Bearings
Disclaimer/Author's Notes: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. For continuity's sake, Jeter doesn't exist in this world.
Desperate for changing
Starving for truth
I'm closer to where I started
Chasing after you
I'm falling even more in love with you
Letting go of all I've held onto
I'm standing here until you make me move
I'm hanging by a moment here with you
Lifehouse
Hanging By a Moment
Chapter Five: Crossroads
Hermione watched as Harry's eyebrows scrunched together and how he peered down his nose at the smaller man that had stepped into his path. She didn't know what the man in the ridiculously expensive looking suit had said to Harry, but she didn't necessarily like Harry's reaction. She took a few steps in their direction so she could hear what they were saying.
"…New York Yankees?" Harry asked the man. Hermione felt her heart rate spike thirty beats per minute; though she didn't know the context of the conversation, nor what had been said at first, she had some idea. She didn't like it.
"Yes, Mr. Potter. The Yankees," the man said, and he exuded supreme confidence. The tone of his voice and the way he was standing hinted to Hermione he was either extremely wealthy or very sure of what he had to say to Harry.
Harry did not answer immediately, and instead flicked his eyes to Hermione, who was now standing only a few feet behind the man. There was an uncertainty and even an apology in his gaze. He made eye contact with the man again and Hermione thought his shoulders might have slumped slightly. Her eyes tracked movement over Harry's shoulder, and she saw John and Tom, along with a few of Harry's other teammates, approaching. They looked excited.
"Oh…ok. What can I do for you?" Harry asked. His voice had become business-like, almost formal, and Hermione recognized the inflection from when Harry was in `leader mode', as she liked to call it. She'd only heard it a few times.
"I am here to inquire after your plans for the future, now that you are done with Stanford," the man said. Hermione saw Harry's teammates stop a ways back, chattering amongst themselves. They kept looking at Harry and the man, and then at each other, speaking animatedly. Hermione shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She felt like she was missing something.
"I'm not sure yet, Mr. Cashman," Harry replied.
"Brian. You can call me Brian," the man said immediately, and Harry nodded.
"Harry, then." Brian nodded. Hermione's eyes tracked to the shiny bald spot on the back of his head for a moment, but Brian's voice recaptured her attention.
"Well, Harry…I'll just cut to the chase then. We are prepared to offer you a place on our team."
Two things happened at once: Harry's eyebrows shot up his forehead and Hermione felt her heart literally skip a beat. Whoever this man was, this Brian Cashman, he was interfering with her plans! She waited for Harry's response, trying to calm her racing pulse.
"On the Yankees?" Harry asked, and even Hermione knew it was a stupid, redundant question. She smiled slightly, though; Harry was at his cutest when he was bewildered.
Brian chuckled. It wasn't really a pleasant sound. "Indeed, Harry. On the Yankees."
Harry's eyes flicked to Hermione once again, and there was a third emotion there this time: confusion. All three were swirling around his eyes, and Hermione knew that Brian couldn't see them. Even though Harry's outward exterior was calm, Hermione could see the emotion smoldering beneath. She always had been able to read his eyes.
"A starting position?" he asked. Hermione's jaw clenched. This conversation was not going in a good direction. She didn't want to take anything away from Harry, but this wasn't supposed to happen. The last ten days they'd spent together had been a bit of a refresher for her, as far as Harry went, and she liked it.
Actually, she loved it. She knew she had told her mother that she loved Harry before she'd left, but that hadn't been the entire truth. She'd thought she loved him. Now she knew, though. Harry was still the same Harry, whatever new burdens or anxieties he carried.
Hermione'd thought she'd gone too far when she'd kissed him during the storm, on her first night here, but it had turned into a mutual snog. And although they hadn't repeated the performance, they had been sleeping with each other. Hermione knew she'd pressed the issue when she'd chosen to sleep in Harry's bed the night he went out, but he didn't seem to mind. She wished that he had done something, or that she had been a little more forward in the past few days, but she didn't want to push it beyond what Harry could handle.
The mixed signals she was getting from him indicated to her that he was very confused at the moment, probably grappling with her twenty-two-year-old self versus that eleven-year-old image of her she knew he would always have in his mind. And the fact that he hadn't just gone after her, but had indeed showed some interest, told her that he was interested in her for more than her looks. There was a real connection there, and however often she told herself of course there was, it was reassuring to feel it from Harry.
