A/N: I'm so sorry for how long this took to get out! I've had a few personal issues lately - my landlord decided to sell the house I live in (and try to kick everyone out in 30 days when they're required to give us 60 days notice), and I've been stressing myself out trying to find a new place.. I haven't exactly been in a writing mood. Now that I've properly put them in their place in regards to the law on evictions, I'm feeling better and I'm in a writing mood!
Disclaimer: Though I am (as far as I know) the first to write a HP/Notebook story, I most definitely do not own HP or The Notebook. Unfortunately.
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Ever since Hermione kissed me on the Quidditch pitch, I'd found myself completely incapable of staying away from her. We'd spent every waking moment together and often went on double dates to Hogsmeade with Luna and Ron. It didn't help that we were named Head Boy and Girl shortly thereafter. Apparently Dumbledore and McGonagall had been at odds over whom to appoint to the position, and it took them until well into September to make a decision.
Professor McGonagall seemed to be taking a Molly Weasley-ish standpoint, saying that it was too much for me to handle. Oh, not that she had any doubts about my capabilities as Head Boy should I receive the position, it was that she felt that I was dealing with enough what with the whole Boy-Who-Must-Kill-Lord-Voldythingy concept hanging over my head.
Dumbledore had felt that offering me the post would show and inspire confidence in myself, and I have to admit, I agreed with the crazy old man. Nothing puffs up my chest more than getting the girl, seeing the look on Malfoy's face when kissing said girl at dinner in the Great Hall, and being named Head Boy all in the same month.
Of course Snape, being the greasy git he always is, made several comments about over-inflating my already precariously large ego, but Dumbledore dismissed him from the discussion shortly after.
Now, giving Hermione the Head Girl slot was a different matter entirely. Before she transferred from Beauxbatons, everyone in Hogwarts was almost positive that it would go to either Padma Patil or Hannah Abbot. When neither received a shiny Heads badge with their booklists, the student body was stumped. Personally I would have thought they'd get the hint when it was the prefects supervising the train ride to school and not the Head students, but it's not my problem that I'm a quick thinker and they're, well… not.
The issue with Hermione becoming Head Girl was that she had barely been a Hogwarts student for a month, but even Filch could see that she was born for the job. It just took some time to convince the staff, but Dumbledore did it.
And that, my dear friends, is how Hermione Granger and I ended up with our very own little love nest, more commonly known as the Heads Suite.
Just don't tell Ron I called it that. He'd have my arse handed to me on a silver platter with a pretty pink bow for saying something so, well, girly.
That's also how Hermione learned about the Marauder's Map. I carelessly had left it in our common room one day after cavorting about like a typical Gryffindor with Ron, and Merlin bless her; she somehow managed to come up with the proper phrase to unlock the blasted thing.
Sometimes I think that she might have had the same conversation with the Sorting Hat as I did back in first year. Bloody password on that map sounds like a typical Slytherin promise, even if it was my dad that came up with it.
So thanks to the indecisiveness of the Hogwarts faculty, and my own stupidity, my darling Hermione discovered my deep, dark secret thanks to that ruddy map that I'd left out.
She was looking for me one night and I was nowhere to be found. Me being the insensitive prat I am, I hadn't told her where I was going, either. And when she walked into that out-of-the-way classroom clutching the map in her hands, I swore to myself that I'd gotten myself way in over my head where she was concerned. Then I swore to change the password to the blooming map.
That's how she discovered that I, Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, The Chosen One, and whatever else the Daily Prophet is calling me these days, am terribly dreadful at basic magic.
Oh sure, suggest I learn a Patronus or Summoning charm or a Protego shield, or how to do loads of other things that are N.E.W.T. level and beyond, and I can pick them up rather quickly. But when I remember how many times I had to practice that stupid Wingardium Leviosa spell before my stupid feather would float in the air, it's hard not to cringe at my ineptness.
Remus Lupin, who was reinstated as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor in my sixth year, said it was all because of the Dursleys and the way they raised me. Not to mention the part where I didn't find out I was a wizard until I was eleven years old. Most magical children are given the opportunity to practice their spells at home before going to Hogwarts, and I was given the opportunity to practice cooking and cleaning for the Dursleys for the duration of my childhood.
Probably explains why, after all these years, I still end up doing half the dishes the Muggle way before I remember that I'm a bleeding wizard and could have had it done with a swish and flick of my wand.
