Harry Potter and The Notebook

crystal h.

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 05/07/2006
Last Updated: 13/07/2006
Status: paused

Here's a Harry Potter version of 'The Notebook'! With Harry as Noah, Hermione as Allie, Ron and Luna as Fin and Sarah, our dear Voldy and his Death Eaters as the reason for the war that takes Harry from Hermione, and Oliver Wood as the ever-charming Lon, this is a story that's sure to tug at your heartstrings!

Chapters

1. First Sight

2. The Quidditch Pitch

3. An Improbable Romance

1. First Sight

A/N: I know, bad, bad author! I should be writing a new chapter of Final Battle but I was watching The Notebook the other night and it hit me how it would be a perfect storyline for a H/Hr fic. I HAD to write it. I've been banging out the specifics of it all afternoon and, well, here I am. This is MASSIVELY AU, and often times very OOC as well. Please just try to take it for what it is and not yell at me that Luna's not as psychotic as she should be, or anything else for that matter. Trust me. This WILL be a good story. A very good story.

Please, please, PLEASE leave me feedback on this one! If it's absolute and utter crap I'll abandon the idea and I won't even bother with chapter two. But if you like it, please tell me!

And on that note, Harry Potter and co. belong to JKR, and I lay absolutely no claim to any of Nicholas Sparks' work, or The Notebook. I just have no life.

<><><><><>

I check the hallway carefully, peeking out beyond the frame of my bedroom door. Healer Pole is flicking her wand about, making notations on the varying condition of the patients in this ward. Her lime green Healer robes seem to glow in the dim night.

She picks up an empty mug and heads down the hallway, apparently for a cup of coffee.

Seizing my chance, I re-adjust my night robe tightly around my waist and smooth my pyjamas before I step out into the hallway.

I can feel my heart beating violently, almost nervously, in my chest at the prospect of being near her. I enter her room, and cross the floor to stand next to her bed.

I reach out and gently rest my hand on her silvery hair, and she smiles in her sleep, taking my hand in her own upon pure instinct. I smile as she opens her eyes.

“What do you want?” she demands, her eyes filled with confusion. Her face betrays her growing panic, and I do my best to soothe her.

“It's me, sweetheart,” I say softly, stroking her hand in that calming motion she always liked.

“Who are you? I don't know you! Why are you in my room? Someone help me!” she cries, and I can hear the pitter patter of the healer's feet approaching the room.

My heart sinks. Though she may have recognized my touch in her sleep, her waking state affords her no recollection of my identity.

Healer Pomfrey shoots me a glare as she enters the room on Healer Pole's heels. Pole is comforting her, holding her and calming her in a manner only a woman could convey. Pomfrey's eyes are shooting daggers into my heart, and all I can manage is a feeble “I'm sorry,” as she leads me from the room.

Over my shoulder I can hear Pole's soothing voice as she tells her, “It's okay, honey. Just a mistake. Probably wandered over from the Spell Damage ward. It'll all be alright.”

My chest aches; it feels as though my heart is shattering into a million pieces as it does every time this happens. She's all mine for a few mere minutes that can feel like an eternity, and then she slips away from me again.

<><><><><>

Dawn falls upon the Home For Elderly Witches and Wizards, where the Healers and various Medi-witches and -wizards are taking the long-term residents through their morning routine of potions, healing spells, and breakfast.

I, of course, am used to this entire process. Sad as it is to admit the fact, but I am one of the few residents here who remains by choice. The majority of the witches and wizards in this place are here strictly because they have to be, or because their minds or bodies are too far gone for their families to be able to care for them.

As is routine, I step in line behind a few wizards I don't entirely recognize to wait for my morning potions. I recognize the man at the front of the line, and offer a greeting.

“Good morning, Seamus, how's it hangin'?” I ask, recalling fonder days of our Hogwarts youth.

The Irish wizard turns to offer me a primarily toothless grin as he downs his potion. “Same as always, Phoenix. I keep tryin' to die but they won't let me.”

I chuckle at his joke, yet part of my mind recalls a time where I would have said something similar without the jesting manner. “Yeah, well, can't have everything.”

Seamus moves off, presumably to the cafeteria for breakfast, and the Medi-Witch behind the counter greets me. Her flaming red hair and grey eyes bring a smile to my face; she clearly gets her traits from her parents.

“I think today's the day,” I say to her with a smile. She knows full well of my exploits.

“You say that every day, Phoenix.” she grins, handing me a few vials of varying potions. Her smile is that of her father's, and I do my best not to wince at the reminder. Though we haven't spoken in years, his daughter has always been more than kind to me and does not seem to be overly affected by the rift between her father and myself. He doesn't understand what I'm trying to do here at the Home, and we last spoke when he tried to convince me to move back home with the rest of my family.

With a nod I head off after Seamus. Perhaps a bit of breakfast would do me well.

