Caught in the Past

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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Harry James Potter was no ordinary lad.

His past was a blank mystery; his present, a nameless story.

He was an urchin of no breeding and no family, and many claimed he was nobody.

He had wandered without a thought ever since he was an innocent lad of sixteen. As to where he had been, nobody knew. But it can still be said that wherever he had traveled, words of his visit had spread across the country.

He had remained nameless all throughout his life, but even in his anonymity, he was still claimed by his destiny.

This young man of 20 summers was not “nobody” after all. He was more than what he thought he could be.

For he possessed a title of great significance, worth more than anything known to humanity.

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“Lord Black, has come to pay you a visit, Your Grace.”

The young man didn't even look up from what he was reading.

`No surprises there,' Charles Hudson, the resident butler of Godric's Hollow, thought.

“Show him in,” Harry Potter said after a while.

“Right away, sir,” Hudson nodded.

“I'll be leaving for the Weasley's Masquerade Ball at dawn. Have my valet put together something for me before then.”

“Very good, sir. I'll advise Atkins right away.” When his attendee didn't say anything after that, Hudson asked, “Would that be all, Your Grace?”

“Yes.”

Hudson bowed, and then turned around, noting the heavy draperies around the room before finally making his way out.

He sighed.

Even after 5 years of service, Harry Potter's lack of human feelings, aside from boredom and contempt, was still odd, but no longer surprising.

For some time, Hudson had given it a thought why Harry James Potter seemed different from the rest of the nobility. But in the end, he could not find any other answer that would suffice except that the young duke was just who he was.

A 25 year-old orphan and the 9^th Duke of Godric's Hollow…

Young as he was, though, there was something in his eyes that told there was more to Harry than what one actually saw.

It had been his first day as the butler when Hudson first laid eyes on him.

He had been all prepared to meet his employer, only to find out that there was no one yet for him to meet. But when Harry did walk in a few hours later, Hudson was had been in for a shock.

Dressed in those awful street clothes that would have made all the street rats proud, Harry's manners had been brusque and his speech unscrupulous. It was almost a given that Hudson had taken a dislike at him instantly.

But, believe it or not, his animosity vanished.

All because he found out quite a bit later that Harry had a very reasonably excuse.

The young boy had no idea that he was the lord of the manor, or the Duke of the entire Gryffindor estate, for that matter.

When Sirius Black told him who he really was, his staggered expression confirmed what Hudson had surmised already.

Kept in the shadows his entire life, Harry James Potter had no idea how to go about being the most powerful man in the estate. From a young urchin who barely had enough food to eat or a home to stay in, he was moved to a place where everybody suddenly revered him, wherein very decision he made was what should be followed.

It had not been an easy period, his transition. But his innocence was diminished through Sirius and Remus' guidance.

For a year, they kept him at their side, teaching him what should be done and how they should be done. Before long, Harry's wealth multiplied, and he steadily revived the estate.

After 5 years of brilliant and conscientious work, he had managed to extend his lands and properties to massive heights, bought two more houses, hired more employees and purchased the best horses from Tattersalls to raise and breed.

His massive good looks, title and wealth were exactly what society desired to consider him the most eligible bachelor in London.

And that they did!

Never had there been a bachelor more celebrated than he.

He was constantly invited to all the soirees you could think of, admired by the ladies, and awed by gentlemen. One would say that he could ask for nothing more, after being given everything that had been his all along since birth.

But even after all his accomplishments; Harry Potter's life was not how he wanted it to be.

He barely had friends visiting. There were those who pay him social calls, but it was either they had underlying motives, or they were just not whom he needed.

The only people who seemed to care about him were his godfather and his family, but they were often out of town.

The closest thing he ever had to a female companion was his maids.

And everything from his attire down to the curtains in his home reeked of misery.

Though, Hudson didn't possess the real reason for Harry's disposition, he was convinced it had something to do with the broken and missing pieces of the young lad's past.

Somehow, he knew that everything would be all right when Harry Potter was whole again.

But that would only happen if he found someone to put him back together.

And right now, Hudson was not so certain that the Duke of Godric's Hollow wanted to love.

Or, if he did, perhaps he believed he had no right.

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Inside his office, Harry rested his head on his hands, bored and weary as he had been all day.

Aside from his exhaustion from having to solve a haulage that had gone awry with one of his ships, one of his servants had fallen sick and the doctor had said it was only a mild case, not alarming, although slightly contagious.

The last thing he wanted was to have an epidemic spread in his entire estate, so he had to isolate her from the rest of his staff.

The depressing thing was, he couldn't sleep on his problems. Even if the Weasley's Masquerade Ball was the last thing he wanted to appear in, he couldn't miss it.

The Weasley's were a longtime family friend of his, and he would be quite the austere person Sirius was telling him he was turning out to be if he didn't come.

It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't expect the domineering mamas of the ton to recognize him even with a costume on and try to pawn their daughters his way all evening.

Turning down hearts was not a favorite pastime, but it seemed it was all he did lately. And that was the last thing he wanted to end the night doing.

The door burst open.

“What do you want?” Harry asked gruffly, pushing back his chair.

Sirius approached his godson with a semi-plastered smile on his face.

“How have you been this past few months?”

“The same.”

Noting the broadsheet lying passive on the edge of his desk, Sirius sat down. “I wouldn't consider succeeding in a business merger as just `the same', my boy.”

“I would.”

“That's not what I heard.” A pause and a knowing look came upon Sirius' face. He looked more amused than annoyed with his godson's responses. “Surely, the ton has heard about it. And are now more than eager to remove you in next year's marriage market?”

“So what else is new?”

“But you do know that the longer you evade them, the more they become fervent to go after you”

“Yes, but there's nothing I can do.”

“Unless there is already a woman in your mind. That would diminish their hopes.”

“As of this moment, the only woman in my mind is Grace.”

“Grace?” Sirius asked, his eyes brightening.

“Don't get so excited, Sirius. She's my maid,” he clarified. “My very sick maid.”

“Oh,” his godfather suddenly lost his energy and slumped back.

“She has some kind of virus. And now, I have to deal with that if it starts spreading throughout the goddamn place,” Harry explained absentmindedly, toying with the tons of paperwork on top of his desk.

“You did that on purpose, didn't you?”

“Did what?”

“Throw in the name so I would get excited about you actually thinking about a woman.”

“No, I didn't.”

“And I suppose that your stalling after saying `Grace' was just…you.”

“You're reading too much on that, Sirius,” Harry sighed, knowing all too well what would next.

“I don't understand you,” Sirius idly tapped his hand with his glove as he searched Harry's face. After awhile, he muttered. “You're…inexplicable.”

“I am not.”

“And why is that?”

“I'm quite predictable.”

Sirius scoffed. “How can you be when I can't even explain your behavior?”

“Are you a psychologist?”

“No.”

“Even if you were, you wouldn't last a day. If I were your patient, I'd rather kill myself before I let you get in my head.”

“Hilarious,” Sirius muttered. “If only I can see what's going on in that stubborn head of yours, then maybe I wouldn't worry myself over you most of the time.”

“A hopeless psychic, then?”

“Harry…”

“What?”

“I'm warning you...”

“If you want to look like you really mean to carry out a threat, you shouldn't look amused.”

Tired of playing verbal chess with his godfather, Harry shoved himself away from his desk and stood up. “Look, Sirius. I am not in the perfect state for idle chitchat. I'll be leaving in a couple of hours.”

“Where are you going? If you're so tired, why leave?”

“The Weasleys will have a masquerade ball. I'm sure you got invited to that one as well.”

Sirius looked thoughtful. It had been a long while since he actually went to a ball. It had been too long as well since he had read any invitation sent to him.

“Perhaps. But Alicia insists on staying at home and I have no complaints,” Sirius said.

“I can't see why you can't go alone. It's not at all out of the ordinary,” Harry said.

“I'm rather fond of being special. Anyway, Luna's at home with Ronald.” Sirius said, referring to his adopted daughter who got married 4 years ago with whom Harry considered as his closest friend. “And your godson, Conner.”

“How is he, by the way?” Harry asked.

“The lad is doing great,” there was a twinkle in Sirius' eye when he said this. “He's learned the rules of the ton and has been talking of marriage ever since he arrived. He's even more eager than you, you know.”

Harry rolled his eyes and not for one minute did he believe that a three year-old will actually be talking about such things. It was just a ploy that Sirius used for him to talk about settling down.

“I suppose telling you no would not convince you to shut up?”

“Not until you actually do as I say and get goddamn married,” Sirius pointed out for the hundredth time. He stood up and walked over to the cabinet where Harry's brandy had been minding its own business.

He laid out two glasses and poured the content in them until they were both a quarter empty.

He handed the wineglass to his godson and sipped from his own, waiting for Harry to respond. When he didn't, Sirius sighed heavily. “You have a duty to beget heirs so your lineage wouldn't die down.”

“It can die down for all I care,” Harry muttered bitterly, turning to face the window.

“If you have to have a grudge against a family, let it be the Dursleys, you fool!” Sirius bit out venomously at Harry's back, impatient with the constant offense and rejection of his godson towards his family.

“I am not going to argue about that. But for my parents to actually entrust me to those…those filthy excuse for relatives? My God, don't expect me to erect statues for them!”

“The line of the Potters is a respectable one and it doesn't deserve to be discarded. Your parents never wanted you to end up in such a situation. They were not stupid.”

“But they weren't that smart either, not if they thought anybody could be trusted with that much money and prestigious position.”

“But Petunia was your mother's sister. Nobody expected what happened.”

“Neither did anybody do anything, did they?”

Sirius sighed. “No explanation will ever be good enough for you, will there?”

Silence.

“You'll just keep blaming them so you would have an excuse for your hatred towards the Potters.”

“I don't hate them. It just so happens that you are expecting me to love them,” May I remind you that I didn't grow up with my parents? So it is a little hard to love people whom I didn't even know.”

“Be that as it may, you must believe that they loved you. And I know, even though you disagree, that you love them as well. That heart of yours just does not want to admit it.”

“You can try looking, but you'll be wasting your time.”

“Because there's no love in your heart?”

“No, because I don't have one.”

“Stop begrudging yourself, boy,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “James and Lily sacrificed their lives for you. They left you with everything you own so you could have a good life, even without them.”

“What made you think it would have made a difference if they were alive.”

“They need to be thanked, Harry, not spited at.”

“What? They would hear me if I did?”

“You are impossible!”

“I do not have the notion that I am disgracing the name of my family, Sirius.” Harry clarified. “In fact, I am uplifting it. I am excellent in what I do and will continue doing it for the next fifty years or so. What's there to be afraid of?”

“Immortality. It's about letting that proud family name become a legend that will last until the next century.”

“My family does not need physical existence to last.”

“Yes, it does.” Sirius countered strongly.

“Why?”

“Consider it as some sort of tradition.” Sirius replied evasively.

“It is not what I want.”

“It is not about what you want. It is something you must do.”

“I will not be coerced into doing something I am against,” Harry shook his head. “My freedom is not worth giving up for some self-centered chit who would just throw away the money I worked hard for.”

“Is that what this is about? You don't want to share your wealth?”

“No. That's not it.”

“Then what is?”

“It is none of your goddamn business.”

“Of course it's my business. For what else did your parents choose me as your godparent? I'm here to see to your best interests. And right now, getting married would probably be the best of them.”

“My best interests do not revolve around marriage,” Harry shook his head and looked at his godfather with piercing green eyes.

“Every time you come here, you always have that in mind. Get married. Go to this ball, look for a lady,” He wiped his face with his hands. “You sound like a broken record. Too broken it can't be fixed. And that's what annoys the hell out of me. You won't stop until I get married. But I won't get married so you won't stop. God forbid!”

Sirius only chuckled.

“And for the record, I don't think it really matters if you don't get to fulfill one of my best interests. There are so many others you could choose from.”

“Happiness is what I want for you.”

“It doesn't mean that just because you're happy with Alicia, I would also have that kind of relationship with my wife,” Harry responded. Then, as if getting burned even just by the thought, he added. “Should I ever get married...”

“So you're saying you don't want to get married just because of the risk of not being happy or loved?”

“Love?” Harry scoffed. “Pathetic.”

Sirius looked at him coolly. “You are capable of loving.”

Harry chose to be silent, bracing himself for what was coming next.

“Polly Smith was proof of that,” He whispered somberly, gauging Harry's reaction.

Sure enough, the lad's expression changed by the mere mention of the name.

Sirius felt him stiffen.

“I was capable.” He bitted out. “Not anymore.”

“That was what? 9 years ago…”

“I don't give a damn how long it's been,” He cursed. “Nothing can make me forget.”

“You didn't mean for it to happen.”

“It doesn't make a difference whether I meant it to happen!” Harry bit out. “What matters is that it did.”

“You're really stupid, do you know that?!”

“Yeah. Shocking discovery, isn't it?” Harry said sarcastically.

“Life is full of crap, Harry. You can't go around expecting things to happen the way you want them to. It doesn't work that way.”

“You're just saying that because you want me to get married. Ha! Tough case. I won't.”

“No, I'm not. I want to help you. You're caught in the past. It's making you miserable. Don't you see? You have to move on.”

“Moving on means forgetting. I can't.”

“You can't or you won't? You're just punishing yourself for nothing.”

“I can never live a happy life knowing that the people who mattered to me had been robbed of the chance to be.”

“And you think they'd be happy your life is stuck at this miserable point because of them?”

Silence…

Sirius could only hear Harry's sharp, ragged breathing.

When he came here this morning, he just had the thought of asking Harry about his merger and leave it at that.

But then, he noticed something had to be done before it was too late.

Unfortunately, his godson, who was half the key to all this, was not cooperating.

“Harry?”

No answer.

The boy had closed his eyes, sweat starting to pool on his head.

“Harry, I only…”

“Can we stop this? I'm tired.”

Harry barely caught Sirius' eyes when he glanced over his shoulder, but something about the mysterious and painful glint in there told Sirius that Harry had really had enough.

And Sirius knew better than to continue.

Finally, he nodded.

If Harry's past had something to do with his current repugnance to marriage or to anything that had to with his life now, then so be it.

The boy was young.

He was scarred.

Shattered and messed-up.

Although Sirius had tried hard for the last 5 years to fix him, Harry won't let anyone see his vulnerable side.

And he understood the boy.

So, he was willing to give Harry time.

Even though that was what they were running out of.

He'll step back.

That was easy.

But he sure as hell won't wait until everyone else who mattered, suffer to see Harry happily married…or even just settled, for that matter.

He'll see to that.

But Sirius will make sure he was not aware of it.

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A/N:

I removed my other story, Persona, to replace it with Caught in the Past, because I felt that I dragged the prologue too much and there were facts that could be explained some other time. If you would notice, there's a slight change in my writing style. I don't know if it's better. Anyway, I'm still formulating for ideas that can spice up the story, but rest assured, I already know what will happen in the climax. It's going to be a drama, that much I can tell. So, please stay tuned and tell me what you think. Ciao!

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To all those who reviewed, I appreciate it. I hope you like this one.

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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Harry Potter had arrived at the Weasley's manor, prepared for the subtle remarks of the gentlemen regarding his business, and the meaningful glances that the women would be too generously providing his way.

He knew that no disguise in the world could ever mask him away from the people who seemed to have made a living out of annoying the hell out of him with their constant praises and direct match-making.

And he was right.

Everyone who had been near the entrance had greeted him without hesitation.

Their compliments such as “good evening, your grace” or “welcome, your grace” were merely replays of what Harry had received 5 years ago, when Sirius had announced him to the entire ton for the very first time.

It would have been much appreciated, were it not for the fact that before his business mergers outside the city, this same group of sycophants had treated him as if he didn't belong in their circle.

As he walked up the front porch steps of the manor, he ignored the stares of the people he passed by. When he entered the crowded ballroom, he merely looked with indifference at the sight that greeted him.

Smirks had never been flashed too quickly and fans had never been fanned too fast.

He didn't mind, to say the least. He was used to that kind of reaction.

Besides, what could he do?

The ton had its own way of thinking, and they stuck by each other no matter how rotten things got. It would always be them and the outsiders.

Harry may be accepted now because of his status, but still, there were others who considered him a trespasser.

But that was not something he dwelt in. Petty was what it was. He didn't need to be accepted. He had his own world, and for him, it was enough.

After paying his respects to the hosts of the ball, he made his way towards the ballroom's corner and stayed there, discouraging any attempt of his acquaintances to approach him with a bored face and a smoky stare.

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After two hours of hearing conversations that didn't seem to stop in the least, Harry became bored and completely worn out.

Detaching himself from the wall he had been leaning on, he crossed the dance floor, dodged greetings with a slight nod, and finally made it out of the crowded room.

All by himself with neither servant nor a guest in sight, Harry made his way across the hall and ended up at the other end where an exit led to the balcony.

Disregarding the phrase “breaching of territory”, he walked out and looked around.

`Thank God.' He thought as silence came upon him.

His footsteps barely making a sound, he slowly trudged his way to the ledge, careful not to trip on his feet.

It was nearly impossible to see anything without even the moon's light.

As he took a step forward, the makings of a marble ledge began to form.

His glass in hand, he leaned over the ridge and took in the familiar taste of the brandy he was sipping. After what seemed like infinity, he found himself gripping the round glass quite tightly as he felt recognizable constrictions forming in his throat.

Nine years had passed, but still, his emotions showed no sign of ever becoming stable.

Ever since he took over his parents' estate, he had lost the feeling of being carefree and living on his own. It was replaced by constant worrying and stress.

How could he not feel these things?

The burden of hundreds of people who were all depending on his puny knowledge on how to run an estate was suddenly cast upon him. Everyone had expected him to continue the work of his parents on the estate, which he didn't even know was his until he was 20 years old.

And even though he managed to uphold the family title and let it become even more than that, he neither felt pride nor happiness.

For him, the reason for living had ended even before he became the Duke of Godric's Hollow.

Sirius knew about Harry's misgivings, of course.

In the beginning, Sirius understood him and let him take his time. But after having met success and still feeling the same way towards life, his dad's best friend insisted that Harry's lack of a wife and a child of his own had become the main reason for his depression.

He, of course, waved this idea away.

It was a silly notion.

The last thing he wanted was to have another life to be responsible of.

And that “love” Sirius was talking about was not what Harry wanted now or ever again.

There had been a time when Harry could think of nothing else, though.

He once loved greatly…

But he lost as deeply as he loved.

Too much pain had been involved in his past that to take that risk of feeling it again gave Harry the will to never let love worth risking for.

Loving will never be possible for him because a man with a past like his could never learn to forgive nor forget.

“Augh!”

Someone hissed at the far corner of the balcony, the sound shifting his attention towards it.

Certain that he was not in any form of danger, Harry turned towards that direction, wondering if he had just imagined what he heard.

Then he heard the rustling of cloth.

As if it had been choosing the perfect time to reveal itself, the moon suddenly appeared and light was instantly cast upon him and his “troubler.”

His brow lifted at the sight that greeted him.

A woman was bent over the ledge of the balcony where a smaller one was jutting out as a place to hold pots of plants, with only her bottom half visible in the awkwardness of her state.

She was trying to look for something, he surmised.

Harry was generally not surprised to see her, but he was astonished to see the position he least expected her to be in.

He watched silently, curiosity eating at him, and postponed announcing his presence, despite knowing it was improper to be with a lady who looked to have no chaperone.

“Ah…” He heard her say in a voice that held triumph.

He wondered the reason for her tone, but even more so when she did not straighten immediately.

He decided to end his thoughts and whatever it was she doing.

He stepped closer and cleared his throat…

“I fear that I would not be able to compliment you on your choice of robe, mademoiselle, if I were to continue looking at it askew.”

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Hermione Granger, the Countess of Ravenclaw, gasped at the sound of a deep voice echoing behind her. She immediately straightened, only to have her stepping on the back hem of her and then losing her balance.

She was prepared to hit the cold, hard floor of the balcony, but when she felt two strong arms close around her waist, she momentarily felt relieved.

But when the man didn't release his hold on her immediately, her ease was short-lived.

She graciously stepped away from him as soon as she had righted her position.

He continued his scrutiny as he stepped back and shoved his hands into the pocket of his robes.

She challenged his gaze, more annoyed than intimidated. She knew she should leave him because society rules beckoned so, but she had nowhere else to go.

“If you're expecting a thank you…”

“I'm not.”

She stared at him, taken aback.

Hermione couldn't make out the expression beneath his mask, but his eyes were bright. Although whether it was positive or not, she couldn't tell.

“Why is that?” She asked. “Because you don't care for one?”

“You'd just be wasting your time. I don't do well on gratitude.” He shrugged.

His grave tone drew her in despite its underlying message telling her to back away.

“You're not from around here, are you?” Hermione inclined her head to the side, gazing up at the enigmatic man with curious eyes.

He, in return, stared back at her with a speculative look.

“You don't recognize me?” He asked, more like stated, vaguely.

“Should I?” She asked in return.

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Harry looked down at the woman standing in front of him in that flamboyant costume of hers and lifted a brow. “I've never encountered someone who didn't.”

She chuckled as if finding his indignation amusing. “And would I step on your pride if I tell you I have no idea who you are?”

He turned around. “Fear not, my pride is quite lenient.”

“Is that so?”

“I find it very refreshing.” He answered lamely.

He glanced around and noted for the second time that she was without a chaperone.

“Where is your duenna?”

“I do not have one.”

“A husband, then?”

To his surprise, she gave a sharp toss of her head and said. “I have no such thing.”

Harry couldn't suppress a snicker. “You are not in favor of such thing, I gather.”

“No, I am not.” She answered truthfully.

“I have to say, that's quite surprising.”

“Why? Because you think every woman is either an opportunist or a romantic, but not independent or capable?” Hermione said decorously. “Not every female grows up with fantasies of marrying, if you must know.”

“I didn't ask for an explanation.” Harry regarded her with a mocking gaze. “Just out of curiosity, how did you spend your youth if you didn't visualize yourself with the man of your dreams?”

“Man of my dreams? You're such a romantic, if only such a phrase weren't a cliche.” Hermione countered smoothly.

“A romantic?” He scoffed. “Hardly. So, what did you do? Rebelled?”

“If you would call reading books that have more than manners and fashion within their pages as rebellion, then, yes, I did.”

“More than manners and fashion…” He repeated dryly. “If you think that you had the right to leave out manners, somebody ought to tell you to read them again.”

The lady's brows crossed and he saw her stiffen. “If your concern is propriety, sir, you are welcome to leave.”

“If I had the intention of leaving, I would have done so already.”

“You're going to ask me to leave, aren't you?”

“Will you?”

“No. Why should I? I was here first.”

“Because I'm bigger.”

Hermione blinked at him, his response throwing her off guard.

“Is that how you get your way? By threatening people with your size?”

“No. Usually, they cower when I look at them.” Harry said.

“I wonder why.” She replied sarcastically. Then she gave him a pointed look and crossed her arms. “I'm still not leaving.”

“If I didn't know better, you'd want to be found here…with me.” He wagged his eyebrows at her, enjoying himself vexing her.

“And what? Be shunned into marriage with you?”

“That's the plan, isn't it?”

“The plan for what? A lifetime of hell?”

Harry threw back his head and laughed out loud.

“I do not want to leave because I want privacy and I came here first. So if one of us has to leave, I daresay, it should be you.”

“It just so happens, my lady, that I also want isolation, and the only place in the manor where I can have that, is here.”

“If you want, both of us can stay here, and have a decent conversation.”

“Or we could just mind each other's business.” He suggested matter-of-factly.

She opened her mouth to retort, but no reply came.

Harry figured he got her there, because her eyes suddenly lost their spark and the only sound that he heard next was her deep shallow breaths.

After a sharp moment of silence, she turned around and did what he told.

Even in the dim light, he could tell that she was embarrassed.

Annoyance washed over him.

Why couldn't she just leave?

Hell, why couldn't he?

Maybe it had something to do with guilt or fascination, but either way, he didn't want to name anything as he stepped closer to her to offer a truce, if not an apology.

“Perhaps, it's all right to talk.”

Her eyes darted to him, piercing his own.

The hair at his nape suddenly prickled.

Damn, there was something about her that was warning him to stay away.

But he had never been a man known to cower against warnings.

“My lady…”

“Actually,” She cut him off. “Now that I think about it, I don't have anything to say to you. Nor can I think of anything you could say that would interest me.”

Harry knew he ought to leave it at that since it was obviously clear she didn't want to talk to him anymore.

But as usual, his tenacity got the better of him.

“How about if I ask you questions and you answer them?”

“If you're trying to make up for the insult you have tossed in my face, don't bother.” She shook her head indignantly. “You don't need my thank you, fine. I don't need your sorry. And certainly not your company.”

Ignoring her last statement, he asked. “What were you doing here, anyway?”

“I thought we were minding our own business?”

“You owe me an explanation.”

“I don't owe you anything.”

“I caught you.”

“Hardly a heroic deed.”

“You were going to say thank you, which was a sign of gratitude. And gratitude means that I did something good.”

“It was petty. And you didn't earn it.”

“Course I did. I saved you from some pain and dirt, didn't I?”

“I'm not going to melt just because of those. You're treating me as if I'm fragile. Is it because I'm a woman?”

“I am not discriminating you because of your sex. I am just trying to bait you into telling me why you are here.”

“You didn't have to be so blunt.”

“You wanted the truth, I gave you the truth.”

“And now you're expecting me to return the favor?”

“That's the plan.” Harry shrugged. “Did it work?”

“No.” She shook his head. What was with him and plans?

“Okay, then.” Harry shrugged. Then walked past her to bend over the ledge where she had been leaning over when he had found her.

Above him, he heard her take a sharp breath.

But she didn't stop him, knowing that her effort would be futile, because he was, as he stated earlier, bigger therefore stronger than she.

When Harry straightened from his position, he nearly tripped himself out of disbelief after realizing what he was holding in his hands.

Harry had been prepared for a lot more dire explanation. But this one had him shaking his head in helpless curiosity despite his foul mood.

“You mean to tell me that you were bent over there just so you could hide your cards?”

“Is that so hard to believe?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest and regarding him with so much irritation that Harry couldn't help but reach out and ruffle her already mussed hair.

“After talking to you, I am no longer surprised.”

She paused then looked at him, her gaze boldly traveling from his head to foot. “You are inexplicable.”

He chuckled as he remembered the term his godfather said earlier. “I gather I am. But you should know, that does not concern me.”

He gave her a look of pure malice before looking down at the cards, his lips quirking.

She frowned when he began reading the names from each one.

-------------------------------------------

Hermione took a deep breath and then faced her inquirer with flushed cheeks as he quieted.

“Are you done?”

He looked up and spread the cards in front of her, revealing the number. “Seven cards. Impressing.”

“I don't recall asking for your opinion.” She said, reaching out to snatch them back, but he held onto them.

Because of this, she was yanked forward, and she found herself inches away from him.

Even with masks on, Hermione could feel something burning within her as she gazed up at him, noticing for the first time, how his eyes were shining with mirth.

“Forgive me for asking, but shouldn't you be flattered that that many gentlemen would like to escort you home?” His voice was husky as he whispered, his breath fanning her face.

“Not in the least.” She shook her head, silently confronting herself for being so honest to this man. “I have a very comfortable chaise waiting to transport me home and a trustworthy coachman to see to my safety.”

She tried to step back, but his arms suddenly locked her in an embrace. All she could do was look up at him in helplessness.

Being that close to him gave her the time, and although she would not admit, the pleasure, of seeing what his mask revealed.

From what it did, she could see an aristocratic nose, not crooked, not narrow, not pointed, but just the right shape. His jaw was firm, its line strong, and wrought in a way that she found attractive and mysterious.

And the way his lips were formed, it was scandalous. It was outrageous for such a mouth to be molded into a chiseled face that promised no softness. Yet there it was, close enough for her to taste.

She shook her head.

What was she thinking?

When her gaze flew back at him, she saw one corner of that sensual mouth of his, lift, as if he had heard every thought in her head.

“So what would you say when it is time for you to give your card?” He asked, his voice taking her thoughts and gaze away from his face.

“I would tell them that I had given it to someone else.” She shrugged, unsure of what to make of her own descriptions of him.

“Would you?”

“Would I what?” She asked, confused.

“Give it to someone?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have no intention of giving false hopes to that gentleman that I would be entertaining his suit.” She countered.

“And is your lack of effort to be freed from my embrace a sign that my suit would be entertained?” He sought her eyes for an answer, while she gaped at him, unsure of what to say.

“If I tried, would you actually let me go?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I want to let go.”

“And?”

“I don't know. It depends again.”

“On what?”

“On whether I decide to do something.”

“And that would be what?” Hermione was afraid to hear his answer.

She saw that mouth of his curve before forming two words that made her knees give.

“Kiss you…”

She stared at him.

“You, obviously do not move about the rules of the ton.” She whispered, tilting her head back, prepared for his assault.

To her surprise, her words caused him to return to sanity and release her. “I have no intention, whatsoever, to become a leashed dog and let those rules be my master.”

“Why is that?” She asked.

“I was not brought up to be that way.”

“And what were you brought up to be?”

He looked at her with so much intensity. “Human.”

Despite the amused glint in his eyes, Hermione would have wagered her life that the man in front of her had been serious. He was advising her to stay away, to neither feel pity nor concern for him because he was well-off without it.

But not for long did she pretend she didn't care.

Strangely, she felt for him. However, she was not in the place to do so.

He could have a wife for all she knew.

She was taken aback by the revulsion she felt once she realized that he might as well did.

Unable to stop her curiosity, she finally asked. “And what does your wife think about being married to a man who is---unfamiliar?”

“She is quite ecstatic to have someone so unconventional.” He chided.

Hermione didn't know that her face showed her emotion, but it did.

What Harry saw just before she looked down had him raising his brow.

“If I had one, I would probably be at home right now, trying to drown myself with hemlock.” He said, and then he gave her a teasing grin. “Do not look too upset.”

Hermione looked flustered.

If she had not been guilty as sin, she would have thought him to be arrogant.

But then, just as the case was, she was guilty.

But he didn't need to know that.

“I was not upset.”

“Don't think too much on it.” He shrugged and took another sip from his brandy, looking at her over the rim of the glass.

Tucking strands of loose hair behind her ear, Hermione walked over to the ledge to look at the moon.

“Have you ever felt they're just using you for something?” She heard him ask after a long moment of awkward silence.

She glanced at him for a split second before turning her head back to the sky. “That is the way the world revolves around us.”

“You mean the society?” Harry asked. When she nodded, he smiled a little. “If that is the world you live in, why aren't you married?”

“It's yours, too, you know. But then, I guess, it's more so for me.” She shrugged; bitterness in her voice could be heard through her tone.” I grew up learning how to be a proper lady. I was not allowed to be more than I was supposed to be and I grew weary of trying to be perfect. Despite the warnings of my mother regarding women and politics, I began to read books and discovered so much more. My father,”

He heard her voice break, “he thought me to be witty and clever. When I made my debut, I neither had the thought nor the desire to be wed.”

“But that does not answer my question.”

“It didn't?” She sighed. “Then I'll rephrase it.” A deep breath. “My mother died when I was born. My father passed away when I was 18, leaving me no choice but to handle our estate with my own hands because my stepmother just wouldn't want anything to do with something that was not hers. I have learned independence, and now I cannot live without it. Having a husband would only take freedom away from me. I could never live with that.”

She turned to him, suddenly blinking in surprise. Up until then, she forgot he was a complete stranger. Hermione grimaced. “Is that so silly to hear?”

“From you, no.” He shook his head. “But that's not how our world is, bien-aime.”

She smiled at his endearment. “I know. And that's why I'm trying my best not to live in it.”

He was devious, but he was not immoral. He was a gentleman, albeit quite mysterious and reserved. He was not quite what the ton preferred, but he was just right. “I know that you have the same dilemma.”

“Do I?” Harry gazed into her eyes and found himself answering truthfully. “I grew up in a different place. People didn't teach me how to live; they taught me how to survive, to depend on no one but myself. I came to London and everything changed. My life became different and I'm afraid I would make a mess out of everything, disappoint the people who depend on me. I have no idea how to go about that since all my life, I've been self-sufficient.”

“You are not going to make a mess out of anything if you just let somebody take care of the things you can't.”

“Are you talking about a wife?”

She shook her head. “Love, before anything else.””

“I do not believe in it nor do I want to get entangled in such a thing.”

She looked at him quizzically, unable to tear her gaze away from him.

She was waiting for his reasons, but it seemed that he didn't feel like telling her.

She couldn't blame him.

She was a stranger.

She had no right to know something that appeared to be very personal.

But then, that didn't stop her from caring…

-------------------------------------------------------

Harry couldn't tear his gaze away from her.

As she continued to meet his gaze, a feeling in his gut told him there was something he wanted. And he knew right there and then what it was.

He forced himself to remember that complicating things would not be the best way to end the night.

Her spirit may be strong, but her heart was gentle.

He knew he would break it no matter how much he wouldn't try.

But something in the way she was looking at him, told him that this would be the first and the last.

She was too precious to get saddled with him.

But she was glorious and no force on earth would have stopped him.

He bent his head closer.

Her breath got caught in her throat. His hand enclosed her waist and drew her even closer. Her hands clutched his arms in support.

With his free hand, he smoothed away the hair from her face. His lips moved closer, seeking the sweetness of hers.

But before he could taste what she was sweetly offering without protest, her eyes went dark and her breathing became uneven.

He cursed himself for nearly giving in to temptation as he placed an acceptable distance between them.

What just happened? Harry asked himself.

He just met her a while ago, didn't he?

But this was the second time he came close to ignoring his rational thoughts.

He took a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair. “I owe you an apology.”

“I'm not asking for one.” She told him, frowning a bit. “A kiss is just a kiss, were that scene just now meant to be one. It is not wrong to show passion.”

“Is that you living out of the world, or living in it?” he found himself asking darkly, torn between annoyance and relief.

“And what do you mean by that?”

“You do not give into the duty of marriage, but you don't hesitate to give one of its luxuries to someone whom you've just met.”

“Actually, I haven't.”

“What?”

“I haven't met you yet.” She said. “I don't even know who you are.”

She smiled right there and then, and Harry felt his anger ebb away.

His instincts were telling him to end the night there and then, before he messed it up, but as he had learned one time too many, his will was quite weak.

And so was he.

He presented her with his card.

---------------------------------------------

“Ms. Parvati!”

Both of them jerked away from each other as a plump woman suddenly appeared at the doorway, her body blocking some light.

“What?” They muttered under their breath.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself, standing there with a man you do not know.” She charged forward, her stubby finger pointing accusingly at the two of them.

For a moment, Harry couldn't find his voice.

Bloody hell!

What a timing this woman had!

“I apologize, madam.” He said, looking from one woman to the other. “I assure you, I did not compromise her in any way.”

“It will be a miracle if you did not. What is this?” The lady had her eyes cast upon him, whose hand was still outstretched, in the act of handing out his card.

“That seems a bit unethical, don't you think?” She snorted as she snatched it and held it up to her eyes to read.

Harry wondered how she could have read his name in such a dark environment, but that she did.

And he did not expect her to keep quiet about it at all.

Neither did he imagine that she would stagger in his presence.

“Your grace,” She handed him back his card and curtsied. “I was not aware that it had been you, please accept my apology.”

Harry was disgusted as she scrambled away to give them privacy.

Not with the duenna, though, but with the whole notion.

Was he a prince or something?

Why did everyone treat him with so much regard and fear?

-----------------------------------------------------

Beside him, Hermione took a sharp intake of breath.

She snatched the card from the hand of the man she was with and stared in deep shock at the words that unfolded right before her eyes.

Harry James Potter, Duke of Godric's Hollow.

She had almost kissed a duke, and not just any other duke, but the most sought after and wealthiest duke among the ton.

Somehow, she knew she should be thrilled, but she was not.

“Your grace.” Hermione curtsied.

“Why the sudden politeness?” He asked.

She looked up at him.

What she saw in his eyes intensified the coldness in her own.

“You are a duke, and propriety beckons me to do so.”

“You don't expect me to believe that, do you? You're not someone to follow rules. You told me so yourself, I am not senile, Parvati.” He said.

She was about to correct him regarding her name, but figured it would be better if he didn't know. Things would only get difficult.

She didn't want that to happen.

“I must now return inside. My duenna is obviously displeased with me.” She said, picking up her skirts.

“But you do not have one. You told me.” He regarded her quizzically.

“I was pretending that I didn't have one.”

“She does not seem to mind, though.” Harry said, his amusement returning.

“It's because of you, your grace.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged.

“Even so, my absence is probably questioned as of this moment. I should go.”

Harry merely nodded.

If he found something odd about the way she was suddenly trying to set as much space between them as possible, he chose to ignore it.

He thrust his card at her.

“Please consider my company when you feel you have just about enough dancing for the night.”

He bowed.

Hermione barely gave him a response as she took the card.

She turned around and made a hasty exit.

-------------------------------------------------

Hermione removed her mask as soon as she was in the hallway and her hair came unbound. Heavy tresses of it falling over her back and her front.

She was walking back to the dance hall, when she heard heavy footsteps coming after her. She thought it was Harry, but it was the plump lady that had ruined an enthralling evening for her, yet saved her from a suffering like no other.

“Ms. Parvati.” The woman had caught up with her.

Hermione wondered how much longer it would be before for the old lady realized her charge was in some other place.

With a pleasant smile plastered on her lips, she turned around to face the woman.

“Oh my goodness! You are not Ms. Parvati.” The shock that went to her face was comical enough to startle a laugh out of Hermione.

“No, I am not.”

She didn't even bother apologizing for her intrusion or her mistake.

“Such a loss. I thought our Ms. Parvati already had the duke.” She then looked away to search for her missing Carolyn.

Hermione's heart felt an ache creeping in it as she took in what the woman said.

The comment about having Harry in their grasp was such pitiful evidence that he was being treated as some kind of pawn in the marriage mart.

But her pity was not enough to diminish the hatred she felt for him.

For all the wrong reasons, she thought him deserving to have such treatment.

She quickly sauntered inside the dance hall.

After a few minutes, she summoned for her coachman and left the party, wishing she had never accepted the Weasley's invitation, never stepped out into the balcony, and never gave in to the hunger she had seen in the eyes of the Duke of Godric's Hollow.

-----------------------------------------------------

Seated behind his desk, Harry was drinking whiskey, thinking about the woman he met.

Back at the Weasley's Ball, he had returned in the dance hall to be present just in case Parvati was to accept his offer to accompany her home.

He didn't know why, but somehow, she had managed to creep into his thoughts during the latter part of the evening. And although every bit of nerve in his body insisted he forget about her, he couldn't let go.

Hell bent on getting to know much more, he hoped against all hopes that she would materialize at the end of the night.

But she didn't.

No matter where he looked, he couldn't find her.

And he knew that she had made sure he didn't.

He found out how the moment Parvati's duenna approached him with an apology, explaining that she had mistaken the woman he was with for her charge who had been wearing almost the same costume.

He wondered how she could have mistaken her for Parvati, but successfully read his name on his card.

But that was nothing compared to the confusion he had been in as he recalled that his mystery woman pretended she did have a duenna, when in fact, she didn't.

Yet, she had told the truth before the lady had interfered.

