more practice.”

Hysteria fought behind her eyes and though Harry saw it plainly, he marveled that she hid it better than usual. She was up and across the room so quickly he didn't even have a chance to stop her. This, he supposed, was most likely her plan, seeing as how she was wittering something at the speed of light and staring down at her bag as she packed away her lesson plan. Harry knew that she'd had at least another half-hour's worth of kissing practice on the schedule. What in the world had her so frightened that she wouldn't even look him in the eye?

“Well,” she said, nearly out of breath as she clutched her roll of parchment and backed towards the door, “I think we're done for the night. No need to meet later in the week, don't you think?”

That's all there was to it. She was scared. Harry wanted desperately to push her just a bit and find out why, but he knew somehow that if he did, they'd never get back whatever connection she'd unwittingly allowed out tonight. He nodded his head. For a moment before she left, he saw her fear drop just a bit and something else shone in her eyes. She walked back towards him.

“Perhaps though,” her voice was shaky for the first time as she neared him, “we should practice getting used to giving each other just little casual kisses? As a measure of comfort?”

Harry pondered it for a moment and forced a smile overtop of an odd feeling that had suddenly flushed his throat. “I think that would help, yes.”

Hermione's body hitched a little bit towards Harry, but she hesitated. Sensing the problem without her even expressing it, Harry closed the gap between them and laid a light, fleeting kiss on her lips and then drew back away from her.

She smiled weakly. “Goodnight, Harry.”

Harry watched her turn to leave. “Goodnight, Hermione,” he said. When the door clicked behind her, Harry collapsed back down onto the couch and laid a finger to his lips. Whatever had spooked Hermione, Harry was certain he'd find out. Soon enough.

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7. Hermione Makes Out Like a Bandit

Chapter Seven - Hermione Makes Out Like a Bandit

Harry lay awake in his bed at the top of Gryffindor Tower for most of the night. He couldn't quite seem to figure out just what in the bloody hell was going on with Hermione. It had been nearly five days since her odd flight from their last lesson, and she hadn't really behaved any less peculiarly. A kiss on his cheek whenever she entered or left the room (assuming there was no one to see her do so) had become her habit. She would give him these feather-light kisses and, though it had taken some getting used to on his part, receiving kisses on the cheek from him didn't seem to bother her either. But when he'd attempted, only twice, to take her lips, Hermione had practically run away in her haste to circumvent his efforts. Harry knew he hadn't done so very badly in kissing that she needed to run away, and, after all, this whole field research lark had been her idea in the first place.

Much as he tried, tossing within his bed, Harry just couldn't figure out what he'd done to scare her off. Admitting defeat to his insomnia, Harry rose from his bed, heaved his dressing gown over his shoulders and strode out of Gryffindor Tower. Perhaps a patrol of the castle would help clear his head.

*****

Hermione stalked down the halls near the kitchen, munching on the ripe pear she had obtained from the house elves. They'd finally started warming up to her, after all the excitement from S.P.E.W. had died down. The fact that she'd stopped knitting caps most likely helped as well, come to think of it. She chewed thoughtfully, a yawn escaping every now and then. She'd been having trouble sleeping ever since her meeting with Harry on Sunday, and she was getting quite sick of this foolishness. The crush she'd had on Harry her first three years of school had long since left her, when it became obvious that Harry's tastes had run elsewhere. Ever the pragmatist, Hermione had reasoned that it made no sense to waste her time and emotions on someone who had no interest in her, and as such, had felt free to turn to Viktor, Cormac (on whatever shallow a level), and eventually Ron. So this recent distraction with Harry not only unsettled but annoyed her as well.

Her pace didn't slow any as she moved through the lower floors of the castle. It was nearly 2 am, so she knew that she wouldn't run into anyone else in the darkened classrooms, but habit and nervous energy had her lighting her wand tip and checking to keep herself busy.

The slap of her fuzzy slippers, she didn't bother to with actual shoes on these patrols because of the lack of company, against the stone floor seemed to echo against the walls as loud as cannon fire. She shouldn't be this skittish around him, that's all there was to it. She was fine with proximity now, but when his lips neared hers, she lost all sense of composure. Well, she told herself sternly, I'll just have to buck up and get through it. When there's so much left to go, being afraid of kissing Harry is just plain silly.

As if her thoughts had activated a Summoning Charm on the subject, Harry rounded the far corner of the fourth floor corridor and froze in front of the History of Magic classroom. He stared back at her for a moment before closing the distance between them, face set with determination.

“Hermione,” Harry started.

“Hello there, Harry,” she chirped before he could continue. “You're up awfully late, aren't you? Couldn't sleep? I thought I heard a noise earlier and thought I might as well get up and investigate.”

“Hermione,” he said again, only this time with such conviction in his voice that Hermione's words trailed into nothing.

“What's going on, Hermione?” Harry blurted out. “You've been giving me kisses as if it's the most natural thing in the world to do. For God's sake, you're acting as if shagging me - or planning to, anyhow - is all in a day's work; but somehow, my trying to kiss you properly is so very bad I'd think you'd placed an Imperturbable Charm on your lips. What've I done?”

Hermione sighed. “You haven't done anything. I'm scared,” she said in a very small voice.

Harry laughed, earning him an unpleasant scowl from Hermione. “Scared of what, exactly? You don't expect me to believe that load of bollocks a few weeks ago that you've never kissed anyone before me, do you?”

Hermione blushed and smiled indulgently. “Well, the plain truth is, you didn't let me finish. I suppose it was a bit of an exaggeration to say I'd never kissed anyone. It never got that far with Ron, but Viktor had given me a few pecks on the lips every now and then. But we hadn't … we never …” Hermione trailed off, making a few absent gestures; when it was clear Harry didn't follow what she was alluding to, Hermione stuck out her tongue to illustrate.