<><><><><>

Feeling well stuffed and satisfied I make my way down the hall to her room. I peek around the door to see Healer Pole brushing her hair. It lost its unmanageable quality as she matured, but the silvery strands still held the curly essence of her youth. To some it may sound silly, but to me she is as beautiful now as the day I met her.

“I've no idea what I want to do,” she says, grumbling at the Healer. My guess is that Pole made suggestions as to her daily activities. “But I'll tell you what I don't want to do! Exploding snap, that's for sure! Who in Merlin's name could invent such a game as that? And for that matter, how did I end up stuck with people who enjoy such a game?”

I hide a laugh as I fondly recall a day when she would have gladly recited to me each and every witch or wizard who had a hand in the creation of exploding snap. Or for that matter, when she would have considered playing alongside the rest of us.

“I'd much rather make an attempt at Quidditch than play exploding snap!” she says harshly. Again I try to contain my laughter—the mere thought of her playing the sport is hilarious, as she would barely get on a broom when we were in school.

Rather than watch her debate with Healer Pole about the finer things in life compared to a silly card game, I choose this moment to enter the room.

“Hello,” I say, unfortunately startling her. As she turns to face me, I can see the lack of recognition in her eyes. Those beautiful, chocolate eyes.

“Yes?” she asks with an air of superiority.

“This is Phoenix.” Healer Pole introduces me. Though Healer Pomfrey may still be angry with me for the events of the previous night, Healer Pole clearly understands what I am attempting to do.

“What do you want?” she demands, clearly unimpressed with my presence.

“He's here to read to you.” Healer Pole interjects, giving her a stern look that clearly says `Cooperate or you'll be playing Exploding Snap.'

She shoots the Healer a nervous glance. “Oh, I don't know…”

Pole smiles at her and helps her up from the chair. “Give him a chance, dear. You'll like him, I promise! He's very funny, has all us Healers in absolute stitches each morning at the breakfast table!”

She clearly seems resigned to her fate and reluctantly takes my arm as I steer her outdoors towards the overly large porch that wraps around the back of the home.

I help her settle into a comfortable chair and wrap a worn and faded afghan around her shoulders, lest she catch a chill. I find myself staring into her eyes for a moment, forgetting my place. A not so subtle cough on her part and I retreat to my own chair, re-adjusting my glasses and finding my page.

“Shall we continue where we left off? On the train?” I ask her kindly, knowing that she'll agree out of pity despite the fact that she doesn't realize we've already begun the story.

She nods, settling herself further into her seat. “Is this the funny part?” she quips, recalling Healer Pole's previous praise.

“Absolutely. There was loads of laughing that day, and everyone was having fun. Harry was there with his two best friends, Luna and Ron.”

“Harry?” she asks.

I nod. “That's the day they met. September first, 1997. Hermione was seventeen at the time, turning eighteen in just a little over two weeks. She and her family had just moved to England, and she had transferred from the Beauxbatons Academy to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for her seventh and final year of magical education. They met on the train to the old Scottish castle.”

<><><><><>

Ron and I sat together in our train compartment, sipping the butterbeers we'd purchased from the trolley. We were catching up on what we'd missed with each other over the summer when Ron was distracted by the sight of our other best friend (and Ron's girlfriend), Luna, coming down the aisle of the train with an unfamiliar girl in tow.

“Who's that with Luna?” I asked, eyeing her appreciatively.

“Hermione Granger. She's new here. Her parents are rich, they're muggle healers of some sort.” He answered.

Just before Luna could reach the door of our compartment she, and Hermione, were accosted by numerous seventh year boys.

“Can I get you a chocolate frog?” asked a black-haired boy carrying a toad. Hermione gracefully declined.

“A chocolate frog? Is that the best you can do, Longbottom?” snorted a blond with cool grey eyes. He slicked his hair back nervously as he approached Hermione. “Good choice there. Name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. And I can do a lot better than a measly chocolate frog.”

He bowed and extended a hand to her, waiting for her to slip hers into his own so that he could kiss it.

Hermione laughed, and turned to the next boy, ignoring Draco.

“Dean Thomas. And perhaps a butterbeer to soothe a parched throat?” he offered, his dazzling white smile a handsome contrast against his dark skin.

“Sure.” She smiled.

I don't recall when I got up, but soon I found myself standing directly in front of Hermione as Dean moved towards the trolley to purchase her butterbeer.

I shot a nervous glance at Luna. “Would you two ladies like to join Ron and I in our compartment?” I asked, looking directly into the molten chocolate that was Hermione's eyes.

She blushed, and I hoped it was because she detected the sincerity in my voice.

“No.”

Not what I was expecting.

“Why not?”

“I just don't.” she replied.

Malfoy decided to speak up at that moment, clearly glad to take any chance presented for a shot at my ego.

“Hey, Potter, she's with us.”

I glared at him and turned my attention back to Hermione. “That's fine,” I said grudgingly. “I didn't exactly want company anyway.”