Before she knew who he was...

As soon as he realized that she did not want anything to do with him, Harry refused to feel a certain loss.

She had done the right thing, he assured himself. She saved herself from him.

Now, as he took the last sip of his drink, he was certain that the feeling in his gut was not because of his liquor.

This was different...and it had him believing he would do well to let the night go.

Or perhaps, it was just telling him that he would see her again.

He chuckled humorlessly.

And if he were to choose which would happen…

He was afraid he would choose the latter…

-----------------------------------------------------------

A/N:

Ok...so this is the second chapter. I've changed quite a lot. I hope you understand the flow. I was confused about it myself. Anyway, it's not the chapter I wanted to send, but since I told you that I would be updating soon, I couldn't break a promise. So I forced myself to write this one. I may change it again. So sorry, I'm a person who can't make up my mind. Heheh…anyway, please review. Tnx so much!

By the way, FAQ would be answered…so if you have questions, please, don't hesitate to ask.

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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Three months later…

“I don't care if he is busy. I intend to speak to him.”

From where he was comfortably seated, Harry looked up. He could hear his godfather's stern voice beyond the door of the mansion's massive study room. The young duke took an exasperated breath as he started to arrange the papers he had been working on, for in but a few moments, he was certain, his godfather would be striding in despite the protests of his butler.

He had yet to shove his files inside the drawers when the doors opened and in came Sirius, who seemed to have taken it upon himself to make a living out of bothering the hell out of him.

And it was working.

Harry couldn't be more annoyed.

He stood up. “To what do I expect the…”

“I DID NOT BRING YOU TO YOUR FATHER'S ESTATE AND LET YOU HANDLE HIS PROPERTIES SO THAT YOU CAN SQUANDER YOUR MONEY JUST TO SATISFY YOUR DAMN LUST WITH SOME CHEAP THRILLS!” The man exploded, cutting off the snide remark that Harry had been prepared to throw at him.

Sirius knew that he had surprised his godson with his outburst, but the only expression that betrayed Harry's emotion was the sudden rigidity of his jaw. Sirius knew it would take more than what he had said to really get to Harry. So, he plundered on.

“YOU ARE NO MORE THAN THE LOUTS WHO CLAIM THEY ARE NOBLES BUT ARE IN FACT SCOUNDRELS, WHO FIND IT AMUSING TO PLAY WITH WOMEN'S HEARTS. YOU ENGAGE YOURSELF IN AFFAIRS AND LET LADIES HANG ON TO YOUR EVERY WORD BUT AFTER YOU ARE DONE, YOU THROW THEM ASIDE!”

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and walked over to his liquor cabinet with this nonchalant look on his face as if his godfather didn't just deliver a blow to his ego. While he was busy putting drinks into two wide-rimmed glasses, Sirius walked over to the settee and sat down, silently berating himself for the sudden outburst.

He came here to talk to his godson about the impending celebration of his daughter's birthday, but forgot his intention the moment he heard about the escapades Harry had been engaging himself in lately.

According to Remus, a colleague from the Gentlemen's Club, Harry had been taking mistresses here and there; lavishing them with gifts, taking them to operas or balls, but were not seen with him in public more than once. It was actually causing quite a scandal despite its commonness amongst the ton. Perhaps it was because nobody expected him to be that way since the former duke, Harry's father, had not been this promiscuous.

Sirius would have dismissed this thought had his godson been doing it ever since he became a duke. But what bothered him was the fact that it just started three months ago. He was not that type of person and Sirius wanted to know what happened and who caused this sudden change in him.

He stole a glance at Harry who was now walking over to him with two glasses of scotch in each hand. Sirius took one when he offered it to him and watched as Harry sat down on the opposite settee.

“Why?” Sirius asked the moment he had settled comfortably.

“Why what?” Harry shot back, feigning light puzzlement.

“You know what I am talking about.” Sirius snapped impatiently.

“Do you know that this is like the pot calling the kettle black?” Harry tried to keep his amusement from showing in his voice.

If Harry had expected him to deny it, he didn't show any emotion when Sirius didn't. “I had them when I was your age but I didn't toss them aside after…” Sirius trailed off, assured that he did not have to finish for Harry to understand.

“I get tired easily.” He said simply, as if unaware, if not, then indifferent, to the callousness of his words.

“Why are you doing it?”

“I enjoy their company. But I don't like to linger. You, of all people, should know what they expect if you stay with them too long.” He took a sip from his glass, studying Sirius' reaction through the rim.

“Don't you dare provoke me, Harry James Potter.”

“Don't you think it's a little beneath me to provoke somebody who is almost twice my age and is a very vital person in my God-forsaken life?”

“And now you're being condescending.”

He shook his head thoughtfully. “I am entitled to my own business, Sirius.”

“And so you are.” He nodded, but smirked. “But that will not stop me from telling you that what you are doing is beneath everyone else! I have not heard of a nobleman, a duke, to be exact, who already has a record of having five mistresses in just three months!”

“Five?” Harry scoffed. “Wherever did you get that number?”

“You mean it is not true?” Sirius visibly relaxed.

But his peace was disturbed almost immediately by his godson's amused drawl.

“Are gossips that erroneous these days? If my memory is true, you should have been informed that it was 8 by now.”

Sirius knew he would die of heart attack if he let this conversation progress further, not because he believed what Harry was saying but because he knew that the fool was trying to irritate him. He decided to change the topic.

“Are you going?”

Neither relieved nor surprised with the sudden alteration of issue, Harry looked over his shoulder to the invitation on his table and then shrugged.

“It's my daughter's birthday, and you do not know whether you're coming or not?” Sirius asked, incredulous.

“I have some important matters to attend to.”

“And Luna is not important, is that it?”

“Of course, she is...but this is something I can't ignore.”

Sirius was enraged. He slammed the glass on the table to give full meaning to his next words. It was a wonder that it didn't break. “I don't give a damn about your business! You are going whether you like it or not. I don't care if I have to tie you inside your carriage and take you there myself. You will attend.”

Harry placed his foot atop his knee. “May I inquire the reason for your sudden need to rupture every time you come upon something that does not favor you?”

“You!” Sirius shot back. “You are close to becoming the carpet on this floor, Harry James Potter.”

“Will it help if I told you that I have decided to go?”

“Not as much as I want it to.” Sirius said.

“What else must I do to get you off my back?” Harry realized the graveness of his question almost after he said it, but it was too late to divert Sirius.

“I command you to stop doing whatever you are doing. You are close to becoming a rake!”

“You command me?” Harry asked, more amused than angry.

“I am your godfather and, duke or no duke, I am entitled to tell you what to do!”

“I don't believe everybody has to follow commands.” Harry said. “And you can only advise me, not tell me. I am not a child.”

“You may not be a child. But what you are doing does not show maturity in any level. You don't believe you have to follow commands? Well, better start believing now, son, because I will make you.” Sirius threatened. “And since we are talking about my authority over yours, when are you planning to settle down---after you've finished playing your games?”

“Are we going there again?”

“We are, and we will continue to do it until you haul yourself out of here and find a wife.” Sirius tried to speak calmly. “You are not getting any younger and I am getting impatient.”

“I don't think it matters if I am getting old and I do not care if you are getting impatient. I don't have to deal with that.”

“You have the responsibility…”

“Of begetting heirs…I have heard that before and I am not hearing it today. I will if you want me to, but do not meddle, Sirius. If you make even a simple interference, I will not, I repeat, I will not get married.”

“If you would just allow me to introduce you to somebody at the ball…”

“Save it, Sirius. I will not have you as a matchmaker. I'll attend, but it wouldn't be for meeting people.” Harry stood up, clearly dismissing the topic. Sirius relentlessly gave up and let Harry discuss with him his recent merger with a trading company from America.

An hour later, Harry was escorting him to the main entrance of Godric's Hollow. As he Sirius stepped out of the mansion and into the carriage waiting for him, Harry took it upon himself to remind him of his opposition to his godfather's impatience.

“If you are thinking of inviting somebody for me to meet and consider, I am warning you now, if you ignore this, what I will do in return will not be a pleasant sight.” With that, he closed the carriage door and stalked back towards his house.

Had the young boy watched him leave, he would have seen a look of triumph on Sirius' face, not the disappointed one that he was naturally expecting.

“What I will do in return will not be a pleasant sight….”

He settled himself on the cushioned seat and smiled in contrast to the murderous message.

`Too late.'

------------------------------------------

A fortnight later…at the Black Mansion.

------------------------------------------

“Hermione?” Luna laid a gloved hand on her friend's arm, noticing the sudden pallor in her color.

Hermione, whose head was restlessly turning everywhere, gave her a fleeting glance before returning her gaze back to the crowded ballroom. “Hmm?”

Inclining her head to the side, the baroness asked, “Are you all right?”

Hermione nodded, but didn't look at her. “I'm fine.”

Luna shook her head, disbelief written all over her face.

“You seem a bit…distracted.” She offered blandly.

“Do not worry, Luna.” She said, smiling for her benefit. “I'm quite well.”

And she was truly, but the puzzled look on her face told Luna otherwise.

She didn't say anything else, though. For a minute, Luna just watched Hermione, as her gaze shifted from one corner to the other of the ballroom where her birthday celebration was being held. Then, it struck her.

“Are you looking for someone?” She asked in a teasing tone.

For some reason, this caused Hermione to abruptly fix her restless gaze on her childhood friend. “No.” She negated a little too forcefully. “Who would I be looking for anyway?

But even as she said this, Hermione's eyes guiltily looked for any sign of him.

Yes.

She was looking for someone.

And she disgusted even herself for doing so.

The butler had announced his arrival minutes before, during which she was having a pleasant conversation with her friend regarding her trip to Scotland.

She thought she heard wrong, but when she saw him descending the steps to join his peers, she immediately grew wary.

Despite the agitation she was feeling at the thought that she was to be in the same room as he, Hermione told herself to act as if nothing was troubling her.

But all hopes of continuing as gracefully and as noncommittally as possible vanished the instant he felt her scrutiny and met her gaze.

Up until that moment, she had never expected to feel any more worse about him.

She was even surprised by the sudden gush of loathing that swept through her entire being as she forced herself to look the other way.

Never had she felt such powerful feelings for anyone before, she thought to herself, breathing hard.

She didn't like hating someone with such intensity, but she couldn't stop herself from doing so.

It was as if despising his existence had become a necessity for her.

Unable to stop herself, she turned her head to watch him finally make it to the bottom of the steps. As soon as he did, he was immediately surrounded by his friends and some women who were brave enough to approach him without so much as an introduction.

Hermione inwardly simpered as she mentally assaulted these women.

How could they be attracted to him? She thought.

Her conscience stirred to life within her.

Weren't you as well?

She blinked once to clear her thoughts, and lost sight of him in an instant.

She didn't even know why she bothered seeking him out.

Was she afraid he would recognize her and remember?

It wasn't as if he would.

And even if he did, it wouldn't matter.

“Are you sure you are well?” Luna broke into her thoughts. “You seem to have lost some coloring.”

“Yes, Luna. I'm sorry if I have you worried over nothing.” Hermione flashed a grateful smile in her friend's direction, finally convincing herself Harry Potter was not worth her time.

“Nonsense.” Luna gave a sigh of relief as she scanned the ballroom with an appreciative glance. “I'm just happy you came tonight.”

“I would have never thought to miss it.” Hermione said sincerely.

Although her attention was already with Luna, she couldn't say that all of it was focused on her. Part of her was still cautious.

“You seem to have invited more than I thought you would, Luna.” Hermione mused some time later, finally taking in that the guests in the ballroom might have been over 500. “Do you really know all these people?”

Luna regarded her with an amused gaze. “I don't. Ron does, however. He was the one I asked to come up with the guest list.”

“That would explain the greater number of gentlemen.” Hermione thought aloud.

“A greater number of them are single.” Luna pointed out.

Hermione stared at her with a baffled look.

Somehow, this earned her a look of mild exasperation from Luna. “I asked Ron to invite them for you, Hermione.”

By some means, Hermione wasn't surprised by this revelation.

There hadn't been a day in her married life that Luna didn't force her to follow in her footsteps and wed as well.

Wherever they went, Luna pried to get information about eligible bachelors, whether they were in search of a wife and whether there were certain qualities they wanted her to have.

And when satisfied with the answers, she would begin to subtly coax these gentlemen to Hermione for her to dance or converse with.

She did this wherever they went and most of the time, she was successful in finding Hermione a suitor or two…or four.

Hermione knew there were limits to Luna's matchmaking.

However, her ball was apparently no exception.

But just like always, Hermione treated this feat of hers as just a passing event. “Try as hard as you want, Luna. I won't concede.”

Luna looked at her for a long time before sighing heavily. “I really do not understand your aversion to marriage. If I was as well sought out as you, I would have been married a long time ago.”

Somewhere from behind them, Ron's laughing voice suddenly emerged.

“If you were, then you wouldn't be happily married to your charming husband who has been waiting for you to dance with him all night.”

Luna met her husband's loving gaze with one of her own and what Hermione saw there caused a twist in her heart.

“All you had to do was ask, Ronald.” Luna said, smiling.

“Well then,” Ron shrugged and bowed, holding his hand out to his wife. “Would the lovely birthday celebrator end my misery by gracing me with a waltz, one which I am likely to mess up?”

“How could I refuse such a gallant request?” Luna replied with mild sarcasm as she placed her hand in his. Turning to Hermione, she asked. “Would you be all right?”

Hermione nodded, feeling happy for her. “I'll be fine.”

“I'll be back soon.” Luna promised.

Hermione followed them with her gaze as Ron led his baroness to the dance floor where several other couples were intently dancing in tune with the music.

Feeling quite elated, she just stood where she was, momentarily forgetting her earlier thoughts and simply focusing on admiring the way her two friends were gazing at each other as if they hadn't a care in the world.

She was happy for Luna.

There were no words to express how grateful Hermione was whenever she saw her friend completely satisfied with her life now.

She may not have gone through the most difficult times, but she well deserved this happiness.

No one knew better than she because she and Luna had been friends ever since they were still children, when they were not aware how harsh life could be.

For Luna, that realization came a little too early.

The untimely demise of her father left her as an orphan when she was just 8 years old. Her mother had died years earlier, leaving her with no legal guardian.

One might say that this was a terrible ordeal for her, but the truth was, it had been an indirect way towards something better.

Luna had been adopted by Sirius Black, a longtime friend of her father's, when he and his wife, Alicia, could not conceive a child. And it was through an old family connection that she met her husband, Ron.

The Weasleys were a family ally. They, along with the Potters and the Blacks, were one of the oldest families in the Gryffindor estate and had wealth of their own with several titles to go along with it.

However, Ron did not inherit any title because he was the 5^th son. But because Luna's father was a baron, his death had made Luna a baroness, and when she married Ron, he became the baron.

All was well that ended well, it would seem.

But for Hermione, she was still waiting for her happily ever after to come.

Her story was actually similar to Luna's.

She had lost her father at a young age, leaving her with Ravenclaw Keep to manage when she was barely 18 years old.

She would have been all right with handling what a female shouldn't, but as it was, it simply couldn't be done.

According to her father's will, only a male could handle the rights to the estate. In Hermione's case, she had to have a husband to have the lands or gain total control of it when she turned 27.

It had posed as a problem because she never had her official debut, but with Sirius and Luna at her side, she was able to launch herself into society, albeit as a late debutante.

But not once had the thought of getting married entered her mind.

Her desire to be known as a lady in search of a husband was merely for people to believe she would soon wed, and in the process, present an earl for the Ravenclaw Keep.

Had she not formally made her debut, she would have lost Ravenclaw Keep to the first man who would forcefully seize it by stealing her virtue.

At least, by giving the notion that she was willing to marry, everything would remain peaceful and reasonable.

Unfortunately, so much time had passed since her come-out, and people were getting impatient to either find that lord or be that lord that Hermione often wondered how much longer they were willing to wait before finally taking matters into their own hands.

She was aware that she should be worried about that. She also knew that to keep up with the farce and buy her some more time, she should be entertaining pursuits of gentlemen even in this ball.

But that travesty was far from her concerns right now.

What concerned her at that moment was the fact that Harry Potter was now openly staring at her from the other side of the room with a small smile playing across his lips.

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Harry's eyes never left the young woman he had been watching for the last hour even as she retreated to the terrace.

He was not sorry for being caught staring. After all, she had watched him when he arrived earlier.

For an unknown reason, he had felt her perusal as he made his way down the staircase and had responded to it quite strongly.

And he was not at all sorry that his godfather had convinced him to attend Luna's ball.

Fate had been busy lately, and it would seem that Harry was one of his clients because the moment he saw her, he couldn't tear his gaze away.

She was, by far, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Even from afar, he could see how she outshone the rest of the female in the group.

Her auburn colored-hair was a mixture of lush waves and curls that fell artlessly on her shoulders and down her back.

The gown she was wearing was of simple style when solely looked at. But when combined with the image of her, it was simply what he would call, fitting.

But then, any other robe on her would have been overly cast aside by her beauty that never seemed to fade even as his unwavering gaze was fixed on her.

She didn't look old, but Harry knew she was not young.

The way she looked at him when she caught him staring had been enough to melt an iceberg. No one young enough could have managed to do that without scouring away in fear of what he would think.

That and the apparent bravery of this young woman had him following her without so much thought on who she was or whether she might care that they knew nothing about each other.

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Harry found her standing near the edge of the veranda and momentarily felt a pang of regret when he remembered a night three months ago, when he discovered someone in a similar state.

Tried as he might, the evening had never quite stopped haunting his thoughts.

He refused to think of the might have been's in the situation, because he had convinced himself long before that the affair might have continued, but it would have scarcely lasted.

The chit would have probably desired for marriage, and he would have left her for thinking so.

Yes.

It was for the best that no female would carry that hope.

So why was seeking this one out?

“I don't believe we have been introduced.” He said.

He startled her. That was for sure because he saw the way she gave a start at the sound of his voice. “I'm sorry.”

“You should be, Your Grace.” She turned around, meeting his cool gaze, leveling one of her own on him.

He realized with a jolt that her eyes were the color of chocolate, with gracefully winged russet-colored brows. And it was now shooting darts at him as if trying to destroy him with her gaze.

Feeling as if he had been put firmly into his place, Harry gave her a mock bow. “Now you obviously think I am unscrupulous.” He chuckled. “Why don't you allow me to prove to you that I am not the scoundrel you think I am by letting me escort you onto the dance floor?”

She firmly shook her head, those curls of hers swaying back and forth. “No.”

Harry frowned. “If this is because you and I have never been introduced to one another, then I'll gladly ask Ron to do so. It wouldn't be so difficult. If you could just wait for one moment…”

“Why are you so adamant to dance with me, Your Grace?” She asked.

This had Harry pausing for a while before giving out an awkward breath. “To answer your question would probably take all night, because I don't know myself. But, if you want a most basic answer, I would simply say because I want to.”

“Then, if you wouldn't mind a basic answer as well, I say no.” She replied firmly.

Harry couldn't be more surprised…or intrigued.

“Why not?” He kept his tone light and teasing so as not to alarm her by his rising irritation.

For some unknown cause, this question had her at loss for words.

“I have my own reasons.” She finally said.

“Can't those reasons be cast aside?” Harry asked.

“It will be repulsive for me to do so.”

Irritated that she found dancing with him repulsive, Harry pressed further. “What have I done to you? I don't even know you.”

Hermione bit her lip, trying to come up with something to tell him. Then she gave him the reason that he inadvertently gave her. “That is just the point, Your Grace. We don't know each other, yet you are pressing me for a dance which I cannot give to you. It isn't proper to do so.”

“As I said, I could ask Ron to introduce us.”

“No.”

Harry's brows furrowed. “Why not?”

“Because unlike you, Your Grace, I don't want to.”

“So then it doesn't have anything to do with propriety. What is it that you see in me that has you this vindictive?” Harry asked, unable to stop himself from being angry.

Why not?

It wasn't everyday that he met someone he was most enthralled in and then be cut directly by that very same person.

It just was not how he liked things to turn out.

“What is it that you see in me that has you this insistent?” Hermione asked back. “You can't mean to tell me that I have your attention because I am the most beautiful woman in this ball.”

“You are.” Harry said simply, with nothing to hide his admiration.

Heat flushed her cheeks as Hermione took her gaze away from his. She wasn't prepared for that revelation, nor was she willing to accept that it sounded sincere. Besides, he was there only because he saw her as another conquest.

His amorous affairs over the last three months hadn't gone unnoticed. She remembered.

Practically the entire ton knew all about it and basked in the very presence of a juicy rumor that didn't turn out to be just a rumor at all.

“I have no idea what it is you want from me, Your Grace. It may be as simple as a dance, but I cannot grant you even that small request. If I do so, I would find myself a sinner and a traitor. Good night.”

With that unforgettable mockery of his manhood, Hermione left him standing there, unable to fathom what just happened.

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A/N:

Hi…it's been a long time since I updated. You might notice that the beginning of the chapter is just the same as the one in chapter 4 of Persona. It was inevitable to do so. The last two scenes are new, by the way so this story's now more up to date than Persona.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy. And I would also like to inform you that if in the next chapters, you see something confusing, just ask. I changed some characters to make the story more in touch with Harry Potter. Thanks for the reviews! And please do express what you think…Ciao!

For the FAQ:

The time frame of the story:

It's set in the regency era. I have no specific year, just that very interesting period in England. As for some of the language that should not be included, please excuse my mistake. I am a Filipino and I don't really know much about the regency era except the fact that I am interested in it and that I want to write something about it. I'm still a neophyte regarding this so if I put a couple of words there that are just off, just inform me and I'll change it.

Have I posted this story before:

This would be the first time that I posted this as Caught in the Past, but I have another one which is called “Persona.” Like I said before, I wanted to change some things in the story, but it changed the perception too much that I decided to make a new one, with a similar plot. If you're going to ask if I would continue Persona, I'm still thinking about it.

Who is Ian:

The explanation for this one is quite funny. You see, I also created this as an original fiction, without Harry Potter characters. Ian Blackwell would be the original character version of Sirius Black. When I was making the chapter for this fanfiction, I was just changing the names and I overlooked some of the Ian ones. I didn't really mean for them to be two persons. Sorry!

That's it for the FAQ. Thanks!

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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A/N:

Wow! I can't believe I just updated another chapter. This must be the first time that I had done that twice within a week. Well, considering that I haven't done this before, I hope you like this one even though I came up with it in a hurry. Again, with the language and some typo, please excuse my mistakes.

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Harry Potter couldn't describe the way he felt as he stood on the sidelines, watching the woman who had rejected his invitation earlier, dancing what seemed to be her 5^th waltz.

When she left him, he wanted to believe that she did that with every gentleman she met.

But his pride took a great deal of battering the moment he returned inside and found her with Oliver Wood, one of his business acquaintances, and looking to have what seemed a good time.

He had been willing to accept that they were good friends, but then, she also accepted a dance with Blaise Zabini, a Lord in the Slytherin Estate, and Harry knew she couldn't be that sociable.

Now, as he followe her every move, he reluctantly admitted in a befuddled state that she actually didn't want to dance with him.

The only thing left bothering his mind was the reason for her aversion.

He tried to recall whether he had done something lately that would have caused her to hate him. But the thought had been absurd that he immediately overlooked that possibility.

He hadn't met her. He was sure about that. If he had, he would have remembered their first meeting, and even the next. He would have sought her out; that was a foregone conclusion.

She wasn't a woman one could easily forget.

His strong attraction to her told him so. Even he was surprised by his reaction to seeing and being with her. A few minutes in her company and he was behaving like this.

One would think he knew better than to act like a besotted fool in a state that neither rhyme nor reason can actually describe.

How could she not accept his invitation, though?

Even if he was not arrogant when it came to his looks or his appeal, he didn't ignore the absurdity that he hadn't been able to charm her or at least wrung her approval.

Statistically speaking, and this was the truth, no lady had yet turned him down or left him the way she had.

Except maybe that chit at the Masquerade Ball, Harry thought suddenly.

The possibility hit him, but it still didn't explain the reason she didn't like him.

Moreover, the odds of her being the same female were unlikely and so Harry dismissed it as well.

For the first time in the last hour, Harry tore his gaze away from her and sought his friend to finally ask about her identity.

He found Ron standing beside his wife near the refreshments and bowed for Luna's sake, despite the fact that the three of them have been friends for six years.

“Luna,” He said, abandoning formality. “Do you mind if I speak with Ron for a moment?”

“Of course not, Harry.” Luna smiled at him as she shook her head.

“Thank you.” Harry said and then stirred Ron away for privacy.

When they were standing at the farthest corner of the room, Harry turned to look at Hermione who was now dancing her 6^th waltz.

Harry was relieved to see that she was now with Bill Weasley, Ron's older brother and also the next Earl of Surrey because he was the Weasleys' eldest son.

But he didn't relax all that much.

Probably because he didn't want anyone dancing with her no matter how well-mannered her partners were.

“What?” Ron asked Harry, searching his face.

“I need to know something.”

Ron let out an exasperated breath. “And here I was, thinking, you've already done something with one of the guests.”

Harry flinched at this.

His ardent affairs with mistresses weren't untrue, but they weren't accurate either.

He was just teasing his godfather when he told him about having 8 mistresses. It had only been a couple.

But Harry wanted to annoy Sirius as much as he annoyed him, so Harry let the gossips roam the way they were supposed to, which was to change from one quidnunc to the other.

And it worked.

But Harry found the opinion unwanted right now.

“No.” He gritted his teeth, still eyeing the girl.

Ron seemed to have noticed his lack of visual accuracy and followed his gaze.

Harry knew that his friend was looking at the very same person he was staring at, but didn't say anything.

He expected Ron to dissuade his apparent interest, but instead, he just raised his eyebrows.

“I gather you want me to introduce you to her.” He mused aloud.

Harry surprised him with a scoff. “I wouldn't even bother.” He muttered in a clipped tone. “I met the chit earlier and…”

“She gave you the cut.” Ron interrupted in amused disbelief as he recognized the tone in Harry's voice.

Harry chuckled. “Split me in two, mate. I can't tell why, though. I don't think I know her.” He looked at Ron and tipped his head towards her direction. “Who is she?”

“She is Lady Hermione Granger.” Ron said.

“And?”

“She's a good friend of Luna's.”

“How old is she?” Harry asked.

“Be thankful that no one can hear you. Do you know that it is not proper to ask a lady's years?” Ron chastised.

Harry frowned. “Is that a society rule?”

“No.” Ron chuckled. “Just the ladies'.”

“So then?”

“She is two summers older than Luna.” Ron informed. “25, I believe.”

Harry was more surprised and impressed than repulsed at Hermione's age. Even if it was considered past marriageable, it didn't matter to him.

And more than he would have liked to admit, he hated knowing that nobody considered her out of the marriage mart.

“Where is she from?”

Ron opened his mouth to answer when a continuous ringing drowned out his voice.

“We'll talk later, Harry.” Harry heard Ron say amidst the noise as he saw his friend move towards his mother. “I have to escort my mum.”

Harry didn't get to say another word as Ron walked through the crowd to find Molly Weasley. In the corner of his eye, he saw Luna already with her father-in-law.

With a sigh, Harry disengaged himself from the corner.

Dinner was served.

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Hermione tried not to squirm as she felt Harry's gaze on her again for what seemed to be the hundredth time since dinner had begun.

And for the hundredth time as well, she resisted the urge to ask Luna why she had been seated directly in front of him.

It would have been her consolation that Ginny Weasley sat next to her and that she was doing her best to make Hermione comfortable.

But when somebody was staring and making her nerves jump every time she noticed, it didn't really matter that much.

And not for the first time that evening did she recall her discovery that the dinner table where she was seated was for intimate friends of the host and hostess of the ball.

Earlier, she hadn't been aware that Harry Potter was close to any of the Weasleys.

But now, as she stole a glance at him, it was very much clear to her that he was treated as family.

Because of that, she felt like the outsider of the group and that she was not wanted as much as he.

She couldn't be more wrong about that.

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At the end of the table, Luna was successfully avoiding Hermione whom she had caught looking at her several times with an expression of desperation.

It was hard to suppress her smile, though.

It was when one notices how the evening was faring.

She couldn't be happier that two of her friends were showing some kind of attraction towards one another.

All throughout dinner, she was not indifferent to the subtle glances Hermione gave Harry, it didn't matter much that it was not friendly at all. What counted was that Hermione was aware of Harry whose staring couldn't have been more forthright.

Meanwhile, Ron, who was opposite Luna, was more successful well in hiding his amusement.

Whether Harry was aware of it or not, he was actually sending warning signals to Hermione, and she couldn't be more ill at ease about his staring.

Sirius, who was seated next to Harry, was positively beaming at the obvious attention Harry was giving the lovely woman seating across him.

Although the lad was assumingly trying not to look that obvious, Sirius did not miss anything.

How could he?

When it came to his godson, he had a keen sense of understanding, and in this case, a great deal of appreciation.

But for Harry's solace, no one else seemed to know, except maybe Sirius' daughter and her husband who were both trying hard not to appear as if they knew.

So what would he do?

Nothing.

Sirius suspected he wouldn't have to.

He knew Harry would do something soon and it would bode well on both their parts that Sirius just stayed put.

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The silence that was in between him and Hermione was too awkward that Harry couldn't help but think of the reason that she was still ignoring him. He knew she was aware of his scrutiny, but she hadn't said a word to tell him off.

His eyes were strained from looking nowhere else and he suspected that if not everybody knew what he was doing, his godfather and Ron did.

His motive was none other than to find out why she was so keen on believing that not even a single hair on his body existed. But it was plain to him that she wasn't about to speak or even acknowledge he was there.

Well then, he decided, if you don't have anything to say, I do.

He deliberately turned his head towards Ron to catch his attention, and sure enough, his friend knew what he had been doing.

Harry simply raised his brow to convey his message and Ron immediately understood.

Clearing his throat, he said. “I don't believe Harry knows everyone at the table.”

Everybody looked at each other and then all eyes were suddenly only on Hermione.

“I don't think there's a need…” She muttered but her voice was a whisper in comparison to Harry's deeper and louder one.

“Yes, I noticed that as well.” Turning her gaze back on her, Harry leaned forward. “I've been around for 5 years, my lady, but it seemed that I have only set eyes on you tonight.”

Ignoring the other meaning insinuated by his words, Ron explained. “Hermione returned from Scotland only 4 months ago.”

“Scotland. Very stunning country.” Harry smiled at Hermione. “How was your stay there, my lady?”

“It was all right.” She answered feebly, toying with her fork.

Harry may have thought of her tone as due to embarrassment for being put in the limelight, but Hermione knew that if she ever so much as raise her voice, the people around her would practically feel her loathing for Harry.

“Why were you in Scotland?” Harry asked again.

“I…” Hermione stopped.

What would she tell him?

That she wanted to escape the pressure of being forced to marry and present a Ravenclaw Earl?

She couldn't say that.

Not in front of him.

“I wanted to see what it was like.” She managed to say, even though half the people in the dinner table knew her real reason.

“What did you think of it?”

“It was a beautiful country, Your Grace.” She answered.

“How were the people? I'm sure they treated you well.”

“They did. They were friendly and very hospitable.”

“Where did you stay, by the way? Scotland has very…rough outdoors.”

“I own a manor there which came to me from my mother's dowry.”

“Ah. That's good to hear.” He cut a piece of his meat and said before putting it into his mouth. “So then, what did you do? Staying in a foreign land must have been quite dull to you.”

“I appreciated the scenery, Your Grace. There was nothing quite like it.” She gritted her teeth.

Harry swallowed. “No soirees then?”

Did his questions ever stop? Hermione forced herself not to roll her eyes at him.

“I didn't attend any, Your Grace.”

“Didn't you miss them?” Harry asked her.

“I prefer a scene of quieter nature.”

Harry turned to look at everyone at the table and asked no one in particular. “Would that explain why she is not yet married?”

If other people heard him say this, they would have castrated him to oblivion because such things were not said when they involved the very person they were referring to.

But in Harry's case, it was safe since he was amidst friends who knew better than to rebuke him over his disrespect.

“Dear God, no.” Ginny was the one who caught the question. “Hermione attends gatherings but only the ones that matter.”

“It can't be because of few suitors.” Harry commented. When no one said anything, he placed a hand over his heart as if offended. “Do not even consider telling me that it is so, my lady, or I would have to be the only single gentleman here who is not blind to your beauty.”

“I do have offers, Your Grace.” Hermione cried out indignantly, surprising herself with her reaction. Normally, she wouldn't have responded. But his words, combined with how he said it, got to her nerves.

“She does. But the gentlemen who offer never get past dancing to be considered as suitors. The cards they present always vanish at the end of the night.” Luna commented with an air of disbelief. “Only God knows what she does with them.”

“I told you, Luna. They must fall off while I'm dancing.” Hermione explained feebly, trying her best to be the leader of the conversation, not Harry.

“So when you say always, this includes our Masquerade Ball?” Molly decidedly joined the conversation, somewhat perturbed by the thought that Hermione, her self-appointed charge, had managed to rebuke one more time the offers that were given her.

She didn't know that at the same time, she was also destroying any possibility of Hermione being successful in what she was trying to do: protect her privacy.

“The same one I attended?” Harry asked, a nagging thought screaming at the back of his head.

“The very same.” Luna replied.

It can't be… Harry thought.

“So the cards vanished there as well?” Harry urged, thinking that the odds were finally in his favor, though he didn't know whether to feel relieved or angry about it.

“Yes. I distinctly remember Hermione being given a number of cards, I asked about them myself at the latter part of the evening.” Luna confided.

“How many were there?” Fred Weasley asked casually.

Harry waited with bated breath at her answer. Expecting, not really hoping, that it was exactly the same number as he recalled “Parvati” had said she had.

“It was five.” Ginny replied.

Harry's hopes crashed.

“No.” Luna interjected. “She had seven.”

And then they soared.

“You were dancing with Neville Longbottom when she was given the other two.” Luna told Ginny, who looked ready to defend herself.

Ginny seemed to have recalled that happening and shrugged.

Luna proceeded to relate cheerfully. “Afterwards, she went to the ladies' room, and then when she returned almost an hour later, they were gone.”

“Gone? How did you know?” George asked in an amused tone.

Hermione couldn't help but be awed at the way Harry had managed to have the conversation revolve around her and her only.

“It had been late when she returned. Lord MacMillan came to ask for her card. And Hermione adamantly said she already gave it to someone else. When Lord MacMillan left, I asked Hermione where her card was. I didn't really believe she already gave it to someone, and she said it was with the other cards.”

“And where were they?” Molly asked.

Luna bit her lip to keep herself from laughing out loud. “Nowhere.”

“They weren't exactly `nowhere', Molly.” Hermione said looking her.

Everyone looked expectantly at her.

“I left them…somewhere.”

“You mean hid them.” Harry finally interrupted.

Hermione looked just about ready to contradict him when the others decided to talk amongst themselves.

“And where could she have?” Molly asked indignantly. “A woman does not usually cavort around, hiding something. That would have been too obvious.”

“I didn't see her.” Ginny muttered.

“Nor I.” Luna mused aloud. “Could she have done it in the bathroom?”

“No. Someone would have seen her.”

“Would it be too much to ask for another topic?” Hermione interrupted them. “I don't believe that gentlemen's cards make a conversation good.”

“We're sorry, Mione. But it is a bit trifling to think about it.” Ginny said, giggling. “I can't imagine seeing you, hiding those cards.”

“I can.” Harry muttered with a great deal of feeling.

Hermione gaped at him.

Ginny rolled her eyes at him, however. “How can you? You didn't even know her then. And she was wearing a costume. Therefore, it is quite impossible for you to be able to imagine it accurately.”

Harry flashed Ginny a smile before letting the full blast of his gaze fall on Hermione. “Well then, what were you wearing? Enlighten me, my lady. So that my vision of you would be as vivid as I see you now…with you hiding your cards, I mean.”

Hermione bit her lip.

He wouldn't know, would he?

It had been dark in that balcony.

He wouldn't have seen her clearly so she could lie and he wouldn't know it was her.

Oh, who was she kidding?

He probably knew who she was right now.

Hermione answered him sulkily. “I was wearing something hideous that the men had to have been more courageous or stupid than I originally thought to dance or even stand beside me.”

Harry laughed at the way her eyes flamed at the lie.

It was you in that balcony, wasn't it? He tried to tell her with his gaze.

He tried to come up with a comment that would surely force her to give an answer that would finally confirm his suspicions, but Ginny interrupted his thoughts.

“You said the exact same thing before, only you were referring to another dress.” Ginny's laughing voice said. “You were very critical about Parvati's robes, considering that you were wearing almost the same thing.”

Hermione grimaced. She could just imagine the thoughts going on inside Harry Potter's head, his nerves organizing the little pieces of information that had been inadvertently given to him by her defenders.

This time, she didn't even attempt to ignore him.

Slowly, she lifted her face and met his eyes.

There was no mistaking the gleam in those green orbs of his.

Escape would only be through persuading him otherwise, but she knew he was not a fool to believe what she would say.

Now, she would have to explain why she had left so abruptly three months ago, given him a direct cut earlier that evening, and ignored him at the beginning of dinner.

But she didn't really have to, did she?

Her business was her own and he didn't have the right to demand any information from her.

She could face him without really facing him.

Right…

As if he'd let her.

“Don't worry, dear.” Molly said.

Hermione was surprised at the accuracy of Mrs. Weasley's would-be advice had she known what was going on inside Hermione's head.

“Your comment on Parvati's dress would not be revealed. Your secret is safe with us.” She smiled. “But I must warn you, that deception regarding your cards must not persist.”

She then returned to her meal.

And so did the rest of the Weasleys who had somehow reached the conclusion that something was over and had now gone back to their own conversations.

Only 5 people at the dinner table of 14 did know what that something was and were not as keen on ending it.

But only two people were clearly aware of its vitality and thought better than to discuss it openly.

As for now the issue with Parvati was the farthest thing from Hermione's mind.

What she was thinking about was more pressing matters.

Hermione didn't know whether to feel angry or scared that the only secret that mattered, the one which concerned her identity, and the one she refused to let out, was no longer a secret.

Not when it was already in the hands of Harry Potter.

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A/N:

So this is another end. Classes are about to start in a couple of weeks and I decided that I must finish at least half the story before I hit the books again. So, here I am, doing just that.

I hope you like this chap and stay tuned for the next ones! I wouldn't ask for you to review…doing that would actually command you to do so, right?

Hehe…but if you want to at least ease the pain I endured for hitting my head quite a few times to come up with another chapter, please do click that small button just below and let me hear YOUR thoughts. I would appreciate it very much. Thank you.

By the way, I couldn't find any FAQ, so I don't have answers right now. Ciao!

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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A/N:

Aw, guys! I really appreciate your comments. So much that I got hyped into typing this chapter the moment I checked my email. Thank you so much for every single word written. THANK YOU!

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Barely finished with the dessert she no longer found enticing, Hermione excused herself from the party and headed out for privacy, barely noticing the looks that the other guests had given her.

“So much for secrets…” She muttered as she walked away from the dining hall.

The hollow sounds of her footsteps gave Hermione the feeling she was by herself, but it was not enough to calm her nerves.

