The Good, the Bad and the Drunk

His hand was gripping hers tightly, his palm a little sweaty against hers. He pulled her down the hall at a run, glancing over his shoulder every few steps. They weren’t supposed to be out at this time of night. They would be in so much trouble if they were caught.

He skidded to a stop just outside the Room of Requirement and shut his eyes tight. She watched as he went through the routine, her eyes darting around, her heart thudding loudly in her chest.

A faint pop announced the appearance of the door and he practically threw himself at it, grabbing her hand to drag her in after him. As soon as he had shut the door behind him, his lips came down on hers. He pushed her back against the door, pinning her there, and she felt his hands working to unfasten her robes. He was in such a hurry that she wondered if they were even going to make it to the bed in the corner. She wasn’t thrilled at the thought of her first time happening while standing up against a door, but she wasn’t going to complain.

Especially not when his hand came up to cup her breast, and he moaned against her lips.

It’s finally happening, she thought, almost unable to comprehend it. I’m finally getting him, after all these years.

It suddenly didn’t matter that he was her best friend, or that they were two of three, and that the third was not going to be happy about this. She’d wanted him too long to care about that anymore.

Her robe was unfastened and she leaned forward just enough to let it fall to the floor. His hands were already tugging up her jumper and she heard it tear as he pulled it over her head.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

He didn’t seem very sorry though, since he also managed to rip three buttons off her shirt as he pulled it open. He wasted little time unfastening her bra, and as soon as her breasts were bared, he bent to suck a nipple into his mouth.

“Oh!” she cried and he glanced up at her, pulling his wand out of his robes. He put a Silencing charm on the room and a lock on the door, then grabbed her arm and pulled her toward the bed, nearly pulling her off her feet.

She gasped at the force with which he pushed her onto the thick mattress, and with the speed with which his hands were on her again, unfastening her skirt.

“Can we—slow this down? Maybe just a little bit?”

He hesitated for a second, then groaned. “I’ll try. I can’t promise anything, though.” He leaned over her, his lips brushing hers. “I need you so much.”

It was a good thing he hadn’t promised anything. He turned his attention immediately back to her breasts, licking and sucking and kissing as though he couldn’t breathe without having his mouth on her.

She moaned as his teeth caught hold of one of her nipples and she tangled her hands in his hair, holding his mouth against her. He slid one of his hands down her side and over her leg, slipping his fingers under the elastic leg band of her underwear. She arched her back as the knuckles brushed against her and before she could think at all about what she was doing, she was reaching down and pulling her knickers off, tossing them to the floor. She was now completely naked under him, while he hadn’t even taken off his tie yet.

“Get—OH! God!” His fingers had slid inside of her and started pumping away at a frantic pace. “GOD!” she screamed again. There had been a little bit of pain as his fingers penetrated her, but it had faded quickly. “Get undressed. Please, God, get undressed,” she moaned. “Hurry.”

He rushed to comply, yanking his tie off and shedding his robes as quickly as he could. She sat up, helping him with his shirt, scratching his chest with her nails when it was finally bared. They were both on their knees now, and he pulled her in for another kiss, leaving it to her to unfasten his pants. She did so gladly, pulling his belt lose, unbuttoning them, jerking them down without a thought to the zipper. “I—need you—now,” she panted against his lips. “Right now.”

He pulled his boxers off and tossed them to the side, pushing her back onto the bed and lowering himself onto her in a movement so quick she wasn’t sure it wasn’t all done by magic.

She reached down and ran her hand over him, loving the way he moaned when she touched him. “God, Hermione, I can’t—I have to be in you.”

“What are you waiting for then?”

She was only halfway through the sentence when he shoved into her, harshly, without any hesitation. A jolt of pain ripped through her and she cried out. “Sorry,” he said, nestling his face into her neck. “Better to get that over with quickly. All right?”

She pursed her lips, forcing herself to nod. “Move, please?” she croaked.

He thrust against her, hard but not brutal, and she felt the pain die off, as before, very quickly. She clutched at his back, loving the feel of him inside of her. He must have taken it as a sign that she wanted it harder, faster, something, because he increased his pace, and his force, until he was pounding into her.

He slid his hand between them and pressed his fingers against her clit, rubbing furiously. She couldn’t stop herself. It was all too much. She screamed, her body jerking as her orgasm hit her. He didn’t last much longer and came with a shout of his own, his body freezing up, then going limp.

And after the complete and frenzied passion of the last half hour, the quiet and calm afterward was like being dunked in cold water. She realized truly for the first time what had just happened, and apparently he did too. He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes wide, almost frightened. He rolled off of her a minute later, and sat on the side of the bed, naked, staring at the floor.

She was the first to get up, and he followed as though in a trance. Neither spoke a word as they dressed. They walked back to Gryffindor tower in silence, not looking at each other.

It wasn’t until they had reached the stairs to their respective dorms that he looked up at her. “Hermione?”

“Yeah?”

“Good night.”

There was more to it than was said, and she heard all of it. “Good night.”

With a last tiny smile, they climbed the stairs to go to bed.

Harry was leaning casually against the far wall, chatting up some girl that Hermione had never seen before, although Harry obviously knew her pretty well. The way he was acting, he probably knew her better than Hermione even wanted to imagine. He caught Hermione watching them and gave her a small nod, then turned back to his friend. He said something that made the girl laugh loudly, then leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She watched him all the way back to the table, giving Hermione a not-so-friendly look as he sat down with her.

“Sorry about that,” he said, settling into the chair and popping the cap off of his beer.

“Old friend?” Hermione asked, and if Harry noticed the slight edge to her voice, he didn’t show it.

“Sort of. Bill Weasley introduced me to her a few years ago. Haven’t seen her in a while though.”

“Mmmm. How’s work?”

Harry shrugged, his eyes moving around the bar. “Fine. Same as always, you know. Yours?”

She nodded. “Same. I’ve been thinking of taking some time off. Maybe going to see Ron. I need a break.”

Harry raised his eyebrows a bit. “Really? I thought you loved your job.”

“I do,” she said, frowning slightly. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I just—want a little vacation.”

Harry studied her for a second, then leaned forward in his seat. “That’s why you wanted me to come here, isn’t it? You want me to go with you?”

Hermione sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. “You know, it’s impolite to use Legilimens on someone like that. It’s an invasion of privacy, at the very least.”

Harry was still leaning forward in his chair, watching her closely. “Actually, I didn’t. But thanks for the public service announcement.”

“What do you mean, you didn’t?”

“I mean I didn’t. I didn’t use Legilimens on you.”

“Oh come on, Harry. You expect me to believe—“

“How long have we known each other, Hermione? I don’t need to read your mind to know what you were thinking. And the answer is no.”

Hermione groaned in frustration. “Harry, please. Just hear me out.”

“Why? That’s what you want, right? You want me to go see him? Well, forget it.” He dropped a galleon onto the table and grabbed his coat off the back of the chair.

“Harry, wait, please?” Hermione started, but he was already halfway across the bar. She watched him walk out, and dropped her head into her hands, sighing. Stubborn git, she thought, wishing she had taken more time to plan what she was going to say before she’d asked him to meet her.

Well, she wasn’t going to let him get away without hearing her out. Not a chance of that. She grabbed her coat and purse and darted off after him.

She caught up with him at the corner. “Harry, stop.”

He glanced at her, raising his hand to flag down a cab. “Forget it, Hermione. I’ve said all I have to say on the matter.”

“Good,” she snapped, watching as a car pulled up in front of them. Harry climbed in and before he could reach out and pull the door shut, she forced her way in next to him. He glowered at her as she shut the door.

“Where to?” the driver asked, eyeing them in the rearview mirror.

“West Burton, down by Holland Avenue,” Hermione said before Harry could answer. Then, she turned her attention back to Harry. “Now, since you’ve said all you have to say on the matter, you won’t have reason to interrupt me.”

Hermione thought she heard the cab driver chuckle as he pulled out into traffic again. Harry slouched slightly in his seat, turning his head to look out his window.

“Pout all you like, Harry, just so you listen to me. I think you and Ron have carried on just about long enough. It was years ago. It’s just plain silly to continue this grudge.”

Harry grunted, but didn’t say anything.

“You two used to be best friends,” Hermione said, reaching out to touch his hand. “Don’t you think that’s worth something?”

He turned to look at her, then glanced down at her hand on his. “In case you’ve forgotten, Hermione, I wasn’t the one who started it.”

“Oh, who cares who started it!” she snapped, shaking her head. “That doesn’t matter. You’re carrying it on. If you take the first step, you two could be friends again.”

“I suppose you’ve told him that too?”

She rolled her eyes. “Does that matter?”

“What’d he tell you?”

She sighed. “He said he wasn’t interested in ending it.”

“There you go then. Will you give it up now, please?”

“No,” she said, and he groaned, thumping his head back against the seat. “I’m sorry, Harry, but the two of you have been through too much together to just sit back and let your stubborn streak get in the way. Can’t you forgive him?”

He raised his head to glare at her. “Why should I? I didn’t do anything! He jumped all over me for something that didn’t even concern him. It’s you he should have been mad at, truth be told, and yet he takes it out on me.”

She gasped, affronted, but managed not to snap at him. “That’s what you have to forgive him for! He was stupid about the whole thing, I admit, but then again, so were you.”

“I was—I was stupid?” he shouted, sitting up and staring at her. “What did I do?”

“Well you could have handled it better, couldn’t you? He was hurt and you just—well, you were a bit cruel to him.”

“How was I cruel?” Harry demanded.

“Well I don’t remember exactly what you said, but you knew full well that he had a crush on me. Of course he was going to be upset that we’d—,” she threw a glance at the cab driver, then lowered her voice to a whisper, “slept together.”

“Yeah, well, it still doesn’t make it okay for him to say what he did to me.”

“But he didn’t mean it, Harry. You have to know that. He was just angry.”

“So was I after what he said to me,” Harry said. His voice held a definite edge now, and Hermione didn’t really want to push him much further at the moment.

Instead, she leaned back and looked at her window, watching the passing buildings fly by. Finally, when she could stand the tension no longer, she muttered, “I just can’t stand watching you two do this to yourselves anymore, knowing that it was just a stupid mistake that started the whole thing.”

She knew Harry had turned to look at her, but she didn’t face him. It would undoubtedly irritate him further, that comment, and she was pretty sure she wouldn’t get another word out of him for a while because of it. That was fine. She’d made her point. That was enough.

She directed the driver to her apartment building and handed him a couple of bills. “That ought to be enough to get him where he needs to go,” she told the driver, then got out and shut the door without ever looking back at Harry.

A note from the author: I don’t know if disclaimers are needed here, but just in case--I don’t own them. I’m just borrowing them for a while.

Okay, so I know chapter one was just posted an hour or so ago, but I don’t like to give just one chapter to start out. I think readers need more to go on, so I’m putting chapter 2 up as well. I have a great deal of this story written, but may still be slow updating, as I have a lot of other projects going as well, and I proof-read and edit all my stories several times over to make sure it’s all good, which takes a while.

Also, sorry about the font size on the last chapter. I should probably fix that. I had no idea it would upload that way. :D Sorry. Okay, so here’s chapter 2.

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She knew who was at the door as soon as she heard the knock. She had actually expected it sooner. She pulled open the door and looked at him.

“You don’t really think it was a mistake, do you?” He was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking both irritated and abashed.

“Of course not.”

“Then why did you say it?” he asked, leaning against the door frame. “Just looking to hurt my feelings, were you?”

“Come in, Harry, please?”

He followed her into the living room where he slumped into a chair. He was looking more than a little pouty, which was right where she wanted him. She sat down across from him, summoning a bottle of wine and two glasses from the kitchen. “See you finally got the hang of summoning glasses around the walls instead of into them,” Harry muttered, and she laughed.

“That only happened once, thanks very much. And no, I wasn’t looking to hurt your feelings. I meant to piss you off.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s the one way to get you to talk.”

He looked even more irritated, but shrugged. “Yeah, okay. But I’m still not going with you to see Ron.”

“Fine. What about us? Are we allowed to talk about that?”

“What about us?”

“I don’t think it was a mistake, Harry. It wasn’t the smartest way to go about it, I suppose, but it wasn’t a mistake.” She drew in a deep breath. “I never had feelings for Ron, not really. I never cared about him that way.”

“And me?”

She felt her cheeks grow warm. “I—well, I—,” she paused, trying to arrange her thoughts. “Let’s just say that it was a lot more likely that I could have—well, back then I could have—had feelings for you.”

His eyebrows quirked slightly, but he just nodded. “But not for Ron?”

She shook her head, then shrugged. “Well, maybe for a while, during 4^th year, you know. But—it was just a—passing thing. A little crush.”

“That’s all it was with me, though, right? Just a crush?”

She started to say that, yes of course, that’s all it was. She couldn’t, though. She had told herself she was going to be honest with him, and she had to do just that. “Actually, it was—a little more than that. At one time, you know.”

Harry’s eyes widened just the littlest bit. “Was that—around the time that we--?”

“Went to bed together?” she asked, laughing slightly at his hesitation. “Actually, yes.”

“Before or after?”

“Before. I felt like that before we slept together.”

“Did you still feel that way when--?”

She steeled herself and nodded. “I did. And for a while after, too.”

He groaned, shutting his eyes and dropping his head back against the chair. “You should have told me that.”

“I know.”

“That would have changed things.”

“Which is why I didn’t tell you.”

He looked at her again, then looked away, his jaw clenched. “I didn’t know. It wasn’t fair, to either of us.”

“But it really was, Harry.” She popped the cork on the wine and poured two glasses, leaving Harry’s on the table just across from her. “We both got what we wanted, what we needed out of it.”

He turned his glare back on her quickly. “And what exactly did I need, Hermione? You’re so clever, what was it that I got out of it?”

“Comfort. Love. An escape.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “You’re way off.”

“Am I?”

“Yes, you really are. I wasn’t—I wasn’t just using you.”

“I didn’t say you were,” she countered.

“You said I slept with you as an escape. Because I needed someone to comfort me. That sounds, to me, like you’re saying I used you as a means to an end.”

“That’s not what I meant, Harry. I didn’t ever think you used me. You needed me and I was more than happy to oblige.” She blushed, taking a sip of her wine. “I don’t think it could have helped you had it been anyone but me.”

He sighed, shaking his head. “But you—you should have told me, Hermione. I thought we both felt the same way. I thought it was just—friends, you know? It would have changed things.”

“I know.”

He was quiet for a long moment, staring at the glass of wine in front of him. “What if,” he said finally, not looking at her, “I had decided that once wasn’t enough?”

“Then I’d have been there for you every time.”

“And that’s fair to you how?”

“It didn’t matter, Harry. I loved you.” The words were out before she realized it and she hurried on to break the tension that rose afterwards. “I would have walked through fire for you if need be. You gave me a part of yourself that no one else had, and that was more than enough.”

His eyes had widened noticeably. “Hermione, I, uh—I wasn’t a--.”

“I know you weren’t. I knew about you and Parvati. She had a big mouth, you know. And I knew about you and Susan, although I never really heard whether you’d actually slept with her or not, just that you two had something going on. I’m sure there were others that I didn’t hear about, too.”

He blushed. “Well, I—you know. So then what did you mean by, part of me that no one else had?”

“If you still needed to be with me after what they’d given you, I figured—well, I never heard about anyone else after me. Not until we left Hogwarts, anyway. I just thought that maybe I had truly given you what you needed, and that meant a lot to me. Please don’t tell me if that wasn’t the case, I really don’t want to know.”

He swallowed hard, but looked her straight in the eye. “It was. I never thought of it before, but yeah, after you I just—I was okay.”

She quirked an eyebrow, smirking. “Okay? I was hoping I’d done better for you than just okay.”

He laughed, chewing his lip. “It was—I think we were—pretty good together.”

Hermione tried hard not to think about it again. She had fantasized about it sometimes, when she was alone and—needy. Now, she forced the images to the back of her mind. “I’m glad we finally talked about this.”

He glanced up, his smile fading slightly. “You still should have told me.”

“Are you going to harp on about that? It was a long time ago, Harry. I made the decision not to tell you, and I’m still—well, I don’t regret it.”

Harry reached for his glass and took a long swig of the wine. “Parvati talked about me after--?”

Hermione snorted, covering her mouth with her hand. “Constantly. I heard all the details at least twenty times.”

Harry paled slightly. “A-all of them?”

Hermione knew what he was worried about. Parvati had been his first, and things hadn’t gone perfectly for him. “Relax, Harry. She was very—complimentary.”

“Complimentary?”

“Yes. She said you were very—um, attentive, and sweet. And,” she blushed, “passionate.”

“She said I was passionate?” Harry looked slightly more hopeful.

Hermione giggled. “Well, you were a bit—uh, enthusiastic.”

“Enthusiastic?”

“Mm-hmm. You know, you were very, um—eager.”

“Eager.” He was now looking anything but enthusiastic and eager. “You make me sound like a puppy.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re a bit rough, Harry.”

He blushed. “Oh.”

“Not that I minded. I was—Well, it was great, you know. A bit—shocking, I suppose. But nice.”

Harry took another long drink of his wine. “You sure know how to sweet talk a guy, Hermione.”

She laughed. “Honestly, Harry. Parvati wasn’t complaining, and neither am I. We both thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.”

He gave a begrudged laugh. “Well, that’s something.”

“What—what about you? Did you—enjoy yourself?”

He looked at her, an expression of disbelief on his face. “Well, yeah, of course. It’s not hard for a guy to enjoy himself.”

“But was I—good?”

He laughed, nodding. “You were fine, Hermione, honestly.”

“Fine?” she asked, a little insulted.

“Oh come on, Hermione. I mean, you got the job done, right? I didn’t expect you to be spectacular, since you hadn’t had much experience, so you were really—better than I—What?”

She was blushing furiously.

“What, Hermione?”

“Harry, I hadn’t—I hadn’t had any experience. I’d never done more than—well, a little kissing. I—I thought you knew that.”

Harry had turned rather pale. “I thought that you and Viktor had--.”

“No! No, I kissed him once or twice but—no. Not even close.”

“You were a—you hadn’t ever?”

She shook her head. “I honestly thought you knew.”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, it’s no big deal, really. It’s good that my—first time was with you, right? Someone I care about and trust.”

Harry was shaking his head again. “I shouldn’t have—I just—I didn’t know.”

“Harry, please. It was a long time ago. It’s no big deal.” She sighed. “Don’t regret it, please. It meant a lot to me.”

“I don’t—I don’t really regret it, Hermione. I just—there were things I would have done differently, had I known.”

“You mean, you wouldn’t have done it at all.”

He looked at her, taking another drink of wine. “No. I—Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Well, either way. It’s done now.” She tried not to sound too bitter, but if Harry’s wince told her anything, she didn’t accomplish it. “Can we talk about Ron?”

“No.”

She sighed. “Harry--.”

“No.”

“He misses you.”

“He told you that?”

“Well, no. Not so much. But I can tell he does.”

Harry was quiet for a minute, swishing the very little bit of wine left in his glass. “I can’t forgive him for it, Hermione. I forgave him when he didn’t believe me about the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I tried to be sympathetic with him.”

“As you should have done. He couldn’t help but be jealous, Harry. You’ve always had something—well, something more than he has. Money, fame, girls—I know, nothing that you would have ever asked for if you had to get it the way you did. I’m not saying anything about you, Harry, honestly. You’re just—well, to be honest, you have a lot going for you.”

“Such as?” Harry asked, looking thoroughly testy.

“Well, and don’t you dare tell Ron I said anything of this or I’ll jinx the hell out of you, you’re just naturally more—talented. You’re better at magic, you’re smarter, you’re—better-looking. You are, not that Ron is ugly, of course. You’re just more dashing than he is. You’re just—well, you have more going for you.”

“He didn’t have it so bad, though.”

“Had it not been for you and his brothers, he would have been okay, sure. But you and Charlie and Bill—you always overshadowed him. It wasn’t your fault, but you did.”

“So I’m supposed to make it up to him for the rest of my bloody life?”

“No, Harry, no you aren’t. You can’t just write him off, though. You were too good of friends to let this come between you.”

“That’s just it, Hermione. Evidently we weren’t, because it has. We haven’t spoken to each other in three years because of it.”

“Doesn’t that mean anything to you, Harry? Doesn’t it bother you?”

Harry frowned. “Not anymore. Hermione, you heard what he said. Do you have any idea how much that--?”

“Hurt you? I do, to an extent. It was wrong of him, Harry. He was hurt too, though. When Ron gets hurt, he wants to make everyone else hurt too. It’s not a good way to handle it, but there it is. Can you even imagine what it must have been like for him?”

“It had nothing to do with him!” Harry snapped.

“Of course it did, Harry. Even if he hadn’t had a crush on me, it still would have concerned him. We were his two best friends. When three people are as close as we were, and two of them get together, what happens to the third?”

“We didn’t get together. We--.”

“Slept together, Harry. We had sex. We did something so intimate and personal that you can’t even name it. Which, coincidentally, is a little childish of you. But that’s beside the point,” she hurried on when he glared at her. “The point is, we had something between the two of us that he won’t ever have. And, to be honest, he wanted it more than you did. He thought he’d lost out to you again.”

“It wasn’t a bloody competition.”

“I know that, stop snapping at me. To him, though, it was. He wanted money, you had it. He wanted fame and recognition, you had it. He wanted the Tri-Wizard glory, you had it. And you didn’t even want any of it, which made it even worse. He saw exactly the same thing happening with you and me. He wanted me, for a long time, and you got me. And—well, to him anyway, you didn’t even really want me.”

Harry rolled his wine glass between his hands. “That’s not true.”

“Harry, it doesn’t matter. He thought it was. He’s not always reasonable, we both know that. Look at how he found out. All we were doing was kissing, and he immediately assumed that that meant we’d slept together.”

“Which we had.”

“But he didn’t know that. He just assumed we had. That’s not reasonable.”

“So I’m just supposed to forgive everything he said to me because he has this huge character flaw which is in no way my fault.”

“Would you stop?” she groaned, exasperated. “It’s not just about you, Harry. It’s about Ron and me too. I sincerely doubt that you’ll do anything just for him, so I’m going to be totally selfish. Do it for me, Harry. This whole thing has hurt me more than you can even imagine. I still want to be friends with both of you. I don’t want to lose either of you because of this. I can’t keep on like this, though. It’s tearing me apart.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, Hermione. I know it’s hard for you.”

“You can fix it. I know it means sacrifice on your part, and I hate to ask you to sacrifice anymore than you already have, but—please, Harry. It would mean the world to me.”

“That’s blackmail,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “It’s very, very unfair.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it?”

“I guess so.”

She grinning, standing up and crossing to put her arms around him. “Oh, Harry, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She kissed his cheek, then pulled him back into a tight hug, flopping down onto his lap.

Harry, despite his irritation, laughed. “All right, Hermione. Calm down. I didn’t say I’d marry him. I’m just going to go with you and try to talk to him. If he doesn’t go for it, I quit. Deal?”

“Yes, absolutely. Just—thank you for trying. It’s going to work, I just know it.”

Harry kept his arms around her, letting her bury her head in his shoulder. She wondered, briefly, how long she could hold him like this before he suspected something.

Author’s Note: I’m thrilled that this story is going over so well! This is a good bit of flashback, in the form of a dream, but I don’t think that the tense of it is confusing. Let me know if I’m wrong. :D Also, we’ve seen in the books that Hermione has an excellent memory, which I think would account for the fact that she remembers the conversations so well. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. :lol: Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks!

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Hermione would have expected the details of the memory to have faded by now, but they hadn’t. They were as sharp as ever when she dreamed about that day, and she dreamed about it often.

It had been two days since she and Harry had slept together, and Harry still blushed a little every time their eyes met. She was having a hard time concentrating on anything when he was around, and had taken to studying in her room, though it wasn’t a huge help. She still found her thoughts wondering, felt her body grow warm at the memory of it all. She imagined Harry was having much the same problem as she’d caught him staring at her a couple of times, always with a very strange look in his eyes. She could have been wrong, but she thought there was more than a touch of desire in his expression.

The idea that he might want to do it again was almost more than she could handle. Of course, it was still just an idea. He hadn’t actually said anything. And then, over dinner…

“Hey, Hermione, I had a question about my potions essay.”

“What about it?”

“Well, I did some of the research on it and it’s—it doesn’t look right. I thought, if you didn’t mind, you could look at it for me. Maybe after dinner.”

And then he’d winked at her. It could have just been an eye twitch, she supposed, but she didn’t think so. She had just stared at him for a minute, her mouth open. Was he asking what she thought he was asking?

It took her a minute, and a little uncomfortable look from Harry, to realize that she was staring and she quickly looked away, busying herself with cutting up her chicken. “Oh, sure—Harry. I’d be—happy to.”

She had excused herself from the table before any of the others, rushing back upstairs to the Common Room. She wanted to brush her teeth and fix herself up a bit before she met him.

She returned to the Common Room fifteen minutes later, feeling like she looked at least marginally better. Harry was sitting at a table with Dean and Neville, watching Ron beat Seamus at Wizard’s Chess. He glanced up when Hermione came in, giving her a small smile.

“If you want me to look at that paper, Harry, now would be a good time.” Her voice sounded a little strained and she noticed that Harry looked a little concerned when he looked up at her again.

“Okay. Oh, I left it up in the dorm.”

“Well, I’ll- just come up there with you, then.” She hoped that she actually sound as unconvincing as she thought she did.

She followed him up the spiral staircase to his room, her hands shaking slightly. He held the door open for her, shutting it behind them. “You got the hint, then?”

She swallowed hard. “I did. This—may not be such a good idea, though. What if—what if they come in?”

He frowned at her for a second, then shook his head. “Hermione, I didn’t ask you up here to—that wasn’t what I meant.”

“Oh,” she said, feeling her heart drop into her feet. “I guess I didn’t get the hint, then”

“Why? Did you want to?”

She chewed her lip, shaking her head. “I just—What did you ask me up here for then?” She sagged onto his bed, feeling like she was about to cry.

He came over and sat next to her, staring hard at his hands. “I wanted to talk to you alone.”

“Oh.” She knew she sounded as disappointed as she felt. “What about?”

“Are we-we’re okay, right? Everything between us is still good?”

She looked up at him, swallowing hard. “Of course it is.”

“I—I thought so, I just wanted to hear it from you. It makes me feel better.”

“We’re fine, Harry. I swear.”

He nodded, looking relieved. “Guess I should have thought about that before, huh?”

She laughed, though it was forced. “Neither of us were thinking much when it happened, and it’s not like we planned it, you know. It all turned out fine though, so--.”

He was looking at her, his expression shrewd. “I suppose.”

“We’re—going to have to tell Ron,” she said, her breath catching in her throat. He was leaning toward her slightly and she had only a moment’s warning before his lips met hers. A shudder ran through her as he slid his tongue between her lips, putting a hand on the back of her head to pull her in close.

She moaned involuntarily against his lips. There was something so needy in his kiss and she wanted nothing more than to give him everything he’d ever want, just to make him happy. She put up no resistance when he moved to lay her back on the bed and scooted himself up next to her. She reached her hand down to run it over his chest as he leaned over her, and he sighed softly against her lips.

He did want her again. Maybe he hadn’t brought her up here for this, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to do it again. He moved to pull her shirt tail out of the waistband of her skirt and she fought her strong desire to just rip his shirt open. His hand slid under her blouse and up to her breast and she arched against him.

Then there came a small gasp from the doorway and Harry broke off the kiss, jerking his head around. “Ron,” he muttered, sitting up quickly.

Hermione almost didn’t want to look, but she couldn’t help it. Ron stood on the threshold, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open. He looked from Harry to Hermione and back again, his face paling. “What--?” he muttered, his voice rough. “No. No. No, no, no, no.”

“Ron,” Harry started, standing up. “This—we--.”

Ron stared at him a second longer, then turned and walked away.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Harry muttered, running his hand through his hair and starting for the door.

Hermione fell behind, trying to tuck her shirt back in and smooth her hair before following.

“Ron, wait,” Harry called as Ron crossed the Common Room. Hermione had caught him up and was right on his heels as he got to the bottom of the stairs. Harry spared a glance around the crowded room before quickening his step to follow Ron. “Ron!”

“Leave me alone!” Ron roared, whirling to face them. “What the—How could you?” He sputtered for a moment, his face turning a deep shade of crimson. “How could you? You knew—You knew I liked her! You knew it, and you still--.” He dropped his arms, his hands clenching into fists. “Did you fuck her?”

Harry’s eyes widened and Hermione gasped. The room had fallen silent and every eye was on the three of them. “Ron, please. Let’s go somewhere else and we’ll--.”

“Did you fuck her?” Ron growled, spitting each word out slowly and clearly.

Harry looked at the floor and Hermione could see a blush growing on his cheeks.

“You did,” Ron muttered. “You did.” He sounded shocked, and more than a little hurt. “How could you? Isn’t it enough that you’ve fucked every other girl in the school? Did you have to have her too?”

Harry didn’t raise his eyes from the floor, but his jaw tightened slightly. “Ron,” Hermione said softly. “Calm down, okay? We can--.”

“I reckon it’s not enough for you to have everything else I ever wanted. You just couldn’t be happy until you’d taken her from me too.”

Hermione stepped forward, reaching for Ron’s arm. “Please, Ron, if you’ll just--.”

Ron jerked his arm away from her, looking as though he’d just been scorched. “Don’t—touch me!” he hissed. He turned his glare back on Harry. “I wish I’d never met you,” he snapped. “I wish Voldemort had done you in when you were a kid. I wish he would have killed you just like he killed your parents.”

“Ronald!” Hermione gasped, feeling her heart stop in her chest. “You don’t mean that!”

“Like hell I don’t. The world would be a better place without him in it.”

Hermione just stared at him, open-mouthed. Harry, however, was trembling with anger. “You stupid, selfish bastard,” he hissed, stepping up so he was nose to nose with Ron. “You would think this is all about you. It has nothing to do with you! The world doesn’t revolve around Ron Weasley, and it never will.”

“No, because it revolves around you, doesn’t it?” Ron snapped back, towering over Harry in his rage. “Everything’s all about you, isn’t it? If it weren’t for Harry Potter none of us would be here. If it weren’t for Harry Potter, Voldemort would be killing people everyday. Well guess what? He’s back and I don’t see you stopping him. Some fucking hero you are! You can’t stop him. He’s going to shoot you down like a dog and keep going. He killed your parents and he’s going to kill you, and I only hope I’m there to see it.”

Harry’s nostrils were flaring, his teeth clenched so tight that Hermione swore they would crack. “You won’t be, and do you know why? Because you’re a coward. If you got anywhere near Voldemort, you’d piss your britches like a little girl. You’re second rate, Ron, and you always will be.”

“Harry!” Hermione screeched. “Don’t say that!”

“If you think I’m second rate to you, mate, you’ve got another think coming. You’re nothing. You think people give a shit about you? You’re supposed to be their salvation. If you fail, they’ll spit on your grave. And I’ll still be around to laugh about it.” He glanced at Hermione, his lip trembling just slightly. “I hope it was worth it, Hermione. I hope he was worth it.” He stepped back from Harry, his eyes still on hers. “I’d have loved you.”

Hermione jerked awake, tears stinging her eyes. The dream always left her heart-broken and aching, and it always left her wishing. Wishing she had said something, wishing they hadn’t said those thing to each other, wishing that she had never went up to Harry’s room that day.

Maybe if Ron hadn’t walked in on them, it would have been different. Or if she could have stopped Harry from saying the things he did. Maybe if--.

It made no difference now, though. It had happened and she couldn’t fix it now. She shut her eyes and wrapped her arms tight around her chest. It would have undoubtedly ended up the same, even if she had done something then. They would have had to tell Ron the truth, and he still would have been angry. Most likely, he’d have left school and moved back to the Burrow either way. He certainly would have been just as angry at Harry. Of course, Harry may not have been just as angry at Ron.

Why had he said those things? Why couldn’t he just let it go?

No, it all came back to the same thing. They had slept together, and that had set everything in motion. She would have had to stop that to keep the rest from snowballing, and despite the end results, that was something she wasn’t willing to take back. Not that she could, of course, but given the choice to do it all over—yes, she would do it all again.

Harry’s face floated past her mind’s eye and she had to smile. She hadn’t told him the whole truth, but it wasn’t exactly time for that. He wasn’t ready to hear that she had been madly in love with him then, or that she still was. She wasn’t going to tell him, either. She was never going to tell him.

She’d realized long ago that it could never happen. She could never be with him. It had nearly killed her to admit it to herself, but she had always known it.

Harry had to live his life, as much as he could do. If he knew that she was still in love with him, he would try, out of sheer nobility, to make her happy. He wasn’t completely selfless, but she knew that it would tear him apart to know she wanted to be with him, especially considering that he didn’t want to be with her.

He didn’t love her. He cared for her, she knew that. He would still give his life for her without a second thought, if he had to. He would do anything she ever asked him to. And if she asked him to love her back, he would try. And if he realized that he still didn’t, he would pretend to. Somehow, she just knew that.

She refused to put him through that.

He’d agreed to go with her, no matter how grudgingly, to see Ron. He wasn’t happy about it, but she’d known that, if she asked him to please do it for her, he would never refuse her.

So, they were planning the trip. Harry had insisted that, if he were going on a holiday, he was going to enjoy it. As much of it as he could, at least. So, they had taken a month off from their respective jobs and were planning to travel, like Muggles, by car. It wouldn’t take them a month to get to Ron’s of course, but Harry had insisted that they drive around the country a little, to take in the sights and relax a little. He had planned out the route, refusing to tell her anything.

He was due to pick her up at half eight the next morning, and her bags were already laying by the front door.

She glanced at the clock by her bed and sighed. It was only a little after three, and she doubted that she’d be able to go back to sleep. She rolled onto her side and stared out the window at the night sky. She was going to be spending a month with Harry. An entire month. It both excited and scared her.

