Shift of Focus

Sabine

Rating: NC17
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 26/06/2006
Last Updated: 03/07/2006
Status: in_progress

Harry finds he can deal with anything with Hermione by his side.

Chapters

1. Prologue and Chapter 1

2. untitled

3. Chapter 3

4. Chapter 4

5. Chapter 5

6. Chapter 6

1. Prologue and Chapter 1

Title: Shift of Focus
Author: Sabine
Rating: NC-17; this chapter R for language.
Genre: Romance, Angst.
Author notes: Thanks to three amazing men: XochiLuvr, Darth Lamblike, and Aurabolt for beta. They're all perfect, so any mistakes are mine alone.

This is my first H/Hr fic, and I'd really appreciate knowing what you think of it! This is not a WIP, it's a finished story of six chapters.

---Prologue

When Hermione looked up from the most grueling, traumatic week of her life, she was amazed to discover it had all happened in the space of 48 hours. She had vague memories of healers and nurses, family and friends, movement, tests, worry... but it all had settled into one big blur in her mind. She felt guilt more intensely than any physical aches or pains that were the results of the battle she'd helped fight--the same battle that had brought Ron to St. Mungo's.

She'd been at his bedside the entire two days, which had felt like a lifetime. She'd stared at his face, held his hand and prayed for a sign he was going to be ok. The healers weren't sure what kind of curse they were dealing with, and had to take a wait- and-see approach after exhausting all their tests. Harry had sat with her a majority of the time, only leaving at her insistence that he be checked out himself. He'd come through his defeat of Voldemort relatively unscathed, for which Hermione was indescribably thankful. She didn't know how she could've coped with sitting at the bedsides of both her friends.

As she walked along the halls of the hospital on her way to the apparation point, she tried to analyze her feelings, but had a difficult time of it. Emotions were something that were unpredictable and hard to pin down, and just didn't take to analysis very well, especially when there were a million and one different emotions all crammed into her mind.

Hermione felt responsible for Ron's condition since he'd pushed her out of the way. The curse aimed for her struck him instead, which added to the incredible sense of guilt she already felt from the argument they'd had hours before. They'd been in the middle of a discussion about their relationship, and she'd told him that she didn't care for him the way he cared for her. She'd known she had to be truthful with him from the beginning if she wanted to maintain any kind of relationship with him, whether it be friendship or something more, but it didn't make it any easier to say. Nor was it any easier to live with the memory of the look of misery on his face as she'd said it. It was a horrible way to have to leave a conversation, but they'd had no choice. The fight against Voldemort and his minions--the last fight--had begun.

When Ron had finally wakened, he'd smiled when he saw her at his bedside. She and Harry had let out collective sighs of relief, though she knew his was for a completely different reason than hers. She'd tried to chastise Ron for pushing her out of the way, but he'd just smiled at her and pointed out that she'd have done the same thing for him. Since it was true, she could only smile back at him and try to keep the tears in her eyes from falling. Finally sure he was going to be all right, she'd allowed Harry to talk her into going home to rest.

Back at Grimmauld Place, after talking with her parents for a good hour, Hermione dropped into bed and tried to clear her mind of all thoughts. Analyzing was good for a while, especially after having spent so little of the past few days thinking of herself, but it wasn't conducive to rest. Relaxing and thinking nothing-thoughts was enough to let her doze off, but it was a desperate sleep, not a comfortable one. Even while she slept it, she hated it because it wasn't the reprieve she needed.

Before she knew it, sunlight streamed through the windows onto her face. Her room faced South, so it had to be midday. She turned over in bed, trying to talk herself into sleeping more when she wanted nothing more than to get up and get back to St. Mungo's. Seeing that she wasn't alone in the room nearly caused her to jump three feet out of the bed.

"Harry, what on earth are you doing?" He had a strange look on his face and it immediately struck a white-hot spark of fear within her. "Is Ron okay? What's happened?" She hurried out of bed and knelt on one knee in front of the chair at the end of her bed where Harry sat, unspeaking and unmoving.

"Harry! Has something happened to Ron?" She took his shoulders and jostled him a bit, looking him in the eyes when he finally met her gaze.

"No, no, nothing's wrong, Ron is fine. I just came from there; he was resting. Mr. Weasley was with him, I didn't leave him alone."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to soothe her frayed nerves. "What're you doing here then, watching me while I sleep?"

"Yeah. I mean no. I mean... I was waiting for you to wake up. I, uh, have some errands to run, and wanted to, uh, let you know before I left."

She hadn't seen Harry tell such a blatant lie since Hogwarts, when he'd tell her anything he could think of to get her off his back about homework and the like.

"Tell me what's really going on, Harry," she said as she tightened her grip on his shoulders and took deep, calming breaths.

"Nothing, Hermione, I promise. I just wanted to see you before I left."

Something about the way he said that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle with unease. She couldn't think of anything to say, so she got up with him when he stood, stepped back as he left the room, and watched as he pulled the door shut behind him. It wasn't often she didn't know what to say, and it usually didn't last long. The present moment was no exception. She hurried after him, her tongue trying to grasp any one of the million questions zipping about her head.

He was standing just outside her door with his head down. She could see he was fiddling with something in his hands and it struck her an almost physical blow when she realized what was going on. She latched onto his shoulders at almost the same instant he activated the Portkey.

---

---Chapter 1

Harry's head was spinning by the time he and Hermione landed on a very hard surface somewhere. He was laying on his stomach and agony was clouding his vision and making it hard to breathe. He looked down to find his right leg bent up at an awkward angle under his left leg. Nothing seemed broken, but he thought his knee might be sprained. Hermione was lying haphazardly across his back, her light weight making it even worse, though he could tell she was trying to get up. Once she was up, he tried to turn over but moving caused a throbbing pain to shoot up his leg. It was horrible, more than he could bear, and he was swallowed up by beautiful nothingness.

---

"Harry? Harry, wake up!" Hermione's voice finally broke into the fog in his mind. He slipped back into consciousness slowly and carefully, testing the waters that were his injured knee. He realized Hermione had straightened his legs out while he'd been out; he felt only moderate pain. Compared to earlier, he decided he could probably make it.

"Harry? Are you all right?" He opened his eyes to see Hermione crouched before him in the faint light with a worried frown on her face.

"Yeah, I think so."

Ignoring Hermione for the moment, he sat up and started to examine their surroundings. They were in a small, dim room containing only the barest of furniture. There was a kitchen-like area in one corner, which consisted of a sink, a cabinet with a small electric stove underneath it, and a table with two chairs. On the opposite wall there was a small sofa; in the back corner, a bed next to a window and, in the last corner, a small room he hoped was a bathroom. He and Hermione were currently sitting on a large rug in front of a door that he assumed led outside.

He'd known the Portkey was going to send him into some kind of seclusion, but he'd had nothing more specific. Of course the seclusion was dependent upon him actually Portkeying by himself; Hermione's presence was something he'd neither desired nor planned for. In fact, it was quite the opposite of what he'd wanted when he'd made the decision to use the Portkey Dumbledore had given him long ago. What exquisite torture this was going to be, he thought.

"Where are we?" Hermione asked as she forced him to look at her with a hand on his chin. He jerked out of her grasp and looked at his hands in his lap while he tried to think of an explanation that wouldn't make it obvious that he was running away like a coward.

"I'm not exactly sure," he answered slowly.

"What do you mean you're not sure? How on earth... why would you even consider using a Portkey if you weren't sure where it was going to take you? Where did you get it? What if it'd been some kind of a trap--"

"It's not a trap. Dumbledore gave it to me a long time ago."

That seemed to throw a wrench in the gears of her mind; she was quiet a moment. He sighed as he considered the situation. He'd thought it a crazy idea at first, but when he'd remembered the Portkey, getting away from magic for a month had sounded like a great gift. Getting away from people had seemed like a blessing, especially after the events of the past few days. Watching Hermione at Ron's bedside had become more than he knew how to deal with.

"Oh," Hermione said, breaking into his thoughts. "Why did you want to come here then, Harry?"

"I just needed some time away!" he almost yelled at her. It wasn't much of an answer, but maybe it'd be good enough to satisfy her for at least a few minutes.

"So... okay. When do you want to go back?" she said meekly, drawing back from him and his ire.

