One for the Birthday Boy

Amethyst

Rating: NC17
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 6
Published: 31/07/2006
Last Updated: 31/07/2006
Status: completed

He’d hoped, when he woke that morning, that the dream was all a fluke – that he was bound to dream about her at least once in his life, that he was bound to place the only girl that he was consistently around in his subconscious fantasies…but why was he wanting her now, after he’d woken up?

Chapters

1. untitled

1. untitled

Disclaimer: Not mine, plain and simple. No profit, nada. The usual.

~

It was midnight. July 31. Harry was still wide awake, and was now considerably glum.

Happy Birthday to me, he thought. My gifts? Four remaining horcruxes, three dead father figures, two best friends who aren’t speaking to each other, again, and one very annoying ex-girlfriend. Just like the twelve bloody days of Christmas, it is.

No, it was not the ideal seventeenth birthday for Harry. With Ron and Hermione in an off-again phase and Ginny constantly writing him to check up on his well-being and to hint at getting back together, he was seriously considering not leaving his room at all that day. At least he’d be able to get something done for once.

This might actually be the worst birthday yet, he thought to himself as he closed his eyes, determined to go to sleep – and if he was lucky, stay asleep until August 1st.

“Happy Birthday, Harry,” came Hermione’s voice out of the darkness, with a strange undertone to it that he couldn’t quite puzzle out. Her form was blurry, indistinct as she walked toward him, but soon she was close enough to make out what she was wearing – black lacy knickers and a matching black lacy bra that squeezed at her cleavage, making her breasts appear ready to pop out at any moment. She had on a black dressing gown as well, but it hung open, revealing all kinds of creamy delectable skin.

Happy Birthday, indeed.

The next moment, he was lying on a bed…wearing absolutely nothing. Her robe fluttered to the ground and she was straddling him, her hands everywhere, her hot, wet tongue tracing patterns on his neck and chest. He groaned aloud, reaching for her.

“And what would the birthday boy like me to do to him?” she purred, sliding down his body as his fingers grazed her breasts. Her pink tongue darted out to flick against his navel.

“Maybe he’d like this,” she whispered huskily before her head dipped and her mouth descended upon his straining cock. A great rush of heat passed over him and he could only groan as he spiraled out of control…

…And woke sweat-soaked and alone in his bed, gasping for breath, with a familiar wet spot between his legs that he thought he’d been done with since age fifteen.

“Oh, fuck,” he murmured into the darkness as the realization of who he’d been dreaming about hit him squarely in the chest.

~

He stumbled into the kitchen late the next morning, freshly showered and edgier than he’d been since Voldemort returned. After his strange – but very pleasant – dream, he wasn’t sure how he was going to look her in the face today. Although he had no way of controlling his subconscious, he couldn’t help feeling highly ashamed of himself. For one, this was Hermione, and placing her in any situation such as the one in his dreams was simply…wrong. Hermione was sweet and kind and gentle, and certainly the most moral person he knew, and she deserved more than to be some teenage boy’s lewd fantasy. Secondly, she would absolutely loathe him for objectifying her in such a way. Thirdly, she was almost…sort of…vaguely in the realm of being with Ron. As such, she was even more off-limits than before, when she was only his best friend. There was an unspoken rule that friends did not fancy a shag with the girls friends fancied, and he didn’t want to break it.

When he walked into the kitchen that morning, however, he knew he was completely screwed. She was just sitting there in her usual flannel pajama bottoms and tank top, sipping away at a cup of tea, and yet the sight of her curves and her pursed lips on the rim of that cup made him want to throw her down on the table, regardless of the presence of Ron and Dobby, and –

…Wait, Dobby? His eyes flicked back to the stove. Sure enough, Hogwarts’ strangest house-elf was adding to a growing stack of pancakes, wearing his usual mismatched socks and an old maroon jumper – probably one Ron was glad to get rid of – that hung to his ankles and had to be rolled up several times to leave his hands free.