She wanted to be in a place where she could really be alone; somewhere no one would think of going even after dinner was over.

If she found one now, she would still have time to think things over before she retire with the other women to the drawing room while the men begin their gambling.

Her chamber was too far to give her the privacy she craved so greatly.

But the ballroom had been empty when she passed by.

And so there she was now…

Standing in the middle of the dance floor with nothing to illuminate her but the moon's light shining through the open doors of the balcony.

Wracked with frustration, Hermione clutched her skirts and sat down, breathing hard - fighting to let her unshed tears remain as they were.

She didn't know for how long she sat there, but by the time her rationale returned, the moon had lost most of its light, the only part left falling on her.

“Do you not find it odd, my lady, that we meet again under similar circumstances? One would think that we are being played at.”

Hermione didn't need to see to be able to hear and recognize who spoke.

She'd heard him speak so much tonight that she doubted whether she'll ever forget that voice.

“The only person playing right now is you, Your Grace.” Hermione said, standing up.

Although she couldn't see him, she knew he was near. Very near.

“And you don't believe fate led me here?” Harry asked.

“No.” She shook her head even as she stepped back. “If it was fate that caused this, I'd rather have death take me now than abide having such a brilliant entity lose its touch.”

“Those were harsh words, Lady Hermione.” Harry said. “I, for one, wonder whether you say it in the company of others, or just in mine.”

“If you are worried about my upbringing, you need not be any longer. I assure you, I would never speak such words in public.” Hermione whispered heatedly.

“Ah…so then, this brings us to the topic that I really have in mind.” Harry chuckled, moving closer to her. “But, perhaps later.”

“What are you doing?” Hermione cried out indignantly as she felt him step closer that she could actually feel his breath.

“I thought it would have been obvious by now that I am not a person to retreat even when told to do so.”

“W-what?”

“I still have that dance to claim, you know.” He grinned mischievously and Hermione lost a bit of her bravado.

Of all the harebrained things he could have asked from her, this one topped it off.

“What makes you think I'll agree to dance with you when I certainly do not even desire your company?” Hermione inquired.

“You were perfectly willing to be in my company three months ago, my lady.”

Hermione saw no point making an effort to lie to him about her identity three months ago. He already knew. But she saw no reason not to reject him either.

“That was because I didn't know you then.”

“Then, why don't you just pretend you still don't.” Harry said softly as he finally closed the distance between them and took him in his arms. When she tried to struggle out of his embrace, he whispered in her ear. “Please don't refuse me. I will expire with despair if you do.”

Panic rose in her as her chest pressed onto his.

“But, but…there's no music.” She protested lamely.

Above her, he heard his throaty chuckle. “Do you really think I care?”

With that, he pressed her closer and swayed her to the beat of a music that she couldn't hear but could suddenly and miraculously feel the moment his arms closed around hers with a stunning force that took her breath away.

What am I doing? Hermione asked herself as Harry moved her around the dance floor.

This was wrong.

But when she felt his arms tighten around her waist, the extraordinary pleasure of his embrace her robbed her of speech and thought.

She forgot all about the empty ballroom, her refusal to dance with him, and the reason that she was there.

She didn't even think that she was dancing with the man she hated, nor the fact that this tryst would be no more than mere memory by the end of the night.

All that mattered was that the empty ballroom they were in seemed so much more than just the bare room that it really was. It had changed into an intimate and special place, one that wove a world of fantasy around them.

As Harry's body matched hers in perfect rhythm, Hermione began to have the strangest feeling that it did not only feel good to be so close to him like this…

It also felt…

She shuddered…

Right.

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“Hermione?” Harry asked a little while later, when they were both standing apart from each other.

The dance they had shared had ended before either of them realized it had, but the feeling that it gave him still lingered.

It was the last thing he expected that would make him feel something other than victorious of having her finally dance with him.

He never thought it would make him…well…pleased and satisfied.

He wasn't certain whether she felt the same, though.

Judging by the way she remained immobile, he would wager that she was either trying to forget the dance happened or thinking of a way to murder him.

“Can we talk?” He asked when she remained silent.

When she nodded, he let out his breath in relief, not knowing that he had been holding his breath all that time.

“I assume you want us to talk about what you found out during dinner.” Hermione said softly.

“The Weasleys weren't really that subtle, if it is any consolation.” Harry offered good-naturedly.

“It isn't. But then, it was not really their fault. I know you would have found out eventually.” She said.

“Is it really so bad for me to know?” Harry asked her.

“Yes…no.”

“Which is it?”

“I'm not certain how to answer that question.” Hermione admitted, surprising him and herself as well with the truth.

But then, that was the reason she didn't want him to know in the first place, wasn't it? She didn't want him asking questions that might reveal something far better left unsaid.

“I'll ask a different one, then.” Harry seemed to have accepted her answer without reluctance. “Why is it that every time you and I are together, you seem to make it a necessity to depart as fast as you can.”

“I…I feel very uncomfortable with you, Your Grace.” Hermione muttered.

“Even now?” Harry frowned.

“Yes.” Hermione said. Then she surprised him again when she let out a small laugh. “You haven't noticed? I wasn't being very undemonstrative about it.”

“Even if I have, I wouldn't be so bothered to let you leave. I still need answers, mind you.” Harry matched her tone, finding her quite frustrating.

Mysteries often made him feel that way.

And this woman was one hell of a puzzle.

“In that case, I need to know what questions I must answer so that I can find peace elsewhere.” Hermione grumbled impolitely.

“Was that what you were trying to look for when you came here?” Harry asked in a mocking tone. “I would have thought a clever lady like you would choose her own chambers.”

“You're right, Your Grace. I am not an idiot. I did consider my chambers, but I thought it had been too early to retire.” Hermione spitefully explained.

“And so you go into a deserted room where you could have been found by an unscrupulous gentleman who would have taken advantage of your solitude.” He mused aloud. Then, he sighed. “Be glad, my lady, that it was I who had happened upon you. I wasn't anything but a gentleman.”

“Were you?” Hermione asked, raising one eyebrow at him.

“What do you mean by that?” He frowned.

“You know exactly what I mean, Your Grace.” She declared heatedly. “You come in here, arrogantly proclaiming that fate decided that it was a stipulation for us to meet.”

“I didn't know I'd find you here.”

“And then you whisk me for a dance, a dance I refused to give you, because you very well knew that I couldn't do anything as we were isolated from the group. Isn't that considered taking advantage?” Hermione finished, ignoring what he said.

“You could have stopped me had you the will to do so.” Harry stated arrogantly.

“Are you saying that I desired to dance with you?” Hermione cried out, outraged.

“Not the words I would have used, but yes. I believe that is what I intended to say.” Harry smiled at her, in spite of himself.

“Then you must be more of a fool than I for believing so. Had I wanted to dance with you, I would have done so earlier.”

“Why didn't you?”

“Because I didn't want to!”

“You've made it extremely clear that you didn't want to dance with me earlier, my lady. But it doesn't exactly take away the possibility that you might have wanted to dance with me when I found you here.”

“Of all the preposterous conclusions you have made, I believe this one is the most dim-witted.” Hermione said. “My opinion about you shall never change and neither shall my desire to be in your company.”

“So we're back to that again, are we?” He uttered, quite annoyed that the conversation returned to the question that he knew she was quite adamant to never answer.

“Unless you have something else to ask.”

“Actually, I do.”

“Dare I find out what it is?” Hermione muttered.

“Do you not like me?”

“No, I don't.” She said, looking directly into his eyes.

“Why?”

“Because you're Harry Potter.” Hermione said matter-of-factly, as if the answer had been obvious all along.

“And so I am. I can't do anything about it!” Harry practically shouted. “But that doesn't really tell me why you don't like me.”

“It is now I with a question for you.” Hermione declared.

Harry could only look at her out of curiosity and impatience.

“Why does it bother you so much that I do not like you?” She asked.

“What?” Harry uttered, clearly taken aback.

“Please do not take this the wrong way, Your Grace, but it is a little hard for me to believe everybody approves of what you do or who you are.” Hermione said. “Does it matter that I belong to those who do not?”

“It was very astute of you to say that. But however right you are, those people who do not like me…are not here.” Harry shoved his hands into the pocket of his robes. “But you are.”

“And that matters because?”

“Since you don't like me, you can tell me the reason.”

“What if I don't have a good one to tell you?”

“Then you are lying.”

“Lying about what?”

“About not liking me.”

“Oh for goodness' sake!” Hermione exclaimed, stepping up to him and jabbing his chest with her finger. “I don't like you because you are arrogant, you are persistent and you are a rake.”

Harry looked at her in surprise. “Are those really the reasons you don't like me?” He asked quietly, rubbing the part of his chest, which she had prodded several times.

“Yes.” She said through gritted teeth.

“How can they be? You and I have not met before, not until that night at the ball.”

“I don't have to know you well to see the kind of person you are, Harry Potter.”

“And just what kind do you believe I am?” he asked venomously, hating the fact that she had judged him quite so hastily.

“The kind who does what others do not want him to, and then refuses the ones they want him to do.”

For someone whom he'd just met, she'd just hit a spot. “What makes you think so?”

“Don't act ignorant, Your Grace. You and I know you haven't done a thing I asked ever since we met.” Hermione stated.

“Based on that, you have concluded my character?”

“From what I see, I don't need anything to convince me otherwise.”

“I do not want to be as hasty to judge, my lady. But I believe that however true it is that you do not like me, your reasons are not what they really are.”

“If you only refuse the answer I tell you, do not ask.” Hermione stubbornly replied.

“How can I not refuse them when they are clearly lies?” Harry said, unable to keep calm even after hearing footsteps in the hallway just outside the ballroom.

Hermione looked at him with weary eyes and sighed. “We have been going at this verbal battle since we met, Your Grace. From what I can see; you are prepared to let this spar continue all night. But for both our sakes, I sincerely do not want to stay just to find out who would win.”

Stepping back even before he could say anything else, she then said, “If you'll excuse me, have a good night.”

Regardless of how hypocritical it would have seemed, Hermione curtsied before him, before finally dashing out of the room, leaving Harry for the second time that evening, and for the third time in his life.

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“Hermione?” Sirius clutched her shoulders to steady her from their collision.

“Sirius.” Hermione breathed in relief, all color had drained from her face.

Noticing her breathless pallor, Sirius asked. “What's wrong?”

Eyes wide with dread, Hermione shook her head “N-nothing.”

“Are you sure? You look pale.” Sirius told her wearily.

Hermione nodded a few times. “I'm certain, Sirius. Thank you for your concern, but I have to go.”

Without letting him say another word, she disentangled herself from his hold and rushed away from him.

Puzzled, Sirius turned away from Hermione's retreating form and faced the deserted ballroom from where she had come.

Frowning in dismay of what might have happened to cause her such distress; Sirius pushed the chamber's doors and looked inside.

It was dark, but there was somebody standing in the middle of the dance floor.

It was only his silhouette that he could see, but there was no mistaking that stance.

“What did you do, Harry?”

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The instant he heard his godfather's voice, Harry inwardly groaned.

It was not because of what Sirius must be making out of what he witnessed, but the potential sermon that Harry was to have from him.

If he were given a choice between a night-long dispute with Hermione or an endless lecture from Sirius, he would choose the former.

“You know me better than to think that I would seduce a lady right under my best friend's manor, don't you?” He muttered.

“Oh, I know you didn't seduce Hermione. I would be much more pleasant with you had you done that. You didn't seduce her, yes, but you hurt the woman beyond imagination.” Sirius' voice echoed all over the empty room.

“I hurt her?” Harry said incredulously. “I didn't say anything, Sirius! In fact, I should be the one who's hurt because of what she said to me!”

Sirius must have heard something funny behind his words because the man gave a sharp bark of laughter.

When Harry frowned at him, Sirius waved a hand to dismiss him. “Come now, son. Don't sound as if you are truly affected. We both know that there is nothing anyone can say that could get through you easily.”

Harry grumbled as he acknowledged Sirius' reply with irritated affirmation. “But it still doesn't change the fact that she has judged me all too hastily. We've only met twice.”

“Twice? You mean tonight was not the first?”

Cursing himself for his impulsiveness, Harry shrugged.

“If you listened carefully to the conversation during dinner, you'd not need any explanation now.” Harry muttered.

“What I noticed during dinner was your inability to keep your eyes off Hermione.” Sirius pointed out sternly. “You weren't very discreet about it, you know.”

“I wasn't trying to be.” Harry said plainly. “I wanted her to know.”

“Why in Merlin's name did you want to do that?” Sirius asked.

With great reluctance, Harry narrated to his godfather what happened between him and Hermione at the ball earlier that evening.

Sirius looked ready to laugh when he saw Harry's murderous glare and managed to control himself. “So, you decided to get her to talk by causing her discomfort?”

“It worked, didn't it?”

“You have such strange ways with woman, my boy.” Sirius told him.

“Why do you sound so pleased. And why does it not surprise me?” Harry said, noticing for the first time the tone in his godfather's voice.

“It's nothing. Just nothing.” Sirius shook his head several times.

“The hell it is.” Harry grumbled.

“So what did the conversation have to do with you meeting her twice?”

Not really all too happy that his godfather changed topics, Harry muttered with great disregard. “Do you remember the Weasleys' Masquerade Ball three months ago?”

“Yes.”

“I met her there.” Harry pronounced.

“And so, what of it?”

“I didn't know it was her tonight.”

“Why not?”

“Because I never found out whom she was back then…” Harry explained, and then proceeded to tell his godfather the first time he and Hermione met.

“And you wanted to know whether she was the same person? That's why you were intimidating her a while ago?”

“I wasn't intimidating her!” Harry groaned out. “I didn't even know she'd be the same woman. What I did was for the sole purpose of finding out why she had given me the cut.”

“But when you sought her out after dinner, you also had the night of the ball in your mind, correct?”

“I didn't seek her out. I just happened upon her.” Harry exasperated, emphasizing every word. And then he threw his hand in the air in defeat. “But yes, I had the ball in mind when I found her here.”

He started to pace. “You have to admit, Sirius. It was a bit strange that this woman has rejected me twice. And with no good reasons at all!”

“I take it that was what hastily judging you meant, right?”

“Right.”

“What did she say?” He asked emphatically.

Never in his entire lifetime had he acted quite as childish as Harry reluctantly gave out the reasons, during at which's end, Sirius could no longer contain within him his humor.

“Let me get this clear. She said you were…” He paused, raising his hand to count with his fingers. “Arrogant…persistent…and a rake? You must have done something to give her a hell of an impression, Harry.”

“I haven't done anything.” He bent his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “As I said, we've only met twice. I can't have given her a reason to hate me.”

“But she obviously does.” Sirius thought out loud. “That does seem a bit worthy of thought.”

“I'm done thinking.” Harry said, letting out a breath of frustration. “I refuse to be bothered by it any longer.”

Behind him, he heard Sirius chuckle.

“What?”

“Don't you know?” Sirius asked innocently, and then grinned. “It would seem that the lady has gotten to you.”

“And you're blood happy about that because?”

“Someone finally got through that damn wall of yours!” Sirius muttered throwing his hand in the air.

“What wall?”

“That wall you've had ever since I found you.” Sirius said somberly. “You've never let your guard down with anybody, not even with me. I used to think you were incapable of feeling something else other than regret and fury, but I was mistaken. And I'm glad I was.”

Harry simply stared at him.

“Don't act as if you don't know what I'm talking about, boy.” Sirius said gravely.

“As a matter of fact, I don't.” Harry crossed his arms. “Would you care to enlighten me?”

“Your life has always been a mystery to me. For 5 years, I've asked, but I have yet to hear an answer.” Sirius began. “Yes, you told me all about your youth, but I've always known there's a missing part in your story.”

“Maybe those parts don't really matter.” Harry suggested a little too forcefully.

“Perhaps.” Sirius nodded somberly. “But I don't hold it against you. How can I? When I haven't also been completely honest.”

Harry's head lifted slowly, as if still registering what Sirius said. “What?”

Sirius looked at him for a very long time before rubbing his forehead in fatigue.

“I reckon, Harry, it's about time you and I have a real talk.”

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A/N:

Here goes another chapter. Hope you found it good. I really did this with haste so you would have another chapter to read. Thanks for the reviews, once again.

Please do say your thoughts….

Thanks!

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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A/N:

Sorry for the late chapter. I really had a hard time with this. This chapter contains just one of the many revelations that I had in mind. I hope you like this one. I only started to write this one today, so I haven't had much time editing it. Please go easy on me…especially with typos.

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A thousand miles outside the Black Manor, another mansion stood, old and rotting with age.

It was not large for a manor.

Compared to Godric's Hollow, it was insignificant. Although considered acceptable at some point, it was not very admirable in its exterior. It had deteriorated over the years, leaving only an adequate residence for its original dweller.

The surrounding gardens were kept, but the mounting trees and tangling vines that grew everywhere still surrounded the place as if it were part of the forest that thrived beyond the estate.

Never was there brightness within, but nobody complained.

Servants remained out of loyalty…or perhaps out of fear. Their need to survive was greater than their need for content.

As depressing as it may seem, the Serpent Lair was home to a great lord.

And if they wanted to live, they would have to stay with their master. They knew far too much of what went on in his life to be allowed their freedom.

Take this particular night for example.

Yes, night had fallen. It was just the right time for the lord of the manor, who has seen more than 60 summers in life, to be in his chambers, retiring after a long day.

But instead, they knew he was in the drawing room, sipping brandy, and entertaining company - an outlaw who had managed to escape prison, and was now hiding within the very walls of Serpent Lair.

The master had sent him out for a mission days earlier, and it appeared that he had brought news regarding his task.

What news he had come to bring - now that was something they didn't know.

And as far as they were concerned…it was never good to try and find out.

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Seated in front of the fireplace, the Lord of Serpent Lair silently mused about the news his messenger brought him.

He wanted to stand, but the comfort of his chair was far too inviting to do so and he found himself addressing his courier with a satisfied smile.

“She's back, my lord.” His pitiful servant repeated, uncertain whether he heard him the first time.

“And so she is.” He replied.

“Are you planning to…”

“I will wait a little more.”

“But she has made you wait for 18 years and 7 more for this.”

“She has made me wait, and I did all this time, Peter. A few more days would not hurt me.”

“But, you have not much strength…”

“Weak as I am, I have my heir.”

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Harry Potter's disposition could not be any more unpleasant as he paced his chambers trying to think of a thousand reasons why Sirius had sent him to his room rather than go straight to his office and talk about his deceptions!

“Think it over, Harry.”

Sirius had said.

Think?

What was there to think about?

While it was true that he had kept a part of his life hidden from Sirius, it was his godfather who had to do some explaining.

And he couldn't be more curious about it.

Would it have something to do with his life?

It had better.

Even after five years of knowing why his parents weren't there for him, Harry never found consolation for having been an outsider all his life.

He had playmates when he was younger - but never the real ones with whom he had been able to get close to while growing up.

He was not from where they came. That much they made clear. He had not fit in, and all because his filthy excuse for relatives were too greedy for their own good.

“Don't worry about them, sweetheart.”

Harry tensed.

It had been months since he heard that voice and he had come to believe all this time that it would be gone for good

So why did it come out now?

Rubbing his forehead, he sat down. And then all of a sudden, a night filled with insecurities flooded his thoughts.

“Where did I come from, Polly?” He had asked when he was 13.

“I don't know.” Came her soft reply.

“I'll never have friends.”

“You have me, don't you?”

“Yes, but…”

“No, don't tell me. I already know.” She smiled at him and took his hand. “Let me tell you one thing, though. Those people who shun you just because you're not from around here do not matter. They only say that because they don't know you. But I do. And I'll always be here.” She squeezed his hand.

“Why did my parents abandon me? Is it because I'm not special?”

“I really don't know. But you are, to me. So stop worrying about your past. If you do, you'll be much caught in it to see what is in your present and what you could have in the future.”

“It's a little hard to take your advice this time, Pol. I need to know who I am.”

“Why don't you try and look?” She had suggested in that gentle way of hers that made him feel so welcomed.

“You know I can't do that. If I look for my past, I will need you with me. But you would never set foot out of Averhille. This is your home, and as much as I want to look for my identity, I can never leave you.”

“So then,” She responded cheerfully, “Why don't you start treating this place as your home? It has always been yours to claim.” She added as she kissed his cheek and left.

Looking back, Harry knew that it would have been better to have heeded her advice and left Averhille, rather than stay.

But his gratitude, then, had been more important to him than some identity that really didn't matter. No matter how much he craved for his own name, Harry knew he could not have stomached leaving the person who gave back the life that was robbed off him.

He wasn't her real son, but she had treated him as if she were her own. Even when others taunted her for keeping somebody who was not their kin, Polly had kept him within her safety.

She worked hard for everything he needed, and when he was in that stage wherein he had craved for more than he should, she had given him his spoils despite her lack of wealth.

And when it was time for him to learn, she proved to be more than a sufficient teacher. She taught him despite her lack of education.

For Harry, she was more than a mother.

She was an angel sent to be his savior.

She had shown him all the things that truly mattered in life. She taught him how to be unselfish and how to forgive. She showed him how to make something of himself and to never let anything else matter when reaching for his dreams.

And despite his lack of self-esteem, she taught him how to love.

Within time, he had learned how…

But the love that he felt was for her only…

He gave it without question because she had given him hers even if he hadn't asked for it.

Although nobody really blamed him for what happened, Harry hated himself for having put Polly in his path. He hated his weakness and he hated his cowardice.

Because of her love and his…the guilt of her death would hang upon him for as long as he lived.

“Go blow your candles like a nice little boy and don't complain.”

“But this must have caused you a week's pay. You didn't have to do this. It's not even my real birthday.”

“But then, it's not everyday a woman gets to celebrate the arrival of her son, is it?” Polly winked at him.

His eyes clouded for a moment.

She did this celebration every year, saying she would never be more grateful for the night that she discovered him on her doorstep when he was still a baby. He had been sleeping soundly despite the bad weather that evening, but when at the sound of her delight, he opened his eyes, Polly said that she had loved him then and then.

Tonight, her eyes were glowing with that love and Harry felt an unfamiliar constriction in his throat.

Bending his head to do exactly as she says, he said. “Thank you, mum.”

Throughout his 15 years with her, Harry refused to call her his mother. Perhaps because he taught he needed to set some space between the two of them, knowing that some time or another, he would have to leave.

But looking at her tonight, happiness flowed through him and for the very first time, he started to feel in inkling of satisfaction. He decided that she deserved to be called exactly what she had been to him all his life.

In response to his endearment, Polly gave him a heartfelt embrace that warmed him despite the thunderous storm roaming the village that night.

While they were eating the small feast that Polly had prepared, Harry suddenly felt a strange prickling at the back of his mind.

For some reason, he had a feeling something was about to go wrong.

“Aiden, I want you to promise me something.” Polly looked at him over the candlelight that was serving as their only light.

“What is it?” He asked, still restless.

“No matter how hard things get, despite what other people might tell you, promise me you will never give up.” She said firmly, her voice breaking.

“Why are you telling me this?” He asked her.

“I have always told you that, Aiden. But I needed to say it to you tonight. I have no idea why, but I just know I have to.” Polly gave him a sweet smile, one that etched into his heart then and there. “Always remember that I love you and that wherever you go, I will be with you.”

“I told you before, mum, I won't go anywhere. I'll stay here with you.” He said, unable to shake away the nervousness of the night.

“I have a feeling that you won't.” She muttered to herself even though she was looking at him. “I never asked God why He didn't give me my own children. When I found you, I knew that I was not right to question Him. He gave you to me. And I will forever be grateful for him. You were more than what I wanted to ask for.”

“You're scaring me, mum.” Harry found himself saying quietly.

“I'm scared too, Aiden. And I don't know why.”

“Maybe it's because of what you're saying. Why don't we talk about something else?” He suggested hopefully.

“But you haven't made that promise yet.”

Harry looked at her blankly.

She smiled, accustomed to his antics. “I want you to promise me that whatever happens, wherever you go, you will never stop believing in yourself and that you would never forget what I taught you.”

“I promise.” Harry said despite his reluctance. He didn't want to be thinking about this kind of stuff, not when there was a strange feeling already inside him.

“Aiden.” She said after a while.

Harry looked up. “Yes?”

“You do know how much I love you, don't you?”

Harry smiled.

“Good.” She nodded, and then waited.

Harry knew she was waiting for a response from him, but he couldn't say it. He wasn't a man of words and although he loved Polly with all his being, he just couldn't force himself to say it.

Instead, he reached over and took her hand in his.

Polly seemed to have understood and she squeezed it in response.

Suddenly, there was a blinding lightning outside, followed by a deafening sound of thunder. An unexpected gush of wind trailed after the roaring and their front door burst open.

Two burly-built men with veils on their faces and black robes stood at the space where their door had been firmly shut.

Polly stood up. For a frail woman of 46, she had a lot of courage to place herself in between Harry and the two men.

“What do you want?” She asked in outrage, clutching Harry's robes as he tried to pry himself away so he could be the one to stand in front of her.

Not even a word was spoken as these men stepped inside their house, unsolicited. There was a bulge beneath their cloaks and Harry had a feeling what they were.

“Polly, don't.” He whispered.

“You just stay behind me, Aiden. It will be all right.”

For an unknown cause, this statement suddenly caused the two men to exchange sharp sniggers.

“Lady,” one of them said; Harry didn't know which, “If you have a care for your own life, I suggest you stay out of this.”

“And I suggest you get out of our home, you bastards!”

Harry had never been so infuriated. Even though he was only 16 years old, he knew he needed to protect Polly. But he didn't know how to.

“Are you sure he's the one we're looking for?” One of the men asked, looking Harry up and down.

“Do you question the Lord's facts?” The other one said scornfully. “He has the scar, hasn't he?”

Harry looked for one form to the other, taken aback. He abruptly raised his hand to feel the scar that he had always had on his forehead.

Polly had said it had been there already when she found him. And now, these two men whom he had never seen in his entire life mentioned something about his scar letting them identify who he was.

“What about my scar?” He found himself stepping in front of Polly despite her protests and the threat in the situation.

“Never mind that, boy. We didn't come here to talk.” The one on the left said as he set aside his cloak and clutched a revolver in his right hand.

“Better come with us, if you know what's good for you.” The one on the right muttered.

Behind him, he heard Polly's intake of breath.

`Please don't do anything rash.' Harry pleaded in his mind.

“Where are you going to take me?”

“To the Lord.”

“And who is he?”

“Stop stalling. We'll tell you on the way. He needs you right away.”

“He'll be very happy to know we've captured him all these years, won't he, Lucius?”

“Of course he will.” Then the man called Lucius regarded Harry with a malicious look. “But, did he tell us to bring him back alive?”

“What?” Harry asked, paling. He wasn't weak, but the thought of being unable to defend Polly and himself sickened him. He stepped backward and encountered the table where they had been eating in carefree only minutes ago.

The dishes gave a clunk at the sudden disturbance and Harry caught a glimpse of the knife lying beside the basket of fruits.

Foolish as it were, it didn't occur to him that even a sharp blade was no match for a revolver. In fact, he didn't give himself time to think at all as his hand closed around the knife's handle. Even as he prepared to attack, he heard Polly's sharp breaths.

Before any of their intruders could notice what he was about to do, Harry lunged forward with the knife held tightly in his hands above his head.

No one reacted in time to the surprise and the edge of the blade sunk into one bandit's chest. As the injured outlaw slumped to the floor in helplessness, Harry could only stare in shock at what he had done.

He had killed somebody. And in his chagrin, he also forgot the fact that he had company, and it was not just Polly.

“You son of a bitch!” He heard someone shout through his hazy confusion.

It was too late when he remembered there were two more persons alive in the room and that the other one had aimed another shot at him. Before he could turn around, he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun firing and the sound of Polly's voice.

“Aiden!”

It took him a moment to register what happened, but when he found his own thoughts; his horrified look went from the dead bandit on his feet and his mother's nearly lifeless one next to him.

“Mum!” He cried out as the living bandit rushed out of the house.

“D-don't!” Polly said as he took her into his arms to carry her out of the room.

“Y-you have to…we need to get you to the…oh God!” He said trying to force himself to carry the dead weight of a woman whose spirit was slowly slipping out of her own body.

“He's not…the other one's…”

“He's gone, mum. He's gone.” Harry reasoned out frantically.

“No!” She cried out as loud as she could. “He…went out… get help…companions.” She said in between breaths.

“You don't know that!” Harry practically shouted. He raised his head and looked around, unable to believe that no one had heard the gun shot.

But it was raining hard. It was hard to make out any sound at all aside from water hitting pavement.

“Listen to me…” Polly's voice was a whisper and Harry felt the unfamiliar strain in his throat once again.

“Leave Averhille. Go far away and stay out of sight. They have come to kill you, Aiden, and they won't stop until they have…” Polly paused, flinching at the pain on her chest. “Stay safe. Promise me!”

Harry clutched her hand as it slowly limped from his hold. “No. I can get you to a doctor or something. Just wait for me, I'll call for help. You don't have to speak now. Just wait, all right?”

“Listen to me! When you go out of this house, never return! Do you understand? Don't even look back.”

“No…no…” He shook his head.

“I love you, son.” She said.

“Polly…mum…hang in there….Just…just…oh Jesus!” He muttered as he gave up his hope and took her in his arms. Harry gave out a soft sob. He didn't realize he had been crying, but his tears were on his cheeks, falling on her. He bent his head and kissed his mother.

Vaguely, he heard some running footsteps pounding on the wet pavement just outside their house.

Then he felt Polly clutch his hand. “Go!”

Out of obedience or cowardice, Harry stood up without another word.

With one last look at the woman whose sacrifices gave him life and whose body was now lying lifeless on the floor, her blood mixing with that of the man he had killed, Harry went out through the backdoor.

The rain had stopped at some point, Harry didn't care when. Just as he was about to cross the stream that separated Averhille and Helsin Valley, he vaguely heard the shouts of the neighbors. Faintly, he sensed the scent of burning wood and he understood why.

They had set fire to his house. He didn't even bother to hope that they had gotten Polly out of it.

Heartless bastards, the lot of them!

Shaking all over in rage and remorse, Harry crossed the stream.

And once he was out of the village, he never dared to look back.

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A/N:

I know I told you your questions regarding Harry and Sirius' talk was to be answered in chapter 6. I did intend to answer them, but you see, I also didn't intend for Polly's death to be revealed. My hands just started typing it. Before I knew it, I have been writing for 6 hours.

I want to continue, I swear. But my parents would kill me if they arrive later and see me still in front of the computer. Anyway, don't worry because as soon as I can, I will be back with another chapter.

By the way, please pray for my sister, she will have her board exam for Nursing on Sunday and Saturday (June 11 and 12).

Oh, and please review! Just ask away the questions you want answered and I'll reply. Thank you!

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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A/N:

Hey, I'm back. Sorry it took so long…a month, to be exact. I'm really busy with schoolwork. And I don't say this just to have an excuse, coz I reallydo have a hectic schedule. So, I apologize for the delay and I hope the chapter would be worth the wait. Some of you may be confused about who Aiden is, so maybe this one will give you a clue. Enjoy!

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“My lord?”

Standing behind the window-paned glass overlooking the front lawn of Montmayne, Sirius met his butler's gaze through his reflection, noting his presence, but not quite seeing him.

Even though Sirius still looked every bit as powerful as he usually did, his thoughts and feelings were in complete turmoil.

In spite of his deep resolve, he was still not certain of the reason behind his sudden urge to reveal everything he knew about Harry. But as impulsive as it was, he knew his choice had been the right one.

When he found the boy 5 years ago, wandering around Hogsmeade, Sirius instantly recognized him despite Harry's long absence from their estate. But behind his elation over finally coming across his godson, there still lurked fear within his thoughts that made Sirius keep some information about Harry's true identity.

Ever since that moment, he hadn't stopped feeling guilty as though he had betrayed his very own son.

He tried to make amends for his deception, but Sirius couldn't do it directly, and so, during the years that he had been teaching Harry how to handle the estate, he had also tried countless of times to instill in the boy his duties as the last living duke of Godric's Hollow.

But because of Harry's adamancy to never marry, they never reached that point and all that prevailed between them was formality.

Sirius had already given himself a dozen sermons for not telling Harry the rest of his story. He was used his own reprimands and the one that he was sure to receive from Harry a little later would mean no different from him.

Mayhap it would even lighten the burden in his heart.

It didn't matter whether Harry would be mad. As long as Sirius knew that what would do was right, he was not bothered by what Harry would think. Because of the news that he received earlier, all doubts about the impending conversation had been erased from his mind.

The time has finally come.

As he had hoped it never would…

And as he had always feared it would…

“Bastard.” He cursed, remembering the person who caused all this.

“I beg your pardon, m'lord?”

Sirius looked up, surprised. He had forgotten his butler was still in the room.

Clearing his throat, he turned around. “Nothing.” He shook his head and sat down. “Kindly show Harry Potter to my study. I will be waiting for him there.”

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Barely two minutes had passed since Sirius arrived in his study when Harry came striding in behind him, his face pale and eyes bloodshot. From what Sirius could see, it looked like Harry had been…crying.

“What's all this about, Sirius?” His godson asked the moment he reached the opposite end of the table where Sirius had taken a seat.

“I told you I have some things to tell you.” Sirius replied.

“No.” Harry shook his head. “I'm talking about that hour I spend in my chambers thinking things over.”

“Oh, that.” He nodded solemnly. “You seemed a bit bothered awhile ago about what I said. I figured you'd want to calm down before this.”

“Well, I did exactly the opposite.” Harry muttered, sitting down in helpless defeat.

“Do I need to send someone to wipe your tears off the floor?” Sirius asked lightheartedly.

“Dammit, Sirius!” Harry cried out.

More sympathetic this time, Sirius leaned forward and linked his hands together. “She came back, didn't she?”

Harry looked at him for the longest of time before giving up the internal battle he was having. He didn't want to show Sirius his weakness, but his godfather had always known he had a soft spot when it came to his foster mother, so he saw no need to hide anything from him now. “Yeah, she did.”

“I thought that nightmare was over.”

“It can never be over.” Harry shook his head fervently, hanging his head in frustration. When he spoke again, his voice was low. Sirius thought it might be from trying hard not to cry, or maybe it was just plain bitterness. “But it has certainly been a long time since she suddenly popped in my head. I don't understand how I haven't thought about her for months.”

“Maybe you've been learning to forgive yourself.” Sirius suggested.

Harry scoffed with bitter clarity. “I have a long list of errors where she was concerned. It would take about a lifetime before I can be forgiven.”

“Look, Harry.” Sirius regarded him with sympathy. “Polly would never blame you for what happened. She wanted to protect you.”

“I've relived the memory once tonight, Sirius. I don't need to remember it again.” Harry held up his hand. Then muttering inaudibly, he sank onto the chair and massaged his temples. “Not that I won't later this evening, but it would help if we don't talk about it now.”

“I'm afraid, Harry, that what I am about to say to you, has something to do with her.” Sirius warned him.

Seeing the look of gravity in his godfather's face, Harry didn't bother to protest despite his urge. Instead, he simply stared at the floor and waited.

Satisfied with the intent silent of Harry, if not his gaze, Sirius began. “I'll start by asking you a question.”

If Harry was surprised that Sirius chose to start their “talk” that way, he didn't bother showing it, which worked well for both their parts. “Go ahead.”

“Do you remember what I told you when you asked me where your parents were?”

“You told me they were on their way to a ball when their coachman took a wrong turn and their carriage fell over a cliff.” He recalled with disdain, his annoyance over that pathetic story rekindling.

You might be wondering why he was pissed off by an accident, which was certainly not his parents' fault. But you see, Harry had always wanted to believe that his early loss had been due to heroic reasons, and not just some foolish mishap that could have been prevented had they been smarter to get a competent coachman.

Selfish, yes, but he didn't grow up fitting in.

What was he supposed to harbor inside?

Sympathy?

Not bloody likely.

“Don't you wonder why after all his years of service, their coachman suddenly becomes reckless?” Sirius asked him.

“No.” Harry replied smugly. “I was too busy wondering what crossed their mind to go out in the first place. It had been a stormy night, as you told me.”

“Don't be critical, Harry. Remember, you went to the Weasleys' Masquerade Ball three months ago despite your reluctance. You were honoring a long-time camaraderie.” Sirius pointed out with a great deal of patience born from five years of dealing with the same profound scorn. “Your parents had only wanted to do the same.”

“It wasn't raining when I attended the Masquerade.” Harry said, unrelenting. His excuse had been pathetic, that was a given, but he didn't care. “And I had a trustworthy coachman.”

“Ah, so you do get my point.” Sirius smiled a little. “Your parents had put their trust in the wrong person.”

“I agree.” Harry nodded emphatically. “When it comes to trust issues, my parents weren't really particular.”

“If you're talking about your aunt and uncle, then I would not disagree with you.” Sirius said, standing up. Rounding on him, Sirius said. “But tell me, Harry, if you had a brother, wouldn't you trust him with everything you have, including your own child?”

“This is a hypothetical question, right?” Harry asked.

“I do believe I used the word if…”

“All right.” Harry threw Sirius an irritated look. “If I had a brother and a child, I'd be out there with my own family, not be here. None of this would have happened with my parents having survived to bear another child.”

“I thought I told you that I mean this conversation to be a serious one.”

“Sorry.” Harry muttered sincerely, surprising Sirius. He idly tapped the booted foot he had crossed over his knee. “But still, I can not understand how my aunt and uncle had gotten away with what they did to me. You could have taken me since you are my godfather.”

“How many times would I have to explain to you, dear boy, that I would have done so, had you been there to claim. By the time I came to take you from your aunt, you were already gone.”

“And instead of being taken into prison, they were given Gryffindor.” Harry shook his head, incredulous.

“The English do have strange laws, don't they?” Sirius mused. “But there was really nothing we could do. I was your godfather, but your Aunt Petunia was the next living relative of your mother. When you vanished, the estate and all the land that come with it were given to them. But it was fortunate that it was only under an entailment. If it weren't, only God knows what they could have done with the estate.”

“Just because they were relative, they got away with disposing me?” Harry asked.

“They didn't kill you. No one could prove it anyway. And they had made up a story of not having anything to do with your disappearance.”

“But you knew they had.”

“Remus and I managed to retrieve information that you were left on the doorstep of a nearby inn.” Sirius paused for a moment. “Leaky Cauldron, if I remember correctly. And…”

“Let me guess,” Harry interrupted with a bored drawl. “You went to the Leaky Cauldron, but I was no longer there.”

“We asked Tom, the innkeeper, whether he had seen anybody with a baby, but he was certain there wasn't because he'd been watching people go in and out of his bar ever since news came that James and Lily were dead.”

“But still, whoever could have gotten me must have heard that the heir of Gryffindor estates, who was only a baby, was missing.”

“They might have.” Sirius considered, but also gave a ready answer. He had thought of that long before and had come up with different answers, each one as possible and strange as the next. “Perhaps they knew you were in danger and didn't want to risk your life by returning you. Or they were planning to hold you for ransom. Or perhaps they believed you were just another baby.”

“I think there are a lot more possible causes than that, Sirius.” Harry said.