When Hermione walked in and discovered Remus and I working on a few first year level spells, she had no idea what to make of the situation.
"Hermione, love!" I exclaimed in surprise at her presence, and then quickly growing angry as I saw the map clutched in her fingers. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?"
"Now, Harry, is that any way to talk to your girlfriend?" Remus chided me, and I was sorely tempted to Silence him before he made things worse.
She looked like she was about to hex me for my attitude, but then her eyes dropped to the floor and I realized she was holding something in her hands other than the map.
"What's that?" I asked cautiously, wondering if she'd come upon some other item of interest in my belongings.
"I brought you something," she said shyly.
I found her sudden change of attitude endearing, as Hermione was rarely shy when it came to me.
She crossed the room and held out her hand. There was a shrunken book in her hands; a rich leather cover of deep brown with a golden embossed title.
Hogwarts: A History.
I got the distinct impression that she expected me to read it.
"I know I've been a Beauxbatons student for six years but Hogwarts always fascinated me. I was supposed to go here in the first place, did you know? But when Professor McGonagall came to my house to inform my parents and I that I was a witch, my mother and father had just decided to move their dental surgery to France. She made the necessary arrangements with Madame Maxine and once we were moved I began classes there."
Now that was something I didn't know. My mind began to whirl with the possibilities of Hermione Granger having been a Hogwarts student from day one. Though I was deeply in love with the woman because and despite of her know-it-all tendencies, I could only imagine what the last six years might have been like had she come into my life at age eleven.
I had a fleeting image of her introducing herself on the train, and began to work her into all the interesting escapades that Ron, Luna and myself had gotten into. Somehow I knew that Hermione would have solved the riddle to get to the Sorcerer's Stone much faster than it took the three of us, not to mention I could have skipped Luna's tangent on the riddles of the Egyptian Sphinx. Not like I wasn't interested, but it wasn't the best time, y'know?
Or even in my fourth year, when the Moody-impostor put my name into the Goblet of Fire. Ron being the amazing best mate he is had stayed up all night before the first task, and found the summoning charm at the last minute. It was sheer dumb luck that it managed to work for me when I was up against that Horntail, but I had a feeling that Hermione would have known about the spell from the moment the task was announced, and she would have spent many patient nights teaching it to me.
I even began to imagine the possibilities of a rather dangerous equation involving Hermione, myself, and a late night visit to the Room of Requirement, possibly in what could have been our sixth year at Hogwarts had her parents not decided on a change of locale.
That's how I found myself sitting in an abandoned classroom with my DADA professor and friend Remus and my girlfriend, Hermione, staring at me like I'd gone mad while I pictured Hermione and myself shagging like bunnies in the Room.
Don't tell her I was thinking that. She'd hex my bollocks off, I know it.
Don't tell Remus either, for that matter. I don't think he'd appreciate the thought process I was having when I was supposed to be levitating a quill.
Merlin, I hope the girl doesn't know Legilimency.
"Harry?" she said tentatively, breaking me from my reverie.
"Oh, what? Sorry, got lost in thought for a moment there."
They both stared at me like I'd just sprouted a pair of horns and called myself a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. Not like I'd know what the bloody thing is, but Luna goes on about them often enough that I'm beginning to think they're real.
"What was so interesting that you felt like zoning out on us for ten minutes?" asked Remus.
Ten minutes? No way.
"Was just imagining Hogwarts with Hermione the last six years," I admitted, blushing as she caught my eye.
I had a feeling she'd want to discuss that later. Perhaps the opportune moment would arise to introduce her to the Room of Requirement after said discussion.
"What are you two doing in here?" she asked, apparently willing to forgo my earlier idiocy.
"Well, Harry here may be a fantastic wizard and all, but he has trouble with simpler spells." Remus explained.
If looks could kill he would've dropped dead in an instant.
"What Remus means to say," I began, "is that I've spent so much time working with more developed and advanced spells because of who and what I am, that I never really had time to learn the simpler ones." No, I was not trying to save my arse. I swear.
Hermione seemed to understand exactly what was going on. "I'd suspect your upbringing had something to do with it?" she asked.
Remus nodded. "Poor Harry didn't even know magic was real until Hagrid went to bring him to school. When he got here it seemed that the only thing that came natural to him was getting a broomstick to fly into his hand. He was utterly dreadful at basic magic, but in his third year he managed to master the Patronus charm that few adult wizards can perform."
That last bit made me forgive Remus in an instant.