I flashed her a grin as dazzling as I can muster, and took a swig of my butterbeer. Just then Dean returned with Hermione's drink.

“Want to come sit in my compartment?” he asked, offering her his arm.

She shot a triumphant glance in my direction as she took his arm. “I'd love to.”

As they began to waltz down the aisle Luna popped into the compartment to give Ron a brief kiss before she dragged him after her. I watched as they swaggered away from me, and left me by myself.

I wasn't going to give up without a fight. I reached into my pocket and withdrew a fleshy coloured string. Ron Weasley had two genius older twin brothers who had a delightful line of joke products. I held in my hands an Extendable Ear, which I was shamelessly about to use to eavesdrop on the conversation.

As Dean and the boys led the way into the compartment, Luna snuggled up next to Hermione and began to whisper in her ear. Fortunately she was being loud enough (sometimes I still wonder if it was on purpose) for me to hear what she was saying.

“That's Harry Potter.”

Hermione looked at her, shocked. Apparently the books she was so fond of didn't come with pictures.

“Really. I'm surprised he even said something to you, he's really shy with people he doesn't know.”

Hermione snorted. “I find that hard to believe. I've read all about him, you know; in the papers. I may have grown up in France but I was born in England, and my parents still subscribe to the Daily Prophet. That boy has an ego bigger than Fudge's.”

I silently cursed Rita Skeeter for all the rubbish she's printed about me over the years.

Suddenly my eyes met Hermione's; she'd seen me casually lounging in the corridor, and must not have recognized the fleshy string attached to my ear.

“He's…” she began, most likely about to tell Luna that I was watching.

“He's utterly mad,” Luna interrupted, and I bit off a laugh. I'd never thought that I would hear her describing me in such a manner—most often it was the other way around. “He's Ron's friend, but I've no idea what the boy's on about half the time. I know it must be hard for him, being the Boy-Who-Lived and all that, but sometimes I still think he's nutters.”

Dean chose that moment to bring Hermione closer to him, and swung his arm around her shoulder. I couldn't help but watch, and she immediately looked at me again.

Then she stuck her tongue out at me.

That did it. I was not going to sit there and have her mock me while my two best friends were ignoring me! I burst through the door after having brought down the locking charms with my wand. Apparently Dean and his friends were determined to keep me out.

With a triumphant grin on my face I sat myself down directly between Dean and Hermione, and he had no choice but to move his arm. I promptly ignored him and turned to Hermione.

“Hi. I'm Harry. Harry Potter.”

I do hate to use my name to get what I want, but this girl was beautiful. She was making me feel something I'd never felt before, and I was determined to have more.

“So?”

What is with this girl? First she refuses a perfectly polite invitation and then she can't even be bothered with an introduction? I hate to admit, but I was desperate. I resorted to every ounce of charm in my body and flashed her a smile that I knew would have had the witches of Hogwarts throwing their knickers at me.

“So nice to meet you, Hermione Granger. If you would be so inclined, I'd like to take you out.”

Dean was not impressed, and wordlessly cast a spell that left me grasping at the floor of the train as my legs dangled through the hole he had created in the floor. I held on for dear life as my toes came dangerously close to the train tracks, and watched as he threatened to hex anyone who tried to help me.

“Sod off, Potter.” He said through clenched teeth.

I glanced at Luna and winked at her. She knew that I was perfectly capable of getting myself out of that mess; I am, after all, The Chosen One, and the fact that I was using my hands to hang on to the train rather than my wand had no bearing on my magical abilities.

I glared at Dean and the rest of the boys in the compartment and they found themselves sufficiently pinned to their seats. No amount of struggling was going to move them.

“Harry, stop it!” Luna pleaded. Maybe she didn't have as much faith in me as I thought. “You're going to bloody well kill yourself if your fingers slip!”

I ignored her and looked at Hermione. “Well, will you go out with me?”

She gasped. “What? No!”

“Why not?”

“I don't want to!” she spat back, glaring at me.

“Back to that are we?” I said, sounding exasperated. “Well, you leave me no choice, I suppose.”

My left hand let go of the floor of the train.

I heard both girls gasp, and chuckled silently when they realized that their wands were stuck to the ceiling with a sticking charm, and they were as helpless as the boys. I hated to resort to such idiotic things to get Hermione to agree to go out with me, but there was something about her. I had to find out what it was.

Luna glared at me. She was clearly not as amused by this as I was. “Harry, stop kidding around before you get hurt!”

I fixed her with a stare that clearly said `Trust me', and then turned back to Hermione.

“I'm only going to ask you this one more time. Will you, or will you not, go out with me? Because I can only hang on for so much longer and then—“

I fixed a look of shock on my face, and appeared to jerk downwards an inch or so.

“Bollocks.” I mutter.

Both girls looked terrified.

“I think I'm slipping.”