On one hand, they were still very close friends, and she loved being with him. On the other, it would provide a hundred or more opportunities for her to do something really stupid. She’d spent the better part of the last week telling herself that she would not sleep with him. She wouldn’t kiss him, she wouldn’t let him kiss her. She wouldn’t go into his room at night, even just to talk. She wouldn’t think of even sitting on his bed. She wouldn’t touch him, she wouldn’t flirt with him, she wouldn’t…

I won’t, she thought, trying to force some conviction into the thought. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.

But what if he did? Would she stop him if he did?

He wouldn’t. Not after all this time, not now that he knew the truth about their first time together. He wouldn’t.

He hadn’t even tried to kiss her since the argument with Ron. Well, okay, on the cheek but that didn’t count. And sure, he was still a little—well, affectionate with her, still tended to grab onto her hand from time to time, had no problem hugging her or putting his arm around her waist, but they were friends. It didn’t really mean anything. He was used to her, that was all.

It still sent chills up her spine, though, and that was the problem. And it was a huge problem.

The morning of their departure dawned gray and cold, and the skies threatened snow. Heavy snow, from the looks of it. Hermione finished dressing and washed up her breakfast dishes, then sat down on the couch to wait for Harry.

It had occurred to her that they were going to be spending a lot of their time in a car, which meant a lot of time to talk. She had to wonder just what they would talk about. It was a hell of a lot of time to have to fill.

She was just about to go peek out the window to see if Harry was there yet when a soft pop sounded in the fireplace behind her. She jumped slightly, turning to find the source of the noise.

“Oh, hello, Molly.”

“Hello, Hermione, dear! I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Oh, uh, no. No, I’m just—getting ready to head out on my holiday.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled. “Yes, Ron told us you were going to go visit him. I do hope that you’ll take the time to come and see us too. It’s been a while.”

Hermione tried to bite back a wince. She hadn’t told Ron that Harry was coming along, which meant that Ron hadn’t told the other Weasleys. She doubted Mrs. Weasley would be so eager to see her if she knew about Harry.

After Harry and Ron had had their fight, the Weasleys had all but turned their backs on Harry. At first, it had seemed that they weren’t going to take sides, but eventually they had. Mr. Weasley was still friendly to Harry when they saw each other at work, but the rest of the family wasn’t so kind.

Harry was no longer welcome at the Burrow, or any of the Weasleys’ homes. Fred and George, who had always been like brothers to Harry, had decided that Harry had hit way below the belt and had, for a while, taken to sending Harry curses-by-mail. Mrs. Weasley had simply said that she didn’t understand what Harry could have been thinking, but she would welcome him back when he was ready to apologize, which would never happen.

Ginny had remained neutral the longest, but even she had eventually picked her brother over Harry. It had been Ron’s fault, really. He’d given them an ultimatum—stop talking to Harry, or stop talking to him. Hermione had a feeling that Ron had embellished somewhat when telling them about the argument, as the Weasleys seemed to believe that Harry had taken a great deal of time insulting them each personally.

“Hermione, dear? Are you okay?”

She shook herself from her thoughts. “Oh, yes, sorry. I, um, I can try to stop by.” A knock sounded on the door behind her and she froze.

“Go ahead and answer, dear, I can wait.”

Hermione started to argue that she really needed to go and finish getting ready to leave, but she couldn’t think of a polite way to say it. Instead, she nodded, squared her shoulders and went to answer the door.

“Hey, you ready?” Harry stood there, looking absolutely gorgeous. His faded jeans and T-shirt fit like they were tailor-made, as did the beat-up leather coat. She silently cursed him for looking so damned good when she was already at the edge of her resolve.

“Come in, Harry.” She stepped back and let him into the living room.

“Well, well,” said Molly’s voice from the fireplace and Harry stopped dead. “Harry.” Her tone was cold as ice, and her head gave him a rather nasty look from the flames.

“Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said, obviously forcing himself to say anything at all. “I need to use your loo, Hermione.”

“Go ahead,” she said, patting his arm. “You know where it is.”

She waited until he disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door behind him before turning back to Mrs. Weasley. “So, I’ll try to--.”

“What’s he doing there?” Mrs. Weasley asked briskly. “I wasn’t aware that you’re still speaking to him.”

“Well, yes, I am. Harry is my friend, Molly, as is Ron.”

“Is he going on holiday with you?”

Hermione sighed. “Yes.”

“Well, maybe you’ll stop by some other time then. Nice chatting with you, dear. Goodbye.”

She disappeared from the flames before Hermione could say another word. She sat there staring at the fire, shaking her head. This had to end. It had to. She couldn’t stand the bickering anymore.

She jumped when she felt a hand close on her shoulder. She hadn’t heard Harry come out of the bathroom, but suddenly, there he was. “I’m sorry about that,” he said softly. “She shouldn’t—it’s not right for her to hold it against you.”

“You heard?”

He nodded. “Maybe you should go alone. If it’s going to cause you problems taking me along--.”

“Harry, I’m going because of you. I want you and Ron to talk again. And I know you won’t if I’m not there. So neither of us is staying home.”

He chewed his lip for a minute, then shrugged. “All right, then. Do you have everything?”

She motioned to her bags. “I’m all set.”

Harry picked up her shoulder bag and tossed it over his arm, then hefted her suitcases with a slight groan. “Hermione, is it really necessary for you to bring your entire library with you?”

She laughed. “It’s not all books, Harry. We’re going to be gone for a month. That’s a lot of clothes.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “Are we ready then, or do you have a few bookcases to lug downstairs too? The kitchen sink, maybe?”

She smirked at him. “You couldn’t lift my kitchen sink.”

“Aw, now, that’s not nice. Here I am carrying your stuff down the stairs and you go and insult me.”

She shut the door behind them, giving a quick wave of her wand to magically seal the door. She followed him down the four flights of stairs and out onto the sidewalk where she stopped short. “Harry?”

“What?” he asked, laying down one of her suitcases to pull the keys out of his pocket.

“Where did you get this?”

“I rented it. Why? Don’t you like it?”

She laughed. “It’s a truck.”

“Yeah. An SUV, actually.” He pulled the tail gate open and slid her bags in. “You want this one up front?”

“Yes, please,” she said, still staring at the truck. “I thought you were going to get a car?”

“This has more room. More comfortable. I’m glad I got it now, since you’re insisting on bringing your entire apartment along.”

He came around and opened the passenger’s side door for her. She gave him a small smile, then climbed inside. “Wow, leather seats,” she said, running her hand over the smooth, gray material.

“Yeah, and they have heaters in them, look.” He reached down and clicked a button on the side of her seat. “Bum warmers.”

She giggled, feeling the seat grow warm. “Nice.”

He shut her door and climbed into his side a minute later. “All right. Ready then?”

“Whenever you are. Where are we going first?”

“Up the coast,” he said, pulling out into traffic.

“To?”

“Now, that would be telling. Just wait.”

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you agree to come with me?”

He glanced at her, then shrugged. “You asked me to.”

“I’ve been asking you to make up with Ron for three years. What was so different about this time?”

“I didn’t agree to make up with Ron, Hermione. You asked me to come and try to talk to him.”

“Which I’ve done a thousand times before.”

“And I said I would.”

“Why now?”

“Because you asked me to.”

“Harry--.”

He sighed. “Because you asked me to, Hermione. Because you wanted it. As angry as I am with Ron, and as much as I would like to punch him in his miserable face, I know you want this.”

It confirmed just what she’d always thought. He would do anything for her. It hurt like hell to know that.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to say to him?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I’m sorry.”

She frowned. “For what?”

He chuckled. “That’s what I’m going to say to him.”

She looked at him for a minute. “You’re going to apologize to him?”

“Yeah.”

“But I thought you said--.”

“I did, but you’re right. It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said what I did. I should have been kinder, knowing how much it hurt him.”

“You’re—you’re actually going to apologize?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, you weren’t completely in the wrong but one of you has to be first. It’s very big of you to be willing to say it.”

“It’s not big of me, Hermione. We aren’t going to get anywhere if one of us doesn’t say it, so I’ll say it.”

She stared at him for a minute. He was leaning forward, squinting up through the windshield. “Thank you, Harry.”

He glanced at her, then nodded. “You’re welcome. You don’t have to keep saying that, you know.”

“I want to. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Yeah I do, or I wouldn’t be doing it.”

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

The snow started around eleven, blowing in thick and heavy from the first flake. “How bad is this supposed to get?” Hermione asked, frowning out her window.

“Dunno,” Harry muttered, reaching over to flip on the heater. “I didn’t watch the weather.”

She sighed. It was so like Harry to plan a trip without concern for the weather. She turned on the radio and switched through the channels, trying to find a weather report. “…just starting, unfortunately. I can’t say it enough, this storm is going to be a nasty one. The latest updates are saying seven to ten inches, possibly more. Four inches already on the ground in the western counties, no sign thus far of letting up. The national weather center is advising residents to stock up and stay in.”

“Seven to ten inches isn’t that bad,” Harry reasoned, shrugging. “It could be much worse.”

“Possibly more though. Do you think we should stop and find a place to stay? We could wait it out for a few days. We have plenty of time to get to Ron’s.”

Harry shook his head. “No need. It’s just starting here. We’ll make it to the inn long before it gets bad.”

“Well--if you’re sure.”

“I’m positive. I’m hungry. What’s say we get some lunch?”

Hermione had to laugh. “You just ate breakfast a few hours ago. How could you possibly be hungry?”

He grinned, pulling into the carpark of a little restaurant. “I’m still growing. Or at least, I hope I am.”

“Yeah, well, let’s make this fast. I really don’t want to get caught in this storm.”

“We won’t. Trust me.”

The snow had grown thicker and heavier since noon, and the wind had kicked up, so that the snow was blowing across the road. It was near white-out conditions, and large white banks were forming on either side of the road.

“Can you even see the road?” Hermione asked, trying to wipe a bit more of the steam from her window.

“Not really,” Harry admitted. “The inn shouldn’t be too much further though. We’ll make it.”

No sooner than the words were out of his mouth, the back end of the truck started to slide. Harry gripped the wheel, trying to control the large vehicle, but the traction control kicked in at exactly the wrong time. The truck lurched forward, still turned slightly sideways and the front end slammed hard into a snow bank. Hermione threw her hand out to keep from hitting the dashboard. The back end slid a little further to one side, then stopped, and the engine died.

“Shit,” Harry muttered. “Are you all right?”

Hermione nodded, trying to catch her breath. “Are you?” He was rubbing at a spot on his forehead and at first she thought his scar was bothering him. “Did you hit your head?”

He nodded, wincing. “I’m all right. Just bounced it off the bloody steering wheel. I thought this thing was supposed to have airbags.”

“Let me see,” she said, taking his chin and turning his face toward her. “Well, you aren’t bleeding, so that’s good. Does it hurt?” She lightly laid her fingers on the bruised knot that was already raising up there, and he flinched away.

“It’s fine, honestly. Oh, no. No, no, no.” He had tried to turn the key, but the truck didn’t make a sound. He tried again with the same result. “No, no, come on.” After a few more minutes, with no luck, he punched the steering wheel and flopped back in his seat. “Damn it!”

“What do we do now?”

He sighed, shaking his head. “No idea. I guess we could try to get to the inn on foot. It has to be fairly close.”

“You want to walk in this weather?”

“No, I don’t want to walk in this weather, but our other option is sitting and waiting to see if someone else comes along. It’s going to get really cold in here though, and who knows when or even if someone’s going to pass here.”

“So,” she said after a moment. “we walk.”

“I don’t think we have a choice. Can you do without your bag for tonight?”

She shrugged. “I guess. I really should take my toothbrush, though. And a clean pair of underwear.”

He stared at her for a minute, then sighed. “Well, crawl back there and get them, then. Only what you absolutely have to have, though, all right?”

“Okay, okay,” she muttered, clambering over the console and into the back seat. “Do you need anything?”

“No.”

“Not even underwear? A toothbrush?”

“Hermione, I’ll call someone first thing tomorrow and have them come and pull the truck out. We’ll have all of our stuff back and be on the road again by noon.”

“Well, I’ll get your toothbrush, just in case,” she called back, digging through her bag. It took her a few minutes to find everything in her bags, then to dig Harry’s single bag out from under her things. “This is all you brought?”

“Yeah. I know how to use a washing machine, Hermione. I didn’t have to bring 31 pairs of clean underwear.”

She rolled her eyes, unzipping the leather bag and rifling through it. Her hand brushed up against what was unmistakably an elastic waistband. She actually blushed as she pulled a pair of Harry’s boxers out and crammed them into her shoulder bag with her things. She kept looking until she found his toothbrush, then zipped the bag back up. “You sure you don’t need anything else?”

“Positive.”

She closed the clasp on her bag and made her way back up to the front seat. “Just let me get bundled up.” She wrapped her scarf around her face and slid her gloves on, then started to do up the buttons on her coat to keep her hood on. She glanced at Harry and gasped. “Is that all you have to wear? No gloves or a hat or anything?”

“I wasn’t planning on having to walk in the snow, Hermione. I’ll be fine.”

She reached over and fingered his leather jacket. “That’s not very thick.”

“It’s fine. Hand me your bag.” He pulled the strap over his head and reached for the door handle. “Stay put. I’ll come over and help you out.”

She thought he was just being silly until she actually tried to open her door and found that it was wedged shut by the snow bank. Harry had already forced his door open and climbed out. She heard his feet crunching in the snow as he rounded the back of the truck. He appeared at her window a second later. “Can you get it open?” she asked through the closed window. He shook his head.

“Climb through the back,” he called back to her. “You’re going to have to come out the gate.”

“Can’t I just come out your door?”

“The drift’s too deep there. You’ll never get through it. Go through the back.” She sighed but heaved herself back over the console and into the back seat, then into the compartment with the luggage. Harry tugged the tailgate down. “Duck under the window. Watch your head.”

His voice was almost drowned out by the howling wind, and the snow was pelting him in the face. She climbed out and into snow that was over her knees. “Holy cow,” she muttered, trying to take a step toward the road. Her foot wouldn’t come up out of the snow far enough however, and she toppled over into the drift. Harry grabbed her arm, nearly going down with her. “Careful,” he shouted. He slid his hand into hers and pulled her back to her feet. “Take your time. Go slow.”

She nodded, clinging to his hand as she lifted her foot again and managed to make it one step toward the road. It was slow going, even after they got onto the road. The blowing snow made it impossible to see anything and, even on the road, drifts were beginning to form.

Harry kept his arm around her waist, sometimes wrapping both arms around her to help her keep her balance. With anyone else, it would have bugged her, but she didn’t mind it one bit coming from Harry. He kept squinting through the dark, looking ahead of them. Finally, he let out a whoop. “There it is. See it?”

There were lights burning some distance ahead, although it was impossible at first to tell just how far ahead. “How can you be sure that’s it?”

“Because if it isn’t, we’re going to freeze to death before we find it,” he laughed. “So let’s just say it is and maybe we’ll at least die happy.”

She smacked his arm. “We’re not going to die, Harry! Honestly, that’s not funny.”

He pulled her closer to him, burying his face in her shoulder for a minute. “Just keep walking, Hermione. You can tell me off when we’re warm again.”

She looked around, then scoffed. “This is ridiculous. There’s no one around. Where’s my wand?”

She started to rifle through her pockets, then remembered that she had stuck it into the inside lining of her coat. Harry must have realized it to, because he sighed. “I’ll do it.” He pulled his own wand out of his back pocket and started to melt a path through the snow in front of them.

“This should, at least, make it easier to walk,” she said, watching him. His cheeks were scarlet with wind burn and she immediately pulled her scarf off and wrapped it around his neck. “No,” she said sharply when he started to argue with her. “You’ll be lucky if you don’t already have frostbite. Now take it!”

He nodded, letting her pull it up to cover his mouth and cheeks. She tucked her arm under his so they were huddled close together and set off again.

By the time they made it to the lights, Hermione was willing to sell everything she owned to be warm again. They stumbled up the stairs to the door, and Hermione let out a sigh of relief. A sign on the front of the building read: Crispenson Family Inn.

“Thank God,” Harry muttered, stowing his wand and pulling open the screen door. Hermione stepped into the lobby and immediately felt her cheeks begin to burn. She turned to look at Harry, who was shutting the front door behind him and brushing snow out of his hair. “That was fun.”

She laughed. “Oh yeah. A real party.”

“Hello, there,” said a voice behind them and Hermione turned to find an older woman beaming at them. “My heavens, you two look positively frozen!”

“Yeah, our truck got stuck in a snowdrift down the road,” Hermione said, her teeth chattering. “It’s really coming down out there.”

“You had to walk? In this weather?” the woman gasped. “Good gracious, you could have frozen to death. Get in here and get yourselves warmed up.” She took hold of Hermione’s arm and Harry’s shoulder and bustled them into the sitting room, where a fire was roaring in the fireplace. “You just sit yourselves down and I’ll get you a cuppa’. Sit down there now. Get out of those wet coats, come on.” She stopped, staring at Harry. “Is that all you have on? That thin little coat? Oh for pete’s sake, it’s a wonder you made it at all. I’ll get you a blanket too. You just sit down there.”

Harry flopped down on the couch beside Hermione, and dropped his head onto her shoulder. He was shivering violently, and she wrapped her arms around him, cuddling him.

“Are you all right?” she asked, brushing some more snow out of his hair.

“I’m f-f-f-fine,” he stuttered, the shivering becoming more pronounced.

“Harry, are you sure?”

He looked up at her through his thick, dark eyelashes, managing a grin. “I’m f-f-fine, Hermi-one. It-it-it’ll st-stop in a m-m-minute.”

The woman came hurrying back in with a blanket, throwing it around both of them. “Oh heavens, you should get him into a warm shower right away,” she said, shaking her head and looking at Harry with concern. “Come with me and I’ll get you into your room, okay? Come on.”

Hermione started to tell the woman that they really needed two rooms, but then she glanced at Harry. He was shaking so hard that she wondered if he’d even be able to stand. No, she’d have to stay with him tonight, just in case. He might get sick and she didn’t want him to be alone.

She pulled Harry to his feet, wrapping an arm under his. “Are you all right, Harry? Can you walk?”

He nodded, wincing slightly. “I’m f-fine. R-really.”

He somehow managed to make it up the stairs and down the hall to their room, but collapsed onto the bed as soon as she let go of him.

“He may need to see a doctor tomorrow,” the woman said, frowning. “I’d try to get one out here tonight, but there’s not much chance of that. If you need anything, though, you let me know. And get him in a warm bath as soon as possible.”

Hermione nodded, thanking the woman. When the door had shut behind her, Hermione flopped onto the bed beside Harry.

“Harry? Are you okay?”

His eyes were shut and his cheeks were a raw red, but the shivering had slowed some. “I’m fine. Tired. A little sore.”

“Come on, let’s get you out of those wet clothes.”

He opened one eye and looked up at her. “Not tonight, Hermione, I have a headache.”

“Oh,” she growled, rolling her eyes. “Would you please stop making jokes?! Your clothes are soaked through and you’re going to catch pneumonia if you don’t get warmed up soon.”

He didn’t argue, so she stooped down beside the bed and untied his shoes, pulling them off his feet. They, along with his socks and jeans legs, were iced over. His socks stuck to his skin and she gasped as she felt how cold his feet were. Harry winced, jerking his foot away as she ran her hand over it. “Hurts,” he muttered.

She wasn’t surprised. It was more than a little purple and she knew Harry had been dangerously close to getting frostbite. She pulled his other sock off, rubbing his feet a little despite Harry’s arguments. She knew that, more than actually trying to help him, she was putting off the inevitable.

Sighing heavily, she stood back up and leaned over Harry. “Still awake?”

He grunted.

“I need to get your pants off you. Okay?”

Another grunt, this one slightly more suggestive.

She tried to still her shaking hands as she reached for the button on his jeans. She unfastened and unzipped them as quickly as she could, then patted his hip. “Lift up.”

“Can’t,” Harry muttered, and she stared hard at him. She was slightly worried that maybe there was something very wrong with him, but she was even more worried that he was about to pull some colossal joke on her.

“Come on, Harry. Just lift up a little so I can get these off of you.” When he didn’t respond, and didn’t move, she blew out an irritated breath and grabbed the bottom of his jeans. She tugged as hard as she could, near sliding him off the bed as the jeans slid off. He took in a sharp, hissing breath and winced. “What?”

“Leg hairs,” he groaned, and she had to laugh. “’S not funny, Hermione.”

“Sorry, Harry,” she giggled. “I didn’t realize they were frozen to you.”

“Ungh,” he said, his eyes barely sliding open.

“Are you all right, Harry? Seriously?”

“Mhhmp.”

“Harry, I need an answer that’s more than a grunt. Are you okay?”

He nodded. “So damned tired all of a sudden,” he said, raising his hand to rub his eyes.

“Well don’t fall asleep. I need to get you heated back up.”

“Hermione, you know I love you, but I’m really not in the mood. How many times do I have to—tell you that.” His joke was punctuated by a jaw-splitting yawn.

She tried to ignore the joke about him loving her, and reached down to take hold of his arms. “Sit up, Harry.”

He had to roll onto his side to push himself into a sitting position, and even then he looked like he might tumble over again. She pulled his jacket off and tossed it onto an armchair, then pulled at the hem of his T-shirt, being careful not to let her hands brush against anything—below his waist.

She was just about to tug it up and over his head when he caught her hand in his. “I’ll do it,” he said softly, and she looked up to realize that their faces were scant centimeters apart.

“Okay,” she said, pulling her hand out of his and standing up quickly. “I’m just going to—go run you some hot water, then.”

She didn’t wait around to see if he had any reaction to her abrupt change of manner. She didn’t want to know.

She went into the adjacent bathroom and bent over the tub, stopping the drain, then turning on the tap. She felt, rather than heard, him come into the room behind her and fought the urge to turn and look at him.

“I hope a bath is okay. I didn’t think you could stand up in the shower.”

“Probably not,” he said, and his voice held an odd edge. “I can do that, if you want me to.”

She shook her head, pulling a towel and washcloth from the shelf and laying them by the large tub. “It’s no problem. Do you want some shampoo and soap, or are you just going to soak?”

“What, you’re not going to join me?”

She knew him well enough to know that he had never, even for a second, thought she was. He was taking a jab at her, and it set her teeth on edge. She finally turned to look at him. “So, you’re all set,” she said quietly. “Let me know if you need anything.” She moved toward the door, but he stood up straight and blocked her path. When she hesitated for a moment just to make sure, and he still didn’t move, she sighed. “Harry, you’re in my way.”

“What’s up?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she said in a very unconvincing tone.

“A few minutes ago, you were fine and now you’re—I dunno, irritated about something.”

“Because you’re standing in my way.”

“No, it’s not just that. Look at me,” he said, and she grudgingly turned her face toward his. She’d been trying so hard not to, but when he told her to, the way he just had, she found that she couldn’t refuse. “Did I do something?”

She shut her eyes, frowning. “Okay, you want the truth? The sex jokes, Harry. They have to stop.”

His eyes narrowed the slightest bit, but that was his only immediate reaction. Then, finally, he nodded. “All right. I’m sorry, I didn’t know they bothered you.”

Of course they bother me, she thought fiercely. They bother me because I want to be shagging you senseless right now and you’re standing there in your boxers looking so bloody good and I can’t have you. I can’t have you. She didn’t say any of this, of course. Instead, she simply said, “They do.”

He was still studying her carefully and she forced herself not to drop her chin and look away from him. It took every bit of her resolve to keep looking into his eyes. “All right, then.”

He stepped to one side to let her pass, and she had to brush against him to get out the bathroom door. She wished, more than anything, that she had gotten her own room. He went into the bathroom and shut the door and she slumped onto the bed and fought back tears. This wasn’t going to work. It was never going to work.

Author’s note: Thank you, always, for the reviews. I will try to answer all of them if you have a question or comment, but I fell so far behind between chapters 4 and 5 that I don’t think I’ll be able to go back and hit all of them. L I’m really sorry. Just know that I truly appreciate every one of them!

I’m going to do something a little different with this story, toward the end of it, if everything works out the way I want it. I don’t think the mods will have any objections, but I’ll have to ask them. Meanwhile, here’s chapter 6. It’s really a bit short compared to what most chapters are, so I’ll have to make it up to you somehow. :D

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Hermione didn’t have any idea when she had dozed off, but she was vaguely aware of the sound of a door opening somewhere nearby, and the sound of footsteps on the thick carpet. Some part of her mind was telling her that she needed to wake up, but she couldn’t figure out why.

Then she felt the bed shift slightly and she jerked her eyes open.

“Sorry,” Harry said, giving her a small smile. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He was still in just his boxers, his hair wet from the bath, his skin slightly pink from the heat of the water. “Do you want to get under the blankets?”

She sat up, staring at him. Her mind was still slightly sleep-fogged and she couldn’t quite make sense of what he was asking her. “I fell asleep,” she said lamely.

He nodded. “You’re probably more tired than you realized.” He took mercy on her and walked around the bed to kneel in front of her. “Let’s get your shoes off, okay?”

She just nodded, and watched as he untied her shoes and slid them off her feet. It occurred to her that there was some problem with this whole scenario, but she was too tired to think much about it. “I can’t sleep in these clothes,” she mumbled, barely able to keep her eyes open anymore. He glanced up at her and there was a strange look on his face. She tugged at her sweater but couldn’t seem to figure out how to get it off. When he didn’t move to help her, she held the bottom of it out to him. “Help me?”

He hesitated, then stood to help her pull the sweater over her head. She tugged at the T-shirt underneath, but he put his hand on hers. “You may want to leave that on.”

“Okay,” she said sleepily. “The pants have to go, though. They’re—wet.” She hadn’t the foggiest idea how they’d gotten wet. She didn’t remember, come to think of it, how Harry had come to be in her room. It didn’t matter at the moment though, because she wanted desperately to go back to sleep.

Again, he hesitated. She flopped backwards on the bed and felt sleep start to roll over her. She was only the tiniest bit aware of Harry sliding her jeans off of her, lifting her just slightly from the bed, and pulling the covers up around her.

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Something tickled Hermione’s nose and she half-heartedly waved her hand around her face, trying to shoo Crookshanks off her bed. Her palm hit something hard, and she started to drift off again, assured that the cat would now leave her alone. She was too warm and comfortable to bother opening her eyes. Then, something shifted beside her and the bed squeaked slightly. A deep voice sounded close to her face. “Did I do something wrong?”

She slid one eye open and found herself staring at Harry. She shrieked, jumping backwards and nearly tumbling off the bed. Harry’s hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, pulling her back. “Wha—Harry! What are you doing in my bed?”

He said nothing, apparently knowing that it would all come back to her once she looked around. “Oh,” she said stupidly. “Sorry.”

“Why’d you hit me?”

She put her hand to her mouth, gasping. “Oh, Harry, I’m sorry. Something tickled my nose and I thought it was Crookshanks. Did it hurt?”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “Not with a skull this thick. Quite a way to wake up though.”

She blushed, looking around the room again. It hadn’t taken her even a few seconds to remember the night before, with the snowstorm and the long walk and all and she felt herself start to relax. So they hadn’t--.

She reached her hand down to scratch her leg and stopped. “Where are my pants?”

Harry leaned back on his pillows, rubbing his eyes. “You said you couldn’t sleep in jeans.”

“Did—did I take them off?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

He dropped his hands to his sides, looking at her carefully. “Does that matter?”

“Yes, it matters!” she said, blushing.

“You asked me to help you get them off. Then you fell asleep. So I took them off, put you under the covers and went to sleep.” His eyes were burning into hers, even more intense without his glasses. “I didn’t touch you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She was suddenly furious with herself. Of course he hadn’t touched her. He didn’t want her like she wanted him. “I—I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to sound like I was accusing you.”

He shrugged off her apology and rolled over onto his side. “No big deal. I’m going back to sleep for a bit, if you don’t mind.”

She watched him for a minute, then shook her head. “Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you mad at me?”

He was quiet for a long moment, and she wondered if he’d already dozed off again. Then he shook his head. “No.”

“I just—I didn’t remember asking you to—and I’m sure I did. I know I did, because you said I did, but—well, it was just--.”

“Hermione?” he said, not opening his eyes.

“Yes?”

“It’s okay. Really.”

She laughed softly. “Thank you, Harry.”

He nodded.

She lay back against her pillow, staring at the ceiling. It was still early, the sun wasn’t even up yet, and she was really thinking of going back to sleep too. She rolled over to face Harry and suddenly realized what had been tickling her nose. She’d been laying so close to Harry that his hair had been in her face. In fact, she seemed to remember feeling his warm body pressed against hers as she was starting to wake up. She had been cuddled up next to him.

She wanted to be there again; she wanted that more than she cared to admit to herself.

She edged a little closer to him, wondering if he was asleep yet. He hadn’t complained at having her spooned up next to him. Then again, she thought bitterly, made he hadn’t realized that it was her. Maybe he had shared a bed with women so much that he no longer realized someone was holding him. That wasn’t anything she wanted to think about, though. He didn’t go into great detail about his sex life, and she didn’t care to ask.

She sighed, still trying to decide whether or not to scoot up next to him again. Finally, she couldn’t resist any longer. She moved carefully, trying not to shake the bed, until she was touching him again. He was so warm and solid and she wrapped her arm around his waist, pushing herself tightly against him.

She jumped when he moved his hand up to take hold of hers, pulling her arm tighter around him. She didn’t dare move, afraid that he would wake up if she did. Instead, she lay as still as she could until his breathing had evened out again.

It was more than she ever should have done, but she reasoned with herself that this wasn’t that bad. She wasn’t having sex with him, she was just cuddling. It meant nothing.

She sighed, letting her body relax until she was practically melting into his back. She nearly shot out of her skin when he spoke. “Are you settled in yet? Because I really want to go back to sleep.”

She gasped, trying to pull her hand out of his. He held tight to it, somehow managing to roll onto his back without shifting her at all. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Not yet,” he muttered, pushing his free arm behind her head and pulling her right up next to him. She wanted to move, but she couldn’t make herself. It felt so good to have his arm around her, to be tucked up so close to him. She lay her head on his bare chest and suddenly couldn’t remember why she’d ever thought this was a bad idea. It felt so right.

His hand was resting on her shoulder, his long fingers gently brushing back and forth across the fabric of her T-shirt. She could feel the hard muscles of his stomach under her arm. She could hear his heart beating in his chest.

It was all great, but it just wasn’t enough. She wanted to kiss him, to feel his hands on her bare skin. She wanted him, with her, inside her.

“That tickles, Hermione,” Harry muttered, his voice thick with sleep. She had been running her fingers along the bare skin of his chest without realizing it.

“Sorry,” she said, glad her couldn’t see the blush rising up on his cheeks.

“Are you all right?”

She stiffened, worried what might be behind that question. “Yeah, why?” she responded in a tense, high-pitched voice that wasn’t her own.

“You’re acting strange.”

“Am I?”

He chuckled, causing his chest to vibrate under her cheek. “Yes, you are. Can you save me the trouble of trying to drag it out of you and just tell me what you’re thinking?”

She huffed. “Since when are you so insightful toward my feelings?” He didn’t respond, but she felt his hand loosen it’s grip on her shoulder. It hadn’t been the right thing to say, but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize to him again. “Honestly, Harry,” she said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. “I’m fine.”

She waited for him to argue with her, to tell her she was a terrible liar, to say something. When he didn’t, she couldn’t resist turning her head to look at him. He was looking down at her, his green eyes heavy-lidded and darker than normal. There was something so intense in his stare that she only barely managed to fight off a shiver.

Then, his eyes slid shut and he said nothing more.

Hermione woke up with the sun shining fully into the room. The first thing she noticed was that Harry was gone. His clothes were no longer laying on the floor and his side of the bed was already cool. He’d been gone a while.

She sat up, sighing, and glanced at the clock. It was almost eleven in the morning. She groaned, climbing out of bed and looking around for her clothes. “What--?” she started, looking around, confused. “Where the hell are my clothes?”

She was just starting toward the bathroom to see if maybe Harry had moved them, for whatever reason, when she noticed the note of the dresser. She picked it up, immediately recognizing Harry’s handwriting.

Hermione,

I went with Mr. Crispenson to find the truck. We’ll be back before lunch, with any luck. Your clothes are being washed, just in case we can’t get to our stuff. Mrs. Crispenson said if you were hungry, or needed anything at all, to give her a call.

There’s a robe and some slippers in the closet, and a room service menu in the desk. Relax—(this word was underlined, and somewhat bolder than the rest) and take it easy.

Harry

She had to laugh. He knew her well enough to know that she was worrying about things already. How were they going to get to the truck? One glance out the window told her that the snow was falling as heavy as ever, and as far as she knew, Harry still had only a thin coat to wear. Surely, the snow was even deeper now than it had been last night, so she didn’t see how Harry and Mr. Crispenson could make it through any quicker or easier than she and Harry had last night, especially without magic.

And just how long were they going to have to stay here, anyway? Something about Harry’s note had clued her in that they were not going to be leaving today as they had planned. That meant she was going to have to either ask for another room, or spend another night in the same bed as Harry.

She wasn’t sure she could handle that. Had he made even the slightest indication that he had wanted her last night, she would have given in to him without delay.

She put off thinking about it any longer by going into the bathroom and starting to run herself a hot bath. She needed to relax, just like Harry had said, and she couldn’t think of a better way to do it than to lay in the huge, deep tub with bubbles up to her neck.

She slid beneath the surface of the water, letting out an almost-sinful moan. Her tense muscles were starting to relax, and her mind was fogging over nicely. Her hand brushed against her breast and she rubbed gently at a nipple, feeling it harden to her touch. She knew she had to do this. She had too much sexual tension built up in her, and it was dangerous to let it fester with Harry so close to her. It was hard enough to handle when he wasn’t sleeping right next to her, but sharing a bed with him—she would never make it.

She laid her head back against the edge of the tub and slid her other hand between her legs, running two fingers between her folds. If only it could be Harry, touching her like this, making the warmth spread out across her body. If only he could be the one whose hands were plucking at her breasts, making her breath come out in short, rasping spurts.

His face flashed into her mind and almost sent her over the edge right away. “Oh,” she groaned, rubbing harder at her clit, sliding a finger deep inside of her. It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do.

