Disclaimer: Thought I'd put one on this chapter due the fact that I used scenes from HBP. So Harry Potter's epic tale belongs to Mrs JK Rowling and I own nothing, I just tweaked it slightly.
He manoeuvred her so she was sitting somewhat precariously on the edge of the bath. Placing a towel in the sink he waited for it to soak up the water before brushing her hair back with one hand and applying the towel to her face with the other. After clearing the dried blood and dirt from her cheeks he focused on her hands, gingerly wiping the scorch marks on her palms. He couldn't help noticing she never winced or reacted from the pain.
Although she kept her eyes open and fixed on a spot on the floor, she was drifting back into the hours that preceded her arrival at the house. He could see the exhaustion on her features, her slouched shoulders and the fact that walking was an effort.
"You should rest," he eventually said, his voice echoing slightly around the tiled room.
Her eyes left the cracked black and white tiles. "Yes, you're right. I'll floo back, the wards and counter-measures we installed means the Ministry can't survey who enters and leaves through the Floo network." She struggled to her feet, using the sink as a crutch before making her way across to the door.
He wanted to ask her why she hadn't been seen by a Healer but refrained from doing so. She was in no condition for questioning and he wondered briefly which of her friends had been killed earlier. After a few moments he followed her down into the kitchen.
The adrenaline was now entirely gone from her system. The energy to move one foot in front of the next left her drained and there was an instant reprieve when she felt Harry put an arm around her waist. He aided her across the flagged stone floor of the kitchen until they had reached the embers of the fire which seemed so inviting she felt like drifting off into them.
"I'll bring you home," he said firmly knowing she would protest even in her weary state.
"No really I'm fine. It wouldn't be safe for you," she objected.
"You'll only hurt yourself in the network," he responded and threw a handful of the grain-like powder into the embers before she could argue any further. The feeling of her hip pushed against his was stirring memories of all the times they had protected each other in the past. He felt another stab of pain thinking of what she had done but still he drew her closer to him before stepping into the flames. She spoke clearly their destination and next thing he knew he was faced with a familiar circular room, decorated spectacularly and lit by candlelight.
His eyes were lured to the window behind the enormous claw-footed desk and his breath hitched slightly as he took in the view of Hogwarts grounds. He could see the mountains soaring in the distance, the great protectors of the place that was once his home. The last tinges of pink in the sky glistened off the surface of the lake.
"McGonagall must not be back yet, she may have been called to a meeting of the Order," Hermione said quietly.
"I didn't think the Order would still be together," he mused as they made their way down the spiralling staircase.
"Penwell distrusts the Order, sees it as separate from the Ministry," she mourned. "I really hope no one sees you here. At least its summer, imagine all the students were here."
As they traipsed down the corridor, his hand still gripping her waist, he listened out for any unusual noises or more importantly footsteps. His mind was flooded by memories, nothing of importance just times spent waiting around for class, chatting to his friends and watching good-looking girls hoping they would turn their head his way. All the wizards in the portraits lining the corridors were slumped into the side of their frames, their intermittent snores the only sound filling the corridor besides their awkward footfalls.
With one last glance down the darkened corridor he helped her over the threshold into her dormitory. His eyes scanned the lavish snug living room they had entered. Decked out in Gryffindor's red and gold the room was inviting and warm. An aging Crookshanks ambled over to them leaving the shag carpet in front of the spluttering fire.
Realising Hermione was leaning more heavily against him and bowed over slightly he hauled her delicately into her bedroom. The room was furnished simply, an enormous four-poster bed and a tall opulent mahogany wardrobe at the adjacent wall.
Wordlessly he pulled back the duvet before turning back to her. He lingered momentarily observing how vulnerable she was in this moment. Her clothes were still frayed and singed; her coat was slashed across her collarbone and there was a tear at the shoulder. He slid her coat off her shoulders; instantly her heart began to beat violently against her chest. She searched his eyes for some emotion but for the first time she could remember, she couldn't read him. There were too many chapters in his life now in which she had played no part.
When he fingered a button of her shirt she hesitantly wrapped her fingers around his forearm. He halted his actions. He was standing so close to her that even in the darkness she could distinguish the contours of his face. His finger, still positioned on the button of her shirt brushed slightly against a tiny section of exposed skin and every nerve ending in her body seemed to ignite. Finally her fingers loosened around his forearm and he continued to rid her of the torn and damaged clothing, the brutal memories of that day pooling at her feet. When she was in nothing but her underwear he stepped back and turned his head away shyly as she climbed into her bed.