They began to panic and were quickly on the floor, grabbing at my hands in a desperate attempt to pull me up. I was more in control of the situation than they realized, and let myself slip another precarious inch.

“I think I'm going to fall!” I said, looking into Hermione's eyes.

“Okay, okay! You can take me out, Harry Potter!” she said.

Now, I'm not one to settle for the first reaction I get, so I couldn't resist continuing the game.

“Oh no, I wouldn't want you taking pity on me. If you don't want to go I can't make you…”

“No, I want to! Really, I do!” she argued, looking desperate.

“You sure?”

“Yes!” she exclaimed.

With that I quickly swung myself up into the compartment, wandlessly sealing the hole in the floor and releasing everyone and their wands from their bonds.

Hermione's face turned a deep shade of red that would have made my hated Uncle Vernon jealous. “Ooh, you think you're so smart, don't you, Harry Potter! I'm not the brightest witch of my age for nothing!” she seethed.

“That was not funny, Harry.” Luna glared at me. Apparently seeing me dangling in the direction of certain death didn't tickle her fancy.

“I'll take care of it.” Hermione grinned, and flicked her wand about faster than I could say Quidditch.

Next thing I knew I had no wand, no Extendable Ear, no Invisibility Cloak, or any other trick up my sleeve for that matter. The wand part didn't concern me overmuch as I was fully capable of casting wordlessly and wandlessly, but suddenly I found myself unable to do either.

For once in my life, I realized that there might be someone out there who I would fear more than Tom Riddle.

With a lazy flick of her wand, I felt my pants begin to unbuckle and slide down my legs. Oh no. There was no way I was recovering from this one. I did my best to tune out the laughter of Dean, Neville, and Draco (fortunately Ron was enough of a best mate to respect my embarrassment), and instead focused on the witch who was carefully exacting her revenge.

“Not so cocky now, are you?” she taunted, emphasising that one specific word. I felt that very body part nearly shrivel in embarrassment at my current predicament.

I sadly resigned myself to the fate that the next edition of Witch Weekly would proudly proclaim “Boxers or Briefs? We Know What the Chosen One Chooses!”

“Just you wait, Hermione Granger. I'll get you for this.” If she wouldn't come to me, I'd come to her.

Then she fixed me with a dazzling smile that made me want to throw my knickers at her, and said in a thoroughly endearing tone, “Maybe you will.” She winked. “But on the other hand, maybe you won't.”

With that the six of them left the compartment (Both Ron and Luna shooting apologetic glances over their shoulders), and I found myself frozen to the spot. Oh, it was going to be fun explaining this to McGonagall when we got to Hogsmeade.

-->

2. The Quidditch Pitch

A/N: Wow! I admit I'm very impressed with the response to this story, and I'll definitely be continuing on with it then. I'll do my best to remain true to the Potterverse as well as The Notebook but before anyone gets their knickers in a twist over Harry's cocky attitude, look at it this way: It's AU! He hasn't had Hermione around since he was 11 to keep him in line, and he's been fully exposed to Ron. My explanation for everyone acting a little different is that Practical Hermione hasn't been there to influence everyone's lives.

PS - A bit of a cliffy at the end, sorry! But really, it's not like you don't know what's going to happen.

Disclaimer: Both Harry Potter and The Notebook do not belong to me. But damn, if they did, I'd be so rich!

<><><><><>

The first few weeks at Hogwarts went well. That is, as well as could be expected I only received one night's detention from McGonagall for `bodily exposing myself to younger students when I should have been setting an example of proper conduct on the Hogwarts Express.' Or so she says, anyway. Personally I thought Hermione deserved a detention for leaving me frozen there with my pants around my ankles, but Professor McGonagall wouldn't hear a negative word against the girl! She made me help copy out a pop quiz that was to be given to the fifth years on their first day back. They were definitely not going to be impressed with that. I certainly wasn't impressed with it, and all I had to do was make copies.

I continued to make a fool out of myself around Hermione, and every seventh year boy except for Ron continued to hate me for it. She still owed me that date, however, and with a Hogsmeade weekend coming up I was more than happy to collect on it.

However, things didn't go so well when I reminded her.

“So what time shall I meet you on Saturday?” I asked her at the breakfast table in the Great Hall.

She quirked an eyebrow at me as she slowly raised her eyes to mine. “For what?”

“Well, you did say that you wanted to go out with me and I did reluctantly agree, and it's a Hogsmeade weekend, so…”

Her face flushed an angry red.

“I wouldn't go out with you if you were the last boy in Hogwarts!” she proclaimed rather loudly.

Ouch. I was hoping she'd take the bait, but apparently I'd bitten off more than I could chew.

“Funny, I seem to recall a certain Miss Granger pleading and saying she really did want to go out with me, even when I stated that she clearly didn't have to if she wasn't willing.”

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say, as I found myself on the receiving end of a glare that would have burned a hole through my forehead if it were any more intense.