“Ah,” Harry said, nodding but coloring through the cheeks also. Then his face darkened. “What about McLaggen, that bloody prig-headed dope?”

Hermione laughed outright. “Never. Not for lack of trying though, he did give it lots of effort.”

Harry nodded and chuckled. “Which would explain why, when I bumped into you at Slughorn's party last Christmas, you looked as if you'd just been mauled by a Blast-Ended Skrewt.”

Hermione laughed again, nodding as she giggled. “Awfully insistent, he was. Never got very far, but he certainly gave it his best.”

They laughed for a moment more, the sounds of their voices loud in the empty halls, before each fell to silence. The pair turned to walk together down the corridors, and it was another minute or two before Harry spoke again.

“So if it's not necessarily inexperience, Hermione, what's the problem?”

Hermione sighed loudly and picked at the cord of her dressing gown. “I don't know, Harry; it's just …”

“Odd,” Harry said, his lit wand tip scanning the darkened corners and reflecting off the windows as they passed.

Hermione nodded. “It is. I mean, you're my best friend. I never considered, when I first suggested this, that whatever we do could change all that.”

Harry nodded, and this seemed to unsettle Hermione even further.

Her voice was horribly small when she finally managed to force it through her throat. “It won't ruin our friendship, will it Harry?”

Harry stopped walking and turned to her. Hermione's face was pinched with worry, and though he couldn't pin his finger on what else it could be, some other meaning floated in Hermione's eyes. “No, Hermione,” he said firmly, “it won't ruin our friendship. We won't let it.”

She smiled and continued walking, but he could still sense her nervousness.

“If we ever feel like something's going to go wrong, we can always stop,” he offered in what he hoped was a calm and helpful voice. She merely nodded.

“Our friendship is very, very important to me, Harry,” she said quietly. “I won't do anything to harm it. Not ever.”

Unable to determine quite why, Harry smiled. He stopped walking again and took her hand. Without thinking about the possible reactions, Harry placed her palm against his chest, laid his hand over hers and leaned towards her. Hermione closed her eyes as Harry moved in to take her lips, and when they met, Harry felt nothing but warmth and pressure there; no fear. As their lips worked against each other gently, Hermione gently brought up Harry's other hand, placed it over her heart, and laid her hand against his.

When they broke the kiss, Harry smiled. “Nor will I, Hermione. Nor will I.”

*****

Sunday night crept up on Hermione so quickly that she didn't even have time to be nervous about her meeting with Harry until it was practically upon her. The two days between their late-night encounter and their next appointment had flown by under a haze of essays and Quidditch. When Sunday finally surfaced it found Hermione at a back table in the library, surrounded by a halo of scattered papers covered with cramped notes, various open rune books and a stack of unused parchment rolls. Hermione was bent so low over the parchment as her quill scratched away that Harry had to tap her on the back of the head twice to get her attention.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Harry said eventually, when Hermione looked up at him, blinking into the lit sconces behind his head.

Hermione smiled up into Harry's face for a moment but when he said nothing more, bent her head back to her work. After a few moments of silence unbroken except for the rustle of paper, Harry sat down across from Hermione and cleared away a small stack of notes to lean on the table and gaze over at her.

“What?” she said at length, not raising her eyes from her essay.

“You don't have the slightest interest in what I came here for?” Harry answered, unfazed.

Hermione sighed. “I can only assume that you've come to ask for help on the Transfiguration essay that's due next week, but as you can see, I've only made it as far as my Ancient Runes essay.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “That's not what I came for.”

“Oh?” Hermione mumbled, obviously not really listening.

After a moment, Harry smiled. “Hermione, what day is it?”

“Don't be silly,” Hermione snapped as she raised her head to re-ink her quill and moved back to her essay. “Of course, it's Sun—”

Harry smiled as she stopped mid-word and looked up into Harry's face. Dawning comprehension painted her face, quickly followed by a light blush.

“—day,” she finished. “It's Sunday.”

“Yes, it is.”

“And you came because it's the day for our lessons.”

“Yes, I did.”

“And I forgot.”

“So it would seem,” Harry finished, smirking.

A tick of nervousness twitched her fingers, then the corner of her mouth as her tongue flicked out to wet her lips. “Yes,” Hermione said, unsteadily. “Yes, our lesson. Er … I'll just clean up and then head to the room. Would you give me a mo'?”

Harry nodded and stood. As he moved away from the table, he noticed that he hadn't heard any noises of Hermione cleaning up. When he was behind a bookcase and thought it safe to peek, Harry snuck a look back to where she had been sitting. Curiously, Hermione was ramrod straight in her chair, eyes closed, apparently taking deep cleansing breaths. Her right hand fluttered over her heart. Harry felt a spring in his step as he walked to the Room of Requirement, quite unable to account for the smile he wore and the light tune that escaped his lips in a whistle.

*****

All right, he could admit it: Harry was nervous. Something about this whole situation still got under his skin and made his whole being itch with a detail out of place, something unseen that wasn't right and he just couldn't pin point what it was. But it was there, like a splinter in his brain, and Hermione certainly wasn't helping matters. She was the one who had suggested this whole field research thing, and just when he was starting to feel marginally comfortable (if not with the idea of things to come, at least with the here and now of it) she started twitching as if she'd been under some spastic curse gone wrong. He could barely get near her without seeing that tick of fear in her eyes, that slight jump whenever he came close. She was battling and it made him jumpy.

Hermione fought the nervousness in her throat and smiled at Harry when he inquired how she wanted to start the lesson. After the way things had nearly gone out of her control last time, Hermione decided that she'd like to keep things at the small tea table instead of reclining on the couch. She reasoned to herself that this would keep things properly scholarly and restrained and would not permit for wild flights of hormonal action that would accelerate them past the lessons she had planned out so carefully. So there they sat, on adjacent sides of the small square table, smiling nervously at each other and fidgeting.