Her eyes fluttered closed but she opened them again almost immediately. She reached an arm under the bed and motioned for him to sit on the bed. Pulling a wooden box from underneath the bed she sat up and after rummaging through the box for a few seconds she took out another long slender box and gave it to him.
He touched it almost fearfully before lifting the lid off. "You kept it," he whispered almost regretfully.
"I could never get rid of it," she replied watching his outline in the darkness examining the object.
He traced the wand with one of his fingers before gripping it tightly. The sound of rushing wind swept through the room and the whole room was momentarily basked in an emerald glow. Eleven inches, holly, phoenix feature core. He chuckled to himself, lost in memories of Mr. Ollivander, his thoughtful expressions and deeply disturbing voice.
"I think it remembers you," Hermione smiled watching the walls of her room radiate green before shadows overpowered it.
He chuckled again, the sound of which seemed to soothe her. A few hours ago she had thought he would never laugh with her again.
"You should stay here tonight. It'll be safer if you do." She winced as she lay back down, her hand touching her ribs gingerly.
"You should go see Madame Pomfrey tomorrow," he advised. Another silence enveloped them in which he shifted uncomfortably on the bed. She couldn't tear her gaze away from his silhouette. Finally he put the wand back in the box, stood up and moved to the doorway of her bedroom. "I'll take the couch, and then go back in the morning."
"Goodnight," she called after him. "And Harry..." he paused, one hand on the brass doorknob, "...thank you."
He nodded almost imperceptibly before shutting the door behind him. His fingers clutched the doorknob fleetingly, thoughts ricocheting around his tired brain. He wanted to hate that woman on the other side of the door, lying in the comfort she could afford because of a life he couldn't be a part of. A life he had been separated from. Ron had a child, Lupin had a child, and most of his classmates now had families. He was left with a life in tatters for a second time.
He seized the blanket from the back of the plush leather couch and after removing his shoes and trousers collapsed into the couch's cushions which instantly sagged under his weight. He heaved a frustrated sigh and his eyes were drawn to her door again.
He could never hate that woman. If there was one person he could never hate it was her. And through the rage, the betrayal, the disillusionment and the suffering he could feel his soul was lighter, his mind was clearer and his body strengthened now he had returned to the wizarding world.
Unlike Grimmauld Place the door did not creak as he gently pushed his way into her bedroom hours later. Without uttering a word, he lit his wand producing a soft glow that didn't fully penetrate the room. He stepped further into the room, the light travelling gradually up her sleeping form, before extinguishing it with a flick of his wrist. His eyes eventually landed on her face and he smiled when he saw the peaceful and serene expression that had settled on her features. She was lying on her side in an unmistakeable foetal position, one hand tucked under her pillow while the other lay limply over the edge of the mattress.
He crouched down so his face was close to hers, reaching out but abstaining from making contact. He was scarcely breathing so fixated on the sight before him. The gentle sound of her breathing seemed to make everything around him fall away, her chest rising and falling methodically.
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The ceiling and walls had been draped with emerald, crimson, and gold hangings, so that it looked as though they were all inside a vast tent. The room was crowded and stuffy and bathed in the red light cast by an ornate golden lamp dangling from the centre of the ceiling in which real fairies were fluttering, each a brilliant speck of light.
"Beautiful isn't it?" Luna beamed serenely up at the lamp and he briefly wondered what magical creature she felt was behind it.
"Eh…yeah," Harry remarked scrutinizing the crowd for Hermione. He had been annoyed she had agreed to go with McLaggen to Professor Slughorn's Christmas Party but she had confessed the arrangement was made three weeks prior to the date. She deemed it was a pathetic way to infuriate Ron but all she achieved was to incense Harry.
"Well now I'm going to have to talk to him, if he's hanging around you," he had argued.
"Oh it will be so awful for YOU! Don't worry about me being pursued by that arrogant, selfish and over-confident twat!"
"Did it not occur to you to cancel your date?" he asked; briefly wondering how she sometimes forgot the simplest of things.
"And show up alone?!"
"I only asked Luna to go with me a few minutes ago. I wanted to ask you but you kept saying you were going with someone else…I figured it might have been Neville or someone cool like that."
He ran his hand through his hair thoughtfully before backtracking. "I guess we don't know too much about McLaggen," he continued, seeing Hermione dejected and somewhat lost disposition. "Maybe he's actually an alright guy," he had ventured with an encouraging smile.
"HARRY!" a voice boomed and an arm clasped his firmly. Before he knew it he was being hauled through the crowd of milling students. Slughorn was wearing a tasseled velvet hat to match his smoking jacket and his firm grasp on Harry's arm only alleviated when they were in the heart o f the party. Harry was introduced to numerous people whose names he could not fathom to this day.