“Dobby! What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Harry Potter, sir!” Dobby cried ecstatically, leaving a pancake to fall to the floor with a splat. “Miss ‘Mione has hired Dobby to work for you, sir! Dobby said he would be honored to serve the great Harry Potter, sir.”

“For pay, of course,” Hermione added firmly. She turned to Harry in explanation. “It didn’t seem fair that you do all the cooking, since…well, you’re the only one who can, and the less time we spend cleaning and such, the more time we can work on finding the horcruxes, and Dobby was the only one I could find who would let me pay him, so…um…Happy Birthday?”

Harry smiled, more at her babbling than anything, as Ron hastily wished him a Happy Birthday as well, obviously having forgotten for the time being.

“Thanks,” he said, sitting down at his usual seat. Dobby quickly placed a steaming mug of tea before him, followed by a stack of pancakes big enough to feed a small army.

For awhile, things were all right. He could talk to Hermione, so long as he didn’t look at her (lest he see her tongue dart out to catch a bit of syrup on her lips and drive him mad all over again), and he could talk to Ron, so long as it wasn’t about anything he’d been talking to Hermione about (lest the third world war break out over the breakfast table), and by the time he’d downed his pancakes, Hermione had left the room to retrieve something.

He relaxed in his chair slightly as Dobby presented him with a new pair of socks (“Headmaster Dumbledore always said you can never have too many socks,” the elf proclaimed tearfully before squeaking comically and popping out of the room). After that, Ron smacked his forehead and went off in the direction of Hermione (“Sorry, mate, but you know I can’t remember anything in the morning.”) and Harry sat alone at the table, dangerous thoughts fluttering through his head.

Why, why, why was he suddenly and inexplicably obsessed with Hermione’s girly parts? He’d always known they were there and had managed to be completely unfazed by them. Why was he responding now?

He’d hoped, when he woke that morning, that the dream was all a fluke – that he was bound to dream about her at least once in his life, that he was bound to place the only girl that he was consistently around in his subconscious fantasies…but why was he wanting her now, after he’d woken up?

The very devil tormenting his mind walked back in at that moment, holding a small box wrapped in red paper, a gold ribbon tied around it.

“I think this is going to make you very happy,” she said, and his mind conjured several naughty scenarios to follow that statement. He mentally swatted them away and set about tearing open the package. Before he could finish, however, Ron burst through the door, panting heavily.

“Sorry I took so long,” he said, taking his seat at the table once more and placing a wrapped box in front of Harry. “I –“

“You forgot and had to Apparate into Diagon Alley to get him something, didn’t you?” Hermione said, scowling all the while, her eyes narrowed at the boy whose face was rapidly turning pink.

“I’m sorry I’m not bloody perfect like you!” Ron snapped, and Harry knew he’d already been forgotten.

“You are such a bloody hypocrite!” Hermione cried, leaping out of her chair, and Harry recoiled in surprise at hearing Hermione swear. “You’re the one who’s always insinuating that you’re the real best friend, and yet you can’t even be bothered to get him a present before the morning of his birthday? Sometimes I wonder if you care at all!”

“Oh, it’s always about Harry, isn’t it?” Ron bellowed across the table, standing up so forcefully that his chair fell over behind him. “What is it with you? It was bad enough when he was all you could talk about, even when he wasn’t around, but…Merlin, Hermione, refusing to be with me because of him? He’s not eight bloody years old, Hermione, he doesn’t need our complete and utter devotion.”

Ron stopped and frowned at the look on Hermione’s face, still oblivious to Harry’s presence, who was feeling more awkward than he ever had in his life…yet strangely…happy about this turn of events.

“It’s him you want, isn’t it?” Ron said quietly, eyeing Hermione with a strange expression on his face. “It’s been him all this time…all the way back in fourth year, even. Hasn’t it?”

Hermione remained silent, pale-faced and meeting Ron’s gaze evenly. Harry’s stomach lurched wildly at the thought that Hermione had wanted to be with him the whole time. Could it be true?

Ron shook his head and sighed. “I guess that’s all the answer I need, isn’t it?”