“Well,” Hermione said eventually, “perhaps we'll just start out easily with what we covered last time and build from there?”

Harry looked a little pale, but his face was impatient as he nodded. “Sure. If that's what you'd like to do.”

Hermione nodded but couldn't will herself to speak further.

“Would you like to start or would you like me to?”

As Hermione floundered for a moment, Harry took a deep breath and circumvented her. He leaned over, closing the gap between them across the table corner. Hermione squeaked slightly in surprise. Harry's bottom lip was trapped slightly between hers; her mouth had fallen open in a wordless exclamation at his sudden action and she had come down upon his lip when she closed her mouth suddenly. Harry smiled. For a moment, Hermione was frozen, but the movement of Harry's lips on hers melted the ice that had suddenly captured her mind.

And then all that existed was Harry. She let her eyelids drop shut and she leaned across the table into his lips. A vague signal to her brain registered that the corner of the table edge pressed uncomfortably into her stomach, but it was the slither of Harry's palm across her neck that took precedence, and the smell of his skin that bounced around inside her skull as his lips worked softly against hers. Something in him seemed to hum with just a tiny bit of fear as she pressed her lips harder against his, but Hermione could not reason why. She could not have told herself to reason out why even had she wanted to, which at this moment she was not so sure she did. And then it happened: that screaming alarm of panic as Harry opened his lips and brushed his tongue lightly across her bottom lip.

“What?” Harry said heavily as he pulled away from her.

Hermione babbled.

“Out with it, Hermione,” he said, sitting up and looking cross. “What's wrong?”

“Don't be silly,” was all she could manage.

“Don't try that on me, Granger,” he said gruffly, poking an accusing finger into her collarbone. “You clam up the instant I kiss you and then look as if you want to scream like an uncovered Mandrake when it gets close to anything more than just lips. May I remind you that this was your idea?!”

“I don't clam up, it's just—”

“Oh, please. You're the one who was determined to do this in the first place and now you're too petrified to hardly touch me?”

Harry's face was a bit pink with frustration and Hermione could feel herself biting her lip, knowing she was showing her nervousness. It was time to own up to it. “Well, I guess I just don't where to go next and it scares me a bit.”

Harry, despite a small blush, smiled and laughed, sounding only the slightest bit uncomfortable. “I know it isn't your usual style to let go of control—” Hermione scowled at this, “—but perhaps I should teach this lesson?”

Panic screamed in Hermione again. No! her mind wailed, you'll lose control over everything you've fought to keep down for three years; no good can come of that! She firmly told her mind to shut up.

“Okay,” she said and smiled through her fear.

Harry stood and held out a hand to her. “I know this probably isn't what you intended but trying this sitting at a table as if it were a desk project just isn't going to work. Come and sit.”

Despite herself, Hermione took the proffered hand and allowed him to lead her over to the fainting couch in the secluded corner. Hermione sat down in the middle of the couch and Harry reclined against the curved back. For a moment they merely sat and looked at each other before Harry jumped up again. The partitioned area where the couch resided was much darker than the rest of the room and it seemed that the ambiance was a bit too much pressure even for Harry. He flung back the drapes and sectioned off the area and used his wand to light the sconce on the wall over Hermione's head. When he finally sat down again, the corner was awash in orange flickering light.

“There,” Harry said as he perched on the edge of the couch again.

“There,” Hermione said and smiled.

“Well.” Harry cleared his throat.

“Yes.”

Harry took a deep breath. Here we go, Harry; another lesson you feel unprepared to teach. He leaned in and took her lips.

Hermione was still a little stiff when their lips touched and Harry could hear her hands fidgeting in her lap, but Harry smiled against her kiss when he realized she wasn't panting panicked breaths anymore. As he angled his head to move his nose out of the way of hers, he made it a point that this lesson would not end until he rediscovered the girl who had, at their first meeting, been completely enraptured and lost in his touch. Harry was nothing if not a man who could obtain a goal.

Hermione felt her heart leap as Harry's hands came around her. She could barely keep track of what he was doing. She knew he only had two hands, but it seemed like more as one arm wound around the small of her back and the other around her shoulders, drawing her ever closer. Hermione felt herself quiver as Harry's tongue threaded into her mouth. Panic flooded into her not because she could feel the gentle acceleration of the kiss but because she was completely uncertain of where to proceed from here. All the books she had read hadn't told her how to stop her pounding heart long enough to concentrate on kissing back. Harry began a gentle kneading pressure at the back of Hermione's neck and she felt herself relax against him.

It's not so hard, she told herself, just follow Harry's lead. Tentatively, she slid her tongue against his. The slippery slither of his tongue against hers set her blood racing in a way she hadn't imagined. He was still holding her close to his chest and she could hear the swift thudding of his heart as she pushed her tongue against his. Her hands gripped him tighter, threading her fingers further into the mop of unruly waves. She smiled against him as she realized that the more she relaxed, the more naturally she picked up the tone from his kiss.

Harry nearly burst out laughing. It seemed like just a tad of subterfuge, trapping her against him like that, but it certainly accomplished his goal: where she couldn't flee, she couldn't circumvent his efforts. And it had worked. He had slipped his tongue past her lips while she seemed too busy puzzling at the location of his arms. She had frozen solid for those first few seconds where he had managed to deepen the kiss, but she seemed to be relaxing into him now.

Harry still realized, somewhere in the back of his mind, that this whole situation was ridiculously odd and that he really shouldn't be so intent on kissing Hermione of all people; but as she slowly thawed in his arms and the first light movements of her tongue came against his, Harry found himself inexplicably electrified. He would never imagined that pressing Hermione to his chest and opening her lips with his tongue would be quite so oddly charged or that he would enjoy it so much. He never would have imagined that he'd be so pleased at being her first real kiss. Harry angled his head and slipped his tongue deeper into her mouth.