Luna, whom Harry had grabbed by the hand before being snatched by Slughorn, began questioning Sanguini, a vampire who was tall and emaciated with dark shadows under his eyes. She seemed entirely unperturbed by the fact that he was surveying her closely like a fresh piece of meat.
Slughorn resumed his conversation with Eldred Worple, an eminent biographer, and seemed to think Harry was listening when he suddenly asked him a question. "Isn't that right Harry?"
"Hmm…sorry?" Harry asked halting his search of the room momentarily to look into the expectant faces of Slughorn and the bespectacled Worple.
"Eldred here," said Slughorn indicating a keen Worple "thinks it's about time you publish your own biography. He said he'd offer any assistance he could and I said you would appreciate it."
"Eh…no…I'm more into fiction myself," returned Harry before excusing himself rapidly and taking off when he recognized a familiar face on the other side of the room. He nudged Luna to inform her where he was going; she took one look to where he was pointing before shaking her head with a knowing smile before asking Sanguini about his thoughts on Crumple- Horned Snorkacks.
Loud singing accompanied by what sounded like mandolins issued from a distant corner; a haze of pipe smoke hung over several elderly warlocks deep in conversation, and a number of house-elves were negotiating their way squeakily through the forest of knees, obscured by the heavy silver platters of food they were bearing, so that they looked like roving tables.
When he reached the last place he had seen Hermione he revolved on the spot, eyes scanning the crowd, she seemed to have disappeared again. Then before he could distinguish what was happening he had been dragged to a corner and flung under one of the hangings that acted as a partition of the room. The music was instantly dulled and he felt he could breathe a bit easier not being suffocated by the crowd.
"Hermione is everything okay? Considering you just rugby-tackled me into hiding."
"No, everything is not okay. McLaggen is an arrogant, conceited and boorish prat," she said breathlessly at him placing both hands on her head in an attempt to control herself. Harry had to admit she almost took his own breath away she looked so beautiful. She wore a simple evening gown, silver but beaded so that it shimmered under the lights giving it an almost heavenly quality.
"You look really well Harry," she stated indicating his black robes, black tie and crimson shirt.
"You look stunning," he commented bashfully turning to the hanging and lifting it slightly so his eyes wouldn't linger on her enough to unnerve her. "…although it's probably not very helpful when you have McLaggen chasing you around."
"Don't even start…he's worse than that vampire, Sangria or whatever his name is!"
Harry let out a roar of laughter. "It's Sanguini actually." She blushed and joined in his laughter, the two of them almost unable to stand until she shushed him in case someone should hear them.
"Where's Luna?" Hermione asked.
"Talking to Trelawney," Harry replied peering out under the hanging. He spotted McLaggen loitering around a group of Gryffindor students and occasionally looking around the room for his date.
Hermione stuck out her head just under Harry's so that her hair tickled his chin. "Merlin, Trelawney looks…"
"Plastered," Harry finished seeing she was stood in front of a table laden with majestic bottles of alcohol. "She's very fond of the cooking sherry."
"Is that Neville?" Hermione asked astonished pointing to a waiter in white robes who was circulating with cups of mead.
Harry caught Neville's attention with a frantic arm wave and he hurried towards them, ducking under the hanging which Harry let drop down once Neville had joined their little party. Hermione snatched a cup of mead off Neville's tray and downed it in one go.
"McLaggen," Harry responded to an unasked question.
"Yeah I saw you two earlier, he did seem a bit…handsy," Neville said giving Hermione a pitying look.
Harry joined Hermione in drinking a cup of mead before asking Neville why he was here.
"I thought Ginny would be here. I'm not in the Slug Club but was offered the post of waiter. Guess she didn't come."
Hermione gave Harry a pointed look; do not fly off the handle. "She's going out with Dean Thomas Neville," she informed him with a sympathetic look.
"Really? I thought I spotted her with Michael Corner last week though?" Neville frowned. He shrugged his shoulders before leaving their hiding spot, both Harry and Hermione seizing two cups of mead each as he stooped to get out under the hanging.
"There's a turn of events I didn't see," Harry stated sardonically after a lengthy silence. "Now I have to prove myself against Thomas, Corner, and Neville. Not to mention I have to convince Ron."
"Oh Harry…you're far more appealing than all those boys put together. You shouldn't even measure yourself against them." Hermione conjured up a table for them to put their mead on before rubbing his arm in a reassuring manner. "You've got a lot going for you…oh Chosen One," she whispered dramatically earning a smirk and an eye roll from him.