She’d tried everything to make it enough. She’d bought sex toys, some so large that they hurt when she slid them inside her, some that vibrated and wiggled. They weren’t enough. Even her favorite, a magical one that could pump in and out of her on its own, as slow or frenzied as she wished, just wasn’t enough.

She wanted Harry. Nothing else would ever be enough.

She climaxed, jerking forward, letting out a heaving gasp. It was way short of mind-blowing, but it had at least relaxed her some.

Then, there was a knock on the bathroom door. She jumped, knowing that she had been making loud noises, knowing the sound had to have carried into the room beyond. Please don’t let it be Harry. Anybody but Harry. A burglar, the inn owner, a serial killer, just not Harry.

But, of course, it was Harry. “Hermione?” he called through the door, his voice holding a slightly bemused tone. “Are you okay?”

She could barely bring herself to answer. “Uh, yeah. I’m—I’m fine, Harry.”

“Can I come in?”

She froze. She was sitting naked in a bathtub, and he wanted to come in? If she said yes, she’d be extremely uncomfortable. If she said no, he would have to know that something was up. After all, she wouldn’t mind him seeing her in the tub if she thought of him as just a friend, would she? He’d seen her naked before, so there really wasn’t any reason that he shouldn’t be allowed to see her that way now.

Besides, the bubbles were still thick enough, and the water level high enough, to keep her completely covered.

“Sure,” she said, trying to sound casual about it.

He opened the door and stepped in. “Now how did I know you’d have bubbles?”

She forced a laugh. “I know, I know. I’m such a girl.”

He grinned. “You are, at that.” She tried to ignore the fact that his eyes had flicked, ever so briefly, to the bubbles that were covering her bare breasts.

“Did you get to the truck?”

He nodded. “Your bags are out here. I got all of them, since it looks like we may be here a while.”

“How long?”

He shrugged, leaning against the wall. “A few days, at least. This is one of the last roads the plow trucks will hit, and they shut down travel on every road for twenty miles. On the bright side, this place has been declared a weather refuge, so we don’t have to pay anything for staying.”

She laughed softly, somehow certain that he wasn’t the least bit concerned if they had to pay or not. “Are we the only guests?”

He shook his head. “No, the place is actually full. Apparently a lot of people failed to check the weather before heading out on holiday. There’s an older couple in the next room over and a family with three kids in the two rooms across the hall. I haven’t met any of the others yet, but Mrs. Crispenson said they’re all nice people.” He wandered over and pushed himself up to sit on the vanity top.

“The place is full?” Hermione asked, trying to keep her tone level. Full meant she would have no choice but to stay in here with Harry. “Was it full last night?”

Harry shrugged again. “No idea. I think the family across the hall just came in this morning, but I have no idea how they got here. We had to take a snowmobile back to the truck, which, by the way, is pretty much buried.”

“Great,” Hermione sighed, leaning her head back. “Well, I suppose it could be much worse.”

Harry laughed, his feet banging against the cabinet door. “Absolutely. We could be stuck out there in the snow, freezing to death.”

She nodded. “True. I guess, if we wanted, we could always Apparate back home until the roads are clear.”

Harry frowned, then seemed to shake himself slightly. “I don’t see why we should. We’ve got everything we need here, right? We might as well just stick around. And, don’t forget, we’re supposed to be doing this the Muggle way. You agreed to that.”

She let her eyes slide shut, trying to enjoy the warmth of the water on her body as much as she could. “You’re right. I did. Okay, fine, no Apparating.” She heard Harry slide off the counter and cross the bathroom, but it still scared her when she felt his hands touch her shoulders. “Harry,” she rasped as he gripped her tightly.

“Relax, Hermione,” he said, sitting on the side of the tub. “You look like you could use this.” He was massaging her shoulders and neck, pushing the heel of his hand into her muscles with just enough pressure to make them twinge.

She sat forward at his urging, letting her head fall forward until her chin rested on her chest. “Uuuuunh,” she moaned softly as his fingers kneaded the sides of her neck. His hands moved lower, between her shoulder blades and she leaned forward a little more to give him better access. He pushed his thumbs deeper into her skin, eliciting another moan. “God, Harry,” she muttered, feeling like she was going to melt into the bottom of the tub. Her body suddenly felt boneless, as though sheer willpower was all that was holding her up. If that was the case, she was surely going to drown soon.

She heard his hand break the surface of the water and slide to the middle of her back. She couldn’t lean any farther forward without putting her face in the water.

“I can’t reach too well in this position,” he said, not stopping his work. “I’d have to be in there with you to do this right.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, she knew that by the tone in his voice. Still, the words shocked her into sitting up straight. His hands dropped from her skin and he sat back against the wall. “I, uh—I need to get washed up,” she said, blushing as she realized that the bubbles had thinned out a great deal since he’d come in.

“I’ll leave you alone, then,” he said, standing up and starting out.

“Harry,” she called, trying to smile at him. When he turned back to look at her though, her smile faltered. She could swear there was more than a touch of frustration on his face. “Thank you. I—really did need that.”

He looked at her a minute longer before nodding and stepping out. As soon as the door shut behind him, she blew out a long breath and sank beneath the surface of the water.

This would never work, she thought as she washed her hair. She had been insane to think she could be that close to him and not let him touch her.

And he—ugh, he was simply impossible. She couldn’t read him at all, so she had no idea what he was thinking. Had that really been completely innocent on his part? Did he actually know that he was driving her crazy?

She climbed out of the tub and dried off slowly, cursing herself for forgetting to bring any clothes into the bathroom with her. She wrapped a towel around herself, taking great care to tuck it in tightly. Then, she squared her shoulders and opened the door.

Harry was propped against the headboard, a book open in his lap. He glanced up when she came in. “Nice bath?” he asked, and she noticed that, this time, his eyes didn’t linger on her very long at all before he turned his attention back to the book.

“Yes,” she said casually, pushing her wet hair out of her face and walking toward her bags. “Very nice.”

She dug through her things, holding the towel to her with one hand, trying hard not to think about the fact that she couldn’t very well get dressed without taking the towel off.

“Want me to leave?” he asked as she stood up, a fresh set of clothes tucked under her arm.

“No, it’s—you’re fine.” She had felt a warmth spread through her upon hearing his voice. He was so calm, always so calm. It was almost irritating. She was standing here in nothing but a towel and he didn’t seem the least bit ruffled by that.

It made her feel like doing something bold. Something very bold. Almost stupid, in fact. And since the rest of the trip had been all about doing some rather stupid things, she went with it. She dropped the towel.

Harry glanced up, then did a rather subtle double-take, quirking an eyebrow at her. “Uh, yeah. Hermione, you do realize that I’m sitting here, don’t you?”

She smirked, although it took a good deal of force on her part to do so. “Yes, of course I do. You act like you’ve never seen a naked female before, Harry.”

He stared at her (her eyes, damn him, and not her body), then gave her a smirk of his own. “Well, not recently, thanks. I, um--I guess I didn’t realize that we were at this level of comfort on this trip. Nice to know.”

His eyes lingered on her a second longer before flipping back to his book. She barely managed to bite back a growl. “Why’s that?” she asked, stepping into her knickers and jerking them up her legs with unnecessary force.

He shrugged. “That means you won’t be offended if I sit around in my underwear.”

Hermione’s mind began chanting one word at her as she finished dressing and stomped back into the bathroom to brush her hair: Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, STUPID!

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Lunch was so boring as to almost be painful. After all the years Harry had teased Hermione about living with her face permanently planted in books, he barely managed to take his eyes off whatever he was reading.

She’d quit trying to make conversation with him, after the last question she’d asked had been answered with only a grunt and an almost shrug.

“What exactly are you reading anyway?” she finally snapped, having no real clue why she was so irritated.

“Book.”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Harry, I can see that it’s a book. What book is it?”

Instead of answering, he set the book up on its end, blocking his face from view. She glanced at the cover, frowning. “When did you get so interested in spell creation?” she asked, laughing softly.

“Seventh year. Did you bring any of your books with you?”

“Some, yeah. Why?”

He laid the book down, twirling his wand absent-mindedly in his fingers. “Where are they?”

“In my shoulder bag. Do you want me to get it?”

He shook his head, standing up and going over to their luggage. He carried it back to the table, opening it, then paused. “I‘m sorry. I should let you get them.”

She laughed. “It’s fine, Harry. There’s nothing in there that you shouldn’t see.”

He dug through it for a few minutes, then shook his head. “None of these are going to help me. Damn.”

She frowned. “What are you looking for?”

He dropped the bag back onto the floor, shrugging. “It doesn’t matter. It can wait until we get home.” He stretched, sitting back down and glancing out the window. “I can’t believe it’s still snowing. They weren’t kidding when they said it was going to be nasty, were they?”

“Nope. I suppose we should find something to keep us occupied. Do you have any ideas?”

He looked at her, a small smirk playing across his face. “None that you would approve of.”

Touché, she thought, sighing. “I’m serious, Harry.”

He grinned. “So was I. Are you any better at holding your liquor than you used to be?”

“Why? Did you bring some?”

“No, but there’s a bar downstairs, and I’m sure if we promise to behave ourselves, they’ll spare us a bottle or two.”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Well, I guess it couldn’t hurt.”

Harry came back to the room with bottles of Amaretto, vodka, sweet and sour mix and orange juice. She eyed them carefully as he juggled them onto the table. “Um, Harry? Are we throwing a party, or are you just really thirsty?”

He grinned, going into the bathroom to get a couple of plastic cups. “We’ve got a lot of time to kill, and plenty of time to sleep off the hangover tomorrow. May as well enjoy it, yeah?”

She winced. “Yeah, great.” Hangovers weren’t fun, she knew, although she had suffered only two in her entire life. Of course, she knew spells to take care of them, now, so she supposed it couldn’t be too bad. As long as she didn’t do anything really embarrassing--- “How’d you know I like Amaretto Sours?”

“Hannah told me.”

She watched as he mixed her drink first. “Bit heavy on the whiskey there, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. This is how the barman told me to make it. If you don’t like it, bitch at him.”

She eyed it carefully as he handed it over, then took a tentative sip. “Mph! Yeah, that’s strong,” she muttered, wiping a bit of it off her chin.

“Wimp,” he chuckled, mixing a screwdriver for himself. “It’s Amaretto. How strong could it be?”

She rolled her eyes at him, offering her glass. “You try it.”

He took a swig, then frowned. “Ugh, that’s nasty. I think I’ll stick with the vodka.” He flopped down into the chair across from her and grinned. “So, what now?”

She laughed, shrugging. “I don’t know. You’re the genius that said we should get drunk. I thought you could decide what to do when we get there.”

She was three sips in and was already starting to get the warm-and-fuzzies. She watched as Harry drank half of his in one go. “Oh no. You can’t expect me to have all the ideas. You’re the clever one, right?”

She giggled. “We could play twenty questions.”

He blinked at her, then laughed. “Boring.”

“All right, then. Um, truth or dare?”

“With just two of us? And what are we, twelve? Come on, Hermione, something good.”

“I’m trying,” she sighed, chewing her lip. “Okay, I’ve got it. Lavender and Parvati used to play this game when we were in school. I don’t know what it was called, but basically, it’s like word association. I say something and you have to say the very first thought that comes to your mind. The very first, no hesitating. If you hesitate, you have to take a drink. A big one, not a sip. And then I get to go again. If you answer quickly, you do the same to me.”

He smirked slightly. “I’ll bet you heard some interesting things.”

“You can find out if you play the game,” she grinned.

He took another long drink, then nodded. “Yeah, all right. If it sucks, we can quit.”

“Way to be positive there, Harry. Shall I go first?”

“By all means,” he laughed.

“Okay, then.” She took another drink, trying to think what to start with. “Snow.”

“Yuck,” he laughed. “My turn?” She nodded. “Telly.”

“Documentary.”

He laughed again. “Only you, Hermione.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hush. My turn. Um, window.”

“Eyes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, so?”

She shrugged. “Just--interesting.”

“Right.”

“Left.”

“That wasn’t my word, Hermione. I was sarcastically agreeing with you.”

“Oh,” she giggled. “Sorry. Go ahead.”

“Left? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“Shut up and give me a word.”

He chuckled. “First.”

She started to answer, then stopped herself. She had been thinking “kiss”, but she didn’t think that was the best answer at the moment. Finally, she stuttered out, “Born.”

“You hesitated.”

“I did not.”

“Yes, you did. Drink. And I get another turn, right?”

She took a drink, still wrinkling her nose at the bitter taste. “Yes, fine. Go again.”

“Touch.”

Oh hell. “Feel. Green.”

“Frog. Heat.”

Erm, “Tropical Island. Bird.”

“Hedwig. Friend.”

“Loyalty. Carpet.”

“Rug burn. Quidditch.”

“Seeker.” Oops. That just slipped right out there. She took another drink. “Um, drunk.”

“Hermione,” he grinned. “And don’t say you aren’t, because you most certainly are. Books.”

She giggled. “Heaven. Oh, that’s a good one. Heaven.”

He smirked. “Flying. Sex.”

She balked. “Is that your word?”

“That’s a hesitation. Take a drink. And yes, that’s my word.”

She took a long drink, a very long one, trying not to panic. “Orgasm.” Oh hell, did I just say that out loud? “Erm, oh, my cup is empty.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, but quickly made her another drink. She couldn’t tell if it was as strong as the first or not, but she really didn’t care. “It’s still your turn.”

“Right. My turn. Um, oh fuck.”

“Is that your word?”

She frowned. “No. Of course not. But had it been, that was a hesitation.”

“Doesn’t count if that wasn’t your word.”

“Okay, so that’s my word.”

He grinned. “Often.”

She giggled again. “I don’t want to know that.”

“Know what?”

“How often.”

“That’s good, because I wasn’t telling you.”

“Whose turn is it?”

“Mine.”

“Well, go then.”

“Impatient.”

“Very. Oh wait, was that your word?”

He laughed. “Sure. Your answer sucked, by the way. Go.”

“Oh, yeah. Trans--transfiglur--damnit. Transfiglurationin.”

“That’s not even a word.”

She snorted, hiccupping at the same time. “You hesitated.”

“How could I have hesitated? That wasn’t even a word!”

“Drink, drink, drink!”

“Fine. Go again, then.” He took another large swig, then set his cup back on the table. “Cheater.”

“Butthead. That’s not my word. Uh--school.”

“Home.” The smirk came back. “Breast.”

She almost faltered. “Ch-chicken.” Good save. Yay me. Her mind was almost too fuzzy to think. Chicken, chicken, chicken, chicken--- “Lamb!”

“Sacrifice.” Another drink. “Dumbledore.”

“Senile old fart.” Hermione gasped, slapping her hand over her mouth. “Oh, God. Did I just say that? Oh, Harry, I’m sorry.”

He grinned. “Nah, it’s fair. He was. Still your turn.”

“Oh, right. Um--Grlyf--Glyff-Grlylff--Ravenclaw.”

“Cho,” he chuckled, winking at her as she rolled her eyes. “Lips.”

“Kiss.” Damn it! “Erm, tongue.” Grrr, he just had to lick his lips right then, didn’t he? God, I’m so drunk.

“Taste. Suck.”

Not fair. Sooo not fair. “Lick.” Oh god, stop the game now! She cast about desperately for the least sexual thing she could think of. “Mother.” Yeah, that worked.

His shoulders shook with laughter. “Fucker.”

“Harry!”

“Hey, it’s your game. I said the first thing to come to my mind.”

“You’re foul.”

He grinned. “My turn. Parvati.”

She didn’t even bother trying to answer that one, just took her drink and waited.

“Hermione?”

“What?”

“I said, Parvati.”

“I know.”

“And?”

“You may as well move on because I’ll get alcohol poisoning before I answer that one truthfully.”

Harry’s eyes widened slightly and he shook his head. “What? Why?”

She quirked an eyebrow at him, then finished off her drink.

“All right, fine,” he said, rolling his eyes and starting to mix her another. “Minister.”

“Pfft. Blowhard. Um, Seamus.”

“Explosion. Wish.”

“Desire.” She took another drink, her mind working frantically to get away from that particular line of thought. “Hard.”

And there was the Cheshire cat grin again. “Rough. Or should I say, Eager?”

“Same thing. Is that your word? Beaver. Uh, my turn. Anxious.”

“Eager.”

“No, now you can’t do that,” she insisted, shaking her head, then stopping quickly when it made her dizzy. “You have to use a different word.”

“You never said that. You can’t change the rules in the middle of the game.”

“I’m not. It’s just no fun if you use the same word that’s already been used.”

“We’d better stop now, then, because I’m running out of words. Not to mention, my brain is pretty well stopped on just one thought right now.”

“Oh yeah? What--excuse me--ezackly is it that you’re--ahem, thinking about?”

He grinned. “Well, for one thing, you certainly haven’t gotten better at drinking. No more for you.”

“I’m not drunk.”

“Right. Try to walk a straight line and then tell me that.”

She giggled. “All right, so I’m a bit--shl-shloshed. So are you.” She wasn’t sure about that, actually, but then, she wasn’t sure of much of anything at that point. “I have to go potty.”

“You’ll never make it.”

“Yesh, I will. Wash me.” She heaved herself out of her chair and stumbled only slightly on her way across the room. It would have been a remarkable success had she not bounced off the doorframe on her way into the bathroom. “Oh shut up,” she muttered at Harry as he laughed wildly at her.

She had just settled herself on the toilet when she realized she’d forgotten to shut the door. “Uh, Hermione?”

“I know. Hush.”

It was irritating because he didn’t even try to sneak a peak. When she finally managed to make it back into the main room, he was still sitting at the table, sipping his drink. “So, now what?”

She shrugged, flopping onto the bed. “I dun care. What do you want to do?”

He opened his mouth, then shut it again, smiling. “No idea.”

She stretched, cuddling her face into her folded arms. “Where’d you learn to give massa--massages like that?”

He shrugged. “Katie Bell used to be good at it. She’d rub out sore muscles for everyone after a Quidditch match. I guess I picked it up from her.”

Hermione heard herself groan, but didn’t know why she’d done it. “You learned well,” she muttered.

“Thanks. I try.”

Her alcohol fogged brain managed to process one thought clearly and she grabbed it. “I’d like to have another one.”

He didn’t answer, and she turned her head to look at him. He was looking at her, eyes narrowed, and she wondered, blearily, if he was angry or just trying to think of a good response. “Right now?”

“Why not? We’ve got nothing better to do.”

He shrugged. “All right.”

“Great,” she beamed, sitting up too quickly and nearly toppling off the bed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Lay back down, for one thing. You’re dangerous when you’re upright.”

She frowned. “Don‘t I have to take my clothes off?”

He blinked, then rolled his eyes. “Well, I suppose you could, if you want it that way.”

She wasted no time pulling her t-shirt off over her head. “Where are you going?”

“To get some lotion.”

She nodded, reaching around and unfastening her bra. Somewhere in her mind, her normal, somewhat prudish personality reasserted itself. What the hell am I doing? I can’t let him touch me! I’m barely hanging on as it is. Her hands weren’t listening. She pulled her bra off and dropped it onto the floor, then stumbled to her feet to get out of her pants. He’s seen me naked once today. Big deal. It’s just a massage. With me naked, and him touching me. Aaagh! Bad idea. Bad, bad. And yet, she continued to undress. She picked up her discarded towel from the floor and wrapped it around her.

He stepped back out of the bathroom and gave her a quick once-over, which made her heart thump unsteadily in her chest. “Um, where--?” she started, and he nodded toward the bed.

“Lay down here,” he said, patting the bed and setting the lotion on the night stand. She moved cautiously, climbing onto her knees, then starting to lay down.

“How do you want the towel?” she asked, unable to turn and face him.

“It’s fine like that. Open up the front and lay down.” When she hesitated, he chuckled. “I’m going to lay it over you, Hermione, I won’t see anything.”

She sucked in a breath and opened the towel, fanning it out behind her. Then she somehow managed to lay down without using her hands. It was no mean feat, but she got herself comfortable while still keeping herself covered.

She felt Harry climb over to her and then, as if things couldn’t have gotten anymore complicated, he moved one leg over her and straddled her hips, dropping his weight onto her. “Am I too heavy?” he asked.

She almost laughed. She couldn’t very well tell him that it felt absolutely incredible to have him sitting on her bum, so she just shook her head. His hands came down on her neck first and she let her eyes slide shut. It was better than it had been before, maybe because all that was separating her from Harry was his clothes and a thin, little towel. She was starkers, spread out on a bed with him sitting on her, and God, he could use those wonderful hands.

He leaned over, picking up the bottle of lotion, tapping some out onto his hand and rubbing the lotion between his hands to warm it. Then he put both palms flat on her back. She groaned as he pushed his thumbs into her skin, and rubbed with a good amount of pressure. “Oh, damn, Harry. That’s wonderful.”

“I live to please,” he joked, working first her neck, then her shoulders. He kept moving lower, first rubbing the lotion in, then using the heel of his hands and then his thumbs before moving on.

She felt him move the towel down some and fought hard to lay still. She could already feel it coming. His hands started up next to her spine, rubbing carefully, then worked their way out. He ended up with rubbing right at the outer edges of her back and his fingers rested just inches from her breasts. She wanted to lift up and give him access to them, just to see what he would do, but she couldn’t pluck up the courage.

“Hermione, you’re tensing up again. Relax.” She couldn’t help it, although she really did try. She wondered if he knew that he was working her up into a frenzy, then wondered if he would care. She wished she could just lay there and enjoy it, but it wasn’t happening.

He pulled the towel down until it rested just below her waist and tapped some more lotion out of the bottle and into his hand. She was fine as long as he was working the middle of her back but as he moved out toward her sides, she jerked involuntarily. “Sorry,” she giggled, as he sighed. “That tickled.”

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound it. “I’ll try not to do it again.” He was so close to her bum now, and she felt so bare and vulnerable. It was hard not to writhe under him. “Want me to keep going?” he asked and she nodded.

“Like I’m going to complain,” she said, sighing. “That feels so damned good.”

She felt his weight lift off of her and she started to complain when he pulled the towel off of her completely. She almost gasped, but managed to bite it off. That’s what he had meant by ‘keep going’. She had thought he meant keep working on her back.

He knelt beside her and poured more lotion out on his hands, then laid them on her bare bottom. She had to bite back another gasp as he started to rub, kneading the skin with his strong fingers.

She felt the warm fluid actually seep out from between her legs and almost told him to stop. He was going to notice that, surely. There was no way he could miss it.

If he did, he didn’t say anything. His hands never paused unless he needed to get more lotion. He moved them down from her butt to her thighs and started the process all over without stopping. She noticed, however, that he tugged her legs apart ever so slightly to rub her inner thighs. She blushed. He had to have noticed. He must have by now. What was worse, he had done more than just turn her on. He was actually working her toward an orgasm. It seemed impossible, but she could feel the tightening in her stomach, the tension spreading through her. She had to make him stop touching her or she was going to come, right here in front of him.

“Harry,” she said, only she picked the wrong time to speak and it came out as a breathless gasp.

Now, his hands froze. “Hermione?” he asked softly, loosening his grip on her legs, but not taking his hands off her. “Are you okay?”

She let out a sigh that was half-relief and half-desperation. She could feel the burning slowly begin to recede, but she didn’t trust herself to speak just yet. She nodded. She couldn’t stand it. She had to have him. To hell with her rules and the consequences, she had to have him, right now. “Touch me,” she pleaded, her voice coming out in a harsh whisper. “Please, Harry, please touch me.”

“Hermione,” he started, and his voice sounded calm, but almost cautioning.

“Harry, please,” she said again. “Please.”

He moved slowly, hesitantly, as though he expected her to change her mind. His hand slid between her thighs again, nudging them a little father apart. Then she felt his fingers brush over her, sliding between her folds. It was all she could do to keep from climaxing right then.

He touched her gently, so slowly it was painful. She bucked her hips up slightly, but he didn’t change his touch. He worked her clit with careful, circling strokes, and she pushed back into his hand as much as he would let her.

He pulled his fingers back, drawing a groan from her and slowly slid them into her. “God, Harry,” she moaned, again trying to push herself back onto him, to make him speed up the pace. He put one hand flat on her bum and gently pushed her back onto the bed, holding her there.

When she tried to buck again, he leaned over, whispering into her ear. “Lay still. You wanted me to do this, let me do it.”

He pulled them out again, turning his hand to stroke her front wall, holding her down as she raised her hips again. He added a third finger as he slid them in again.

“Turn over for me,” he whispered, sliding his other hand under her hip. She whimpered at the loss of contact as he took his fingers out of her and rolled quickly, hoping he would touch her again immediately. Instead, he bent over her and brushed his lips across her breast, causing her to arch her back toward him.

She realized that she’d been keeping her eyes squeezed shut, and forced them open again. She wanted to be able to see him. This was Harry, the one she had wanted to be with for so long, and she was determined to watch everything he was doing to her.

His tongue flicked out, running over her nipple so slowly it was torturous. “Ungh, Harry. Please, you’re killing me.”

He half-smiled at her, before turning his attention back to her breasts. He reached across her and cupped one in his hand while continuing the excruciating treatment on the other. Then, his hand skimmed back over her body, and he tapped a finger into her just once. She groaned, reaching down to run her hand through his hair.

He started to brush his lips down her body, spending little time on each bit as he passed, but making sure to catch every inch of the path he was taking. When he lifted up and climbed over, to kneel between her legs, she could barely contain herself. He lowered his face, parting her with his thumbs and sliding his tongue into her.

He moved his tongue to her clit, licking and sucking, as he slid his fingers into her again. She couldn’t stop herself from bucking this time, and she wondered how he managed not to get cracked in the chin with her pelvic bone. The fingers of his free hand curled around her hip to hold her still, his tongue and other hand never breaking their rhythm. “Harry,” she gasped, fighting the urge to grab a handful of his hair. Instead, she put her hand on his shoulder, scratching him through his T-shirt.

The tension in her stomach was building again, and she felt her toes start to curl. Her fingers scrabbled harder at his shoulder, her other hand clutching the comforter tightly. A screech escaped her lips before she could stop it, and her orgasm hit her, causing her to jerk and cry out even louder.

Harry didn’t stop as she rode out the last little bit of her climax, and not until she let out a heavy sigh and went limp did he raise back up.

She didn’t know how long she lay there, her breath still coming in sharp gasps, her heart pounding in her chest, before she opened her eyes to look at him. He was still in the same place, sitting back on his heels, watching her. She blushed immediately, remembering how loud she had screamed, remembering how pushy she had been, and worst of all, remembering how she had begged him to touch her. “Harry, I’m—I’m sorry.”

He didn’t answer, and his expression didn’t change. He just kept those clear green eyes fixed on hers. Then, finally, he smiled slightly. “Must have been a long time, eh?”

“What?” she asked, frowning.

“Your dry spell.”

“Dry—oh.” Now she understood. Did she dare tell him? Was this something he really wanted to know? “Yeah, it’s been—a while.”

“No wonder you were so tense,” he joked, the small laugh not reaching his eyes. “Do you feel better?”

She almost laughed. “Are you kidding? Did you even hear me a minute ago?”

“I’m thinking most of the inn heard you,” he said, then waved her off. “I’m joking, Hermione. You weren’t that loud.”

“Yes, I was,” she said, blushing deeper.

“Okay, you were. But if you feel better, it was worth it.”

Why was he being so clinical about this? Had it turned him on, even a little bit? She sighed. “Yes, absolutely.” She sat up, stretching. “Thanks, Harry. That was—brilliant.”

“Of course,” he smirked, fanning his shirt. “I think I stink.”

She paused. “Huh?”

“I stink,” he repeated. “I need a shower and some fresh clothes.”

That was the first time she realized he was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, the ones that had been soaked in the snow. “Oh, I didn’t notice.”

“I’m surprised you couldn’t smell me.” He climbed off the bed and stretched, running a hand over his face. “Do you mind if I jump in the shower?”

She shook her head. “Are you hungry? Do you want me to call for some dinner?”

He shook his head, moving over to his bags. “No, it’s fine. Just relax for a while. Take a nap or something.” He pulled his T-shirt off and tossed it on top of his bag. He went into the bathroom and shut the door, and she sank back onto the bed, unable to decide whether to laugh or cry.

Author’s notes: :D First of all, let me say, you all just rock! The response to this story has been overwhelming, to say the least. I’m thrilled that you like it so well! You all have had me grinning like a cat for the past four days. :D << See?

To HarrynHermione4eva: Thank you! I was so glad that you picked this one, because I was really hoping you would! :lol: I love it! Thanks again!

Okay, so I’ve picked on you all for so long, I owe you some relief. I hope you like it.

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Hermione pulled the robe on and paced back and forth across the room. She could hear the shower running and knew Harry was standing in the other room, wet and naked, looking gorgeous. After what had just happened, all her resolve was gone. She wanted more, a lot more.

Without a second thought, she opened the bathroom door and stepped inside, shutting it quietly behind her. She let the robe fall to the floor, then approached the single shower stall opposite the tub. She could see Harry through the glass, and she had to stop a moment and just stare.

He had his back to her, one hand resting against the tiles, the other running through his soaked raven hair. She could see his butt clearly, so perfect and sculpted, and she wanted nothing more than to touch it.

Then, Harry did something that surprised the hell out of her. He slid his hand down his side and touched himself. She knew what he was doing even if she couldn’t see it. She wasn’t that naïve.

He let out a grunt as his hand pumped harder and harder, and he leaned more heavily on his other hand, bracing himself against the wall. It was so erotic, listening to the noises he made. She wanted to be the one getting those noises out of him. She stepped forward and pulled the door open.

He swung around to face her, looking only moderately surprised to see her. His hand, she noticed, stopped what it was doing. He didn’t say anything, which she considered a good sign. She stepped inside and shut the door behind her, never taking her eyes off of him. Then, she moved past him, bent and put her hands on the bench seat at the back of the shower and glanced at him over her shoulder.

His eyes trailed over her. He wasn’t saying or do anything, just looking at her, but it was still enough to make her ache for him. He moved, but it wasn’t to do what she expected. Instead he took hold of her arms and pulled her until she was standing up, facing him. His eyes were hard on hers as he took her hand and moved it until it was resting on his erection.

She felt her heart skip, but slowly started to move her hand, gripping and stroking him as best she could. She’d never really done this before. She’d touched him the last time they were together, but it hadn’t been long before he’d had to pull away from her, before he’d needed to be inside her. She hoped he wouldn’t need much this time either, because she knew she was doing extremely poorly at it.

After a minute of her erratic motions, he reached down and put his hand over hers. “Like this,” he said, the first words he’d spoken since she’d come in. He wrapped his fingers over hers, showing her just how hard to squeeze it, how fast to stroke, how to run her thumb over the top of it with each stroke.

When she had the hang of it, he let go of her hand and leaned against the side of the shower, just watching her. It made her nervous, the intensity in his eyes, and she felt she had to say something to break the tension. “Am I doing this right?”

He nodded, still not taking his eyes off of her. “You’re doing wonderfully. A little harder.”

His tone was still so calm. She was in the shower with him, stroking him off and he was still calm. How was that even possible?

She wanted to get a reaction, any reaction, out of him. She let go of him suddenly, hoping to at least get a gasp out him. “Why’d you stop?” he asked, still calm.

“I just didn’t think you were liking it.”

“Why would you think that?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“You’re not making any noise, you aren’t grinding into me, you’re just standing there.”

“I just said you were doing wonderfully. Do I have to have my eyes rolling back in my head before you’ll believe me?”

“Well—why aren’t they?” she asked, frustrated. “You act like you’re bored out of your mind.”

“I’m not,” he laughed, reaching out to take her hand again. “Honestly, Hermione. It’s great. I don’t want you to stop.” When she didn’t protest, he moved her hand back to his erection. She started to stroke him again, knowing she needed to do something else, completely unsure what it was. She leaned toward him, wanting to feel his lips on hers. It was the biggest shock so far when he pulled his head back, a slight smirk on his face.

He was teasing her again. He thought it was funny to make her suffer. Fine, she thought angrily. You want to play, we’ll play. On the next stroke, she scraped her fingernails over him. He jerked, letting out a strangled moan. She did it again, harder this time and he pushed his hips toward her, his eyes sliding shut. It was wonderful to watch his control crack.

Since he wouldn’t let her kiss him, she took to kissing his chest, sucking hard on the tight, wet skin and he moaned again. She ran her tongue over his nipple, then bit at it gently. He let himself lean back against the wall, sucking a breath in between his teeth.

It was time to move in for the kill. She’d never done it before, but she imagined it couldn’t be too hard. She dropped to her knees, grasped him with one hand and let her tongue flick out to taste him.

“Ah,” he cried, slamming his fist against the wall. “God, Hermione!”

“Yes?”

He let out a pained laugh. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?” He moaned yet again as she let her tongue slide over the underside of him. “It’s pay back, right?”

She hummed softly against him, causing him to twitch again as she slowly, teasingly, licked him. “I don’t know what—you mean, Harry.”

“I’m not above begging,” he said, fisting his fingers in her hair. “I don’t have that much pride.”

“Really?” she asked, blinking up at him. Another lick from her, another moan from him. “You’d beg?”

“Please, God, Hermione,” he said, his voice low and sultry. “Please do it.”

“Do what?”

“Take me in your mouth,” he rasped, letting go with one hand to grab the wall behind him. “Suck me off.”

It turned her on more than she ever would have admitted, and she leaned forward to slide her mouth over him. He let out a grunt, his head falling back against the wall. She had to do this right, she knew. She had to make him howl.

She sucked, pulling her cheeks in as she pulled back and he groaned again. She swirled her tongue around the head and felt his hips tense under her hand. He was fighting the urge to thrust into her. Good sign.

It was all trial and error. Whatever made him groan loudest, she did again. Eventually, using a combination of everything he seemed to like, she had him panting and moaning and twitching. Suddenly, the hand that was tangled in her hair gave a moved to her shoulder, and he pulled her back to her feet. She leaned in to kiss him as they came face to face again, but he pulled back again, holding onto her neck and staring hard into her face.