He sighed and looked up at her. She was sitting across from him on the rug, watching him intently.

"I don't know. I'm not sure I want to," he said in a tone of voice that left no doubt about how angry he was. He wasn't even aware he was going to tell her the truth until it had spilled out of his mouth. Surprisingly enough though, she didn't seem to be very shocked.

"Do you want me to leave then?" she asked, hurt evident in her voice.

This was the part he'd been dreading since he'd felt her hands on his shoulders. He looked away from her direct gaze; he didn't want to know her reaction to what he was about to say.

"Well, um, that's just the thing... you can't." He wasn't as angry as he knew he sounded; it was just so hard to get out of that frame of mind once he'd gotten started in it.

She was quiet a moment.

"What?"

"You can't leave. Not yet anyway. Neither of us can, actually. The Portkey is set to activate again in a month, and this house is warded just like Hogwarts. Dumbledore conjured them himself."

"You don't know where the wards end?"

"No idea. I've never been here before."

"Okay then. Well. I guess we'll just have to make the best of things. Come on, I'll help you up since you seem to have sprained your leg or something." Her voice spoke of courage he couldn't see in her face as she got up and dusted her pants off. He hated when she treated him nicely, as if he hadn't been snapping her head off the entire time they'd been together. It deflated a good part of his bad humor, leaving him numb and distracted.

"Say, can't you turn on some lights? I can barely see you," he said as he took her hand and struggled to his feet. He bit his traitorous tongue; it kept letting thoughts out of his mind that he'd intended to keep to himself.

"What?" She froze, causing him to have to stop as well since he was leaning on her to keep from putting much weight on his sore leg. He sighed as he resigned himself to admitting to her what was going on. He wouldn't have been able to hide it from her for long, anyway.

"There's something I didn't tell you...."

"Yes?" Her gaze never left his face as she leaned in to remove his glasses. That done, she began to look at his right eye almost like a doctor would, moving his eyelids up and down. He tried not to lose his temper again; he'd been poked and prodded far more than enough at St. Mungo's.

"Er, well, before I actually got to Voldemort the other day, I got hit with a curse."

She didn't respond, just moved on to the left eye.

"Hermione!" The petulance was back, and she flinched at the sound of it in his voice. "Stop it!"

"What was the curse?" she asked, continuing to examine his eyes despite the heat that had to be rolling off of his face.

"I don't know; there were lots of them flying around."

"You don't know?" she asked incredulously, stepping back from him.

"No, Hermione, I don't. Besides, I've already had this discussion with the Healers." He sighed and squinted as he watched Hermione fidget. His fury had suddenly gone, leaving him feeling hollow without it again.

"You mean you've known about this for days and not said anything to me?"

"You seemed to have enough on your mind at the time, what with worrying about Ron and all."

He took her momentary inability to speak as a chance to prompt her to help him move to the bed, where he sat heavily.

"Tell me what the Healers said," she said in a demanding voice as she sat next to him.

"They didn't really have a lot to tell me. Just like with Ron, they'd never seen anything like it before. They were researching it last I heard."

She looked at him expectantly, as if she thought he wasn't finished. He just looked back at her.

"That's it?"

"Yeah."

"God, Harry, I can't believe you didn't try to find out more! Don't you realize what's happening here? You're losing your sight! It's somewhere around noon, Harry. This room is bright with sunlight!" She sounded slightly hysterical, which he didn't have the patience to deal with.

"Yes, Hermione, I know," he said as he fell back on the bed and closed his soon-to-be-useless eyes.

---

When he awoke from a sleep he didn't remember entering, Harry could detect a very faint light coming from somewhere, but couldn't see his hands in front of him. He looked around for Hermione but when he found he was unable to see her, he immediately felt the stir of panic. Just because he'd known it was going to happen didn't make it any less scary. That was another reason he'd decided to leave; he couldn't stand the thought of anyone seeing him weak and scared.

"Hermione, where are you?" He tried to stand, but dizziness and his still painful knee caused him to fall back onto the bed. His inability to move made the terror worse. "Hermione!" he nearly screamed.

"Harry, I'm right here, calm down! It's ok!" Finally she was looming in the darkness in front of him, taking his hands and wiping his fringe away from the sweat on his forehead. "It's ok, Harry. Everything's going to be ok." He could hear fear in her voice despite the confidence she was trying to project. He tried to calm himself, but it was like he had no control over his body. He was breathing in great gulps of air and it felt like his lungs were going to explode.

Hermione pulled him to the edge of the bed and pushed his head toward his knees. She sat beside him with one hand on his arm, and the other rubbing his back. After a few minutes, his breathing returned to normal and he had the sense to know he'd been hyperventilating.

"What am I going to do, Hermione?" he asked without moving He didn't want her to see him crying like a baby.

"You're going to be fine, Harry. I'm sure there's something we can do," she said in a soft voice. "We just have to... figure out what. I wish we had access to a library here." The hand that had been on his back was now running through his hair; he briefly thought that if she stopped touching him, he would get lost in the darkness. They were both ignoring the proverbial elephant in the room: worry that, by the time the Portkey was set to take them back, it'd be too late to do anything. For the first time since remembering the Portkey, he questioned the wisdom of running away. He was always acting without thinking.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Promise you won't leave me, please?"

"You know I won't, Harry."

He felt weak for wanting her with him, but he couldn't help it. An indescribable fear was claiming his mind and reason and he couldn't find the rage he'd clung to so inappropriately. He was suddenly so glad for her presence, and wondered what kind of miracle had caused her to be there with him.

"Rest, Harry. I'm going over to the table to finish sorting through some potions I found, ok? I'll only be a few steps away, so if you call for me, it'll just take seconds for me to get to you." He didn't really want her to leave him even to go across the room, but he nodded his head and she helped him lie back on the bed.

Before too long, he was sleeping fitfully. Several times through the night, he was vaguely aware of Hermione soothing him from nightmares. At one point, he thought he felt the bed move as if she'd lain down with him. Only half awake, he took comfort in her closeness, which anchored him in space, and his sleep was more peaceful.

---

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2. untitled

---Chapter 2

Harry felt slightly better after a full night's rest, despite being completely blind when he opened his eyes. It was still terrifying, but he somehow felt better equipped to cope with it in the figurative light of a new day.

He'd awakened to the sound of birds singing morning songs and a cool, tree-scented breeze blowing over him. These things soothed some nameless, aching hurt in him, and he felt calmer than he had in ages. He'd heard of people who'd lost their sight having their other senses strengthen as a result. He wouldn't have believed it, especially that it could happen in such a short amount of time, except that he could feel a small change already. Of course, he was clinging to every sensation he could in an effort to keep from totally flipping out.

"How are you feeling this morning, Harry?" Hermione startled him by asking.

"Not too bad," he lied. "You?"

"Can you see anything at all?"

"Not really, no." He tried to calm himself; if he let his instincts take over, he'd throw up all over the place. "Are you ok?" he asked again as he listened to the sounds of her moving about.

"I'm fine, Harry. Here, I need you to take this potion." Her hands were cold, he noticed as she helped him sit up and then put a mug in his hands which he only sipped at. "How's your leg?"

"It was my knee, actually. It doesn't hurt anything like it did yesterday." He figured her way of coping was to fuss over him, so he didn't complain as she pulled his pants leg up to look at his knee.

"It doesn't look too bad, not much swelling or bruising."

"Lucky me," he said in an annoyed tone of voice; she was so close her could smell her, and that had to change. It seemed to have the opposite effect though; Hermione settled onto the edge of the bed next to him, hip to hip, and an uncomfortable silence fell upon them.

"I'm worried about you, Harry," she said after a few minutes.

"I'm ok," he whispered back, as if he was afraid someone else would hear him. Hermione scooted even closer to him and laid her head over on his shoulder. He wanted to take her hand, or comfort her like she'd done for him the night before, but he was afraid to. One touch would lead to two touches, which would lead to him craving more and more touches, which she'd feel uncomfortable giving him, which would lead to her knowing his main reason for running away.

"Do you have any idea of where we are?" he asked when he could stand the quiet no longer.

"No. We're out in the country somewhere; the only thing I can see through the window is trees and sky. I stepped out the front door, but the only thing to be seen is a path that leads to a dirt road and more trees."

"Do you think Ron and the others are looking for us?"