Hermione looked away, down at the ground, and Ron left the room without looking at Harry. She remained frozen in place as Harry turned to her.

“Is…is it true?” he asked tentatively, unable to help himself.

Hermione licked her lips, and Harry could see the urge to flee in her eyes.

“Look, I…I’m not some silly schoolgirl with a crush. I’m not about to fawn all over you or chase after you for years like Ginny, I just…I care a lot about you, Harry, and…well, I can’t see anyone else comparing to you.”

Harry swallowed, watching her bite her lip, and acted, as he usually did, on impulse.

“Hermione, can I…can I kiss you?”

Her eyes shot up to his and her eyebrows darted upward before her face crumpled into a frown. “Harry, I know you don’t feel that way about me, you don’t have to pretend –“

“Actually,” he said, interrupting her, “I sort of…had this dream last night.”

Oh, Merlin, why was he telling her this? No matter how much she fancied him, surely she wouldn’t take well to it….

“I don’t understand. Was it about Voldemort? What does that have to do with –“

“No, no,” Harry said quickly. There was a look of impatience behind her bemused expression that he found oddly…adorable. “It was, um, a different sort of dream.”

His face grew rapidly hot and he watched the cogs turn in her head before her eyes widened in surprise, and she turned as red, if not redder, than he was.

“Oh. It…it was about…me?”

There was a hopefulness in her tone that he hadn’t been expecting. “Well…yeah. I…it was…you…” He trailed off, having no idea how to explain the dream to her and deciding to leave it out entirely. “What I mean to say is that the dream…gave me ideas, I guess.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, and Harry couldn’t help noticing a trace of disappointment. “You’re attracted to me, you mean.”

“I do really care about you,” he added hastily. “It’d just never really occurred to me to look at you that way before, and ever since the dream, I just haven’t been able to get you out of my head. Am I making any sense?”

Hermione smiled indulgently. “A little. I don’t suppose you still want that kiss, do you?”

Harry grinned. “I do, actually.”

She took a step closer and leaned in – her lips were so close; it’d take no effort at all to kiss her – and wound her arms around his neck, bringing her breasts flush against his chest. His breathing turned suddenly shallow.

“Do you want to tell me about that dream?” she whispered, her breath ghosting across his mouth. “If you’re lucky, I might just act it out for you…”

Harry swallowed. “I don’t know if you own the proper attire for that.”

Her lips grazed his earlobe as she spoke. “Don’t be silly. I’m already wearing it.”

Harry looked down to find that she was, indeed, in that black satin robe, and as she backed away from him, she slowly untied it, exposing lace-clad breasts, the matching panties, and miles and miles of gorgeous, naked skin. Harry gulped.

She grabbed his shirt and pulled him closer, until he could circle his arms around her, and then her nearly-naked body was pressed against his in all kinds of wonderful places. He kissed her, finally, loving the feel of her soft, pliant lips against his and the wonderful touch of her tongue. A moan drifted up from the back of her throat and she began to undress him, tossing his shirt to the floor and working at the zip of his jeans with quick hands. Soon he was naked all but for his socks, and her hands were somehow everywhere at once. Her fingers skimmed over his erection and he groaned into her neck as he pushed the robe off her shoulders.

She gasped as he nipped at her collarbone – he couldn’t resist – and saved him a bit of trouble by quickly popping the clasp in the front of her bra. Harry could only swallow and stare as the bit of fabric fell away and her breasts came into view, full and pert and perfectly round.

He dipped his head to take one rosy, pink nipple into his mouth and swirl his tongue around it. Her petite form quivered under the hands he had rested upon her hips, and he continued his work on her other breast.

Once he’d explored to satisfaction her rather remarkable chest, he trailed downward, enjoying the breathy sounds she’d make when his tongue touched her skin.

Soon he was face to face with those lovely black, oh-so-lacy knickers. He could just make out her dark curls through the fabric and the sight shredded away his last bit of patience. In one smooth movement, he pulled the panties down to her ankles, and she kicked out of them, leaning back against the table.