He moved her hand away as she reached for him again, and finished it himself and she watched with a burning arousal as his eyes finally rolled back and slid shut and he bit hard on his lip as he came into his hand. He went limp, slumping forward until his head was resting on her shoulder. She put her arms around him, holding him and stroking his hair. She hadn’t even remembered until then that they were in the shower. The hot water was still pounding over them and it made her a little sleepy.

After a few minutes, Harry’s breathing slowed a bit, and he lifted his head to look at her. “Damn,” he muttered. “That was—damn.”

She smiled. “Is that good?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, shutting his eyes and leaning back against the wall again. “It’s very good.”

“Want me to wash you?” she asked, wanting to have her hands on him again.

“That’s all right, Hermione. You go ahead and get dried off and I’ll be out in a minute.”

He was brushing her off. After what had just happened, he was asking her to go away. She could barely contain her anger as she stepped out of the shower and snatched up his towel. How could he act like this? They were friends, weren’t they? And he was treating her like this. She dried off quickly and pulled her robe back on, then stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Harry scooted his food around on his plate, staring out the window. Hermione hadn’t bothered to ask him what was up with him. She didn’t care. In fact, she hadn’t spoken to him at all since the incident in the shower, except to tell him which plate was his. She hadn’t touched her food either, despite the fact that she was starving.

Harry glanced at her, noticing that she hadn’t even bothered to uncover her plate. “What’s wrong? Did you find out they staff house elves in the kitchen?”

She glared at him. He looked back out the window, shaking his head.

“This is why all that never should have happened,” he said after a few minutes.

“What?” she asked, stunned.

“I should have told you no when you asked me.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she snapped. “If it was such a bad idea, and you weren’t interested anyway, then why didn’t you just tell me no?”

His eyes widened, his fingers twiddling with the fringe on the place mat. “Who said I wasn’t interested?”

“Oh, come on, Harry! You haven’t made a move to touch me on your own in years. I had to beg you to put your hands on me. You wouldn’t even kiss me in the shower. Obviously, you don’t want me!”

He stared at her for a long moment, then laughed.

“What the hell is so funny?” she screeched, furious.

“You,” he said, “Thinking that I don’t want you.”

“You certainly haven’t given me any reason to think otherwise!”

His eyes narrowed and he frowned. “Oh, I get it,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. “Because I would gladly let some girl that I have absolutely no interest in go down on me in the shower. I’m just a slag, after all, right? I’ll fuck whatever comes along.”

She froze, feeling her blood run cold. “Harry, I--.”

“If I hadn’t wanted you, I would have told you no, Hermione. I do have a little more control over myself than that, believe it or not.” He glared at her. “Or has Ron managed to convince you that I’m not worth any more than that?”

“Harry, I—I didn’t mean that!”

He shook his head, turning his eyes back to the window. “Forget it.”

“Harry, please, I really—I really didn’t think that. I just—well, what was I supposed to think? I had to beg you to touch me, even though I was lying there naked. I had to be the one to go in the shower and initiate all that. You wouldn’t let me kiss you, you didn’t want me in the shower after you were done--.”

“That’s not true,” he said softly. “Yes, you had to ask me to touch you, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to. If I had touched you and you didn’t want it, you’d have killed me.”

“You couldn’t tell that I was turned on?”

He shrugged, then nodded. “I could. That still doesn’t mean that I can put my hands wherever I like, does it? I told you that you could leave the shower because I was putting you off, you’re right about that. It’s the same reason I didn’t kiss you.”

“Which is?”

“Once we cross that line, we can’t go back.”

“Don’t—don’t you think we’ve already crossed the line?”

“Do you?” he asked, looking back at her. “We haven’t slept together. We’ve only touched, played around. It’s farther than it should have went without us talking about it first, but we still haven’t reached the point of no return.”

She sighed, sitting down again and burying her face in her hands. “Okay, so now that we’re talking about it, what do we do? Do you—really want me?”

“Would I have been in the bathroom wanking if I didn’t?”

She had to laugh. “So then—I mean, obviously you know how I feel.”

“Not really.”

She gasped, staring at him in exasperation. “How could you not, Harry? I just let you--.”

“You were already aroused, Hermione. And intoxicated. That doesn’t tell me how you feel about the situation now that you’re a bit more—level-headed.”

She pursed her lips, wondering what to say. Finally, she gave into the side that had thrown caution to the wind. “The same. I still want you.”

“Are you sure? Last time we were together, all hell broke loose. Are you ready for that if it happens again?”

She blew out a slow breath. That wasn’t the problem, although there was no way he could have known that. She was delaying the inevitable by giving into him now. He wouldn’t be around forever, and she knew that it would kill her when this was all over. She couldn’t go back to wanting him as she had for so long after she’d had him again. He wanted her, though, and that was more than she could have hoped for. “I can handle it,” she said softly. “What about you?”

He smiled at her, but it was a bit sad, as though he had hoped she would change her mind, and yet desperately hoped she wouldn’t. “I’ll manage.”

“So—should we, then? Right now?”

He grinned, nodding to her plate. “You’d probably better eat first.”

She had no idea how she was supposed to think of food at that moment, but she forced herself to take a few small bites, and chew them slowly. He wasn’t eating, just watching her again, and she finally had to look back at him. “Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“I can understand why you wouldn’t—why you didn’t just—take me. In the shower, you know. But, why wouldn’t you even kiss me?”

He smiled, almost shyly. “Because of that line. If I had kissed you, that would have been it for me. I can handle anything but that.”

“How do you mean?” she asked, frowning.

“I could never kiss you and then stop. I couldn’t do it.”

She noticed that he had said “you”, not just someone. He had meant her, in specific. He couldn’t kiss her and be expected to stop. She thought about that as she was finishing up her lunch.

Now that she was almost done, she was starting to get nervous. They were going to—it was actually going to happen. He was going to be with her again.

He still hadn’t eaten, but he’d at least stopped staring at her. Now, he was standing up and walking toward the door. He opened it and put the Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob outside. “Just in case,” he said when he had shut the door and turned to find her watching him. “We should probably put a silencing charm on the room,” he said, grinning. “You’re a bit loud.”

She blushed, but nodded. “Yes, that’s probably a good idea.”

“I’ll let you do the honors,” he said, handing her wand to her. “You’re better at them than I am.”

She frowned, but performed the spell on every wall, the ceiling and the floor. “Better?”

“Much better,” he said, flopping onto the bed. “I could use a nap,” he muttered, taking his glasses off with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other.

Her heart dropped. “Oh. Okay,” she said softly.

He rolled onto his side and squinted over at her, grinning. “I’m kidding, Hermione.”

“Oh thank God,” she muttered, running her hand through her hair. She was sure she looked a mess, and she wondered if she should take a minute to go in the bathroom and try to fix her hair, maybe put on some makeup.

“Are you done eating?”

She looked over at him and nodded. “Yes.”

He gave her a smile that could have melted her into the chair cushions and crooked his finger at her. “Come here.” She walked over and stretched out on her side on the bed, facing him. Her hands were shaking slightly, and she twisted the belt on her housecoat to trying to calm them. “You’re sure about this?” he asked her, so quietly that it was almost a whisper. “I don’t want you to regret it.”

Her eyes met his and she felt her nerves settle almost immediately. “Never, Harry. I will never regret it.”

He reached up and touched her cheek, and she turned her face into his palm, her eyes sliding shut. “Are you protected?”

Her eyes flew open and she blushed. “Oh, uh—no.” She hadn’t done those charms in years. She wasn’t even sure she could remember them. “Just let me--.” She grabbed her wand again and, with a little coaching from Harry, did that spell as well.

“All set?” he asked.

She nodded, wanting to be kissing him. She didn’t want to make the first move, though. She wanted him to kiss her. He looked at her carefully, not making any move to touch her. She finally reached up and ran her hand behind his neck, lacing her fingers through his hair. She made sure not to pull him towards her, waiting for him to do it himself.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he leaned toward her.

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

When I said I owed you some relief, you didn’t think you were going to get it now, did you? *grins wickedly* Now, come on. You know me better than that.

His lips brushed hers and she felt she could have exploded right then and there. His mouth was so warm and soft, and his kisses were so teasingly slow, and she found herself fighting to keep from tightening her grip on him and pulling him into her. Her brain was screaming for more-- harder, faster--Something! His patience was only making her more impatient.

He moved his tongue slowly across her lips, and opened her mouth to him, nearly begging him for more. She let out a frustrated sigh when he pulled it back again, and he chuckled softly.

He did it again, and she took the opportunity to catch it between her teeth, then suck it into her open mouth. He moaned against her lips. He brought his hand up and rested it on her shoulder, pushing her back on the bed. He was leaning over her now, resting his weight on his hands, holding himself above her. She wanted his weight on her, but she had come to understand that Harry always did whatever he did because he had a reason. He kissed her again, pushing his tongue between her lips. She ran her hand up his back, drawing a shiver out of him. “Take off your shirt,” she said, when he broke away from her for a minute.

He grinned down at her. “Feeling bossy, are you?”

She responded by sitting up, forcing him to sit up with her. When he was on his knees, she reached down and pulled up the hem of his T-shirt, scratching at the skin beneath it with her fingernails. He had strong, tight abs that twitched under her attention. Instead of just pulling his shirt off, though, she bent and brushed her lips across his stomach. He flinched, chuckling. “Sorry,” she grinned, then traced the outline of his stomach muscles with her tongue.

He reached for her and she caught his hands, holding them out to the side as she continued her teasing. He smirked at her until she found a particularly sensitive spot just above the waistband of his jeans, and he let out a very sexy moan. She licked it again, loving the way he shuddered as she did. She had to hand it to him, the whole control thing was certainly a trip.

“God, you’re evil,” he muttered, trying again to grab onto her. She laughed, pulling away again, and then gasped loudly as he finally got hold of her and pushed her backwards, pinning her to the bed. “I win,” he smirked, leaning over her.

“That round, maybe,” she laughed, eeping when he bent and caught her mouth again. There was nothing slow or teasing about his kiss now, and she gave herself a point for having broke him just a little.

She reached, for the waistband of the jeans and almost flinched at his reaction. His hand latched around her wrist and held on, pushing it back to the mattress. He held it there, curling his fingers into hers as he deepened the kiss with a moan.

His other hand trailed over her shoulder and into the seam of her robe, skimming her bare skin and she arched against him. Touch me, touch me, touch me, her mind begged, and she suddenly wished that she had studied Legilimency. Or at the very least, subliminal messaging.

When she reached down to untie the belt, he put his other hand down and stilled her. “Wait,” he said softly. “Just hold on.” His fingers brushed up her side, tickling slightly. He stopped at the side of her breast, then ran it back down again. She watched his eyes, so close to hers, and so clear when they weren’t being blocked by his glasses. They were so beautiful, with a sparkle that had to be mischief.

He kissed her again, a bit roughly, in complete contrast with the gentle movements of his hand. He moved his mouth to her neck, nipping lightly at the skin, working his way around, then down until he was on the little bit of her chest that was exposed by her bathrobe. He ran his tongue over the skin and she clutched at his head, wanting him to move lower. He grinned against her, but worked his way back up toward her ear. “Patience,” he whispered, running the hand that was still in her robe across her stomach. He moved it no higher than her stomach, however and she moaned. It was hard to be patient when he was taking so much damned time.

He brought his lips up to hers, lightly kissing her again. She gave in, letting him control the tempo and the pressure. She let herself melt back into the mattress, giving into him.

He moved his hand up, then, and when it came to rest on her bare breast, a shot of something like electricity shot through her. “Oh!” she cried, rolling her head back.

He broke the kiss again, giving her a brief, beautiful smile before moving to her neck again. This time, however, when he made it down to the last bare patch uncovered by her robe, he pulled both hands up to spread the robe just a bit more. He kissed the valley between her breasts, trailing his tongue along and over to the very inner edge of each before trailing away again. She was starting to understand the reason for his patience, or teasing more accurately, and she let him go without complaint. The longer it took him to get to what she wanted, the better it felt when he got there.

It occurred to her, as his lips worked back across her chest, that she’d been using her hands mainly to hold him to her and wondered what she should be doing with them. Did he want her to touch him? How would she do it? Was she supposed to tease him too?

She ran her hands over his shoulders, loving the feel of his strong muscles under his thin T-shirt, then walked her fingers down his back. When she reached his waist, she lifted his T-shirt just slightly and ran her hand across his bare skin.

He murmured something against her neck and, although she didn’t catch it, she didn’t ask him to repeat it. It probably wasn’t as important as the soft sighing noise he made as she dragged her fingernails softly across his lower back.

“I want your shirt off,” she moaned as he sucked gently on the area just above her left breast.

She felt him grinning against her skin. “Why?”

“I want to feel your skin against mine.”

“Do you?”

“Harry,” she said, laughing softly, “please?”

“You don’t have to beg, Hermione,” he chuckled, leaning up to look at her. “And you don’t have to ask me. Just pull on it. I’ll know what you want.”

She lifted the tail slowly, making sure to rake her fingernails against him as she did. When she’d gotten it up to his shoulders, she realized she was going to have a problem. He was still grinning down at her, his hands resting on the bed on either side of her. She wasn’t going to be able to pull his shirt off without him moving.

“Harry,” she said with a little eye roll. “Help me out here, please?”

He laughed, sitting up on his knees and stripped the shirt off. When he lay back against her again, she couldn’t hold off the moan that escaped her lips. He was warm, so bloody warm, and she wanted to touch every inch of him.

She rested her open palms on his back, holding him to her. She felt his lips brush her neck again, then worked his way down to her chest again. This time, however, he pulled the top of her housecoat open and bared her breasts. He didn’t immediately touch them, choosing instead to capture her mouth in a breathless kiss. His bare chest was pressed to hers and the warmth of him was almost overwhelming.

Then, he broke the kiss, keeping his eyes on hers as he bent to capture her nipple in his mouth. She hissed at the wonderful feeling that radiated through her, her stomach tightening and a burning feeling spreading through her limbs. His tongue roved over her, lapping at each of her breasts, and she marveled when she realized that, if she let herself, she could come from just this. Of course, she didn’t want to, not yet. With a great bit of reluctance, she tucked her hands under his arms and pulled him away. “Too much,” she gasped, and he smiled at her before bending his head to hers again.

“Thanks for telling me,” he whispered against her mouth. “Wouldn’t want it over with yet, would we?”

She shook her head as much as she could with him still attached to her lips. “God, no.”

Her hands traveled down, along his spine to rest on his bum and she gave it a little squeeze. He made a soft noise and pushed his hips toward her, and she felt his erection pressing into her thigh. She wanted to touch him, needed to touch him, and ran her hand around his side to cup him gently. For the second time, he grabbed her hand and pulled it away. “Harry,” she muttered, pushing him back a little. “I want to touch you.”

He laughed softly. “I know. But I don’t want you to. Not yet.”

“Why not?” she asked, frustrated. She’d had control for all of two seconds and she really wanted it back, at least for a while.

He grinned. “I have to keep him at least a little cool or it’ll all be over with too soon. Just leave him be for a little while.”

She tugged her hand out of his to snake them over his erection just once, and she felt it twitch. It almost made her laugh. “Him? Please tell me you haven’t—named him.”

Harry grinned, completely unashamed. “Of course I have. He’s my partner in crime. I couldn’t let him go nameless, could I?”

“Do I even want to know? Oh, what the hell. What’s his name?”

“Stubby Buckman.”

Hermione howled with laughter, snorting unattractively. “St-Stubby Buckman?” she gasped, between fits. “You named him Stubby Buckman?”

Harry nodded. “Yup. Of course, he isn’t really stubby or anything, but, well, it seemed a good name.”

She guffawed again, tears springing to her eyes. “You—named him—Stubby!”

Harry was still looking at her, amused. “Yeah. You want to know what Ron named his?”

“No!” Hermione panted, holding her side.

“Biff Longweasel.”

Hermione broke out into a laughing fit again, rolling onto her side and gasping for air. “Stop!” she cried, barely able to stand the ache in her side. “Please, stop!”

“I like my name better.”

She pounded the mattress with her fist, trying hard to rein in the hiccups of laughter still breaking out of her. “God, Harry,” she puffed, when she finally calmed down some. “Oh, God, I haven’t laughed that hard in—forever.”

He grinned. “Glad I could help you out.”

“You broke the mood.”

“We can get it back,” he grinned.

“I want it back,” she nodded.

“Well, come here then.”

She rolled back to face him, running her hand through his hair. He let her, not moving, not speaking. Her hand trailed down from his hair to run over his cheek and his eyes slid shut. She continued to move, her fingers brushing down his neck and onto his shoulder, then his chest.

She traced the line of hair that ran around his nipple, running her thumb across the small nub. When he let out a soft noise, she moved so that her mouth was level with his chest, and added her lips and tongue to the exploration. Her hands continued surveying his soft skin and the hard muscle underneath. He remained completely still, barely breathing and she wondered if this was good or bad. She sucked gently at his nipple and he shivered ever so slightly. When her tongue darted out to taste him, he shivered again, more pronounced this time.

She gave him the smallest nudge and he rolled onto his back, and she followed, moving her lips onto his stomach. He let her move, licking, blowing and kissing, until she reached his waist-band and started to unfasten his pants. Then, he put his hand on hers. “Not yet,” he said softly.

With his help, she came back up the bed, straddling him, until her chest was level with his face. She had to put her hands forward and hold herself up when he leaned up just enough to cup both her breasts in his hands and move his mouth to them again.

“Uuuuh,” she breathed, as he pressed them together, and began to lavish them with mind-blowing attention. “God, Harry,” she moaned. “Oh, Harry!” He bucked his hips up so that they brushed against her center and she moaned. “Want you,” she muttered and he brought his lips back up to hers.

“It’s getting hot in here,” he muttered, before his tongue invaded her mouth. His hands slid back down to the belt on her robe and he finally untied it, pushing the thick material off her shoulders. She was now completely naked on top of him and she wanted nothing more than to ride him, to feel him inside of her.

He must have noticed the total frustration in her face because he smiled slightly and rolled them back over. “All right. No more teasing.”

He sat up and let her unfasten his jeans, and pull them down his hips. He wasn’t wearing boxers this time, but jockey shorts, a mix between boxers and briefs, that clung to his slim hips, muscular legs and rock-hard erection. She quirked an eyebrow at it, smiling slyly. “What?” he asked, glancing down. “Do I need to formally introduce you two?”

She giggled again. “Well I can’t see him properly yet, can I?”

He gave her a small wink. “You can fix that.” She hurried to reach out and pull the elastic waistband out and down, becoming still more aroused at the site of him naked in front of her. Well, not technically naked, since his pants and underwear were still down around his knees. “Stubby,” Harry said, grinning at her. “You may remember Hermione. She’s the one that gave you that incredible blow earlier.”

Hermione blushed slightly. “Nice to see you again, Stubby.” She reached out and ran her fingers along the head, and he twitched.

“He’s happy to see you too,” Harry said, winking at her. She pumped him, her grip firm but slow. He let out a soft moan. “Hermione,” he said, his voice a bit rough.

He didn’t have to say anymore. She knew what he wanted. She leaned forward and took him into her mouth. She had gotten the preliminaries of figuring out what he liked out of the way earlier and could now move straight to doing it. She sucked as she pulled off of him, swirling her tongue around his tip, then took back in again. He shuddered and jerked. She repeated the action and he reached for her face, shaking his head. “You have to stop,” he whispered. “It’s too good.”

She licked him again, watching his face through her eyelashes. “Don’t want to,” she murmured. “I like it.”

He chuckled, pulling back slightly. “Hermione, I’m seri---ooh, god. You have to stop.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, but she didn’t. It was cruel, she knew, but she couldn’t stop herself. He let out a sharp breath, his hips bucking toward her.

“Hermione, please, you—oh fuck, you have to stop. Please.”

She drew back, pouting at him. “I don’t want to.”

“I know, but I would rather be doing this.” He pushed her back again, stretching out on top of her and capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. His tongue slid between her lips, tangling with hers. She pushed at his jeans with her feet and he laughed against her mouth. She felt him reach down, never breaking his hold on her lips, and push his pants and underwear off. It took some wiggling, but he managed it, then stretched out on her again, completely naked.

She moved her knees so that his hips slid down between her thighs and sighed when she felt him brush against her. He made no move to push into her, though. He continued to kiss her, pushing his tongue into her mouth, then pulling it back. The next time he did it, she tried to touch hers to it, only to have him pull it back again and grin against her mouth. She almost giggled. He was teasing her again. It was almost like a game of tag, tongue tag, and she actually found it fun trying to catch his with hers. Once, she managed to get hers past his lips and he sucked hard on it, drawing it deeper into his mouth.

She had gotten so involved with their little game that she had to gasp in shock when he shifted his hips and slid into her, filling her completely. She’d almost forgotten that he was laying naked between her legs.

He was fully inside her now, not moving to pull out. Instead, he caught her bottom lip between his and sucked at it. After a few more seconds, he pulled back then pushed in again, slowly, taking all the time in the world to bury himself in her again. He went on like that for a long time and she found herself growing breathless at the feelings that he was drawing out of her.

He developed a rhythm, so leisurely that it seemed to take a full minute for him to pull all the way and push all the way back in again. He would fill her completely for a few seconds before starting the next stroke. All the while, his mouth was on hers, kissing deeply, then softly, then merely brushing across hers.

She’d never known he could be like this. It was so unlike their first time together, and so unlike what he’d done to her only a little while before.

It seemed to last forever and she loved every minute of it. She wanted something more, though, and she put her hands on his hips, urging him to go just a bit faster, just a bit harder.

He didn’t argue or tell her to be patient. Instead, he moved just as she was directing, pushing in quicker and harder. It was still much more slowly than she had expected of him, but it was more than enough. A warmth filled her belly, like she had drank hot tea on a very cold day, and continued to build there until it overflowed, sending a wave of warmth through her. She moaned, basking in the wash of it, nearly drowning in it.

She was vaguely aware that Harry was still moving within her and only just managed to open her eyes in time to see him bite down on his bottom lip and squeeze his eyes shut. Then he was spilling into her, holding his breath as he pumped into her a few more times. She held tight to his shoulders and watched him as he sighed heavily and dropped his head onto her shoulder. Neither of them spoke for a long time, just lay there, coming down, trying to breathe, reveling in the relaxed sleepiness that was now fogging their minds. Harry slid out of her and rolled onto his side, wrapping his arms around her.

She glanced at the clock and laughed softly. “Well, I think we’ll both sleep well tonight.”

He nodded. “I know I will. But I think I’d like to get under the covers, because it’s getting cold in here.”

She giggled, forcing herself to let go of him and sit up. She crawled under them as soon as he’d pulled them down, and waited for him to join her. He slid his arms around her and pulled her back against him, and she let her eyes slide shut, reveling in the feel of him.

She didn’t know where the tears came from, really. She hadn’t intended to cry, hadn’t really even known she was going to, but she was just the same.

“Hermione? What’s wrong?”

She laughed softly, wiping her still streaming eyes. “Nothing.”

He nuzzled her neck. “I know I’m terrific and all but I’ve never brought a woman to tears before.”

She giggled, shaking her head. “I think I’m just—tired. You wore me out.”

“And I was happy to do it,” he whispered, kissing her cheek and lying back again. “Just, um—do me a favor?”

“Sure,” she laughed, raising his hand to her lips and kissing it gently.

“Don’t scare me like that again. I thought I’d hurt you or something.”

She shook her head, rolling to face him. “Oh, god no, Harry. No, I promise. You’re—you were perfect.”

He smirked. “Of course.”

She watched as his eyes slid shut, thinking that she would definitely have to stay awake as long as she could, just so she could watch him sleep.

They’d been expecting it. It seemed the whole school knew it was coming. There had been a tension in the air, every day, for the last week. Voices were hushed, when they were used at all outside of the classroom, and laughter, if there was any, sounded highly unnatural.

Hermione had walked the halls as though in a dream. A strange thrumming filled her, causing her skin to tingle. She would practice spells with Harry every chance they had, learning curses and jinxes, trying--desperately trying--to prepare. And for it all, she had this almost unnerving sense of certainty. They were going to win. When it all happened, they would win.

It came. Harry had done all that needed to be done. All that was left was to finish it. She followed him onto the grounds, wand raised, throwing spells with a power she’d never known she possessed. People fell, from both sides, and she just kept fighting. She lost track of Harry, but she knew, just knew, what he was doing. She knew he was taking his stand against Voldemort. And she knew when it was over. She knew that he’d won.

She searched for him as the battle died off, dodging stray curses from the few small patches of dueling going on. She wasn’t interested in fighting anymore. She wanted Harry. She had to find him.

She saw Neville off to one side, throwing everything he had at a masked Death Eater, and surprised even herself when she almost carelessly fired off an Impediment jinx that sent the man flying. She didn’t stick around to see Neville finish him off. Harry. She had to find Harry.

Her heart caught in her chest when she finally spotted him. He was lying near Hagrid’s cabin, sprawled on his back, one arm flung out from his body at a near impossible angle. “Harry!” she screamed, dashing toward him, falling to her knees next to him.

She felt relief wash over her so heavily that she gasped at the weight of it. He blinked up at her, a small smile playing over his face. “Oh, thank God,” he muttered. “You’re--okay.” He reached his hand up toward her face, but dropped it back again, sighing heavily. “You’re--oh, god, you’re okay.” He let out a long breath and choked out a laugh. “You’re--all right.”

“I’m fine, Harry. I’m fine. Not a scratch. How are you? Are you hurt?”

“Just winded,” he coughed. “Might have dislocated my shoulder.” Her hands went automatically to it and he let out a cry, shifting away from her with a heartbreaking wince. “D-Don’t touch,” he moaned. “Please.”

She felt tears sting her eyes and quickly withdrew her hand. “All right, Harry. All right, I won’t touch it.” She glanced around, hoping desperately to see someone who could help him. “Don’t move, okay? Just keep still.”

He grunted, his eyes sliding shut. “At least that’s the worst of it,” he muttered, grinding his teeth. “I consider it lucky, really. Who--?” He stopped, a look of immense pain crossing his face, making him gasp. When it had passed, he sighed. “Did we--lose anyone?”

She shrugged, wiping her eyes and staring around her. Where was everyone? Why wasn’t anyone coming to help the wounded? “I don’t know. Don’t worry about that right now. Just relax.”

“I’m as relaxed as I can be,” he said softly, shifting and wincing again. “In fact, I’m downright sleepy.”

She barked out a laugh, sniffling. “It’s over, right? Is it over? Did you end it?”

He nodded. “I ended it. He’s gone.” He started to sit up, but she put her hand on his chest.

“No, just--lay still, Harry. Just wait. Just hold on.”

“Trying,” he muttered, “Sleepy.”

She sniffed again, running her sleeve over her eyes. Harry was quiet and she immediately started to worry. “Hold on, Harry,” she whispered, reaching out to touch his face. “It’s over now. Just--hold on. It’s all over.”

She finally let herself collapse onto his chest, let the tears come. It was over, finally over.

“Hermione?”

She sniffled against him. “It’s over,” she muttered. “Oh, God, it’s over.”

“Hermione. Hey, come on. Wake up.”

“It’s--hmm?” She forced her eyes open and pulled back, looking up at him. “Harry?”

“You were talking in your sleep.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss across her forehead.

“Oh. Was I? I was--I was dreaming about the--that day.” She sniffed against, wiping her eyes. “It’s silly, I know, but I still--do that sometimes.”

He smiled slightly. “It’s not silly. I do it too. I think mine are a little more frightening than yours, though. You didn’t sound like it was a nightmare.”

She shook her head, letting him pull her back in close to him. “It wasn’t. It’s never a bad dream, just-- a little strange.”

“How so?” he murmured, his face buried in her hair. His hand traced gently across her shoulders and up and down her back.

She shrugged, laughing softly. “I don’t know. I just remember this--feeling, this certainty that you were going to win, that we were both going to live. And I felt so--strong, powerful. It must have been the adrenaline, you know. The fight or flight thing. I just felt like--like I could cast any spell ever invented.”

His hands had stopped, and she imagined, for a minute, that he had stopped breathing. Then, he coughed. “Amazing what fighting for your life will do to you, huh?” he said softly.

“Yes, definitely. But we made it. All of us. I still can’t believe it sometimes.”

“Believe it. It’s done and we’re still here.”

She nodded, snuggling as tightly against him as she could managed. “Thank god.” She listened to him breathe. “I was so scared for you, though. I knew you were going to win, but--when I saw you lying there--,” she sniffed. “I thought you were dead. I thought I had been wrong and that we’d lost you.”

He laughed softly. “No such luck. I’m still here.”

“That’s not funny, Harry,” she said, sighing. “Do you know how hard it was afterward? I mean, I thought you were fine and then--then to go to the hospital wing and find out that you--that you weren’t.” She cleared her throat, willing herself not to cry. “I couldn’t understand it. You were fine and I was talking to you and then you went to sleep and no one could figure out why.”

“I was tired, Hermione.”

“You don’t sleep for a week straight just because you’re tired, Harry,” she muttered. “I still don’t get it. I don’t know why they couldn’t find anything at all wrong with you.”

He shrugged. “Maybe because there was nothing wrong to find? I’m serious, Hermione. I’m fine now, right? I was just worn out, that’s all.”

She sighed. “I suppose. I just hate not having the answers.”

“Don’t worry so much about the answer when the outcome is right. It’s like looking a gift horse in the mouth. You’ll get your nose bitten off.”

She couldn’t help laughing. “You’re crazy.”

“I’m also sleepy,” he yawned. “Are you all right? Can we finish this discussion tomorrow?”

She laughed. “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

Her mind wouldn’t let her fall asleep quite yet. She kept reliving that week spent at Harry’s bedside, worrying and wondering.

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

Her first thought the next morning was: This is how I want to awakened every day for the rest of my life. Definitely.

His lips brushed against hers and she smiled against them. “Morning,” she murmured.

“Afternoon, actually. I think we overslept a bit.”

She grinned, opening her eyes and staring up at him. “Ah, well. We didn’t have any plans anyway.”

“True,” he laughed, crawling over to lay on top of her, lowering his weight onto her carefully.

“In fact,” she said, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair, “I think we should stay in this bed all day and not get up for anything.”

“Sounds good to me.” He rested his head on her shoulder, sighing heavily. “Except that I’m a little hungry.”

“That’s what room service is for.”

He chuckled. “I like the way you think. So should we call now or in a little while when we take a break.”

“A break from what?” she asked, trying to keep her tone one of pristine innocence. It didn’t work.

He raised his head and looked down at her, quirking an eyebrow. “Funny. All right, I’ll play along. From loud, wild, utterly mind-blowing sex. I plan to keep you in this bed all day, shagging until we can’t stand up, and then making you get up anyway so we can go downstairs for a nice dinner.”

She smirked. “Ah, but is your mind all I’m going to be blowing?”

He laughed and it sounded more carefree and happy than any she’d heard from him in a long time. “Hermione Granger! You just said something completely perverted! I’m proud of you!”

She giggled. “You’re a bad influence on me.” She leaned up and caught his mouth in a fierce kiss, and moaned softly when he returned it with even more passion. There was nothing teasing about him this time. His hands moved with a purpose over her bare skin, as though he wanted to touch her everywhere at once. When she lowered her hand to wrap around him, he moaned loudly, pushing into her. He slipped quickly between her legs and nudged gently into her, never taking his lips from hers.

She had to break off after a minute, not only to breathe but also so she could let loose at least one of the sounds that were building up in her throat. “Oh, Harry,” she murmured, clinging to him as he moved his mouth to her neck, sucking on the spot just below her ear. “Unnnh, god.”

His shoulders were tense as he moved inside of her, and his hips seemed to be straining against themselves. He was holding back, obviously.

“Harry,” she whispered against his ear. “I won’t break.”

He leaned up and looked at her again, a small smile on his face. “I know.” He shifted his position slightly and hit a spot that made her gasp. “I’m pacing myself,” he grinned, and she had to giggle.

“Oh, god yeah,” she sighed as he continued to move. “Oh, right there.”

He was staring down at her with an intensity that made her shiver and she fought hard to hold his gaze. She watched as he started to breath more heavily, watched his eyes cloud over a bit. “Hermione,” he moaned, and the sound made her shiver again. As though just the sound of his voice could finish her off, she felt her orgasm build quickly, and clutched tightly to his shoulders as he pushed her over the edge.

She arched against him, gasping out his name, feeling the electrical surge of passion shoot through her from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, leaving her breathless and shaking. She managed to slide her eyes open again and almost came again from the look in his eyes.

She had to kiss him. She didn’t think she could live another minute without having his lips on hers. She pulled him down to her, wishing she could hold him like this forever, wishing he would keep kissing her like that for just as long. “Hermione,” he whispered, his voice rough, so full of need it was almost pained. “God, Hermione.”

She pulled back and watched his face as he lost all control, his eyes falling shut, his mouth open, his hips thrusting wildly. She watched every moment of his climax, trying to remember the expressions and sounds, trying to memorize just how gorgeous and sweet he was in that moment.

His head fell to her shoulder and he panted heavily. “Ah god,” he muttered. “Oh hell, that was--.”

She giggled, running her hands through his hair and turning her head to kiss his temple. “That good?”

He laughed softly. “That brilliant.” He lay there until his breathing calmed. “So, lunch? Or should we have a nap first?”

She shrugged. “I don’t care. As long as I don’t have to get out of this bed, I don’t care.”

He chuckled, brushing his lips across her shoulder as he sat up and moved off of her. “You don’t. Not until tonight. Just stay right there and I’ll get you something to eat, all right?”

“Thank you.”

He grinned at her. “Anytime.” He brushed another kiss across her lips and then onto each of her cheeks.

She leaned back into the pillows, stretching and sighing. She felt an insane urge to giggle again. This trip just kept getting better and better.

Author’s Note: Sorry about the delay with this chapter. :D I’ve had a bit of a busy day today and was in desperate need of a nap. Hope it was worth the wait. :D

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

“The snow’s finally stopped.”