If nothing else, Harry could never remark that Hermione was not a fast learner. He raised a hand to her chin now, brushing against her skin as her jaw undulated slowly, moving to accommodate the motions of her tongue. Now that she seemed to have gotten used to the idea of kissing him with her tongue, he could feel her tenderly but inquisitively exploring every part of his mouth. She leaned forward into him, causing him to lean back slightly to make room as she tilted her head further and pushed her tongue deep into his mouth. He felt her lick out at the soft flesh of the top of his mouth and graze across his teeth, tangling with his tongue as she moved. He could feel his pulse begin to race and was shocked to notice his head descending into a quick (but certainly not unpleasant) tailspin. Hermione was arching up against him and threading her fingers tighter into his hair; Harry found his breath coming out in pants as he fought not only to keep up with her suddenly frenzied pace, but also to keep a grip on his self-control. When she began rocking against him, her chest heaving as her tongue battled with his, Harry shook as his arms pulled her back.

“I think,” he said, stopping to pant out a breath or two, “that we should rest for a minute or two. We've got the general idea now.”

Hermione smiled, but he could see that her breaths were also coming fast and heavy. He watched her sidelong out of his eye as she sat back against the couch. Watching her breath slow, Harry felt the need to get up and move about the room.

“Again?” Hermione said as he made his way back to the couch. She inched closer to him as he sat.

Harry felt his heart drop into his stomach, but he nodded anyway. He felt his tongue unconsciously flick out to wet his lips as Hermione moved closer. This was going to be harder than he had thought previously.

*****

Hermione couldn't help the racing of her heart. Tangled around Harry for going on two hours now, she finally felt she was really getting the hang of this snogging lark. Harry certainly seemed to be enjoying himself and she'd be lying foolishly if she said she wasn't as well. Though her heart seemed to be pounding as if she'd spent the last two hours running for her life, her body felt electrified. She felt hooked on the jolt of excitement coursing through her veins every time she took Harry's lips. She was fighting to keep down the three-year-old crush that threatened to break free every time she neared him, but when she reminded herself that he only saw this as a learning experience, she found herself sufficiently able to merely revel in the feel of his lips on hers, his tongue at her teeth and his fingers fisting in her hair.

*****

Harry once again had to push away from Hermione, for perhaps the sixth time this evening. "It's getting late," he said without preamble, again trying to gain his breath. "Maybe we should stop for tonight."

Hermione sighed a little bit but nodded and smiled. "Yes, I'd say that 10:30 is very respectable for this lesson's length. I feel we accomplished a lot."

"Especially considering we started at 7:15," Harry said.

"I take it you don't feel we need to meet again later this week, to perfect things?" Hermione asked. Her heart was jumping just a tiny bit, waiting to see his reaction. Stupid though she knew the rationale to be, a dismissal for another meeting this week would feel a lot like rejection.

Harry felt his heart jump from where it had resided in his knees while they kissed up into his sinuses without much travel time. He felt himself blush heavily. He knew what he should say, but what he wanted to say seemed to be something completely different. "Well," he started carefully, “I don't suppose there's any reason not to practice. After all, kissing is really the building block of the rest of it, isn't it?"

Hermione fought to control her smile and the huge dive her stomach had just taken. He wanted to kiss her again. "Absolutely. Perhaps we should just play it by ear and decide on a daily basis if we feel we need more practice?"

Harry was speaking before his brain had even thought about what was coming out. "Well, daily practice would make us much better at it."

Hermione nodded. She picked up her bags of books and papers and strode towards the door. "Coming?" she asked back to Harry, who was still perched on the end of the chaise lounger.

"Not just yet; I'll just see you tomorrow morning at breakfast, all right?"

Hermione nodded again, smiled, and he could hear her start to hum tunelessly as she walked out the door. As soon as she had gone, Harry flopped out full length on the couch as his pulse slowed and his blood stopped rushing in his ears. Kissing her had been nothing like what he'd thought kissing Hermione Granger would be like. He recalled that terrified soaring feeling of falling off his broom from 50 feet off the ground in his third year and likened it to whatever it was that had just happened. Except that he couldn't keep the smile off his face. And this was just the beginning.

He was in very big trouble.

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8. Harry Lends a Hand

A/N - Man, these chapter titles just keep getting worse and worse .... ^_^ BTW, in case you're wondering, the outcome of Deathly Hallows shall not deter me from my H/Hr smutlet!!! Huzzah!! Oh and get ready, kids, because this is the chapter where the thin-veil of plots becomes tragically (yet enjoyably) see-through as smuttity smut smut smut comes out.

Enjoy!

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~ Chapter Eight – Harry Lends a Hand

Ron couldn’t quite put his finger on what was going wrong between Harry and Hermione, but something seemed … off. Twice this past week they had given each other odd looks over dinner when lessons of any kind were discussed and then each would glare at the other and profess that they each had things to do that would likely take them all night. And when each wandered into the common room well past curfew, Hermione was red faced and Harry looked twitchy and disheveled, as if he’d been dragged backwards through the portrait hole. Ron had a feeling they’d been having a row about something, but he couldn’t decide what it was they could possibly have been fighting about all week.

Harry had gotten progressively jumpier all week and Hermione was increasingly chipper. Not a word was ever said about what was going on between the two of them – which actually perturbed Ron a bit, as he was supposed to be their best friend – but he wasn’t a fool. He could see that something was about to come to a head. Here it was Sunday and they were still glaring at each other across breakfast table. If they were gearing for a flare-up at 9:30 on a Sunday morning, it was definitely going to be something big and Ron wanted no part of it. He excused himself quietly and wandered out towards the Quidditch pitch. He’d leave the two of them alone to work out their frustrations.