"I'm sure they are. Unless you left a note saying where you were going?"

"I didn't. I was going to tell you I was leaving--"

"'To run errands'. What were you thinking, Harry?" she interrupted him, but her voice was sad, not angry like he felt she should be--like he wanted her to be. Her sadness was far worse than her anger, which he was sure he could deal with.

"I wasn't thinking much at all, to be honest. I was scared to death. My life was changing by the minute and I had absolutely no control over it," he said defensively.

"And leaving has helped how?"

"I'm away from whatever's going on in the Wizarding world. All the damn reporters, and owls, and celebrating, and--" There went his stupid loose tongue again. He'd nearly let everything slip. He needed to read up on mental illnesses that might cause one to say things one meant to keep close to their chest, he thought as he rested his head in his hands.

"And what?" she asked.

"Nothing."

Hermione didn't respond, and in a few minutes she stood up, leaving him feeling cold where she'd been warm against him.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"Yeah, I could eat. Is there food? I didn't see any last night."

"The cupboard is charmed to provide us with what we need," she informed him as she moved around the room. Before too long, the aroma of toast sent a jolt of hunger through his body, making him realize he'd had nothing to eat the previous day.

He stood and, arms outstretched, tried to make his way to the table picturing what he remembered of the room. He had to start getting used to this, he thought with a sigh. If he had to have her lead him around the tiny room much, he'd spontaneously combust, he was certain.

His knee was still very sore, but he found he could limp along pretty well on it. Before he'd taken many steps (the room seemed smaller than he remembered from his brief glimpse of it), his fingers found Hermione's soft, curly hair, causing her to yelp in fright.

"Oh! Harry, you startled me!" she said with a gasp. "Here, sit down."

He could hear a chair scrape the floor as she pulled it out, and she then took his hands and placed them on it.

"There's a plate in front of you. Toast is at 10 o'clock and kippers at 5. And the tea is almost ready."

"Thanks," he replied with a small smile as he sat down. Only Hermione would think to tell him where his food was located on his plate, and let him seat himself and all the other things he knew she'd do to keep him from feeling useless and inadequate. He'd been stupid to think that she'd be any different and to let it be a large factor in his decision to run to this cabin.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Hermione must've noticed his thoughtfulness, he figured.

"Yeah, I was just thinking is all," he said as he felt around for a fork; just as he found it the kettle whistled. He clumsily put the first bite in his mouth as he heard the sound of a teacup being placed on the table in front of him.

Harry wasn't really in the mood for conversation, but he still found himself hoping Hermione would talk to him while they ate, for some kind of normalcy. Instead, she remained silent for so long he knew he'd have to start the conversation. Unfortunately, he could only think of one topic that'd get her started, but it'd be better than painful quiet.

"What made you come after me the other day?"

"You were just acting odd; watching me sleep, and lying to me."

"How'd you know I was lying?"

"Oh for goodness' sake, Harry, you're such a bad liar."

"I am?"

"Yes. You always do this weird thing with your eyes, where you squint a little, and you get a cross look on your face."

It kind of shocked him to know that Hermione knew him well enough to have his expressions catalogued.

"I... uh... I don't know what to say."

"You could tell me a little more about why you thought it would be a good idea to come here," she suggested.

"I really don't think there's anything more than what I've already said. The healers were telling me I was going to be completely blind in a matter of days; there were reporters everywhere wanting to talk to me; Ron was... and you were...," he trailed off. "I just wanted to get away, get out of my head for a while, and get used to things on my own terms."

"Were you planning on coming back?" Her voice was small and he thought he could detect hurt in it. He considered her question while he chewed, using a full mouth as an excuse to put off at least some of the discomfort this was going to cause.

"Like I said, I don't know. I hadn't really thought it all through. I had a lot on my mind."

Hermione was silent a few moments, during which Harry's appetite abandoned him. He pushed his plate back and tried to grope around for his tea without looking like he was groping.

"It's at about 2 o'clock."

He sighed and reconsidered the thought that she wasn't going to make him feel useless.

"I put your wand in the drawer right in front of you, by the way."

"Thanks," he said as he felt around for the drawer pull under the edge of the table. He wasn't sure he'd be able to use it effectively, but it was comforting to have it in his pocket.

After they'd eaten, they cleaned up from breakfast. Or rather Hermione cleaned, and Harry tried to help using a minimum of words. He'd felt so thankful for her presence just the night before, but now he felt a need to keep his distance from her. He hated the inconsistencies of his weaknesses. How was it normal to crave someone's presence, only to have that presence cause pain?

It might've been a survival instinct, he finally decided, settling down onto the couch once again. If he wasn't near Hermione, thoughts of her wouldn't have any influence over him. He'd be able to think of something other than how much he wished things were different. Maybe without that hopeless endeavor monopolizing all his brain power, he'd have time and space to come to terms with Ron and Hermione being a couple. If he came to terms with that, it would render his emotions irrelevant. You can't love someone who loves someone else.

And if he thought that often enough, maybe he'd start to believe it.

---

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3. Chapter 3

Author's notes: This is where the NC-17 rating comes into effect. I'm hoping I don't lose anyone with this chapter! Thank each and every one of you who've given me a review. I've had so much fun posting my first story on here because of you.

---Chapter 3

They'd been in the cabin for nearly a week before Harry let go of some of his desire to escape. He'd sat around during that week doing nothing; he and the couch were old friends by the end of the first day. For a few days, Hermione had tried to get him to talk or move around, but she'd given up after one too many of his grunts and non- answers. At first he'd tried to deny her, but he found he was tired of sitting in one position all day long. Even he could get tired of distancing himself from the rest of the world.

He finally gave in and, to have something to do as well as get her off his back, let Hermione help him learn his way around the small room. They mainly concentrated on counting steps, but he also worked on feeling his way around a little bit. It was silly really, considering how small the place was, but Harry felt it was good to have something abstract to occupy his mind. Eventually, he hoped, they'd move to the out of doors. And there was always the possibility that being able to do such things could come in handy in the future.

One morning, after his shuffling feet had gotten caught under the edge of the rug in the center of the room three times, they decided they should move it. It was a large, heavy hooked rug, and it took both of them to roll it and stow it behind the couch. When they were done, they were both dusty and sweaty and Harry felt ready for a bath. He wasn't expecting Hermione's anxiety level to shoot through the roof, though.

"What if you trip and fall into the bathtub? You could drown!" she argued, as if this was going to convince him to stay away from the bathroom. "Let's just cast cleansing charms again, Harry, please?"

"I imagine you'll know if I fall; it's not like you wouldn't be able to hear me splashing. I don't want a charm, Hermione. I want a bath!"

"Yes, but what if I couldn't get to you in time?"

"Hermione, it's not that big a room. You told me the first night it'd just take a few seconds to get to me, remember?" he said with a sigh. He could see her in his mind's eye, biting her lip and a crease between her eyebrows. It was the expression she got when she knew he was going to do something dangerous and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

"Yes, I know; I just worry," she said in a small voice, as if it pained her to admit it. He knew he was both winning and losing the argument, if it were at all possible.

"How about if you help me into the tub? Would that make you feel better?" Yes, he thought, he definitely had some kind of mental illness that caused him to speak things that were better left in the back of his mind, shoved out of sight and left undisturbed. This was the crux of his problems, the main reason he'd had for running. He wanted the one girl in all the world he knew he could never have, and he'd just invited her to see him naked.

"Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed as she smothered him with a huge hug that he tried very hard to be annoyed by, though he failed miserably. "Yes, that would make me feel much better," she said with such relief in her voice that it was impossible not to smile.

So it happened that he found himself being helped into a huge, old claw foot tub by a girl he had it bad for. The invasion of privacy wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be. He could pretend she was looking at anything but him if he couldn't see where she was really looking. Of course, since he had fallen for her, the thought of her seeing him starkers wasn't bad. It was the fact that she seemed uncomfortable enough that he could practically hear her blushing that put him out of sorts.

With her finally safely out of the room, he tried to think of anything but Hermione as he searched for and found the soap and a washcloth. He focused instead on the wonderfully warm water he'd just sank into. It was very strange to take a bath while he couldn't see anything. Every touch seemed magnified and he noticed things he'd surely felt before, but hadn't paid attention to. The warmth was very relaxing and soothing, especially to his sore knee. The coarse washcloth felt indescribably good as he washed off, and the soft lather of the soap provided an interesting contrast. The soap bubbles, as they moved from the bottom of the tub to the surface of the water, tickled against his extra-sensitive skin.