Hermione's eyes lit up at that, and she and Remus immediately went into some sort of rant about the Patronus and its usefulness, but my stomach emitting a rather loud growl (One that would have done Ron proud, I imagine.) quickly interrupted it.
"So, does anyone want some breakfast?" Remus suggested, laughing at my stomach.
"Breakfast? Remus, you've gone mental. It's past dinner!" Sometimes I think the man's completely lost it.
He fixed me with an exasperated glare. "Harry, I hate to quote Ron here, but are you, or are you not, a wizard?"
Right. Forgot that part for a moment there.
So we spent the rest of the evening conversing over a breakfast spread that Dumbledore would have been proud of. The house elves had been quick to bring whatever Master Harry Potter Sir (I'll still never get used to that) desired, and I must say that bacon never tasted better.
Later that night, after Hermione and I had made ourselves comfortable in our common room, she got a devilish glare in her eye that told me she was up to something. Before I could even ask her what was going on she dashed into my room and came back carrying my Firebolt.
"Let's go flying." She insisted, dragging me from our suite.
Now, as Head students we were most definitely not setting a good example, but this lovely witch with whom I happened to be completely in love with was making a mad dash for the Quidditch pitch while holding onto my broomstick, and I was hard pressed to refuse her.
Soon after we were soaring through the air as I dipped and turned about the pitch until we levelled off above the stands.
"This is amazing," she breathed heavily, and her flushed cheeks looked so beautiful in the moonlight. "I've always hated flying, no matter how hard they tried at Beauxbatons no one could ever get me on a broomstick, and here you are, Mister Potter, with me so firmly wrapped around your little finger that I practically begged you to take me up here."
"It's hard to say no to a beautiful woman when she's got a firm grasp on your broomstick," I winked at her.
She flushed deeper and giggled at my double entendre.
"Honestly, Harry!" she scolded gently, nibbling at her lower lip.
It took all control I had not to replace her teeth with mine.
"It's almost like I've been reborn, like a phoenix," she said quietly. "I had this whole other life in France, and at Beauxbatons, and now that I'm here at Hogwarts with you, well… we left France because of a false malpractice lawsuit against my parents, and I suppose that you could say that part of my life went up in flames. And now here I am, a baby phoenix rising from the ashes, being reborn into the world of Hogwarts with you at my side."
True, what she said was corny, but she was so sweet that I couldn't help but feel like her words were sheer poetry.
"It's all so fascinating, really. I've started a completely new life here in England. I know I grew up here, but I have no friends here. And here I am, at one of the greatest wizarding schools in the world, with you. I feel like a phoenix."
Having met a phoenix and being relatively close with Fawkes, I couldn't help but think the girl was mad despite how much I loved her.
She seemed to sense that, too.
"Say I'm a phoenix, Harry." She instructed.
"No." I shook my head. She was far more beautiful than a phoenix and though I loved Fawkes dearly, there was no comparison.
"Say it!" she demanded, kissing me until I couldn't say no.
"You're a phoenix." I sighed, and then made an attempt to return her kiss.
"Now say you're a phoenix, too."
Mental, I tell you. Completely mental.
"If you're a phoenix, I'm a phoenix."
Ron would say I was entirely whipped.
Not that I cared what Ron would say, at that moment, for her lips were upon mine again and soon we were kissing passionately while perched on my broomstick above the Quidditch pitch.
I was rather beginning to like the pitch.
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The rest of the term passed by in a quick blur, with Hermione and I growing closer each day. We'd fight about stupid things, and then quickly make up right after. We'd study for tests and do our homework, and sneak off during our patrol rounds for a quick snog in the Astronomy tower.
Before I knew it, it was time for Christmas break, and she was dragging me off of the Hogwarts Express to meet her parents. I was fully prepared to stay at The Burrow with Ron and his family, but Hermione's father would hear nothing of it. She'd been writing him about me, apparently, and he was rather looking forward to seeing me in person. My trunk was in the boot of their car and we were headed for Crawley shortly after the introductions.
Christmas Eve was traditionally the Granger family holiday dinner, and I had no choice about attending. Hermione was rather excited about it and it was the least I could do to oblige her by pretending to enjoy it. However, when I found myself surrounded by people decked out in Christmas red and green while I wore a black suit (My dress robes were apparently not a good idea with Muggles present, so I transfigured them.), I truly felt out of place.