Feel it, indeed. That morning when she had woken with Harry pressed into her back, the little devil in her mind-ok, the medium-sized devil that was growing every ruddy day-whispered that she should `stretch' and grind her bum against his crotch. She had done so without really thinking about it, and was immediately rewarded with the hardening of his member. She had been sorely tempted (and maybe she really would have been sore, but she wouldn't have minded) to rub it further, and the wetness already seeping into her knickers yearned for it, but she held back.
She waited to see what Harry would do, half hoping he would do the rubbing himself, but the stillness had stretched on and on; finally, he had gotten up and quickly said something about a shower, exiting the room. She had lain there, aching to touch herself, to get that release she so needed, but she hadn't. She had eventually gotten up to change her knickers, though.
She crashed back to the present when Brian answered Harry: "Yes, that is what we are offering. Do you have a representative, Harry?"
"Representative?" Harry asked. Hermione shifted again, and almost blushed to find that she would need to change her knickers again. Bugger her vivid imagination!
"You know, an agent?"
Hermione was quickly losing her patience with this whole thing. She didn't want to think about the possibility of Harry not coming back to Britain with her. And that's exactly what this man was offering.
"Oh. No, I don't. I haven't really thought about it," Harry answered. He seemed to be losing focus as well, because some of that poise had left his voice.
"Perhaps you should think about it." Brian reached into a pocket and withdrew a small business card. "In the meantime, think about what I've told you. We'll be waiting for your response. A week is all we can give, though," he said, and stuck out his hand once again. Harry took the card and shook his hand. Brian nodded at him and turned, almost knocking into Hermione.
"Oh," he said, clearly startled. Hermione pretended not to notice the sweep of his eyes over her body. "Excuse me, miss," he said, and she moved out of the way. He moved past and she watched him go. She then looked back to Harry. He was staring down at the card, and when he looked up at her, she raised an eyebrow.
"What was that-"
"Harry!" one of his teammates called out over her voice. He continued staring at her for a moment, and then turned toward the many players coming toward him.
"Yeah?" he asked, as they came near.
"Wasn't that Brian Cashman?" Tom asked. Hermione rubbed her forehead wearily. The stickiness between her legs was more aggravating than anything at this point, and she discreetly passed her hand over the region. A silent evanesco fixed the problem.
"Yeah," Harry said, echoing his words.
"Well, shit!" John exclaimed, and the guys laughed. "What did he say?"
"Oh, not much," Harry replied, turning the card over and over in his hand. He glanced over his shoulder at Hermione. Their eyes met for a second and then she moved up to stand next to his side.
John pursed his lips. "Sure Harry." He looked to Hermione. "Hermione? You must have heard it." Suddenly, all of the attention was on her.
"Uh, yeah," she started, haltingly. Did Harry want them to know what had passed? He didn't object, though, so she continued. "He said they were interested in him."
"They?" one of the guys asked. She vaguely remembered his name as Paul.
"You don't know who Cashman is?" Tom asked him.
"I didn't," Harry said.
Tom shrugged. "Stands to reason. Paul grew up here, though. Anyways, he's the general manager of the Yankees."
Paul's eyes widened in realization. "Oh…"
"Yeah," John said. "And what did you say, Harry?"
Harry sighed and looked around, first at them, then at Hermione, and finally at his classmates mingling behind them.
"I told him I hadn't really thought about it, and-"
"What's there to think about?" John burst out. Several heads nodded in agreement with him. A sinking sensation was spreading through Hermione, and she realized it had been since the first words she'd overheard.
For some reason, she was acutely aware of a clenching in Harry's posture. The muscles in his forearms seemed to be standing out a little more than they normally did, and he looked like his stance had straightened out.
"Quite a bit, actually," Harry replied, and it wasn't without a small note of condescension. Hermione didn't think anyone but John had caught it, because his was the only face that hadn't gone from excited for Harry to questioning him.
"Like what?" someone else asked. "It's the Yankees, for Christ's sake."
"You all know I'm not from America," Harry answered. "I don't know what I'm doing now. I told him I would think about."
"How long do you have?" John asked, and Hermione noted that accusatory tone had left his voice. His disbelief must have faded with his realization that Harry had some imminent choices. Hermione just hoped that her presence these past days, and the camaraderie that had eased back into their relationship, would influence them in her favor.
"He said I had a week to get an agent." Harry slipped the card into his pocket and took a deep breath. "I just don't know."
"It probably won't be very hard for you to get one," Tom said. "If the fuckin' Yankees are going after you, agents probably will, too."