All of the 'new' sensations, combined with the knowledge that Hermione was sitting on the other side of the door brought Harry to a rather awkward state by the time he was ready to get out of the tub. He hadn't felt like wanking for a long time; it was something he just hadn't had the time or inclination to do while he was worrying about surviving day to day. He'd read somewhere, probably at Hermione's insistence, that the body would deal only with the things it was capable of. For instance, if he were sick, his body would put all its energy into recuperating, instead of arousal. So while he'd been consumed by his worries for the last months, his body had been putting energy into keeping his sanity and the like.

He didn't know what to do. No amount of trying not to think of Hermione was helping. If he were to take care of things, so to speak, she'd probably hear him. And there was the issue of cleanup, which would be very difficult, if not impossible, without his sight. But if he were to not take care of things, she'd definitely see him....

He was only making things worse.

Ron. He had to think of Ron sitting in a hospital bed, wondering what'd happened to his girlfriend and best friend. He probably thought they'd run off together; it'd be understandable, Hermione being so pretty, with her porcelain skin, and...

Or, he mused, he could sit there till the water turned cold and that would take care of all his problems.

All his problems except one: Hermione was getting worried.

"Harry, are you ok? What's taking so long?"

"Yes, Hermione, I'm fine. I'm just soaking my sore leg in the water." This bought him a few minutes in which he tried to will his unwelcome guest away, but then she started getting impatient, which caused him even more troubles.

"I'm dying to have a shower, Harry. Are you coming out of there anytime soon?"

"Yeah, I'll be out in just a few minutes," he said, trying to sound as if he weren't so horny it was hindering his ability to think.

Thoughts of Hermione, naked with sudsy water cascading down her body caused him to break out in a sweat that the cooling water couldn't touch. He had to do something, or he'd be sitting where he was all day; he cursed himself for being able to get aroused at such a crazy time. He'd just have to be really quiet, and maybe if he kept it underwater, the cleanup wouldn't be too bad.

The knowledge that he'd be wearing his balls in a bag around his neck if Hermione or Ron ever found out about his deepest, most hidden fantasies didn't faze his hard-on, much as he wished it would. He tried to keep images of her far away from his mental theater, but he was fighting a losing battle. She was his most constant friend and the woman he knew best in the world; it was natural he'd find her attractive, he tried to convince himself. It had nothing to do with her tall, slender figure, her long, curly hair, or her soft, supple skin and water rinsing all the soap away....

His determination to be quiet was immediately tested by the gasp he had to hold back when he finally wrapped his hand around his cock, and he totally forgot about cleanup. Even the familiar touch of his palm was amplified, to say the least. It was almost as if it were the first time he'd ever jerked off, the feelings were so different and new. He imagined it was someone else's hand on him. His mind supplied him with a picture of Hermione, though he wouldn't let himself admit it.

She wouldn't know what he liked, but he'd teach her. She'd always been a fast learner and she loved doing it. And this was one subject he wouldn't mind studying with her. His mind raced with the possibilities.

A great tension he'd been unaware of left his body as he repeatedly worked himself from root to tip, tip to root. It was so good to just relax, let his worries go for a few minutes, and be a normal teenage boy.

A normal teenage boy whose best friend/ object of his fantasies had just walked in on him having a quick wank. He was right in the middle of coming harder than he could remember ever coming, and didn't hear the door open.

Hermione's cry of "Oh, God, Harry!" was all it took to drag him back to earth. Through the haze of his orgasm, he heard her slam the door in her haste to get out of the room. His mind was still useless, but he could hear her muttering numerous apologies from the other room.

Once Hermione was quiet and Harry could think clearly, he wanted to die of shame. He knew Hermione had no way of knowing he'd been thinking about her, but that didn't ease the complete and abject horror he felt. He couldn't have, in his worst nightmares, thought up a more horrible scenario for his first non-solo sexual experience. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to block out the trauma--it was fighting for top spot in his list of 'The Five Most Horrific Things That Have Ever Happened to Me'. It wasn't as bad as watching Voldemort's nasty, sub- human body stand up in that cauldron, or watching someone die, or even losing his sight, but it was pretty bad. And, he thought, he needed to revise that list; five spots weren't nearly enough for all the bad things he'd experienced even in the last year.

After reaching forward and pulling the stopper from the drain, he laid back and rested his head on the edge of the tub. The only way he knew to deal with this was to pretend it hadn't happened. Now if he could just work up the nerve to get on with pretending.

"Hermione?" he yelled before he was consciously aware he was going to do it. Stupid tongue, always speaking without consulting him first.

"Yes?" she replied in a small voice from the other side of the door.

"I'm ready to get out."

"Does that mean you want me to come in now?"

Now was a fine time for her to ask that question, he thought with a sigh as he mentally counted to ten and called out "Yes".

"I forgot to tell you where the towels were earlier, that's what I was coming in to tell you. I'm really sorry, Harry," she said from a distance he had to assume was as close as she could get to being in the room without actually being in the room. He'd never been one to blush much, but he felt that the last fifteen minutes of his life had made up for it. He'd probably worn out all the ability he had to do it and wouldn't have to worry about it ever again.

"Let's just forget that ever happened, ok? If we don't, we'll never get through whatever time we have to be here."

"Yes, you're absolutely right. But I really am sorry--"

"If you keep apologizing, how are we going to forget it? Just... let's knock before we walk in on each other in the bathroom from now on, ok? It'll be an off-limits area; we've got to be able to have some kind of privacy around here somehow."

She didn't answer but finally came into the room, and he felt a towel touch his hand that was on the edge of the bathtub. Taking it, he wiped his face and hair dry before handing it back to Hermione. His knee was starting to hurt a little and he was pretty sure he'd need both hands on the edge of the tub to push himself up.

For the first time since he'd entered the bathroom, he was glad for Hermione's presence; he slipped just as he got to his feet. Before he could fall flat on his ass though, she'd somehow gotten a good enough grip on his arm to keep him from it. She made a little wordless sound that seemed to say 'see, I told you so', but she kept it to that, apparently sensing that he was very close to his breaking point.

"You realize that probably would've happened even if I could see, right?" he asked, letting his bad mood show in his voice, and grabbing the towel from her when she handed it back to him.

Hermione didn't reply, but as he stepped out of the tub and toweled off with her hovering somewhere nearby, he was sure he could hear her sniffling as if she were crying. Immediately he felt awful for behaving the way he had, but he still felt angry at her for just walking in without knocking and blowing every shred of privacy he'd ever needed to smithereens. He didn't really know what to say to her that wouldn't hurt her feelings or embarrass them anymore, so he kept his mouth shut.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he gestured for her to lead him into the other room, where he sat on the edge of the bed. She'd taken his clothes with her when she'd left him before so she could do cleaning charms, and he felt his jeans next to him.

"Go ahead and have your shower, Hermione."

"You'll be ok getting dressed?"

He sighed and counted to ten again. "Yes, I can dress on my own. I'm a big boy now, didn't you see?"

She immediately sniffled again; he heard her walk away, shut the bathroom door and after a moment the shower turned on.

As he flopped back on the bed, he was surrounded by Hermione's scent and, while trying to keep his body under control, decided to move to the couch. Once there and dressed, he remembered the forgotten issue of cleanup and wondered if he could spend the rest of his life hiding his face in the cushions. ---

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4. Chapter 4

Author's notes: Thank you each and every reviewer, once again. I'm so happy to know how many of you stuck with me through chapter three; I hope I can prove it wasn't just gratuitous smut, it actually has a purpose.

---Chapter 4

Harry spent as much of the next few days on the couch as he could, despite Hermione alternately demanding and begging he get up and do something. Even days after it'd happened, he was still smarting from the humiliation of her having walked in on him, coupled with the fact that she'd seemed disgusted by him--he could still hear the sound of the slamming door in his mind. Worst of all, he was still attracted to her. If he thought about it much, arousal would creep along his body, causing him to have to turn to the back of the couch again, where he knew she wouldn't be able to see much of him. So his head was not a fun place to be, no matter how hard he tried to push his worries away.