“There are. But I doubt you'd believe every single one of them. The truth is, Harry, no one knows for sure how you ended up with Polly Smith. Though it is certainly easy to say that the reason she didn't return you is because she didn't know who you were. Averhille is a very small village. More than a thousand miles away from Gryffindor Estates. No news would have reached that place.”

“But the people who came that night knew who I was.” Harry pointed out. “How would you explain that?”

“That's what I've been trying to do, Harry. You keep interrupting me with your negativity.”

“I keep interrupting because you say too much, Sirius. Go straight to the point.” Harry said.

“All right.” Sirius nodded.

“Go on.”

Sirius looked uncomfortable as he shifted restlessly in his seat. Harry didn't mean to sound so eager, but the truth was, he was as restless as his godfather. They've never had this conversation before, and tonight was the first for Sirius' revelations.

“I know I told you your parents died in an accident. But the truth is, your parents' death was no accident, no more than Polly's.”

Harry looked at him quizzically. “What are you talking about?”

“They didn't meet an accident, per se, although the carriage had been made to look as if they had.”

“Sirius…”

“Your parents were murdered.”

“What?” Harry paled. For the first time in five years, his animosity towards his parents was overshadowed by a sudden need in his gut to protect. “Why? How? I mean, who?”

“Maybe I should start from the very beginning.”

“I need to know what you mean by murdered, Sirius, not another story.”

“Yes, I know. But you would not understand unless I tell you this.”

Harry sighed. Waving him off, he said. “Make it brief.”

Lifting his brow towards Harry's level of disrespect, Sirius took a deep breath, hoping that what he would say would somehow return the lad's spark. ““Pay attention, Harry, because this has something to do with everything that I've been trying to make you see for the past 5 years.”

“I'm listening.”

Sirius looked at his godson, trying to find a trace of sarcasm in his face or his tone, but there was none that he could find.

Satisfied, he began.

“As you know, Gryffindor is only one of the four estates that make up Hogwarts. The three others are Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Each estate is as vast as the next, and so they needed to be governed by 4 leaders…”

“I never knew that.”

“That's why I'm telling you now.” Sirius bit impatiently. “We call them, Keepers of Estate.”

“Fancy.”

“Quite. Now be quiet.” Sirius reprimanded, and then spoke again in a mysterious voice. “Now, even though Hogwarts is divided in equal extent, the Keepers of Estate are not equal in rank…

Gryffindor has the highest ranking Keeper - the Duke. Ravenclaw has the second who is an Earl, Hufflepuff claims the third with a Count, and Slytherin ranks lowest, with a Baron.

Each estate is divided into lands and these are distributed among the Lords of the Estates.”

“And you're one of them?” Harry asked.

“Yes. All the men you know who are Earls, Counts, Viscounts or Barons here in Gryffindor are Lords of the Estate. But that is only in Gryffindor. In Ravenclaw, the highest among them is the Earl; therefore, a duke would never be among them. Now then, the Lords of the Estates in Hufflepuff are only those that rank below the Count since the count is the Keeper of Estate. Do you get my point, Harry?”

“After a while, I should.” Then, he looked thoughtful. “What about Slytherin?”

“What of it?”

“The Keeper of Estate is a Baron, and according to the rank, it is the lowest of all, even the Lords…so, what other titles can be found in the Slytherin Estate?”

“Esquires…I believe.”

“And Draco Malfoy?”

“Well, he is from the family tree of the Baron, so he is considered a Lord.”

“That makes sense.”

“I hope it does, I'm quite confused myself.” Sirius muttered, dumbfounded. “All right, I'll move on. Although the lords have authority over the people who live in their lands, the one who has full power over them are the Keepers of Estates.

As you might have guessed already, since your father was a duke, he had been the highest Keeper of the 4 Keepers.

Therefore, he had legal authority over Hogwarts.

All of Gryffindor's lords respected him and followed his conditions for he had been a very wise ruler and a compassionate one. Ravenclaw's Keeper and its lords had equal amount of respect for him. The Hufflepuff Keeper was in good terms with your father, but some of the Lords had developed an aversion to him over the years.

Now, the one keeper that your father couldn't get along with was that of Slytherin's. He went by the name of Lord Voldemort.”

“He sounds like a snake.” Harry interrupted.

“And that he is.” Sirius smiled at the newly found protection Harry found over the parents that just a minute ago, he thoroughly despised. “He secretly negotiated with the Lords of Slytherin and Hufflepuff to revolt against James. But then, even the combined power of these lords was not enough to covet the throne from James….

“My father had been strong, then?” Harry asked.

“Of course.” He agreed with pleasure. “But Count Miller, the Hufflepuff Keeper, was not. He was an acceptable Keeper, but as ambitious as he was, he had a different dream. And because he was weak, Lord Voldemort managed to convince Miller to turn over Hufflepuff into his hands.”

“With 2 Estates, wouldn't he have been more powerful than Gryffindor?” Harry asked.

“No, because Ravenclaw was in full support of Gryffindor and it ranks as the second highest among the estates.” Sirius said.

“So what happened then?”

“We all thought that he was going to take steps to convince by words or by swords, even by pistols, the Earl of Ravenclaw. But he didn't. For some reason, Voldemort went straight for your father's estate.”

“Maybe he didn't want to wait any longer.”

“Maybe. But majority of us think that Lord Voldemort had supposed that if he had already gotten Gryffindor, Ravenclaw would surrender without protest.”

“So, what did he do to get Gryffindor?”

“He tried to talk to your father at first. But he knew all too well that James would never agree. And so, he planned the murder. Secretly, of course.”

Harry tensed. “Did that plan include me as well?”

“We don't know for sure if the crash had been meant for you as well. But Voldemort was as wise as he was greedy.”

“What do you mean?”

“He knew that your parents would do something to hide you from him. And so, even before his plan to murder James and Lily, Voldemort marked you.”

“Marked me? In what way?”

“Your scar.”

Harry's hand automatically lifted to caress that very scar he had grown up wondering where he got it. “He marked me through this?”

“Very clever, eh?” Sirius said. “And mysterious…”

“Mysterious?”

“No one knows for certain how he had gotten to you. You were left in your chambers one night with a nursemaid to keep you company. The next morning, you were found in your bed with dried blood, blood that came from the wound on your forehead.”

“Through the scar, he believed he would recognize me from anywhere?”

“Yes. And it had also served as a warning that the worst has yet to happen. And so, your parents took great measures when they had to leave you the night they died. They called for me to look after you. Although I agreed, I was miles away, and so, they temporarily left you with your aunt and uncle…

On my way to Godric's Hollow, I caught some noise near the Dellin Road. There were people gathering over the edge of the cliff. I was going to ignore them, but then I heard the name of your parents. I got down of my carriage and saw theirs on the rocks below, broken pieces of the carriage splintered everywhere. Their bodies, well…” Sirius paused, inwardly shuddering at the painful memory of seeing his beloved friends' bodies, lifeless and horrid. “Well, I don't think we need to get there.”

Harry had only to look at Sirius to know it had not been a sight to describe. And strangely, he felt the mysterious pang of pain and guilt inside his heart.

Sirius was right.

He shouldn't have taken his parents' memory for granted all these years. Despite everything that happened to him, he now knew that it had not been their fault that he had been orphaned at such a young age.

Bloody brilliant!

One more fault to add to his guilt!

“What happened to Voldemort?” Harry asked after a while. “Did they arrest him?”

“For what crime? There was no evidence that he had done the murder. The coachman, whom no one ever bothered to look at closely, had disappeared. There was no trace of him anywhere, and we figured he was paid to kill your parents and then with the money he received, he moved to another country.”

“Did Voldemort stop there?”

“He must have tried to look for you, but since you were far away from Hogwarts, it took him quite some time to find you. 15 years to be exact, if the attack on the night of your 16^th year celebration was the first of the attempts he has tried to get to you.”

“Why didn't you tell me this before, that somebody was after me even when I was a baby?”

“I was afraid that if I said anything about the threat in your life, you would not agree to stay and become the Duke of Godric's Hollow. I also wanted you to become close to your lands, to develop fondness over them, so that if Voldemort decides to strike again, you will have enough feeling in your heart to reject any offer he will make.”

“What made you decide to tell me now?”

“Originally, Harry, I was only going to tell you about your role as the highest ranking Keeper in Hogwarts. But terrible news arrived during that hour I told you to wait. And I decided this was as good as any time to tell you.”

“And the news is all about what?”

“One of Ravenclaw's lands, Neseltt, was attacked.”

“Attacked? How bad was it?”

“Practically the entire land is now in ruins. Women were….disgraced. Children were beaten and men were slaughtered. Only few managed to escape.”

“God!” Harry exclaimed.

“My sentiments exactly.” Sirius nodded.

“After all these years, he finally made a move on Ravenclaw?”

“Not so, Harry. Ravenclaw had been attacked before.”

“You didn't say that a while ago.”

“I'm saying it now.” Dismissing Harry's reproof, he continued. “Ravenclaw Keep was left unharmed until after 17 years had passed since the death of James and Lily.”

“What happened during the 17^th year?”

“The Earl of Ravenclaw was kidnapped.”

“Just like that? Vodlemort didn't give him a chance?”

“Oh, Voldemort did approach him in a cordial manner.”

“What did he do?”

“Voldemort asked the earl for his daughter's hand in marriage.” When he saw the perplexed look in Harry's face, he explained. “The daughter would inherit the land when her father dies. If Voldemort killed the earl of Ravenclaw right away, his efforts would have been for nothing because the entire land would have been given to the earl's next living relative. In his case, his daughter. So, to save himself some time, Voldemort chose to take the easier way by trying to lead things.”

“Judging by the flow of your story, Sirius, I take it they didn't agree.”

“That's right.”

“But I've never heard of the Earl of Ravenclaw.” Harry mused aloud.

“You wouldn't. He's already dead.” Sirius said. “Murdered, if you want the specific.”

“That was why he was kidnapped? Why not kill him directly? Why go through the trouble of taking somebody away, only to kill him later?”

“It had been a little more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

“When they refused to give the daughter's hand in marriage, Voldemort took the final step into making her agree. He kidnapped the Earl of Ravenclaw and held him for ransom. That ransom would be for her to accept the arrangement.”

“But she didn't.”

“No, she didn't.”

“Heartless wench.”

“Tut tut…mind your mouth, Harry.” Sirius shook his head. “She would have agreed, you know. It was her father's idea that she refuse. He didn't want her to be shackled with a man she didn't love, especially when this man cared of nothing else but to get his hands on their lands.”

“And the daughter would be what age now?”

“25.”

“This detailed explanation couldn't have come from hearsay, Sirius. How do you know all this?”

“I've known that girl all her life.” He paused, and then gave Harry a pointed look. “I'm also her godfather.”

“Really?” Harry sounded genuinely surprised. “You know her that well?”

“Yes, and so do you. You've met her quite a few times.” Sirius was now smiling in a lighthearted manner.

Harry looked at him suspiciously. “She isn't one of those chits you have forced me to marry before, is she?”

“How many 25-year old ladies do you know, Harry?”

“You can't mean…” Harry began, dumbfounded.

“Hermione is the Countess of Ravenclaw. And it was her hand that had been asked for marriage by Lord Voldemort.”

It took the news a long time to sink in to him. But when it did, a thought passed his mind. “I don't mean to sound rude, but it is no wonder she refused him. Voldemort must have been decomposing whilst he had asked for her hand. He had to have been more than 60 by then.”

Sirius laughed. “He was, but then, he was just asking in behalf of his heir.”

“Heir? He had descendants? He was married?” Harry couldn't help himself.

“No, he was not. But, he had relatives who were married, and the closest to him were the Malfoys.”

“You're not talking about the Malfoy family, are you, where Draco Malfoy comes from? The one who has set his eyes upon Ginny Weasley?”

“He was considered heir for a moment, until his father, Lucius, died.”

“How?” Harry asked, the name bothering him a bit, because it had also been the name of the man who killed Polly. Apparently, there were far more Lucius roaming about than he would have liked.

“Someone bested him at a duel eight years ago.” Sirius explained. “Lucius Malfoy was next in line, indicating Draco as the ultimate heir. But when Lucius died, the connection with Draco was cut, and the heir became the next close relative of Voldemort. Up until now, no one has heard of who he is. But we doubt that Voldemort has retired from his greedy ways. I believe that he is planning to ask for Hermione's hand once again, using massive violent means this time.”

“So Hermione's father was kidnapped, and then she refused to marry this heir, so then what did Voldemort do next?”

“He killed him.”

“Just like that?” Harry splayed his hands wide. “Didn't she go to the magistrate to ask for help?”

“She did.”

“They didn't help her?” He asked in disgust, knowing exactly how it felt to be shunned by the police.

“They tried.”

Harry scoffed. “If they had, then the Earl of Ravenclaw wouldn't be dead and she wouldn't be alone right now.”

“Concerned?”

“Not bloody likely.” Harry muttered, but he thought otherwise.

Sirius chuckled and then gave a Harry a mild look of sincerity. “I swear to you, the magistrate did try to help.”

“How?”

“During the first try, they tried to trace the place where they thought Voldemort would be, but their attempt was made in vain because it had been under a pseudo-residence.”

“And their second try?”

“They hired an assassin.”

“A what?!”

“Well, not really an assassin. More of a dueler.”

“Go on.”

“It had been a constant talk then, about this man who had bested Lucius Malfoy before. Hearsay had said that he was extremely gifted with the pistol. Through some connections, they had approached the dueler's ally to relay their request, asking him to do the dirty job for them. They offered to pay, of course, but he refused to do it.”

“Did he say why?”

“No one got to talk to the lad. It was only through a messenger that he and the magistrate had managed to communicate.”

Beside him, Harry was trying hard to listen, but he just couldn't get past what he had heard…and what he was suddenly remembering.

“They came here to ask for your help…”

“Why should I help them…?”

“Because Baron Welchester's life is at stake…”

“And I care because…?”

“They need your expertise…”

“They're the best, aren't they? They don't need my help?”

“If you don't agree; they say he might die…”

“He can rot in hell…and they are welcomed to join him!”

“What did you say the earl's name was?” Harry interrupted Sirius, his entire body rigid, his heart beating fast.

“Robert Granger.”

The name didn't register, and Harry slightly relaxed…

But it couldn't have been his only name…

“What other titles did he have?”

“The Earl of Ravenclaw, Baron Welchester, Count Degaron, Lord…”

“Oh God.” Harry suddenly stood up. He turned around and started to pace back and forth in long purposeful strides. “Dammit! Bloody hell!”

“Harry?” Sirius called after him, taking in the sight of his godson's pallor.

Sirius grabbed Harry by the shoulder the moment he reached his sudden still form. “What's wrong?”

Harry swallowed, his vision swaying. His fists clenched at his sides.

“I was that dueler.”

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A/N:

I sincerely hope I have satisfied your curiosity over what really happened to Harry in my story (I underlined it because I don't want to be sued for not following canon or something…but still, James and Lily were his parents, so I'm not breaking any rules.)

Anyway, classes are going on now and I don't really know when I will be back with another chapter. I hope you don't give up on me if I don't update for months.

I will try, though, when I don't have homeworks or quizzes or projects or duties (I'm a sophomore at UST College of Nursing, so I will be undergoing my first experience as a hospital nurse, yikes!)

Thanks for the reviews and please continue to read and review.

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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A/N:

As promised, here is another chapter. I hope you like it and will not be influenced by Canon. There's an author's note at the end that I hope all of you will read…it expresses my opinion on the whole Harry Potter book 7. I also hope at the end you will find time to give me your own opinions regarding the matter. Thanks and enjoy!

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“I was that dueler.”

Sirius stood frozen behind his godson, unable to fathom what he had just said. He refused to even consider the truth even though it was already staring at him straight in the face.

“I know it's not what you expected of me, but…”

“I need to sit down.” Sirius stepped back, clutching the armrest of the chair behind him for support.

“Look, Sirius, I understand that you are surprised…” Harry splayed his hands in front of him, intending to explain before things got out of hand, but Sirius had been provoked far enough.

“Surprised?!” Sirius asked indignantly. “You nearly gave me a heart attack, Harry! Why didn't you tell me this before?” And then he caught on. “Were you even planning on telling me?”

“I didn't think it would matter.” Harry said feebly. “That was in the past and I don't want it to be part of my life now.”

Under any other circumstance, Harry would have felt irritated and infuriated about how Sirius was reacting to his identity. But as it was, Harry had another thing on his mind and it didn't have anything to do with staying in this room.

“It does matter!” Sirius said, straightening. “Does anyone know about this past of yours?”

“Of course. That ally you said.” Harry said.

“Does anyone who knows you as Harry Potter know you are Aiden, the one who dueled?” Sirius asked.

“I…I don't believe anyone else knows.” Harry shrugged. “Why?”

“If anyone else finds out, Harry, you will never gain the full respect of your people!” Sirius barked.

“It's not what you think, Sirius. It's not as bad as it sounds.”

“Not as bad? Not as bad?” Sirius repeated madly. Disbelief was written all over his face as he continued. “You were an assassin, Harry! You killed people for money! Do you even understand the gravity of that?”

“I had to survive.” Harry said simply.

“There were other ways, boy. You didn't have to selfishly sacrifice a life that was not even yours just so you could eat a measly loaf of bread!”

“You think it had been easy for me to do just that?” Harry asked, equally frustrated now. “I had nothing on me! I didn't have a home and I didn't have enough education to get myself a decent job.”

“So you decided to do an indecent one, is that it?” Sirius muttered sarcastically.

“No. I didn't decide for myself. It just happened.” Harry said with such feeling that Sirius did a double take and regarded his godson with sympathy, rather than disappointment.

“How did it happen then?” Sirius asked, looking at Harry intensely.

Harry regarded Sirius with a murderous stare as he massaged the throbbing forehead that had been disturbing him like hell all night.

With a sigh of resignation, he began.

“After I escaped Averhille, I ended up wandering around Helsin Valley. I was really weak. I haven't eaten in days and I could only sleep when everyone else was. They didn't allow anyone to sleep on the streets, so I only got away with it when no one could see me.”

Harry swallowed to get the acid taste of reminiscing his past out of his mouth.

“About a month after that --- I don't know how it happened --- but I blacked out near the river bank, and I woke up in an old castle a few days later. Poppy Pomfrey, the resident nurse, took care of me.”

“This Poppy lived in a castle, alone?”

“Well, no. There were others.” Harry narrated.

“What were they doing there?”

“That was where they lived.” Harry said matter-of-factly. “And taught, I guess.”

“Taught? What kind of lessons did they teach in an old castle?”

“You know how the children of nobility need to have at least one mastered sport or skill, and manners?” When Sirius nodded at his pause, Harry continued. “Well, the place was a special training school for them.”

“Are you talking about Hogwarts School for Wise-craft and Weaponry?” Sirius asked in disbelief.

“Clearly it was a thriving school.”

“So you're saying you stayed in the place where nobles roamed day in and day out, and not even one recognized you?” Sirius asked in great incredulity. “You had been so close and no one knew!”

“I doubt everyone knows about the scar, Sirius.” Harry said. “Mum and Dad must have tried to hush it up so no one would be the wiser.”

Pleased with the fact that Harry didn't call James and Lily as only “his parents”, but “mum” and “dad”, Sirius decided to ignore his earlier concern and urged Harry to go on.

“I had nowhere else to go, so I convinced them to hire me as help.” Harry stated conversationally, his eyes sparkling at the memory.

At least, Sirius thought, he had some happy ones. He inwardly smiled as he continued to listen.

“I used to watch the lessons as they went on and on everyday. One time, Albus Dumbledore saw me imitate one of the techniques he had shown the students the day before. He must have thought I was good because right after his class, he set me aside and taught me some skills.”

“So that's how you became a dueler?”

“Yeah, and some…”

“Some?” Sirius asked, suddenly impressed despite the knowledge of where he had ended up with this skill. “Not just pistols, Harry?”

“I also worked with swords and arrows.”

“Arrows? Isn't that a little medieval?” Sirius asked, perplexed.

“Hey, it was a training school.” Harry muttered defensively.

“How did you end up on the streets again? You seemed satisfied living in the castle.”

“I was, but the place closed down because some war took place and the instructors needed to be there.” Harry muttered.

“Didn't they consider taking you as well?”

“I was good, yes, but not enough to be allowed in battle. I didn't master my skills until after I turned 17.” Harry explained. “I traveled from place to place, entered tournaments and won every now and then. I used the reward for food and clothes, but I always ended up needing more than I can afford.”

“And so you decided to become an assassin --- a dueler, sorry.” Sirius remedied with an apologetic smile.

“No --- I told you, I didn't decide.” Harry pointed out. He then looked at the fireplace and saw himself eight years earlier. “I was in a pub in Erstmill, when one of the men I was playing cards with, accused me of cheating. Of course, I was not that stupid or incompetent to resort to such a desperate act. But one thing led to another. The next thing I knew, I was being forced away from the pub with the man I had dueled with, badly injured. It was a good thing that I wasn't as skilled then as I am now, or he would have been sent straight to the graveyard for what I could do.”

Harry's cockiness amused Sirius more than it should have bothered him.

“But that didn't make you an assassin.”

“I don't know how word got out, but there was this one night when a mysterious man comes up to me and offers me a thousand pounds of shilling. He said all I had to do was challenge this rival of his for a duel and kill him on the spot.”

“And you agreed?” Sirius asked indignantly.

“At first, no. I still believed in honest work.” Then he looked away as if hating himself for what he was about to say next. “But then, I found out who that rival was and I just had to find out for sure.”

“Find out what?”

“Whether he was the same person who killed Polly.”

“You can't mean…you killed Lucius Malfoy?!”

Just like that, Harry's expression turned lethal.

“He never saw it coming, you know.” He remembered with a bitter laugh --- his eyes glossy, his expression that of a cold stranger and his voice low as a madman's. “Right before we started, I got him to confess about the night of the murder. Up until that very moment, I didn't realize how badly I wanted Polly's murderer to be him. The smell of fear. It was unlike anything else.” Then his gaze shot back at Sirius, the power of which caused his nerves to jump. “He never got to explain why he killed her, though. I didn't give him the chance.”

Disconcerted by the sudden trance-like state of his godson, Sirius asked reluctantly. “And…were there witnesses to the duel?”

“Loads.” Harry nodded, still looking a little dazed.

“You weren't arrested…”

“No.” He chuckled eerily. “The news was kept from the magistrate. Apparently, many cared less whether Lucius came out alive or dead. Even his son was glad about it.”

Even though it sounded harsh, Sirius could not deny that Harry was right.

The death of Lucius Malfoy came as terrific news for Draco Malfoy. Perhaps it was because Lucius had been no more than a stranger to Draco than Draco was to his father. They couldn't have been more apart than two opposite poles and that was why Lucius' death gave Draco no reason to grieve.

“Did you know him before you came to Gryffindor?”

“No. But I kept watch after that.”

“So I assume that after the duel had been a successful one, in your part, that is, offers suddenly came flying in from everywhere?”

“That's right.”

Sirius was almost as afraid to ask as he was afraid to hear the answer. “How many have you killed, Harry?”

This brought life back to Harry's eyes. Sirius was tempted to let out a huge breath of relief as he realized that the ominous aura around Harry had evaporated.

“Contrary to what you think, I had standards.”

“Standards? Like what?”

Harry shrugged and crossed his legs. “Clients had to have good reasons for asking me. I don't just do it…say for example…when it's because he caught his wife with another man. I only agree to life and death situations. I wanted to be on the good side.”

“Good side…” Sirius mused aloud.

“If I weren't on that side, instead of being asked by the magistrate to help with the rescue mission, I would have been arrested and guillotined for committing a number of crimes.”

Sirius opened his mouth to point out that whatever vision Harry had for taking up offers for dueling, it was still not enough to justify his becoming a robber of life. But he shut it immediately when he realized that there was no use because it would only lead to another argument --- something Sirius wanted to avoid for now.

“Speaking of the rescue mission, I thought you wanted to help.”

Harry sighed. He knew that what he was about to tell Sirius would make him disapprove. But as much as he wanted to deny the matter, he also knew there was no way out.

“When Polly was murdered, I went straight to the magistrate to report about it. They waved me off before I could even finish. They said I didn't have enough facts for the report to be considered a real case.”

“I'm sure you didn't, Harry.” Sirius interrupted gently. “There would have been no one in Averhille who could have supported your claim.”

“I know that. But the whole excuse sounded more like I didn't have the money to compensate them for their efforts. They knew I couldn't pay them even after they've solved the case, so they didn't bother trying.”

“Hence, your refusal to help was all about the grudge you have against their refusal to help you with Polly's murder investigation.”

“Brilliant, wasn't it?”

Sirius regarded his godson with a faint look of bewilderment. “Didn't you even think that it wasn't just the magistrates that would be affected by your decision?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I dunno.”

“I'll tell you why.” Sirius said gravely after some time of silence had stretched between the two of them. “You didn't care. Your hatred towards the magistrates in your past kept you from considering other people. And because of that, you've caused a young woman to bear things she shouldn't have at such a young age.”

“I had no idea that it would lead to her father's death.” Harry cried out defensively.

“What part of kidnapping states it forbidden to kill the victim?”

“What are you reprimanding me for, Sirius?” Harry said, irritated. “Would taunting and mocking me resurrect the Earl of Ravenclaw?”

“Your disrespect towards the dead is worthy of noting.”

“See here, it wasn't my fault the ruddy gits didn't know how to be responsible!” Harry mumbled, talking about the Ministry officers.

“And you were?” Sirius scoffed with skepticism.

“Save your breath, old man. It's already happened. No amount of words can change what I did.” Harry muttered, and then he shrugged almost too intentionally. “And you know what? I couldn't care less.”

“I am not that old.” Sirius puffed his chest out and then waved a warning finger at his godson who was now bearing down on him with his full height. “And don't think you can fool me for a second.”

“Fool you?” Harry scoffed, shoving his hand into his pockets. “What am I fooling you with?”

“Your indifference towards Hermione --- even when you visibly care for her.”

“I don't recall mentioning anything about caring for her?”

“You didn't mention it, all right. But it's clearly written in your expression.”

“It is not!”

“Just because you know how to mask every emotion in that face of yours, it doesn't mean that they don't escape every now and then.”

“Believe what you want, Sirius, but I don't give a damn about her.”

“Then why were you in such a hurry to get out of here when you heard about the Earl of Ravenclaw?” Sirius baited.

“I---I wanted a bit of fresh air.” He lied.

Sirius saw clearly through him. Damn. “Is that so? I thought you were going to find her.”

“Why would I have done that?”

“To apologize.”

“Not bloody likely.” Harry said resentfully. “That was years ago. Besides, it was not my fault she had been too selfish to hold on to her freedom rather than sacrifice it for her father's life, which was exactly what she should have done.”

“You don't even feel the slightest guilt?” Sirius pressed. “Even when knowing that there was something you could have done to prevent her years of suffering?”

“You keep mentioning suffering, Sirius.” Harry mused out loud. “But I haven't heard her say anything about suffering for the past 7 years.”

“Of course she wouldn't tell you! The girl obviously hates you!” Sirius laughed bitterly. “And you may as well ask why no one has said anything, but I'll only say that only few know what happened. Though it was not the worst that can happen to anyone, it was unreasonable to have happened to her.”

Reluctantly, Harry felt the first tug of guilt thumping in his heart as he suddenly found himself pondering on what Sirius had said.

Had things really gone bad for her? He wanted to ask. How bad exactly?

But a small rational voice inside his head took away that feeling.

Why should you care? You don't even know each other.

And besides, she appears to be all right.

Or so she seemed…another voice argued.

Harry turned his head in time to catch the look Sirius was giving him and he immediately grew alert. “Stop putting thoughts in my head, Sirius.” Harry glared at him as the fogginess in his mind cleared. “You don't need to tell lies to get my sympathy.”

“They're not lies, Harry. They're the truth.”

“Even if they are, it doesn't matter.” Harry gripped the chair's backbone tightly. “It's her fault, not mine. Let her deal with it.”

“Is this because you haven't been able to charm her?” Sirius wondered aloud.

“Even if it's not any of your damn business, I'm happy to let you know, there is nothing more between Hermione Granger and I than mere curiosity.”

“Curiosity?” Sirius drawled the word out as if it was the most precious secret a man could ever hold in the world. His voice actually had a tinge of awe in it, but Harry was not sure whether it was because of him regarding his attraction to Hermione as somewhat only out of curiosity, or because he had enough guts to deny his own feelings even to himself.

“Naturally.” Harry shrugged. “I wanted to know why she seems to hate me so much.” Then he turned somber as he recalled the main reason that he wanted to go out and find her, something he will never admit to Sirius. “That may as well have been answered by now.”

“You really think she knows you were the dueler who denied her the request she made for her father?”

“Mayhap.” Harry said, not wondering how Sirius had known about Hermione knowing. “I am not at all certain. But if I consider it, the chances of that would be low. I cannot think of a way on how she had managed to find out it was I except for one highly improbable, but still likely, reason.”

“What is it?”

“She saw me the night they tried to hire me.”

Sirius tensed. “Impossible!”

“There could be no other reason for her aversion, Sirius.”

“If she had witnessed the attempt, and then saw you again when you were introduced to society, she would have told me, Harry.”

“It's not always you can trust somebody to tell you everything.”

“But…but…”

“There's no need to worry about others knowing, Sirius.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I never stayed too long in public places.”

“How about your associates or whatever you call your group?”

“Never had one of those. The only person I talked to was Ethan. That ally.” He clarified when Sirius frowned at the unfamiliar name.

“How well did you know this Ethan?”

“He and I met when I was given my 3^rd assignment. His master had been my opponent and when the bitch fell in battle, Ethan joined me, even though I tried to turn him away as often as I could.”

“Where is he now?”

“Dead.”

Appalled by how Harry didn't even flinch by the word, much more that it involved somebody he knew, Sirius asked in a hoarse voice. “How?”

“Three days before you found me, he and I were camping just outside Hogwarts grounds. We were sleeping when shots were fired. Someone or some people had been chasing a carriage and the runaway ride had taken a shortcut through the woods.” He shuddered thinking how fast he had awakened the instant he heard the familiar sound of pistols going off.

“Ethan and I had been unfortunate enough to have found some rest at the exact path they took. More shots were fired as they drew nearer. I was prepared to shield Ethan, but before I could, he threw himself in front of me.” A deep breath, and in an instant, Harry's eyes turned to blades of ice. “I buried him two days later.”

Sirius paused for a while to contemplate on whether to continue or let Harry have a rest. He never knew that his godson had been through much and had seen too many deaths, especially people whom he cared about. It almost made him want to go out and kill the very person who cause all this.

But before anything could take place, matters needed to be resolved first. Harry's future as the Keeper of Gryffindor was at risk. His reputation would be tainted if anybody found out about his past. And this included Hermione and her reason for knowing Harry's livelihood. They needed to find out how she knew because it could pose as possible threat to what had always been a good intention from the start.

“I'm sorry, Harry, but we need to talk about this.”

“Go on. I don't care. It happened 5 years ago.” But in truth, he still cared. Ethan had been a best friend, albeit he didn't want to admit it aloud. He had been young then, but he had entrusted his life to Harry, who had turned useless to him when he needed it most.

“How about when you joined those tournaments you were talking about?”

Harry let out an exasperated breath as he tried to recall how he dealt with people who wanted to get a clear look at him. “Every time I joined, I always kept a disguise on. It had been a trademark, actually. I was the `Veiled Warrior'.”

“Veiled Warrior?” Sirius repeated, mystified.

“I know it sounds ridiculous, but they branded it on me.”

“No…no…” Sirius shook his head. “I've heard of you. Now that I think about it, you were in the news for some time. You also killed Bellastrix Lestrange.”

“Bellastrix was Ethan's lord…mistress…whatever she was.”

Reeling from all the information that was coming from his godson, Sirius tried to focus on the matter at hand. “What else?”

Harry's gaze shifted to him. And somehow, the look that he saw in Sirius' face gave Harry a profound feeling. And then, he began to pace as if just starting to recognize the gravity of the question that lay ahead, waiting to be answered.

“During duels, I never dared expose my face.” He narrated with needed clarity. “My hair had been long when you found me, and it may have been a shorter a couple of years earlier, but it still kept people from seeing my scar.”

“Voice?”

“I didn't eat or sleep normally. Do you actually believe that my voice then would be the same as the one I have now?”

“If what you are saying is true, then how in the world did she know you were that dueler?”

Harry stopped his pacing long enough to give his godfather the most genuine look of bewilderment he had given in all his life, before hurtling himself out of the study like a hurricane, leaving only this statement behind.

“I don't know, Sirius, but I intend on finding out.”

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A/N:

So I kind of finished this in a hurry. I wanted to give something after the release of book 7, which I am sure has caused a lot of devastation to Harmony shippers. I was also disappointed, depressed even, that our favorite ship did not come true. But after it sunk in, which took a great deal of time, I realized that as hopeful as we had been all throughout the years, there could have never really been a chance for them. J.K. Rowling had some other plans and I totally respect her decision.

BUT, I want to make a statement.

FanFiction websites, such as Portkey.org and Fanfiction.net, exist for dreamers like us who, in some ways, have seen something special between two people who are more compatible with each other than any other couple I have seen, more so even in real life.

I would not emphasize more, or give reasons to my claim, because I am sure all of you who are reading this have already seen countless of reasons for their compatibility. These points of view may actually have been the ones that convinced you that Harry and Hermione belong together.

So, to make it brief… I just want to say that whatever has been concluded in Deathly Hallows shall remain in Deathly Hallows.

Never let Canon stamp out the hope that there really had been something between Harry and Hermione. It is true that J.K. Rowling had UNINTENTIONALLY written moments that had caught the hearts of Harmony Shippers. But THAT IS the BEAUTY of love, isn't it? Something that is unforeseen, unintentional, and natural. Therefore, I truly hope that what has always been our belief shall remain our belief.

I will not give up on this fic…and all other fics that I plan to write about Harry and Hermione, nor will I forego this shipping. Please stay with me and my fellow authors, dear readers…because there is really no harm in dreaming. It is, after all, for free…and it doesn't hurt anybody. If they say we're pathetic, then so be it...there are two sides to the world...one is reality, and the other is fantasy...no one said it was illegal to believe in both...

For Heron shippers, congratulations…although I cannot sincerely say I am happy for you, I will just say that I have found respect in your ship. It was a fair game and from now on, let's just let the matter to rest.

For Harmony shippers, DO NOT lose heart. Never let reality dampen our spirits because it is our dreams that keep us alive. Let us keep the faith in our hearts, for only we hold the flame that keeps the light burning in what is and will always be known as the BEAUTY of HARMONY.

All is well that ends well…ciao for now!

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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Bang! Bang! Bang!

Bolting upright in alarm, Hermione pushed away the strands of hair that had fallen on her face as she got out of bed, silently wondering whether she had overslept and it was only the curtains responsible for the darkness around her.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

She gave a start at the recurrence of that bloody knock, if one would call it a knock when it lacked the very essence of a true one which was done to intrude politely, not demand, which it was certainly doing now!

She mentally cursed whoever was at the door as she grabbed her robe lying lifelessly on her bedside chair and grumpily put it on.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“Lady Hermione, I swear if you don't open this door, I'll barge in there in whatever state of dress or undress I shall find you in!”

She should have expected him out of all people to unceremoniously wake someone up in the middle of the night. As if having caused her to cry her eyes out was nothing, here he was again, destroying what was left of her peace.

Rolling her eyes at the tone of his voice, Hermione trudged towards the door. She opened it and regarded him with an icy stare.

“What do you want, Your Grace?”

“You have some explaining to do, countess.”

If she had been surprised that he knew about her lineage, she didn't appear as if she were. All that she gave him was a mild look of confusion. It was either she didn't mind that he knew, or she expected that he already knew the entire time they had been together.

“Can't it wait?” She murmured heatedly, albeit sleepily.

He sneered at her question as he shoved the door fully open, and strode inside without invitation.

Hermione stared at him and then shook her head, bolting the door back in its place. “Why, you can come inside, Your Grace. Thank you for asking so kindly.”

Harry had the gall frown at her. “Do you just let any man in your room like this?”

Hermione shot him a blazing look and said with ire. “If you must know, not that it's any of your business; I do have problems with gentlemen entering my chambers. But since you obviously had every intention of waking everybody up with your knocking, I simply made an exception. Although I must say I am already regretting that decision.”

He visibly relaxed, his mood turning over. “I think we've gone past casual acquaintances for you to worry about me, luv.” Harry said, his gaze traveling from her sleep-rumpled hair to her lips, down to a prim, lavender silk robe, that hugged each luscious curve she possessed.

Hermione swallowed as she watched his gaze move over her body as if trying to liquefy every inch of her. Clutching the robe she had on fiercely against her chest, she cleared her throat.

“I don't think a silly little dance makes a difference. And I am not your luv.” She huffed indignantly, although her voice broke at the thought.

“And just what makes a difference, sweet?” He asked, forgetting his initial concern. It didn't matter that she knew about his life, what suddenly mattered was that he was here and so was she.

“I---I don't want to find out.” She tossed her head indignantly. She must have seen the look of hunger in his eyes because she had stepped away from him, as if afraid he would suddenly leap at her.

Harry merely chuckled at the brave expression she had put on. She knew what he was doing and had liked it, but just like a school girl fresh out of the sister school, she had withdrawn from her own thoughts and had become the defensive woman he met months ago.

Not that it lessened his desire for her.

Harry nearly lost the battle of controlling himself from shaking his head. But even if he had done so, it wouldn't have mattered. No amount of denial on his part could take away the thought that he did want her, more so now than earlier or three months ago. The image of her looking so delectable hardly gave him the concentration to go on. It was surprising that he was still capable of breathing…

Or standing….

“Don't you?” Harry whispered huskily, moving closer.

“Don't I what?” Hermione stepped back, trying to get away from him as far as possible but she encountered the post on her bed. Immobilized, she could only stare at him as he closed the remaining distance between them.

He bent his head to the curve of her cheek, his breath grazing her ear. “To find out.”

“No…get out…” She said, pushing him away, her hands on his chest.

He did not bother replying to her command. He had to taste her, even for just one reckless moment, he had to know how she would feel in his arms.

Capturing her chin in his fingers, he slanted his mouth over hers and took possession of her tempting lips slightly parted in surprise, catching a glimpse of her eyes widening in surprise before his own closed in pleasure at the first touch of his lips on hers.

He felt a quick flare of fire in his blood as she drew in his breath and began to push him away. But when he increased the pressure of his lips, urging hers to part, he felt her struggles begin to ease and her hands no longer pushing, but pulling him closer. She gave a faintest of all sighs as his tongue delved into hers, and he shifted to mold her into the contours of his body already beginning to ache with need.

A need to hold her even closer…tighter…longer…

How long had it been since he had experienced such strong temptation? He asked himself as he felt her clutch his arm.

Was this how it feels to be desired? She thought as his persuasive efforts destroyed the wall that she had built around herself. But even as she decided to give in to the increasing pressure on her mouth and roaming touch he had on her back, her sanity returned, an image of him years earlier crossing her mind.

“That,” she murmured as she managed to pull apart from his embrace, “is enough, Your Grace.”

“Not for either of us.” Harry lifted his hand to capture hers, his other hand snaking its way around her waist.