Harry waved his hand. "Whatever, I'm not gonna worry about it right now. I need to figure out where I'm going first."
"Well," John said, "some of us are probably just gonna get a hotel room for a few days in town, so we can figure out some things. You're welcome to join us," he said, though he cut his eyes toward Hermione.
Harry inclined his head. "Thanks for the offer. I'll let you know sometime later today."
"When do we have to be out of here by?" a teammate asked.
"Uh, by noon tomorrow, I think," Paul responded.
"Oh. Damn," the bloke responded. "I gotta get my shit together. I'll see you guys later," he added, and then turned and hurried away. Several more teammates indicated the same thing, and after they had split off, it was only she, Harry, Tom, and John.
"It's a great opportunity, Harry," Tom said. "I don't think that happens very often…"
Harry sighed again. "I know…I know. I guess I should have made some decisions long before now," he said, and turned to Hermione. "You want some lunch?"
Hermione blinked twice, restarting her stalled thought process, and cleared her throat lightly.
"Sure, that'd be nice," she replied.
Harry looked to the other two, a questioning look on his face.
"No thanks," John said. "I need to get my things organized, as well," he said.
"Yeah. I've procrastinated for long enough," Tom agreed.
"All right. I'll catch you blokes later then?"
"Sure, Harry," John said, and turned. Tom nodded and walked off, as well. Hermione stood next to Harry, waiting for him to say something, but he just kept on watching them walk off.
"Harry?" she asked.
"Huh?" he asked, as though startled. "Oh, sorry. Kinda got lost there for a moment," he chuckled. He settled a hand on the small of her back and gently started her in the direction of the dining hall. For a second, she was singularly focused on that pressure on her skin. Merlin, how did he do that to her? She hadn't ever been like a dog in heat when they were growing up together…
"Yankees, huh?" she asked, as casually as she could. She knew it sounded forced, though. They walked a few more paces before he responded.
"I guess so," he eventually answered, though it was without conviction or any kind of excitement. She didn't want to admit it to herself-oh hell, what did it matter? Yes, she was happy that he sounded dejected. She didn't want him to be anywhere but with her on a plane back to Britain. And if he didn't want to play professional ball, then she wouldn't feel bad about it.
"Something the matter?"
"Not really," he said. They crossed the road and stepped up onto the pavement again. Hermione could feel the heat of the day, reflecting off the pavement, warming her bare legs. She was glad she decided to wear shorts again.
She nudged his shoulder, causing him to look over at her. Absently, she noted that he hadn't shaven today, and she had to restrain herself from reaching up and rubbing the stubble. His green eyes were startlingly intense and she found herself looking into them. After the moment had passed, she raised an eyebrow.
"Something tells me your lying." He looked forward again, and so did she. She watched the cracks in the pavement as they passed.
"If I told you I hadn't figured anything out these past four years, would you believe me?"
"No," she replied. "I wouldn't." She felt his eyes on her again, but she didn't meet them.
"Why is that?"
"Because I know it's not true. I've seen you play baseball. I've seen the passion you have for what you've just graduated. This time wasn't a waste, Harry, if that's what you're implying."
"No, that's not what I meant," he said.
"Well then?"
"Well, you know…I came here to figure out stuff. But what did I figure out? That I'm a bloody prat and that I still have no idea what I want to do."
"Prat? For what?" she asked.
"Getting too caught up in things, I guess. I still can't believe I forgot about your letter-"
"Harry, would you just let the letter go? I'm over it," she cut him off.
"Yeah, but I'm not. It was easy, Hermione. Too easy. Now that you're here, though, I'm questioning how I did."
She smiled, more to herself than anything. This was the Harry she'd gotten to know over the last week and a half-a calmer, more mature version, though with the same insecurities as the one that had graduated Hogwarts. And she loved him even more because of it. He would always be just Harry, regardless of what he did and where he went.
"Just relax about it, Harry," she said. "You've been nothing but the perfect gentleman since I've gotten here."
"Well, that was pretty easy too," he laughed, and bumped into her playfully. She looked up and smirked.
"Careful, Harry," she said, and shoved him. Before he could right himself, she took off, full tilt. She heard him grunt and then the slap of his trainers against the pavement. She wondered what sprinting in a graduation robe was like? She didn't look to see, though, because she was running too fast to turn her head.