It was very early in the morning, probably before sunrise. He could tell by the way the breeze coming in the window had gotten slightly warmer, and the birds were starting to make racket. She was trying to be quiet, but Hermione had woken him getting up to use the bathroom; or rather the way she'd yelped when she'd stubbed her toe on something had. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought Hermione had been leaving all the lights off the past few nights. He didn't really understand this, but he thought she was trying to punish herself by pretending she couldn't see, or maybe that she was trying to find new ways to help him by experiencing blindness for herself. Either one sounded like something she'd do.

He was at the table, where he'd been sitting waiting for her to get done in the bathroom. She'd just come out, and he could hear her feet slowly shuffling along the floor as she came closer to him. She gasped and jumped when her outstretched hand found his chest. He could sense her trying to regain her balance and grabbed her hand to help. Hermione was quiet, but he knew her wheels were turning. She was trying to think of something to say that would keep him from noticing the lack of light and the fact that she was wading around in it.

"What are you doing up? I thought you were asleep."

"Ah yes," he said with a dry chuckle. "The old mother hen routine. Good choice, Hermione."

"You didn't answer my question. Why aren't you asleep?" This was the most they'd said to each other since the bathroom fiasco, and what little they'd spoken had been kept to his health and needs. He wasn't about to take chances with anything pertaining to himself; he was afraid his tongue would start running wild again.

"I was, but I had a dream and decided to get up for a while." Harry had the occasional nightmare; he knew Hermione knew about them, but he didn't know why he always avoided discussing them whenever possible. "I've slept too much lately anyway. I thought maybe we could talk, if you weren't going back to sleep, that is."

A quick breath let him know that she was surprised by his sudden desire to talk, though he decided to ignore how horribly he'd been treating her the past few days.

"Please, Hermione, I can't sleep right now. Talking might help me relax." He hoped he didn't sound like he was whining. Or begging.

A sigh let him know he'd won. Pulling on their still-connected hands, she led him to the couch where they both sat down on top of the blankets he'd been using. An uncomfortable silence fell on them, but he was determined to draw her out at least a little bit by making her start the conversation. Unfortunately, he'd forgotten how stubborn Hermione could be. After a few minutes of listening to pre-dawn bird songs, he gave up.

"So what do you think Ron is doing? Looking for us? Going crazy with worry?"

"Yes, I imagine so."

"You never did tell me what happened, you know."

"When Ron was hit with the curse?"

"Yes." He wondered if she'd be able to talk about it.

"One of the Death Eaters threw a curse my way while I was occupied by another of them. Ron saw what was happening and jumped in front of me."

"And?"

"And you know the rest." He knew he'd suddenly turned warm from ice cold, wanting to talk after so many days of quiet, but it was early in the day, so it didn't count, right? They'd go back to sleep, and when they woke, it'd be as if it'd never happened.

"You haven't told me what happened with Voldemort either, you know."

"I haven't, have I? I'm not sure I'm ready to talk about it yet."

"I understand. But when you get ready, I'm here."

"Thanks; it means a lot that you'd say that after the way I've treated you since we got here."

"That's what friends are for, isn't it?" she said in a low voice after only a moment's hesitation.

"I wouldn't really know, being the awful friend I am," he said with a mirthless laugh.

"Harry, don't do that to yourself."

"Don't do what? Speak the truth?"

"No, don't speak so badly about yourself. You've always been a good friend to me and Ron."

"Even in fifth year?"

"Well, you could've been a little bit more understanding with us. But yeah, even then."

He didn't know what to say. He didn't feel like taking the conversation any further into the horrors of his behavior back then, and he couldn't think of anything to change the subject to.

"Have... uh.... Oh, never mind," Hermione hesitantly broke the silence.

"What?" He wasn't just going to let her drop a perfectly good subject- changer.

"I just was wondering if you hadn't wondered where your glasses were."

"To be honest, it hadn't entered my mind. I've been kind of preoccupied with other things, I guess."

"Yeah, I guess it was a silly question."

"Hermione, you've never even thought of a silly question." It was a ludicrous idea. Surely she knew that.

"Ha. Right." Or maybe she didn't.

"Do you know where I'd be if you hadn't followed me out of your bedroom that morning?" She didn't answer, so he went on. "I'd still be sitting on that rug where we landed."

She laughed, but it was an unnatural sound, strained and forced.

"Why did Professor Dumbledore give you that Portkey, anyway?"

"'For our friend Justin Case'," he told her with a sigh. It was still slightly difficult to talk about Dumbledore.

Hermione laughed at this and he joined her; it was such a Dumbledore thing to say. As they quieted, Hermione took his hand, which shocked the laughter right out of him. He waited for her to speak, figuring she had some reason for such intimacy.

"Are you still angry at me, Harry?" Her voice was barely a whisper, and carried notes of worry, fear and pain with it.

"Still a bit embarrassed, but angry, no. I'm not sure I really was to start with." It was a bit of a lie, but she was worth it.

"I would never have intruded on you like that on purpose, you must know. I wouldn't dream of doing anything like that."

"I know you wouldn't, Hermione, but it's just... it was just so terribly embarrassing. I mean, imagine if I'd walked in on you...." Good Lord, he thought. Where had that thought come from, and how could he strike it from his memory forever? "Um, that is to say, imagine if I'd walked in on you and I could see you... uh, when I still had my sight."

She didn't speak for a few minutes, and Harry was rather glad. He wasn't sure he'd have been able to answer without making an even bigger fool of himself. He was already trying to think of some way to surreptitiously pull some of his discarded blanket over his lap, should the need become desperate.

"Harry, I want you to know--"

"Let's not talk about this anymore, please?"

"Just let me say this one thing while I've got the nerve worked up, ok? I know it's been bothering you, and I want you to stop trying to distance yourself from me because of it." He reluctantly nodded his assent and she continued. "That was a very beautiful thing--"

"Hermione!" he yelped, almost panicking. "Please, we... uh... I.... You think my... is beautiful?" His mind was reeling, searching for a handhold somewhere in the middle of all the madness.

"Oh good grief, Harry! Not your... that. What you were doing. Although... your... uh... you're a beautiful man, too."

He was totally astounded; Hermione had just proved her Gryffindor mettle. Unfortunately, his was currently missing in action; he had absolutely no idea what to say or how to act. He became aware of the fact that his mouth was trying to form words he didn't have.

"You don't have to say anything, Harry," she said as she released his hand and pushed his chin up to shut his mouth. "I just wanted you to know." With that she quickly kissed him on the cheek and stood up. "I'm going to sleep a bit more. Don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything."

He needed his head to stop spinning, and maybe for her to remind him how to breathe. He was a complete fool for having pushed her away the past days, sanity be damned; it wasn't like he was ever going to stop feeling the way he did about her. Not only was she a gorgeous woman, but she was an amazing person. She was a much better person than he'd ever be, that was for sure.

Adrenaline was pumping through his veins instead of blood; that was the only thing he could figure would give him the nerve to leave the safety and distance of the couch. But seconds after standing, he felt the bed against his legs and knew he had to act on his instincts, not his conscience. Kneeling down, he allowed his hands to roam and search her out. They finally found her hair, and then her back.

She was lying facing the wall; sliding his hands up towards her shoulder and gently grasping it, he turned her over to face him, half on her back, half on her right side. Tentatively, he let his hand resume its journey; from her shoulder he moved to her collarbone and over the edge of her shirt to the skin of her neck. She shivered as he touched her, and it seemed to create a tidal wave; he found himself matching it with one of his own.

When his hand made it to her chin and then her cheek, he stopped a moment to enjoy the simple sensation of touching her. He couldn't stay still for long. He wanted to explore every inch of her, and her face was an excellent place to start.

She blinked when his fingers swept against her lower eyelashes and he thought it was the single most amazing thing he'd ever felt. Her eyes were open, she was watching him. He wondered if there was light enough coming through the window for her to see him. With his first finger resting just below her eye, it left his thumb perfectly positioned by her mouth. He didn't ignore the impulse to kiss her. He could feel her breath speeding up in the seemingly endless seconds it took him to bend over and put his lips where his thumb had been.