“It…”

“Wasn't.” Harry muttered as he kissed her parted lips. This time, he didn't wait for an invitation. He simply allowed himself to get lost in the moment; his body speaking for itself, his lips claiming what they believe was theirs. His hands had a mind of their own as it shifted from her face down to her back and to her waist, pulling her closer to his body, as if fusing them to become one.

She buckled unexpectedly as the same heat of passion swept over her, and he caught her with a husky chuckle. “I told you.” He whispered on her lips.

“Yes, you did.” Hermione him managed to say in a breathless whisper. Then with his words echoing in her ear, reality came and she pried his hold on her. Clearing her throat, she said in a stern voice. “I think this time, it's enough.”

Her sudden dismissive tone brought Harry back to reality and he shoved his hands in his pockets. “You're right.”

Hermione's heavy-lidded gaze met his and she had a very disturbing urge to fix her hair. She forced herself to stand her ground.

“We don't know each other, Your Grace. And as much as it had been a…fascinating experience…I simply cannot involve myself with you.” She said, turning business-like.

That reminder caused Harry to feel an odd irritation for her, which didn't bode well on both their parts since she really didn't have anything to do with it, and because he was only now enjoying his attraction for her. The last thing he wanted was for it to be destroyed by her apparent aversion to him.

“When were you going to tell me you know who I was?” Harry asked.

Hermione simply blinked up at him. “It would have been a futile move, because as far as I am concerned, we met each other at the same time.”

It didn't take long before Harry figured that she was referring to the night they met three months ago. Wiping his hand across his face, he impatiently said in a lethal voice.

“Your persistence at this game is getting quite annoying, my lady.”

“Game? What game? I am most certainly not participating in any game. And if I were, I wouldn't be playing with you!”

“Quite brilliant, are you? But you can never deny it, not anymore.” Harry said venomously, the passionate man who had kissed her mere minutes before, gone. “We've only met, yet you have this loathing for me that I do not even understand the reason for until a while ago. I want an explanation, and you might as well give it to me now, because if you don't I will not leave you alone.”

“An explanation for what?” Hermione asked, although her thoughts had zeroed in on one thing.

“Do you or do you not know that I was hired to rescue your father?” He asked bluntly.

His expression stunned her, if not his question. And Hermione found herself biting her lip in uncertainty.

“I---I…”

“Well?”

“I…”

Harry suddenly gripped her arm and said. “Answer me, goddammit!”

Hermione's eyes widened in alarm, the pain on her arm robbing her of speech and thought. “Let go of me!” She gasped out loud.

He seemed to have realized what he was doing and immediately released her. Although his eyes were not apologetic, he said. “I'm sorry.”

She looked at him spitefully all the while massaging her arm, and then she gave him a look that made his insides turn. “Yes. I know, all right?”

“How?!”

“Does it matter?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, it does!”

“Why?”

“It just does. Tell me or else I'll…”

“Hurt me? Is that it? You'll hurt me again if I don't tell you?” Hermione cried out, breathing heavily. She refused to show him how afraid she was at the moment. If he even had the notion that she was, she didn't want to know what he would do. “God, you're even more of a sinner than I thought.”

Harry knew he shouldn't be hurt by her words, but somehow, they stung. During his years as a dueler, he'd been called a lot worse, but he never let them get to him. They didn't give him money to survive, so why the hell should he care?

But somehow, coming from her, it just felt different…

And degrading…

“You don't know me all too well, my lady, so don't judge me.”

“Why not?” Hermione scoffed, unable to stop herself from insulting him despite the inner voice inside her head telling her to stop. “You killed people for money. You're lower than dirt!”

“I would advise you to stop, madam.”

“You had the chance to redeem yourself by helping the magistrates, yet you never did. Why did you not agree? Was it because of money? You didn't think we were asking for free, did you? Would you have agreed had you known that it was the Earl of Ravenclaw you were to rescue?”

“No, it wasn't that.” Harry said; his voice straining. Somehow, he knew he owed her an explanation. “I had nothing against your father; it was because of the magistrates!”

“Really? And what was it that you said? Let him rot in hell and they are welcomed to join him?” Hermione stated, repeating the thoughtless remark he had given Ethan to tell the magistrates.

Harry was unnerved by how accurate she had said the words, as if she had been there when he said it. How did she find out? He would have asked her to repeat the words had it not been for a sound just beyond the wall of her room. Someone was about so he thought better than to make the conversation longer.

“Who told you that?”

“I…”

“The magistrates?”

“No…”

“Then who?”

“Stop acting like it matters. That happened a long time ago.”

“You never saw my face; you would have never recognized me even if you let me stand beside myself 7 years ago!” Harry mused aloud, raking his hand through his hair. “How is it that you know who I was?”

Hermione's gaze shifted toward the scar that he had unintentionally revealed when he grazed his hair, but kept her mouth shut. But Harry wasn't the clever man that he was for nothing. He didn't miss the look and immediately understood the underlying meaning.

“My scar?”

She bit her lip and looked the other way.

“I never let anyone see my scar when I was…”

“A killer?” She supplied scornfully.

“No, a dueler.” Harry corrected impatiently, something bothering him still. It wasn't Hermione. It was different, almost as if someone was watching. But Harry decided it was just his nerves, and not to mention his growing irritation for her. “I'm going to ask you again. How?”

“If it will make you leave me alone…” Hermione sighed. And then sat on the bed, unaware that the simple move had caught the interest of Harry once again, even in his bad and cautious mood. “I went with the magistrates when they decided to hire you in person. I was disguised as a lad, of course. But we only met your messenger. The magistrates decided his presence had been enough, but I wanted to meet you. So when your messenger left, I followed him.”

“And you heard ever single word I said.” He concluded.

“Yes.” Hermione nodded and glared at him. “I hated you right there and then!”

“But that was two years before I became the Duke. Even Sirius didn't recognize the man I had been when he saw me all polished and dress up.”

“I would never forget your scar. It wasn't something that could easily escape me.” Hermione said.

Harry's eyes narrowed. A thought occurring to him. “You were gone for 5 years. You wouldn't have been there when they introduced me to society. Yet, a month after you returned, you suddenly know who I am and what I had been?”

“Gossips travel fast around here, as you are already aware of.” Hermione said, crossing her arms, as if thinking that when she did, the chills running up and down them would go away. “I saw your picture in the paper and there was no denying you were the man who had denied the life of my father.”

Harry chose to ignore her statement and continued. “A scar? That was quite astute of you, but I refuse to believe that it was the only detail you recognized me for.”

For some reason, Hermione refused to look at him. She caught a shadow just beyond the door of her balcony, and lifted her gaze in alarm only to realize it had only been a tree branch. Shaking her head, she murmured softly. “Your eyes.”

He blinked and fought the urge to rush over her vanity and inspect what she had seen that was unusual to make her remember. “Green eyes? They could have belonged to another person!”

“No, not their color.” Hermione shook her head, looking at him fearfully. “I would never forget the way your eyes had looked in your picture. They had been the same ones I saw when you rejected the magistrates.”

“What did…?” Harry began to ask, confusion clearly in those eyes of his.

“Cold.” Hermione interrupted him, shivering inside exactly as she had when she saw him up close seven years earlier. Swallowing in uncertainty, she exhaled. “They were as cold as ice.”

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A/N:

Yes, yes, I know it was such a short chapter. But I had accomplished my goal, which was to reveal how Hermione knew who Harry was. I don't know if I missed to place some details. I'll check on it later. But for now, I hope this one sufficed. Another update wouldn't be for another few weeks or so.

I just realized something. When DH had been released, a lot of people thought it would put a stop to the Harmony shippers. But the release of the book only did one thing to us. It made us even eager to prove how wrong they are and how right we are. It gave us the motivation to be even more adamant on spreading the reality that no two people could be more compatible than Harry and Hermione.

So to all those who agreed and reviewed, thanks. I owe you a lot for your vote of confidence. I hope that you stick with me throughout this fic.

Till later…much love! =)

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Here's chapter 10, I hope you guys like it! It would be much appreciated if you review as well…thank you.

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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Perched on an old chair, rotting with age and threatening to fall with its occupant's weight, the mysterious master of Serpent Lair eyed his messenger with disinterest, though his eyes contained a malicious gleam that prickled the meager man's nerves from his neck all the way to his toes.

“A competition.” He breathed venomously, his voice raspy but clear with menace. “This should be interesting.”

The messenger blinked, confused. “Indeed, my lord?” He asked, and then swiftly bowed his head, belatedly berating himself for questioning his master's words.

He suppressed a breath of relief when the baron merely acknowledged his infidelity with a sharp reprimanding look. “If what you heard is true, she will never allow herself to fall for the duke's charm. It is nothing more than a distraction, as to have me concerned.”

“But when will the plan be executed?”

His master's voice was as dark as the night that seemed to have loomed in the estate's firmament. Even though the man was used to spite, he still shivered when his master's crooked lips formed one word.

“Soon.”

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“Hermione, may I ask you a question?” Luna Weasley said as she gazed at her friend who was busily choosing her attire for that day's picnic, trying but not succeeding to avoid a conversation with her.

“Perhaps.” Hermione answered lamely, although she knew that no amount of pleading would be enough to silence Luna, who had probably been dying of curiosity about what happened between her and the duke the night before, during dinner.

“I won't mince words…” She offered.

“You never do.”

Luna took a deep breath, used to her friend's remarks and blurted out, every ounce of interest clear in her voice. “What is your relation with Harry?”

“Nothing.” Hermione replied, a little too quickly and a little too rehearsed to be deemed as sincere.

Her friend shook her regal head as she stood up to stand beside her. “He couldn't seem to take his eyes off you all evening.” Luna pried slowly. “What could possibly be nothing about that?”

“What he had been doing was not whatever it is you and Ronal had come up with, while the rest of Hogwarts had been asleep last night.” Hermione shook her head as she went behind the dressing screen to put on her riding habit. “He was scrutinizing me, trying to intimidate me with all his questions. That was all he was doing.”

“Why was he trying?”

“I really don't know.” Hermione said, hoping her voice didn't betray her emotions.

“You don't expect me to believe that, do you?” Hermione heard Luna's voice and she smiled despite her annoyance.

“I don't expect you will, but it is the truth” Hermione replied simply and then wrinkled her nose. “And even if what you're suggesting is true, that he might be interested in me, that is, I would never accept his offer.”

“Why not?” Luna asked, exuding with so much interest that Hermione had no idea why she had not drowned in it yet.

“The man simply is intolerable.” Hermione said simply as if insulting the duke's entity was the most normal thing a lady did.

Luna gasped out loud, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Blinking a few times, she said. “He is the exact opposite, Hermione. He may be reserved at times, but he is the most eligible bachelor in all of Hogwarts.”

“His wealth makes him that, not his character.” Hermione said haughtily, emphasizing her words. “I am certain that shallow ladies would marry men with beastly attitudes as long as they had the fortune to go along with it.”

“He does not have a beastly attitude. But even if he did, how could you know such a thing?” Luna said loyally, and then a pause followed her query. After her silence, she spoke again, her tone becoming suggestive. “Unless you've discovered he has, which would have only happened had you spent some time alone with him.”

Hermione was glad that she had been behind the screen or Luna would have seen the way her cheeks flushed at the mere mention of being alone with Harry Potter.

Clearly, such occasion would never warrant a promotion, because it did not bode well for her who was trying to forget the very existence of him, who had the audacity to so much as kiss her when she had been unguarded and helpless.

And just like that, the memory of last night came back to her.

But knowing it was not the first time it had reoccurred, she was no longer surprised.

However, that did not mean she was no longer bothered.

She had woken up earlier, flabbergasted as the memory entered her mind even before she could remember where she was. And even now, recalling for what seemed like the 50^th time, she could no longer deny that even after just one night, her defenses against him were slowly melting.

Because of what, she wasn't prepared to name.

But admittedly, she was not confident whether she wanted her resistance to crumble, or remain just as it was, protecting her even a little bit, for a hurt he was certain to cause.

Pensively, she lifted her hand to her lips and was surprised to feel a touch of smile beginning to form on them. And then they quickly dropped to form a frown, as shame washed her conscience.

How could she be thinking about it even after him practically admitting he had been the reason for her father's death?

But still she couldn't help but wonder whether Harry, why she was calling him Harry now she didn't know, had already pondered on what happened between them the night before, not just their kiss, but also what transpired after.

The revelation of who she was and who he was had come as a surprise to her. She had not been counting on him finding out that she knew his identity, but she should have known better that a man with the history of hunting down victims without breaking into sweat would have figured out something was amiss.

But his reaction was not what she had expected.

When she waited for him to have another fit of rage, he had trounced out of her room instead, leaving her behind with only the vague memory that his eyes, the one that she had just described as cold as ice, had turned into something else.

Vague as it was, she knew it was no longer the bitter, unfeeling ones she had grown accustomed to seeing. But to even ponder what they had looked was like saying that she cared.

And she didn't…

Did she?

“Hermione, are you all right? Do you require assistance?” Luna's voice came floating back inside her head.

“I'm quite all right, Luna. Thank you.” Hermione's voice seemed strange even to her and so she chose to stay quiet for the next few minutes, adjusting her clothes efficiently the way she had managed over the last 7 years.

“I don't understand why you don't bring your lady's maid. You ought to have a chaperone.” Luna pointed out.

Hearing this, Hermione was reminded of the ball where she and Harry met three months ago, where he had asked for her chaperone. She chose to give Luna the answer she had given him.

“I've gone past the marriageable age; I don't believe I require a chaperone anymore than you do.”

“But you still receive offers. It is still improper for you to be here with no one to see to your welfare.”

“I have managed for seven years, haven't I?” Hermione said to her, stepping out to check her appearance. It was a bright sunny day, but it wasn't warm outside, so she opted to choose her dark brown Directoire gown, although she really had no choice because it was the only one fitted for riding over the grassy turf of the Black Estate fields.

“It's past eight already. The others are probably downstairs, breaking their fast.” Luna reminded her. “We should hasten.”

“You can proceed before me.”

“Nonsense, I didn't come here only for me to leave alone.”

You just want to find out about Harry and I, Hermione silently told her friend as she hid her thoughts behind a cheeky grin.

When Hermione was through fixing her appearance, she and Luna stepped out of her room and silently took the steps along the hallway, and were soon walking down the magnificent marble stairs of the manor.

Halfway through the flight, Luna opened her mouth.

“What did you do last night that you overslept this morning?”

“I was finishing a novel.” She said, the lie coming out of her mouth instantly. This time, Hermione was convinced that she had done all right with her deception.

“It must have been quite a book to have you up all night.”

“It had been…a first…for me.” She managed to say, barely stifling a giggle.

Luna merely raised her brow. “Would that be the controversial book I have been hearing about, the one written by the Austen woman?”

Taking the inadvertent escape Luna had offered her, Hermione just nodded.

“You must tell me all about it. You know I was never the one to seat and read such things. I prefer books of the scientific nature. But the rage that it is causing all over Hogwarts has me intrigued.”

Hermione smiled at her. Inasmuch as she wanted to, she didn't know what to tell Luna, she hasn't even read the book, although it was not for lack of trying. “I hope you wouldn't mind much if I didn't. I am only sorry to say, I did not understand what she had written, and if I did, I would only muck up the story when I tell it to you. As you well know, my enthusiastic monologues never get too far with others.”

“Nonsense.” Luna waved her hand. “You keep me awake when we're in each other's company. And you're the smartest woman I've ever conversed with. Surely, you would understand what she had written.”

“Only a bit.” Hermione sighed and decided to agree for now. Luna would probably forget after they leave for their ride, she just hoped that along with what she will forget was her association with the Duke of Godric's Hollow.

It was one thing for Harry to ask questions, but it was another when she had to endure it from someone she didn't want to lie to.

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The sun was threatening to disappear behind a storm of clouds when the guests decided to obtain horses for their morning ride. Because Hermione had forgotten her riding bonnet in her room, the rest of the group had already started with their ride when she reached the field a few minutes later.

Stopping to catch her breath, Hermione barely noticed the lack of people inside the stables, except for a couple of grooms who were waiting near the stalls.

When Hermione straightened, the very first sight that greeted her was that of a flash of white in the corner of her eye. She blinked and turned her head to the side, and instantly, she was mesmerized.

The mare resting in the stall at the farthest corner of the stable was by far the most beautiful one she had ever seen in her life.

Normally, such light shade wouldn't have caught her attention. But there was something about her rich color had her feeling warm. She had always the type favored creatures, even as big as this one was, and so to deny herself a moment of fondness was utterly unacceptable.

She smiled as she approached her.

She was magnificent --- the way she stood regally on sturdy legs. It was almost as if she was proud of her existence, unlike other mares whose eyes seemed so lonesome each time they were taken to be ridden on.

At a single glance, everything about the way the animal was holding herself told Hermione of the finest things acquired by a favorite, one that was especially loved by his master.

Hermione knew that whoever owned the mare had more than a simple riding horse in his mind.

Noticing her perusal, and approach, the mare began to toss her head about, prancing back and forth restlessly. Hermione cautiously stopped a good couple of feet away. When no one cautioned her to stay away, she said.

“Hi.” She greeted with a smile. The mare seemed to have understood her because she slightly quieted and regarded Hermione with a soft neigh.

“How are you?” She asked and to her surprise, the animal moved as close to her as the stall would allow. Gazing at her entire form, she reached out to touch the animal, her palm sliding softly on its cover. Closing her eyes, Hermione let the fuzzy feeling in her stomach settle.

Animals, especially stray ones, did that to her. She wasn't certain why, but clearly, her heart was too soft for them, knowing that they were often treated with less reverence than what they deserved.

Clearly, this animal wasn't a stray. But she was just as endeared to it as she was to any other creature. Pleased by the caress she was receiving, the mare tossed her head gently, seeking more of her touch. Hermione laughed. “Ok, ok. I know you like me.”

Spotting a basket of carrots near her feet, Hermione bent down to get a piece and fed it to the horse. She giggled when she licked her fingers before taking what she was offering. “I don't think you're really hungry, but thanks for eating it anyway.”

Hermione smoothed her hair and spoke quietly, smiling dreamily. “You're quite a beauty, aren't you?”

She grinned when the mare nuzzled her cheek. She continued to pet her for some time. Then she sighed, “I wonder if your master would allow me to ride you.” She patted her face one last time. “Who is your master anyway?”

“That would be me.”

Her heart skidded to a standstill as the voice she recognized all too well echoed behind her.

She turned around and, belatedly remembering they were in public where she could not berate him for his manners, she curtsied. Above her, she heard him scoff.

“I highly doubt that it is necessary for you to do that. No one is here.”

Abruptly, Hermione looked around and to her surprise, no one was actually there. The grooms had probably grown tired of waiting for her to choose her mare and had left to do their other tasks.

“There is always someone watching.” She said and then she moved away from him to turn to the horse.

“She's quite a beauty, isn't she?” She heard him say, although his voice was not as amused as she would like to think.

“That's what I said.”

”I know. I heard you.”

“How long were you standing there?”

“Long enough to know that animals are definitely not in your list of aversions.”

“Why aren't you with the others?” Hermione asked when she had nothing to say to his answer.

“I could ask the same of you.” Harry said, and then his lips turned into a grim smile. Hermione didn't fail to notice that it did not quite reach his eyes the way they usually did.

“I left my bonnet.”

“Ah, that explains why they have been gone for half an hour now, and you haven't caught up with them.” He said. “Do you walk like a turtle, my lady?”

Hermione opened her mouth, and then closed it. She wondered what was happening to her that she couldn't even come up with a snide remark to toss back at him. In the end, she opted to be truthful instead, knowing that honesty will never humiliate her as much as lying will. “Your mare was too magnificent to resist.”

Despite his foul mood, Harry had to smile at this. “Bested by my own horse.” He muttered, appearing to say this more to himself than to her, but really intending for her to hear.

Hermione once again found herself responding with silence. Never mind that he was baiting her to be angry, she was just not in the mood to be so. Maybe it was the animal.

And maybe he was right that his mare was better at making her feel comfortable than he.

She laughed.

And Harry was now the one who had nothing to say.

If only she laughed with him like that. He thought to himself as his gaze slid to the smile that was now on her lips, the very lips that he had claimed last night, though he had not the right to do so.

It had been incredible. The way she felt in his arms, the way his lips covered hers.

But it was something that even he knew should and could only happen once. Before he even kissed her, he had made a vow that for just that time, he would forget what was between them and lose himself into her.

And that he did.

Now, it was over, and just part of the past in their lives which had been connected since the night she decided to come into his life and give an offer he could have taken, but refused.

If only she were not associated with his past, the very same one that he wanted to forget, but never could, he would have easily dismissed her resistance and pursue her.

But as was the case, she was part of it, and if she would become part of his life now, he was afraid that he would never escape his nightmares.

“Your Grace?” She asked.

His attention turned to her and he realized, belatedly, that she had asked him a question. “I beg your pardon.”

It must have taken a great deal of effort for her to not roll her eyes at him, he noted as she exhaled and repeated her question. “What is her name?”

“Hedwig.” He said, and then he shrugged at the interest he saw in her eyes. “It's not the usual name one hears, I know.”

“It is not so bad. Not as bad as Ronald's, anyway. Honestly, Pigwedgeon.” Hermione smiled thoughtfully, looking at Hedwig. Then she regarded him with a mischievous look, making him wonder whether she was the same Hermione he had confronted last night.

She looked younger and more carefree now, her hair falling down shoulders in a cascade of molten waves down her back, and then drawing attention to her complexion that had nothing to do with the bright riding habit she was wearing.

And she was smiling…

Desire tightened in his gut.

“But you could have chosen a more conventional name if you were to be ashamed of introducing him to others.” He heard her say.

For some reason, he suddenly wanted to get away from her. If he were to continue this conversation, he was certain that he could and would do something he would later regret. And so, Harry said gruffly, his tone wiping the smile off her face.

“Now that we have that dispensed with, do you not think it is time for you to follow the others?”

“Why?”

He ignored her question. “I'll call one of the grooms to settle you with a horse of your own.” He left without another word, and after two minutes, he returned, one of the stable boys she had seen earlier, following him.

Initially instructing Tom to settle Hedwig for him, the stable boy let his horse out of the stall first and led her to Harry. Taking Hedwig's reins gruffly, Harry mounted her and turned it towards Hermione, while Tom worked on the mare next to Hedwig's stall.

“Are you not going to accompany me?” Hermione asked.

“The others have just taken the route around the field; it would be not be difficult finding them. Just follow the path.”

“But where are you going?”

“I do not do leisure rides.”

She knew he intended to put her in her place, but Hermione did not want to back down. “I don't do them either.”

For some reason, Harry seemed to be disconcerted with her answer. “Do not even consider anything of the sort, Lady Hermione.”

“Why not?” Hermione asked, thinking this absurd since she had been riding the way gentlemen did ever since she was little. Her father never thought to dissuade her from doing what she wanted as long as she was within reason. She couldn't see why she had to stop now.

“It is reckless and dangerous.” He simply said, although the effect that he was trying to put on was distorted with the way he kept moving about as Hedwig impatiently trotted.

“All right.” She managed to say. As if she really would. She let herself think before looking up at him, expecting him to hear her thoughts and stop her, maybe even change his mind and go with her. But to her surprise, he only nodded.

“Have fun, my lady.” He said before shifting his hold to guide Hedwig out of the stable. He barely heard her call out after him as he urged the horse into a trot and then into breakneck speed.

He forced himself not to think about what was happening inside him. It was not good to know that each time he spent with her; she was becoming more a part of him than a casual bystander. He couldn't let that happen. And if the only thing he could do to stop his attraction was avoid her at any cost, then so be it.

As the forest where he usually took Hedwig loomed nearer, the first few drops of rain fell on him. He didn't mind, though. Hell, seeing her like that made him want to take a cold shower, anyway. He'd just have to take it in the rain.

When Hedwig reached the edge of the forest, Harry felt the desire to look back at the stable that he knew was still within sight. A thousand thoughts screamed at his head, each telling himself to give in, but in the end, his rationality returned and he entered the forest.

He started to weave his way through the familiar path that he and Hedwig usually took; all the while muttering about how it had been the more appropriate thing to. Because if he did what he wanted, he wouldn't have just looked, but turned back.

But, had he even dared to so much as glance at where he had been mere minutes ago, he would have seen Hermione riding away from the stables…

Not opposite his direction.

No…

But towards his…

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A/N:

So sorry it took so long for me to update. Haha! I'm through reading the book and I have to say a few things about it.

1. The couples were too forced to be deemed as effective. I know that the book isn't really under the romance genre. It was just added to have more spice in it. But still, adding romance should be done in a way that would convince the readers that it does rightfully exist between the couple. There is nothing right with those couples!

2. Ginny was a complete side character. She wasn't even in the more important parts of the book. And she seemed quite slutty (sorry for the term) when she kissed Harry like that. I know that there are some characters that do just that, but still, I don't think the romance between Harry and Ginny had enough basis to begin with for that churning scene to be acceptable. Perhaps it was meant to show Ginny's courage. But if that was what JK referred to as the one where we would see why she was meant for Harry, I would just have to say: I don't think so.

3. I have to reiterate one of my reviewer's comments. Why would the author let Harry and Hermione, whom she knows are not going to be together, appear in many scenes, in which they were the only characters there?! And the kiss that Ron saw between the two of them? What was JK trying to do? Rub it in our faces about what could happen between Harry and Hermione and then dropping the bomb when she ended the book? Isn't that a little bit perverse?

4. You would think that a kiss was better than a hug, but clearly, the hug that Harry and Hermione shared when they were where Harry's parents were buried was more romantic and natural, than the kiss Hermione and Ron shared at the latter part of the book. Come to think of it, the whole time that Ron was not with them, minus the crying of Hermione over him, had been the sweetest moment in the book. Talk about perverse!

5. Every heroine is always the best for the hero, even if some don't see it that way. Now, Ginny may have become the heroine because the hero (Harry) chose her. But then, pause for a while to think. There is always a heroine even before the hero chooses her. And I don't think it is Ginny. The only character fit to have that claim is Hermione…lame as it is, it's also in her name (Hermione).

Anyway, you can't really ignore the rules of complementing. If there are dukes for duchesses, prince for princesses, heck even bachelors for spinsters, then aren't heroes for heroines?

Thank you for reading the story and the author's note. So sorry that it was a long one, but I had fun writing it. I'm thrilled to say that in two months' time, we'd be having our semestral break, and I could focus on the story more. For now, please read and review. It's always a pleasure and an honor to hear from you, guys! Till then!

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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The feel of cold wind and water splashing against his face had done something to diminish the frustration Harry had felt the moment he saw Hermione Granger in the stables.

He wasn't quite sure whether it had something to do with his irritation for her holding so much grudge against him or the unwanted attraction that he had felt ever since the night they met at the Weasleys' Masquerade Ball.

Why he even felt something for her was beyond his comprehension, and he had no intention of further exploring that thought because he had decided, upon waking up that morning, that he would not cross paths with her anymore.

So just imagine his surprise, and annoyance, that she had been there when he had come to get Hedwig. He had purposefully stayed behind the rest of the group in order for him to miss an encounter with her, but clearly, an unknown force was against him.

He thought that it would be easy to just forget, but damn it to hell, every time he saw her, his breath suddenly left his body.

And with that, went every bit of his common sense and resolution…

Growling in frustration, Harry urged Hedwig to go faster, not caring that what lay ahead was total darkness, black as the sky that loomed over head.

He had to get away from her, even for just a while.

Because everywhere he went, she seemed to be there.

And while it was really not her fault that she existed, he blamed her for seeping through him, making him see her, feel her and think about her even when he's all alone.

But by damn, he will make it stop before…

Before what?

Before he fell in love?

Wouldn't that be too amusing…or too late?

Wait.

He froze (if that was possible while riding at breakneck speed) as he listened intently for the sound that broke into his wandering thoughts.

There was another rider.

He could hear the hooves of another horse hitting the muddy ground behind him. And whoever that rider was, he was getting close.

Or she…

For the second time in a fraction of a minute, he stilled; his heart rate doubling.

She wouldn't…

Or would she?

Harry knew it was dangerous to take his eyes off his path, but he trusted Hedwig enough to lead him safely. He had to turn around. He needed to reassure himself that Hermione had followed his instructions and was now safely making her way towards the others.

But even as he angled his head to catch a glimpse of who was riding behind him, he had a terrible feeling that Hermione Granger was not an obedient lady.

He could feel his heart pounding as the poorly lit path he was leaving behind gave off an inch by inch view of the horse as it hurtled behind.

Cursing aloud, he tried he catch a glimpse of its head, but before he could see any more, he first faced his front to make sure he wasn't about to hit something…

After realizing that he was in a familiar path which he was certain had a clear way, he allowed himself to look back, and as he did so, he noted that the horse's muzzle was in full view…

And then instantly, its neck emerged…

Another check on the path, then he twisted his head to finally see a pair of hands clutching the reins…

Firm, dainty hands…

Feminine ones…

He didn't wait for a full view before he acknowledged her presence. He was not, after all, in need of any more confirmation to know it was her. Who else would be following him?

“What the hell are you doing?!” He shouted.

“What does it look like I'm doing?” She answered.

“Go back!”

“No!”

“I said…!”

“Watch out!”

Harry's head had turned even before he was able to register why she had shouted. He didn't need to because when he did, it was too late for any more coherent thought.

Hedwig gave a loud neigh as she tried to leap over the tree trunk that had fallen in the midst of the trail. But her attempt had not enough force to help her clear the jump and Harry felt Hedwig's front legs falter against the barrier.

She stumbled forward, and with her, he went.

He barely had time to prepare himself for the fall before he landed forcefully on the ground, toppling and turning over a few times, before his head finally came into contact with a rather large rock.

He groaned as he tried to stand, but his body just would not give.

He buckled, although still conscious, and closed his eyes as he tried to even his labored breathing, hoping that the bloody pounding in his head would stop, and the sharp jabbing pain in both his sides would cease to knock the air out of his lungs.

The smell of mud was in his face, but he couldn't bear to turn. The pain had yet to subside, and he would make it worse if he tried to move. Around him, he could the feel the forceful drops of rain, on the ground, on his back. The continuous pounding of water on him did nothing to pacify his state.

There was a clap of thunder as he heard the sound of horse's feet approaching and then stopping.

Followed by smaller ones, running towards him.

It was Hermione…he realized.

“Oh my!” She exclaimed as she knelt before him, gripping both his arms, and gently, but forcefully turning him over. He groaned as he another wave of pain hit his entire body.

“Harry…” He heard her say. It sounded good, he thought, his ache doing nothing to diminish the pleasure of hearing it from her lips. But she just had to destroy even that small thing. “I mean, your grace, are you all right?”

Then she muttered something incoherent, it sounded like…

“I'm sorry. That was stupid. Of course you're not all right.”

His response was only a soft grunt.

He could not speak for two reasons.

One would be his current physical impairment. And the other, was because of her tone.

It sounded taut and a bit panic-stricken. He inwardly frowned at this, reminding himself to ask her about it when he was all better…which was really not going to be soon, he expected.

“Where are you hurt?” She asked. He wasn't sure whether he could answer her question, but he still opened his mouth to tell her where. But her gasp robbed him off what he was going to say.

“You're bleeding!”

Was he?

He didn't know.

But then, he wasn't really surprised if he was. He did take a nasty fall.

He tried to lift his hands to find where his wound was, but belatedly realizing it was going to be futile as it was raining, he simply let it lie still at his sides.

Besides that, Hermione seemed about kin to broadcast it to the whole world anyway.

He felt her shift him to his side as she inspected his back. It was not surprising to know what she was doing. Her touch seemed to be the only thing he could distinguish from the numbness he was beginning to feel. He sensed it caressing his head, shifting away damp strands of his hair, brushing away the mud that clung to it. He suddenly hissed when she grazed a spot where he was obviously wounded.

“We need to get you to a dry place.” She declared after closely inspecting the injury, blood still seeping out of it. “I need to clean this with fresh water.”

He had nothing more to say as she helped him to a sitting position and waited for him to regain his cluttered senses. She struggled to help him stand, a feat that was attributed to current adrenaline, since in any other circumstances, she wouldn't have been able to fully lift his body without help.

He was a large man. Though he was not buff, he was tall, and lean with wide shoulders. She, on the other, was small and delicate. There was no question who had more physical strength.

“Do you know where we are?” She asked him as he was settled beside her, his arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist.

“Where's Hedwig?” He managed to ask, the effort reeling his stomach.

Hermione looked around, her lips pursed as she found the animal a few feet away, already standing and looking at them. “She's fine.”

“I can ride.” Harry said.

“You may not.” Hermione shook her head.

“I'm not asking for your permission.” Harry said, his words coming in between breaths. “I'm fine.”

“You're not.”

As if to prove her point, Hermione slightly released her hold from his waist, and she had to bite back the smile that formed on her lips despite the situation, when he swayed on the spot, his clutch on her shoulders tightening.

Harry cursed as he tried to regain his balance. Then that was when he noticed how shafts of pain were darting down his right side.

“I broke my arm.” He grunted, although he really didn't wish for her to know it.

`We need to get you dried' was her only answer.

When he didn't say anything, she impatiently turned her head to him and said. “The rain won't stop soon, your grace. Do you know a place where we can wait?”

His eyes were glazed as he tried to keep his head and thoughts aloft. He recognized where they were and he knew it as well as he knew the back of his hand.

“There.” He tried to lift his hand to point, but he was reminded rather with a stunning force, that his arm was broken. But the movement caught Hermione's eye and the direction where Harry was looking was enough to lead her to the right direction.

“The horses…” Hermione muttered, belatedly noticing the animals that were still in their company.

“Hedwig's trained. She'll follow us.” Harry muttered, already turning to leave. Hermione didn't say a word as she mimicked him.

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“Where could they be?” Luna asked Sirius, as she paced her father's study, her husband watching her with a slightly amused look.

Dawn was approaching and it had been hours since the group had seen the two. They had no idea what happened, except for a measly and incomplete statement of the stable boy, Tom.

“What exactly did Tom say?”

“He said Harry had taken Hedwig into the forest, where he usually goes for a ride.” Sirius replied.

“And what of Hermione?”

“He was not certain whether she followed him or us. He had only turned for a second, but when he looked back, she was no longer there.”

“She followed him, of course she did.” Luna muttered, more to herself than to anybody.

“Even if she did, it is nothing to worry about.” Sirius told her, trying to reassure her, but not as much as he was saying it for himself.

“Do you think they're all right?” She asked.

“Of course they're all right.”

“But Hermione would be ruined if anybody knew they are alone together.” Luna cried out in panic.

“I thought you wanted that to happen?” Ron calmly asked her. “Wasn't it the reason you deliberately missed telling her she left her bonnet in her quarters?”

“I did want them to spend some time together. But I expected them to catch up with us, not go into the forest where nobody else one would be.”

“I do not believe it had been either one's fault.” Sirius said. “I know Harry. He would not do something like this.”

“And I know Hermione.” Luna countered. “And she would definitely not go after anybody.”

“We can make excuses for them, Luna.” Sirius said solemnly, already thinking of what to say should anybody ask Harry and Hermione's whereabouts.

“I thought you wanted this to happen as well?” Ron turned to his father-in-law.

“There are some things that turn out better when they transpire naturally.” Sirius said. He clasped his hand behind his back as he turned to stare out the window. The rain clouds seemed to be growing darker by the second, and the concern that he felt for his godson grew stronger as it did.

“I know that he is attracted to Hermione. And God knows I'm finally hearing wedding bells. But if he is forced to marry her just because her reputation is at stake, I am terrified that he will see this as an excuse not to treat her the way she should be treated.”

“But why?” Luna turned to the two men in the room with her, confusion clearly in her eyes. She had known Harry for six years and was surprised that the charming aristocrat had an issue behind him.

“He doesn't allow himself to love, Luna.” Ron quietly intervened. “And he pushes people away, especially when they begin to matter. If he is really attracted to Hermione, he would never admit it to anybody, and he will try to get rid of his feelings before they could turn to something more.”

“That's terrible!” Luna covered her mouth with her hands. “We have to do something!”

“We can assume that we are mistaken.” Ron said; his voice curt with worry as well. “Perhaps he is not really attracted to her.”

“You don't expect me to believe that, do you?” Luna countered. “You saw how he behaved towards her last night. The way he tried to get information from her.”

Ron sighed, agreeing in silence. He stood up to take his wife's hand in his and squeezed it for reassurance.

“Then, let's just hope that Hermione doesn't feel the same way.” He caught Sirius' eye in his reflection on the glass window and saw that the old man was thinking the same thought.

“It is one thing for him to push her away when she does not mind. But it does not bear contemplating when he does it while she cares.”

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The silence that prevailed between her and Harry had nothing to do with why Hermione wanted to speak.

As they trudged side by side in the rain that seemed to be intensifying by the second, Hermione could feel Harry's weight growing heavier. Immediately recognizing the sign, she sensed the need to speak. Gripping him and pulling him closer to her side, she loudly hissed. “Don't you dare faint.”

Despite his state, Harry grunted. “Gentlemen don't faint.”

“What do they do?” Hermione asked, if only to keep him awake.

“We…just don't.” he finished lamely, unable to think of anything more to say, except he did feel like fainting.

She felt herself smile. Then she cleared her throat. “Where are we headed?”

“There's a small cottage in the middle of this woods. It's not too far.”

“How do you know?”

“I've been here before.” Came his clipped reply.

Hermione only nodded. Her grip momentarily slackening as his weight drained her. Harry must have noticed her exhaustion, because his firm hold on her shoulder loosened.

“You can leave me, Hermione.” He said rather gruffly, ignoring the pretence of propriety by addressing her with her given name. “I can take care of myself while you get help.”

“That fall must have been worse than I originally thought for you to foolishly think I would agree to such a ridiculous thing.” Hermione said in a clipped tone.

“Are you calling me a fool?” He asked.

Hermione pursed her lips together. “The situation only warranted it, your grace. But I apologize.”

“Don't.” Harry said.

“And it was my fault you were injured.” She added belatedly, voicing the thought that had screamed at the back of her head when she saw him fell. It had not left her since and it was gnawing at her conscience every time she saw his face and his arm, and heard his small grunts of pain.

He obviously thought that was the case as well because he didn't say anything. It only added to her list of what to be guilty for.

The rest of the way had been spent in silence, but Hermione didn't need to reassure herself of his consciousness because every now and then he would clear his throat and a small sound of pain would escape his lips. She was sure he was trying to conceal it from her, and Hermione thought it was considerate of him to do so, unwise but considerate.

Against her will, his consideration destroyed a couple more bricks of her icy wall. She could practically hear them shatter.

“Here we are.” He suddenly said.

Hermione had to blink twice to see what he was looking at, her thoughts rendering her oblivious to anything but her feelings. In the midst of her reverie, she had failed to see that they already reached their destination.

The cottage that they were facing was small, with no stairs, except a couple of steps that led to the front door. The windows that were made of wood were tightly shut. The door was slightly ajar, but no sign of another human presence was there.

“Who lives here?” She voiced out as they took that couple of steps.

“No one.”

Hermione frowned.

“Sirius uses this when he hunts.” He grunted.

She said nothing more as she pushed open the door, hearing it creak as the hinges slid over the other.