When she raised her wand and pointed it at my groin, Luna calmly stepped in front of me and said, “That's enough, Hermione.” Did I mention how much I love Luna? I would have liked to thank her properly for saving my boys, but I didn't think Ron would much appreciate it.

Maybe she wasn't so mad at me for the train incident after all, though the last few weeks she'd spent more time with Hermione than she had with me. She'd never really left the Ravenclaw table to sit with me for any meals, though occasionally she did it for Ron. Recently she'd taken to accompanying Hermione, though I wasn't entirely sure why.

I shrugged my shoulders at her and said; “See you around eleven, at the front gates.”

With a wink and a smile I left the table and headed for the Gryffindor common room. I couldn't help but crack another smile as I heard her sputtering angrily behind me. Oh, she'd be there on Saturday. I knew she would.

When Saturday rolled around I discovered in a most unpleasant way that Hermione really had meant it when she'd said she wouldn't go out with me, even though she'd practically thrown herself at me on the train.

There I was, waiting at the gates after spending an interesting morning trying to tame my unruly hair in an effort to impress her, when I saw her leaving the castle on the arm of none other than Draco Malfoy. Trust me when I say, he didn't even consider sparing my ego as he flashed a brilliant smile at me that seemed to say `She's mine, Potter.'

Hermione didn't even dignify me with an explanation. When she saw me waiting ahead of her while glancing at my watch, she turned to Draco and flashed him a smile that made me more than certain that, had Professor Sprout not been standing at the door seeing us all off, he would have thrown his knickers at her!

Fortunately I was able to save my wounded pride when Luna came bounding up to me with Ron, mere steps ahead of Hermione and Draco. I did my best to grin at the two of them as we made our way into Hogsmeade, but there was a sinking feeling in my stomach that it would take hexing every male student in the school before Hermione would even talk to me again.

“Don't worry, Harry.” Luna whispered.

I looked at her, confused. Worry? Why should I worry? It just so happened that the girl I was completely infatuated with was on the arm of none other than Draco Malfoy, the smarmiest git that Hogwarts had ever seen. Malfoy, who was currently behind me and I had no way of keeping an eye on him short of walking backwards to Hogsmeade. No, nothing to worry about. Not at all.

“He's just walking her to Hogsmeade and then he has to meet up with a few friends. She told me this morning.”

Somehow that didn't comfort me. It wasn't exactly a quick walk into Hogsmeade, and Malfoy was more than likely to try something.

As much as I wanted to win this girl over, I was not going to sit back and take it when she stomped all over my heart and handed it to me, tied with a pretty bow.

I resisted the urge to Apparate on ahead, internally wanting to spare myself the agony of watching Hermione with the slimy Slytherin, but I didn't think it was the greatest idea. Instead, when we arrived, I split from Ron and Luna with the excuse that they needed couple time.

It had nothing to do with Malfoy and Hermione approaching.

Absolutely nothing.

While they were off gallivanting and doing who knows what, I decided to drown my sorrows with a few butterbeers and a Firewhisky chaser at the hands of Madam Rosmerta. She was the more than competent barmaid at The Three Broomsticks, and clearly a member of the Unofficial Harry Potter Fan Club. Not that I was using that to my advantage or anything. It's not like students aren't allowed Firewhisky on school trips and Madam Rosmerta knows that.

Oh wait. They aren't. And she does know.

Oops.

A few butterbeers and two Firewhisky shots later, Ron came bounding into the bar, his face flushed with excitement.

“Harry, you have to come!” he exclaimed, all but pulling my right arm out of its socket as he tried to drag me out the door.

“Come where?” I asked, wondering if he'd somehow snuck into the Hog's Head and had more to drink than I had.

“Honeydukes has a new ice cream parlour and you have to try it! It's better than Fortescue's!”

Of course, only something edible could get Ron this excited. I figured that another Firewhisky chaser was probably not a good idea, and reluctantly followed Ron from the bar as Rosmerta tried to surreptitiously watch my arse as I left.

The woman's really not that subtle, but I appreciate the sentiment all the same. Besides, I'm legally an adult in the wizarding world now. It's not like she's cradle robbing or anything. She's just looking.

At least, that's what I tell myself. I really hope she's just looking. And not fantasizing or anything, or taking part in the underground Polyjuice circuit and having random blokes Polyjuiced to look like me while she—

Blimey, my imagination runs away with me sometimes. And I love it.

All images of the buxom Madam Rosmerta and a Polyjuiced (or perhaps not, if the opportunity happened to present itself) version of myself quickly vanish as I realize who is waiting for Ron inside Honeydukes.

“Ron! Harry! What a surprise!” says Luna in an extremely fake-surprised voice. There is absolutely no surprise here.

I'm about to turn and leave; that Firewhisky chaser is looking much better, but Ron's having none of it. Nope, no surprise. They planned this.

“Fancy seeing you here! Harry, you remember Hermione, don't you?”