Without bothering to think about it, Harry swept the dishes and presents and everything else off the table and pushed her back onto it with the weight of his body. He groaned and she cried out as he slid into her, and he moved as his body took him, lost to the unspeakable thrill…

“Harry…Harry…Harry…Harry!”

His eyes popped open and met the sight of the literal girl of his dreams, wearing the same pajamas she had been earlier, looking at him with puzzlement. And she was sideways, for some reason.

Harry lifted his head and realized, rubbing at the numb spot on his face, that he’d fallen asleep at the table, waiting for her and Ron to return. So far, it was still only Hermione there.

“Harry, did you not get enough sleep last night?” she asked with concern.

Harry took one long look at her, groaned, and buried his head in his arms that were still folded on the tabletop.

“Harry!” she exclaimed, now even more concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Dreams. Bad, bad dreams,” Harry groaned, shaking his head into his arms. He definitely couldn’t look at her now.

“Oh,” she said as if she suddenly knew exactly what he was talking about, and Merlin, he hoped she didn’t. “You’re having nightmares again? Are – are they from Voldemort, or are they just –“

“Not that kind of bad,” Harry said, looking up at her. It was probably his heated blush, more than anything, that made her understand.

“Ah,” she said delicately. “Um, well, do you…er…do you need to go take a…a cold shower…or…um…whatever?”

Harry swallowed, considering his groin momentarily. “I…er…I think I’ll be fine.”

Hermione turned a cleared her throat. “Yes, well…um…why don’t you open my present?”

She handed him a small, square box wrapped in red paper with a gold ribbon tied around it…just like in the dream, strangely enough, but he did his best to ignore that thought. With a glance at Hermione as she sat back down, he pulled the ribbon loose, tore off the paper, and opened the box lid.

Inside was…a locket? He frowned in confusion and picked it up, and his eyes widened as he took a good look at it.

“Is this…is this what I think it is?” he asked excitedly, turning it over in his hand.

Hermione nodded, grinning. “Slytherin’s locket, yes. I-I sort of figured out who ‘R.A.B.’ was by accident one day when I was looking at the Black family tree. Harry, it’s Sirius’ brother – Regulus. He’d hidden the locket in the house – it was here the whole time.”

Harry stared at her, mouth agape. “But…how did you find it? It could have been anywhere…”

Hermione smiled in that cute, smug way she did when she’d been particularly clever. “I remembered seeing it while we were cleaning out the house last summer. Remember the locket that we couldn’t get open?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “That was Slytherin’s locket? We had a horcrux right under our nose, in Order headquarters no less, and we didn’t know it? But…wait, we threw it out….”

Hermione smirked. “Well, we tried. Didn’t keep Kreacher from smuggling it out. I wouldn’t be surprised if He’d been ordered to keep it hidden, actually.” She paused, biting her lip. “I – I would have given it to you sooner, but there was nothing we could do with it until we figured out how to destroy it, anyway, so I’ve been working on a theory for that…I thought it might cheer you up a bit today, knowing we’re one step closer…and I think we’ll know how to destroy them soon; I’m this close to figuring it out, I can feel it, and…you’re not angry with me, are you?”

Harry blinked, astounded as always at her extraordinary babbling abilities. “No, I’m not…you’re right, we couldn’t do anything with it, and…I did need this today, to cheer me up…like you said.”

Hermione smiled in relief and patted his hand in a friendly gesture of support. “So, what would the birthday boy like to do today?”

Oh gods…The words she’d spoken in his dream the night before repeated themselves over and over in his brain – “And what would the birthday boy like me to do to him?” – and he could only stare at her in shock as he unwittingly imagined her sinking to her knees in front of him and –

“Harry? Harry, are you all right?”

Harry swallowed, focusing again on Hermione’s concerned face. “I’m fine. Just fine. I…um…I…what do you think we should do today?”