A draft of wind escaped from the chilly atmosphere within, and in her cold state, she accidentally let go of Harry as she was trying to carefully set him down beside the door. He groaned when his bottom hit the floor with a hard thud.

“I'm sorry.” She muttered, taking a deep breath as she straightened. She shut the door immediately to prevent the cold from entering the cottage and set about to look for something to light the fireplace, which she had noticed the moment they entered.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked in the dark. His voice deep and hushed.

Hermione felt a shiver run up and down her arm.

It was not from the cold.

“Uh…the fireplace.” She answered, trusting his intelligence to come up with the rest of the words she had missed to say.

He was smart enough to understand. “Under the cupboard near the sink. There should be some wood in there.”

As Hermione went about her task, the only sound that prevailed for the next few minutes was that of the heavy rain beating down on the roof of the cottage.

She had no time to ask him anything, for all she knew he had already lost consciousness, because what mattered was that she was able to light the fire before they develop a fever. Should that happen, his would be worse, with his wound prone to acquiring infection.

In record time, she had managed to build a fire, and with some assistance from him, they were soon sitting in front of it.

Hermione noticed Harry shivering and having difficulty maintaining a sitting position.

She looked around and saw the small bed at the corner of the room. It looked light enough for someone her size to drag across, so she stood up and grabbed with both hands the post at the upper end.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked feebly.

“You do not have the strength to stay awake much longer, your grace. And it is not good for you to rest on the hard floor.” Then she eyed his broken arm, which was lying limp on his side. “We need to do something about that broken arm.”

“But still that does not explain why you are moving the bed.”

“It's warmer over there.” She said matter-of-factly.

“Thank you.” That was all he could manage.

Even after his horrid attitude towards her that morning, not to mention the night before, he couldn't believe that she was treating him with such concern.

When the bed was situated just in front of the fireplace, Harry obediently stood up, clutching one of the bed's legs. But he stopped just as she was helping him get on it.

“What's wrong?”

“I need to take my clothes off.” He whispered.

Hermione could have sworn her jaw dropped to the floor. She blushed despite her will and she swallowed convulsively.

“Go ahead.” She mustered up the courage to speak, but forgot to turn around.

She was puzzled when Harry didn't move, his slight swaying back and forth not considered moving since he wasn't really doing it on his own. He was staring at her with a curious expression, his face pale, but his eyes glittering with amusement.

“Are you sure you want to stay that way?”

It occurred to her that she was still gaping at him like an idiot as if waiting for him to put on a show for her. She gasped “Oh!” before hastily turning around. She was sure that the warmth that spread through her was not because of the fire burning but from embarrassment.

He heard him chuckle, and then a kind of a rubbery sound that was associated most probably with the wet clothes clinging to his skin. Hermione felt her blush darken as she thought of him merely inches away from her with nothing on.

“You should take off your clothes as well.” He said from behind her.

She stilled, his words robbing her of breath and words. It didn't help that he said it in a deep voice, a rough one that sounded more from passion than exhaustion.

“I---I beg your pardon?”

“I am not the only one with soaked attire, my lady.” He said.

Hermione was thankful for the few seconds that he gave her to locate her senses and perhaps even manage to remove her heart from her lungs. “What am I supposed to put on?”

“There are clothes in the closet. I am certain there aren't any for a lady, but they will have to do.”

She nodded, almost turning her head to him. Then she stopped herself just in time. But that was after she caught a glimpse of his chest. She was glad that the sight had not stopped her from turning her head back to where it should be.

She bit her lip, all the while hoping that he had not seen the little excursion of her eyes.

As she struggled to keep her breath even, she refused to lgo over the details, already cursing herself for thinking lurid thoughts about him. Thankfully, he was standing behind the bed, so what she had seen had only been the upper part of his body.

Not that she wanted to look at the lower half…

“And what of your clothes, your grace?” She managed to ask after a while when all she heard after that incident had been the rustling of the bed covers being pulled back. “Shall I bring some for you?”

She heard nothing, only the crackling of the fire.

“Your Grace?”

Was it safe to turn around?

Then rational thought came into place.

Why wouldn't it be safe? It wasn't as if he was deliberately not answering her questions, was it? The only logical thing he could be doing was sleeping, and even if he wasn't, why would he think it wrong for her to check on him. If she caught him in a less than appropriate state, it wouldn't be her fault.

Slowly, she turned her head around, one eye closed, her lips caught between her teeth. She breathed a sigh of relief as she saw him hidden underneath the bed covers, his face unmasked of the stony façade he wore most of the time.

What replaced it was a more pleasant expression that tugged something in her. A hand on her heart, she approached him, her fingers gliding over the bed rail, until she was beside him, near his head. She peered closely to check. As she did, she saw the wound on his forehead. It was near his scar.

She thought about it for a second and realized that not once during the entire time they were together did she think of him as her enemy. Granted that she had been hysterical over his accident, but still, she had been calm for at least a good half hour, and it wasn't only until now that she even thought about it.

But now was not the time for her to think of the reason that she was not reminded of his past, even when before, the mere mention of his name brought back memories.

For now, he needed her.

And even if she did not hold him in high regard, she was not an unfeeling woman to leave him. She told him she would take care of his wound, and she would be true to her word.

But first, she had to change.

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A/N:

Our preliminary examinations ended yesterday so I had time to think about this chapter. But it's not yet polished, I think I need to do some revisions about the grammar.

However, I updated tonight because I wanted, and I quote Hermione, “to be true to my word.” I did say next week last week, right? I did not plan on writing a chapter like this, but the story warranted more Harry/Hermione moments. And this is only the beginning; I have more of them up my sleeve! The storm's not about to go yet, so suffice it to say, they will be in that cottage for quite some time.

Anyway, thanks for all those who agreed with my last author's note, and for reviewing as well. I have not the urge to say anything about DH right now…I'm not ticked off or anything. I'll post a message next time I'm bothered. But for now, I'll end the chapter with nothing more than a pleasant, see ya!

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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It was hot.

Very hot.

And not like the kind of warmth that one sought in cold nights, but the kind that scorched and burned as if one was placed right above a burning hearth!

Harry tried to open his eyes, but found the effort too tiring. It was if his lids were weighed down by rocks, rocks that were also at the moment, trying to crack his head open.

He heard a rustling noise from the corner of the room and forced his lids to open despite what he felt, but even as he managed to pry them against their will, he found his sight was quite blurry.

Confused, but not really frightened for his lack of vision, he tried to get up, but the throbbing pain that shot from his shoulders down to his arms made him close his eyes again, his face masked with a grimace, a groan escaping his lips before he could even think about masculinity.

Was he in hell?

It sure felt like it.

Wait…

Hadn't he been in hell already?

This was not what it had felt like.

This was more human.

But still…

The pain could make anyone wonder.

“Your Grace, are you all right?”

Someone came rushing to him, her voice echoing in his head.

Hermione.

Even in his current state, he recognized her voice.

Definitely not hell, he decided.

“Are you all right?” she repeated.

“No.” He managed to bite through gritted teeth. There was no point in denying it; as it was probably written all over his face that he was not all right.

She touched his forehead and gave a mild curse as he tried to get up despite her protests.

“You're still warm.” she said when he was already up, his back against the headboard.

“I know.” Harry said, although `warm' was not the word he was thinking of. It was actually a piece of an understatement. He felt as if he was burning up, but he could only say what he could without offending her.

Drummed into his head for the past five years were rules on how a gentleman acted and what he said, so he couldn't very well say just about anything he wanted in front of her.

“You've been running a fever since you fell asleep,” she clarified in an anxious tone, “I've been trying to lower your temperature, and somehow it did, but you're still warm to the touch.”

“Maybe if you lifted all these blankets off me.” he grumbled.

Noticing for the first time the mountainous blankets that were around him, enveloping him like a cocoon, Hermione muffled a laugh. When she saw him shivering a couple of hours before, she had retrieved all the extra covers the closet had and put all of them on him.

Although it had not been a good idea to cover him so much, the cold wind from the storm didn't bode well for his state. And so, she took the risk.

“I'm sorry. You were shivering.” she offered lamely

“Not anymore.” Harry breathed out.

She just nodded, and began to remove the extra pieces one at a time. She had her hands on the last one, when his hand abruptly closed over hers. Her gaze flew up to his and saw that he was staring intently at her, with a mild amused look. “What is it?”

“Maybe you should leave this one on me.” Harry said in a serious tone.

Belatedly realizing that he was naked underneath the very sheet she was holding, Hermione snatched back her arm in embarrassment.

For goodness' sake! She scolded herself. She was already 25 years old! She did not have to act like this. Like a girl fresh out of the school room! The situation was bad enough without her behaving as if she didn't know what was underneath his blanket.

“Is that better?” she managed to ask, although her voice was slightly strained.

He nodded, although the effort still made him reel.

“I cleaned your wound.” she said, motioning to her own forehead, he figured, at the exact same spot he had his wound. “And I also put a sling around your arm so you wouldn't aggravate it when you move.”

“It must be quite painful for you, my lady, to be helping me like this.” He teased, although he was feeling quite irritated for some reason.

Was it because she was the reason for his injury or because for a moment back there, she had him worried when she followed him?

He shook his head.

There were a lot of good reasons why he was acting ill-tempered, but he refused to consider the latter.

Why would he be angry with her for putting herself in danger?

It was her life, not his, which she had risked by following him. And as charming as the thought was for anybody who would hear it, he found it hard to believe that it was for that reason he was treating her poorly.

It didn't make sense.

At least he thought it didn't.

“Yes, well,” she sighed, no trace of contempt in her voice, “I was the reason you were hurt. Regardless of how I feel, it would have been ill-mannered of me to have left you.”

She paused, considered what she just said, and then laughed.

He frowned. “I should not like to think that you find me funny in this kind of situation, madam.”

“I do not.” she replied somberly. When he only gave her a questioning look, she continued. “I spent seven years with nothing but great dislike for you. I never thought that a day would come when I would be seeing to your well-being.”

Harry had nothing to say to what she did, and so he just nodded, oddly feeling that he been put in his place even though she was the guilty party.

Hermione, taking this as a means to move away, excused herself and turned around. It would have been a successful retreat, had it not been for the fact that the cottage was small, the space only enough for a single room, and he could still see her wherever corner she went.

Knowing that there was nothing she could do about that, she decided to get back to what she was doing before he awakened. So she sat down on the chair and began to peel the potatoes that she found in the cupboard, which were, surprisingly, still fresh.

“How long have we been here?” He asked after a tremendously long and uncomfortable silence.

“I do not have a watch. But it is still raining.” she added, even though she had no idea what it was good for.

“And so it is.” Harry muttered. Then he angled himself across the bed to see more clearly what she was doing. But she was blocking his view and the only item he could make out that was in her hand was a knife. “What are you doing?”

“You sound alarmed, your grace.” She paused for a moment to send him a fleeting glance.

“Not alarmed, just curious.” Harry corrected, and then he scratched his chin as if contemplating on a very important matter. “You wouldn't be poisoning me, would you?”

Hermione must have guessed what was causing his distress and smiled despite herself. “I do not hate you so much as to have you die in my hands.”

“Oh.” Was what he could only say. It was, he belatedly realized, such a preposterous thing to have even considered. Of course, she wouldn't. After going through all that trouble trying to keep him alive, why would she? “Glad to hear it.”

More relaxed now that he had been human enough to have said something quite stupid, Hermione leaned back on her chair.

“What are you doing with the knife, I'm still curious.” Came Harry's voice from behind.

“Trying to make you food.” She replied.

Harry had to bite his lip to keep himself from laughing at her statement.

“Trying?”

“Sirius' cottage is not well supplied, if you must know. I'm trying to do my best to make something that would suit your overly scrupulous…” she trailed off, blushing and clearly aware of almost being embarrassed had she continued.

“My overly scrupulous what, my lady?” he asked, although they both were cleverly aware what she had been about to say.

“Appetite.” she supplied a little too late.

Harry was already sporting a smug look.

He tried to shift sideways but bumped his injured arm on the post near his head. He waited for a while for the pain to subside before turning to look at Hermione.

“It doesn't matter what you cook, I am certain I will not have the energy to eat anything at this point.” He mumbled.

He saw her place down the knife that she was holding and slowly turn to him. Guilt was obvious in her face, as it was in her tone. “Are you really that hurt, your grace?” She asked quietly.

Harry considered telling her yes but even the thought did not appeal to him. “No. But I am tired.”

“How long will it be before they find us?” she asked, trying to make conversation.

“The storm is still here, but I doubt Sirius would wait for the rain to stop before he sends someone. We will be found before sunset.” he reassured her. When he recognized the look of doubt on her face, he added, “This will be the first place they'll go to. Trust me. Sirius knows I end up here every time this happens.”

“Every time?” Hermione turned around from her seat, her brows crossed. “This happened before?”

She must have looked more scandalized than she thought because Harry immediately smothered a laugh when he saw her. “I have been stranded here before, but never with a woman. This is a first for me, if that is what has that fire burning in your eyes.”

Hermione's mouth dropped open. “Of all the…! I do not care whether you use your godfather's cottage for your lurid quests!”

“Sirius is your godfather, too.” he reminded her, not bothering to comment on the rest of her sentence.

She opened her mouth to speak again, but thought better of it. She knew he was annoying her, exactly for what reason, she had no idea. But she wasn't about to allow him to bait her in. She closed her lips and got back to trying not to poison him, although she was precariously close to adding more pepper to his dish so that he would choke on it later.

The thought had her humming out loud, and Harry smiling behind her.

----------------------------

“I've sent servants to look for them.” Sirius informed his son-in-law and daughter, as they both came striding in his office five hours after they proclaimed Harry and Hermione missing.

“What of Hermione?” Luna asked in a worried voice.

“If she is with him, she will be fine.” Sirius assured her, missing the point she was trying to make.

“No.” She shook her head, her hands balling into fists beside her. “That is exactly what I am worried about, father. If they are seen together, Hermione would be ruined. They would have to marry, and all of us know that Harry will never consent to that. He would not marry her and Hermione would never find a suitable man.”

“Has it not occurred to you, my dear, that she has been trying not to find one all these years?” Sirius massaged his forehead, and sat down, leaning heavily against the back of the chair. “She went to Scotland to evade her suitors despite our protests, do you remember that? And if she had changed her mind, which I presume you were about to suppose next, I truly believe that with or without a tarnished reputation, she would find herself sought after either way.”

“You father is right, darling.” Ron squeezed his wife's hand in support. “She will be fine. What we have to think about first is their safety. And if worst comes to worst, we'll just find a solution for it then.”

“I suppose.” She agreed half-heartedly. “But if the situation they are to be found in would deem them to marry, we have to at least try to convince Harry of taking responsibility.”

“We will.” Sirius nodded. “But chances are, he has already thought about that, and has come up with a way to get himself out.”

Luna lifted her chin in resolution. “Well, we'll just have to find a way to keep him in, won't we?” she said, quite pleased with herself.

-----------------------------

Miles from the grand home and estate of Lord Black, the Keeper of Slytherin Estate, however was not at all pleased to hear that the object of his plans, the very same person who was the key to his success was missing with the very person who could ruin everything.

“What of now?” He asked, his dark voice rising, causing his messenger to flinch away from his gaze.

“They have not been found, my lord, but Sirius Black has sent his servants to look.” he explained.

“Did he seem to know where they are?”

“Yes.” he nodded eagerly, but all color drained from his face when he realized how little he knew. “B-but I did not find out the---the exact place, my lord. He didn't say it out loud. The others seemed to know.”

“That bastard is ruining my plans, Wormtail.” he gripped his cane as he stood up and walked over to the window, what he was looking at outside, the servant had no idea.

“What would you like me to do, my lord?”

The Baron thought for a moment.

“Go back, but do not mingle anymore. Inform me once they have been found. I will tell you then what we will do next.” he said without as much as a glance towards the man who was with him in the room.

Wormtail bowed low, his head almost touching the ground, “As you wish, my lord.”

--------------------------------

As the wind howled and the rain continued to pour outside the meager cottage, Harry Potter couldn't decide which was more surprising: the way his food tasted, the way he was enjoying Hermione Granger's company, or the way he couldn't take his eyes off her no matter how hard he tried.

It was hard trying to concentrate on his meal, knowing she was just seated across him. But the good thing was, it kept his mind away from the pain his arm was causing.

“I must say, Lady Hermione, how relieved I am to still be alive.” He said.

Hermione gave him a look of disbelief. “And it is such a sorry thing, really, that you still are.”

In his suddenly found humor, Harry gave her a small grin. “Tut, tut…that was a compliment, Hermione.”

“Empty compliments from a fool.” she muttered under her breath. “And pray do not call me by my name.”

“Why not? You called me by my given name.” he teased as he took a sip of water.

“Beg pardon, your grace, but I do not recall doing that.”

“Perhaps this should refresh your memory.” Harry inclined his head to his arm and waited until Hermione could recall the moment she had uttered his name.

Not long after, she huffed. “That was only during a fleeting moment of confusion and panic. In any other circumstance, I would have rather stuck my finger down my throat before letting your name out my mouth.”

“Such unladylike words, Hermione.” He said if only to irritate her.

Hermione threw him an irritated look before going back to her food.

Harry, however, did not.

If he had been angry earlier because of her following him, his temper had long simmered down. Unable to fathom what it was exactly, he just chose to accept that there was something relaxing about the way they were both seated across each other that eased his mind.

He would like to think that even for just that night, a truce had been declared between them.

She, on the other hand, seemed to feel the opposite way. He was trying hard to get her to look at him, whereas she was trying very hard not to. Her head was stiff as she tried to focus on her own meal.

Harry was soon unable to tear his gaze away again. There was something about her that was tugging at his heart. And it was not the aversion that he felt because of how she was involved in his past.

Though he still felt that way.

Somehow, he just couldn't bear to dissociate her from all that he had done, and it was difficult having mixed emotions, especially now that he suddenly found himself liking the way her hair curled around her face, framing it perfectly and then falling on her shoulders, down her back. He had never appreciated long hair in women before, because, well, because they got in the way. But for her, there was no other way to describe it. It was, simply put, perfect.

What was it about her that had him so attracted? Even when he was telling himself that there was no possible way that he could be, not after learning that she was a part of the past he wanted to forget, his mind and body were telling him otherwise.

He grimaced.

“Does the food taste that bad?” Hermione said.

“What?” his eyes blinked in confusion.

“The food, your grace. Is it that bad?” She asked, setting down her spoon and then wiping the corners of her mouth.

“No, no. It's rather surprising, really.” Harry shook his head and gave her a grateful smile.

“Surprising?”

“The food.”

She looked at him expectantly, not bothering to say anything.

“It was well-cooked.”

“And it's surprising for the reason that…?”

“It's rather well done for a lady such as yourself.”

Hermione had to admit his confusion was pretty amusing. “Not every lady who was born in a noble family was brought up with a silver spoon in her mouth.”

“And you were not?” Harry raised his brows at her.

“If my stepmother had her way, I would have been. But my father let me be independent.” If she had been affected by the mere mention of her father, Hermione didn't show it as she continued. “It was not necessary to learn everything on my own, but after he…well, you know…it was no longer a want, but a must.”

Harry tried to say something, he really did. But what was he to say? He could not do anything to comfort her. It would be quite hypocritical in her eyes, because through them, she saw him as the enemy, the reason that she had to live alone.

“You've always had the Black family.” Harry consoled after a while, hoping that he was saying the right thing. “And from what I've heard, gentlemen from different estates.”

“Those gentlemen you are talking about are only after the title of my father.” she scoffed. “It's all right, your grace, you don't have to make me feel better.” But she appreciated it all the same, although she didn't say it out loud.

“If it is any consolation, I didn't know I even had a family until Sirius found me.”

Hermione stared at him.

She was surprised that he had offered the information. She was not even that sad to begin with. But she felt his emotions and found herself being pulled into those entrancing green eyes of his.

“Where did you grow up?” She asked softly.

Harry hesitated, not knowing whether he should continue. Any more of this and he would be telling her his life. Was that something he wanted? Would he really give her a piece of him? But didn't she already have one of his, the one that held his identity as an assassin?

“I grew up in a town called Averhille; it's miles outside of Hogwarts.” He explained when he saw the look of confusion on her face. “It was small, compared to Hogwarts, it was like a pub.”

“It must have been cozy. Small enough for you to be friends with everybody.” She waited for him to agree, but when he didn't, she took a deep breath and asked. “Whom did you live with?”

“You've heard about how I went missing when I had been a year old?”

“Yes.” She heard herself say.

“A woman named Polly,” His voice broke and he cleared his throat to cover it up, but not before Hermione heard and recognized it. “A woman named Polly took me in. She was also the one who found me. Where, I don't know. I never asked. But she did take me in and raised me as if I were her own.”

It was a while after he had finished before Hermione realized that she lost him amidst his statement. He was looking at her, but not really at her. As she gazed at him, with wonder in her own eyes, she saw that he was seeing something else.

Something that was not before them, but within him.

And there was something in his voice that had her enthralled.

Was it remorse?

“You must love her a lot.” She surmised out loud.

Harry's eyes snapped back into hers. At first he didn't seem to know where he was, but then she saw his eyes focus and the corner of his lips lift. She wasn't sure whether it counted as a smile, but for Hermione, it was enough. “I did. I do.”

Her eyes blinked, trying to fathom the tenses he had used. What had happened between the two of them? Did they have a falling out?

She would have asked, had she been in the place to do so. But as she wasn't, she didn't. Not when he was looking away as if telling her they needed to talk about something else.

It was he who came up with the diversion.

“By the way, thank you for what you've done today.” He uttered, unsure of how to voice out what he had in mind.

“I had to do it.”

“A sufficient `you're welcome' would have been fine.” Harry teased.

Hermione muffled her own laughter, and then shook her head. “I don't do well on gratitude.”

He seemed to remember where she had gotten that line and threw back his head and laughed. “I don't as well. And I am not also good at saying thank you's, but because the situation warranted it, I am only happy to go against my will.”

“Well then, you are welcome.” Hermione gave him a small smile. “It is fortunate that I have a bit of experience with wounds. If I didn't, you would probably be in a worse state, and not be saying thank you.”

“Good for you.”

Hermione's eyes flashed something that Harry didn't quite catch. He might have, had she not recovered easily. A pity, really, because had he known that it had been something important, he would have watched out for it again.

“I checked your arm, it's not broken.” She informed him when she found nothing else to say.

“You sound as if you prefer it the other way.”

“No, of course not.” Hermione cried out, not knowing that concern was clearly written on her face. She couldn't have been more obvious if she had a sign on her forehead that told him how bad she was feeling. “I'm feeling guilty enough as it is.”

“That would teach you to follow my orders.”

Hermione crossed her arms at him and leaned back, trying to look irritated. But the gesture was more endearing than intimidating for Harry. “Who are you for me to be taking orders from?”

“Nobody, madam.” Harry conceded, which made Hermione feel less about herself, but that was before he spoke again. “A nobody you couldn't stay away from.”

“I beg your pardon?!”

Was that all she could come up with?

Pathetic.

“I would believe that you could resist me, sweet, if you tell me a good reason why you followed me?”

Harry had no idea why the thought that she couldn't help but follow him pleased every bone in his body. But at the same time, he also couldn't help but think that if it had something to do with his attraction for her; whatever it was between them at that moment should stop before it got out of hand.

He was not prepared, nor will he ever be, to nurse his feelings. And even if he did, he knew he would never stand a chance. She hated him, and in some way, he knew he hated her, too. There was no use harboring any kind of attraction to her because it would only turn out bad in the end.

So why was he waiting for her answer like a dog on a leash?

“I do not like taking orders.”

He felt his spirits plummet.

Is that all? Harry asked himself, irritated at the convincing sound of her voice. She put her life in danger and had him injured in the process just because her pride told her not to accept orders?

Well, if that were truly the case, then maybe it wasn't worth asking about and making a fool of himself for.

“Try to remember what happened to me next time somebody tells you to do something.” He muttered in a rigid tone. “Maybe then you'll avoid making stupid decisions.”

Hermione must have been caught in surprise by the sudden change in his voice because all she could do was nod her head in response and say in a low tone, “I'm sorry.”

Hating himself for rubbing it in her face when she had done enough to assuage herself off the guilt, Harry reached over and for the second time that evening, laid his hand on hers.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked, but not bothering to pull it away.

“I should be the one saying sorry.”

If she was concerned over his mood swings, she didn't show it as he wordlessly lifted the hand he was holding and let his lips graze her fingers gently. He knew he would berate himself later for giving in to the thought, but it didn't matter as all rational thoughts sank into the very recesses of his mind.

Without pausing to think at all, he leaned across the table and kissed her.

A soft fleeting kiss, not invasive, but a mild touch that told her he was not taking advantage, only that he was there and he was sincere with his apology.

Inappropriate as it were, he leaned back on his chair with her hand still in his, his thumb grazing the back of it in a mild caress, his eyes never leaving hers.

If she was mad for what he had done, she didn't show it. Even as he continued to look at her in silence, she didn't speak. He knew, by the way her eyes were glazed over and focused on him, that she was thinking about something.

Maybe it was about the way she could kill him, or just hurt him a little. But anything she did would be worth it, as long as he got to kiss her, even for the last time.

If only he could hear her thoughts…

--------------------------

`Why do I feel as if everything's all right when I'm with you?' Hermione asked him silently, her eyes looking into his.

The way his hold on her tightened had Hermione's heart beating hard against her chest. It was as if he heard her thoughts and had responded to it the way a man would when he liked what he heard. If he really knew what was going on in her mind, she knew she could never be in the same room as he.

`I shouldn't be feeling this way.' She thought, scolding herself for the tenth time that evening. Being this close to him had not been the best idea. It wasn't even a good one. And then, feeling as if her confusing thoughts would go away if she recalled what she hated him for, Hermione pointedly looked at the man across her, `You are the reason he is dead.'

That's right!

That was the reason she should not allow him to kiss her, or be near him, or talk to him, or even breathe the same air he did!

He was the one who refused to help her, the reason she was forced to live in Scotland and face her problems on her own.

His presence aggravated her. His past was sickening, his deeds frighteningly so. His mistresses were repulsive. And his attitude was confusing.

She should hate him.

She should.

Yet she couldn't.

Not anymore…

Not when she was finally beginning to understand him.

Not when she was suddenly realizing that she had been as selfish as he was…

But she was not yet ready to forgive.

No…

What he did, or did not do, was inconsolable on its own. Seven years of blaming him was not enough to atone for everything that happened in her life. But she would not, could not, go on pretending that all she felt for him was this…this hatred.

She was not in love with him. That much she knew. And even if she were, she would not be staying long enough for her feelings to be known or even grow.

They were too different. They were still hurting from what went on in their pasts that they could never be happy seeing each other and knowing that, somehow, their lives were connected.

But she would only be lying to herself if she denied she was attracted to him. How could she not be? He was everything she had imagined a perfect man would be.

Imperfect.

He may have done frightening things in his past, but she could see that he was principled. And that he had a mind of his own. He liked to tease, but not overly so to ignore when she did not need to hear his banters. And when she needed to be serious, he had the sense of mind to take her seriously.

But of all the people…!

Why him?!

She should not even be thinking that way.

Maybe if she just ignored it, it would go away.

But what if it didn't?

What if her feelings become something more?

If they did, then she would just try to find a way to get rid of it.

More to the point, she should not do even be doing this.

Not to herself, not to her father.

Harry had betrayed both of them. And if she were to continue this madness, she would be a traitor to her own flesh and blood.

And how could it even be possible?

Was it only yesterday that they met for the second time?

`Oh, God…' she thought, `please…don't…'

But even as she prayed and called to God to clear the confusion in her mind, Hermione was aware defeat was close. She would have succeeded, had it not been for the fact that his eyes were on hers, holding her captive.

And somehow…she knew.

As Harry lifted her hand and locked their fingers together, nothing could have prepared her for the revelation that came next. After three months of struggling against it, Hermione now knew where she stood in battle.

`I'm sorry, father…'

She sighed as closed her eyes in silence.

`I lost…'

--------------------------

A/N:

This is my third revision, I don't know if you will like it. But as of now, I'm going to consider this the permanent one. Thank you for giving me your opinions, and I hope that, in one way or another, I met your expectations. I will be working on Chapter 13. Till the next update, then…

By the way, I didn't erase the slots for chapter 13 because the reviews would be wasted if I did, so please bear with the confusion for now until I finally update…thank you…

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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“So they have been found.” Tom Riddle played with his wine, watching the content touch the rim of the glass, staining the sides red. He set it down and crossed his fingers. “You had been hasty in giving me the news, Peter.”

Peter bowed. “It was not difficult, my lord. The servants had been talking about their discovery, as well as an imminent wedding.”

That was not what he wanted to hear. And in an instant, Tom Riddle had his servant by the throat, enjoying the way his puny eyes dilated in fear.

“When will the wedding be?”

Trembling, he answered. “I-It is not c-certain.”

Gasping for air, he continued. “But the lady did not say she wanted to. As did His Grace.”

Tom Riddle let go at the disgusting sound of his servant addressing Harry reverently. He straightened in his chair and didn't even flinch as Peter did when a sudden clap of thunder reverberated in the dimly lit room.

“They are not fools to get a special license as early as today,” he surmised, the thought giving him a reason to smile now. And then he stood up, “tell Mason to assemble his men.”

Peter bowed, but did not immediately turn to go about his orders.

Riddle looked at him and swept his arm towards the door. “They'll know what to do.”

“Very well, my lord.”

After the scrawny, pathetic excuse for a messenger left the room, Tom Riddle stood up and refilled his goblet with the finest wine he had in a decanter. He had been saving it for a special occasion. And what was about to take place was proving itself to be a very special one indeed.

He leered venomously at his reflection by the window as he watched Peter walk across the yard and knock on the door to where Cairn Mason, a big burly man who had been serving him for some years, lived.

“A few more days…” he muttered, gripping the glass in his hand tightly, “this will be over.”

-----------------------------------------------------------

“For the last time, Sirius, no!” Harry angrily shouted as he got off from the chair and strode to the door.

“Harry, get back here this instant.”

Sirius didn't even bother to raise his voice. Its spiteful tone was enough to get the message across the room and the minute he heard his godfather's tone, Harry knew that he was in danger of seeing Sirius' dark side. And so he let go of the knob of the unbolted door, and turned around, but couldn't go as far as making himself walk back.

“You and Hermione were found in that cottage---together---after having been missing for nearly half a day. The guests are not oblivious to what happened. They are talking about it even as we speak,” said Sirius.

Harry gave a short bark of laughter. It had been four days since they had been found, but the talk, apparently, had not died down as of yet. “That is not any of their concern, Sirius. And who saw us, anyway? Only a couple of your servants did. And they didn't see anything worth mentioning. We were just eating.”

“I wonder how you managed that with one arm injured and the other holding her hand?” Sirius scoffed, “oh, maybe she was feeding you.”

It took Harry all kinds of control to keep his eyes from rolling to the back of his head. “You and I both know there are more scandalous behaviors than simply holding a lady's hand.”

Sirius stopped short. “Be that as it may, you know the consequences,” he took a deep breath, preparing himself for the next bout of anger from his godson, “you have to marry her.”

“I've already said I won't,” Harry said in a heartbeat.

“She will be ruined,” Sirius reminded with a voice that he thought could make Harry feel guilty, “she will never find a husband.”

Harry shook his head and strode back to the chair he had left a minute ago. He looked up and met his father's eyes. It was spooky, that, the way Sirius kept a portrait of his parents in his very own library. Shaking his head, he went on. “From what I've surmised about her, I believe I did her a favor.”

“A favor? Is that what you think this is?” Sirius asked, and even had the gall to laugh. “A favor?”

Harry shifted to his other foot in discomfort. “She does not want a husband, Sirius. Do not belittle both our intelligence by saying that she does. At least now, no one would come pestering her about marriage.”

“Did you even hear yourself?” Sirius asked, looking up at his godson who didn't seem to be noticing that he was still standing, “Forget about getting married. Have you not a care that she will be talked about as…as some kind of a…”

“Charlatan? Wanton?” he supplied, the corner of his mouth lifting, indicating that he was not aware of the gravity of the situation.

“Yes!” Sirius exclaimed, turning a bit red.

“She won't be, as long as we don't act as if we had done something to be guilty about,” Harry put in, shrugging.

“And how will you act, dare I ask?” said Sirius.

Harry pursed his lips and placed his hands on his waist. “Civil?”

“My boy, you weren't acting civilly before this happened. No one knows that you and Hermione hate each other. You didn't even act as if you were more than just acquaintances. How will you go about accomplishing what you had in mind?”

“And you're point is?”

Sirius sighed, standing up. “My point is, if you act civilly, people would think that you had done something that destroyed your friendship. If you acted as more than just acquaintances, they would surmise that the afternoon in the cottage gave you a reason to be more comfortable with one another. And you can't stop seeing her either because people will think you are avoiding her.”

Sirius smiled inwardly, his mood lightening by the second. He knew that there was no way Harry could get out of this predicament without considering Hermione's feelings, unless he really didn't care about her reputation, which was not the case at all.

This was good, very good indeed.

“But…but…” Harry stuttered, “That leaves me no choice but to marry her!”

“Well put,” said Sirius, grinning, “I shall arrange for a special license, then?”

“That is the last thing I want to do.”

“But that solves your problem.”

“It does not,” Harry slammed his hand on his godfather's desk, surprising him a bit, “You know how I feel about marriage, Sirius. Having a wife would mean I have to be responsible for her.”

“There is nothing wrong with that, Harry,” Sirius said in a gentler tone, approaching his godson, “if you care about somebody, it will not be so hard having that person in your life. It would even be a blessing.”

“It's a different thing with marriage. And with her, of all people…” He swallowed.

“Why?”

“She hates me, for crying out loud,” Harry pointed out, “She does not want anything to do with me. All we do is argue when we're in the same room. She keeps on rubbing it in my face about what happened before. I mean, if I married her, I won't even have a single day of peace.”

“And the fact that you were holding her hand was just some kind of interlude from all the fighting?” Sirius reminded cheekily.

“The point here is, I will not marry somebody I have just met.” Harry turned around to his godfather.

“And again, the fact that you are attracted as hell to her is not a consolation?” said Sirius, scratching his chin.

Harry opened his mouth to speak. “I am not attracted to her!”

“Sure you are,” Sirius mumbled, “you wouldn't have fretted about her hating you if you didn't want her to like you as much as you like her.”

“Wouldn't you be as worried when somebody whom you don't even know that well has expressed this hatred for you, without you knowing the reason?”

“I wouldn't have lost sleep over it, if that's what you mean,” Sirius said, then he clapped his godson's back, “oh come on, Harry, just admit you like her and you want her for a wife. It's not so difficult. And maybe after a while, you could learn to love her.”

It wouldn't be difficult; really, had it not been for him knowing that she hated his guts.

More to the point, he didn't want her to suffer by marrying him and forcing her to live with him for the rest of her life. He was not that selfish to want somebody in his life who didn't want him in hers.

Besides, he knew that even though he was attracted to her, marriage will never be for him, as it had never been.

He didn't want another life to be responsible of, knowing how it felt to lose the one he had held within his hands. It was not fair, he admitted, but the death of Polly will forever hold him against caring for anybody else.

It would be better if they were just to keep the truce they had, and not muck it up by doing something neither of them wanted.

But since Sirius would not give up unless he had a very good reason to, Harry knew only one way to stop his tirades, and that was to discourage him from thinking that marriage between him and Hermione would work.

Harry took a deep breath, prepared himself to go against his head, and looked at his godfather straight in the eye.

“I say, no.”

Sirius stared for a moment, and then huffed out a breath. “Why not?”

“I do not want a wife whose treatment for me could not be any more frigid.”

“What?”

“She treats me coldly. Always reminding me of how I didn't try to help her father. She doesn't understand the reason that I did, and even if I tell her, she'll be too busy telling me how I ruined her life to listen. I'd rather wait for hell to freeze over than marry a woman who doesn't seem to have anything better to say than how much she hates me.”

“Are you sure you're talking about Hermione?”

“I would never confuse her with anyone else,” he held up his hands, “Listen to me, Sirius, this is the last time I shall tell you this. I will never marry her. I will not be saddled with that Ice Princess. God, even just thinking about it…she's not even what I have in mind for a wife. If I can have my own choice, I would prefer someone whom I'm attracted to. And believe me, Hermione Granger is the last person I would be attracted to.”

Sirius frowned as Harry finished his statement. He would have given himself a pat on the back for his superb performance, had it not been for Sirius gaping at someone behind him.

Harry didn't turn around to see who it was.

But he heard her anyway.

“Who said I wanted to marry you?”

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“Ooh!” Hermione wanted to smash something the minute she reached her chambers.

No, wait, this wasn't her home.

But she did want to break something.

Maybe his head.

God! Why did she even go there?

Why, why, why?

As if being discovered with Harry wasn't enough, she just had to let the guests see that she was going to the library, where he had been apparently. Granted that she didn't know Harry was going to be there, but still.

It wasn't as if she had been ignorant about what was going on. The little tidbits she had heard on her way over to Sirius had been enough to convince her that her reputation was already in tatters.

When Sirius' servants found her and Harry in the cottage, over four days ago, she knew that no matter how seemingly innocent their state had been, there was no escaping that she and Harry would have to marry now.

Actually, the moment they were stranded in that cottage, Hermione had been dimly aware that they would end up in that very situation. She just didn't let herself believe that it would really happen until the door of the cottage burst open, and in came two servants, looking for them.

Granted that they did not look like they saw something malicious, Hermione didn't doubt that word would spread as soon as they got back to the mansion.

She had been contemplating on what to do to get out of the inevitable consequence that she had brought upon herself, when she came up with the idea that she and Harry could wed. After which they could just have their marriage annulled. In that way, her reputation would be saved…well, at least some of it…and they could go on with their lives as if nothing happened.

But the more she thought about it, the more impossible it seemed.

For one thing, after getting annulled, society would still be looking for the next Earl of Ravenclaw, since Harry would be letting go of the title once the papers were drawn.

And another, her being a once-married woman, would give her suitors a leverage to take even more advantage of her state, not to mention that getting divorced or something similar to that would get her shunned away from society, regardless of her status as the daughter of the late Earl of Ravenclaw.

She was ready to discuss the matter with Sirius, when whom did she find all defensive and critical regarding her?

Hermione gripped the pillows hard as she recalled what he said.

She would bore him to extinction?

That bastard!

And Ice Princess, was she?

God!

What was she even thinking, allowing herself to be attracted to him?

What was so attractive about him now?

He couldn't have been ruder had he even tried.

And the fact was, she didn't even want to marry him.

She wasn't in any form of danger whatsoever, and she didn't care about her reputation that much to let herself be the cause of boredom for some man who didn't even find her attractive.

No amount of attraction would have made her agree!

“Lady Hermione!”

She turned around and stared at the door, almost picturing him outside, banging it.

`Lady Hermione now, is it?' she thought, gritting her teeth. A while ago, it was Hermione, then after being discovered and undoubtedly told to marry her, he was trying to put some distance between her by being formal?

He was really more of a bastard than she originally thought.

“Go away.” She muttered, although she really didn't intend it to reach his ears. It didn't even occur to her that his standing outside her room when in any moment someone might come would greatly double the gossips roaming.