Harry nodded, not looking up from his book. “It was bound to eventually. Now we just have to wait for the plows to come through.”

“Do you think that’ll be today?”

He laughed softly. “Doubtful. As late as it is, they might hit the main roads, but it will probably be tomorrow or the next day before they make it out here.” He grinned over at her. “You don’t mind being stuck here with me for a few more days, do you?”

“Oh god no,” she laughed, stretching. “I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.”

He winked at her. “I agree.”

She watched as he turned back to his book. The smile faded slowly from his face, turning more serious as he started to read again. He was slumped slightly in his chair, his legs stretched out under the table, the book resting on his lap. She watched his eyes skim over the page, stop, move to the top of the next page and start over.

Of course, it was impossible for her to keep her eyes on just his face, although she could have spent hours just staring at his sharp jaw and high cheekbones and especially those beautiful eyes. No, she found her gaze trailing down his neck and over his shoulders, down to his slightly tan, nicely-developed biceps. Oh, those biceps.

She stretched again, purposely letting the sheet slide down her body. “Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“I need a bath.”

“Do you want me to run the water for you?” He still hadn’t looked at her. She was certain that, when he did, he would be offering more than just drawing the bath. Sharing it with her, she hoped.

“It doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not a bit,” he said, shutting his book. He turned to look at her, his eyes roving over her body. When they finally managed to make it back up to her eyes, he grinned. “Hey there.”

“Hello,” she giggled. “About that bath--.”

“Right. I’ll get right on it.”

“Would you care to join me?”

“Like I could say no to that? Of course I will, if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I did.”

He went into the bathroom and she heard the water start. “Do you want bubbles?”

“Surprise me,” she laughed. “And don’t take your shorts off just yet. I want to do that for you.”

She heard him laugh and felt that warmth settle in her stomach again. Great, she thought, grinning. He’s not just turning me into a pervert. He’s turning me into a nympho-pervert.

“It’s ready whenever you are,” he called, and she hopped off the bed and hurried into the bathroom. “Bubbles,” she laughed. “How sweet!”

“Hey, I happen to like bubble baths too, you know.” He paused, frowning. “Wow, that was the most unmanly thing I think I’ve ever said.”

She giggled, crossing to wrap her arms around him. “You are anything but unmanly, Harry. Now, had you said you like perfume and fingernail polish, it would be a different story.”

“I would think so.” He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers, pulling her closer, until her body was flush against his. “Now, I think we should get in that tub right now, before I decide this hard floor is good enough for what I want to do to you.”

“And just what do you want to do to me?”

“Everything. Anything and everything. And I want to do it right now.”

She had never imagined how quickly she could move when she needed to. She settled herself into the water, starting up at him in anticipation. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

He laughed. “You said you wanted to take my shorts off. I was just waiting for you to do it.”

She grinned, standing back up and reaching forward to grab his waistband. She tugged on it, pulling him closer, until he was right in front of her. She slowly, carefully, pulled them down, catching his bottom lip between her teeth as she did. He gave a contented sigh, running his hands over her arms. When she pulled back, he actually whimpered slightly. “Relax,” she whispered, sinking down to her knees and taking his boxers down with her.

“Not even if you paid me to could I relax right now. Not with you down there, looking at me like that.”

She grinned, then leaned forward and wrapped her hand around him, followed by her mouth. He moaned, arching toward her, his hands moving frantically from her hair to her shoulders and back. She ran her tongue over him and he sucked in a sharp breath.

“Move over,” he muttered, and she barely made it out of his way before he was scrambling into the tub and sliding into the water next to her.

“Impatient?” she smirked.

He looked at her incredulously. “Well—yeah! Come here.”

He reclaimed her mouth, pulling her onto his lap, then moved to kiss every inch of her that he could reach. Within a few minutes, both were writhing, battling to see who could touch and kiss more of the other’s bare skin.

“Hermione?” he gasped, his voice muffled by her shoulder.

“Hmm?” she moaned back, sucking on the top of his ear.

“I want to be in you. Now.”

She knew she would never get tired of hearing those words. She shifted until she was kneeling across his lap, keeping her eyes on his as he slipped inside of her. “Oh god,” she sighed. “It’s so perfect.”

“Oh yeah,” he murmured, leaning to put his lips on her again. “Bloody brilliant.”

They‘d yet to try this particular position, and she didn‘t know the finer points of doing it well. She experimented with a few different moves, then sighed. “Um, Harry--?”

He wrapped his hands around her waist and leaned her back slightly, speeding his movements. “Just like that,” he whispered back. “However you like it.”

“I like this,” she moaned, letting her head fall back. “A lot.”

He laughed. “It’s definitely—uunnnh. Oh yeah, it’s nice.”

One of his hands slipped around to her stomach, then lower and she gasped. “Oh! Harry!” She couldn’t help speeding the movement of her hips. It seemed her body knew what she wanted whether her mind did or not, and it was determined to do what she wanted.

Harry thrust his own hips up from beneath her and she wailed, arching back so far that her head almost dipped in the water. She thought she might very well have drowned if Harry hadn’t kept one hand on her waist and pulled her. She collapsed against him, panting.

He held her, his face buried in her neck, until she had calmed down some. “Hermione?” he said softly, his voice cracking.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Um—can you move again, please?”

She almost laughed. “Right, sorry.”

This time, she had the opportunity to pay attention to what he liked, and she learned a few new tricks. Most importantly, though, she got to watch his beautiful face. He dropped his head back against the side of the tub, letting his eyes fall shut, making soft grunts in time with her movements. She leaned forward to brush her lips against his throat and his hand jerked against her thigh.

She leaned in closer to him, letting the bare skin of her breasts brush against him and he moaned. “God, Hermione,” he sighed. “Harder, please. Please, Hermione, harder!” She had left him breathless, was making him whimper even, and had never felt so sexy, so powerful, in her life.

Until, that is, he climaxed. His head was thrown back, his eyes shut tight, and he literally screamed as his hips bucked wildly. She left him alone for a minute, just watching as he panted and gasped, nearly slipping under the surface of the water. When he finally opened his eyes and looked at her, it was with an expression of complete and total relief and gratitude. “All right?” she asked softly, leaning in to kiss him gently.

“I’ve never been so all right in my life,” he grinned drowsily. “Aren‘t we supposed to be, I dunno, bathing?”

She laughed softly. “I suppose. Although I really just want to stay here until the waters turns cold or we melt.”

He sat up and shifted, taking hold of her shoulders. “Turn around.”

She started to ask why, then realized she didn’t care. She turned so that her back was too him. He urged her to lie back, running his hands through her hair as it floated in the water around her. Her eyes fell shut of their own free will and she did what his hands directed, sitting up when he indicated, letting her head fall back so he could spread the shampoo through it, lying back again to let him rinse it.

He lathered a washcloth and began to wash her back and she reveled in the feeling of being so pampered. So this is what it’s like, she thought, sighing in near ecstasy. “Want me to wash you?” she asked, giggling as his hand moved around her to wash her stomach.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m having a good time doing this.”

She leaned back against him just enjoying the feel of him against her back, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her. “There’s a potion I think we ought to get.”

“What kind of potion?”

“It’s for extended--erm, activity. Keeps you in the mood longer, lets you go more than one round. That sort of thing.”

He laughed softly against her cheek. “And just how do you know about this potion?”

“I read about it, thank you very much. But you just tell me it doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

He grinned. “It sounds like a wonderful idea. I’m sure we’ll come across an apothecary somewhere. We can pick it up then.”

“And until then?”

“We’ve got youth on our side.” He bent his head to kiss her neck. “And never underestimate the benefits or pure enthusiasm.”

She giggled. “Oh, never. Enthusiasm is a wonderful thing.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She took her time drying off, sliding her robe onto her shoulders. She was so relaxed that she couldn’t have cared less about going to dinner at this point. She didn’t care what she did as long as she did it with Harry.

She stood, stretching, and wandered toward the bathroom door. He was standing, still naked, at the sink, smearing shaving cream on his face. She watched him, almost entranced, as he ran the razor over his skin. He caught sight of her out of the corner of his eye and glanced at her. She smiled at him. “Don’t mind if I watch, do you?”

He shrugged, turning back to the mirror. “If you want to. Not much of a show.” She thought it was. For some reason, it was the most interesting thing she’d ever seen. He leaned in close to the mirror, squinting to see what he was doing since his glasses were still in the bedroom somewhere, and humming what sounded like Love Me Do under his breath.

“You’re seem to be in a good mood.”

He grinned crookedly at her, rinsing the razor. “A shag like that is bound to put you in good spirits.”

She didn’t take offense at the term “shag”. It was just Harry, she knew. “So, what do you have planned for after dinner?”

“There isn’t all that much to do, now, is there? We can come back upstairs and watch TV, if you want. Or we can--well, no, that’s pretty much our only option.” He winked at her in the mirror, smirking and tilting his chin to shave his neck.

“We could find something else to do, I’m sure.”

He laughed softly, rinsing his face and reaching for a comb. He tried to get his hair to lay down, which, even at its currently very short length, she knew was impossible. The hair immediately around the part stuck out at odd angles, and several other strands completely resisted combing at all, snapping straight back to where they’d been after the comb had passed. She laughed, watching as he frowned at the mirror and cursed his hair. “It might behave better if you put some kind of product on it.”

“It would behave better if I shaved it off,” he said, giving up and tossing the comb down. “I’m used to it by now.”

“Can I try?” she asked, stepping up behind him and resting her face against his arm.

“If you want to, but it’ll just frustrate you,” he said with a shrug. She motioned for him to sit down on the edge of the tub, then dipped the comb under the running water again.

He was right, it was frustrating. No matter what she did, the hair stuck up of it’s own accord. It went were it wanted, which was usually the complete opposite direction of where she wanted it to go. “It has a mind of its own,” she muttered, reaching for her toiletry bag. “Do you care if I put some gel in it?”

“No, that’s fine.”

He didn’t sound terribly enthused about it, but he didn’t argue either.

She squirted some orange styling gel onto her palm and rubbed her hands together. When she smeared it onto his hair, he winced slightly. “What?”

“It smells like flowers.”

She laughed. “It smells like coconut and kiwi, Harry. Besides, the smell isn’t that strong. No one else will even notice.” She combed the gel through his hair and, incredibly, it all laid down just right. “There,” she pronounced happily, stepping back to look at it.

“What?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously. “Don’t tell me it worked.”

“It did. Look in the mirror.”

He stood and stepped closer to the mirror, looking as closely as he could at his image. “No way,” he muttered. “You couldn’t possibly have--. No bloody way. How did you do that?”

“Just the gel,” she said proudly. “Do you like it?”

He laughed, still carefully studying his reflection. “Like it? It’s brilliant. It’s never looked so good.”

She grinned. “I actually like it either way, but it is very different seeing it tamed for once.”

He took one last long look, then turned back to her. “I’ll have to let you fix it more often. Thanks.”

She felt her cheeks grow warm. “My pleasure.”

He put a hand on her chin and tilted her head back until her eyes were on his. His lips brushed hers and she sagged against him, forgetting about everything but him. When he pulled back, she sighed. “We should stop that and get dressed,” he said, stepping back. “Otherwise we’re never going to get down to dinner.”

She grudgingly let go of him, not caring, at the moment, if they went to dinner or not. She just wanted him to kiss her again. She nodded and followed him back into the bedroom. He was careful pulling his shirt over his head, trying desperately not to mess up his hair, and she felt another surge of pride. God, he’s beautiful, she mused, watching him dress. So damned beautiful.

She pulled on her own clothes absent-mindedly, catching her own tangled mane back into a tail. She would undoubtedly look like a slob next to him, but she didn’t care. She caught him stealing glances at her as well, and that made her feel more attractive than she’d ever felt in her life.

“Ready?” he asked her a few minutes later, lacing up his trainers.

She nodded. “Absolutely.” She took his arm, wondering if this could be counted as their “first date”.

The dining room was small and cozy, and reminded Hermione of Madam Puddifoot's tea room in Hogsmeade. There were flowers on every table although Harry had moved theirs to one side so, she preferred to think, he could see her better.

“Have you thought anymore about the Defense Against the Dark Arts position?”

Harry shook his head. “Not really. I've told McGonagall I wasn't interested, and that hasn't changed. That doesn't stop her from asking, of course.”

“Did you think it would?” Hermione laughed. “Come on, Harry. You're the best one for the job, and you know that. Nobody knows more defensive spells than you do, and no one's had more experience at using them, save possibly the Aurors. I think you should at least consider it.”

“I'm not interested. I like my job.”

She sighed. “I'm sure you do, but—I don't know. I guess I'm a bit surprised. You wanted to be an Auror. What happened to that?”

He shrugged, fiddling with his place setting. “I don't want to work for the Ministry. I thought you, of all people, would understand that.”

“I do. Completely. But if you take the teaching job, you won't be working for the Ministry.”

“I don't want it, Hermione. I don't want to be an Auror and I don't want to teach.” There was an edge to his voice, and she knew she needed to change the subject.

“All right. Sorry.” She took a sip of her tea. “What did you do with Hedwig?”

“She's with Neville. He and Hannah like having her around. Apparently Dmitri will go out to hunt mice, but he won't eat the ones that are already in the house.”

Hermione laughed. “Leave it to Neville to own a confused owl. How does he like his new job?”

Harry smirked at her slightly. “He likes it. Of course, he would, wouldn't he? He's always loved Herbology and he loved being at Hogwarts, so it's not surprise he'd want to teach there. That doesn't mean I would, though.”

“I never said it did,” she sighed. “I was just asking about his job. Don't read into my questions, Harry.”

He stared at her for a second, then nodded. “You're right. I'm sorry. Look, I don't expect you to understand why I chose to work in construction. I don't really expect anyone to understand it. God knows I've never been able to explain it.”

“We don't have to understand it, Harry. If it's what you want, then we have to respect that. It's no one's business but your own.”

He smirked. “Which isn't to say that you wouldn't like to know.”

“Well, of course I'd like to know,” she laughed. “There are a lot of things I'd like to know about you. If I never find out, though, it won't change anything. I'd still--.”

“Here we are!” Hermione jumped, looking up at Mrs. Crispenson as she set their dinners on the table. “Chicken parmesan for you, Miss, and manicotti, for you, my dear.” She beamed at them. “So glad to see you're feeling better, dear. Sam told me you looked fine yesterday when you stopped into the pub, but I didn't believe him. You know how men are, always overlooking the important,” she said, almost conspiratorially, to Hermione. “Ah, but you're the picture of health,” she said, reaching out to pinch Harry's cheek. “So glad to see it! Well, you two enjoy your dinners and let me know if you need anything at all!” She grinned at them one more time, then rushed back off toward the kitchen, saying something about “lovely couple” as she went.

Harry laughed as Hermione stared after her. “Is she always like that?” Hermione wondered aloud, her eyes wide.

“No idea. It's no wonder her husband is so quiet. He probably can't get a word in edgewise with her.”

Hermione giggled. “Well, she's certainly friendly. I'll have to remember to thank her before we leave.”

Harry took a long drink of his wine, watching as an older couple sat down a few tables away. “Did you tell Ron when we'd be there?”

“Not exactly. He'll be either at home or at the store, so—he won't be hard to find.”

“Did he ever try out for the Cannons?”

Hermione shook her head, smiling sadly. “No. You know how his confidence is. He heard rumors about who they were expecting to show up at the try-outs and he chickened out. Of course he says he'd made a promise to Fred and George and he wanted to keep it, but you know that wasn't the sole reason. Speaking of, I ran into Alicia Spinnet the other day. She asked about you.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Did she? How's she doing?”

“Fine, I suppose. She had to quit Quidditch though. Some sort of bludger injury.”

“That's too bad. She was a great chaser.”

“Do you miss it?”

“What? Quidditch?” She nodded. “A bit, I guess. I always knew I'd have to give it up sometime.” He grinned, shaking his head. “I'll tell you what I don't miss, and that's Malfoy.”

Hermione laughed. “Me either, although he was fun to pick on.”

“I'll never forget that time you slapped him.”

She blushed slightly. “I suppose I shouldn't have done it, but I just couldn't help it. He's such a little--.”

“Ferret?”

She giggled. “Yep, that would be it. It fit him so perfectly; it's a shame that McGonagall changed him back.”

“Ah, well, maybe he became an animagus, turned into a ferret and was eaten by Nagini. That's what I've always hoped, anyway.”

Hermione turned her attention to her dinner, not wanting to think about that bloody snake, or Voldemort, or anything else, for that matter. She had hoped this dinner with Harry would be romantic, but it seemed just like any other dinner with him. They had talked about everything that they always talked about. Of course, she could change that, if she wanted to, she supposed. “Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“What do you find romantic?”

He laughed softly, actually blushing a bit. “I don't know. I think romance is all in your head. Anything can be romantic if you're in the right state of mind.”

She thought, at first, that this was his way of not answering her question. Then, she realized he was probably right. “So, do you think this is romantic?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, a bit. I mean, it might be a bit more so if you didn't have tomato sauce on your chin, but--.” He laughed as she reached up and wiped at her face, blushing furiously. “Here, let me.” She leaned forward, feeling mortified as he dabbed at her chin with his napkin.

“That is so embarrassing,” she muttered, sighing.

“It hasn't been there that long. No one else saw it.”

“You saw it.”

“Well, yeah, but I've also seen you crying your eyes out, with your nose running. I think I've seen you at your worst, Hermione, and I still think you're beautiful.”

She choked out a laugh, hoping he didn't see the tears welling in her eyes. Stop being such a girl, her mind chided, but she couldn't help it. Her heart was thumping wildly in her chest and she had the crazy urge to crawl over the table and kiss him. “Um, thank you. That was—so sweet,” she sniffed, trying to force a smile.

He grinned at her. “You aren't crying, are you?”

“No, shut up,” she muttered, wiping her eyes on her napkin. “You just—surprised me, that's all.”

“What? You don't think I know beautiful when I see it?”

She could barely make herself answer that question. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was certain the whole room could hear it. “I—I just—you've never—told me that. Why didn't you ever say so before?”

He shrugged, smiling. “I didn't think it was my place.”

“What? Why not?”

“Because we were always just friends. It would have made things weird between us. I think we've been through enough together now that I'm entitled to say it.”

She laughed softly. “Well—yes, you most certainly are. I—well, thank you. You make me feel beautiful.” He reached across the table and took her hand in his. “Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we go back to the room? Like—right now?”

He chuckled. “Eat first. Trust me, the bed will still be there when we get back.”

She almost groaned in frustration. “I don't want to eat. I want to kiss you. Now.”

He squeezed her hand. “No, no. We have to finish dinner first. I'm hungry.”

She let out a heavy sigh, but tried to focus on her dinner. Her job was made even harder when he lifted his foot and stroked it over her leg, causing her to jump. “That's not playing fair, Harry,” she muttered, pulling her leg away from him.

“I'm sorry. Were we supposed to be playing fair?”

She giggled. “Did I not tell you that? I'm sorry, let me fix it. Stop teasing me or I'll embarrass the hell out of you.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh but I would. Do you want to test me?”

He eyed her carefully, then grinned. “No, I really don't. I'll play fair. At least until we get back up to the room.”

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

She sighed heavily against his neck, running her hands over his broad shoulders. “Harry?”

He grunted against her shoulder between gasps for breath.

“Do we—uunnnh, oh god--,” she broke off as he started to move again, taking a break from the frenzied pace they'd been in, favoring something much slower and achingly tender. “Do we ever have to get out of this bed again?”

“Well, I would like to—ummmmm—to say no, but I think we'll eventually have to.”

“But not anytime—ooooooh—not anytime soon, right?”

He chuckled. “I hope not.” He picked up the pace just slightly, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him close to her. “Oh, Hermione,” he moaned, arching his back to thrust into her harder.

She let her eyes slide shut, getting lost quickly in the noises he was making. He grew more passionate, it seemed, each time they were together, to the point that he now seemed to lose himself in it just as much as she did. It was incredible to her, when she thought about it. She was the one doing this to him, turning him on, making him gasp for breath even as he groaned out her name.

She felt her climax start to build and realized, vaguely, that she had to let go of Harry's neck or she might very well snap it. She released him, then grabbed him again as her orgasm hit her with all the force of a semi-truck at full speed, and she gasped. “Harry!” she squeaked, pressing her body up into his as she rode it out.

“Whoops,” he muttered, laughing softly into her shoulder. “I meant to hold---oh god—unhhh. Never—mind.” He gasped, his fingers scrabbling behind his back until he caught hold of her hand. He threaded his fingers through hers and squeezed as he came.

She loved everything about that moment. The way his hand clung desperately to hers, the way his shoulders trembled against her chest, the way that he sighed her name into her ear as his body began to relax.

“Hermione?” he said softly, not lifting his head from her shoulder.

“Hmmm?” she murmured.

“Forget what I said about getting up. I'm not moving from this spot. Ever.”

-->

The plow trucks came through at around two. “Should we try to get to the truck?” Hermione asked, craning her neck to look down the road from the window. “Or should we wait until tomorrow?”

“Today. Even if we just get it dug out and bring it back down here, I’d like to get it out today.” She felt a little offended by the fact that Harry would pull his nose out of the book for the truck, when he hadn’t done the same for her all morning.

She supposed she should forgive him for slighting her, considering they’d had only each other for company for several days now. Harry wasn’t used to being cooped up, and he got cranky when he was bored.

She watched as he crossed the room to pull his coat on. “I hope Mr. Crispenson has some snow shovels. It’s going to be hell if we have to dig it out with our hands.”

They bundled up and borrowed some snow shovels from Mr. Crispenson, and headed out. Mrs. Crispenson had tried to tell them that they would need help, and insisted on having Mr. Crispenson go with them, but Harry had managed to talk her out of it, promising that they would stop and return to the inn if they were unable to get it out.

“Do you think it will start?” Hermione asked as they stepped out onto the road.

“Dunno,” Harry muttered. “I hope so. I really would like to get out of here tomorrow.”

She laughed, hooking her arm through his as they walked. “I don’t know. I’m kind of fond of this place.”

“Maybe, but we really should get on with it. Who knows, though? The truck might not start and we may be stuck here a few more days until we can get it fixed.”

“At least we’ll have a big, comfortable, warm bed to—sleep in.” She wriggled her eyebrows at him and he grinned. “Because I could certainly use loads more—sleep.”

“I’ve created a bloody monster.”

Hermione glanced around in amazement at the piles of snow on either side of the road. Then, she gasped. “Oh, heavens! Is that the truck?”

Harry nodded. “I’m afraid so. Like I said, it’s going to be hell.”

“I’m thinking it’s going to be impossible,” Hermione sighed. “Without magic, I mean.”

“We’re not using magic to get it out, Hermione.”

“Oh, come on, Harry. There’s no one around to see. You know that I’m the first one to uphold the law, but it would be ridiculous to try to dig all that snow off of it when we can do it much more easily with a spell.”

“Do whatever you like,” Harry muttered. “I don’t care.”

Hermione walked around to the far side of the truck and started to cast warming spells. The snow was melting quickly, but there was entirely too much of it to make the job simple.

After twenty minutes of work, Hermione had managed to get a nice little path melted halfway up the side of the truck. She walked around to check on Harry and sighed. “Harry, it would be much easier to use the spell. Look at you, you’re already wearing out and you’ve made no progress.”

He turned to shoot her a look, then grunted. “All right. Fine. If it will make you happy, I’ll do the damned spell.”

She started to make a comment back, then thought better of it. For whatever reason, he was already grumpy. Getting snippy with him now would only make it worse. She moved back around to her side and started to work again.

It took another hour to melt enough snow to get the door open even a little bit. “How’s it going, Harry?” she called, stopping to adjust her gloves. “Harry?” She went around the back of the truck and over to his side, frowning. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

He glanced up at her from his spot on the ground. “Nothing. I’m fine. Are you done over there?”

“Almost. Harry, are you sure--?”

“I’m fine. Hurry up and get your side done so we can get out of here.”

She huffed. “Fine. I’m going. You may want to get up though before you get frostbite on your arse.”

She went around to finish her part of the job, getting enough snow out of the way to open the driver’s door. “I’m done,” she snapped. “Can we get out of here now?”

“I’m not stopping you.”

He opened the passenger’s door and climbed in, flopping almost-bonelessly into the seat. She climbed in beside him, frowning. “Harry, what—?”

“Nothing. I’m fine.” He passed her the keys and slumped in his seat. “God, I hope this thing starts.”

She slid the key into the ignition and, muttering a soft prayer under her breath, turned it. The truck coughed a few times, then roared to life. “Well, that’s a miracle, isn’t it?”

Harry didn’t answer, and she noticed that he had started to shiver again. She drove them back to the inn, parked the truck and, despite Harry’s insistence that he was fine, went around and helped him out. She started to wrap her arm under his, but he pulled away. “I’m fine,” he muttered.

She trailed behind him as they walked back upstairs, wincing as he stumbled slightly on the stairs. She wasn’t the least bit surprised when he collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep as soon as they were back in the room.

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

Hermione ate dinner alone, sitting at the table and staring dully at the television. Her eyes would drift, ever so often, to Harry. He was still asleep, sprawled on the bed in much the same position he’d been in when he’d fallen there. She’d try to wake him, with no success, and she was now thinking maybe she should ask Mrs. Crispenson to call a doctor.

She stood and crossed to the bed, flopping down beside him. “Harry?” she said, running her hand over his cheek. “Come on, Harry, please wake up.”

She knew enough about health, thanks to reading her parents medical bookswhen she was younger, to know that his heart rate and breathing were both pretty much normal. He didn’t have a fever. She’d even pinched him just to make sure he would move. He had, but just barely. It really just seemed like he was physically exhausted, although she had no idea how he could become so worn out by shoveling snow, considering how physical his everyday job was.

She sighed, stretching out next to him. He didn’t look sick; that was a good sign. He was a bit pale, maybe. Then again, that could have just been her imagination. She was trying not to worry too much. She’d seen him in worse shape than this. The incident when he fell off his broom in third year, for instance, or the time he’d been whacked in the head with a bludger in sixth. After he’d returned from the graveyard where Voldemort had been waiting for him---that one had been scary. And seventh year, of course, when he’d—

She sat up, frowning. He’d slept for a week. They’d not been able to find anything wrong with him. “Well, there must be something—,” she muttered, climbing off the bed again, and reaching for a book.

She could almost hear his voice teasing her, “That’s right, Hermione. Every answer comes from a book.”

There was nothing else that she could do, though. She couldn’t call a doctor. If this was magical, a Muggle doctor wouldn’t be able to help him. And the healers hadn’t found anything wrong with him either. She thought, briefly, of trying to find McGonagall, but it seemed silly. There was probably nothing anyone else could do that she couldn’t.

She searched through her books and realized she had nothing that she would need here. “Damn,” she muttered, tossing the last of her books back into her bag. She probably had something at home.

She glanced at Harry again, realizing that he most likely wouldn’t be waking anytime soon. It wouldn’t hurt, she figured, to Apparate home very quickly and grab what she needed. She’d be back before he awoke. Of that she was certain.

It took her only a moment to get back to her apartment, and a second longer to remember the wards and disable them before they could incapacitate her. She hurried to her shelves, grabbing an extra bag as she went, and started to load books in. When she had everything she thought she would need, she shut her eyes and focused on her destination. She was sure she’d been gone no more than ten minutes.

She apparated back to the inn quickly, dropping the bag on the floor and turning back toward the bed. She jumped when she realized that Harry was no longer the only one in the room.

“OH!” Mrs. Crispenson cried, dropping the dinner plate she was holding onto the floor. “Oh, dear, it’s you! I’m so sorry, you frightened me! I didn’t even hear you come in.”

Hermione blushed, her eyes wide. “Oh, I’m sorry. I just—I had to run out to the truck for my—my bag!” She stuffed her wand quickly behind her back, running her hand through her hair. “What, um—what were you doing in here?”

“Well, I came up to get your dinner dishes. I shouldn’t have let myself in, I know, but no one answered when I knocked, and there was no sign on the door, so I just—came on in. I was trying to be quiet about it, when I saw the young man there sleeping, but--.” She frowned. “Odd that all this noise didn’t wake him, isn’t it? He must be quite a heavy sleeper.”

Hermione nodded vigorously. “Yeah. He could—sleep through an elephant stampede.” She laughed, but it was loud and forced.

Mrs. Crispenson gave her an odd look, then stepped a bit closer to the bed. “Are you sure he’s all right, dear? He looks a bit peaky.”

Oh shit, Hermione thought, chewing her lip. “Is he? I didn’t notice.”

“Well, that’s odd, isn’t it?” the woman said, peering at Harry. “He seemed quite all right earlier, didn’t he? Maybe we should wake him up and see if he needs to see a doctor.”

“No!” Hermione said quickly, then laughed softly. “Um, I mean—he’s said he was just tired. I—I think he might have strained himself a bit trying to get the truck out earlier. He did most of the work, you know.”

The woman continued to stare at her. “I don’t know about you, dear, but I always take everything a man says with a grain of salt. I’d call a doctor if I were you. Of course, he’ll likely bitch at you for it, you know how men are.” She laughed at her own joke, leaning down to look at Harry one last time. “Hmm, odd scar he’s got there on his forehead, isn’t it? Anyway, I’ll get out of your way. There’s a doctor lives just down the road here. If he gets any worse, you just let me know and I’ll get him down here right quick.”

“I will, thank you,” Hermione said, forcing a smile. She watched as the woman picked up her plates and glass and made her way out of the room, casting a last glance at Harry as she went. When she was finally out the door, Hermione sighed.

“Damn you, Harry. Sometimes you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” she muttered, knowing she didn’t mean a word of it.

She slumped down at the table with her bag and opened a book.

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

“Hey, wake up.” She stirred, flinching as her back gave a nasty throb.

“Ow,” she muttered, trying to force her eyes open. “What--?”

She felt a hand smoothing her hair away from her face. “Are you all right?”

“Harry?” she mumbled, looking up at him blearily. “When did you wake up?”

“Around nine. You missed breakfast.”

She winced again, stretching. “Ugh, my neck is stiff.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for trying to sleep at the table. I put you to bed when I woke up, by the way, and you’re welcome.”

She sat up, glaring at him. “You had me scared to death, Harry. I was up half the night trying to figure out what was wrong with you!”

He frowned. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

She gasped. “Like hell there isn’t! Harry, you do realize that you slept sixteen hours straight, don’t you? And not just slept—you were out cold! You just—passed out.”

“I fell asleep, Hermione,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t make a major issue out of this, all right?”

“Wha—How can you say that? Sixteen hours isn’t just a nap, Harry! Aren’t you even—wait. You know what’s wrong, don’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped, shaking his head. “I’m fine. You’re trying to make something out of nothing.”

She watched in shock as he grabbed his bag from the floor and went into the bathroom. “Oh, no. No, you aren’t getting away with this one. What aren’t you telling me, Harry?” she demanded, climbing out of bed and following him.

He was packing away his toiletries, his back to her. “There’s nothing going on, other than you panicking over absolutely nothing. Are you going to just stand there or are you going to get cleaned up and packed, because I really want to get out of here sometime today.”

She huffed, grinding her teeth. “Fine. If you don’t want to talk about it, fine.” She stormed back into the bedroom and pulled her bag out, digging for some clothes. “I’m just worried about you, Harry! You know it isn’t normal for a person to take a sixteen hour nap. You have to know that!”

“You’re worrying about nothing,” he called back. “I was just tired. Is it against the law to be tired?”

“You’re lying,” she growled. “I know you’re lying.”

She almost jumped when he came over to her and wrapped his arms around her. “Hermione, listen. I’m not lying to you. I’m fine.” She straightened up almost involuntarily, putting her hands over his and leaning back into his chest. He walked them over to the bed and sat down, pulling her onto his lap. “You know, I think maybe we’ve just been pinned up together for too long. We’re getting on each other’s nerves.” She started to argue, but he put his fingers gently on her cheek, turning her to face him. “Can you honestly tell me that I’m not getting on your nerves?”

She hesitated, then sighed. “All right, maybe a little.”

He grinned. “That’s what I thought. I was thinking maybe we should go see Ron, and when we’re done there, just go back to London. Then, if we need some space, we’ve got it. And if we don’t, well—you know where I live, right?”

She laughed softly. “Yes, and you know where I live. You’re probably right.” She leaned in and kissed him gently. “Are you ready to see Ron, then?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he laughed. “I’m not looking forward to it, if that’s what you mean, but—I’ll do what I have to. I just hope he forgives me.”

She nodded, running her fingers through his hair. “I do too.” They sat like that for a few more minutes before she sighed again. “Well, I guess I should get packed then, hmm?”

“Yeah. Me too.”

With one last kiss, she stood and started putting her things back in her bags.

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*Grins* So, there you have it. :D They’re on their way to Ron’s. And I have that chapter, with all its Ron-goodness already finished. But, I can’t give it to you just yet. No, that would be way too easy. :lol:

To HarrynHermoine4eva: You still rock! :D Glad to have your help! I’ll make sure that, when the tomatoes come, they hit me and not you! *snigger*

Author’s Note: Sorry about that, I had to delete the chapter to fix the formatting. Hope it works this time. Anyway, you asked for Ron, here he is! Hope you like it!

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

Hermione sighed, shifting in her seat, and flipped open a book. She needed a distraction, now more than ever. Harry was already distracted, apparently.

“Do you know where we’re going or do you need for me to look at the map?”

He shook his head quickly. “No, I know how to get there. Thanks.” He reached across the seat and gave her hand a squeeze. “You just enjoy your book and let me know if you need anything.”

She smirked back. “Anything?”

“Absolutely. Although I have to tell you, I think it would be dangerous to have sex on these seats. If your arse sticks to the leather, you‘re going to lose some skin getting it unstuck.”

She giggled, reaching over to swat his arm. “Who says it‘s going to be my arse that gets stuck to the seat? What if I want you to be on the bottom?”

“Then it’ll be your knees and not your arse, but same problem.”

She grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He returned his hand to the wheel and she tried to turn her attention back to the book. She’d read this one a hundred times, practically knew it by heart, but it was the only one she’d had in her shoulder bag. The rest were stored away in either hers or Harry’s bag in the back.