She tasted like nothing he could find words for; sweet, silky, blissful, soft and a million other things. She was motionless other than her eyelashes batting against his fingers; she was watching him as he kissed her. She kissed him back after a moment and her lips moving beneath his were heaven, pure and simple. But there were tears running down her face onto his hand, pooling where his hand was still resting against her cheekbone. He broke the kiss; he'd known before he'd acted on the crazy impulse that she cared for someone else. He'd known, but it didn't make the pain any less potent.

He made the decision to get up, but realized he should tell her something while he was still numb with adrenalin.

"Hermione? I'm sorry I've pushed you away, but it wasn't because you walked in on me. I've been trying so hard not to want you like this." He knew it was a strange way to go about telling her how he felt, but he was tired of hiding it.

"Oh God, Harry! How long-- Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't, Hermione. There was too much at stake, too many people it would hurt."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to cause you so much pain," she said as she reached up to wipe tears from her cheeks, brushing his hand in the process. The slight touch brought a thrill to him he knew he'd never feel from someone else. He was quiet a few seconds, trying to figure out what to say next.

"I love you, Hermione. I know you're with Ron now, so you can forget I ever said it, if you want to. I just needed to say it once." He'd never really put his feelings into words before, but the absolute rightness of it was more than he could argue with.

"Harry...." She pushed his hands away, sat up and threw her arms around him. Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs and he mentally hated himself for doing this to her. After a couple of minutes, she pushed away from him slightly and started running her hands across his face. "Your eyes, Harry. Your beautiful eyes...."

"It's ok, don't you know that? I can get through anything with your help. It just took me some time to figure that out. I'm so sorry, Hermione." He wasn't speaking just of his sight; it was breaking his heart to know she was taking his offered escape. He was speaking about his feelings and what he said was true--he could live with seeing her with Ron as long as he had her in his life.

"They're not green anymore, Harry. Your eyes aren't green anymore. They're the same awful blue of that damn curse." She used her thumbs to force his eyelids closed, and didn't give him time to process the fact that she was apparently familiar with the curse. With a hand on either side of his face, she drew him closer to her and kissed him. Cheeks, chin, forehead, scar, just next to his lips and, lastly, his eyelids. She rested her forehead against his, giving him time to think, which he didn't really need. "How did you think I could want to forget your love, Harry?"

He didn't know what to say, so he put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her as if his life depended upon it. And it did depend on her, he decided. He needed her more than his next breath and he wanted to show her what she meant to him. Ron might kill him for it later, but it would be worth it.

They kissed for what felt like hours to Harry. He didn't want it to end. It was the best feeling in the whole world to kiss Hermione. Nothing could ever compare, he knew. There was no way he could ever forget her lips and her tongue when they opened their mouths to each other. He'd relive the way she somehow sighed even while kissing the life out of him every day for the rest of his life. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders pulling him closer, her hair tickling his neck would sustain him. She was now burned upon his memory as surely as if he'd been branded.

---

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5. Chapter 5

Author's notes: I'm sorry I haven't been able to respond to all the wonderful reviews (though I've read every single one); I've had to work the last few days, which has left me little time on the computer. So this is a special note of gratitude to each and every one of you who has reviewed. I'll never forget your kindness and generosity to a nervous new writer.

This is the next to last chapter; a few reviewers seemed to think that four was the last. I've still a little bit left to say, so hang in there. And for those who're worried about Harry's eyes, I've got to leave some room for a sequel, now don't I?

Also, this chapter is rated NC-17.

---Chapter 5

"Harry," Hermione said breathlessly as she pulled away from his lips. "We need to talk." His heart, which had been trying to pound out of his chest while they kissed, dropped to the ground and crashed into a thousand pieces, though he didn't let it slow him down.

"Yeah, I guess we do," he answered as his lips found her jaw and left small kisses all the way down her throat to the little notch at the junction of her collarbones.

"What happened between you and Ginny?" As usual, she jumped right in, though she sounded slightly distracted by his ministrations.

"We broke up at Dumbledore's funeral," he said as he moved to nip at her left shoulder.

"And?" His hands were acting completely of their own volition, following the path his mouth was taking.

"And what?" What more is there to say about it, he wondered as he fingered the straps of her shirt.

"And how do you feel about her?" He stopped kissing her and his hands fell to the bed from her shoulders. He rested his forehead on her upper chest while he tried to figure out how to put his thoughts and feelings into words that would make sense.

"The Harry who dated Ginny is a part of my past, a part of my childhood. And I feel like I'm so old now that I can't remember what it was like to be a child. I feel like a completely different person from who I was before Dumbledore died. I'm not sure it's physically possible to be as different and still be the same person, but here I am."

"When did you start to feel this way about me?" she asked as her right hand found the back of his neck and started combing through his hair, causing goose bumps to dot his already oversensitive skin.

"When I realized you and Ron had finally gotten together. When I was at the Dursleys' last summer, knowing you and he were together, alone, at Grimmauld Place." He didn't move from his position, even though he was practically speaking to her lap.

"But, why?"

"I'm not really sure. I remember hearing someone say once that the most attractive person was the person who was taken. It might've been realizing that I'd missed any chance to be with you, I just don't know. I've been thinking about it ever since the summer, trying to figure it out. I just know that whatever this is, these feelings I have for you, they feel right and I don`t want them to go away."

Hermione jostled around on the bed, and took his left hand in both of hers as she got settled facing slightly away from him.

"That's because they are right, Harry. I've been going crazy trying to figure out how to get things the way they were supposed to be."

His heart thumping at the implication of her words, he raised his head back up to face her and tried to settle on one of the million questions buzzing around his head.

"What about you and Ron?" he asked even as he moved his hand that wasn't in her grasp to her knee, where he felt nothing but smooth, soft skin.

"We broke up the day you killed Voldemort."

"What happened?" He started massaging her leg slowly, enjoying the extraordinary feel of her skin under his calloused palm.

"It was a combination of many things, I think. The arguments, the lack of direction in the relationship, the fact that I had feelings for you. And I think Ron knew all that, too."

"Yeah?" He knew he should be paying closer attention to what Hermione was saying, but it was difficult when his thoughts were consumed by how far his hand was now up her leg, and he was yet to find any material covering it.

"Yes," she said with a breathy sigh as he turned his hand and raked his nails across the skin of her upper leg. "I think it was just something we needed to get out of our systems. If Ron had asked me to the Yule Ball in fourth year, I think it'd have been over with before the end of that school year."

"So... you're not in love with him?" His hand had finally found material, caught up in the crease where her leg became hip. He wondered crazily if she was wearing just a bra and knickers, but a memory of her getting out of her bed in a tank top and pajama bottoms at Grimmauld Place flashed through his mind. His thoughts were still buzzing, but not with questions anymore. Arousal, pure and hot, shot through every inch of his body like fire.

"No, Harry, I'm not in love with Ron. We work much better as friends." She punctuated the statement by leaning down to place a kiss on his unsuspecting lips.

"What about me, then? Do you think you might ever be able to fall in love with me?" He was amazed he was able to think, let alone speak. He could barely even hear over the roar of blood in his ears.

"I think I might already be in love with you, but it'll require a lot of tests and experiments to make sure," she said as she laid back on the bed and pulled him with her. He ended up on his right side leaning over Hermione, who was laying on her back. Neither of them moved for a moment, other than breathing fast and heavy. Harry had been aroused since her little declaration on the couch, but her words had ratcheted everything up several notches. He was trying to keep his lower half from connecting with hers, but it was nearly impossible the way they were laying.

"Experiments, eh?" he asked as he leaned down to kiss her again.

He ran his hand up her hipbone through the curve of her side towards her ribcage. He was thrilled by the way he could feel her muscles twitching and tensing through her thin, sleeveless shirt and knickers. It was a warm night, she must've removed her pajama bottoms to sleep, he thought. He'd been taking his jeans off to sleep in his T-shirt and shorts, but it hadn't occurred to him to wonder what Hermione was sleeping in. Nor had he taken the time to remember that she'd been in her pajamas when they'd used the Portkey. It was a good thing he hadn't been able to see what she'd been sleeping in the past few days, or he'd have been wandering around with a perpetual hard-on.

He was aching to touch her breasts, but she opened her mouth to his at that moment, distracting him thoroughly. Their tongues fought and twisted with each other for long moments where Harry was sure the entire world outside of Hermione's lips had ceased to exist.