He liked Ginny, he could not deny that, but he was being increasingly put off by the fact that she had been with more guys than most girls in Hogwarts. Of course they were average girls whilst Ginny was different, she was cute but feisty not to mention extremely pretty. Harry wondered momentarily whether physical attraction was enough to sustain a relationship.
They both sat on the edge of Hermione's conjured table and chugged down their mead. Although they remained silent Harry could tell Hermione was more relaxed than she had been in months.
"You know what, I could happily spend the rest of the evening here with you," he said grinning at her.
"The feeling is mutual," she replied, knocking their cups of mead together in a toast. "Better than getting an insight into the filthy lives of reserve Quidditch keepers," she said darkly seeing McLaggen's tall frame walking throughout the room again in search of her.
"He is persistent," commented Harry raising an eyebrow. He could already feel the mead going to his head, a slight tingling in the ends of his finger and a slight smile on his lips.
"So is syphilis," she hissed in return. "He nearly mauled me under the mistletoe."
"Slimy git," spat Harry irate at the clear ignorance of his friend's dignity. He shot to his feet but was instantly yanked back onto the edge of the table.
"We should probably stop drinking the mead, it's obviously having an effect on you," Hermione said; still holding a fistful of his robes in case he attempted to confront McLaggen.
"I'm trying to protect you! Nobody should put a hand on my Herm…"
"I'm not YOURS! "She emitted in a high-pitched voice. Harry noted however that she was still smiling.
"Well why are you smiling then?" he shot back with another raised eyebrow. He was beginning to agree with Hermione about the mead. He only noticed now that the two of them had ventured out of their hiding place and neither had any mead left.
"I'm not smiling. It's an upside-down frown," she said with a very forced glare that sent both of them into hysterics. They bumped into Luna and Neville who were chatting merrily beside Trelawney. Neville had discarded his white robes so that he was just wearing a school shirt and trousers underneath, no longer looking like a waiter.
"That's the spirit Neville," said Harry beaming. "You should have just gate-crashed…"
Hermione shushed him, giving him a poke in the ribs to ensure he got the point. "It's nice to see you Luna. Are you going away again this Christmas to research Crumple-Horned Nargles?," she finished joyfully; glaring at Harry who bit his lip to stop a snort of laughter. For some reason he was finding everything highly amusing tonight.
"They're actually Snorkacks Hermione. We're not going this year no; they're more common in the spring. I was just asking Neville about a Herbology assignment, he really has an extensive knowledge of the subject," Luna remarked causing Neville to blush but also beam with pride.
"He's best in our Herbology class," Hermione replied causing Neville's cheeks to burn even more.
"I just really like it, I'm not the best in the…"
"Nonsense," Hermione shrieked giving him a jab on the shoulder. "You get the highest scores in all our practical work. You are the best in the year because you put so much effort into it." Neville eyed her almost fearfully before nodding which caused Harry to laugh raucously which set Hermione off laughing too.
"You have a natural talent Neville," Luna complimented him; gazing on the tipsy pair as they held onto each other through fits of laughter as if she was asked to research the effects of mead.
"Natural ability!" shouted Slughorn from behind them, causing everyone in the vicinity to jump. "Severus, you should have seen what Harry Potter gave me, first lesson of the year, the Draught of Living Death-never had a student produce finer on a first attempt, I don't think even you could surpass Potter. Yes indeed it is undeniable that Harry Potter's gift is Potions."
From behind Slughorn out stepped Snape, his black eyes narrowed in dislike. Instantly the effects of the mead seemed to ebb away and the smiles vanished from Harry and Hermione's faces. The last thing Harry wanted was for Snape to start investigating the source of his new-found brilliance at Potions.
"Quite a turnaround Potter. You came so close to losing your place in the Auror training program," Snape uttered quietly.
"I don't think you should be an Auror, Harry," said Luna. Everybody turned to her. "The Aurors are part of the Rotfang Conspiracy, I thought everyone knew that. They're working from within to bring down the Ministry of Magic, using a combination of Dark magic and gum disease."
Harry heard Hermione make a noise, the unmistakable attempt to stifle laughter, and looked down at his shoes momentarily to contain himself. Luna continued to explain the intricacies of the Rotfang Conspiracy to a slightly baffled audience.