I fixed her with a determined stare that clearly said I wasn't happy. “I remember.” I made a mental note to `thank' Ron for his surprise later. He always seems to enjoy kicking me while I'm down.

Hermione apparently was having trouble remembering her manners, and barely managed to stammer out a “Hi.”

I stared her down for a moment (I was determined not to let her win), and then turned back to Ron. “So, about that ice cream?”

“Oh, I'm—I'm suddenly not hungry anymore!” he said, causing all three of us to stare at him. Even in her short time at Hogwarts so far, Hermione had clearly been introduced to Ron's excessive eating habits.

“Ron Weasley, not hungry?” I asked him in disbelief. Now there's a sentence I've never heard out of his mouth before.

He shook his head at me. “Nope. Not hungry. I wanted ice cream but suddenly, I don't anymore!”

I rolled my eyes at him. Something tells me he very much wanted his ice cream, but knew that I'd hex him into next week if he made me stay there with him. Which was, of course, precisely what he had been planning on doing.

“Fine, if we're not getting ice cream, then I'm going back to the Quidditch pitch for some flying.”

Fit that one into your plans, Weasley! Oh sure, Ron was my best friend, but there was no way I was going to let him pull a fast one on me. True, even though she'd ripped my heart out and shown it to me earlier when she left Hogwarts with Malfoy, I still wanted Hermione Granger. Badly. But I wanted her because of something that I'd done, not because of Ron's insatiable appetite.

Besides, I'd seen earlier in the week how Malfoy had tried to get her up on his broom after the Hufflepuff-Slytherin match. Key word: tried. Nearly transfigured him into a pink ferret on the spot when I heard him boasting that he was the greatest and youngest seeker Hogwarts had seen in a century. Wanker. That's my title. I got onto the Gryffindor house team in my first year on pure talent. The Slytherin pansy's father had to buy his way onto the team with new brooms for all and he couldn't even manage that until second year.

Not that I held a grudge or anything.

“Ooh, that sounds delightful!” Luna exclaimed with a starry look in her eyes. Didn't realize the girl liked to fly so much. Maybe I'd have to talk Ron into taking her up a few times.

“Hey, does anybody want to go along? I'd sure like to, but I have to go and get—“ Ron's words started to blur together, and Luna jumped in to save him.

“It sounds like it'd be smashing, doesn't it Hermione? I'm sure you'd like to go.”

“Flying?” She didn't look thrilled with the idea. In fact, she looked downright nauseous. And terrified. Bloody panicking, she was. Great. All I do is announce I'm going to leave her alone and the mere mention of the activity I'm about to perform is making her sick.

I've made a right balls-up of this one, I have.

The girls are bickering back and forth, Luna demanding that Hermione give it a shot and Hermione trying to politely decline, all the while looking seasick.

“I'm not going flying!” she finally protested. Hermione turned to Ron with the most pleading eyes I've ever seen. “Help me out here, would you, Ron?”

Ron's eyes widened in panic as he spotted Luna shaking her head out of the corner of his eye. Not knowing what to do, he opted for clutching at his stomach, mumbling something about lunch, and made a mad dash out the door.

“I'd better follow him, before he eats everything Madam Rosmerta puts in front of him.”

With that, Luna disappears from Honeydukes as well.

About ten minutes earlier I would have been making some smart comment about just what Rosmerta could offer up to Ron for the purpose of eating, but the expression on Hermione's face quells any thoughts I shouldn't be having.

She looks like she's been backed into a corner and faced with the business end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

Suddenly her face changes and she becomes a different person before my eyes. Hermione fixes her stare on me, and blinks.

“Want to tell me what that was all about?”

“What?” I would have sworn she was in on it, some cruel venture to shove my heart in my face again, up until that point.

“One minute Luna and I are having a perfectly good time talking about various magical creatures and enjoying our ice cream, and the next I've been left standing here with you, no other friends in sight, and a thoroughly soggy cone!”

Should've known she'd blame it on me. “Well, don't ask me,” I said, walking away from her and out the door of the sweet shop.

I counted down the seconds in my head. Three. Two. One.

“I'll go!”

I turned around to see her tumbling out of the doorway after me, just as I'd suspected she would. Carefully, I rearranged my features in a manner that says `I've no idea what you're on about', and stared at her.

“With you.” She said, exasperated. When I didn't appear to be catching on, she reminded me. “Flying.”

Now, I know that this girl has been ruthless towards me, but I'm so taken with her that suddenly I don't care. I watched her turn down Malfoy's offer of a romantic broom ride, and here she is practically begging me for the same. I'd have to be the world's biggest prat to change my mind.

“Nope. Don't think so.”

Hey, did I ever say I wasn't a prat?

She looked at me, completely confused.

“I would hate for you to get your pretty, clean robes all dirty. I'm pretty adventurous when I fly. Not to mention that stack of books you apparently picked up this morning; those will be far too much luggage for the type of ride I had in mind.”