“Lady Hermione, we need to talk,” he called firmly, although his voice seemed to have mellowed a bit.

Brushing away the tears that she had not known were falling down her cheeks, she stood up and opened the closet. She took hold of as many gowns as she could and laid them down on her bed. She didn't even bother to keep her actions quiet. She wanted him to know what she was doing inside.

“Hermione!”

`Hermione was back,' she thought gingerly.

She shot a glance towards the door and closed her eyes reverently, the tears just won't stop coming!

But she was not going to take anymore of this.

She should have left altogether the moment she found out he was also staying here. Perhaps then, she wouldn't be carrying around the guilt that she had left her defenses down and allowed him to crack the wall that she had erected between them.

Maybe then, she wouldn't have gone away with this empty feeling that she would be leaving something behind.

But, it was better than never.

So he didn't want to get married.

Big deal! She thought bitterly as she began to shove her belongings inside her case. She couldn't agree more anyway.

Besides, what would be the point of saving her reputation by marrying him, when after getting married, gossips of her being a kept wife or being an estranged couple would only arise.

Getting married with somebody who didn't want to would be a little pathetic, wouldn't it?

“What are you doing?” his voice was bit muffled, most probably by him listening though the door at the same time, “Are you packing?”

`Mr. Clever, aren't you?' Hermione thought again.

“My lady, don't do anything foolish,” he said.

It wasn't his warning that got to her; it was what he had addressed her with.

She could have taken any more of his insults, but not the reminder that he could be a gentleman, if he were to put his mind on it. It was just rubbing it in her face that he had the ability to make her believe how much he liked her and then abhor her after.

“The only thing I had done foolishly was seeing to your wounds in that cottage!” she shouted, sitting down on the bed, heaving with the effort of talking and crying at the same time.

“Really?” Harry's voice came from behind the door, “I would have thought it had been the moment you irrationally followed me in the forest.”

Ooh!

This man didn't know when to stop.

“Go away.” she muttered again, although this time, it did reach Harry's ears.

“No, I won't. We need to talk,” he said in a serious voice.

“I refuse to talk to you,” said Hermione.

“This is not a matter of you consenting to talk to me or not.” Harry said impatiently. “And if you have a care for your name, I would suggest that you open this door and let me in.”

Hermione shook her head in disbelief.

Was he foxed?

She strode over to the door and opened it, but did not step aside for him to enter. “I don't know what has gotten into your head, your grace, but I don't think that you entering my chambers would save my name, which by the way, is already ruined. So, I do not have a care on whether or not anybody sees you outside my chambers, as long as you stay out of it. Now, good night.”

She pushed the door closed and then started to pace. She was halfway across the room when the doors burst open. She turned around at the exact moment Harry entered, and closed them, bolting their locks.

She backed away until she reached the corner of her four-poster bed.

When he looked in her direction, the first thing he noticed was the suitcase on her bed, nearly filled with her clothes. He took in the sight of her closet next, and saw that it was almost empty.

Hermione began to arrange her clothes one by one, as if no one was in the room but her.

“What is all this?” he asked when he noticed what she was doing.

“Not that it is any of your concern, but I have decided to leave, your grace,” she explained without looking up at him.

“You are not setting foot out of this mansion,” he said.

“I do not see how you could tell me what to do, you and I don't have any relation,” she was carrying on as if nothing was wrong, and if only for that, she was proud of herself.

She stood up and went to her closet to remove the remainder of her belongings, but he was cruel enough to block her way just as she turned around.

“Your leaving would not repair the damage that was done.”

“Would you please get out of my chambers?” she asked instead.

“No.”

“If somebody found you here, your grace, I'm afraid we will have to get married,” she tried to keep her voice steady, but the anger and hurt in them stabbed him, “we don't want that, do we?”

“Hermione,” he reached out to her, but her next words stilled him.

“Especially you.”

The pain that he could see in her eyes had him cradling her cheeks in his hands. “I'm sorry,” he said hoarsely.

She turned her face away, knowing that in about a second she would be crying. But he didn't leave her alone. Even as she hugged her clothes to her to put some distance between the two of them, his arms went around her and they tightened like steel bands, imprisoning her in his embrace.

She bit her lip to stop the evidence of her weakness from showing, but they were already falling from her eyes and wetting her sleeves.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” she heard him say, “Please don't cry,”

Hermione froze. “I'm not crying.”

“Yes,” Harry loosened his hold, but kept an arm around her as he gently lifted her face towards him, “you are.”

She shrugged out of his embrace and walked over to the bed. “No, I am not.”

She needed to distance herself from him. After hearing what he had to say about her, she no longer trusted herself to hear his words. They made her think. And what she had thought about was not something she needed right now.

“What are you doing here, your grace?”

Harry respected her need for privacy and didn't question the reason that she was crying. Besides, he fairly had an idea why.

“I wanted to apologize for what you heard,” he said stepping towards her, but when she flinched at the sound of his footsteps, he contented himself on staying where he was, “and explain the reason that I said that.”

She straightened to face him. “I accept your apology, your grace. I know you did not want me to hear that. It was my fault that I stayed. The conversation had obviously been a private one. It was just that, I thought no one had been inside, since the door was slightly opened. I entered without knocking. If truth be told, it is I who should feel sorry. Did I mention that it was my fault?”

She was rambling now, she knew, but that was the only way she could keep herself from lashing out the anger that she was feeling, and not to mention the hurt?

Has she mentioned that she was hurt?

Yes, well, she was…

“You are gracious, madam, to take blame. But I still need to explain,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Hermione turned away from him and walked across the room to retrieve her vanities. She didn't know why she wanted him to grovel. She didn't even want to marry him.

Right?

“Do not bother, your grace, I'm certain you had a very good reason.”

“I do,” he reiterated, desperate beyond belief to make her see how he never meant to hurt her, “Sirius wants us to get married.”

“And so do the rest of his family, and the guests, too, I imagine,” she laughed bitterly, “but no matter, no wedding would take place for sure. Who would want to be married to me, right? I mean, after what I heard, I wouldn't want to live with myself.”

“Hermione,” he croaked, “please, just let me explain. The reason that I said that was because I didn't want to marry you.”

Her eyes narrowed even as the words he said sipped into his own ears and he grimaced at the sound of it. “No…that's not…”

“Well that is expected, isn't it?” she interrupted calmly, too calmly for her taste, “I understand that I'm too frigid to be acceptable. And that I can't quite hold the other end of a conversation either for your interest. I can't imagine how you would want to marry someone like me.”

She wasn't the type to whine about anything, but his statement and its suddenness caught her off guard.

“Maybe that's why I haven't found the right man to wed. I'm still waiting for somebody who can stand my personality,” continued Hermione.

“I understand that you're mad about what I said,” he retorted, crossing his arms, “But how about me? You've expressed your hatred every time you see me, but I don't act this way!”

“No,” she shook her head and then gave him a pointed look, “you just go against my back and tell anybody who would listen how much I hate you.”

“That's not what I…God!” he exclaimed impatiently, throwing his hands in the air, “will you just hear me out?”

“The point is, Harry,” she said, surprising them both by saying his name, “I've heard enough.”

“Hermione…”

“Please,” she held up her hand to silence him, “I know I've been vocal about my feelings, but I'm sorry that I hate you. I don't even know why I'm angry even when what you said was true. But don't worry, your grace, after tonight, you will never have to deal with me or my hatred again.”

“What do you mean,” he asked, grabbing hold of her arms, searching her eyes, “you're sorry you hate me?”

“Don't go there,” she refused to meet his eyes, she put her hands on his chest and pushed him away as gently as she could, “please, just let me go. I need to go back to Ravenclaw Keep”

“And then what?” he asked, shaking her, “what do you plan on doing next?”

“Try to find somebody who will take the place of my father,” she muttered matter-of-factly, as if the answer had been obvious right from the start, “It's been so long since the estate had an earl, I daresay, it's about time I faced the responsibility of giving them one.”

“And how long have you had this crazy thought in your head?”

“It's not the question of how long I've though about it, but of how much longer I can keep pretending,” she replied, looking into his eyes and smiling.

It was the saddest thing he had ever seen, and Harry felt something pull at his gut, a feeling that he recognized as nerves.

“I've been avoiding marriage since I've come of age, hoping that I would find someone who's not in it for the estate. But now… now that I no longer have the reputation that I need for a suitable one, I'm afraid I have to go back to answer calls before news of what happened reaches Ravenclaw Keep. Maybe I'll finally find one who would…”

“No.” He interrupted her, gritting his teeth.

Hermione stared at him as if he'd just grown two more heads. “No?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Damn it to hell, you're not going to marry any one of them!”

Her eyes clouded with confusion, “Why not?!”

“Because you're going to marry me.”

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A/N:

So this one, I'm completely all right with. Although the ending quite didn't add up to what I wanted, I thought it had been just about right. I dare say, updates are pouring. If it weren't for the revisions, I would probably be writing chapter 15 now.

Anyway, I hope you review. Really. It would mean a lot to me. I kind of erased the chapter 13, and with it came 19 reviews. That had been heartbreak for me. I didn't even know what I was doing. I sort of erased it absentmindedly. Please be dears, and make up for the ones that I stupidly removed…

Thank you, and happy reading. I hope you liked this one.

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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“Because you're going to marry me.”

At first, Hermione was too stunned to speak, or even move. The words that Harry had spoken were as vague to her as the French phrases she had been forced to learn while growing up.

Did he really say she was going to marry him?

She waited for him to say more, or even take back the words that he obviously let out carelessly, but he didn't.

He was looking at her expectantly, breathing hard; not uttering so much as a single word that Hermione began to wonder whether he himself was aware of what he had said.

She opened her mouth, but only a small sound came out before she closed it again.

Harry gave her a little shake before ending the silence that had consumed the room in the space of a heartbeat. “Are you going to marry me or not?”

“What?! No!” said Hermione, pushing him away.

Puzzled, but not dejected her refusal, Harry followed her when she walked towards the dresser to retrieve her discarded clothing. “Why not?” he asked.

“I rather think you know the reason,” she replied simply, not even giving him the pleasure of looking sorry. When he only looked as if he were going to come up with an answer within a month or two, she exasperated. “Have you forgotten that…”

“You hate me? No, I haven't forgotten that,” he shook his head, giving her a sarcastic smile, “not when you constantly remind me with your kind words, my lady.”

Remembering the way he had pertained to her coldness earlier, Hermione gave him a smile through gritted teeth. “Well then. Now that we know the reason why I simply cannot marry you, you don't mind leaving, do you? I really have a lot of packing to do,”

She but all grabbed his arm and dragged him across her chambers. But before she could open the door for him, he braced his palm against it and turned around to face her. “What else do you want from me? I've already said I'll marry you.”

She granted Harry a mocking glance. “Pardon me for not accepting your heart-stopping proposal, your grace.”

He gave her a long look before smiling foolishly. “Is that what this is about?”

She refused to give him the pleasure of seeing her roll her eyes as she left him standing where he was and crossed the room to pick up the clothes she had dropped when he cornered her minutes ago.

Had it only been a few minutes?

It felt more like a lifetime between the Harry banging on her door like a wild man and the one asking for her hand in marriage.

Well, Hermione thought, technically he didn't ask the first time.

He sort of told her she would marry him.

The arrogant brute!

“I was right, wasn't I?” he claimed behind her, smirking for some reason, “you really do want me ask for your hand on one knee.”

Rubbing her forehead in impatience, she furiously bent to get her things off the floor and dumped them unceremoniously on her bed. “What I want is for you to leave my chambers. Not marriage. Not a husband. Not you.”

“Not a husband?” he repeated, moving forward, “But you are going back to Ravenclaw to search for one, are you not?”

“I've changed my mind,” Hermione reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Your reputation would suffer,” Harry reminded her in a singsong voice. What was he doing? Was he really trying to convince her to agree into marrying him?

“I find it unnecessary to save it since I do not even desire a husband with which it will be of most use,” she replied heatedly.

“And all that talk of finally giving your people the next Earl of Ravenclaw is what? Just something to thwart me?” Harry pointed out, splaying his hands as if he were merely asking as a bystander.

“Do you want to be the Earl of Ravenclaw?” Hermione challenged him, knowing full the meaning insinuated in her question.

“It will do more good than bad,” he shook his head, “I am already a duke, as you well know, but one more title would not hurt me.”

But the truth was, it will. To actually assume the title that had once belonged to the man whose daughter loathed his existence was definitely not in his list of aspirations.

Hermione gave him this long scrutinizing stare before shaking her head in disbelief and resumed her task. Harry felt as if she had already branded what was transpiring between them as a passing phase that would go away because she certainly did not seem to think that he was serious.

Despite the fact that he wasn't as certain as he had been when he said that he would marry her, he was a man of his word, and if he said he would and she heard it, there was no way he would back down, not even when she refused.

It didn't matter that he was sweating in his suit right now, or that his palms were as sweaty as they were when he was out in the field, toiling under the sun. All that mattered was that she remained in Sirius' mansion.

Something felt wrong, and he was certain of it. Although he was not exactly sure what was causing it, he would not risk Hermione's safety by letting her cavort halfway across Hogwarts to return to Ravenclaw.

The air seemed a little too still for his liking.

“Marry me,” he found himself saying again, hoping that she would agree, or even just say that she would think about it. At least, she would be staying in the mansion.

But what if she decided to think about it in Ravenclaw?

“No,” Hermione didn't even look at him and Harry felt like a kid having been refused of sweets.

“Why not?”

She straightened, and then looked at him, a sarcastic look had befallen upon her once poignant face, the tears that had clouded her vision were gone and the fiery spark that he was used to seeing was back. He almost smiled at the thought that he was the one who made her feel normal again, forgetting the fact that he had caused both emotions to surface from her.

“Was I warped back into time, your grace, because I seem to recall being through this discussion already,” she thoroughly sounded dumbfounded that he bit back a retort.

She didn't need another sarcastic reply, he surmised, what she needed was a serious reason for agreeing. But even as he scoured his mind on different explanations, he couldn't come up with a good one…for her, that is.

He cautiously approached Hermione, and when she didn't show any sign of protest, he grew even more courageous.

“You hate me, I know. You've clearly stated---and shown---and reminded me---as much,” Harry began teasingly, and then took both her hands in his, tightening when she began to struggle, “but out there are people talking about us. As much as I do not care that they are, we need to do what is expected.”

“No, we don't,” she replied, still trying to twist her hands free.

Ignoring her, he continued. “How can we earn the respect of our estates when we, ourselves, do not respect the very law that governs them?”

Hermione stopped struggling, his words appearing to have an effect on her.

This time, he triumphantly grinned, she would agree.

Slowly, almost reverently, she brought her face up to meet his and Harry felt his heart pounding strongly against his chest. His gaze slipped from her eyes and onto her lips, waiting with bated breath as they formed one word.

“No.”

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Somewhere outside the mansion, a burly man stood, shoulders hunched, neck strained, as he gazed up at the sky. The clouds were looming near once more, threatening the world below of a brewing storm. He wondered whether the cold was from the weather or just the chill of the crime that was to happen in any minute.

Two men working with him approached cautiously, unsure of what mood he was in.

“Is everything ready?” He asked without looking at the man.

“Aye,” the smaller of the two replied, his head nodding twice. This one was in charge of the lookout for their target, and while the other was one of the bandits who were consigned to position themselves outside the Black Mansion and wait for further orders.

Mason jeered. “Good.”

Following his gaze, one of the balding bandits licked his lips, his tongue flicking at the thought of the beauty that he was to behold that night, beside him, his companion looked just as heinous. “While the miss is with me lads and me, surely we could…”

“Nay,” he hissed, “touch her or Lord Riddle will have yer heads.”

With one last look of contempt, they turned around and disappeared into the darkness of the night.

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Harry blinked twice. “What do you mean no?”

“Are we back to this again?” asked Hermione, looking away, “I've already told you my reason, there is nothing more to say, your grace.”

“Yes, yes, you hate me, I know,” Harry could no longer contain his impatience, already aware that they would be cursing each other by the end of the evening, again, “Well, you're not the only one who feels that way, madam, because right now, I find you insufferable as well.”

“All the more reason you should not be forcing me to agree, don't you think?” she held her stance, refusing to be swayed by his scorching voice.

“You're right, I ought to stop making a fool of myself by asking an ungrateful brat such as yourself to marry me,” he agreed, nodding menacingly, and then bearing down on her with his full height, “but you know what? I think I will not.”

“What?” Hermione gasped at his sudden nearness. “Why?”

“Because unlike you, my sweet, I am willing to give up my freedom in order to right the situation that you have brought upon us. Or need I remind you that…?”

“For God's sake, stop blaming me for your fall!” Hermione interrupted, feeling disgraced even though it really was somewhat her fault that he did, “You fell because you didn't trust me enough to handle such a simple thing as riding on my own.”

“Well, now at least you know how it feels to be blamed irrationally!” Harry retorted, then he smiled at her mockingly, “It doesn't feel great, does it? No, not when you have done nothing but follow your principles.”

Hermione could barely control her hands from tightening into fists at her side. “For your information, I blame you for my father's death because you had the chance to save him, but you chose not to. Because of your own selfish reasons, he didn't even have the chance to live!”

“Don't patronize me by telling me that I had been the only person who could have rescued your father,” he said scornfully, “You were the reason he was kidnapped. All you had to do was agree to marry that heir of Riddle, but you didn't. So why don't I see you blaming yourself for your father's death?!”

“How did you…?” The look of shock on Hermione's face instantly sobered Harry.

“Yes, I know about the deal. Sirius told me.”

Hermione looked away angrily. “He had no right.”

“He only said that because it was inevitable. It was bound to come up in any conversation we had about you. And I'm glad he told me. You were spitting fire at me since the moment we met; it was about time I finally had an idea what was causing your anger,” Harry defended, bracing one hand up against the post of her bed, “You clearly do not have any idea how much distress you're causing me, when you yourself are accountable for what has happened to you.”

“Why, you!” she jabbed at him, hurt slashing in her eyes now, the pain of remembering what she had been through all those years alone searing her heart, “You have no right to yell at me for something you don't even know about. If I had my own way, I would have done anything to spare his life.”

“Then don't blame me!” Harry threw his hands in the air, “You had what it took to save him, but you had the audacity to shift the responsibility to me. Had it ever occurred to you that I had a practical reason for not agreeing to your request?”

“What would you have expected of me? My father's life was in my hands. I would have married Riddle's heir had my father allowed me to do so,” she muttered heatedly.

“Of course he wouldn't have allowed you to marry the man!” Harry exclaimed, “You were his daughter, for crying out loud!”

She stared at him for his indirect justification regarding her actions, and then she took a deep breath, “You were our last resort, did you know that? I had great confidence that he would survive in your hands. But you didn't even give him the chance.”

“And that makes you the lesser of two evils?” Harry asked, his tone matching hers, “Just because I had the chance to rescue him, when you couldn't?”

“It's not about me!” she exasperated, hot tears burning her eyes again, “When I saw you that night, and you made it clear that you were not going to do anything, you destroyed the image that I had created in my head. An image that I pictured about you the first time I heard of your existence.”

“What image might that have been? A superhero?” he mocked.

Ignoring him, she continued, “I had hoped that you would bring back my father. But you turned out to be this disappointment that caused me the only person who understood me more than anything!”

“Whatever stories you've heard about me, my lady, had to have either been exaggerations or lies. I was not indestructible.”

“No, but you were supposed to be this dueler who had yet to fail in a mission,” she muttered grudgingly, then she shook her head, “Why are we even discussing this? No matter how hard I try to explain myself, you only mock me for whatever reasons I tell you.”

“If I promise to understand you for hating me, will you agree to marry me?”

His question had been brought up so surprisingly that it took Hermione another second to actually understand what he was saying. After that heated argument, he still had the nerve to offer his name to her?

“What would it take for you to understand that marriage is not the solution to this problem?” she asked, not even bothering to accept or decline his proposal, “Actually, it's only your problem. I don't care about people talking about what happened. As long as I know I am innocent, why should I bother myself about what others have to say?”

“It may only be my problem, but suffice it to say, you have brought it upon me,” Harry crossed his arms, staring at her like a madman.

Hermione gripped bed's ledge so hard her knuckles turned white. “For the last time, your fall was not my fault. I did not tell your horse to trip over that log on the path. I did not tell you to take your eyes off the road. And I most certainly did not tell you to worry about whether I could handle myself or not.”

“You are in no position me to tell me whether my reason for seeing to your safety was necessary,” Harry grabbed her hands, “and you know what else I think? Were you the one injured, you would have blamed me for your fall. Yes, I can see now, you'd probably say that I had been too selfish to care for your safety, not even bothering to look back and warn you!”

“I would have not!” cried Hermione in indignation.

“Yes, you would have. Because you have always been a coward to take the blame for the things you're responsible of. It's so much easier for you to blame others because that way, your image would not be ruined,” Harry said, scowling at her. “Well, guess what, my lady, it already is ruined. And the only way out is through marriage to me!”

“That's just you, isn't it? Always doing what you want and expecting others to just follow you without saying anything,” she tossed her head side to side, “I am not one of your puppets, and I'm not a dog who would come blindly to you on a leash.”

“And you think you're better? You think you're this compelling woman who can get away with anything just because you believe you have the right? Think again, Hermione, because all I can see in you is a hard head that is so stubborn it has forgotten to tell the difference between a right and a duty.”

“Duty?! It is not my duty to marry just because I was seen in a cottage with a man! Was I to have just stayed out in the cold and died, rather than spare my life under the warm comfort of a roof? If society endeavors for every woman's life to be at peace, then it is only justifiable for me to have a life to begin with,” she cried out.

Harry splayed his hands, willing now to level with her. “Then do not do it as a duty to the society, do it for your people. They have been waiting for years to have somebody lead them. Do no tell me that you are an unfeeling woman to keep them hoping much longer.”

“And you are the right lord for them?” she scoffed, “Do not flatter yourself.”

“I am not so arrogant as to present myself the very best choice, but destiny has chosen me to be your husband, against my will, if it is any consolation.”

“It is not,” she shook her head, narrowing her eyes, “A consolation would be something to make me feel better, and you do not. I cannot even see why you're still trying to convince me when you yourself look as if you prefer drinking hemlock to marriage.”

“So you would rather keep pretending and fooling the people than give them the right you're enjoying yourself?” he asked, pursing his lips, “Or do you plan to choose randomly among them who would best fit the spot beside you? Are you not worried that some lecher would take advantage of your recklessness?”

“Recklessness?” she gasped, “I do not care for any more of your queries, your grace.”

“Then answer my question,” he stepped towards her again, using his towering height to emphasize his power, “Will you marry me or not?”

“When I shall be concerned enough to marry, I will never even have second thoughts accepting your offer,” She waited for a moment, looking up at him with those brown eyes of hers, and then slapping him hard across the face, “Because I would die first before I even allow myself to consider marrying the likes of you! You're worse than a lecher, you're…”

“You outrageous hellion!”

He grabbed her hard, hearing her muffled scream before crushing her mouth to his, pouring his frustrations for the last four days into the kiss that he was taking unwillingly from her. His hand clung to the back of her head, keeping her mouth locked with his even as his lips forced hers to part.

He had no idea what made him kiss her when he had meant to subdue. But she had been so fired up and he frustrated that he could no longer contain the desire that he felt, even as they sparred with words. He wanted to punish her, yet revere her as he would the Lord's Angels.

She was hitting him, rather painfully, if he were to stop and think how hard she was trying to free herself. But he was too busy trying to bend her will to him to care what she was doing. On its own volition, his free arm snaked its way around her waist, imprisoning her fully against him, her arms flattening against his chest.

Following his instincts, his fingers, the one that were behind her head, began to move down, stopping and then caressing the nape of her neck, his thumb brushing against it like a butterfly's wings, making her shiver.

And then, without warning, her lips parted.

Sensing victory, he claimed her with his tongue, darting in her mouth as a warrior would in victory, tentatively touching the contours of it at first, and then boldly circling, savoring her sweet taste, neither aware nor unaware that she was no longer pushing him away.

Burning with desire, he moved forward, pressing his hips to hers, showing her how much he wanted her, and just when she thought she couldn't take more, she caught her knees on the bed. She came tumbling backwards, taking him with her, his arms still wrapped around her, his weight pushing her down onto the mattress.

She tried to press him away, but he was beyond his senses, and so did she become when his lips left hers, only to mark her in more places. She moaned as they grazed the soft spot just behind her ear, his breath fanning her face.

“'Mione,” he whispered, pressing soft little kisses on her neck, making his way to the hollow beneath her throat.

His hand was on her waist now, bunching up the dress that she was wearing while his other hand began to play with her wrist, caressing the inner side of it as his lips found hers again.

She jerked in surprise when she felt his bare hand caress her thigh. It was a soft touch, one that she could have not felt had it not been for him having awakened something in her, something sensitive she had not known existed until that very moment, and Hermione began to shiver in unknown delight.

She felt his hand glide upward, melting in anticipation of what was to come next, not knowing what to feel, having no experience or whatsoever with the sensations he was making her feel. Just as she was about to find out exactly what it was that women raged about, he stopped.

Hermione could only blink in surprise and dismay at the suspension. She was breathing hard, and so was he as he took his weight off her, looking at her with a tentative smile on his face, no doubt feeling quite smug at what he caused.

She felt a turmoil of feelings well up inside her as thoughts came to life once more, the warmth that caused their loss, no longer with her.

“You bastard,” she murmured, gripping the sheets tightly, and then when she had the nerve to look himself in the eye, she flinched when she saw those green ones of his darken. She instantly had the feeling that it was not what he wanted to hear.

Breathing hard, Harry lifted himself off her, getting off the bed altogether. With one last long look at her, he made his way towards the door. Halfway across the room, he stopped and turned his head, enough for her to only see his profile.

What she saw on his face made her heart leap in remorse.

“When you shall be concerned enough to marry, think of what I made you feel before you choose to die first. Maybe, you will be wise enough to make the right decision.”

With that, he completed his exit and slammed the door in his wake, leaving Hermione speechless for the first time since they'd met.

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Behind the door, Harry couldn't quite make himself leave, nor could he get himself to think about the consequences of what his irrational thoughts made him do.

“Son of a bitch,” he murmured savagely, leaning back on the heavy wooden doors, exhaustion overtaking him.

What made him pounce on her like that?

He had but all taken her fully, nearly losing himself!

The combination of his frustration over her refusal and his pent-up desire had exploded within him in a split of a second, and during that moment, he had been so blinded to consider anything else but his own craving.

Never had he felt that intense need to make a woman burn before, and not once had he experienced that kind of consuming passion from any of the other women he'd been with.

He still couldn't quite understand how he could hate her and want her at the same time.

This was more than the case of opposites attracting, and he couldn't have agreed more that he and Hermione had more differences than similarities. But this didn't explain why he kept losing his mind every time he came close to her.

But he wished he could say the same with her.

In every moment that they'd spent together, she seemed to feel nothing else for him but loathing, making sure that he knew it without missing a single day.

And to think that right after that kiss he had been about to propose to her properly?

She would have never agreed.

Nor would she have ever forgiven him had he decided to take her innocence, Hell, he wouldn't have forgiven himself for losing the control to do so. She was stubborn and overly prideful, but she didn't deserve to be robbed off something that was rightfully hers to give.

He doubted whether she will ever allow herself to be near him, after what he had done. Bloody hell it was, he no longer trusted himself to be with her. So he could do no more than leave with harsh words to make sure that she didn't come to him for his apologies.

It was better that she feared him enough to avoid him.

But if she had to hate him---more---she had to bear doing it while she was under Sirius' protection. Because no matter what she'd say or do, he would not allow her to leave the mansion until his uncertainties for her safety were put to rest.

Harry had the feeling that between her in danger and her hating him, he preferred Hermione's spite.

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A/N:

Whew! I thought I would never get this one updated tonight. But there you go. Um, I tried to Restricted rating, even though nothing much has happened yet, just to make sure I'm not offending anyone, but my story disappeared after I did that, so I had to return it to PG-13..

I hope you liked the chapter. I had a bit of trouble with the dialogue. I had to make them longer because the chapter was too short. And I hope that I didn't anger any one of you by not making Hermione accept his proposal, it does have a purpose, and I'll make sure you find out in the next chapter. Please, please, please bear with me!

Thank you, again, for reading, and I hope that this time, you review…hahaha!

Until the next chapter then…

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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A/N:

I have decided to cut the first part of the original chapter to fill in the slot for chapter 15 so that what you would be reading would be the revised edition only, and not the introduction that some of you might have already read at least once…

I am warning you, this chapter is merely the introduction to the next, so don't expect much…

I don't expect new readers would review for this, so after you finish reading, you can go ahead to the next chapter…

I wouldn't even review for this one if I were the one who read it.

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To say that he was frustrated was a masterpiece of an understatement.

Harry couldn't even find the words to express his irritation. He was beyond frustration. In fact, he was close to abandoning his vow never to approach her again by storming to and confronting her about her behavior, treating him as if he didn't exist in her world.

It wasn't that she was treating him badly. Indeed, he would have been happier was she throwing snide remarks at him. The Lord knew he was used to her ferocious temper by now!

But what irritated him was that he barely even received notice from her. He wouldn't be surprised if he found out he had fallen off the face of the earth.

He had expected this, of course, knowing that what he did warranted such a conduct. But it still irked him that she could act as if nothing happened, while he was trying hard merely not to locate her whereabouts every five minutes or so.

It had been two days since the night he proposed, and it had been two days as well since they had said a word to each other. Harry vowed to use his assault as an advantage to get rid of his feelings for her, but he didn't count on her using it for her own cause.

For some reason, which Harry didn't even want to contemplate on, Hermione had managed to steer clear of his presence without looking as if she were really trying.

Whenever he was inside, playing cards with the gentlemen, Hermione seemed to find it comforting to spend the day outside, strolling in the gardens, or just enjoying the scenery. Now when Harry swore that it was a blessed day for a ride, Hermione thought it fitting to stay inside, saying she needed to catch up with the other ladies.

Harry had to smirk at this, knowing that no force on earth strong enough could make her interested in what they had to say, except perhaps, he bitterly thought, him.

He wanted this to happen, he reminded himself, but all he could think was how stupid he had been to give her a reason to avoid him. Because of what happened, he couldn't even approach Hermione to remind her to stay in Sirius' house and implore anyone to accompany her wherever she went, the washroom excluded, of course.

He had not told his godfather yet what transpired, dreading another long sermon from him regarding the innocence of women and seducing them when they had no knowledge of what was taking place.

Harry would swear to heaven, if he were to tell Sirius everything, that Hermione had been no giddy schoolgirl regarding what happened. He was certain of her innocence all right, just not her ignorance.

She was, after all, the same age as he.

The door to the billiards room banged open as Harry projected his anger on it. The sound was very disturbing, even to his ears as the splitting crash reverberated across the room and out into the hall.

Cursing silently for the damage he must have done to the door's knob and hinges, he entered the playroom, shoving aside the innocent chair that was minding its own business near the bar as he walked over to the cue cabinet.

He took the one that he favored and crossed the room, stopping when he saw that the door that led to the balcony was ajar. Frowning, he set his cue stick on one of the billiards table and with languid steps, approached the entrance to the veranda.

Could she be there? He asked himself, remembering all too well the night that he and Hermione had met that first time.

Would he actually find her in the balcony exactly as he had three months ago?

Shaking his head at the foolish notion of fate letting them meet exactly in the same manner, he pushed the half closed side of the door towards its mate, hearing a click when the lock fell into place.

Harry knew it was quite silly, but he couldn't resist taking a momentary glance outside just to make sure. It was a weird feeling, confusion. One never knew what to make of it.

He stepped back and allowed his mind to register what he saw.

Nothing.

No one was there.

No one was bent over the ledge, trying to hide some cards.

He sighed, the sound foreign to his ears. He was not certain whether he felt disappointed or relieved that Hermione had not managed to sneak out of wherever she was to find her way over here.

But who was he kidding, anyway?

If she didn't hate him entirely before, she certainly did now.

He turned around and walked over to where his cue stick was lying against the table. He grabbed the stick, and then dropped it down again. Suddenly, he didn't find himself quite up to playing anymore.

So, he walked over to the bar, got behind it and opened the cabinet where decanters of whiskey were. He poured himself a greedy amount of liquor in a goblet and decided to take in some fresh air.

Perhaps the wind of the cold night would dissipate his sourly mood.

He had barely closed the door that led to the balcony, when the one on the opposite side of the room burst open.

He plastered himself at the corner near the glass doors, his heart thumping madly as he waited for the person who would enter, but he didn't look. He was too busy wishing his thoughts would come alive to bother spying.

“You have so much cockiness for your own good, do you know that?” Came a voice that he recognized all too well.

Harry relaxed, not quite happy, yet not too angry either, and walked over to the ledge, not bothering to make his presence known to his present company.

“No.” He heard Ron's laugh as he presumably entered the room, followed by Luna.

Leaning towards the ledge, Harry sipped his whiskey and looked far beyond the overpowering land of his godfather. It was dark, but the moon provided enough light for him to appreciate his view without having to squint much.

Behind him he could hear Ron arranging the billiards set.

It looked like they were going to be here for a while, he sighed.

He didn't mind their presence, although he was certainly not up to joining them. It was not advisable, when he was in a disagreeable mood. Besides, he had no desire nor need for company.

Or perhaps if he did…

It was not theirs that he wanted…

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Luna rolled her eyes at her husband as he tried to sink the ball into the corner pocket and then miss terribly. After a half hour of doing nothing but miss shots, you would think that he would have gotten an idea by now.

“I am poor at this sport,” he announced, straightening and then sending her a wolfish grin.

“I hadn't noticed,” Luna smiled all innocently. Ron chucked her under the chin and moved around the table, measuring distance, as if doing so would improve his game. Luna gazed forlornly at her husband. It was a few minutes before she let out a breath.

“Hermione's been acting strange,” she alighted from the chair she had been seating on and walked around the table to face her Ron.

“What do you mean?”

“She's not been really herself lately,” Luna shook her head, “I mean, she's really not very loquacious, but even her silence now is quite disconcerting.”

“Perhaps it has something to do with the gossips moving about,” Ron aimed for the ball and hit. The white one knocked the red ball into the farthest corner, and it fell in, marking his first successful shot. Ron straightened and grinned at Luna, expecting her to be smiling over his triumph. But she wasn't, and his smile turned into a frown.

“It does seem to be more overwhelming now that no news of marriage or even a betrothal has been mentioned,” she murmured quietly, “I found her packing her belongings the other night. She told me she wanted to return to Ravenclaw.”

The information had Ron's full interest. “It's been 5 years since she set her eyes on her own estate. It would be healthy for her if she did return.”

Luna shook her head; the concern in her eyes told him that she was worried. Her voice was cold but soft when she interjected. “Ravenclaw may be her home, but there are just too many bad memories there. If I were her, I'd rather not set a foot in that place again.”

“I know, darling.”

Luna sighed. “She wouldn't be so eager to leave if Harry just treated her kindly.”

“He is not cruel to her.”

“That's because he doesn't let anybody see. Hermione says Harry does not like her. I told her it was a given since she did not like him as well. I said that Harry only gives back what he receives.”

Ron shook his head at her, wanting to defend his best friend. “You can't blame him if she thinks he is vindictive, she has not been any kinder.”

“That's true.”

----------------------------

Behind them, Harry straightened.

After half an hour of listening to them banter and bicker, his ears were already sharp enough to hear Luna's whisper. It didn't come off as a surprise that he was able to hear his name despite the fact that she barely uttered it.

They had been talking about Hermione, he figured that much, and he had been certain that in some point of the conversation, they were going to enter him in it. He thought he wouldn't mind, but when the time came that he actually heard his name, he became curious as to what either one had to say.

He silently crept to the wall beside the door and listened, hoping to hear more of what they were talking about. It wasn't something he figured he wanted to know…

He knew in his guts, it was something he needed to know.

Ron's voice came next, and he crept closer, as much as the space would allow him to without letting them see him. “Harry does not know much about Hermione. It is not his fault if he treats her the way he does.”

“I know. I'm sorry. It's just that, she does not deserve to be played at anymore. She has enough scars to last her a lifetime.”

Harry frowned. Suffering? He was aware the death of Hermione's father had been quite a blow, but they talked about it as if she was still carrying a burden that 7 years of mourning had not been able to take away.

“If only he just makes the effort to know her, maybe he will come to understand,” Harry heard the whimper in her voice as if she was trying hard no to cry and frowned.

Why was everybody treating him a villain for not understanding Hermione?

Was it his fault that he found her accusations a bit too much?

Then she laughed. “You would think that an afternoon in that cottage would have done them a world of good. But they still ended up the same way.”

If she was wondering how he and Hermione had not been able to mend their differences during that time in the cottage, Harry was sure that Luna believed them to be in love. He found the idea absurd because that was the farthest thing they felt for each other.

It would be a little too soon for her, and a little too impossible for him.

“He said he slept most of the time they were there,” Ron shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling the hair at his nape prickle at Harry's scrutiny, “She was concentrated on healing his wounds.”

Luna nodded and then sighed as the ball Ron had hit slid into the pocket easily. She allowed herself to smile first at her husband before turning becoming serious.

But what Luna thought of that afternoon in the cottage was the farthest thing in Harry's mind as of the moment, because what concerned him was the fact that Ron and Luna seemed to know much about Hermione's feelings for him.

He wondered whether they also knew the reason, and swallowed at the thought that if they did, they probably knew as well about his past as a dueler.

He heard Luna's footsteps as they neared the door to the balcony. She was standing between the door's frames, and were she to turn her head; she would catch a glimpse of his form. He was glad the night had turned darker.

As if she heard his queries, she voiced out in a breathy whisper. “I still cannot believe that Harry was a dueler.”

“Nor can I,” came Ron's reply, and he sighed, “I feel guilty having listened to his story that night.”

“It was not our fault,” Luna said indignantly, whipping about to face her husband, “His voice carried itself out of the study. We did not plan to be there the exact moment it did.”

So that was how they know, he mused. He shook his head. It never particularly mattered to him how. What he wanted to know was what they thought of him now. Did they see him as a murderer exactly as Hermione saw him? If they did, how could they even bear to be in the same room as he?

Harry's heart pounded as he waited for what would come as a declaration of disgust.

“I do not blame him, though,” Ron's voice rang in his ears, his words catching him by surprise, “I admire him for it actually.”

“I do as well,” Luna nodded, smiling, “From what I heard, he had to do what he did. He was struggling to survive. Polly Smith is reason enough for me to understand.”

Harry sighed inwardly. At first, he thought he had the reason to be mad that they knew. But it had been an accident. All the more reason he should be celebrating, if nothing else. He had actually found genuine concern within these two and he wasn't about to go messing it up by berating them for intruding on his privacy.

“I don't agree entirely with Hermione,” Ron began to arrange the billiards set he had left on the table and Luna returned inside to help him, “It was by accident that Harry became involved. He does not deserve to be considered her enemy, when the truth is, Harry was as much a victim as she. Tom Riddle killed his parents as well. He's been through hell because of him.”

“Perhaps she should blame it on somebody else. I don't see how she cannot blame Lady Allyson, she had much input in it as Harry.”