Harry noticed Hermione biting her lower lip fighting the urge to laugh and again he could not help but notice how wonderful she looked. Her cheeks were slightly flushed from laughing and tendrils of her hair, which had been wrapped up in a bun, had fallen out. She still carried herself elegantly with the countenance of someone who attended wizarding parties on a daily basis. He temporarily could not hate McLaggen for asking her to be his date and for wanting to impress her. Who wouldn't?
The mirth in her eyes was replaced by terror and turning he found the source; McLaggen was walking towards their group. The two of them bolted, wrestling their way through the throngs of people dawdling around drinking and chatting merrily. They had put some distance between them and McLaggen and slowed down. She led the way swiveling around every now and then to peer over the crowd or just to grin elatedly at him. However he was becoming increasingly bothered by his thoughts.
Why did she have to wear that dress? Why did she have to do her hair up like that, exposing the flawless skin of her neck? How did she still talk to him normally after she nearly lost her life following him in fifth year? Why was she always there for him? He had let her down countless times but he could not think of one time when she had disappointed him.
She stopped abruptly and he nearly walked into her. The crowd had become suffocating again and he was sure he saw students who hadn't been here previously. She dragged him once again over to a corner and they both stooped down and emerged in a hiding place exactly like their last but smaller. He was pressed up against her and his heart began to race painfully fast.
"There he is!" she whispered into his ear and he couldn't help his eyes closing at her proximity.
He could not let his mind wander this far off course. Not after five years of friendship, he would lose too much and she would hex too devastatingly. He blamed the mead even though he had never felt so sober and focused in his life. He could feel every movement she made against him; he could almost predict what her next movement would be. Her back was facing him now and she stepped back nearly treading on his foot.
"Oh no, he's coming this way!" she moaned turning to him, her eyes beseeching him to find a way out of the room even though it was crammed with Slughorn's guests. He could see McLaggen's silhouette become larger as he approached the hanging. It was such a trivial problem to her, she'd probably laugh at it when she was older, 'the night Cormac McLaggen spent hunting for me in a room full of people, remember Harry?' but it would be an unforgettable night for Harry as he felt something change, tweak slightly from friendship to something more.
Before he could register what was happening he felt her hands on either side of his face, pulling him down to meet her lips into a kiss he would never forget. He vaguely heard the hanging being ripped back, an angry groan and then footsteps leading away. One of Hermione's hands had slithered to the back of his neck while both his hands had landed on her waist. He didn't know how long it lasted or who pulled away first before both of them were facing each other, breathless with glowing cheeks.
"Sorry," she gasped. "He was getting really close and I thought if he saw us…together, well he might just give up." She was fidgeting with her hair nervously and avoiding eye contact, a sure sign that this had affected her as much as it affected him even though she had initiated it.
He stepped a fraction closer to her, his hands still shaking and his knees slightly weak. He didn't know what force was compelling him but decided not to fight against it as he knew it was a losing battle. He placed both his hands on either side of her face, mimicking her actions moments ago and simultaneously shifted closer to her. She was as still as a statue, her eyes fixed on his, her lips as inviting as ever.
As his lips brushed against hers for a second time it struck him how odd it was that he had never considered her as a girl until two years ago and yet now he found every single feature of her body intoxicating. Her hands caressed his chest until she grasped a fistful of his robes, wanting to extinguish any space that existed between them. He tugged at her lower lip with his teeth and her lips finally parted. As his tongue danced with hers one of his hands dropped dangerously to softly touch the ivory skin of her neck.
He knew very little about sex other than what he heard in his dorm and if he was honest the idea always terrified him almost as much as Voldemort. The fear had always put him off it, he never dreamt of actually having sex; just what happens before and the satisfaction afterwards. But now his mind was conjuring up images of Hermione, her fingers with their nervously bitten nails raking his shoulders, her head tilting back exposing her white throat and the quiver of pulse below her jaw; her heavy eyelids would open wide, pupils constricting in the brown of her eyes until they were so miniscule they were almost indiscernible.
His lips had travelled south and found her neck when there was a collective angry roar behind them. They broke apart both of them gasping for air, something to control their senses and make sense of what had just happened. Outside their hiding place the crowd had parted slightly as Filch heaved a sulking Draco Malfoy in behind him. They both watched the exchange of words between the caretaker and the professors silently, straightening their clothes at the same time.
They finally looked at each other, confusion etched on both their faces but the absence of regret was clear. It felt like it had to happen, as if every moment they had shared had led them to it.
She smiled fleetingly before ducking out under the hanging, when he followed he couldn't find her but managed to walk straight into the confrontation between Snape, Slughorn and Malfoy. His thoughts were still flooded with her, his mind was drowning in her and his conscience had just left the party.