*****

Harry knew that even Ron could tell how fidgety he had been all week. He and Hermione had only gotten the chance to “practice” twice this week, but that was probably a good thing. The more they kissed, the more Harry became uncomfortable with the situation. He was actually quite pleased at the results, surprisingly; kissing Hermione was actually going quite well. But it wasn’t the kissing that bothered him. The easier Hermione got with the whole idea of snogging with Harry, the more she treated him as if he were some particularly interesting school project. While Harry knew that what they were doing had actually started as a school project, the idea of Hermione feeling that sex with him was an interactive homework assignment just made him uncomfortable. And what made him even more uncomfortable was that it was Sunday and he knew he’d have to tell Hermione about it today, before things got any further out of hand.

*****

“Morning,” Hermione said brightly as she and Harry set down their bags in the cubby holes on the wall. “Big day today!”

Harry smiled, but turned away quickly to hang his robes on the pegs above the cubbies. Hermione divested herself of her outer layers as usual, hung them near Harry’s, and plunked down onto the chaise lounger, absent-mindedly adjusting her favorite ‘weekend’ skirt and a light green embroidered sweater. He sat down on the chaise, but with enough space between them that she could have placed her feet up beside her. She ventured an attempt to fill the space up with chatter.

“Pretty exciting, isn’t it? Our first day of solely sexual cont—”

“I don’t know how you can be so bloody calm about this,” Harry said, abruptly but not unkindly. He was wringing his hands in his lap.

“Well, if you just look at it more as a project, you know … I mean, it’s just me, after all … it’s not as if it’s some stranger asking you to—”

Harry turned to face her. “Don’t you see that’s why it’s odd? Because it is you, Hermione. And I don’t know how you can just sit there and … and plan snogging sessions and … whatever the bloody rest of the days are. You did a lesson plan for our first kiss, Hermione. You don’t think that’s odd?”

“Well, I,” she stammered. “All right, I’ll admit it’s not the most romantic or erotic way to go about things but …”

She could see in his face he wasn’t convinced. Something in her throat plummeted into the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t entirely certain it wasn’t her heart. “We don’t have to. I mean, you could go be partners with someone else.”

“I don’t want—” Harry started, but then stopped. He moved closer to her. So close that when he turned sideways on the couch and his pants brushed her bare thigh, she jumped. “I don’t want a different partner. I just want … why do we have to have a plan? Can’t we just…?”

Hermione leaned forward, hanging on the end of his sentence. “Just?”

Harry huffed a bit, but then looked as if he’d been hit by divine inspiration. Hermione yelped in surprise when Harry’s hand suddenly slid up her leg towards her thigh. She almost brushed him away. Almost. Hermione fought the nervous urge to squirm as Harry leaned towards her, his hand moving up her thigh, then up over her hip towards her stomach.

“Isn’t this better than following a lesson plan? A script of what to do next?” he said as he leaned over her.

Hermione barely registered the fact that she was now sprawled against the rounded back of the lounge couch. Harry’s hand was on her stomach and she could feel the heat of his fingertips even through the sturdy sweater as they traveled up, skimming the light pattern of embroidery just over her breast. She sucked in a breath loudly and he leaned closer.

“Still want that play-by-play, Hermione?” he whispered close to her cheek.

She just barely managed to make her body shake her head no. Her whole head was swimming and her world seemed to have narrowed to the movement of Harry’s finger, idly swirling along the patterned flowers stitched onto her shirt. When she made no move to stop him, Harry flattened his hand across her breast. She could see his pulse hammering at the side of his neck and, while he seemed to have gotten his way in chucking her planned way of doing things, Harry now seemed to be at a loss as to what to do next.

Hermione raised her hand and placed it atop his. He jumped and looked up into her eyes as if it was the first time he’d noticed her there. “Perhaps if we …” she said but trailed off.

“Yes?” Harry said, leaning closer.

For once, Hermione Granger did not think about her actions. Instead, she closed the remaining scant distance between them by pressing her lips to his. Harry responded instantly, kissing her back, his hand now closing more firmly over her breast. Hermione mewed a little against his lips through instinct, and she could hear a rumble somewhere low in Harry’s chest as she slid her arm up his to lace around his neck.

Harry’s tongue slid gently across her lips and she opened them to permit him entrance. They had done this only a handful of times before and it still seemed so new and thrilling. She could feel her pulse leaping as his tongue swirled in her mouth, exploring excitedly, and she tilted her head to a different position, exposing more of her throat and allowing her to arch her chest up against Harry’s hand. He seemed startled for a moment, as if he only just remembered what had started the whole kissing process, but quickly recovered and kneaded her breast tentatively. She drew away from his mouth for a moment, placing her hand against his and guiding his movement. She kissed the throb of pulse at his throat as she felt his fingers skim her nipple. She hadn’t noticed when it became colder in the room, but between that and the light trail of Harry’s other hand at her thigh, her breasts were certainly making their enthusiasm well known.

Harry groaned as she kissed his neck again. “Hermione,” he said in a raspy voice. “Hermione, help me …”

“Mmm,” she said, “you’re doing fine, Harry.”

He drew away from her kiss a little and smiled. “No, really, show me; show me what you like.”

Hermione repositioned herself against the back of the lounger so that her back arched and her breasts were thrown upwards. With a smile, she reached down for Harry’s hand and she laced her fingers over his, moving the tips lightly across her nipples, smoothing them in large flat grasps over the whole of her breast, and eventually dropping to her sides as Harry’s instincts became stronger. She hissed in an audible breath as Harry’s other hand began to run up her thigh and under her skirt. She squeaked out in surprise and snapped open her eyelids as Harry’s hand brushed against the fabric of her knickers.

Though his face was flushed and his voice unsteady, he said, “And here? Will you tell me what feels good here?”