He and Hermione were both panting hard and he thought he was speaking to her, but he was no more conscious of what he was saying to her than he was of the time of day in New Zealand. His tongue had had a direct connection to his subconscious mind the last few days and it wasn't stopping now.

His dreams were all coming true; he felt fate was finally paying him back for all the torture he'd been through in his life. Life couldn't get any better than laying beside Hermione and kissing her. At least that's what he thought until she pulled him on top of her and groaned when she felt him hard against her. He thought he was going to either die or come right there, but somehow he did neither. Instead, he held himself up with an elbow on either side of her and ground into her center, where he'd fallen naturally. She might get angry at his forwardness, but he'd have one hell of a memory to fuel fantasies for every night he'd spend alone for the rest of his life.

To his surprise though, Hermione just threw her arms around him and kissed him again. He wasn't going to argue with her, he was going to enjoy every little thing she'd let him get away with before she realized what was going on and put a stop to things. He expected it to happen when he finally got the nerve to touch her breast through her shirt. Or when he ran the same lucky hand up under the shirt to discover she wasn't wearing a bra. He wasn't expecting her to start scrabbling at his shirt to pull it off of him. He wasn't expecting her to take hers off next, either.

He stopped thinking when the hard points of her breasts touched his chest, he wasn't capable of thought anymore. He was flying on auto pilot, his senses overloaded. So when she started pulling his shorts off, he didn't stop to question her, he just helped her get rid of them. He didn't wait for her to start on her panties, he just went to work on them next. His lips had found her breasts and he was kissing and laving every bit of warm, firm skin he could reach while he removed her last piece of clothing. He wanted to take the final step slowly, in case she decided to stop him.

When they were both completely naked, he nestled down into the vee of her open legs and thanked all that was good for getting him to this point in his life. Hermione let out a deep breath as his erection brushed against her center and he kissed her lips again, thanking her for letting him be there, even if they went no further. He wanted her to know his heart somehow, and the only way he could think of was showing her.

Her hips rolled under his, and he felt he was close to where he wanted to be, but he was nervous, scared of what was to come, though he wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything.

"Hermione...? I, uh… I`ve never…." He could feel her heat and wetness, but he just had to be sure she didn't want to stop.

"You've got it, Harry, just --" Instead of finishing her thought, she linked her legs around his ass and pushed him forward into her in one swift, strong stroke. She apparently didn't want to stop, he thought once he was in her as deep as he possibly could be.

He wasn't sure what kind of reaction he'd been hoping for, but a flinch he felt with his whole body wasn't it. He was in bliss, but she was obviously in pain. He hadn't thought about her being a virgin, it hadn't even crossed his mind. But now that he thought about it, he was glad that their first time together was the first time for both of them.

Resting his head against her shoulder, he took a deep breath and tried his damnedest to stay in control of himself. Her legs were holding him too tightly to allow movement, so he tried to distract himself by kissing his way up her neck to her mouth. Their kisses had been full of passion and desperation up until that point; this time it was a languorous, melting kiss that he hoped told her how good it felt to be inside her.

With every second he worshipped her with his lips, he felt the tension in her body slowly dissipate, till she finally relaxed enough to allow him to move. Though he wanted to, he couldn't kiss her and thrust at the same time. It required more concentration than he could muster up, so he rested his cheek to hers and just let himself feel her body as he moved within it.

She was so wet where they were joined and with every movement seemed to get wetter. He hoped it was a sign that she wanted him as much as he wanted her, and felt pretty sure it was. If he'd had any doubts though, they were soon dispelled by her hands. They were everywhere at once, it seemed; in his hair, roaming up and down his back, squeezing his ass, grasping his shoulders. She didn't speak with her mouth, but her breath puffing little whimpers against his ear told him more than words ever could.

Much sooner than he wanted, he felt himself climbing the peak to his climax, but he could sense that Hermione was far from hers.

"Hermione, are you going to..." His sweaty skin was making a wet, slapping sound as it met hers with every push forward, and still he couldn't say such impolite words to her.

"No, I don't think so. Go ahead, let go, I know you're close."

He stopped moving entirely at her words, though it was quite possibly the most difficult thing he'd ever had to do. He was not about to take care of himself and ignore her, it just wasn't right.

"Is it because I hurt you? Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, that's gone now. You feel so good, but I just can't let go of my thoughts."

He tried to pull out, but her clenched legs held him in place. "Ron?" he asked even though he was pretty sure he didn't want to know.

"What? No!," she exclaimed as she pushed his chest away with her hands, yet kept them connected with her legs. "Do you really think I don't know myself better than that? I'm a big girl, Harry. I know what I want, and I know who I want it to be with."

Once Harry thought a moment, he realized that he knew and trusted Hermione enough to tell him the truth. It still hurt him, however, to know he couldn't make her feel as good as she was making him feel. He let his weight back down on her when she relaxed her arms, bringing their faces close enough to kiss.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he spoke against her lips. "Do you want to tell me what you're thinking about? Maybe it'll help." He caressed the side of her face.

"I don't think it will," she said softly as she placed a kiss on his lower lip. He wasn't expecting it and jerked forward once in surprise. Hermione responded with a quick inhale and exhale of breath.

"I'll do anything for you, you know," he told her as he placed quick, light kisses on every part of her face he could reach. "Whatever it takes, it's yours. You just have to tell me." He raised up a little higher on his elbows in order to kiss down her neck and towards her breasts, causing her to hum with pleasure.

"I just want to be able to tell you how I feel without words, Harry."

"What do you mean?" He moved back up as if to meet her gaze; it was still a habit.

"I want to look into your eyes and see you looking back at me. I want to know you can see what you do to me, how happy you make me just by being here, by wanting me like you do. I want to be able to show you the feelings I can't find words for."

He couldn't help the smile of relief he knew he was displaying. That was all she was worried about?

"Hermione... your whole body is telling me these things. It doesn't require sight." He could feel her confusion. "I can see you, every bit of you, in here." He found her hand and pressed it to his chest over his heart. He was being unbearably sappy, but it was the only way he knew to tell her how wrong she was. "And you're so beautiful, Hermione."

Her breath huffed out quickly in what might've been a laugh or might've been a sob.

"I know your hair is everywhere, just like it always is," he said as he released her left hand from his right to touch her curls splayed out on the pillow. "It's shining in whatever light is coming through the window, I can feel it. You're biting your lips whenever you're not talking, 'cause you do that when you think too much."

A definite laugh escaped her at this, causing her body to clench him powerfully for a split second. Their breathing, which had slowed slightly while they'd been talking, sped up again.

"I can hear your heart pounding in your chest, and I can feel it in every place we're touching, but especially here," he indicated with a powerful thrust into her.

She responded with a low, almost-silent whimper that shot straight to his groin.

"I can smell your hair, and your skin, and the scent of *us*," he thrust again.

She moaned for the first time that night, a sound he didn't know he'd been longing to hear her make.

"That was the most mind-blowing sound I've ever heard in my entire life," he said, a steady, powerful pace taking over his body. "And the way you taste, my God, I'll never get enough of how you taste. I'll never forget it, yet I'll have to remind myself of it every second of every day by kissing you again and again." He sought out her lips with his own and she kissed him back more passionately than ever. When his body was screaming for air, he finally pulled away from her; they were both breathing more heavily than ever.

"And when you breathe," he said with an especially hard thrust, causing her to moan again. "You're breathing exactly in time with me."

"Harry," she moaned on another thrust.

"Yes?" His voice was strained; his arousal had slacked off a bit when he'd stopped moving, but he'd rapidly regained all the ground he'd lost and then some.

"I lo--.... Oh, I'm gonna come," she moaned Her words sent a jolt of heat from his gut out to his extremities and straight back to his cock. He had no idea where the knowledge for his actions was coming from, other than instinct. He was driving in and out of her quickly, and she met his every move with one of her own.

He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, so he felt her breath hitch just before her entire body tensed, arched and she cried out her release. It was the most amazing thing he'd ever experienced, without a doubt, and it pushed him off that highest peak into an uncontrollable free fall. His thrusts became uneven and almost spastic as he lost control of his body just before he came with such intensity that he felt it in his teeth.