She couldn't help the smile that broke across her lips, and then a hearty laugh escaped her lungs. The heat of the early afternoon was only a little bothersome, and her shorts and white tee helped, so she just focused on out-running the handsome, smart, selfless bloke behind her…
A flash of color caught her eyes, though, and she turned her head slightly to see Harry come up beside her. She was still smiling, and so was he. He laughed at the look on her face, and then accelerated on past her. His robes were flowing around him like water, flapping together with his movements, and she marveled at his speed. She had always thought herself a fairly fast sprinter, since she was quite lithe, but Harry outpaced her easily.
He had put ten meters on her by the time they reached the path to the dining hall, and she stopped next to him, chest heaving. She looked up and caught Harry eyeing her straining tee shirt.
Before she could stop herself, she asked, "Something you like?" She even posed a bit for him, watching as his face went even redder than it already was.
"Err…" he intoned; she could still hear the smile in it, though. "Sure, Hermione," he said.
She pouted, still feeling playful and exhilarated from the random exertion. "Fine," she exhaled heavily, and her chest returned to its normal size. Sweat was running down her legs, and she could see the same running down the sides of Harry's face. He was breathing hard and his eyes were very bright. She thought they might have been twinkling at her.
He reached up, grasped the collar of his robe, and pulled it over his head. As it came over his body, it pulled his shirt up as well, and she got a rather nice view of his abdomen and chest. If she was feeling hot before, she certainly was more so now. Harry was going to kill her if he kept doing that. He had a decent six-pack-not a ridiculous one-and his chest was nicely defined. It wasn't huge or anything. She thought it was just right. She made sure she was looking at his face again when the robe came off, though.
He fished the cap out of the robes and then bunched them up in his hands. He wiped a hand across his forehead, seemed to think better of it, and waved his hand over his body. The sweat disappeared. Hermione did the same to herself, repeating the earlier spell.
He peered at her. "There a reason we sodding raced?"
"You came after me," she pointed out. "I just felt a like a run."
"Felt like a run?" Harry grumbled. "Mm hmm…so why'd ya push me then?"
"You said it yourself," she responded. "You're just a prat," she added, laughing.
Harry shrugged. "You're bloody fast, you know."
"Thanks, Potter." She rolled her eyes at him. "You're not exactly slow yourself." They started walking toward the doors to the dining hall.
"I am pretty amazing, aren't I?" he asked.
She chuckled. "I can't imagine you after a year playing professionally. Your ego would be so large…"
She welcomed the cooler air as they passed into the air-conditioned building. When Harry didn't respond immediately, she looked over at him, and noticed that all playfulness had evaporated. His face had sobered and his eyes weren't as bright.
"Yeah," he said.
"Are you going with John and your other teammates to the hotel for a few days?" she asked.
"I don't think so, Hermione," he said. His voice was unusually measured, and his use of her name at the end seemed to emphasize something she should be aware of. Whatever it was, she couldn't fathom it.
"So…where then? If you have to be out by tomorrow?" They were in line now, and were picking things to eat and placing them on their trays. There were many other graduates around.
"New York," he responded as they exited the line. Hermione had to force a neutral expression on her face as her heart did that jumping thing again, and waited for him to continue. She wanted to hear his justification before she offered her own.
"And then on to Heathrow," he finished, sitting down at a table. Hermione just stood there like a fish out of water for a second, trying to process what she'd heard. Heathrow? That was back home. He was going home? She sat down heavily and looked at Harry. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of reaction from her.
"But…but what about the Yankees?" she asked. She wanted to hit herself. That was the way to get him home, encourage him with his baseball…
"I have a week, which you heard for yourself," he said. "I haven't been back in Britain in ages. I don't much fancy staying in a hotel for a few days, so I'd rather go back for a short while, at least."
Her heart started racing again, but this time it was because of all the possible things Harry back in Britain meant, not the least of which was how she could get him to stay there.
"What about plane tickets?" her more practical side inquired. Harry graced her with a genuine smile, and that simple act calmed her more than she could possibly hope to calm herself. It was warm and slightly lopsided and so perfectly Harry.
"I do occasionally think ahead," he said. "I bought us tickets online this morning from San Francisco to Heathrow, through Newark."
"Oh," she replied, kind of surprised. That was another thing she hadn't expected. "Well why did you tell your teammates you didn't know what you were doing?"
"I don't need to be pestered by them. And you know they would if I said I was going to Britain, even if it might be only for a few days," he said, his voice much slower at the end. Hermione tried to ignore the pang his last words sent through her, but it was very hard.