“Harry,” she said, fighting the urge to throw back her head and moan as he grazed her inner thigh with his fingertips. “Harry, I don’t know if—”

“I won’t go … under,” he said as he grazed her knickers. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Not yet,” she said, nervously. “But you can … touch around there if you like.”

Harry smiled again and allowed his hands to wander over her body. Hermione dropped her head to the side of the couch, biting her lip against gasps and moans of pleasure as Harry’s touches grew from inquisitive and eager steadily to hungry and passionate. His lips began to roam across her wrists, elbows, arms and throat. And then, with an abrupt sweep of his hands that had Hermione nearly weeping with frustration, Harry moved and sat up away from her.

“Harry,” she panted, straightening up, “Harry, what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?” She was startled at the wild look on his face, his hair mussed and his glasses askew. She had to fight the urge to pounce on him at once.

“No, I—bugger,” he spat. “I mean, it’s lovely; this is lovely, but I—I mean, couldn’t you …”

He was gesturing vaguely, but Hermione just didn’t understand.

“Couldn’t I …?” she mimicked, hoping to coax out more of an answer.

He looked away and his cheeks were now flushed with embarrassment from whatever he was trying not to say. “Couldn’t you … couldn’t you touch it?”

“Touch …?” she said, bewildered, but then followed his gaze to his lap. She hadn’t noticed the obvious swelling in his trousers when she had first sat up, but now that he was trying to look away from it, she could hardly miss it. What a fool she was! Of course he would want—

“Oh!” Hermione said aloud. “Oh, of course, you want me to touch—”

Harry nodded, but still wouldn’t look her in the eye. “It’s awfully difficult sitting here, doing that to you and not—”

“Of course,” she said meekly. “But, um, are you sure you want me to—”

“Yes,” he said as quickly as he seemed able.

“What I mean is, are you sure you want me to?” Hermione’s eyes were suddenly full of vulnerability. “Because I don’t want you to feel like we have to, just because we happened to be paired up and we—”

“Hermione, you’re killing me,” Harry said with a smirk before he raised his eyes to her. His face was suddenly serious. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want you.”

Hermione smiled. She moved closer to Harry and sat up next to him. Twice she started to move her hand over to his lap, but just couldn’t decide how to go about doing it the right way. “How …?”

“Trust me; just touching it would be splendid right now.”

Hermione smiled again and placed her hand tentatively on his thigh. Her heart pounded so loudly she was certain he’d be able to hear it. But as she slid her hand higher up towards his hip, she was certain that his must be hammering just as relentlessly: he was practically panting as he leaned backwards to allow her space. Both Harry and Hermione inhaled an audible gasp as her hand first brushed his erection. Harry groaned just a bit when she flattened her palm over his penis, just barely contained within his jeans now. Her mouth formed a little moue as she tentatively squeezed just a tiny bit.

“Oh my God,” Harry said quietly.

Hermione quickly withdrew her hand. “Did I hurt you? Oh, my goodness! I’m so sorry!” She felt her cheeks flushing.

“No, no,” Harry said, grasping her hand gently. “It felt wonderful. Wait a minute though,” he added. She looked away as Harry pushed a hand beneath the waistband of his jeans, seemingly rearranging himself a bit.

When she looked back, it seemed as if he had positioned his erection to lie flat against his stomach, pointing up towards his navel. When she seemed to be staring, he sheepishly muttered, “I just thought it would be easier to … you know, handle it that way.”

She nodded without changing expressions. Eager to regain the “Oh my God” status, Hermione ran her hand back up his thigh and placed it over his erection. She smiled to herself as Harry’s breathing ran ragged again as she tentatively stroked her palm up and down his length. She never imagined it would feel that way. She was mesmerized as she continued to stroke him, testing his reactions to light pressure, skimming her fingertips, and other manners of her grip. She knew she was doing well when Harry had started to unconsciously thrust his hips against her movements. In a moment of insecurity, she started to worry because Harry had suddenly brought his own hand up to cover hers, squeezing her grip tighter and moving fitfully against her palm.

“God,” he said roughly, “oh God … oh, yes … feels … feels so good but it’s not enough …”

With a lopsided grin and a stroke of genius, Hermione moved her hand up to his waistband, flicking the button open with a twist of her wrist.

“But, I thought,” he said with a slight gasp. “I thought you only wanted to …”

But Hermione was already releasing the fly of his jeans and opening them. He nodded in understanding as she stopped at his boxer shorts, finding the thin cotton much more conducive to the touch he desired. The flimsy material also allowed her to curl her fingers almost all the way around his erection, eliciting a loud groan from him as he coiled his long, thin digits around hers when she began to stroke his penis again.

She barely thought about it as she leaned over his chest, breathing deeply in the strong, heady smell of his skin, the desire that was leaping off him in almost visible waves. Harry moaned out when she began placing light kisses along his throat and collarbone and his hand began roaming once more across her breast. Hermione moaned as she captured Harry’s lips hungrily. She found her body rocking against his as she stroked more heavily, a delicious friction scraping against her breast as his t-shirt collided with her sweater. It was almost unbearable.

Once again, Harry dragged his lips away from hers and forcibly stilled her hand. “Hermione, could we … I thought …could we …?”

“What is it, Harry?” she whispered fiercely. She was nearly drowning in desire and his warm, familiar yet, at the same time, altogether new smell. “What do you want?”

His cheeks were reddening. “I wondered if we could try something I read about in a Muggle magazine once?”

“Harry, I—”

“We wouldn’t have to,” he stammered, “it’s not …. The Muggles call it, um, dry sex, I think?”

“You mean, where we move as if we’re … but with clothes on?”