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6. Chapter 6

Author's Notes: This is the last chapter in this sad saga, heh. All joking aside, I really am sad to see it end; I've had so much fun writing and posting it. Thank you again to each and every reviewer, I love you all and your reviews have given me such a high that it'll be a long time before I come down from it--and I really needed that high in my life right now. I fear the ending won't be what a lot of people were hoping for, but please trust me and remember that I'm working on a sequel. Thanks for reading and please review!

---Chapter 6

"Hermione? What did you start to say?"

"Hmm? When?" she asked sleepily from her position on his chest, where she was lazily rubbing circles with her hand.

"Right before you... uh..," he faltered again. Why was it his tongue was too eager to let loose things he wanted to hold close, yet failed him on simple words to the woman he'd just made love to?

"Right before I came?" she asked with a light giggle, raising up and leaving his chest cooling where she`d been warm.

"It's not funny, you know," he said with a slight grimace.

"That you're so unfailingly polite, or how flustered you get when I say things you can't?"

"Yes. Anyway. What were you trying to say?"

"I figured it was obvious.” She punctuated this statement with a kiss on the end of his nose which made him feel utterly silly with happiness.

"Doesn't mean I don't want to hear it." His tone was as light as hers had been, but serious as well. Hermione went perfectly still for a moment before moving in to cup his face with one hand.

"I love you," she said in a matter-of-fact tone that managed to be soft at the same time. He'd thought it was going to take a little more work to get it out of her, though he was glad it was easy for her to say.

"Why didn't you finish it before?" he asked, truly puzzled.

"Well, I thought it might seem questionable, spoken in a moment of passion," she said as she relaxed once again with her chin on his chest.

"I think it would've been perfect."

"I just wanted to make sure you knew that I was in my right mind when I said it. I didn't want you to doubt I meant it, as I know you would."

He still thought that such an intimate moment would've been ideal for professions of love, but he understood the point she was making. They both grew quiet, though he could practically hear Hermione's thoughts racing, leaving his in the dust. He was pretty sure he had an idea what she was thinking about.

"You know what the curse was, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Is there any kind of counter curse?"

"Not that I know of, but I might've just missed it, or forgotten it or something." He knew she'd done no such thing, but appreciated her leaving the possibility open.

"I meant what I said earlier though, you know."

"What, that you love me?"

"No. Yes. Gah, why can't I ever just say what I need to say. I meant to say, I meant it when I--" Her giggles cut him off. "You're not making this any easier, Hermione!" he said with a grin as he flipped their positions, settling on top of her comfortably.

"You're just so cute when you come unglued like that; I can't help it."

He was pretty sure he was blushing, but he went back to what he wanted to say anyway. "I meant that I can get through anything, so long as you're with me. It's true. If I never physically see another thing, I'll feel it through you." It wasn't exactly what he'd set out to say, but he figured it'd do in a pinch.

"I know, Harry," she caressed his face as she spoke. Now that that was out of the way, he returned to his own thoughts.

"What are we going to tell Ron?"

"I think it'll be pretty obvious, when he sees us." For some reason, that thought drove an icy sliver of fear through his body. It must've been obvious, because she kept speaking. "Ron's a lot more perceptive than we give him credit for; he wouldn't have made it through this quest of ours if he weren't. Plus, we've all done a lot of maturing the past few months, Ron most of all."

She was right, and Harry knew it, but he was still scared to death of the possibility of losing his best friend when everything else in his life was finally looking pretty damn good.

"Ever heard of Priori Incantatem?" he asked without conscious thought.

"Of course I have. I read everything I could find on it after the Triwizard Tournament."

"I'd forgotten I told you and Ron about that."

"You didn't, actually. Professor Dumbledore told us. Well, he said you'd witnessed Voldemort's rebirth, and later when I asked him what happened, he went into greater detail. He agreed because he said he didn't think you'd want to talk about it, but that it was important that we knew what happened to you, so we could help you cope with it."

Silently thanking his old headmaster, he considered what to say next. It was still painful to think about; he couldn't imagine how it was going to be to put it into words.

"So you know that my wand and Voldemort's were brothers?"

"Yes, feathers from Fawkes. Dumbledore told us that, too."

"So when Voldemort and I cast against each other, our wands create--created some kind of link. This link can cause one wand to, as Dumbledore put it, 'regurgitate' the last spells it cast."

"Yes?" she said, letting him know she was listening.

"So... the day I killed him.... I cast Expelliarmus, just like after the Third Task. I don't even know what he cast, just that it connected. I had to concentrate really hard, but I sent the surges of power back to him. The echoes of so many people started pouring out of his wand... it was horrible. At this point, he's starting to look a little bit panicked and not paying close attention to me. That's when I cast Expedio--"

"Expedio?" Hermione interrupted. "That's a very old, powerful spell--"

"I know," he interrupted in return. "When I cast it, the echoes started to look more solid, and Voldemort started to look... even worse than he did before. It was almost like he was disintegrating right before my eyes. The link between our wands broke, and whatever the curse he'd cast was, it hit me hard, knocked me on my arse. It took my breath away, but I was still able to see the echoes going after him and keeping him from moving.

“After a few minutes, I started feeling worse and worse, and the echoes were tormenting Voldemort, and then it was like they started noticing me. Several of them turned away from him and came to me. I wasn't afraid at first, until they started to move straight through me. When they did, they disappeared, and I... I felt better... healed. I was able to get up then, and when I did, the remaining echoes parted and left me a direct path to hit Voldemort with Reducto; he was almost just a husk of a body by then."

"Wow... Harry, that's.... I don't know what that is, but I'm so proud of you."

"Proud of me?" he asked in disgust, pushing himself off of her warm body and settling on the edge of the bed instead of the pacing he didn't trust himself to do. "Didn't you hear what I said? Those echoes--those people gave me their life-force. Voldemort was using it to keep himself alive, and I took it away from him and saved myself with it. I'm no better than he is." He was trying hard not to cry, but when she hugged him from his left side, the tears fell anyway.

"Did you never learn any Latin at all, Harry?" Hermione asked in a gentler tone than she'd have used before when asking that type of question. She continued without an answer. "Expedio means 'set free', and that's exactly what you did for those people. You set their spirits free, and they were able to help you. They made a choice to give you some of their energy to keep you alive, but they were still set free. They've moved on now, to where they're supposed to be."

Her words were balm to his aching heart. He didn't even try to stop crying, he just let it go and hugged Hermione closer to him. He cried with more abandon than he could remember crying in his entire life. Hermione held him tighter every time he sobbed until she was crushing him to the point that it almost hurt.

He felt like every tear was taking some kind of horror, poison, or evil out of his body. He felt cleansed the more he cried; cleansed in a way he knew water and soap would never touch and cleansed in a way he hadn't known he needed. He was washing his life clean of Voldemort's influence.

After a few minutes, he settled down enough that they could talk.

"All that's in the past now, Harry," Hermione whispered without loosening her hold on him. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready for the future."

"A few days ago, I'd have felt differently, but I am too. I was so lost when I thought I was going to have to try to survive watching you and Ron make a life together."

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. I wish--"

"No need for wishing, they've all come true," he said as he embraced her almost as tightly as she held him.

"I had no idea you were such a sap," Hermione said with a giggle. Harry decided then and there he didn't want to live another single day of his life without hearing that at least once.

"Yeah, well, you bring out the best in me, what can I say?" he said as he moved to kiss her, missing most of her mouth, though the corner was almost as good as the entire thing.

"Well, I'm glad that feeling is mutual," she said as she maneuvered him to meet her lips.

"That you bring out the best in me?" he broke the kiss to ask.

"Well, I really meant that you bring out the best in me, as well, but I do think I bring out the best in you, too. Or I hope I do, anyway."

"Trust me, you do." He leant forward for another kiss, and felt her mouth curved up into a smile. It coaxed an answering smile out of him, and he felt more happiness than he thought possible, especially after crying as hard as he had.

"I didn't mean for us to get so... you know, carried away, when I kissed you the first time. Just so you know."

"I know," she answered. "I didn't mean for it to happen either, but I'm glad it did. I wouldn't trade tonight for a million nights of responsible behavior."

"Neither would I," he answered as he kissed her yet again. After a long, slow, lingering kiss, Hermione sat back slightly and tugged him with her.

"Let's sleep some more, Harry. Today's the first day of the future, and we need to be well-rested for it."

"Now who's being sappy?" he asked with a huge grin as he settled down beside her in the bed.

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