"Yeah, I suppose so. When is the flight out?"
"Tomorrow, early…eight, I think. I'll have to look again."
"So…we'd be back in Britain very early on the…seventeenth?"
Harry nodded. "I think it said arrival time at Heathrow was two in the morning. Get ready for some lovely jet lag."
"It's not too bad," Hermione replied.
"I guess," Harry sighed, and Hermione knew there was much more in that sound than just resignation.
----------
The silence and solitude offered by Harry's room later that evening was Hermione's first solace during the long day. She let her muscles and her nerves settle as she stood in the center of the room, briefly closing her eyes. Harry had gone to John's room to inform the other man about his plans for the next few days. If she strained her ears, she might have even been able to hear them talking.
She was tired, and she had to get up early the next morning for the flight. Then she would be up for a quite awhile on top of that… She decided that she was just going to get ready for bed and get some rest.
She maneuvered around Harry's packed things-which actually weren't that numerous-and opened up one of her bags. She pulled out a tank top and the shorts she usually slept in, and started removing her clothes. Shirt and bra came off first, and she slipped the tank top over her upper body.
She slipped her shorts down over hips and discarded them on her mostly unused bed, and then hooked her fingers into the sides of her knickers. They slid down her legs and she bent to pick them up. She paused for an instant as she thought she felt a draft between her legs, and then bent further.
"Oh…" came a soft exclamation, and she jumped a foot into the air. She turned quickly; covering her waist with her sleeping shorts, and saw Harry standing in the doorway with a gobsmacked look on his face. Their eyes met and before either of them could be embarrassed, something passed between them that lit a fire in her unlike anything she'd ever felt. Then she wondered how much of her naughty bits had been in his face when he'd opened the door, and her features flamed red.
His face followed, and they were soon stammering nonsense.
"Er…"
"Yeah…"
"I'm sorry-"
"Only an accident-"
"I'll just be right ba-"
"Harry-" but he had already turned and closed the door. She could feel the heat radiating off her face-and from her core, surprisingly-and she stood there for a few more moments, bare ass peeking out underneath the tank top. Finally, after she had collected her thoughts, she slipped the boxers on and waited for Harry to return.
"You decent now?" came his voice, and she was relieved to hear a laugh in it.
"Yes, you perv," she laughed back, and the door opened. Harry came in, face no longer red, and closed it behind him. He leaned back against the door and regarded her.
"Sorry, Hermione-" he started, but she waved her hand.
"You didn't know. It's alright," she replied, and he nodded after a brief pause.
"You going to bed already?" he asked.
"I think so, yes. It's been a long day and tomorrow's going to be another one."
"True," he said, and moved to the small pile of clothes on his bed. He had set aside a few things to wear to bed and then the next day, when they'd be traveling. When he picked up a t-shirt, she crinkled her brow.
"You're not going out with the team?"
"Hmm?" Harry intoned.
"It's your last night here, and you're not going out with the team?"
"Oh," he replied, and pulled his shirt over his head. She didn't stare too hard at his chest and abdomen, for the second time that day.
"I've already said goodbye to most of them, and we've been doing stuff all this past week. I think tonight I just want to sleep." He glanced at her, raised an eyebrow, and then motioned with his hand. A screen came up between them and then fell away shortly thereafter. He had changed his shorts.
Hermione pouted. "That's no fair."
"Sure it is," Harry grinned.
"You got to see," she whined. She was purposely sounding petulant. She wanted to see where this went, and truthfully, she was rather amused. The whole situation was quite ridiculous.
"I hardly think you intended for me to see your-well, you know," he replied.
"My what?" she asked, placing a hand on her hip. She enjoyed the fact that she was making Harry uncomfortable.
He just looked at her, and then shook his head.
"Harry, my what?" she asked again. The look he gave her was one of frustration, though it appeared that even he was able to see the humor in all this.
"What, do you want me to say `pussy' or something?" he asked, though the offending word was said in quite a forced manner.
Hermione shrugged. "I've heard worse-said worse, and you know it."
"I don't see the point to all of this," he replied, looking pointedly at her.
"What, we're adults, aren't we?"
"Sure."
"Then what's the problem with speaking like adults around each other?"
Harry chuckled. "How often do you hear `pussy' passed off in casual conversation?"
"Probably quite a bit if you've just seen one," she retorted, though she was pushing it now. She was making herself uncomfortable.