Her mind kept drifting. She kept remembering how wonderful it was to be in bed with Harry, to have his hands and mouth on her, to know how perfectly their bodies seemed to fit together. She wanted to be there now, so much so that she could feel her body reacting even to the thought of his touch.

She squirmed again, taking in only a bit of the sentence she was reading. Harold Horkier. Most proficient at control and memory spells. God, I need a memory spell right now or I’m going to be completely spare before we get to the next inn. Read, Hermione. Read, read. Where was I? Oh, yes. Thomas Farrow DeBecko, infamous for crossbreeding--Oh god, no breeding. Moving on. Fredrico Bonnigi, most famous for the theory and practice of bonding spells and their use in strengthening power transfers. I could use some strengthening right now or I’m going to crawl across this seat and jump him right the hell now.

She sighed again, slamming the book shut. Harry glanced over her, eyebrows raised. “All right, Hermione?”

She smiled slightly. “I guess so. I’m just--restless. I feel like I need to--stretch my legs, or something.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Why would I be nervous? About going to see Ron, you mean?” He nodded. “Well, a little maybe. It’s silly, I know. I see him all the time, but--.”

“This time is going to be a bit different, isn’t it? I mean, now you’re going to have to face him with me.”

“True.” She shifted again, dropping her book back into her bag. “I’m just—worried. What if he—what if he doesn’t want to see you?”

“Well, I’m sure he doesn’t, but—we’ve got to try, don’t we?”

“Are you nervous?”

“Not really.” He shook his head when she scoffed at him. “I’m not. All I can do is say what I have to say, and he’ll either accept it or he won’t. There’s nothing for me to be nervous about.”

They lapsed into silence again, and Hermione found herself planning what she wanted to say to Ron. Something else kept niggling at her mind, however, and she found she couldn’t stop herself from bringing it up again. “Harry?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you—are you sure you’re okay?” He sighed, and she shook her head. “No, I’m serious. I know you said you were just tired, but—how could you be that tired? You slept pretty well the night before, right? You’ve been sleeping well this whole trip. How could you just suddenly be so tired that you fall asleep in the middle of the evening and sleep through until morning? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Is that why you’ve been digging through your books?” Harry asked, his voice tight. “Trying to figure out what’s ‘wrong’ with me?”

She frowned. “Well, yes. It scared me, Harry. It was just like what happened to you after you fought Voldemort, only you weren’t out for quite so long. Something’s not right about that, no matter what you say.”

“Think what you want, Hermione. I was tired. I wanted to sleep. That’s all I can tell you, and if you don’t believe me, then I’m not going to waste my breath trying to convince you.”

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, turning her attention back to the road.

He simply grunted in response.

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

The tension between them had abated only slightly by the time they arrived at Ron’s house, just outside Hogsmeade. Hermione tried to push it aside, knowing that they were about to face even more tension over something far less petty, and she really didn’t want to have both weighing on her shoulders at the same time.

Harry pulled the truck to a stop in front of the ramshackle little cottage and looked at Hermione. “It looks like a smaller version of the Burrow.”

She nodded, putting on a falsely bright smile. “I guess it’s his way of feeling close to home, even when he isn’t. It’s no so bad, really. Sturdier than it looks.”

Harry glanced at the house again. “I would hope so.”

“It’s going to be okay, Harry,” she said, reaching over to squeeze his arm. “It’ll be rough at first, I’m sure, but—you two will work it out. I’m quite certain of that.”

He looked back at her, holding her gaze for a minute, then nodded. “I’ll do what I can, Hermione. That’s all I can promise.”

She took a deep breath and steeled herself. “Ready, then?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Harry muttered, shutting the truck off and pocketing the keys before opening his door and stepping out. “What do we do if he isn’t home?”

“We’ll try the shop, I guess. He should be here. He said he’s home most evenings. Of course, that was before Mrs. Weasley found out you were coming along.” She met him at the front of the truck. “Still, I can’t imagine that he would just--.”

A loud thump interrupted her and they both turned to see Ron come out onto the front porch. He scowled at them for a minute, then crammed his hands into his pockets. “He’s not welcome here. I thought I made that quite clear.”

Hermione sighed. “Ron, please--.”

“Get off my property.”

“Ron--.”

“I mean you too, Hermione. If you’re going to keep hanging out with him, you’re not welcome either.”

Hermione froze, her eyes wide. “Ron, you can’t mean that. We’re your friends.”

“He’s not,” Ron spat, glaring at Harry. “He never was. And you aren’t anymore.”

“You never change, you know that?” Hermione had to sigh. The first words Harry had spoken to Ron in three years and he was going to start off by insulting his old friend. “You’re still the great, hot-headed, stubborn prat you’ve always been.” Ron’s eyes flared, but it seemed he hadn’t expected Harry to say anything at all. He was temporarily dumbfounded. Harry took the opportunity to push the issue. “You do realize that Hermione is the last true friend you’ve got, right? Bad enough that you went and shoved me out of your life, but you’re a true fool if you let her go too.”

“I didn’t shove you anywhere!” Ron hissed, through gritted teeth. “You—you took her. You went and screwed the only girl I ever—I ever loved. What kind of friend does that, Harry? You tell me that! You knew I loved her, you selfish prick! You knew it and you still went to bed with her!” Ron was working himself into a rage and Hermione noticed that Harry was still as calm as ever.

“I did. I’m sorry.”

Ron faltered. “You’re—what?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you. And I shouldn’t have said what I did afterward, either. I was wrong. You’ve never been second rate.”

“You think an apology is going to fix this?” Ron snapped, but Hermione noticed that his tone had lost a bit of its edge.

“No, and don’t misunderstand me. I’m not sorry that I slept with her. If I said I was, I’d be lying. I’m sorry that the girl that you loved and the one that I needed were the same one. I’m sorry it happened that way. I should have told you, though.”

Ron was staring at Harry, his mouth hanging open. “What the hell kind of apology is that? You’re not even sorry! You’re not sorry that you fucked her! That’s what you should be the most sorry for, you arrogant bastard!”

“Why?” Harry asked, just as calmly. “Why should I be sorry for it?”

“Because I loved her! You knew I did. You didn’t love her. You just said you didn’t. You said you needed her? What the bloody hell does that mean? You needed to fuck someone and she was convenient?”

Hermione blushed as she heard her own thoughts thrown back at her through someone else. She’d accused Harry of very much the same thing just a few days ago. She glanced at him, but his eyes were still firmly on Ron. He was leaning against the hood of the truck, his arms folded casually across his chest. Only his eyes, which were narrowed and burning, gave any hint that he might be angry.

“No. It had nothing to do with convenience. Apparently, I had other girls for that, as you so kindly pointed out that day back at Hogwarts. I needed her. I needed Hermione. I needed someone that cared about me, that knew me, that was with me and not the picture painted of me by the rest of the world. It had to be her. Who else was there?”

“Ginny cared about you!” Ron shouted, stepping off the porch. “Ginny loved you! She knew you! I’m glad that you never added my sister’s notch to your bedpost, but even that would be preferable to what you did!”

“Ron,” Hermione spoke softly, and Ron turned his angry glare on her. “I think I should tell you something. I—I know you’re not going to want to hear this, but—I loved Harry. I had been in love with him for, well, a long, long time when that happened. I should have told you that, but—I didn’t want to hurt you. I care about you so much that it kills me to see you unhappy but—I love Harry.”

Harry’s head snapped toward her, but she ignored him for the moment. “You—but I thought--,” Ron stammered, his face paling.

“I know. I should have told you how I really felt, but—I didn’t think Harry even knew I was an option back then. I guess I felt I needed to hold onto you, just—just in case.”

Ron scowled at her, his eyes holding more hurt than Hermione had ever seen in them. “I was, what—a consolation prize?”

“No, Ron. Never that. I did care about you. But—I’m sorry. I just—I never fell in love with you.”

A tear spilled down Ron’s cheek and he swiped at it angrily, his breath coming in sharp gasps. “What about him? He doesn’t love you. He just said so. You wasted your time.”

Hermione shook her head. “No I didn’t. Things are—different now. I knew he didn’t love me then. But I still loved him. And I couldn’t lie to you and pretend we had something that we didn’t. That wouldn’t have been fair to you. And Harry never lied to me. I knew he didn’t love me. I chose to be with him despite that. I knew what I was getting into. It’s more my fault than anyone’s.”

“Hermione,” Harry said softly, but she waved him off. “I’m sorry, Ron. I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I swear to that.”

Ron was staring at the ground, Hermione was staring at Ron and Harry was staring at Hermione. It would have been comical, really, had Hermione not felt like her heart was breaking.

They were all quiet for a long while before Harry cleared his throat. “We should go, Hermione. If he ever wants to talk to either of us again, he knows where to find us.”

Ron shook his head, folding his arms over his chest. “There’s, uh—there’s an inn, in Hogsmeade. It’s nothing special, but it’s clean. I’d invite you to stay here, but—I’m not really sure I can handle that just yet.” He shook his head again, almost as though he couldn’t believe what he was saying. “I’d—appreciate it if you’d—come back tomorrow. I think I’ll be able to talk to you—then.”

Hermione looked shocked, but she nodded. “O-okay. Sure. We’ll stop by around noon, then?”

Ron nodded, then went back into the house without saying a word, still hugging himself tightly. Hermione turned back to Harry, her eyes wide.

“What just happened?” she muttered as she climbed back into the truck. Harry didn’t answer her though. He waited until she climbed in beside him before starting the truck with a slightly shaking hand. He drove all the way to the inn, parked, unloaded their bags, and walked inside without even looking at her.

Hermione realized what was wrong when he asked for two rooms, and went straight into his, shutting the door behind him, without ever saying a word to her.

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Oops, did I disrupt the “harmony”? :lol: Yeah, you’ll want to stock up on those tomatoes right about now!

Thanks, as always, to HarrynHermione4eva. She’s helped me immensely with this story! Just remember, it was all my idea, so don’t get any on her when you’re pummeling me! :lol:

Author’s Note: I have to tell you guys. You just rock! I’ve received 50 reviews today alone! That is simply incredible, to me anyway. So, because you’re all so damned cool, and because you’ve stuck with me for this long, I feel I owe you a little something back. I put my heart and soul into this chapter, and I really hope that comes through.

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Hermione settled herself into her room, then paced around, waiting. He needed time. And space. He needed room to think. He’d be fine. She’d just surprised him and he needed to think it over. Once he had time to think about it, everything would be okay. He was just—distracted, obviously. That would also explain why he’d chosen to stay, not in Hogsmeade, but it the next Muggle town over; a little town they’d passed through on their way to Ron’s. He just hadn’t been thinking.

She waited two hours. It was as long as she could stand. She crossed the hall to knock on his door. He didn’t answer. She wondered briefly if he was in there and just ignoring her.

Then, the inn’s owner, a tall, thin older man with thinning gray hair, came up the stairs. “Excuse me,” she said, walking over to him. “Do you know if Mr. Potter is in his room?”

The man shook his head, eyeing her carefully. “I saw him leave a while back. Think he went to the pub across the street.”

She sighed, thanked the man and went back into her room to get her coat. For Harry, there were two kinds of drunk. There was happy drunk, in which he was obnoxious, giggly, and loved to hug, grin, and fall down a lot. Then, there was broody drunk. It was pretty much like broody sober, except that he still fell down a lot and was more aggressively cranky than normal.

She was certain that tonight would be a broody night. She hurried across the street and up to the door of the pub where she steeled her shoulders and took a deep breath before entering.

The pub was dim and smelled of stale peanuts and beer. She glanced around, trying to catch a glimpse of Harry. As there were only three people in the bar, save the barman, he wasn’t hard to spot.

He was sitting at a table in the back, which confirmed her suspicions of brooding, and was slumped down in his chair, his head in his hands.

The barman gave her a suspicious look, then glanced at Harry and nodded. It wasn’t hard to figure out which occupant she had been looking for, apparently.

She marched over to his table and sat in the chair opposite him. He didn’t look up. “Go ‘way,” he muttered.

“I want to talk to you.”

“I don’ care. I don’ wanna talk to you. Go ‘way.”

“Shut up, Harry. How much have you had to drink?”

He lifted his head just enough to glare at her through his fingers. “Sod off,” he snapped.

“That much, huh?” She sighed. “Are you over it yet or do you have to pass out first?”

He glared at her, as much as he could glare with his eyes practically swimming in their sockets. “Leavemelone,” he slurred, then dropped his head again.

“Not on your life. Granted I can’t very well talk to you in this state, but I’m certainly not going to watch you get so drunk you can’t make it back to your room.” She pulled some money out of her purse and motioned to the bartender. When the man approached, she motioned to Harry. “What’s his bill up to?”

“He paid it,” the man snorted. “Good thing you came after him. I was about to cut him off anyhow.”

Harry laughed loudly. “No you wouldn’ta. There ain’ no one in here. I’m your bes’ customer at the mo’.”

The barman glared at him and Hermione reached over and seized his arm. “Harry, shut up,” she hissed. “Get up and come on.”

He jerked his arm away from her. “SOD OFF!” he shouted, nearly tipping his chair backwards. “Get the fuck away from me!”

The barman had apparently dealt with enough angry drunks in his time. He stepped over and grabbed Harry by the back of his shirt, dragging him to his feet. “You don’t treat ladies like that, boy!” he snarled. “Now, are you going to let her take you somewhere to sleep it off, or do I need to pound some manners into you?”

Harry’s was dangling a few feet from the floor, his hands scrabbling at the barman’s arm. “Geroffme! Let go!”

“Are you going to behave yourself or not?” the man roared, and Harry winced.

Finally, realizing he wasn’t going to get anywhere without promising to be good, Harry nodded. “Yeah, all right. Put me down.”

The man dropped him back into his chair with a loud Thunk. “Good then. Shut your mouth and get out of my bar.”

Harry scowled at the man’s back as he went back toward the bar, then turned his scowl on Hermione. “See wha’ ya did. Ya got me kicked out.”

“You got you kicked out. Come on. Let’s go.”

“Don’ tell me wha’ ta do!” Harry snapped, then cowered as the barman looked at him again. “All right, I’m goin’.” He stumbled to his feet and shot her a look. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

She followed him to the door, waiting until he was outside before grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around. She took a quick glance around to make sure no one was near them, then waved her wand quickly in front of him and whispering the charm.

He was sober in a second, and angrier than she had ever seen him. “What the bloody hell did you do that for?” he shouted, stepping back from her. “I paid good money to get pissed and you took it away from me!”

“Because we’re going to talk and you have to be sober for that. Now, let’s go back to the inn.” He started to argue, but she poked the wand in his chest, and glared at him. “Don’t think I can’t do some nasty things to you just because you’re my friend. Don’t think I won’t either,” she growled as he eyed her skeptically. “Go, now.”

He huffed, but stormed off across the street and into the inn. She followed him, giving an apologetic smile to the owner as Harry blew through the lobby and up the stairs. He unlocked his door and started to shut it behind him, but she shoved it back open, pushed him away from the door and slammed it behind her.

“Sit!” she snapped. He ground his teeth but slumped down onto the bed. “Now, you let me know when you’ve calmed down enough and we’ll talk.”

He dropped his head into his hands, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m as calm as I’m going to get,” he muttered.

“Fine. What’s your problem?”

He sighed, then swallowed hard. “Have you ever heard of Bonnigi?”

She frowned. “What?”

“Fredrico Bonnigi.”

She thought about it a minute. “Bonnigi.” Where had she heard that name—oh, right! “Yes, he specialized in bonding spells, right? He invented the theory that a bonding spell could be used as a precursor to transfer of magic power. It was really quite an ingenious—wait, why are we talking about this?”

“I--I performed that spell. On you. On us actually.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Seventh year. When we—slept together. I cast the bonding spell on us.”

“You—what?”

“I c-cast a bonding spell—on us.”

“Wh—But, Harry, that’s—impossible. Bonding spells are only valid if both people involved make—a mutual sacrifice.” He didn’t answer, probably knowing that her mind was already working on the answer. “Oh my god. Ron.”

Harry sniffed softly. “Yeah.”

She gasped, her mind reeling. “Oh, god. You—A bonding—spell. And I—we—both of us gave him up.”

He nodded. “As long as you were willing to give him up, for me, you didn’t even have to know about the spell.”

“So you—you didn’t--. But, I don’t understand. Why?”

“To protect you.” He stood up, walking over to the window. He raised a hand to the frosted pane of glass, tracing a pattern with a shaking finger. “I did it to protect you. I—I knew I couldn’t send you into the fight without doing all I could to protect you. And I knew you’d never stay behind willingly, nor would I be able to drive you away, as I had done with Ron. I had to do something.”

“So you—what?”

“I transferred some of my power to you.”

“How?” she frowned. “W-Wouldn’t I have—known?”

“Apparently not. I was—afraid you would figure it out, but—you never did. I just kept giving you a little at a time. I didn’t really need to practice my spells as much as I said I did. As long as you were on the receiving end of them, even if you were shielded, each one took a bit of my power and gave it to you.”

She shook her head. “But—it’s—that would mean that you--.”

“Partially drained myself, yeah.”

“Oh God,” she muttered, shaking her head. “H-How much?”

“I gave you a good bit. And when Voldemort died, the bit of him that was in me went with him. All told, I lost—almost all of it.”

She gasped. “All of it? You mean, you don’t have—any magic left in you?” She shook her head. “No. No, that isn’t right. You have to have some. I’ve—I’ve seen you do—some.”

He nodded. “Some, yeah. But it drains me. I can barely do a summoning spell without needing a nap afterwards.” He moved back over to the bed, dropping onto it as though he was exhausted now.

Now it was starting to make sense. “That’s what happened to you the other night,” she sighed “You did the spell to melt the snow and it—wore you out.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry I let you think it was something more than that, but—I couldn’t tell you the truth. I didn’t even want to tell you now, but—I can’t lie to you about it anymore.”

She sniffed, shaking her head. “I don’t—I still don’t understand. Why are you—why did you do it? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have let me do it if I’d asked?”

She thought about it a minute, then sighed. “No, of course not. You could have been killed, Harry!”

“I had to do it. I couldn’t let you go into that fight without knowing I’d done everything I could to protect you. If something had happened to you--.” He shook his head. “I had to.”

“So you—you slept with me because you—we had to make a sacrifice. For the spell.”

He nodded.

“And you knew that—that Ron would be a mutual sacrifice for us. That we would both be giving him up by—being together.”

“It was the only way.”

“You—you needed me for a—for a spell? Just for a spell?”

“I’m sorry.”

She shook her head, feeling her temper flare. “Don’t tell me that. I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry.”

He swallowed hard, but nodded again.

“For it to be a sacrifice, Ron had to know. Right?”

“Yeah.”

“So you—you had to make sure he found out?”

“Parvati told him that she thought there was something going on between us. He came up to find out.”

“You knew he would be there.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god. And he had to walk away from us to make it work.”

“It wouldn’t have been a sacrifice if he’d forgiven us. It wouldn’t have worked.”

She felt her mind whirling, trying desperately to grasp any thought that went by. “But—he’s still my friend.”

“Maybe, but he’s never really forgiven you. And I had to make sure he wouldn’t ever forgive me either. For more than one reason.” He cleared his throat again. “I couldn’t let him go into that fight either.”

“What?”

“I don’t know why, but I think that he’d have died that day if he was there. I c—I couldn’t let that happen.” He sniffed again. “I had to make sure that he wasn’t there.”

This clicked into place fairly well considering how busy her mind was with everything else at the moment. “You drove him away. You said you knew you wouldn’t be able to drive me away too. I should have—guessed. I should have known.”

He sat back, staring at the floor. “I’ve been trying to fix it. That’s what I’ve been looking for—a way to reverse it.”

“You want your powers back.”

He winced. “Not just—not just that. I think that—there may have been a—side-effect to the spell.”

“What side-effect?”

“Bonding spells can cause—problems. Erm, feelings, you know? They can—make you think that you’re—in love with someone when you’re—really not.”

She started to say Yeah, so? Then, it hit her. “You—you think that’s what’s happening with me?”

He swallowed hard again. “It—could be.”

She shook her head. “It isn’t,” she snapped.

“You don’t know that.”

“You don’t think I know what I’m feeling, Harry? I love you. Yes, I’m very, very pissed off at you right now, and you have a lot more explaining to do, but—I know how I feel about you. I loved you before the damned spell.” She broke off, taking a deep breath. “It wasn’t the spell.”

Incredibly, his face fell, and he looked even more defeated than before. “Oh.”

She felt her heart thump unsteadily in her chest. Something was very, very wrong here. “H-Harry? What--?”

He flinched at the sound of her voice, his lips pursed tightly.

“Harry, why—why are you telling me this now?” Her voice came out in a whisper, and her hands began to tremble in her lap.

He swiped furiously at his eyes, and she could see that he, too, was shaking. “I—Hermione, I--.” His voice gave out, and a few tears slipped out of his eyes. “God, I’m sorry,” he cried softly. “I—I don’t want to hurt you. I— I really don’t. I would never--.” He broke off, trying to bite back a sob that still struggled its way out of him.

“Harry? W-what is it?”

He took a deep, trembling breath. “I don’t—I don’t love you.”

She felt like she’d been hit. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he choked out. “I’m so sorry. I—I wish I could say that I do, but—I can’t lie to you anymore. I just—don’t.”

She stood almost mechanically. “Oh.”

“Hermione, I’m--.”

“Don’t!” she snapped, anger warring with her tears, both winning. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry! I thought—how could you--? You slept with me! You acted like—all this time, you’ve acted like you—loved me! You were—just using me?”

He gasped. “N-No, Hermione! I didn’t—I could never---.”

“You did, Harry! You used me in school and you’ve used me on this trip! I don’t mean anything to you, do I? Nothing but a convenient shag? You bastard!”

He shook his head. “No, that’s not true. I care about you, Hermione. I always have!”

“You care about me? Oh, that’s just wonderful, Harry! Unfortunately, I love you, and you knew that!” she screamed, her hands clenching into fists, her tears streaming, unimpeded, down her cheeks. “You absolute prick! I love you and you—How could you do this to me? How could I have let you do this to me?”

“Hermione,” he started, stepping toward her. He reached one hand up to her face, moving to wipe her tears away. She flinched away from him, her hand raising on it own and smacking him across the face.

“Don’t touch me!” she cried. “Just—leave me alone!”

He stepped back, his hand moving to his own cheek, and he dropped his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

She turned and hurried to the door, fumbling a few times with the knob before she could get it open, running back across the hall to her room. She had just enough presence of mind to cast the silencing charms on her room and a locking charm on her door. Then, she sank to the floor and began to scream.

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If this didn’t make you cry, then I totally and utterly failed. L I know, I know, I’m cruel, I’m evil, I’m vicious…but it had to happen. It’s called rock bottom.

HarrynHermione4eva: DUCK! :D I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait. I just couldn’t. I’m so pathetic.

Let the raves begin *shakes head and braces self*

A/N: Sorry it took so long. I’ve had company all day, literally, and couldn’t spend more than a few minutes at a time on it. Thanks for all the reviews. You all are simply incredible!

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Hermione awoke the next morning to find herself on the floor of her room. She recalled the night before only too well; the aches in her chest and her eyes were testament to the fact that it hadn’t just been some horrible nightmare. He’d really said it. He’d really told her that he didn’t love her.

Even the thought of him sent a pain through her and caused the dry sobs to start up again. She picked herself up, wandering into the bathroom. She soaked in the tub for a while, until she remembered the last time she’d been in a tub, with Harry, and suddenly found that she couldn’t stand to sit there any longer. She climbed out quickly, drying off and dressing and trying not to think. They were due at Ron’s soon, and she supposed she would have to go, although she really didn’t want to see Harry at the moment.

She put it off as long as she could, then crossed to his room to knock on his door. He didn’t answer. She sighed, agitated, and walked down to the front desk. “Excuse me,” she asked the girl behind the counter. “Have you seen Mr. Potter this morning?”

The girl nodded. “Oh, yeah. He checked out a little while ago. Are you Miss Granger?”

“Ch-checked out?”

“Yes, ma’am. About—I don’t know—two hours ago, maybe. He left this for a Miss Granger.”

Hermione took it, her hands shaking. “Th-thank you,” she muttered, starting back toward the stairs. She went back to her room, shut the door behind her, and opened the letter. A set of keys fell out of it, and she laid them carelessly on the table beside her. She had to take several deep breaths before she could focus enough to read.

Hermione,

I won’t bother apologizing again, because I know you don’t want to hear it, even though I could never say it enough to make it up to you. I thought it best to just go. Tell Ron I’m sorry I couldn’t stay long enough to see him today. I doubt he’ll mind.

I didn’t want to leave you without something to drive, so I rented a car for you, in case you want it. If you don’t, just tell the girl at the desk and she’ll have someone come and get it.

I’m sure you won’t ever want to talk to me again, so I won’t bother you. I just can’t let you go without at least saying Thank You. You’re one of the few people who have always been there for me and I owe you my life for it. I’ll miss you forever. Please, take care of yourself.

Harry

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

Ron answered the door, looking only slightly better than he had the day before. His eyes were red, his skin pale and blotchy. When he saw her, he frowned. “What’s wrong with you? You look terrible. Where’s Harry?”

She felt the sobs building up again and only just managed to bite them back. “Can—can I come in?”

“Y-yeah, of course. Come in. Hermione, what’s wrong? Where’s Harry?”

She couldn’t hold the tears back this time. They came rushing out of her, along with the whole story of what had happened the night before, and she was almost surprised, when she’d finally finished, to find that she had somehow made it into Ron’s living room and was sitting on his couch. “I’m so stupid,” she sobbed. “I’m so fucking stupid! I should have known!”

Ron was staring at her, his mouth open. “Hermione? You and Harry—you slept together—again?”

“It was stupid, I know it was stupid. But I thought—oh god, Ron, I really thought he loved me. I didn’t think he would—not again. Oh I was so foolish.”

Ron seemed almost hesitant to get near her, and she could understand why. “Well, it wasn’t smart, that’s for sure,” he hissed, shaking his head. “Where is he?”

She shrugged, sniffling. “I don’t know. London, I guess. Or headed to London, anyway. He—he can’t Apparate anymore.”

“I can,” Ron spat. “And he’ll be damned lucky if I don’t Apparate straight to his bloody apartment and kill him as soon as he walks in the fucking door!”

“No, Ron. Don’t. Please. It’s—it’s not worth it. It was—my fault.”

“Like hell it was!” Ron roared. “He knew how you felt about him. He used you, Hermione. That little prick used you and you can’t just let him get away with it!”

She shook her head, wiping her eyes on her shirt. “Ron, honestly, just—let it go. I wanted to be with him. I made the choice. Now I have to—live with it. Besides, he thought—he thought it was just because of the spell, you know? I think he really thought that the spell had made me fall in love with him.”

“That’s another thing he should be killed for,” Ron grumbled. “He’s a fucking moron if he thought that was going to work.”

“What are you talking about?” Hermione sighed. “It did work, Ron. That’s why he doesn’t have any power left. He gave most of it to me.”

Ron shook his head. “Not that, the other part. Trying to keep me from being there. I was there. Who the hell do you think took out the Lestrange bitch?”

Hermione gasped, her eyes widening. “Y-you were there? You killed Bellatrix?”

Ron blinked at her, nodding. “Well, yeah. You didn’t think I would miss it, did you? Hell, Harry may have been a total arse, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t going to stand up and do my part.”

“Oh my god. But—you never told me.”

“I just assumed you knew.”

Hermione almost laughed, although nothing seemed very funny to her at that moment. “He was trying to protect you.”

“Yeah well, fuck him. I don’t need his protection.” He sighed, slumping down onto the couch next to her. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

“You didn’t know about the spell?”

“No. I feel like I should have, but I just—didn’t.”

“So you, um—you ‘sacrificed’ me just to make Harry happy?”

Hermione sniffed, feeling a lump rise in her throat. “I—I guess I did. God, Ron, I’m so sorry. I didn’t—I didn’t want to hurt you, I just--.”

“You really were in love with him then,” Ron muttered, his ears growing red. “It wasn’t just a crush.”

She shook her head. “No, it really wasn’t. I loved him, Ron. I—I still do.”

They were quiet for a long moment, then Ron finally choked out, “I suppose it would—be stupid of—of me to think that you’re just going to—get over it?”

Hermione laughed softly. “Don’t think I wouldn’t like to. I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.”

“He lied to you, Hermione. He lied to you and he used you. And he performed a spell on you, without telling you! I can’t believe you aren’t upset about that!”

She shook her head. “I was. When he first told me, I was ready to jinx his bollocks off, but—he did it to protect us, Ron. He cared about us so much that he was willing to do whatever he had to make sure that we were safe.”

“He fucked you, broke my heart—broke yours too, if you haven’t noticed--all for the sake of some stupid spell that he didn’t even know would work,” Ron snapped. “He took the only girl I had ever loved because he wanted to keep me safe? It’s fucking idiotic! Who is he to say what we do and don’t get to do?” He jumped to his feet, pacing across the room, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. “He could have asked me, you know? He could have asked me and I would have told him--.” He stopped, sniffing. “He didn’t do me any favors, Hermione. Fucking bastard.”

“Ron—Harry meant the best. I swear he did. He may have gone about it the wrong way, but he was trying to do the right thing.”

Ron turned to face her, scowling. “Wh—how can you defend him? Look what he’s done to you!”

“Because, my feelings aside, he really was doing what he thought was best.”

“Does that include coming on this trip with you just so he could screw you again? Because he did, you know.”

“He did not!” Hermione huffed. “He came with me to talk to you!”

“Yeah and he stuck around to do it, too, didn’t he? You cornered him, Hermione, and he ran like a fucking rabbit. He’s a coward!”

“He’s not!” Hermione gasped. “How could ever think him a coward?”

“He isn’t here, is he? If he wanted to talk to me so much, why didn’t he come back here today?”

“Because of me, of course! He knew I wouldn’t want to see him, so he decided to—.”

“Run,” Ron finished for her. “The git can stand up to Voldemort but he can’t look you in the face and tell you the truth.”

She frowned. “He did tell me the truth, Ron.”

He scoffed. “Are you completely sure of that? Because I’m not.”

“W-well, you wouldn’t be, would you? A-and you didn’t s-see him last night. He was—.”

“Stop it!” Ron yelled, throwing his hands into the air. “Stop bloody defending him! He’s being a total prick, Hermione, and you know it! Now, for fuck’s sake, admit it!”

She frowned. “Ron, he’s not!”

“He is! Maybe he didn’t steal you away from me just to be an arse, I’ll give him that. Maybe somewhere, in his misguided little head, he thought he was doing right by you. But this trip? You told him before you left that you had been in love with him, didn’t you? He had to know that you wouldn’t go to bed with someone if you didn’t love them! Even he isn’t that stupid, Hermione.” He started to say something else, then stopped, taking a deep breath. “Look, I know I’m not exactly a genius, and I’m nobody’s first choice for a discussion about emotions, but—you’ve got to admit that he’s being a jackass. Stop defending him. You’re not doing anyone any favors by sticking up for him.”

“I—I’m not sticking up for him, Ron. He hurt me. I—I know he did. I just—there has to be some reason--.”

“What if there isn’t? What if it turns out that he was just in it for himself and he doesn’t give a damn about you?”

Hermione felt the tears start to well in her eyes again, and she stared at him in shock. “But—it couldn’t be, could it? He—This is Harry we’re talking about. He—doesn’t have it in him to be—like that.”

“What if he does? What if we were wrong all these years and he’s really a selfish prick?”

She sobbed, shaking her head. “Why are you saying this?” she cried.

“Because you aren’t,” he choked out. “You—you can’t just ignore the fact that maybe he—doesn’t love you. You’re trying to find the answer to a problem that may not exist.”

“B-But you—you don’t know that! You can’t--.”

“I don’t know anything,” he said softly, “but I think maybe you should admit, now, that it’s a possibility.” He shrugged slightly. “I just think that if you don’t acknowledge it now, and it turns out to be true—it’s going to—it’s going to crush you, and I can’t—I can’t live with that.”

She shut her eyes, feeling as though the whole world was about to crash in on her. It can’t be true. It can’t be! Harry wouldn’t—he would never—couldn’t possibly! No it isn’t true. Not Harry. Not--. But the little part of her that had already thought of this, no matter how hard she’d tried to ignore it, was still thinking it. She knew it was possible. Maybe he just didn’t love her. Maybe he had never loved her.

“Oh, god,” she whimpered. “Oh, god Ron, what if he doesn’t? What if he doesn’t give a damn about me? I—I--.” She broke off, the lump in her throat nearly choking her. She let it go, didn’t even try to stop the tears this time. She cried again, harder than she had even the night before, longer than she’d ever remembered crying in her life. It could have been a few minutes or several long hours before she stopped, but she cried until she couldn’t cry anymore.

She thought she heard Ron crying along with her. When she finally managed to calm down, however, he was sitting beside her, his hand on her back, staring at the floor. “Better?” he asked quietly.

She sniffed, wiping her eyes and sitting up straight. “Well—yeah, actually. A bit anyway.”

“Good. What’s say we go get some dinner? I bet Madam Rosemerta would be glad to see you.”

“Um, yes. I’d—like that. I just—need to go get—washed up.”

She went into the bathroom and washed her face, determining that she wouldn’t think about it anymore over dinner. She wasn’t helping anyone by being this way, and she wasn’t going to keep crying over it. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, then went back out to meet Ron.

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

It wasn’t easy to keep on a happy face. Madam Rosemerta had greeted her with a huge smile, inquiring if all was well with her. Of course, it wasn’t, but Hermione could hardly get into that. Then, with all the subtlety of a semi-truck on ice, she asked, “So where’s Harry? I didn’t think I’d ever see one of you without the other two tagging right along!”