Harry nodded frantically. His fingers were still straying across her breasts, and she found she hadn’t the want or need to deny him that. She was curious, after all …. Without a word, Hermione grabbed at the waist of his jeans and pushed them down over his hips and towards his knees. She unlatched her skirt and pushed it away, moving to sit astride him in nothing but her knickers and shirt as he leaned back against the couch.

“Oh, good Lord,” he whispered as she settled astride him, her weight hot and heavy but comfortable against his lap. His hands twined in her hair and brought her neck to his lips. He rocked up so that his hips ground against hers. She moaned at the contact of his erection beneath his boxers against the upper inside of her thigh.

“God, it feels … beautiful, you’re so beautiful,” Harry murmured against her ear.

Hermione felt a trickle of tears as he said this, but quickly lost them amidst of a flurry of hands and mouths and kisses. Harry actually cried out when she first moved her hips so that his erection pushed against the center of her body. She knelt over him and bit her heavy bottom lip to stifle a moan as his hands whisked off her shirt, hungrily seeking her cotton clad breasts with both his fingers and lips.

She rocked against him, one of Harry’s hands straying to her hips to guide her as the motion was repeated again and again. She pushed the heels of her hands flat against his shoulders, using him to steady her body as she moved, grinding down against him so that the tip of his penis, even with the boxer shorts and knickers between them, would press against that aching sweet spot between her legs. Their movements were jerky and wild, uncoordinated and desperate as they bucked against each other; a few times they very nearly knocked heads, Harry’s glasses sliding to some unknown place.

“Hermione,” Harry rasped out. “Hermione, you’ve got to stop.”

“Not on your life, Potter,” she purred as he sucked at the skin above her brassiere. She bucked her hips even more frantically, craving the tingle that was beginning to build up in her body. Harry called out loudly.

“Hermione, if we don’t stop, I’m going … going to—”

His words repeated a few more times, in tandem with her motions.

“Tell me, Harry,” she said wildly. “Say it.”

“If we don’t stop, I’m going to cum.”

She smiled in wicked triumph. “Me too,” she said and licked his earlobe.

“I … I … oh my God,” Harry babbled. “No, it’s … well it’s sort of … messy … you don’t like things that are messy.”

“I don’t care, Harry. I want you to; I want to cum right here, right now, with you cumming against me too.” The voice that escaped her throat hardly seemed hers; the Hermione that was speaking sounded frantic and bold, a brazenness she’d never imagined would have been in her. But she was transfixed. She jerked her hips a few more times, so quickly she was certain she’d have friction burns on her thighs the next day.

Harry started to speak, but Hermione captured his lips, cutting off all words. And then, Hermione felt something like an explosion. As Harry’s clothes-sheathed penis pressed up against her once more, she felt hot and shaky and weak and as if every nerve ending in her body had been struck all at once with a velvet-encased hammer. She cried out loudly and felt Harry shake in a flurry of paroxysms beneath her. She clutched onto his shoulders tightly, riding the wave of tingles as they crashed against her, Harry jerking against her body as he buried his face in her breasts and called out her name in a raspy voice.

Hermione realized suddenly that she had been raised up high on her knees, and with her sudden wobbliness, came crashing down onto Harry’s lap with a thud. He was panting beneath her. They held a wrenching grip around each other’s backs until the jerking tremors of Harry’s hips slowed to a halt. Neither Harry nor Hermione moved while their breathing slowed back to normal. Hermione suddenly became aware of the fact that the knickers between them and a patch on her stomach were hot and wet and slightly sticky.

“I’m s—”

“Don’t do it,” Harry warned her, laying a kiss behind her ear up near her hairline.

“Don’t do what?”

“Say you’re sorry. Don’t do it. I should be s—”

“Don’t you either,” Hermione said with a smirk. “How are you feeling?”

Harry looked up into her face, his green eyes shining like blazing emeralds. “Best day of my life so far.”

“So far?” Hermione said with a cheeky grin. “Well, that sounds very much like a challenge, Mr. Potter.”

“Might just be,” Harry said.

After a moment, Hermione rose off his lap and muttered a few well placed cleansing charms at her knickers. She scowled as she realized that she wasn’t completely clean.

“Oh, don’t pout; it’s not your spell. I find that Expurgo works best,” Harry said, and as proof, her knickers as well as his cleaned themselves thoroughly at his spell.

“How’d you know that one?” she asked, puzzled.

Harry smirked. “Hermione, I’m a seventeen-year-old guy; you don’t think that’s the first time I’ve had to clean that stuff off something, do you?”

Hermione blushed just a tad and put out her tongue at him.

“Promises, promises,” Harry said. “Isn’t that particular act on the docket for next week?”

Hermione gasped and slapped him playfully, then chuckled. “Easy, Trigger, that one’s not for quite a while.”

“I’m beginning to like your lessons, Hermione,” Harry said, winking cheekily at her. When she began to beam, he added, “Don’t let your head get too big, Granger. Remember, if I hadn’t insisted on chucking the lesson plan, we never would have gotten anywhere.”

“Wanker,” she muttered.

“Exactly,” Harry said and followed her out of the Room of Requirement and back towards Gryffindor Tower.

*****

“Hermione?” Harry’s voice cracked just a tad and he quickly cleared his throat.

The object of his inquiry looked up from an essay she was currently hacking away at in the middle of the large table in Gryffindor common room. The anxiety in his voice pricked her humor more than a little. In the twenty-four hours since their meeting, Harry had been unusually chipper and couldn’t seem to stop staring at her. This sudden … eagerness, Hermione decided it was, just reinforced the amusement that she had come to feel at his new attention.

“Yes?” she said, a smile quirking her lips.

“Well, I’ve been thinking,” Harry said and then cleared his throat again. He looked around quickly to see if any of the handful of people still left in the common room at this late hour could hear him from their places in front of the fireplace. He had apparently decided they could not, and charged on. “After the way things went yesterday, I was thinking that maybe a new approach was needed.”