“Well, it’s your birthday, Harry,” she said, frowning. “Obviously, we ought to do something you’d enjoy. Perhaps we should go to the Burrow? You could play a bit of Quidditch there if you liked…”

Harry considered that idea, thinking of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking…and Mrs. Weasley’s desperate attempts to get Ginny and him back together, and Ginny’s desperate attempts…

“I’m not sure that would be a good idea,” he finally said, and Hermione nodded, giving him a knowing look. Before they could discuss anything else, however, Ron rushed back into the room with a wrapped package of his own.

“Sorry, mate. Took me forever to find this in my room.”

Harry could tell by her scowl that Hermione was dying to lay into Ron for that, but they seemed to be at a temporary – albeit completely silent – ceasefire for today. Harry was glad.

“Thanks, Ron,” Harry said, taking the package. Inside was a Chudley Cannons T-shirt. Harry didn’t want to break it to Ron just then that Hermione had gotten him a horcrux. He had a feeling that might break up the peace very, very quickly.

~

In the end, they did go to the Burrow, but only after Mrs. Weasley flooed them to wish Harry a happy birthday and informed them that Ginny was spending the day helping Fred and George at their shop.

As it turned out, Ron was the only Weasley child in attendance. Charlie was back in Romania, Bill and Fleur were still honeymooning in the Caribbean, Percy was still a git, and the rest were in Diagon Alley. That still didn’t stop Harry and Ron from playing a game of one-on-one Quidditch, each of them taking turns as Keeper and Chaser. Hermione, as usual, could not be persuaded to join them, but Harry noticed the pointed way she was cheering only for him where she sat with an ignored book in her lap. Despite knowing she was only trying to anger Ron, he did like the sound of her yelling his name like that….

After a morning of Quidditch came a superb picnic lunch that Mrs. Weasley sent flying to them from the house.

Lunch passed quickly and quietly, and afterward, they went for a swim in the pond (after Hermione made them wait at least fifteen minutes for their stomachs to settle). The swimming was going fine for Harry until Hermione whipped off her clothes and revealed a black bikini. It was modest, by social standards, but for Harry, it was simply a glaring reminder of his inappropriate dreams, and he had to stay in the water until she was fully dressed once more, lest he reveal to her the subject of the dreams she now knew he was having.

When they returned home, they went to put their things away and then regroup downstairs, but Ron had flopped onto his bed and promptly passed out when they arrived home…leaving Harry and Hermione to occupy themselves.

He found her in the drawing room, sitting before the Black family tree but not really looking at it. Her mind was so engrossed in whatever it was she was thinking on that she didn’t notice when he sat down near her.

“Sickle for your thoughts?” he said, too impatient to wait for her to notice him any longer.

She looked up, a bit surprised. “I was just wondering if perhaps there’s more to the prophecy than Dumbledore thought.”

Harry frowned, and she went on quickly, “I mean, he thinks it’s just love, and the fact that he marked you…but I was just wondering if maybe, just maybe, his marking you gave you more power over him than you know.”

Harry shrugged. “Well, it gave me parseltongue. Other than that…”

“I was thinking of the diary, actually,” Hermione said. “Second year, with the basilisk. You destroyed it without any real harm to yourself – I mean, yes, you were bitten, but that wasn’t from destroying the horcrux. But when Dumbledore destroyed the ring –“

“He got his arm burnt to a crisp,” Harry finished for her. “You think ‘the power he knows not’ is the power to destroy horcruxes?”

“Not any horcrux,” Hermione said hastily, “But his, yes. It was his magic that created them, and when his killing curse backfired on you, he gave you some of his magic in the process. Magic…it has a mark, you know, like a fingerprint. Everyone’s is different. Maybe the horcruxes only respond to the magic that made it.”

“But I didn’t even use magic to destroy the diary. It was just the basilisk fang.”

“That stumped me, too, for awhile,” Hermione said, turning into her chair to face him better, “Horcruxes, you know, are semi-conscious, because they’re part of a soul. They can sense when they’re being attacked, and they’ll try to protect themselves, unless –“

“The attacker is the one who made them,” Harry finished, and she beamed at him with pride. He felt himself blush. “So you think this ‘magical fingerprint’ business allows me to just…destroy the horcrux by destroying the object it’s in? I mean, that’s all I did with the diary.”