"Ok," Harry replied, ambivalently. "Let's just move on, shall we?" he asked.
Hermione nodded, and smiled. "Sure." She paused, and then: "What time do you want to get up in the morning?"
"4:30?"
Hermione moaned. "Too bloody early," she grumbled. She then looked around at Harry's things. "Are you just going to shrink most of this?"
He nodded. "Yeah, probably. No other way for me to get most of it back."
"Where are you going to stay, once we get there?"
He shrugged. "Dunno."
"You don't know?"
"Hermione, I'm Harry sodding Potter. I have several properties in and around London, though I'll have to visit Gringotts to find out exactly where."
"This coming from the `Harry sodding Potter' who hates his fame and wealth?"
"It has its uses," he replied. "Every now and then."
"You could probably stay at the Burrow, or Grimmauld, you know. Or," she added, "you could probably even stay at my house for a few days."
He shook his head. "That's alright, thanks for the offer though. I don't need to freeload off anyone. I have to find some way to use my assets..."
"You wouldn't be freeloading, and you know it."
"Hermione, it's alright. It's not a big deal, really."
"Ok…what about this `agent' business?"
"I'll probably be able to find good council somewhere in Diagon. And if not, someone there will be able to direct me to a person who does what I'm looking for."
She nodded, then yawned and stretched, and moved toward the bed. Harry placed his small pile of clothes on the floor and she crawled in. After she had situated herself, she looked up to find him staring down at her, smiling a little.
"What is it?"
"I wonder what Ron will say when I tell him I've slept with you?"
"Slept with me, Harry? I beg to differ," she replied.
"Well, I meant-"
"You meant slept with me," she said, emphasizing the word differently. He closed his eyes and pursed his lips for a short time, and shook his head.
"Yes, Hermione."
"I don't think he'd care much. He and Luna are…satisfied," she said.
Harry slid into bed beside Hermione, and they settled into their normal position-Hermione's front against Harry's back-with little thought.
"Satisfied?" he asked, as they settled themselves.
"Quite."
"How so?"
"Luna is rather open when it comes to sex," Hermione replied, thinking of all of the things she'd heard the blond say.
"More open than you?" Harry asked.
Hermione was rendered speechless for a moment. More open than her? Why did he think she was open about sex? The conversation she'd had with her mum came back to her…
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you just seem to be fairly comfortable with it all," he replied. She wished she could see his face, because it was hard to read his voice sometimes.
"Eh…not really, Harry," she said. "To be honest, I'm still a…virgin." She waited for him to respond, but he didn't right away.
"Fancy that," he said, softly, almost to himself.
"Hmm?"
"So am I," he said.
She draped her arm over side. "The great Harry Potter, all-star shortstop, is still a virgin? I find that hard to believe," she scoffed.
"Laugh it up," he grumbled, and tried to scoot away from her a bit. She held tight, however.
"Well it's not like you couldn't get any."
"Maybe I didn't want any," he retorted.
"But-"
"Come on, Hermione. You know I'm not like that. I'm not gonna just go after all the women that throw themselves at me. I ignored them in Hogwarts and I have here, too."
"I know." She squeezed him to her for a second. "I was only taking the mickey."
He finally relaxed fully into her. There was something reassuring about his weight pressed against her breasts, though she would never have been able to articulate why.
"Were you really surprised?"
"That you're a virgin?" she asked
"Yeah."
She didn't know what she had been expecting, really. She had always known that Harry was very good looking, especially with his striking green eyes and his rakish black hair, and that he exuded confidence in the right situations, but he had never gone after the girls (or the women, apparently) like many in his situation might have. It gave her some hope that she hadn't come in vain.
"No, I guess not," she eventually replied. "What about me?"
"I've never really thought about it before," Harry replied, and she could tell that he was being honest. Some part deep inside was a little hurt that he had never considered her a sexual being-that is, until she had accidentally bared all for him to see-before now, but she didn't mind it too much. As long as he was slowly becoming aware that she was a woman, and that she was here because of more than just wanting to see him, it was ok with her.
"Oh," she breathed, and yawned again. She really was quite tired, and the ensuing silence stretched on so that she was falling asleep when Harry next spoke.
"It was quite nice, though," he said.
"What was?" she asked, slowly. The sleep was heavy in her voice.
"The view," he whispered.
It took her a second to discern the meaning, but her face filled with lovely warmth when she did. She squeezed Harry to her once again, and when she fell asleep, the smile was still on her lips.
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