Hermione could feel her brow furrow as she set down her quill. “Yes, it did get a bit out of hand, I suppose. I do get a little zealous when … learning something new, so maybe we should slow it d—”

“No, no!” Harry said loudly, to which Hermione’s frown turned into something akin to a smirk. “I mean, that’s not what I was getting at. I meant that I think that, given how well things went this week that perhaps we should institute some practice as a regular course of routine. You know, so we make sure we have it perfect by the next lesson.”

“Regular practice?” Hermione said, skeptical. “You mean homework?”

“Just so!” Harry looked quite pleased with himself. “If we practiced for a little while each day throughout the week, we’d be sure to be ready for the next lesson every Sunday. Practice each lesson as homework.”

“Homework, eh? You’re not just looking for a way to work in a daily snog and fondle?”

Harry’s cheeks colored deeply as he looked around again. Hermione noticed that just in the last few minutes, the common room had emptied completely, leaving them alone. She just barely reigned in a laugh by biting her lip as Harry leaned in close to her.

“And would that be so bad?” Harry asked, a slightly uncertain but roguish smile on his lips. Feeling a little more daring now that they had some privacy, he reached out a single finger and stroked it over the round of her breast beneath her sweater.

Hermione’s breath caught in her teeth for a moment before she smiled. “When have you ever known me to shy away from homework?”

Harry grinned back at Hermione and lifted his hand to the back of her neck, pulling her towards his lips. As she leaned across the table towards him, she dropped a hand to his leg and squeezed his thigh. She smiled against his lips as she felt his breath quicken. Hermione loved doing homework, and had no doubt that this project would be no different.

9. Ginny Tries, Hermione Flies, and Harry Spies with Gawking Ey

Okay, until the fate of this fic is decided entirely, I have decided to replace chapter nine with this:

I am including a link to where you can read chapter nine at another site (where, incidentally, Scholarly Interests is the featured story of the month ). Now, BEFORE YOU READ, BE AWARE: this chapter contains femmeslash (Hr/G to be specific). If you don't like femmeslash DO NOT READ IT. I have already had people flaming me for it, I'm looking into pulling my fic over it … please, please PLEASE don't go read it and then review and tell me you hate femmeslash. Exercise your right to some God-given intelligence and don't read it if you don't like it.

That being said, here's where you can read the chapter in its full, uncensored version:

http://lumos.sycophanthex.com/viewstory.php?sid=3356&i=1

Until I decide whether or not I'm going to pull this fic, you'll have to read chapter nine here.

Happy reading,

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

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10. A Letter to my Readers

An Author's note:

Okay, here it is. I never thought I'd have to do this, but I honestly feel that it's in everyone's best interest: I'm pulling this fic from Portkey's archive. I've gotten a lot of flames about the Hermione/Ginny thing … and I never wanted to be the kind of author who would allow some negative reactions to her choices (which I still believe in and defend) to sway her course, but what it boils down to is that there are two hard and fast factors for my decision to pull this fic:

1. I don't want to offend people. Many of the people who have flamed me for this choice seemed genuinely upset and offended and that certainly wasn't my intention. I simply added this chapter as what I feel to be an important and revealing plot detail. I assure you, it DOES relate to what happens next in the fic (while I feel this fic is a fun PWP, I never write anything that's frivolous). But it seems like it's really knocking people around because it involves a pairing that isnt' Harry/Hermione. I thought it would work, but apparently it doesn't for many readers.

2. Several people have brought it to my intention that it could be a violation of Portkey's policies regarding ships. I CERTAINLY do not want to violate the shipping policy because I adore portkey and have loved everything I've ever read here. I also don't want a black mark on my record as an author simply because I posted something that I didn't know wasn't welcome here.

So … if I'm pulling this fic, why didn't I just pull it instead of writing you all this note? I wanted to give the readers who WEREN'T upset by this and who WILL continue to read my story a chance to find it elsewhere. I have this fic published at two other fan fiction sites and I want to list them here so people who do like the work won't have to suffer its absence. You can find me at lumos.sycophanthex.com or at hp.adultfanfiction.net under the same pen name. I have a couple of fics (mostly H/Hr) at Lumos and SEVERAL at aff.net, so you can read my others as well.

I will leave this fic standing for about a week or two (assuming that it doesn't violate PK policy and get pulled) and then I'll delete it. If you want to pursue my work, find me at the above listed sites.

For all of you who reviewed my work here at Portkey, THANK YOU! Even those of you who have sent me flames, said my work is trash, told me I was sick … every review (and I mean this genuinely, EVERY ONE) helps me become a better writer. So thanks for your opinions and I hope that some of you join me elsewhere and continue to enjoy my work.

Love and stuff,

~~ ** Lady Tuesday ** ~~

PS - As an absolutely hilarious sidenote to those of you readers who have poured out of the woodwork (WOW, the response was amazing and truly touching) to show your support for Scholarly Interests, for me, and for unfair flamers, get this email I just got from one of my other posting sites:

Dear LadyTuesday,

At Sycophant Hex, we are very proud of our authors. Thanks to you, the high standards of our archives are upheld. In recognition of your story, Scholarly Interests, we wanted to let you know that it is a featured story at our archive, Lumos, for the month of October. It is our way to show our appreciation for your hard work.

Find attached a photo banner in recognition of your achievement. You may download and display it on your profile page or anywhere else you like.

Thank you,

The SH Admin Team

This is no doubt, in my opinion, a big thanks to you supporters who poured into Lumos today to support my work. I love you all! Go read my Featured “piece of trash” at lumos.sycophanthex.com !!! There's a link for the story on the bottom righthand side of the main page!!!

Evil flamers beware: *in her best William Wallace* You make tak' our lives, but you shall never tak' OUR FREEDOM!!! Kisses and sloppy hugs to you all!

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