When the conversation began I tried my best to keep up, but I have to admit that my experience with dinner parties was rather limited. Growing up in a cupboard under the stairs will do that to a person, I suppose.
Hermione's parents explained to the table that we attended the same boarding school, and that we dated during the school year. A guest whose name I didn't quite catch made an offhand comment that perhaps during the summer she could date his son, and it was very difficult for me to keep my fists to myself.
By the main course it was quite clear that, despite the fact that I was raised as a Muggle the first eleven years of my life, I was by no means prepared for the social aspect of things. Must have had something to do with being treated like a house elf. I excused myself to the loo, which was where Hermione found me some time later.
"Are you alright?" she asked gently, peering around the doorframe.
"I'm fine," I said, though by this point in our relationship she could clearly tell I was lying.
"Don't pay any attention to my family; they're all drunk by dessert anyway," she admitted. "You can't let them bother you."
Like saying it would make it be true.
I know that as much as Hermione loves being a witch, she wants to live as a Muggle once we graduate. She'd still use magic of course, but I'm talking living in Muggle London, perhaps holding down a Muggle job.
I've never really lived as a Muggle. I can't count the first eleven years of my life as living; it was more or less surviving or existing. I began living the day I started at Hogwarts. The wizarding world is my home, Hogwarts is my home, and I clearly don't fit in with Hermione's Muggle family.
We passed the rest of the evening fitfully, cautiously avoiding the majority of the guests, as the inebriation grows more serious. Christmas came and went with the exchange of presents and a few owls carrying gifts from the Weasleys, but nothing particularly monumental. It seemed like the break lasted only a few short days before we were back at Hogwarts, stepping off of the train.
I tugged on Hermione's hand, separating us from the rest of the group that was headed up the walkway to the school.
"I want to show you something," I whispered in her ear as I drew her in tight. "Hang on."
With that minimal warning I Apparated us both, and we were standing in front of a dilapidated old mansion. Several of the shingles were missing from the roof, the windows were missing glass, and it was clear that it was in desperate need of repair.
"Harry, where are we?" she asked me, her eyes wide.
"Wait here," I smiled, and disappeared through the front door of the house. When I returned I held a candle in my hand, and gestured towards the open door. "Welcome to Potter Manor, milady."
Hermione suppressed a giggle as she took my hand and crossed the threshold.
Inside, there were hundreds of conjured candles lighting the foyer and subsequent rooms, and Hermione was amazed.
"It's beautiful." She whispered.
"It's crap." I admitted. "I own it, apparently. Part of the Potter Family Trust. Guess after my parents died no one bothered to look after the place. One of these days I'm going to fix it up. All it needs is new walls, a new roof, a new floor, a new…well, everything."
"Is that all?" she joked, smiling at me.
"Well, plumbing and electricity, if we want to have some Muggle things."
"We?" Hermione asked. "So I get a say in this?"
Obviously the woman gets a say in this, is she mad? "Well, what would you like?"
"You're going to have to paint it white. The Muggle way, I'm afraid. Magical way just doesn't work as well. And there must be red shutters. And a library! A library to rival that of Madam Pince's at school."
"Anything else?"
"We should have a big front porch with a bench swing so we can sit and have tea and read on warm summer nights.
"Okay." I'm dead serious, but I don't think she quite realizes that. I'm surprising myself with all of this, to be honest. This is the first time I've really pictured myself having a life after Voldemort's done with. I always imagined I'd die a hero in battle, but now I'd found myself a reason to kill him and then stomp all over his grave in triumph afterwards.
Hermione found my mother's old grand piano in the sitting room and sat down, beginning to play. I think the song was the Moonlight Sonata; it was hauntingly beautiful.
"My mum made me take lessons when I was little," she said by way of explanation for her talent with the ivory keys.
She looked so beautiful that I couldn't help myself. I came to stand behind her and lifted her hair out of the way, kissing and nibbling along the smooth column of her throat.
She hit a few of the wrong keys.
"Merlin, Harry, I couldn't play Hot Cross Buns with you doing that!" she admonished, turning on the piano bench to kiss me properly.
I placed my knees on either side of her legs as I bent to touch my lips to hers. I felt her arms wind around my neck and pull me closer as my tongue moved with hers. She grabbed the collar of my shirt and fiercely pulled me as close to her body as she could, and her breath was hot on my ear.
"Make love to me," she whispered.
Err, yes please?
How was I to refuse a request like that? I looked at her to make sure I'd heard correctly and wasn't imagining things.