Uh oh. Now there's a look of pure determination on her face. I've really gotten myself into it this time. In what seems like no time at all she's placed an Ever-Cleaning charm on her robes and shrunken her books until they all fit into her pocket.

“Hey, you're the one who asked me out, remember? Hanging precariously by one hand through a magically created hole in the floor of the Hogwarts Express, with your feet scant millimeters from the tracks, as the train was speeding its way across the British countryside to the Hogwarts castle in Scotland? With your two best friends, three boys who'd gladly hex your bollocks off, and the girl you were trying to pursue all watching as you fought for my heart as well as your life?”

Merlin, it sounds dashing when she says it like that.

“Well, here's your chance, Harry Potter. Take it or leave it.”

So that's how I found myself, half an hour later, desperately concentrating on manoeuvring my broom about the Quidditch pitch while trying not to be distracted by a delirious and screaming Hermione Granger clutching at me from her position behind me on the broom.

I moved into a quick Wronski Feint, eliciting another scream from the terrified girl behind me.

Never would've figured Hermione Granger for a screamer.

She increased her hold on my waist and I nearly let go of my broom as her fingertips brushed against the zipper of my trousers. I'm sure it was purely unintentional on her part, but that didn't prevent my, erm, `broom' from noticing. Unfortunately she didn't seem to notice at all.

After a few loops and turns (purely to distract my nether regions) that would had any seasoned Quidditch player driving the porcelain Knight bus, so to speak, I was surprised to find Hermione still clinging to me. Even more surprised to find she wasn't yelling at me.

I levelled us out and flicked an autopilot charm at my broom so that it would take lazy circles around the goalposts, and turned to face Hermione.

“Bored?”

It was clearly a joke, I could tell the entire time that she was far from bored by the crescent impressions of her nails in my stomach, but she didn't seem to take it that way.

“Whatever would make you think I was bored? I simply had no idea that it was possible for so much fun to be had in a single afternoon! Is this what you do for fun?”

I did my best to ignore the dripping sarcasm that laced her voice. I hate to admit it, but her comment did get to me a bit. “Well, yeah… I'm the Gryffindor Seeker, it'd be a bit off if I didn't find flying fun, wouldn't it?”

“Yeah, sure.” She said dismissively.

Why did I get the feeling that I was about to lose her if I didn't do something witty, and soon?

“Fine then, what do you do for fun?”

Bad move, Potter! I could have said that in a much nicer tone, I'm sure, but I was still smarting from her comment about my flying, and I couldn't help but retaliate.

“For fun?” she snorted. “I'm very busy, so there's not a whole lot of time for fun. I received eleven O.W.L.s when I was attending Beauxbatons, and I'm continuing those courses and taking N.E.W.T.s in all of them. There's Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Astronomy, History of Magic, Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Potions, Spell Creation, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. I'm also the head of an organization, the Society for Promotion of Elfish Welfare. There's not much time for fun, you see.”

“Spew?” I laughed. I swear the girl has created a society whose acronym is a clever slang word for vomit.

“S-P-E-W, thank you very much.”

Something tells me I didn't earn house points on that one.

“After that, I'm applying to all the upstanding British universities, like Oxford. It's what we want. Having a muggle education as well as a wizarding one is bound to be a benefit.”

“We?” I know she has a mighty high opinion of herself, but I wouldn't have suspected her for the type to use the royal `we'.

“Oh, Mum and Daddy. We decide all of the important things together.”

“But you get to decide the rest for yourself?”

“You're rather rude, you know that?” she said to me, glaring.

I was sorely tempted to remind her that we were a hundred feet up in the air balancing on a wooden pole and one good shove would send her hurtling to the ground, but I thought better of it. I'd be proving her point if I did that. Still was mighty tempting, though.

I just shrugged, pretending she didn't bother me. “So, you study for fun, do you?”

“Yes.”

Okay, normally this admission would have sent me running for the hills. I do not date the studious type of girl. Hell, I've dated Luna! Well, not really dated, I suppose, I did take her to the Yule Ball when I was stuck being a TriWizard Champion, but that was just as friends! My type of girl is more like Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Cho Chang, or even (Ron would kill me if he knew I said this) Ginny Weasley. Bubbly, fun, flirty, and just plain girly! A girl who flaunts her legs in the uniform skirt, or pulls you into a broom closet for a quick snog. A girl who studies for fun just plain scares the pants off me, and yet I was still staring into her eyes, surprising myself that the one single word she'd just uttered didn't bother me in the least.

“I like to be prepared,” she offered in explanation, breaking the silence.

Now that I could understand. I'd spent my entire life in the wizarding world preparing myself to kill dear old Tommy Riddle, AKA Lord Moldyshorts, who seemed to think he was Merlin's gift to the purebloods. I'm still preparing to be honest. I can appreciate the desire to be prepared for any given situation.