Hermione had left Ron to make Harry’s excuses for him and settled herself at a table near the back. The place looked exactly the same, save that there were very few people in there. She was used to seeing it packed with Hogwarts students. Now, save herself and Ron, there were only two other patrons there. A witch with a pale, pointed face sat at a table in the other corner, and an old, grungy wizard sat at the bar, picking through a bowl of peanuts. Ron joined her a minute later with a couple of butterbeers.

“Sorry about that,” he said, sitting across from her. “I, um—I usually just tell her that Harry’s busy.”

“You didn’t want to talk about him?”

“Well, no. I figured that she’d eventually hear the gossip, so I didn’t bother. It’s incredible she hasn’t heard by now.”

Hermione nodded. “How’s, um—How’s your mum?”

He laughed softly. “She’s—not happy. I mean, she isn’t ready to cut ties with you or anything, but I think you’re probably going to get an earful when you see her next.” He shook his head, spinning the bottle between his hands. “She always talks about Harry in the past tense. Did you know that? It’s always ‘Harry was this’ or ‘Harry had that’. I tried to tell her to stop it once, but--.”

“I guess it’s reasonable for her to be—upset with him. What we did was—insensitive.”

Ron nearly choked on his drink. “Insensitive? Are you trying for an understatement or do you really not get it?”

She frowned. “What?”

“Hermione, Mum was practically planning our wedding. Had we actually ever went on a date, I think she would have booked the hall and everything. And then when you and Harry--.” He swallowed hard. “When you two slept together,” he said, flinching, “it sort of—well, it was a bit of a shock, you know?”

Hermione frowned. “But why—what made her so certain that we would—get together?”

He blushed. “Probably because I always thought so. I—I thought that you liked me, you know? I figured that, once Harry had done what he had to do, we would be able to—see what happened with us. I didn’t know that you were—in love with him.”

“I’m sorry, Ron. I just—well, I wasn’t even ready to tell Harry at that point. I truly thought that he saw me as just one of--.”

“The guys?”

She shook her head. “Worse, actually. I thought he saw me as—a mother hen, or something. And when he asked me to—sleep with him, I was—shocked.”

Ron scowled. “He just—asked you? Just like that?”

“More or less. He told me that he’d been—wondering about it and that he was interested. Not in that way, of course. He was a bit smoother about it than that, but the meaning was the same. And I told him I would think about it.”

“Wait, if you loved him—what was there to think about?”

She scoffed slightly. “A lot of things, actually. He was one of my best friends.”

“One that you were in love with,” Ron added, a bitter edge to his voice.

“Yes, true, but at that point, we were still just friends. There was always a good chance it would complicate things.”

“Which it did.”

“Oh yeah.” She sighed. “But, besides that—there was you.”

“Me?”

“Well, yes, of course. I knew how you felt about me. I’d known it since 4^th year. And I knew that, if I went through with it, if I slept with him, you would probably never forgive us. Little did I know, that was his whole reason for wanting to do it.”

“Yeah, the damned spell.”

She smiled sadly. “I can’t understand why he thought it was necessary. Have we ever given him any reason to believe that we couldn’t handle ourselves?”

Ron snorted. “Does it matter? He’s an idiot. And worse than that, he’s a noble idiot. Did it even occur to him that going up against Voldemort at less than full strength was basically committing suicide? It’s a miracle the bastard didn’t do him in.”

Hermione nodded. “I know. But you know Harry; he just couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to us.”

“I used to know Harry,” Ron corrected, his voice rough. “I have to tell you, I never saw this one coming.”

“What, the spell?”

“No. That’s the only part that does make sense. It’s the rest of it. What the hell happened to him to make him act like he is now?” He frowned, taking a large swallow of his butterbeer. “You don’t think that maybe it’s because he lost his magic, do you? No, think about it. If anyone ever truly loved to be a wizard, it was Harry. It’s got to mess with him that he’s completely lost it.”

Hermione thought about it, then sighed. “Well, yes, I suppose it would. He didn’t seem to be too bothered by it, but then he wouldn’t necessarily tell me if he was. I just don’t know what’s up with him.”

“You know, you could try talking to him.”

“Yeah, because that went so well the last time.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not, but you know you won’t be happy until you get some answers. Just—do me a favor?”

She nodded, confused. “Okay.”

“Don’t—um, don’t go to bed with him again?”

She gave him a mock-glare. “Just how stupid do you think I am, Ron?”

He blushed. “I really can’t answer that one without getting hit, right?”

“No.”

“That’s what I thought.”

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J See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? As always, thank you to HarrynHermione4eva. :D She is a saint!

Author’s Note: I know that it was a long time coming, relative to my other updates anyway, but I wanted it to be done right. I hope it was worth waiting for! Sorry for the late hour of the post but I’ve got too much to do tomorrow to be certain of getting it up then. :D

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Hermione knocked on the door and stood back, twisting her fingers nervously. She had planned everything that she wanted to say, everything that she needed to ask, and she ran over it all again in her head as she waited. Then, the door opened and she froze.

“Hermione?” Harry stood there, blinking at her. “Wh—what are you doing here?”

“We need to talk,” she said when she had finally found her voice. “C-Can I—come in?”

He stared at her for a minute, then nodded. “Yeah, all right.” She stepped inside, trying not to brush against him as she came through the door. “I’m, uh—I’m surprised to see you,” he said, shutting the door behind her. “I didn’t think you’d--.” He broke off shaking his head, shoving his hand through his hair. “Please—sit down.”

He looked as nervous as she felt, which actually calmed her a bit. She could handle anything but his cool, unaffected posturing at the moment. She sank into a chair, waiting for him to sit as well. He remained standing, leaning against the back of the couch, his fingers tracing the pattern absently. “I, um—I guess maybe I should have—told you I was coming. I just—I wasn’t sure you’d see me, if I’d—warned you.”

He nodded slowly, then shrugged. “You’re probably right, but—we do need to talk, I suppose.”

There was a long silence, and Hermione shifted nervously in her seat. “All right then,” she said after a few moments. “I’ll start. You—um, you didn’t have to—leave. You should have stayed and talked to Ron.”

“And wound up on the business end of his wand? No thanks. If he wants to talk to me, he knows how to reach me.”

“What makes you think that would have happened?”

Harry laughed softly. “You can’t tell me that he doesn’t know everything by now.”

She blushed. “Well, yes, he does.”

“Because you ran straight to him and told him the whole story?”

There was an edge to his voice that made her flinch. “I did. Don’t you think he had the right to know?” she snapped. “After all, this is about him too.”

“No it isn’t,” Harry said softly. “The spell was about him, yes, but this—No, this is just about me and you. He has no part in it. Was it really necessary to give him even more ammunition against me, Hermione? He already hates me.”

She gasped. “You just don’t get it at all, do you? You—you hurt me, Harry! What you said—it tore me apart. And I had no one else to go to but Ron. Because I couldn’t turn to you, could I? Not after you turned your back on me.”

“I never turned my back on you,” Harry spat, shaking his head. “I told you the truth. I thought you’d rather not be lied to anymore. Was I wrong?”

“Well, of course not! I—needed to hear it. I needed to know that—you don’t--.” She swallowed hard. “That you don’t love me.” It came out as a whisper, but to her mind, it was a shout.

Harry paled slightly. “Can’t,” he said softly; he said it so quietly that Hermione almost missed it.

“What?” she asked distractedly.

“It’s not that I don’t love you,” Harry muttered, sinking down onto the arm of the couch. “I can’t love you.”

She frowned. “I don’t—understand.”

“I know you don’t,” Harry said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “You could never truly understand. It was the spell, Hermione. The bonding spell.”

“What about it, Harry?”

He sighed. “We sacrificed something for it. I knew we had to. But, I didn’t—read the fine print. Not until it was too late.”

“What—fine print?” Hermione asked, shifting nervously. “What are you talking about?”

“The part that says, we can give whatever we want, but we don’t get to dictate what’s actually taken. The part that would have told me there’s always a price for using dark magic, even if your intentions are good. I missed that little bit of information the first time around.”

“A p-price? What price?”

“Think about it, Hermione. The spell asks for something extremely valuable to you. It wants you to give up what you consider most important.” He laughed sourly, shaking his head. “I should have known. I loved Ron, you know? He was—he was my best friend. I think I consider him a brother. It nearly killed me to think of giving him up. That should—have been enough, right? To give up someone I cared so much about?” He sat for a minute, staring at his hands, blinking back tears. “I should have known it wasn’t enough. As greedy as I was, it was nothing compared to the spell. I tried to keep you.”

“Keep me?” Hermione sniffed, shaking her head. “I don’t understand, Harry.”

“I loved you. I loved you so much, I—couldn’t see straight sometimes. I wanted to be with you more than I had ever wanted anything in my life.” He swallowed hard, flinching. “I wanted you to love me too. That’s all I ever wanted.”

Hermione stared at him, her mind racing. He had—loved her. He had—. “You—never told me.”

“The dumbest mistake I’ve ever made,” he said softly. “Had I known that you—loved me, I would have never done that spell. I wouldn’t have ever risked hurting you like that. I thought I was the only one who was going to truly be hurt by it.”

“I still don’t understand, Harry. Please, help me understand,” she whimpered. “What was the price?”

He stared at her, an empty desolate look in his eyes. “I thought you’d have figured that out by now. It’s the one thing I’ve always wanted, and never had until I met you.” She gasped as she finally caught on. “I knew you’d come to it eventually,” he said softly. “Love. It took away my ability to love.”

“But—how?”

“I don’t know how; I just know that it did. I can’t have it and I can’t feel it. You can love me all you like, and I’ll never be able to tell. And I’ll never be able to return it. Not just you, of course; that wouldn’t be nearly enough. I can’t feel it from anyone.”

Hermione fell into a shocked silence, trying desperately to understand. “But—I’ve seen you cry! I know you can still—feel emotions. How is it--?”

“Emotions are different, Hermione. I still have them. I still get depressed, and angry, and happy, although not nearly as often as I’d like. I still feel desire and all of that. I just—I can’t love anyone.”

“But—you were upset that you hurt me. You—cried.”

He smiled almost sadly. “Yeah, see that’s where it’s really twisted. I remember what it felt like to love you. I remember it so well that I can almost feel it. But it’s like trying to catch the wind. The harder I try to get it, the farther I get from having it.” He shrugged. “And I still have a conscience. I know, in my head, that I should do what’s right, especially when it comes to you. I know that I should want to—to protect you, to always be—kind to you. I know it, I just don’t—feel it. All I feel is—sad.”

“I—I just can’t comprehend what—that would be like. Or—how it’s even possible.”

“Look at the Avada Kedavra, Hermione. Murder tears your soul. That spell actually rips apart your soul. It’s not hard to imagine that other spells can do something to you as well.”

She sighed. “How do you know that it was the spell? How do you know you didn’t just—stop loving me?”

“It happened as soon as I cast the spell, Hermione. I didn’t feel it right way, because we were still—together at that moment. But, when it was over, I felt it. Or rather, I didn’t feel it.”

“And you—didn’t know that it was the spell?”

He snorted. “I figured it must have been, but at that point, I was too distracted to really care. I still had to--.”

“Get rid of Ron?” Harry flinched and she sighed. “Sorry. I mean, you had to finish the spell. But once that was over--.”

He let himself slide backward onto the couch cushions, stretching out and laying his arm over his eyes. “It was too late to change anything.”

“But—you could have broken the spell.”

“It’s not made to be broken, Hermione. I don’t think it’s possible to break it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I’ve been reading up on it for quite a while. No where does it say that it even can be reversed, let alone how to do it. I’m not going to hold my breath for a solution.”

She sighed, wondering if it was possible for your head to actually explode from trying to take in too much at one time. “I still don’t understand,” she muttered. “You—lost your ability to love.”

He nodded. “To put it simply. I want to love you. I want it so much that it physically hurts, but—I can’t. I’ve tried to—see if I could get it back, you know? I thought surely I could find someone who I could feel something for. It never worked.”

She shut her eyes, blowing out a long breath. “All those girls. That’s why you slept with so many different girls. You were trying to find it again.”

“Not that it helped, of course. But I—I’ve been so desperate to get it back.”

“That doesn’t make sense, Harry. What about at Hogwarts, before you cast the spell?”

He laughed, rolling his eyes. “You still believe that? Hermione, those were all just stupid rumors. I don’t know who started them, but the only girls I was ever with at Hogwarts were you and Parvati.”

“They were—just rumors? Then why didn’t you say so?”

“Oh come on, Hermione. What seventeen year-old boy do you know of who wouldn’t like to be thought of as a stud? It was fun, actually, considering I’d always been thought of as a freak. Besides, what good has telling the truth ever done for me? No one ever believed anything else I said.”

She frowned. “Well, I suppose that’s true. So then, what do you feel when you look at me?”

She watched as his eyes lost all hints of laughter, and his face fell. “I don’t—I feel sad. I know I should—feel something, that I should—love you. And I want to. I just—don’t. I feel empty. And lost.” He shook his head slowly. “You want the truth, right?”

She had to consider for a minute if she could possibly stand to hear anymore truth from him right now. Finally, she nodded. “Yes, I do.”

“I still want you. I couldn’t have said no to you when you asked me to touch you. I’ve been—aching to touch you, for years. I meant it when I said I never could have resisted. But—that’s it. It’s just—desire.” He winced again, pulling his glasses off and wiping his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

She bit back a sob. “It’s—not your fault. We just—have to fix it. We will fix it.”

“Hermione, don’t—don’t get your hopes up.” She winced at the deadened tone of his voice. It was reflected in his eyes, and she knew that he had long ago given up any hope of ever getting back what he’d lost. “I’m not—sure that anything can be done, and I don’t want you thinking that you failed, if it doesn’t work. I don’t want to see you hurt again. Not over this.”

She almost laughed. “Harry, I’m going to fix it. I can’t let you live like this. It’s—cruel. I won’t let you go through your entire life not being able to feel—what I f-feel for you. I can’t.”

He stared at her, his eyes wide. “You mean, you—? Hermione, you can’t still—not after all I’ve done to you.”

“Of course I do,” she said softly. “Yes, you hurt me. I’ll admit that I wanted to hate you for it, but—I can’t. I still love you as much as I ever did.” She felt the lump start to build in her throat and forced a little laugh. “Although I do plan to make you pay for being so damned mean to me, once this is all over.”

“I deserve it,” he muttered, burying his face in his hands. “I know I’ll—never be able to make it up to you.”

“You don’t have to make anything up to me just yet, Harry,” she whispered, moving over to kneel beside him. “We’ll fix it, and then we can talk about making things up to each other.”

He turned to face her, bending so his face was pressed into her shoulder. She felt his shoulders shake under her hands, and she dropped her head against his and cried with him.

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Well? Did it answer some of your questions? :lol: I certainly hope so. Well, go on! Start discussing! :D

Thanks, as always, to HarrynHermione4eva who is now insane after having to help me through this one. I hope, my dear beta, that you don’t need a padded cell by the time this story is finished. J You rock!

By the way, Go Read her Story! It’s called Without You and it’s full of Harmonious goodness! :D

Author’s Note: Hey all! 800 reviews--That is just incredible! You all are truly awesome! I’m sorry this chapter has taken a while to get to. I hope it was worth the wait. :D Thanks for being so patient!

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“Wow,” Ron muttered, his eyes wide. “That’s just—I’ve never heard of something like that in all my life. Is he—sure it’s the spell?”

Hermione nodded, smiling slightly. “He’s sure. And—I think he’s right. The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. The spell stripped him of what he wanted the most. Harry’s always wanted to be loved, to have someone else to love. The cruelest thing it could do was take that away from him.”

Ron swallowed hard. “But then, why didn’t it take something else from you?”

Hermione gave him a sad smile. “It did. It took Harry.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So, will you talk to your mum, please? I really need all the help I can get figuring this out. I’m not asking her to forgive him, even though she should. I just want her to be nice to him. Or at least civil.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ron sighed. “I, um—I feel bad. It’s all my fault that she’s mad at him in the first place.”

“Not all, Ron. Harry and I had a hand in it too.” She laughed as he flinched. “Metaphorically speaking. So you’ll ask her?”

“I will. When are you going to bring him over?”

“Later, sometime. Just floo me and let me know when it’s all clear.”

“All right. Good luck talking Harry into it.”

She gave him a quick hug, then Apparated back to her apartment. She started to call for Harry, then stopped, smiling. He was asleep on her couch, his arms folded over his chest, bare feet propped on her favorite throw pillow.

She leaned over him, running her fingers through his hair, grinning as he tilted his head further into her hand. It seemed almost inexcusable to her that she hadn’t noticed. She’d known something was wrong with him, sure, but to not have realized that he was in so much pain?

His hand came up and closed around hers and his eyes blinked open, focusing on her. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice still rough with sleep. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s all right. You don’t have anywhere to be. And, if you’re last two days have been anything like mine, you haven’t gotten much sleep.”

He shook his head, turning to place a small kiss on her wrist. “Not really. Guilt is a miserable thing.”

She fought back a wince. “Don’t feel guilty. It’s nothing you can help.”

He laughed softly. “Yeah, it’s easy to say that, but I was the one who did the spell. I’m the only one to blame.”

She ground her teeth. “Would you stop it? You did what you thought you had to! It blew up in your face! Yeah, it’s terrible, and we’re trying to fix it but, for the love of God, let it go! If I have to hear you say you’re sorry one more time, I’m going to hit you!”

He blinked up at her, his eyes wide. “Right. I’m s—I mean, I’ll stop.”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm her frayed nerves. “It’s all right, Harry. It’s not you. I just—you keep saying that you’re sorry and—it just doesn’t matter. I know you are, but that isn’t fixing anything. And I don’t know what will fix it. I just know that we have to find the answer, and I don’t know where to look. I don’t know what to do.”

“Don’t stress yourself out over it, Hermione. You either find the answer or you don’t. Getting all bugged about it won’t help either way.”

She moved around the couch, sitting down beside him. “I’ve asked Ron to help us, and I’ve asked him to get his family to, as well. I know you don’t want to be around them, but the more people we have looking, the sooner we can find out how to reverse the spell. Will you go over there with me after while?”

He groaned. “I really don’t want to. You know that.”

“I know. I just think we can use all the help we can get. Please, Harry, just consider it?”

He sighed. “All right, I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “I’ve also been thinking about how to get your magic back. I’m not sure that it would go back to you automatically, once the spell is broken. I think I’m going to have to give it back.”

He reached his hand up, running it along her cheek. “I don’t know how,” he said softly, his eyes burning into hers in a way that left her certain he couldn’t have cared less about that at the moment. “I can’t shield myself to take jinxes like you did. And charms or anything non-harmful doesn’t give enough back. That’s why I chose jinxes in the first place.”

“There has to be a way. If I have to, I’ll just keep charming you until we get it.”

“Oh, you’re charming all right,” Harry muttered, his hand moving back to curl into her hair. “You have no idea how charming you are.”

A tutting sound escaped her lips before she could stop it. “Harry, now is really not the best time for that.”

He dropped his hand. “Right.”

She forced herself to move away from him although she desperately didn’t want to. She wanted to stay right there and let him keep touching her. “Um, Harry? Can I—ask you something?”

He nodded, sitting up and stretching. “Yeah, sure.”

“Why didn’t—why didn’t you ever tell us? About this—effect, I mean.”

He stared at her as if she’d grown two heads, then laughed harshly. “Yeah, because that’s a real conversation-starter, that. ‘How’s it going, Hermione? How’s work? Did I mention that I think I’m now somewhat less than human?’ That’s not something I really wanted you to know.”

“You’re not less than human, Harry. You just—you’re missing something, and we’re going to get it back for you.”

“And what I’m missing is part of what would make me human.” He sighed. “I know you don’t understand, Hermione, but I feel less than human. I feel like I’m--.” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

“What?” she asked, coming toward him again. “You feel like what? Please, Harry, I want to understand this.”

He shrugged, frowning. “I just—I think I now understand what Voldemort must have felt like. I know,” he added, holding up his hand to cut off her protests. “His was by choice, and mine isn’t, but—he lived his whole life without loving anyone but himself. It’s—it’s not a good feeling.”

“Which is why we have to solve this problem and get you back. You aren’t Voldemort, Harry. You want to love. He never did. He enjoyed not having that feeling. You’ll never be him.”

He smiled sadly. “That’s the thing, Hermione. I could be. I’ve managed not to be so far, but—you don’t know how easy it would be, if I had my magic, to just—give in. To use my lack of feeling and just—run with it.”

“But you wouldn’t. You know what hurt he caused. You remember it, even if you don’t feel it. You’re not going to become him, Harry. You know better.”

He nodded. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said, but he hardly sounded convinced. “So have you started reading up the bonding spell?”

“A bit. You’re right, though, there isn’t much out there. I think I’m going to go to Flourish and Blotts tomorrow and see what they have.”

“You won’t find it there.”

“Why not?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s dark magic, Hermione. Flourish and Blotts doesn’t have a restricted section. I promise you, they won’t have anything detailed about bonding spells.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know that.”

“So you’re just going to—what? Stroll up to the counter and ask for information on a dark spell? Which auror would you like to have a visit from?”

“I see your point,” she muttered, chewing her lip. “Oh, but—Auror! Tonks. She might know something about it.”

“I’d really rather not find out. Look, you’ve already told Ron who is, in turn, telling the Weasleys. I’d prefer it if the whole of London doesn’t find out, so can we please stop telling people now?”

She sank down onto the couch beside him again, putting her arm around him. “I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t even think that you might be—embarrassed by this.”

He shook his head, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “It’s all right. Just—don’t tell Tonks. She’ll tell Remus, and I—really don’t want Remus to know.”

“I won’t tell Tonks. I promise.” She reached up to thread her fingers through his hair, and sighed as he turned his head to look up at her. He was going to kiss her; she could tell by the look in his eyes. And she wasn’t going to stop him. She should, she knew, but she wouldn’t. No matter what else he had going on with him, he was still Harry, and she still wanted him.

His lips caught hers and she kissed him back, mentally kicking herself. So she had no resolve when it came to Harry; she’d always known that. Of course, she was going to have some explaining to do with Ron.

He broke off the kiss and leaned back to spread out on the couch, pulling her with him, and she went without hesitation.

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She hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but it had been almost impossible to resist the drowsiness that settled in as Harry held her in his arms. It felt so good just to have him holding her.

She awoke to the sound of her name, and thought, at first, that it was Harry. One glance up at him, however, told her that he, too, was asleep.

“Hermione? Where are you?”

“Ron?” she muttered, then sat up and looked around. “Ron!”

He glanced over at her from the fireplace, his eyes widening. “Oh—I, uh--.” He broke off, blushing.

It wasn’t hard to imagine why. She was starkers, as was Harry, and both were clearly visible from Ron’s spot in the floo. She covered herself quickly with her hand, rummaging through her clothes for her wand. “Shut your eyes,” she snapped at Ron when she caught him ogling her. “Just—shut them.”

She found her wand and summoned a blanket from her bedroom, wrapping it around first herself, then Harry, who had stirred only slightly. “Sorry, Hermione,” Ron stammered. “I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“It’s fine. It was—stupid of me to have fallen asleep. I should have remembered you’d be—calling.” She made sure everything was covered, then sighed. “All right, you can look now.”

He looked up hopefully, then frowned. “Oh. Um, I really didn’t—so does this mean that you two are--?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I—I don’t know what it means. We’re still—trying to figure things out.”

Ron nodded, but she couldn’t miss the irritation on his face. “Right. I, um—I talked to my mum. She said Harry could come over if he wants. She’s willing to try and help him.”

“Oh, thank God. Was she—Did she sound—okay with it?”

He sighed. “She’s still not happy with him. But she said she would be civil.”

“That’s big of her,” Harry muttered, unhelpfully, as he stretched and opened his eyes. “Guess I shouldn’t expect too much.”

“Oh, hey Harry,” Ron said, his voice strained. “I, um—I should go. Do you know when you’re coming over?”

“In a little while,” Hermione broke in, poking Harry hard in the side. “Um, thank you—Ron. I appreciate this.”

“Yeah. No problem. See you in a bit.” He disappeared with a pop and Hermione let out a groan, dropping her head onto Harry’s chest.

“That was a nice wake-up call, hmm?” Harry laughed softly, rubbing his eyes. “I take it you hadn’t thought to get a blanket before you fell asleep?”

She groaned again. “No, of course not.”

“So he got a nice little look-see then, huh?”

“Oh yeah.” She sighed heavily. “I, um—I told him that we wouldn’t—sleep together.”

“Well, he obviously knows you were wrong.”

“This isn’t exactly the way I wanted him to find out,” she muttered. “I would have preferred to tell him some other way.”

“Yeah, but he got to see you naked, so—added bonus for him.”

“That’s not funny,” she snapped, sitting up and reaching for her clothes. “Get up and get dressed, would you? We need to get to the Weasleys and get to work on this spell.”

She started to climb over him but he grabbed her arms, holding her still. “Hey.” She grudgingly looked at him. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t—have made a joke.”

She shrugged. “It’s fine, Harry. I just—I want to fix this. Soon.”

“Believe me, I do too,” he said softly. He grimaced at her, leaning up to kiss her gently. “I just hate that I have to count on the Weasleys to help me with it.”

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An hour later, they stood in front of the Burrow, looking up at the misshapen, rickety-looking silhouette. Harry was already irritated by the fact that he’d had to side-along apparate here with Hermione, which didn’t bode well for what was coming. “If I say I want to leave, we leave. Right?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. It’ll be fine, Harry, I promise. Just relax.”

He looked at her for a minute, then shrugged. “All right. Let’s get it over with.”

He held the door open for her as they walked inside, stopping short at the sight of Mrs. Weasley standing by the kitchen table. “Hello, Hermione,” she said, giving a half-smile that disappeared as her eyes turned to Harry. “Harry.”

Hermione felt Harry tense as he stood beside her. “Mrs. Weasley.”

“Come in, please. Would you like something to drink?” Molly was obviously not trying very hard to keep a polite tone to her voice, and Hermione was beginning to think this whole thing was a really bad idea.

“No, thanks,” Harry said, a cool tone to his voice as well. He pulled out a chair at the table for Hermione, which earned him a nasty look from Molly, and then sat down beside her. “Ron’s told you everything, I’m guessing.”

“Oh, yes. Interesting story,” Mrs. Weasley smirked. “You should have known better than to go messing around with such a dodgy spell, Harry.”

Hermione could actually hear Harry grinding his teeth. “Yes, well,” she broke in quickly, her voice tense. “It’s done now. All we can do is try to fix it.”

“I suppose, although I’m not sure how you’ll do that. It’s an illegal spell to perform, you know.” Mrs. Weasley cast another cold glance at Harry. “He rightly should have to face charges for it. If it weren’t for Ron’s insistence that Harry meant well, I’d feel it my duty to turn him in.”

Hermione gasped. “You would never! What is your problem?” she snapped, waving Harry off as he tried to interrupt her. “Is this all because I’m in love with Harry and not Ron?”

Mrs. Weasley turned on her, her face reddened with anger. “In love with him?” she snapped. “That’s just rich, isn’t it? Of all the things I’ve ever considered you, Hermione, fickle was certainly not one of them. When did you decide you loved him? When you woke up in his bed?”

Harry, apparently, couldn’t stay quiet any longer. “It had nothing to do with you,” he growled, standing up and leaning across the table toward Mrs. Weasley. “As much as you’d like to believe that you’ve been personally wronged, our relationship doesn’t have a damn thing to do with you.”

“Harry,” Ron said softly, warningly, stepping into the room. “Ease up, mate.”

“Ease up?” Harry snapped. “What right does she have to say anything about it?”

“None,” Ron agreed. “She knows she has no right, but it’s my fault that she’s angry with you. She’s sticking up for me--.”

“I can speak for myself, Ronald!” his mother huffed.

“Not right now, you can’t,” Ron shot back, shaking his head. “Not if you’re going to talk like that. Harry needs our help, and after all he’s done for us, it’s the least we can do to give it to him.”

Mrs. Weasley scowled, although Hermione suspected that it was as much because Ron was right as it was irritation at having been spoken to like that. “So you’ve forgiven him then?”

Ron frowned, then shook his head. “No, not exactly. I’m still angry at him about what happened, and how it happened, but I can’t ignore the fact that he was my friend for a long time.”

Mrs. Weasley scoffed. “Yes, of course he was. If you want to help him, so be it. I’ll do what I can. But what he did to you was wrong.”

“Which is my problem, Mum! Look, if you’re going to help, help. If not, go on and let us get some work done.”

Mrs. Weasley blinked at him a few times, then settled herself quietly at the table and pulled a book toward her.

Author’s note: So sorry about the wait. Rough times abound in my life at the oddest moments, and this past week has been more than a bit that way. :D Anyway, finally, chapter 20. I’m working on Chapter 21, which will be the next to last. Hope you like it!

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Hermione was irritated. More than irritated, actually. Pissed off. Royally. “Nothing!” she growled, slamming shut the book she had been looking at. “How can there be nothing in any of these?”

Harry glanced up, smiling slightly. “Because, as Mrs. Weasley so kindly pointed out, this spell is illegal. It’s hard to find any mention of it at all. And those books that do are always very general. I’ve been looking for two years, Hermione. I’ve yet to find anything. At least, not since McGonagall had some of the darker books removed from the Restricted Section. Shame I don’t know what she did with them.”

She sighed. “It has to be somewhere. We’ll just—keep looking.”

Ron cleared his throat. “Um, I’m sorry, Hermione, but I can’t keep going for tonight. I’ve got to get some sleep.” He flinched when Hermione glowered at him. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I’m just—too tired to keep reading, and I have—some things to do tomorrow.”

Harry nodded, stretching. “He’s right, Hermione. Let’s quit for tonight. We’ll start again tomorrow.”

“You two can stop if you want,” she muttered, opening yet another book. “I’m going to keep going at least a while longer.”

Ron glanced at Harry, then shrugged. “All right. Harry, do you mind if--?”

“No, Ron. It’s fine. Go on to bed.”

“All right then. Night.”

“Maybe we should take this back to my place,” Harry said. “It isn’t right to hang around here after they’ve all headed off to bed.”

“They should have gone to bed,” Hermione huffed. “They said they would help us.”

“True, but it’s got to be close to midnight, Hermione. They have to sleep too.”

“This is more important. You’d think they’d want to—help—you.” She trailed off, her eyes fixed on the page in front of her. “Harry? Did you read this?” She shoved her book across to him, tapping the page. “Right here.”

“I’ve probably read it before, Hermione. If it’s—Huh. ‘When a bonding spell is broken, everything that has transpired under the effect of the spell is broken as well.’ No, I hadn’t read that. What do you reckon it means?”

“I guess it means it puts everything back to the way it was. Obviously, that will give you your magic back, and give you back your ability to love. So, it’s solved! Now we just have to figure out how to break it.”

Harry laughed at the sparkle in her eyes. “Way to go, Sherlock. You’ve solved the case.”

She beamed. “Leave it to my books.” Her face fell slowly and she sighed. “Although we’re no closer to understanding how to break the spell.”

“We’ll find it. Maybe not tonight, because I’m worn out, but we will eventually.”

She nodded, letting a yawn slip out. “You’re right. Can you wait here for a second? I’ll take these books back and then come back and get you.”

He blushed, but nodded. “Yeah, all right. Can you—make it quick?”

“I’ll try,” she grinned, loading up all the books she could carry. “Be right back,” she said, disapparating. She hurried to dump her books onto her couch, then went back for Harry. “Fast enough for you?” she grinned, very proud of herself for being able to move so quickly.

“Nearly,” he said. “I hate having to do this,” he muttered, taking her arm. “My place?”

She chewed her lip. “I’ll take you to your place, yes.”

“What about you?”

“I--think it would be better if I stay at my own apartment tonight. I’ll--come by early tomorrow to get you though. All right?”

He shrugged. “If you must.”

“I need to go to Diagon Alley in the morning. Flourish and—Blotts might—have that book—I’mmm—looking f-for. Harry, what are you doing?”

He chuckled against her throat, where his lips were currently working gently over her skin. “I’m kissing you.”

“Yes, that’s obvious, but—why?”

“Because I want to.” His mouth moved toward her ear and she shuddered.

“Harry---uunnnh—I—I’m not staying h-here.”

“You should,” he whispered, his breath tickling her cheek.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

She sighed, trying to make herself stop his hand’s progress up her side. Her own hand refused to move. “For several very good reasons.”

One of his hands rested on her back, pulling her closer. “I can give you several very, very good reasons.”

He pressed his hand against her breast, and she lost her train of thought. “R-reasons? Oh, that’s right. I—I have to go.”

“No you don’t.”

“I should.”

“No, you shouldn’t.” He took a step closer, forcing her to back up, grinning against her shoulder when she did. When exactly did he unbutton my shirt? she wondered. How did I miss that? He pushed her back another step, then another until she was pressed against the wall.

“I—h-have to go,” she muttered, feebly. It was made even feebler by the fact that her hand was already working on unbuttoning his fly. She gasped when he pulled away from her and stood back.

“All right. If you must.”

She blinked. “Oh, um—well I—I guess I could stay.”

He grinned again, stepping forward again. “I’m glad.” He leaned forward, stopping just a breath away from her lips. “I want you to.”

“T-then I’ll stay,” she whispered. He moved the last centimeter to catch her lips, his hands moving to finish opening her shirt. She started to reach around and unfasten her bra, but he caught her hands, pulling them until they rested around his neck.

When he was certain she was going to keep them there, he ran his hands back down her arms, catching the fabric of her shirt and pushing it back off of her shoulders. She shivered as his fingers brushed her skin, making them both moan. It surprised her that he seemed so turned on by her, and she dropped her hands, letting her shirt fall to the floor. He stepped back to watch her, entranced, as she reached behind her and unfastened her bra. She let it fall slowly, and almost laughed at the obvious desire in his eyes as he looked at her. It made her feel so—powerful.

She had to try several times to get the words to come out, but they sounded suitably sexy when she finally spoke them. “Do you want me, Harry?”

He actually gasped, his chest heaving. “God, yes,” he said in a near moan. “So much.”

“Well,” she smirked. “What are you waiting for?”