She nodded. "Please,"
I gulped. Suddenly I wasn't feeling so cocky anymore. I was overwhelmed with a tremendous desire to please her in every way possible, and be as-dare I say it? -gentle as possible.
She stood from the bench and un-tucked her uniform shirt from her skirt, loosening her tie and unbuttoning from top to bottom.
I couldn't very well let Hermione be the only one standing half-naked in the room, so I quickly whipped off my shirt, popping off a few buttons on the way.
Hermione slipped off her skirt and was in nothing but her knickers, standing-no, making that kneeling in front of me.
As she dropped to her knees she began to unfasten my belt and my trousers quickly formed a puddle on the floor. She
stood again and bravely let her bra and knickers join the rest of our clothing on the floor. Following her initiative I
slid my boxers down to my ankles.
We were both standing naked in front of each other. For the first time. Ever.
I crossed the few steps between us as I conjured a soft mattress upon the floor, and took her into my arms. I kissed her gently as I laid her back on the mattress, trailing my lips from her neck to her shoulders. I nipped at her collarbone and was rewarded with a pleasurable gasp.
"Harry…Harry?"
I raised my eyes to meet hers.
"I know I asked you to, well, make love to me, but I really think you're going to have to walk me through this."
She was nervous and though every male hormone in my body was screaming for me to just have my way with her, I didn't want it to be like that.
"What is it, love?" I asked, smoothing her hair back from her forehead.
"Thoughts…a lot of them…just so many-oh bugger it, never mind."
Then she was kissing me again like nothing had happened. Apparently her nerves went away rather quickly, not that I was complaining.
Apparently I was giving her nerves more credit than they deserved.
"Harry, what are you thinking right now? Right this very moment?"
"Hermione…" I groaned, breathing heavily.
"Did you know that-this-was going to happen? When you brought me here?"
Great, she thinks I was planning on trying to sleep with her. "No," I answered honestly.
"No? You never thought about it? You never imagined making love to me?"
"Of course!"
She seemed relieved at that. "Oh, you did! What did you imagine?"
"Hermione…"
"Right, too much talking. Shutting up now. Might as well Silence myself."
I chose to silence her with my lips instead and resumed the passionate kissing as my hands drifted further south. I manoeuvred myself on top of her as soon as she felt wet enough to take me, but the moment I looked in her eyes I knew it wouldn't be that easy.
"I just don't understand how you can be so calm right now! This is a defining moment in our lives, Harry! You don't have any thoughts about it at all?"
I sat up to stare at her, wondering how she could demand that I make love to her one moment and then panic about it the next.
"Oh, I'm ruining it, aren't I? I'm so sorry, Harry, I just wanted this to be so perfect. Honestly, you'd think that I'd-"
"Hey," I said softly, lifting her chin so she could look in my eyes. "It is perfect. I love you."
"You do?" She seems amazed by the concept.
"I do."
"Oh, Harry, I love you too!"
"We don't have to do this, Hermione…" I said, though I was desperately hoping she'd insist that-
"Yes, we do. I want to."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
I prayed a silent prayer to Merlin that we could get through this without another panic attack.
I pressed myself against her, and the slippery feel of her against my tip was overwhelming. I looked into her eyes, asking silent permission, giving her a last chance to say no.
She nodded, and I was about to thrust myself inside of her when-
CRACK!
I quickly conjured a blanket to cover us. "Bloody hell, Ron!"
"Sorry, Harry," he mumbled, looking away and giving us a moment to get decent.
"What do you want?" I asked angrily.
"It's Professor McGonagall. She's furious! When you two didn't show up to hand out assignments to the Prefects and direct the students back to their towers, she went absolutely spare!"
"Well, it's not like we're not okay," Hermione grumbled as she fiddled with the buttons on her blouse. I had to conjure some to hold mine together as half of the buttons were scattered about the room.
"They don't know that!" Ron exclaimed. "Your parents are at Hogwarts! When you two went missing she notified them and the Dursleys-obviously they didn't come, Harry-and they're all waiting in Dumbledore's office for you!"
"And how do you know all of this, Ron?" I demanded.
"McGonagall knows I can Apparate to you instead of to a location, so she sent me to find you. Move your arses or she'll have mine on a silver platter!"
And that, my friends, is how I found myself in Dumbledore's office with McGonagall and Remus upset with me, and the Grangers absolutely furious with Hermione and I.
That is when all hell broke loose.
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