Hermione nodded. “I think destroying them will be the easiest part, given your power. What’s going to be hard is finding them and retrieving them. Voldemort obviously knew that a powerful enough wizard could destroy them, despite their natural protection. Someone like Dumbledore could probably survive it. I’m sure he added plenty of curses and obstacles to keep them all safe, and certainly, to keep them from being moved. The last thing he needs is some random person coming along and running off with one without even knowing what it is. He’d likely never find it again.”

Harry sighed. “Well, after that cave full of Inferi, I’d been expecting as much. I like your theory better than Dumbledore’s, though. Makes it much easier to get rid of them once we’ve got them. Why do you suppose he never thought of it, though?”

Hermione shrugged helplessly. “Maybe he suspected and never said anything. Maybe it just never occurred to him that a horcrux might respond to a magical fingerprint rather than another part of the soul it came from. Maybe he didn’t realize it had anything to do with you – you did use a basilisk fang, after all. Who’s to say?”

Harry nodded. “Well, what do you say we test your theory?” With a flick of his wand, Harry summoned the locket from where he’d left it in his bedroom, and he caught it easily in his hand.

“D’you suppose there are any curses left on this?” Harry asked, eyeing it.

“It’s hard to say,” Hermione replied. “I’ve gone over it with every detection spell I know, and I haven’t found anything, but who knows what kind of anti-detection spells were put on it in the first place…and the fact that it won’t open can’t be a good sign…. You know, it’s a shame Bill’s away. He’s a curse-breaker; he might be able to find something we can’t.”

Harry nodded absently as he turned the locket over in his hand time and time again. There was something about it…something tickling the back of his brain, trying to work its way forward…something obvious that he ought to do, but he just couldn’t think of it….

“Hermione…do you think that maybe opening it is the key to destroying it?” he asked, sliding a thumbnail into the crease of the opening. She didn’t need to reply; he felt certain that if he could just get it open, the horcrux would be destroyed.

“Harry, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. None of us could get it open before…I don’t see how –“

But she stopped short as he opened the locket with ease, and with a blinding flash of light, it lay still and open, looking completely innocent. Beside him, Hermione gasped.

“I was the only one who never tried to open it last year,” Harry said simply, grinning. Hermione smiled back, and before he knew what was happening, she had jumped free from her chair and launched herself onto him.

“Oh, Harry, you’ve done it! We’ve taken out the first horcrux! We’re that much closer now,” she exclaimed, squeezing him just a tad too tightly for comfort. Nevertheless, he hugged her back with enthusiasm.

Hermione pulled back, grinning, and he realized she was sitting sideways on his lap. Having much experience in the area, Harry could sense impending disaster a mile away, but before he could prevent this particular one, Hermione had shifted just enough to brush against his groin.

He felt his face flush as he automatically pictured her in his mind’s eye, perched there on his lap in the same attire she’d been appearing in his dreams with. It was then that he noticed the look on her face.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said automatically, taking his hands off her. “I – um –“

Hermione gave a breathy, nervous laugh. “Well, it’s…it’s not as though you can help it, can you?”

For some reason, she wasn’t moving off his lap, and Harry could only stare at her in confusion.

“Um…Harry…those dreams you’ve been having…they haven’t been about…me…have they?”

Harry eyed her carefully. Did she want them to be about her? Would she slap him? Would she be able to tell if he was lying?

Well, that was one answer he did know. Hermione could always tell when he lied to her.

Harry sighed hopelessly. “Yes.”

“Oh.” She still hadn’t moved…still had her arms draped around his neck and her bum precisely where it ought not to be.

“I’m sorry,” he added quickly. “I didn’t mean to, I just –“

To his surprise, Hermione snorted. “I know you didn’t mean to, you git. I’m just…wondering why.” She paused, wetting her lips. “Did you…enjoy the dreams?”