He practically charged her, his mouth closing on one of her breasts as his arms curled around her and lifted her up. She was pinned between him and the wall, his lips working ravenously across her bare chest, and she pushed her head back, gripping his shoulders roughly. When his tongue brushed her nipple, she gasped, a surge of something almost electric running through her.

Harry pulled back suddenly, his eyes wide. “How did you—do that?” he panted.

She frowned. “What?”

“Your pants,” he said, glancing down.

She followed his gaze and gasped. “What the hell?”

Her pants, which had been on and fastened just a few seconds ago, had just—disappeared. She was now completely naked. “Is that a spell?” Harry asked, eyeing her appreciatively.

“Not that I know of,” she muttered, sighing. “It just—happened.”

He smirked. “Well, it’s handy, anyway.”

She bit off her answer as his fingers trailed over her bare thigh. They found their target and plunged into her and she let out a cry, thumping her head against the wall. “Harry,” she whimpered, “I—I want you.”

He didn’t seem to need anymore prompting than that. His hand continued to move under her as he shifted his other hand out to unfasten his jeans. He somehow managed to push them down a bit, and lowered her until she was resting against his tip. “Now?” he asked, and she could see the glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Yes—please?” she laughed. “Please, now.”

He grinned back, shifting his hips to slide into her. “Good,” he murmured, his eyes sliding shut. “Because I couldn’t—uunnnh, God—have waited anyway.”

She caught his cheeks between her hands and pulled his chin up so she could watch his face. He opened his eyes again, holding her gaze. “I want you naked too,” she whispered, trying desperately to repeat the spell. When it didn’t work, she sighed. “Damnit. I wish I could remember how I did that.”

Harry smiled, holding her tightly. “Concentrate,” he said softly. “Pull your magic up and let it roll out of you. It’s almost—accidental. Just focus on—letting it out.”

It seemed impossible to do what he was saying, but she tried it anyway. She focused her magic, then pushed it out. Incredibly, his clothes evaporated into thin air, leaving him as naked as she.

He glanced down and nodded. “See? The only bad thing about it is—I don’t know where the clothes go.”

She giggled. “It doesn’t matter. You won’t need them anytime soon.” She shifted her hips, and he let out a moan. “See what I mean?”

He hummed appreciatively, dropping his head to rest on her shoulder as he started to thrust into her again, his rhythm carefully controlled. She lost herself in the feel of him inside of her, the feel of his breath, coming in hot bursts, against her bare skin. “Uunnnh, Hermione,” he moaned, shifting her so he could drive into her more deeply. “Oh God.”

The sound of his voice, the vibrations of his chest against hers as he spoke, pushed her that much closer to her climax. Especially the way he said her name.

He pushed them off of the wall, letting her feet back down to the floor gently. “We need a bed,” he said, leaning down to press his lips against hers. She groaned at the thought of not having him inside of her for even as long as it would take to walk into the bedroom and grabbed his hand, dragging him after her. As soon as they were inside his bedroom, he picked her up again and let himself fall back onto the bed, carrying her with him. His hands slid down her back, coming to rest on her bum, and he shifted his hips so he brushed against her.

“Don’t tease me,” she half-growled, pushing herself back and onto him. “I don’t want to be teased.”

He laughed. “All right. You take control then.”

She smirked. “Don’t think I won’t.” As if to prove her point, she sat up quickly, sliding all the way down onto him. He sighed heavily, his eyes falling shut. She rocked her hips, leaning over him to watch his face as she moved. She felt so confident in that moment, listening to the gasps and moans coming from him, feeling the way that his hips were straining up against hers.

She rocked harder, faster, and watched his control break, his hands fumbling to wrap around her waist and hold her still. “Stop,” he muttered. “Stop for a minute.”

She did, watching as he tried desperately to hold onto his little bit of restraint. He gripped her waist more tightly, sitting up, still holding her in his lap. “I need to be on top,” he said, blushing. “I can’t hold on when you’re in control.”

He turned them so she was lying under him, pinned to the bed with his weight. He stared down at her, his eyes full of something that she couldn’t identify, and she had the distinct feeling that she would never be able to understand it. “I love you, Harry,” she whispered, hoping that he would believe it, even if he couldn’t feel it. “I always have.”

A pained look crossed his face, and she had to hold him tightly to stop him from moving away from her. “We’re going to fix this. I swear we will. We’ll fix it.”

“I hope so,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I want to be normal again.”

They held each other for a long time before he shifted to push into her again, and slowly, passionately, took her to the strongest climax she had ever felt.

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Hermione awoke slowly, immediately recognizing the warmth pressed against her back. Harry’s arm was draped over her, his legs tangled with hers under the sheets. He was snoring softly, his breath ruffling her hair.

She wanted to go back to sleep, but she knew she couldn’t. One glance at the clock told her that she was due to pick up Ron in a little over an hour, and she still had to shower and find some fresh clothes.

Slowly and carefully, she began to extract herself from Harry’s embrace. He seemed reluctant, even in his sleep, to let her go, and pulled her back as she tried to slide away from him. She sighed and started over. It took her ten minutes to get out of bed and a few more to remember where she’d left her shirt and bra. Her knickers, jeans, shoes and socks were, apparently, irretrievable.

She couldn’t, for some unfathomable reason, stand the thought of apparating back to her flat naked, so she raided Harry’s wardrobe, borrowing a pair of cotton track pants and an old T-shirt, stuffing her feet into a pair of slippers. When she was dressed, she knelt on the bed beside Harry and bent to press a kiss on his cheek.

“Morning,” she smiled when his eyes finally slid open. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay?”

He nodded, yawning. “All right. I’ll make some lunch for you, if you want.”

“Ron, too?” she grinned, fighting the urge to curl up in his arms for just a few more minutes.

He smirked. “If I have to.”

She gave him one more kiss, and then climbed off the bed. “See you in a little while,” she said, and turned to apparate. She stopped suddenly, a strange feeling of dread passing over her.

Harry watched her for a second, then laughed. “Did you forget something?”

She shook herself, forcing a smile. “No, I just—nothing. Bye, Harry.”

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“So we’re going to Flourish and Blotts and that’s it, right? No detours?”

“That’s it, Ron, I swear. I just need to look into a few books and then we’ll go to Harry’s.”

“Good, because I’m starving. I hope Harry made something good for lunch.”

Hermione started to make a sarcastic comment back, but something caught her eye that made her stop. “Oh, God. I thought he was in hiding.”

Ron glanced around, frowning. “Who?”

“Draco Malfoy,” Hermione hissed, grabbing Ron’s arm and dragging him behind a stack of crates outside of Eeylops. “What’s he doing skulking around here?”

Ron was still frowning. “I don’t see him.”

“Right there,” Hermione muttered, motioning to a shop a few spots down. “See him?”

Draco was skulking, of course. He was stopped in front of a display window, but his attention wasn’t on the items inside. He was casting glances around him, his eyes narrowed beneath the hood of his black cloak.

“What the bloody hell is he up to?” Ron muttered, scowling. “It has to be something bad.”

They watched as Malfoy was approached by another cloaked wizard and the two started toward the entrance to Knockturn Alley. “Well, of course,” Hermione sighed. “You know, if Harry was here, he’d follow Malfoy.”

“Yeah, but he isn’t.”

“So, does that mean we have to?”

Ron laughed sharply. “Damnit! I suppose it does.”

“Well, come on then,” she said and stepped out to follow Malfoy’s form down the path. Malfoy and the other man turned down a side alley, glancing around. Hermione waited until they were out of sight, and then peeked around the corner into the dim alley. Malfoy was standing with his back to them, talking rather heatedly.

Hermione cast an eavesdropping charm on Ron, and then herself, allowing them to hear the conversation. “I’m telling you,” Malfoy snapped. “Potter’s being taken care of. Once he’s out of the way, it’s all clear.”

“Yeah. Your dad couldn’t take care of him the last time, why should he be able to now?”

“Because Potter,” Malfoy said, a sneer evident in his voice, “has lost his magic. Drained it. He’s defenseless.”

“And how, pray tell, do you know that?”

“I overheard his friends talking about it. They still haven’t learned not to have private conversations in the middle of bars, apparently. I told my dad what I’d heard and he went over there this morning. Potter’s probably dead already.” Hermione didn’t stick around to hear anymore. She grabbed Ron’s arm, dragged him a few feet away, and drew her wand.

“See you at Harry’s,” Ron muttered, before apparating away.

Author’s Note: Next to last one, all. :D I have had so much fun writing this story, and I’m glad that it seems you all have had just as much fun reading it! I’m almost sorry that it has to end. L I’ve got another couple of stories that I plan to start on soon, so I’ll try not to keep you waiting for them. And so, without further ado, here is Chapter 21. J Enjoy!

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Hermione was moving almost as soon as her feet hit the hardwood floor of Harry’s apartment. Incredibly, although Ron had apparated only a matter of seconds before she had, he was already disappearing into the bedroom at the end of the hall. She followed, her heart breaking in her chest as she heard Harry let out a savage scream.

“Leave him alone!” she heard Ron howl as she stopped in the doorway. Harry was lying in the corner of his room, huddled into a ball with his hands over his head, panting as though he’d never catch his breath again. Lucius Malfoy stood over him, a sneer on his face even as he shielded himself from the curses Ron was hurling at him.

“Look, Potter,” he drawled, flicking his wand to send one of Ron’s own spells back at him. “Your dear friends have come to save you. As if they could. How very—sweet. Well, sweet for me, anyway. Now I can take care of all three of you at once.”

Hermione felt rage fire up within her and she raised her wand, but Ron caught her eye. He shook his head vehemently, and Hermione knew what he meant. He wanted to take care of Lucius himself.

Although she wasn’t sure it was the best idea, Hermione lowered her wand, ducking behind the doorframe as Lucius fired off a spell in her direction. She heard Ron let out a cry of fury, and glanced around again to check on Harry. He was still lying on his side, but his body was now limp. Hermione let out a whimper, wishing she could get to him. Lucius was still standing there, though, and she wasn’t about to go across him while he was still armed and vicious. “Hang on, Harry,” she whispered, clenching her wand tightly. “Please hang on.”

The curses were still flying, and Ron was doing a fair job holding his own. Then, without warning, Ron sent out a curse that hit Lucius dead in the chest, despite his shield. Malfoy eyes widened and his shoulders hunched as he stumbled backward from the force of it. He bounced off the wall and fell forward, hitting the floor with a loud Thud, and staying there.

Ron seemed almost as surprised as Lucius had, but he stepped round the bed on shaky legs. “Did I—Is he--?”

Hermione chewed her lip, edging closer. “I—I don’t know. Wh-what was that spell?”

He shook his head, paling. His silence spoke volumes to Hermione, though. She knelt beside Lucius and tentatively reached a hand out to feel his neck. After a minute of searching, she sighed. “He’s—dead, Ron.”

Ron sank onto the bed, dropping his head into his hands. “Oh, God. I didn’t—mean to. I mean, I did—but I didn’t—I didn’t think it would actually work! Oh God!”

Hermione sniffed, but managed to stand. Her heart was torn between going to Ron and checking on Harry. Finally, she forced herself to move over and give Ron a small hug, patting his back. “It’s okay, Ron. You didn’t mean it. I know you didn’t.”

His shoulders shook with sobs and he let out a wail. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I never—never meant to kill him.”

“I know you didn’t. It’s all right. He deserved it.”

Ron looked up at her, his eyes red, tears streaming down his face. “What are you, nuts? You should be checking on Harry!”

She laughed softly, almost incredulously. “I was—worried about you.”

“I’m fine. Go—check him. Is he even breathing?”

Hermione hurried over and dropped to her knees next to Harry’s limp form. “God, please. Please, please, please,” she muttered as she felt his neck for a pulse. “Oh thank God,” she sniffed. “He’s alive, Ron.”

“I’m—ow—fine,” Harry rasped, sounding anything but fine. “I’m okay.”

Hermione helped him sit up, taking a blanket that Ron offered her and wrapping it around his shoulders. “Sit still, all right. Don’t move around too much.”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, wincing as he shifted. His eyes fell on Lucius and he froze. “Holy hell,” he muttered, glancing at Ron. “D-Did you--?”

Ron nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah.”

Harry’s mouth dropped open and he gaped at Ron a moment. “Oh.”

“Look, mate, maybe we ought to get you checked out?”

Harry shook his head. “No. I’m fine. Just—need to rest for a minute.”

Ron and Hermione helped him back into his bed, where he curled up under the blankets. “I’m sorry, Harry,” Hermione said softly. “This was—all my fault. Draco overheard me telling Ron about your magic, and he—must have told his dad. I’m so sorry. I should have been more careful.”

“It’s all right, Hermione,” he muttered, reaching up to brush her hair away from her face. “You didn’t mean to.”

She bit back a sob. “I should have known better, though. I should have never left you alone. I knew Malfoy was still out there. I should have--.”

“There was nothing you should have done, Hermione,” Ron broke in. He was sitting with his back against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. “You didn’t know that Malfoy was in the pub. Hell, I still don’t know where he could have been. The place was nearly empty.”

“It was,” Hermione agreed, except for the dodgy old guy at the bar and that—witch—Oh, God,” she muttered. “The witch. I thought she looked familiar, but—I never even imagined it could be--.”

“Wait. Malfoy was—in drag?” Harry asked, coughing out a laugh. “You’re kidding, right?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, I’m not. It makes perfect sense that he would be out in disguise. They are supposedly being hunted, after all, or so the Ministry would have us believe. I’m so stupid—I should have—UGH!”

Ron blushed deeply, covering his eyes with his hand. “Oh my God. That was—Malfoy?” He shivered slightly. “Blimey, and I thought she—he—was attractive. Oh, I have got to get out more.”

Harry bit back a laugh, and Hermione smiled sympathetically. “It was a really good disguise, Ron. I don’t think anyone could have guessed it was him.” She glanced at Lucius, then back at Harry. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“A bit,” Harry muttered. “I’ll be all right.”

Hermione looked him over, wincing at a bruise that was growing on the side of his face. “Do you want me to heal that?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s fine,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “It’s just—throbbing a bit. It’ll stop.”

Ron stood up and walked over to Lucius, pushing the dead man’s shoulder with his foot. “What do we—do with—him?”

“Get rid of him,” Harry said softly. “I don’t know how, but—we can’t let it be traced back to you.”

“But, I—I killed him. Shouldn’t I—have to, I dunno—pay for that?”

Hermione sniffed, shaking her head vehemently. “No, Ron. You did what you had to do. There’s no reason to feel guilty about it.”

Harry snorted. “You can tell him that all you like, but he’ll have to realize it for himself. It’s always the hardest after the first person you kill.”

Ron quirked an eyebrow at Hermione. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Tell me what?” Harry frowned.

“Ron was—at the fight against Voldemort. He, um—he’s the one who killed Bellatrix Lestrange.”

Harry gasped, shaking his head. “That—But—you mean I did all of this for nothing?” he snapped. “I went through hell to keep you away and you still--.” He broke off, slamming his fist against the bed. “For fuck’s sake, Ron, you were supposed to not be there! That was the whole bloody point!”

Ron scowled at him, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well, I didn’t know that, did I? You didn’t bother to let me in on it. As far as I knew, you were just being a jerk because you wanted to be.”

Harry started to respond, but Hermione held up a hand. “No, Harry, just stop. He’s right, you know. You didn’t tell him that you didn’t want him there. It might have been easier if you had, but you can’t control what he does.”

“Damn right he can’t,” Ron muttered.

“I was trying to help!” Harry cried, throwing his hands up in the air. “I was trying to save your life! Don’t you get that?”

“I don’t need you to save my life, Harry!” Ron yelled. “I did just fine on my own!”

“Yeah, maybe, but how was I supposed to know that would happen? I was scared for you. Forgive me for trying to help you!”

Ron laughed softly. “Yeah, you know what? I can—forgive you for that. I can forgive you for trying to be a friend. What I can’t forgive you for is that you didn’t have the guts to tell me that you were going to take Hermione from me, and that you were going to run me off by acting like you didn’t give a damn about me, all because you thought it best. Who the hell are you to decide what’s best for me, Harry?”

Hermione could see the exact moment that the anger burned out of Harry’s eyes to be replaced by exhaustion. “I—was trying—to help.” He fell back against the pillows again, sighing.

“You didn’t trust me, you mean? You didn’t think I was capable of fighting?”

“Ron, I—It wasn’t--.” Harry took a deep breath, and Hermione recognized the strained look on his face. He wanted to tell Ron the truth, but knew how hurtful it would be. Finally, he said, “No. I didn’t think you would live through it.”

“Well, you were wrong, weren’t you? I’m still here. Not a scratch on me. I didn’t need you to save me.”

“Maybe not,” Hermione said softly. “But can you blame him for trying? He did it because he cared, Ron. He did it for the same reason you showed up to fight that day, actually. You fought because you cared. Right?”

Ron blinked at her, his mouth moving silently. “Well—yeah, but--.”

“You did it because you wanted all of this to end, and everyone to be safe.”

“Yes, but--.”

“You tried to talk Ginny out of being there too, didn’t you? You asked me not to be there. Why?”

Ron sighed. “Because I was—scared for you.”

“You would have done anything you could to keep Ginny or I from getting hurt.”

He nodded. “Which is exactly what Harry did.”

The room was quiet for a minute, save the sounds of Harry’s uneven breathing and slight sniffling. Finally, after a long moment, Ron cleared his throat.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice was thick.

“Mate, I’m—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have ever—been that angry with you. Well, not after I—found out what you did.”

Harry didn’t answer, but Hermione could hear his choked sobs. “Does that mean that you forgive him?” she asked quietly.

Ron hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I forgive him.”

He and Hermione probably never felt anything. In an instant, quicker than a blink, they were gone. They just disappeared. Harry had slightly longer, just enough time to see them vanish into thin air, and to begin to panic about what might have happened to them. Then, the blanket that was covering him dissipated into nothingness, followed by the bed below him and the room around him. It happened quickly, the darkness rolling in around him like a fog.

His body shifted, seemingly of its own accord, and he found himself standing, pressed against something, desperate to catch a breath. He jerked himself backward, breaking the kiss with Hermione, taking his hands off of her. A word was caught on the tip of his tongue and he recognized it, immediately, as the incantation for a bonding spell.

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Yes, I know it’s a bit of a “cliffie” as well. This one, however, isn’t quite as bad, because I think a lot of you will be able to figure out what happened. If not, all will be explained in the next—the last—chapter.

Thanks, as always, to HarrynHermione4eva! You are far beyond incredible at this point!

And to all who have left reviews throughout this story, THANK YOU! I know there are times when you just don’t really have anything to say, but even a short little something lets me know it’s all good! You all truly Rock!

Well, here it is! I sincerely hope it was worth the wait. :D Enjoy!

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Harry slumped against the wall and slid down to the cold stone floor of the Quidditch locker rooms, sighing heavily. He had realized early on in his “magical life” that there was no way to know the exact bounds of what magic could do, but this was more than enough to throw him for a loop. Three years of his life had been given back, which should have been a good thing—except he remembered those three years that now didn’t exist. He had woken up the morning before in the year 2000 with Hermione kissing him, and this morning had dawned on the year 1997 with Hermione angry with him. Well, maybe not angry, but upset. She certainly had every reason to be.

He’d never been the quickest thinker in the world, but the shock of having been thrown back in time had left him reeling. That, and the fact that his emotions were raw and uncontrollable had caused him to be entirely too abrupt with her. She didn’t know what had happened, of course. To her, they had arrived in the Room of Requirements and Harry had rushed to get her into bed as quickly as possible. And only moments later, he had pulled away from her, looking around wildly and asking questions that must have seemed completely insane. She probably thought that he’d completely lost his mind, and it would have been a reasonable assumption. He felt like he’d lost his mind.

A million thoughts were running wild through his head, demanding his immediate attention, and he fought desperately to control them, to make sense of them. And they were all competing with his emotions for priority. And he wasn’t certain that he cared to either think or feel at the moment.

The fact that he hadn’t recast the spell was both a relief and a burden to him. True, he hadn’t lost Ron, or his magic, or his ability to love Hermione, all of which were wonderful beyond belief. But he had changed things. He had gone back to a time when Voldemort was still a threat and now Hermione had none of his original protection for the second go-round. Ron didn’t even have the protection that Harry had supposedly given him the first time. Granted, he’d been at the first battle and had made it through, but Harry had still had an effect on Ron’s fight. Ron had, because of his anger with Harry, been fighting somewhere else, not at Harry’s side. This time around, it was possible Ron wouldn’t be in the same place he’d been the first time, and thus, Harry might be sentencing him to death by not performing the spell again.

Of course, the same might be true for Hermione. Even thinking about it made his heart ache beyond any pain he’d felt in a long time.

Time was a funny thing. He could still feel the aches caused by the Cruciatus that Lucius Malfoy had sent through him only the day before, despite the fact that it hadn’t, in this timeline, ever happened. It had, of course, and he had been there, but—it hadn’t. He remembered it perfectly, but Hermione didn’t. Hermione only knew what had happened in the yesterday of here and now, whereas Harry couldn’t remember that yesterday as anything more than a distant memory. And if he thought that was confusing, then he could only imagine having the two timelines converge into two distinctly sets of memories over the next few years.

His head ached, adding to the pain in his chest and limbs and he wanted to scream from the complete and utter impossibility of it all.

Maybe he should explain this to Hermione. Maybe she could make more sense of it than he could. She was much brighter than him, and she was able to see possibilities that he couldn’t. Then again, what would she think of him, if she even believed him? Would she hate him for having even considered doing such a spell on her? Or would she be understanding, and even touched by his good intentions?

He had both the benefit and the fault of having his twenty year-old mind in his seventeen year-old body. He had the small bit of wisdom he gained over the three years that no longer counted, but he also had to remember that Hermione didn’t have those three years in her mind. She lacked the great amount of life experience that those years had given her. And while she was still as clever as she had ever been, this Hermione hadn’t yet seen the fall of Voldemort. She hadn’t seen the tragedies and trials that his Hermione had.

Harry’s heart gave another painful throb and he let his eyes fall shut, taking a deep breath. There was so much he needed to work out, and he wasn’t going to get it done by thinking in circles. He tried to remember the mind-clearing exercises used in Occlumency, now understanding completely what Dumbledore had meant about the values of a pensieve. He heard footsteps on the small path from the Quidditch pitch to the locker rooms and snatched up his Invisibility Cloak, throwing it over himself just as the door swung open.

Ron poked his head in, peering around through the darkness. “Harry? You in here, mate?”

Harry held his breath, quietly scooting himself as close to the wall as he could.

“Come on, Harry! If you’re in here, please answer me. Hermione has me looking all over for you.” After a few minutes, Ron sighed. “Damnit,” he muttered, stepping out and letting the door swing shut again.

Harry listened until he heard Ron walk away, then pulled the cloak off of his head again. He’d known Hermione was looking for him. He’d dodged her a few times already today. He wasn’t ready to talk to her yet, though. Not until he figured a few things out.

The spell was first and foremost on his mind. He hadn’t cast it, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to. Yes, it had been a miserable existence for him after it had been cast, but it had done what it was supposed to. Ron and Hermione had both lived. They had all survived it, although he doubted any of them had been truly happy. Still, he wondered if, without the spell, things would turn out different. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing them because he was being selfish. He was, and he knew it. He didn’t want to repeat what he’d had to live through, of course, but he also couldn’t imagine how he would feel if one, or both, of them died because of him.

The huge, engulfing sadness welled up in him again, and he tried to force it back down. He couldn’t think if he let his emotions take over him. Tears had been threatening him all day at the oddest moments, as though trying to catch him by surprise. They welled again now and he swiped at them furiously. His nerves were raw, his emotions so close to the surface that he felt they would overwhelm him at any moment. He sighed, biting hard on his lip and trying to focus on the sting that resulted. “Think, Harry,” he muttered, pulling his knees up to his chest.

His mind roved over the problem again, and came to the same conclusion as before. There was no other way to protect them, short of asking them flat out not to be there. If it was just one of them, he would have a better chance of keeping them safe. Even if he had to throw himself in front of a curse for them, he would. The trouble with that, of course, was he would probably only be able to do that once. And, unless he’d managed to take care of Voldemort first, the Death Eaters would still win. If he died, Voldemort would win.

This thought supported the entirely wrong theory. He’d lived through it the first time, whether because of or in spite of the spell. So, what were his chances without the spell? Better or worse? It was a minor point to him, since it was much more important to keep Hermione and Ron safe than himself, but it was a point nonetheless. And, again, it supported the thought that maybe he should do the spell again and just live with the consequences.

He was starting to go over the pros and cons yet again, when the door opened again and he blinked against the sudden influx of gray sunlight. There, framed in the door, stood Hermione. One hand rested on her hip while the other held the door, and Harry could see that both of them were clenched into fists. “Ron was just in here,” she said, her voice hard. “Why didn’t you answer him?”

Harry set his jaw, not appreciating her tone. “Because I didn’t want to.”

“Well that wasn’t very nice of you, Harry,” she snapped, stalking inside and letting the door swing shut behind her. “What’s with you? And don’t say ‘nothing’, because we both know that’s not true.”

“I just want to be alone.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because I do,” he said, shaking his head. “Why’d you come back in here, anyway? If Ron was in here and didn’t see me--?”

She rolled her eyes, holding up her hand. “Took me a while to think of it,” she said, waving a piece of seemingly blank parchment in front of him. Harry recognized it as the Marauder’s Map. “Thanks for letting me use it, by the way.”

“Yeah, no problem. Hermione, I really need to--.”

“Forget it,” she broke in, shaking her head.

“What?” he asked, stunned. “Forget what?”

“I’m not leaving you alone right now. I let you have all of last night and all of this morning to yourself. No, I want to talk to you. What’s up?”

“Who are you to decide when I get to be alone and when I don’t?”

“I’m your friend,” she said simply. “And honestly, I think that after what almost happened last night, that term may need to be modified a bit.”

He sighed, feeling his cheeks flush. “Uh, yeah. About that—I’m—I’m sorry. I know I just—ran off on you, but I have a really good reason.”

She nodded. “You changed you mind.”

Harry gasped. “What? No! No, I didn’t. Well, I did, but—not about that. Not about—you. It was—something else.”

“What else?” Hermione frowned.

“I—I can’t tell you. I wish I could, but I just—can’t. But, please believe me; I didn’t change my mind about you.”

Hermione watched him for a second, her eyes searching his face. Then, finally, she shrugged. “Well, I can’t say that I understand that, but of course I believe you. I just wish you could tell me what this is all about. You’re acting very strange, Harry.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“So, if you didn’t change your mind about me, then—do you still, you know—want to?”

He blushed slightly. “I—I do. But—there’s something I think you should know first.”

She frowned. “Harry, I think I know everything there is to know about you.”

“You don’t know this,” he laughed softly. “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and I should have told you long before now.”

He hesitated a minute, and Hermione leaned forward, her face full of concern. “Harry, what is it?”

He took a deep breath, then forced the words out. “Hermione, I love you.”

It was almost comical for him to watch the normally calm and collected Hermione Granger get flustered. She blinked at him, then did a double-take. Her brow was furrowed, her lips pursed and her hands fluttered restlessly in her lap. Finally, she opened her mouth and muttered. “I don’t—think I heard you right.”

“What did you hear?” he teased.

“Well,” she laughed nervously, “I thought that—I heard you say that—you love me.”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

She blinked again. “Oh.” For the first time since he’d known her, Harry sensed that Hermione was having a hard time understanding something. “You—you’re not—just joking with me, are you?”

“No. Of course not. Why? Would you rather I was?”

His heart missed a beat when she didn’t respond immediately. After what seemed like an eternity, she choked out. “N-no. I—I just—I’m having a very hard time believing it. N-not that I don’t believe you, but—well, it’s just so—sudden.”

He laughed softly, standing and stretching before taking a seat beside her. “It might seem that way to you, but to me, it’s been there for a long, long time. Only I never had the courage to tell you.”

Hermione was flushed, a dazed look in her eyes. “Well, I’m—glad that you did.”

“You don’t look glad,” he teased, smirking.

“Oh! Oh, no, I am! No, I just—well, you surprised me, that’s all. No, I really am—very happy that you told me.”

He waited for her to say more, but she didn’t. “Hermione?”

“Hmm?”

“Is there—anything else you want to say?”

He could tell that she understood perfectly what he was asking, and the blush on her cheeks deepened. She continued to twist her fingers, avoiding his eyes. He could almost see the moment she decided to tell him. Her shoulders squared, her jaw set and she took a long breath. “Actually, Harry, there is. I suppose I should have said something a long time ago, like you, but I—didn’t know how you felt. Now that I know, I don’t see any reason not to tell you. I—um, I love you, too, Harry. I—I have for a long while.”

He barely fought back the urge to jump in the air and let out a loud whoop. Instead, he allowed himself a wide grin. “I—I was really hoping you’d say that.”

She nodded, smiling. “So, what now? I mean, I think the admission of love usually comes later in the relationship, if at all, so—where do we start?”

“We could pick up where we left off last night,” Harry suggested, trying, and failing, to make it sound innocent.

Hermione giggled. “I think that maybe we should—take it a bit slower than that. If this is headed where I think it’s headed, then I think we’ll have time for that later.”

“Damn,” Harry muttered, shaking his head. “Can I at least kiss you?”

She breathed what was unmistakably a sigh of relief. “God, yes. Please do.”

He put his hand on her cheek, turning her face toward him. She leaned forward, kissing him gently, almost experimentally, and he let her, not willing to push her just yet. While none of this seemed new to him, it was to her. She didn’t remember all the times that they’d been together, which technically, had never happened now. This Hermione was still a virgin, something he hadn’t known the first time around. She had no idea that, in his mind, he’d been inside her several times, knew exactly how she sounded when she was aroused, and knew exactly what to do to make her lose every semblance of control. She broke off the kiss, an inquisitive look on her face. “I, um—wow.” She laughed softly. “I think we’re going to need to do quite a lot of that in the very near future.”

He grinned. “I hope so. And—not to ruin the mood but—we should probably consider telling Ron sometime soon. He’s not going to be happy about it, but I think it will be worse if we—don’t tell him.”

Hermione sighed. “I suppose we should. I don’t want to hurt him, though. Do you think he’ll be okay with it? Eventually, I mean?”

“I’m sure he’ll come around. It might take him some time.”

“And, in the meantime, I guess we’ll have to—try not to be—you know.”

“Gropey? Touchy-feely? Snog-crazy?”

Hermione giggled again. “I was going to say openly-affectionate.”

“Same thing,” he laughed. “We’ll just have to do all of our groping in privacy, then.”

“What’s with you?” Hermione gasped, trying to look appalled. “I’d never imagined you would be so--.”

“Horny?”

“Okay, yes. Horny. Of course, you are seventeen, which I suppose means you’re going to be--.”

“Hermione?”

She stopped, wincing. “Yes?”

“Don’t analyze me, just kiss me.”

She moved toward him again, and he decided he could only be so patient with her. He pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers, running his tongue across her lips. If snogging was all he was going to get for a while, he at least wanted to make it good. She gasped against his mouth, and he slid his tongue against hers, letting out a mental cheer when she moaned. He fought hard to keep his hands from wandering, but his hormones eventually won out and he allowed himself to reach up and cup her breast.

She didn’t stop him, didn’t pull away, so he kept going, unfastening her cloak then reaching up under her jumper. She pressed into his hand almost hesitantly, pulling back to look into his eyes. She was nearly breathless when she spoke. “I, um—I’m starting to rethink that ‘let’s take it slow’ thing.”

He laughed. “Maybe we should move this elsewhere, then. I don’t think a locker room is the most romantic place for a first time.”

She nodded. “I don’t really care about romance at the moment, but this bench is a bit hard.” Her hand was wandering up the inside of his thigh, and he sucked in a breath, his eyes sliding shut. “Then again, this is a—nice room.”

“Nice--,” he agreed, moaning as she cupped him through his trousers. “Are you—sure you want to do this?”

She hummed her appreciation of the way he was reacting to her. “Absolutely. And—the sooner, the better.”

He forced himself to move, snatching his Invisibility cloak off of the floor and pulling her to her feet. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

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He gripped her hand tightly as they hurried through the corridors, both of them sweating a bit from the thick layers of clothing they were wearing and the excitement of the moment. The cloak nearly slipped off of them several times, and when Harry discovered that the seventh floor hallway was deserted, he quickly pulled it off, tugging her toward their destination. She waited as he completed the ritual that made the door appear, then giggled as he tugged her inside and slammed the door shut behind him.

He pressed her against the door, capturing her lips in a rough kiss, hurriedly tugging at her cloak. They tried to undress each other as quickly as possible, cloth tearing here, buttons flying off there, and tumbled onto the bed wrapped in each other’s arms.

Hermione gasped when he pulled back from her, staring down into her eyes, feeling his heart skip in his chest. “You know I love you, right?”

She laughed softly. “I know.”

“And I’ll do anything to protect you, no matter how much it might hurt?”

She started to answer, and then frowned. “Harry, what--? What are you talking about?”

He sighed. “Just—don’t ever forget that I love you, all right? No matter what happens.”

She nodded, obviously concerned. “All right. I won’t forget, Harry.”

He took a deep breath and bent to kiss her, the words Vincolo per sempre echoing through his mind.

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I hope that you enjoyed it. It’s been fun writing it, and I have loved how much response it has gotten. I’m still floored by it. I hate that it has to end, but this will free me up to write another very different story now, which I’m looking forward to. Thank you all SO MUCH for reading. I know I say it all the time but—YOU ALL ROCK!

Thanks again to HarrynHermione4eva, the best beta anyone could ever ask for! I can’t tell you how much help you’ve been on this!

Oh, that’s right; I haven’t interpreted the words in the last line, have I? Shame on me. :D It’s Italian and it means Bonded Forever.

*grins*

It is finished. :D I replaced my last Author’s note with the final chapter, so Chapter 22 is now an actual chapter. :lol: Sorry about that. I had to add this so the story would show up as Updated. I’m already starting work on my next story, so it shouldn’t be too long before you hear from me again!

Take care! And THANK YOU AGAIN!