“You named all the things you have to do. What do you do for you? For fun? And don't say study because as much as I understand why you enjoy it, it's not fun.”

“I-I don't understand.” She stammered. Sweet Circe, she's quite cute when she stammers.

“What. Do. You. Do. For. Pleasure.” I sounded out each word carefully, and she flushed at the last word.

After a few moments of silence she whispered, “I love to read.”

Why was I not surprised? “I said for fun, you know.”

“Everybody thinks that I like to read strictly for the purpose of learning, but they're wrong. Yes, I've learned several important lessons from books, but I enjoyed reading them! I feel much more relaxed with a book in my lap and a good cup of tea in my hand than I do after a nap. But my real guilty pleasure—Muggle romance novels.” She giggled.

I couldn't help but watch as she rattled on about the joys of reading and literature, and the more interesting novels she partook in her spare time. True, the library's never been my cup of tea, but hearing her talk about it was making me think more seriously about the concept. She looked beautiful as she spoke of what she was passionate about, and the flush in her cheeks made me smile.

“I'm talking too much,” she said abruptly, breaking our eye contact.

“Rubbish.”

She looked at me nervously. “Anyway. Reading. It's my passion.”

“It's good to have a passion,” I said stupidly. Surely I could have come up with something better than that, but the way she was nibbling on her bottom lip had reduced me to parroting her words.

Any and all concentration I'd had on my broom's autopilot charm broke just then. Really, it's not the most convenient charm as you have to at least make a conscious effort not to crash into things, but with her caramel eyes wide and trained on me, and her lush, dusty pink lip firmly seated between her teeth, it was all I could do not to kiss her right there.

When the charm broke my broom started hurtling straight forward in the direction it had just been travelling. That was when we collided with the centre hoop of the Quidditch goalposts.

My broom drifted slowly to the ground while we were left hanging by our hands from the bottom of the hoop. Hermione shot me a panicked look. “What now?” she asked. I could tell she was angry with me for letting this happen, but I was in perfect control of the situation. Need I remind everyone that I am perfectly capable of wordless and wandless spell casting? Hermione was at a disadvantage this time, what with hanging on for dear life and all, and there was no way she could cast that spell on me again to stop me. What was that blasted spell, anyway?

“We're going to hang here forever! What if we can't get down?”

“We die.” I said, giving her a straight face.

I swear if she hadn't been hanging onto a Quidditch goal hoop nearly seventy-five feet from the ground, she would have smacked me.

The look of anger on her face softened into one of appreciation as she saw my broom returning from the Summoning charm I'd cast. It hovered within my reach as I mounted it, taking delight in the gasp of concern I heard from her as my hands left the hoop.

I swung my broom around to face her, holding out my hand. She accepted it, nearly giggling, as I pulled her back onto the broom with me and we touched down to the ground.

If I'd though I'd made up for that fiasco, I was dead wrong, for seconds later her hand connected with my cheek. Told you she'd smack me.

“I hate flying! And I hate you, Harry Potter!” she seethed, storming away from me back towards the school.

I ran to catch up with her, my hand closed around her wrist, pulling her back to me. She gasped in surprise, and then took my face in hers and kissed me.

<><><><><>

“Hogwarts was indifferent to the tribulations of young love,” I say to her, smiling, as she appears to glow in the sunlight. I mark my page in the notebook I am reading from and regard her from behind my spectacles. “Harry and Hermione were brilliantly portraying a boy and girl headed down a long and winding road, with absolutely no thought of consequences in their heads.”

“They fell in love, didn't they?” Her eyes are as warm as the day we met.

“Yes, they did.” I say; with the tiniest hint of sorrow in my voice that I'm sure she misses. It still hurts that she doesn't remember.

“Good, I like this kind of story.” She sighs wistfully, as if she's capable of remembering a day in her youth when she was the damsel in such a fairy tale.

Healer Pomfrey approaches us from the door to the inside of the home, and interrupts our moment on the porch. “How about a walk, it's a lovely day outside?”

She shakes her head. “Not now, young lady. This kind gentleman here is reading me a delightful story, and I have no intention of moving from this spot until I find out how it ends!”

Glad to see I still rate better than Exploding Snap in her mind, anyway.

“Yes, well, you need to get some exercise and some fresh air into you. There's only so much potions can do, you know.” The Healer tries again.

“Of course I know!” she says in an almost-snippy tone.

“I'll take her in just a few, I promise.” I say to Healer Pomfrey, an apologetic smile on my face. I dearly hope she still is not mad at me for last night.

“I thought she'd never leave.” She laughs as the Healer retreats. “No, do go on! I'm dying to know what happens!”

Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I reopen the notebook and continue to read to her.

“After that afternoon at the Quidditch pitch, Harry and Hermione spent every hour humanly possible together. Soon, they were inseparable…”

-->

3. An Improbable Romance

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.

<><><><><>

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.

<><><><><>

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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