Something about the look in Hermione’s eye made it a little harder to breathe. He cleared his throat, trying to bring his body back under control, but to no avail. He admitted defeat. “Yes.”

Hermione cocked her head like her cat did when considering a mouse. “So…you’re…attracted to me, then.”

Harry nodded, wondering when she was going to get off his bloody lap so he could go have a nice, cold shower.

“You…you fancy me?” she asked. “You want to be with me?”

Harry sighed, exasperated. “Yes! All of those things, yes, now can I go deal with my problem or are you just going to sit there wiggling your bum around?”

Hermione appeared to be actually considering the idea. “I think…I might like to stay here.”

Harry blinked rapidly. “I…er…I don’t understand.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t. You’re such a typical male sometimes, Harry.”

“Well, are you going to explain it to me?” he huffed. “You females aren’t exactly helpful all the time.”

“Oh, Harry, you’re so blind,” she chuckled. “I’ve fancied you off and on since fourth year, and you’ve yet to notice a thing.”

Harry felt his brain cells locking up. “You’ve…fancied me?”

“Well, you know, at the beginning of fourth year, we ended up spending so much time together, and…I couldn’t really help myself,” she said. “I’d actually rather hoped you’d ask me to the Yule Ball, but by then, you were too infatuated with Cho Chang, which lasted well into fifth year, unfortunately.” Hermione sighed to herself, a far off look on her features. “By the end of fifth year, I’d really given up on you, and I decided to give Ron a chance. He rather ruined that, though…and in the end, I still wasn’t over you.”

“I had no idea,” Harry said, his throat rather dry. “You made it seem like…like you fancied Ron…”

Hermione shrugged. “I admit, I took a lot of my frustrations out on him. But surely you noticed how jealous I was when you kissed Cho.”

Harry frowned, thinking back to that fateful evening, remembering her clipped tone, how she’d never once smiled….

“But…you weren’t that way about Ginny,” Harry said, taking her in with new eyes.

“I couldn’t be, now, could I? We were all friends. I couldn’t refuse to give her advice or show how unhappy I was when you started to fancy her…not without revealing how I truly felt, and how would that have helped? So I just…kept my distance.”

Harry thought again about the first time he kissed Ginny, and the smile he’d seen on Hermione’s face. In hindsight, it had looked a bit strained…

“Harry, if you still want Ginny…if you’re planning on getting back together when this is all over, I’d understand.” Her two front teeth worked at her bottom lip in nervousness.

Harry considered the idea and realized that he hadn’t actually thought much about Ginny since Bill and Fleur’s wedding. He entertained the idea of going back to the Burrow, triumphant after defeating Voldemort for good, to be joyfully embraced by his former girlfriend…and glancing over at Hermione to see the sadness in her eyes. The thought stabbed at his heart. He didn’t want to hurt Hermione that way.

Harry shook his head, his decision made. “I don’t really know what’s going on here, Hermione, but I know that I couldn’t bear to break your heart…but I could live with breaking hers. That means something, doesn’t it?”

Hermione smiled hopefully. “And you’re sure those aren’t just very strong protective, brotherly feelings?”

Harry snorted. “Well, I certainly hope most brothers don’t dream about their sisters going –“ He cut himself off with a very fake cough. “No, definitely not brotherly feelings.”

Hermione grinned and leaned in closer, bringing her lips to his. This is so much better than any dream, Harry thought to himself as her soft lips parted and he tasted her for the first time. Her mouth was amazing…magical, even. He never, ever wanted to stop kissing her.

To his disappointment, she pulled away first, but there was a glint in her eyes that reminded him of his dream Hermione, and that spoke of good things to come.

“So,” she whispered, smirking, “Let’s hear about these dreams, Birthday Boy.”

Very good things, indeed.

The End

A/N: No, there shall be no sequels. I only put the plottiness in there because…well, because I could, and if I was going to write a horcrux-hunting fic, I wouldn’t start it with this number. :P