“Maybe she should just learn to forgive both of them?”

“But it does not really make it better for Hermione, does it?”

Harry's fists clenched at his sides. They were talking about Hermione as if she were made of glass that could break any minute. Her father died, and she was left to care for an entire estate. He could picture how it had been a burden for her. But her solution had been simple. She just needed to learn how to run an estate, the way he had when he was found five years ago.

Sirius told him how Hermione's been through a lot ever since the earl was killed, but no one had given him yet a clue just how `a lot' meant. Was he to assume that it was more than what he made of it?

“But he does not know that.”

Unable to keep himself from staying put any longer, he detached himself from the wall he had been leaning on and stepped inside, they had their back on him, and so when he spoke, both jumped in surprise.

“Then tell me.”

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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A/N:

After a long period of writer's block, I felt that it was time I should give you the next chapters for Caught in the Past, just so you know that I never planned on abandoning this fic.

I was just quite angry with myself for coming up with insufficiently thought out chapters that I had to pause for a while to gather my thoughts. I sincerely hope that this would be the last time I will ever have to put a revised one.

Contrary to what some may think, I'm not mad at the readers who had been honest enough to tell me what they think about the revisions. But I would just like to stress that if people think it's quite annoying to read something over and over again, it is more than annoying to actually have to write over and over again.

I think it's only fair that the chapters, albeit they were uncalled for, be given some credit.

Anyway, I hope you find this chapter favorable. And don't worry; I made most of it different because I couldn't remember anymore what I wrote before.

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“Then tell me.”

Harry couldn't remember a time when he had rendered both his friends speechless. And if it weren't for the direness of the situation, he would have gone over to their side and closed both their mouths, which had dropped in surprise by his sudden appearance.

“Harry,” Luna recovered first. She bit her lip as she looked over to her husband who was still having a hard time recovering. She turned her attention back to him and smiled apologetically, although Harry didn't even look the least bit offended. “I assume you heard everything.”

“Quite the contrary,” he drawled in solemnity, “I'm still waiting to hear the rest.”

“I'm not entirely sure whether the matter should be discussed by us, Harry,” she said, wringing her hands uncomfortably. “It's Hermione's story to tell.”

“Don't even try, Luna,” Harry warned, his eyes turning to slits. “You and I both know that even if I begged, Hermione would never reveal anything she thinks would make her vulnerable to me.”

Luna had to agree with him in silence as Ron regained his composure. He cleared his throat and placed a hand on his wife's shoulder to still her from responding. “Perhaps it's time Harry learns something about the woman who hates him.”

“Ron,” Luna began to protest, but every bone and nerve in her body was told her it was time to settle whatever dispute there was between the sparring couple.

“I know she's not going to like this, but Harry is not a man to be kept in the dark. He will find out sooner or later. It is better he found out now.”

Harry looked on as the two debated on whether or not they would share Hermione's past.

As Ron was his best friend, Harry knew that it took a great deal of courage for him to actually stand up to his wife, whom he adored completely. But if Luna were to resist further, the situation must be far too dire for his care, and he might not want to hear it after all.

But the mystery of it all was excruciating.

He wanted to find out.

Hell, he needed to find out.

“Well, all right,” Luna finally nodded her head, although it was done with quite some reluctance. She shot her husband a look of exasperation before turning to Harry. “But I get to tell the story.”

Ron merely shrugged, crossed his arms and leaned back on one of the high bar stools.

Despite her bravado to keep it cool while telling Hermione's life story, Luna couldn't help but feel guilty on what she was about to do. She was one of the few people Hermione trusted, yet here she was, trading one loyalty for another.

Luna looked so fretful that Harry wondered whether she really was going to be able to handle herself. More importantly, he didn't trust himself to endure the story, if what he could see in Luna's eyes were true.

“Hermione's mother died minutes after giving birth. It was not expected since she had been very healthy even before delivery. Uncle Robert grieved over their loss, but he knew Hermione needed a mother to care for her. After a year of mourning, as required, he sought for a wife during the season. He returned months later with a new countess,” she paused, seeing the blank confusion in Harry's face. “I don't know if you are aware that she has one…”

“Hermione mentioned she had a stepmother, yes…” Harry nodded, remembering the night that she said how her stepmother had always been opposed to what she wanted to do, and then he frowned, sensing that her misery had been caused by the woman.

“Lady Allyson was - if one were to be polite - very regal. She came from an aristocratic family and was brought up with a firm hand. She was the belle of every ball, and just like most of the chits who had made their debut, she sought for an excellent match with someone of noble birth. Uncle Robert seemed the most eligible then and she sought to be in good terms with him.”

“Do I smell pretension in this story?” Harry asked, crossing his arms.

Luna sighed wearily and nodded. “She was very ambitious. She was clearly aware of Uncle Robert's status in Hogwarts and she knew that once she was married to him, she would be one of the most revered women.”

“And Lord Granger didn't notice?” Harry asked again, disbelief written all over his face.

“Uncle Robert only saw what she wanted him to see. He believed her to be gentle and principled. In his mind, nothing else mattered except that Lady Allyson would make a very good guardian for Hermione.”

“But she wasn't,” Harry surmised, “If she were pretending to be somebody she was not. If you ask me, he'd been rather rash in his selection.”

“Their betrothal had been too short for Uncle Robert to see what was in front of him. What was really maddening about everything is that even after their marriage; Uncle Robert remained oblivious to the intentions of Lady Allyson.”

“And what were they?”

“She wanted the estates for herself. And to secure that position, she needed an heir. But Uncle Robert had other ideas in his mind,” Luna shook her head in nostalgia.

“What ideas?”

“When Uncle Robert chose Lady Allyson, he only had Hermione in mind. He married her so she could be a mother, not a wife,” In spite herself, Luna giggled naughtily. “Lady Allyson thought that she had everything planned, but Uncle Robert wouldn't even come to her bed. He was constantly at his daughter's side since she was a baby. He even had a bed placed near her cradle so he could sleep beside her every night.”

“I wager that didn't settle all too well with the countess.”

“She was more than furious. But she didn't show it. She let Uncle Robert believe she was satisfied,” Luna stood up and began to pace. “And she was a good actress, too. For quite some time, she had him convinced she loved Hermione. In Uncle Robert's eyes, Lady Allyson was most ideal.”

“But she wasn't,” Harry whispered somberly, a sinking feeling in his stomach telling him where the story was going.

“She wasn't,” Luna confirmed with a sad gaze.

“What happened?” he finally asked, barely able to let the question remain hanging in the air.

“Uncle Robert was a man of great responsibilities. He was the Keeper of Ravenclaw Estates. As an earl, he was the second highest among the leaders of Hogwarts and was in alliance with the Duke and Duchess of Gryffindor, your parents. When they were murdered and you disappeared, that was the time that his work became greater. He had been the one responsible for straightening the mess that your aunt and uncle created when they claimed the right to the Gryffindor Estates. Because of the legalities over the situation, he needed to play close attention to the case and was often away from Ravenclaw. Because of this, he failed to see what was happening in his very own home.”

“And what was happening exactly?” Harry wondered aloud, still reeling about the thought that Lord Granger was the reason he still had Gryffindor in his hands today.

Luna straightened, her eyes distant as she recalled the tales that the servants at Ravenclaw Mansion told her each time she managed to visit Hermione.

She took a deep breath.

“While other tutors or governesses knew how important it was to be gentle to children, Lady Allyson had a different notion. Because of the idea that she was not to be the countess forever, she began to hate Hermione. The sight of her, the servants said, made her angrier each day. And Hermione was barely more than a year old at the time to notice how her stepmother felt…”

“Hermione needed someone to be a mother to her, and she sought the affection of Lady Allyson whenever she could. Even as a baby, she was aware of what she lacked and she had clung to the hope that Lady Allyson would fill in what was missing. But it was not enough that she ignored Hermione even when she was standing right in front of her, Lady Allyson just had to berate Hermione each time she made a mistake. And because she couldn't seem to say anything good about her, Hermione started to believe she did nothing right…”

“Uncle Robert would be gone three months at a time, and each time he returned, it had only been for but a couple of weeks. At first, he didn't notice that his daughter was not developing emotionally, but after finding her in her room, crying her eyes out - she was three then - Uncle Robert finally realized what was happening.”

“What did he do?”

Luna shook her head and squared her shoulders. “At first, everybody thought he would divorce Lady Allyson. She certainly had not been the ideal mother he initially had in mind. But everybody was surprised that the only punishment she received from neglecting his daughter was a couple of months' probation in which Lady Allyson would have to spend all her time with Hermione. If she didn't agree with or complete his proposition, she would be forced to leave the mansion with a ruined reputation.”

“Quite the protective father, was he,” Harry murmured, still unable to appreciate Lord Granger's efforts to compensate for his absence. “If he weren't away from Hermione all those times, he would have seen what was happening all along.”

Luna shook her head in disagreement. “You didn't know Uncle Robert. If he could have, he would have stayed home with her. But he had a duty to Ravenclaw Estate. And with your parents gone, his responsibilities doubled. Father (Sirius) couldn't have handled the matters alone without Uncle Robert.”

“But I'll tell you this,” Luna continued when Harry remained silent. “He had been Hermione's champion, in many more times than she could count. If it weren't for him, Hermione would not be who she is today.”

“Tell me more about what happened during the probation,” Harry commanded softly, not really ready to accept the reasons Lord Granger had been a good father, because if he did, then he would also be justifying the reasons that Hermione hated him.

He was not ready to accept defeat yet and agree that there was nothing more holding him back from admitting what was really between them.

Luna nodded briskly, but not really understanding Harry. “As agreed, Lady Allyson spent all her precious time with Hermione, playing with her, teaching her alphabet, and showing her how to play the pianoforte. As the days passed by, Hermione began to grow fond of Lady Allyson, but no one could really tell how Lady Allyson felt. Uncle Robert seemed to have been satisfied with the progress that he lifted the probation on Lady Allyson and placed Hermione's education in her hands instead.”

“And she had been so thrilled, I imagine,” Harry mumbled sarcastically.

“Actually, she didn't bother to fulfill that duty…” Luna clasped her hands together. “Uncle Robert didn't exactly say she should be the one to teach Hermione herself. So she cleverly foiled his intentions by hiring a tutor for her.”

“That had to have been much better. At least it wasn't this Allyson who had full responsibility,” Harry interrupted.

“It's Lady Allyson,” Luna corrected, “She always made it a point to correct someone who did not call her that. And even with the tutor, nothing had become better.”

“I gather the story's not yet done.”

“It's barely started,” Luna whispered.

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Outside the very mansion in which Harry continued to listen to Luna, the very subject of their discussion was poised and ready to step into the carriage that would take her away from this place, the witness of a heartache more painful than she'd ever experienced before.

But even as she let herself be assisted by the footman standing attentively beside her, she couldn't help but think that there was something awfully wrong with what she was doing.

It wasn't that she was eager to see her home, but more of the fact that she was rather fervent to increase the distance between her and the man who'd given her a thousand reasons for confusion.

The feeling bothered her, but it was not enough to make her look back at the place she was leaving behind. A senight had been enough to proclaim her weak; a day more would make her surrender.

What kind was she if she were to love her enemy?

Could she forgive herself for being a coward and running away?

Two days had passed since she last talked to Harry. Even a glimpse of him, she had not seen. Though part of it was her own doing, she couldn't very well say that he had gone through hell to have their paths cross.

Oh, but she knew he was there, always hovering somewhere, watching and waiting.

If she weren't feeling so dreadful, she would have found it comical the way his decisions kept changing. One night he was asking her to marry him, then the next day he was avoiding her like a plague.

And his moods! Why did he even have them? Weren't men supposed to be simple-minded creatures that only have few things in their mind? She didn't want to play games with him, but as it turned out, he was more than willing to include her in his quests.

She didn't even want him, but there she was, still wondering about what would have happened had she accepted his proposal.

Well, no more of this cat and mouse chase!

She had had enough.

She was going back to her home and do just exactly what she had dared she would do two nights ago. The moment she arrived in Ravenclaw, the first thing she would embark on was to entertain the suitors who would knock on her door.

After seven years of trying to keep herself from misery, she was finally going to get married.

The idea was worse than what she had always felt, but no force on earth could stop her now, not even the feeling that staying where she was felt more right.

Looking back, she knew that Harry didn't know what he was doing. It wasn't as though she didn't think of his proposal as real. But his reasons had not been strong enough for her to agree.

He had completely taken her by surprise and the initial reaction she had given him had been the result of seven years' worth of pent up rage that had yet to be spent.

But after he had left, Hermione's conscience began to badger her. Harry deserved a better excuse, it said. But her dangling pride refused to concede and she soon found herself growing more and more restless.

She needed to get away from him, once and for all. Perhaps, once she'd settled with a man of her own choice, it would be enough to keep him at bay. But as she stuck her head out to steal one last look back at the mansion, there was a painful tug in her heart that clearly told her so much more than what she was willing to admit.

If only he had asked once more, maybe, just maybe, she would have reconsidered.

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Harry's fist couldn't have been more clenched as Luna's voice flooded his ears with the continuous story of Hermione's childhood.

It was as though he was actually there, seeing it all from the vivid pictures that her words created in his mind. Each lashing and taunting pulled at his heart, making him feel as though he were carrying the weight of the world.

He closed his eyes, refusing still to believe that the feisty woman he had met three months ago was the same little girl who had to endure years of cruelty from the only woman whom she had ever wanted to give her love.

He swallowed, trying to clear the lump past his throat. But he didn't trust himself to speak. And so, he had to endure more of Luna who was completely oblivious to his state.

“Ever since she was little, Hermione had a way about her that said she wasn't for parties and seasons. Uncle Robert was very fond of her and he tolerated, even admired and encouraged, her to continue with her unusual desire to learn. Lady Allyson, however, had a different idea. She wanted Hermione to stay in the same bubble she was supposed to live in. Hermione rebelled in one way or another, but she always ended up following Lady Allyson anyway. The only time that she could do whatever she wanted was when Uncle Robert was around.”

“How long had he been around for Hermione to enjoy some time for herself?” Harry found his voice at last, although he had not yet really recovered to include resolution in it.

”Not long enough,” Luna sighed sadly. “But Hermione never could blame him. Young as she was, she knew that her father had a responsibility to Ravenclaw. He was taking care of her home, that's what she always told herself, and she loved him all the more for it. It didn't bother her that she was half-heartedly becoming a lady in front of Lady Allyson's eyes because every time her father came home and saw her grown-up, he looked at her with so much pride that Hermione almost gave up trying to become herself.”

“But she did become herself,” Harry whispered.

“Not without the interference of her stepmother,” Luna took away even that small thing. “Lady Allyson was completely against Hermione's unorthodox behavior. She would -punish- Hermione by taking everything that was supposed to be hers by right.”

“What happened?” Harry didn't want to hear anymore, but he knew that he should.

“Hermione's mother had the same desire for learning. Perhaps, this is the reason that Uncle Robert encouraged Hermione's own inclination. She had been so like his wife that maybe this had also become another reason for Lady Allyson to hate Hermione,” Luna shook her head to remove the unwanted face of the wicked stepmother in her mind and went back to her story. “Hermione's mother left her more artifacts than she could ever dream of holding. When everybody in the household was asleep, Hermione would sneak out of her room and into her father's study to read everything, including her mother's diary. She valued that book so much she rarely left it in plain sight…”

“She spent more hours in the library, reading everything she could get her hands on, than in the dance hall, perfecting her waltz. Lady Allyson didn't know anything and for some time, Hermione truly believed that her secret was hers alone. But Lady Allyson began to notice Hermione's performance becoming worse, and she knew something was wrong…”

“What did she do?”

“It happened when Hermione was 15 years old. It was Christmas that night and Uncle Robert was due any minute. Hermione thought Lady Allyson was busy preparing for her husband's arrival, so she made her way to the library. It had become a ritual for her, to read something of her mother's during Christmas. To keep her mother with her, she said. She was reading one of the journal entries and didn't notice that someone had gone in after her. It wasn't until Lady Allyson cried out in rage that Hermione became aware of her presence. Hermione saw the steely glint in her eyes and felt this sudden fear.”

“What…?” he couldn't help but think the worse of the situation and he shuddered even before he heard what became of everything.

“She destroyed everything,” Luna whispered. “She took every piece of paper within sight and tossed them into the fireplace. And Hermione had to watch every single piece of her mother's remembrance burn right in front of her eyes.”

“No,” Harry shook his head, unable to believe his ears.

“She couldn't get to them because Lady Allyson held in her a deathly grip. And she was laughing. Dear God, she was laughing at the way Hermione cried out for help. It was at that moment that Hermione knew her stepmother was crazy.”

“What did Lord Granger do when he realized everything was burnt?”

Luna sighed. “What happened, Harry, was that Lady Allyson made up a story that completely left the blame on Hermione. They hired some people to clean the library, she said, and Hermione was to oversee what they were hauling out and throwing away. But because of her inattention, they had taken the box which contained the late countess' belongings. It was already too late when they realized that they were missing.”

“And Hermione didn't say anything?!”

“No, she didn't,” Luna shook her head. “She didn't want to cause another fight between him and Lady Allyson. His heart, at that time, was beginning to fail him, and overexertion would be critical to his condition. Hermione didn't want any more suffering because of her.”

“So it was all right for her to let her father believe she had no concern over her mother's memory? That's just stupid!” Harry exclaimed, his outburst surprising all of them.

“That's how much she loved her father, Harry.”

“And how much did he love her?!” Harry asked venomously, unaware that his temper was revealing what he had so carefully been concealing.

“Hermione was everything to Lord Granger. You just can't see it because you weren't there. Whenever they were together, you should have seen how much she glowed! She adored her father as much as he adored her. His death had devastated her to the point that all of us thought she'd just give up as well. If it weren't that, she would be happier. If only…”

Harry's head whipped about, his hand gripping her arm rather strongly. “If only what, Luna?”

Luna's eyes turned cautious, but not fearful at the way Harry's gaze leveled on her. Ron immediately intervened.

“Don't make this situation worse than it already is, Harry. I may be your friend, but I won't tolerate you harassing my wife.”

Harry looked at Ron, and then at Luna. His eyes lost their heated glaze, and he realized what he was doing and to whom he was unleashing his anger.

He let go of her with a soft `sorry.' Luna tried to give him a smile, but she couldn't give him that. Not because she was angry for his sudden outburst, but because she sensed nothing could appease his anger for misunderstanding Hermione and Lord Granger.

“After his death,” Luna continued despite Ron's warning. “Lady Allyson knew she had not yet won. She made it a point that Hermione lived with the same kind of luxury that a scullery maid had. It was at this time that Hermione received the most abuse she had ever experienced. Words and whips. That was Hermione's world. We tried to intervene. All of us. But Lady Allyson held the most cards. She was, legally, Hermione's guardian. And no one could arrest her until anybody could prove she was actually capable of violence.”

“Hermione was dimly aware that the only reason she was still kept alive is because she was the heiress to Ravenclaw Estate. In order for Lady Allyson to get her hands on it, she would have to make sure Hermione married someone who would be willing to give her the property. Ever since she was 18 years old, Hermione was literally thrown to men of various age and size. Lady Allyson didn't care who knocked on their doorstep for as long as that man would be willing to give her what she wanted.”

“Was she harmed?” Harry couldn't help but ask at the mention that she had been pawned off to many men. The concern in his voice was difficult to mask and he would have wagered his life on it that Ron and Luna now knew that he was no longer the uncaring person who had arrived a week ago.

“Thankfully, no,” Luna murmured. “Lord Granger may have died, but there was still one person in the household who had not been frightened by Lady Allyson's threats. His interference had worked wonders for Hermione.”

“His?”

Luna nodded. “William Averley.”

“Who's William Averley?” Harry asked in a clipped tone, jealousy eating at him at the mere mention that this man had been part of Hermione's life.

“He had worked for the Grangers as a stable boy,” Luna explained. “He was found wandering in the woods when he was barely five years old by the housekeeper and had kept him with her since then. He was hired by Lord Granger as soon as he could do work. He didn't mind some extra hands because the late countess had been pregnant with Hermione at that time.”

“And how did he become part of all this?” Harry asked.

“Hermione's virtue had been a target during the time when Lady Allyson thought that her stepdaughter's marriage to somebody would get her what she wanted. So she wasn't averse to letting a man enter Hermione's chambers when she was asleep.”

“What?!” Harry exclaimed.

“Fortunately, William knew a secret passage that led to the second floor where Hermione's room was. I don't know exactly how he knew Hermione was in trouble, but he had always been there to foil off the attempts.”

“Lucky her.”

Luna smiled slyly. “Five years ago, Hermione knew she was no longer safe in the mansion, not with Lady Allyson constantly planning on getting rid of her. She also knew that if she stayed longer, William would be harmed. And because she had grown to care for him, as a friend,” she added when Harry frowned. “She couldn't bear to put him in danger. She told him to leave. He did, but with great reluctance. No one knew what happened to him, but Hermione was sure that he was all right. After William was gone, Hermione decided to get away, to live in another place.” Luna said.

“Scotland,” Harry said, remembering their conversation at the dinner table a week before.

“It had been two years after the death of Uncle Robert, Hermione thought that Tom Riddle's silence would forever stay that way. But a messenger came with another proposal of a betrothal between her and Riddle's heir. With the countless suitors who barged in Ravenclaw every day, and now Tom Riddle's wicked proposal, reminding her of what it had caused to prevent that marriage, Hermione knew it was time to go.”

Luna nodded and took a deep breath. “The day before Hermione was to leave; Tom Riddle demanded an appearance from her. But she refused his call, arranging instead her foiled departure. She intended to leave the next day,” Luna stopped, shook her head once more and looked up to nothing in particular.

She clenched her fists, “But the man had anticipated her actions. Before Hermione could get far, he sent another coach after her. He commanded that they stop her by all means, even if they had to injure her. The people he hired were gunmen, trained to kill. They didn't stop their hunt, even when the runway ride went through the woods, just outside Hogwarts.”

“When they couldn't get near enough, they began to shoot at her. The chase went longer than any of them suspected. Hermione had been so shocked that it took a while before she noticed that after some time, they were no longer being followed. The coachman explained a while later that there were a couple of young men who had been in the way, and one was shot. The other one, he recalled, had taken weapons out of his side pockets. That was all he saw before he heard gun shots firing simultaneously, and then silence.”

Harry blinked.

Ethan.

Damn.

“What happened next?” Harry asked, still dazed at the irony of how his and Hermione's lives were connected.

“She arrived in Scotland, and for the first time in her life, experienced what it felt like to be free. It didn't occur to her that she could and would still be followed.”

“But Riddle did.”

“About a year ago, Tom Riddle began to harass her with letters containing all kinds of threats. It scared her to even leave the confines of her room. The night you and Hermione met had been the first time she set her foot in England for the last five years.”

“Do you think it wise that she returned?” Harry looked from one friend to another, his eyes blazing in fury at Hermione who was risking her life once more.

“We advised her not to return, but she insisted. The good thing is, she had not the mind to visit Ravenclaw. We knew it is better that we keep an eye on her. We intend to keep her as close as possible. We don't know when Riddle will strike again. At least, with us, she is safe.”

Harry nodded, agreeing with their logic. “Riddle's attempts are getting frequent lately.”

“What do you mean?” it was Luna who asked.

“Ravenclaw was attacked a fortnight ago, Sirius believes it was of Riddle's doing,” Harry explained.

“That bastard,” Ron whispered savagely even as Luna's hand flew to cover her mouth in shock when Harry finished narrating what Sirius told him. And then Ron's eyes blinked in recollection. “There has been talk that Riddle's men were moving about.”

Harry stilled, an unnerving feeling coming upon him.

It was the same sensation that had him proposing to Hermione two nights ago.

Then, he couldn't understand the reason for such a feeling.

But now, he was all too aware of what it truly was.

All this time, he had been recognizing the scent of an enemy.

He should have recognized it. He had spent years of his life depending upon it. Five years of lying dormant in his body might have affected his insight, but he was glad the instinct of danger was still with him.

He became much preoccupied with finally realizing what he had been tensed about that it was a while before Harry realized that Ron was trying to lighten the conversation.

“If Hermione is the same as ever, she'll not let the news bother her. I would wager to anyone that she has the courage of ten men put together.

Or the stupidity of ten men put together, Harry inwardly thought. He may have grown sympathetic over her for the last hour, but it didn't cloud over his judgment over her ability to make wise decisions.

“We should warn her, you know, tell her that she may be spirited, but it can only go too far,” Ron continued.

Harry bit back a chuckle. Hermione was not the least bit spirited.

Stubborn was more like it!

“I propose that we tie her to the bedpost so that she would forget her silly idea of going back to Ravenclaw,” Ron clapped his hand over Harry's shoulder and eyed him with a mischievous grin, “Why don't you do the honors, Harry. She already hates you, anyway. It can't get any worse for you.”

Harry smiled; the corner of his mouth lifting.

“She also needs to be warned about taking a turn about the gardens alone. Riddle's men might be stupid, but they could slip in the manor,” he stroked his chin, as if thinking hard, “Although I can't see how they would manage to. Riddle seems to choose big oafs for servants.”

Although Harry was sure that Ron meant it as a joke, didn't find it funny, especially when it had a modicum of possibility in it.

What Ron said about warning Hermione was more than right.

Harry knew it should be done now, not later.

“I---I have to go,” Harry abruptly walked past them to the door.

“Harry!” Luna cried out, running after him, grabbing his arm, “What are you going to do?”

“I need to talk to Sirius,” Harry said, gently lifting her arm off his, but his gaze was frantic as they settled on hers, “Thank you.”

Luna could only stand and helplessly watch, as Harry grabbed the door's handle and pulled it open. With a curt nod at Ron, he dashed outside, and disappeared around the corner.

--------------------------------

Harry was more than uptight and furious when he let himself out of the billiards room. He was shaking with anger but also nervous as hell. It no longer mattered that he had worked so hard to contain his feelings where Hermione was concerned.

All that truly concerned him was that she remained safe under Sirius' protection, if not his. Knowing her, she had already spent some time thinking about the many advantages and disadvantages of leaving during the past two nights that he had not distracted her.

He just hoped to God that he was the only disadvantage she had seen, and the rest had been good enough to make her stay.

There were a million things going on inside his head that he didn't notice something was amiss as he passed by the tall glass window overlooking the front lawn. But his years away from being a dueler did not diminish his cunning ability to notice things other people would just shrug away.

His instincts in high gear, his steps faltered and took him back to where the tall window was. With narrowed eyes, he gauged the scene just below him. There, from afar, was a phaeton riding away at careless speed.

It did not bear any crest, so Harry had no idea who owned the carriage. But he still couldn't quite contain the frown that had worked its way across his forehead.

The idea of it was just absurd.

It was almost midnight.

He didn't think anyone in their right mind would actually choose to depart at this time.

But what did he care about some git stupid enough to ride away from comfort tonight? He had more pressing matters to attend to, and the man was not even on his list.

But just as he was about to make his way to Sirius' office, Harry froze.

There, from the same carriage, a head suddenly emerged, her tresses billowing like flames against the raging wind. And even if the moon was not as bright as it should have been, he could not mistake her for anyone else.

The crucial sight of her didn't register until he saw her head disappear and the carriage begin to fade.

After that, Harry didn't even pause to think.

He had not even dared to breathe or look back again.

His years of training as a dueler had instantly kicked back into place. In an instant he was certain that Hermione was in trouble. And he did not doubt, not even for a moment, that she had no idea what he was seeing.

There was something wrong with the way that carriage was moving. And he'll be damned if he even considered it was just her way of showing she wanted to get away fast.

He could hear it clearly through the voice in his head.

Smell it even.

There was nothing quite like the scent of it.

Danger.

Hungry as a fox on a hunt, Harry set off to his room and in a swift range of motion, opened his trunk to take out the only thing he needed. It felt hot and heavy in his hand, its familiarity shaking him to his very core.

After securing it next to his side, he grabbed his cloak and went out the room, the door slamming in his wake. There wasn't even any time to warn somebody about his quest. Too much would be spent if he did. Quietly but swiftly, he ran to the stables, his cloak flying behind him.

It took some time for him to find Hedwig all on his own. Sweat tickled his back as he moved from one stall to the other, looking for her. Every minute counted, and with each minute that passed by, Harry could see the carriage moving farther away, increasing the distance between Hermione and safety.

When he at last found Hedwig, she didn't even make a sound or protest when Harry mounted her with such haste. She was trained for this, and she smelled her master's intention. As swiftly as her magnificent legs could carry them both, she began to gallop at breakneck speed, Harry's hold on her reins tightening.

When he and Hedwig got out of the stables, what had been left of the moon's light earlier that evening had gone behind the dark clouds now heavy with impending rain.

Some time had gone since he last saw the carriage. What with his detour to his room and to the stables, it no longer surprised Harry that not a sound nor sight of movement was evident.

Harry vaguely remembered that the road to Sirius' mansion had countless turns and forks along the way. It was through this insight that Harry knew so many things were against this rescue. He could only pray that for the rest of tonight, God would be on his side.

He would get to her, he knew it. But in time, he was not absolutely sure. He had not once failed on a mission yet, but he'll be damned if he let himself fail this one now.

As he let his experiences as a man hunter close in on his senses, Harry could only wish for one more thing where Hermione was concerned.

“Please don't do something stupid.”

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A/N:

Oh yeah, this one's ending is completely different from the last. I hope that I had done justice to the long break that I took. As I said, I was having a hard time writing this chapter that's why it took so long.

I know the essence of the chapter was pretty much the same, but I really needed the story to have it.

I'll be back with another one in no time. I've already come up with half of it. The next update would be quicker, I promise.

Thanks for those who read. I appreciate the loyalty. Please review, if you don't have anything else to read or do. It's been such pleasure writing for you guys and I'm looking forward to more chapters for this story.

Thank you again, and GOD BLESS!

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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A/N:

THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE IS ONLY FOR THOSE ON CHAPTER ALERT.

Okay, I know you'll hate me for this, but it's quite inevitable. Please don't close this window and bear with me.

I'm sure you know that I took a long break from writing this story. I spent much time coming up with another plot for Caught in the Past, but I didn't have the heart to change it.

Now, here's the part where I believe you would say “NOT AGAIN!”

I need you to go back to Chapter 16. This is for the simple reason that I have posted two chapters today, 16 and 17. But because I only replaced chapter 16, no chapter alerts had been sent since they were already sent for the original one I posted. Got me so far?

Reading this chapter would be quite confusing if you don't read the previous one. This goes out particularly to those who have no idea that I have already posted some chapters before but removed them afterwards.

It isn't much different in essence, but the dialogue, I believe is different. The better news is, I have added more to what you have read before, and so you would be reading more parts that are not familiar to you.

Trust me on this one. It'd be better if you read it.

Well, whatever you choose, I hope that you won't get fed up reading.

Thanks so much and enjoy!

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She was running…

The smell of fear close behind.

She was not known to cry, even when desperate measures called for it. There had been times, yes, when all she could do was curl up into a ball and let out all her frustrations. But never had she bawled out what was left of her pride. If she had to let tears come, she let them fall silently.

Looking back was not an option.

What for should she risk it?

She knew what she would see.

She had never felt more desperate. The little spark of hope that had been inside her was doused long ago.

No one would come for her.

No one.

She had made sure none knew of her departure.

And, what a fool she had been!

At first, she tried to tell herself that she was just unnerved from leaving. She refused to believe anything else because she did not want to admit just yet that she had failed herself.

The first tug of nerves warned her before she'd boarded the carriage bound for her home. But it wasn't until she had noticed that there was something vaguely odd about how her coachman was handling the horses that she began to heed the warning bells inside her head.

For one thing, they seemed to have taken a route that neither interested nor alarmed Hermione until that very moment. And another, they seemed to be moving in a distressing pace, something that she knew was foreign to the coachman their family had employed many years ago.

She remembered looking back and feeling a sharp prickle at the nape of her neck when she could no longer see Sirius' mansion, or estate. All that she had seen were dark trees looming above them and the moon waning lightly in the sky. Clouds had then amassed, touching the edges of the moon.

No sooner than she could make out its state when rain had began to pour earnestly. Escape had become harder, but panic was the last thing Hermione had let herself feel at that moment.

After taking a few deep breaths, she was able to get herself together. She had no idea where she was, but there was a village just beside the road they had been taking. She had thought that if she figured out how to get out of the carriage, she could make her way towards the village and ask for somebody's help.

With that thought keeping her sanity, she had opened the carriage door and jumped.

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Harry had ridden like a madman before, but never had he felt possessed the way he did now. It was as if his body wasn't his own as he tried with every might to increase his speed, despite the fact that Hedwig had already reached her limit.

He admired her perseverance and her loyalty. She had not complained yet of the breakneck pace her master had initiated the moment he had mounted her.

And for that, Harry could have not asked for anything more.

But as the sky earnestly showered him with rain of a blinding force, he silently prayed that some miracle would happen, and he would find Hermione in her carriage, safe and sound.

If his instincts were wrong and all of this was merely a misunderstanding, he wouldn't blame anyone.

He would have given up everything just to be wrong for once. But somehow, at the back of his mind, he knew that his instincts would not fail him.

It never had, not even once.

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She was exhausted, her chest heaving from the exertion that her lungs were giving to provide her enough air. Her breath was coming in short gasps. She was no longer quiet now, not caring that they would hear.

They were coming anyway.

What use was it to keep quiet?

She dropped down on her knees, overwhelmed by exhaustion, by fear, and by helplessness.

Without anywhere else to go, she couldn't do anything but stay still.

“Where are ye, missy?”

Someone asked from behind.

It was all out of mockery.

She was in plain sight.

The field she was in was bare of anything. There was a forest that loomed near, but she doubted she would be safe there. Wild animals roamed freely and there was no point running away from these mad men if she would only be caught by some beast.

“That's right, m'dear,” one of them sneered, his footsteps drawing near, the sound of wet grass squished beneath walking feet made Hermione's heart beat. “You'll only tire yourself runnin'.”

Hermione tried to move, but gasped when pain like no other hit her like a thousand knives. Instinctively, her hand crept toward her ankle. She'd broken it when she had jumped from the carriage earlier.

Even though she knew of the injury, she couldn't afford to nurse it. She had just ran towards the village, with the simple purpose of hiding from her abductor, or as she found out a little later, abductors.

But she had known, as soon as she got close enough to see what kind of place she wanted to seek haven from, that she was not going to be safer here nor anywhere.

The village was dark and broody.

No sight of anyone could be found, as if the whole village was deserted. There were upturned cans full of garbage that reeked of dirt and spoiled food. The houses were dilapidated, falling down, with doors broken or unhinged.

It was unlike anything she had seen before.

And she would have continued to believe that the place was abandoned had it not been for a light coming from an inn.

In an ordinary day and place, she wouldn't have thought twice before knocking. But because she was in a place that seemed unworthy of trust, she had chosen not to disturb anybody and just ventured on her own.

For half an hour, she had been at peace, seated inside a broken carriage. Except for the dull throbbing on her ankle, she had begun to believe she was fine. She planned to wait the night out and in the morning, seek help from people who were sober enough to offer a ride back to Sirius' mansion.

But no sooner could she breathe more freely when she had heard two men talking, their footsteps heavy but hasty. She slumped with caution onto the floor of her hideout and listened, her breaths soft but labored, her eyes squinting to see through a small hole on the side.

“She ain't got no place to hide here,” a big man with bulging muscles and a scarred face looked down at the thinner man beside him.

Hermione had seen the other one nod his head. “The others are searchin' for her. She couldna have gotten far.”

“That so?”

The other one had the nerve to chuckle. “With a jump like that, it's a miracle she dinna faint.”

Hermione didn't really expect that she'd escaped that easily, but something in her hoped that she had. But having heard of their active searching, she had immediately made up her mind to leave as soon as they were out of sight.

The task didn't prove to be as easy as she had thought because her ankle waylaid her even before she could get very far. She had no idea where she was going. All she knew was that staying put would eventually lead them to her.

But somewhere along the way, her ankle gave beneath her and she had let out a yell of surprise.

And then if that was not the worse thing that could happen she heard footsteps drawing near and shouts of men echoing from a distance.

That was when she knew it was either she faced them now or try running away but still face them later.

Stubbornness and pride had gotten her on her feet despite the protests of her injury and she took off into the direction of the woods.

What she didn't count on was that they would reach her in such a short time. She had no clue why they were chasing her, but she recognized the malicious gleam in their eyes as they approached.

Oh God.

Help me.

Anyone.

The men laughed, as if hearing her thoughts.

She could smell their filth and their dirty intentions now as they drew nearer and nearer. Hermione forced herself to stop crying. Pride overruled her fear. She didn't want them to see her beyond herself and desperate.

No.

If she were going to fall in their hands, the least she could do was fall with dignity!

“W-what do you want?” she managed to say, although her voice quavered. They were around her now, trapping her. Their shadows cast a frightful image, making the hair at her nape stand.

“Scared yet, countess?” one of them asked.

She didn't want to answer, terrified that when they hear her voice, they would only know she was. She was swallowing down her tears, but she knew it was only a matter of time that they would begin to fall all on their own.

“S'matter, princess? We too smutty for ya?” the other one, whom she recognized as one of the two she had seen and heard earlier, leaned close to her ear. She almost gagged by his foul breath, but shivered involuntarily instead.

What were they doing? She couldn't help but wonder. Why were they taunting her and not finishing whatever they came to do?

She dared look up, if only to see how dangerous they may be. What she saw shouldn't have been much, but with the combination of their dark faces and leering gazes, it had been enough to send trembles all over her body.

“What do you want?!” she shouted it this time, hoping that the force of her voice would carry the nerves out of her system.

A sudden clap of thunder echoed across the field, reverberating in her ear, causing her to jump in surprise. They laughed. And now they knew.

“Now lass, dinna worry. We won' be harmin' ye.”

“Get away from me, you filthy, disgusting, excuse for a human!” she exclaimed.

Crack!

She staggered onto the ground, her cheeks stinging at the place where his palm had landed hard. But even with the pain, she whipped her head about and opened her mouth, only to shut them again when this time, his hit had her tasting blood from the corner of her lips.

“Still wanting more, do ya?”

His face may have still been pleasant, but the way he spoke carried an all-too-familiar tone that told Hermione her ordeal was far from over.

She knew it had barely even begun.

She didn't make a sound anymore.

She just waited, taking in deep breaths, her eyes shut tightly.

“Don't waste such pretty face, boy,” someone had obviously leaned close enough to her face because she could feel his breath against her as he spoke. “Shame, it is, we can't have our way with you.”

She felt something, a finger, glide across her face, a slow torture that wrung a sob out her.

They burst into snickers, enjoying her display of desperation.

There was a moment of silence. The only sound that could be heard was that of the rain still tapping against the ground and on her. The coolness of the water doing nothing to compose her; on the contrary, it added even more to the chill that was running a course throughout her body.

“Lads, the lord dinna mention we couldn't have fun, did he?”

Before it could register in her mind what they were on about, there were murmurs of approval around her, sniggers of appreciation, and then two hands grasping her arms, pulling her upright. She winced the moment her feet carried her weight, and because her ankle could no longer bear the burden, she helplessly sagged onto one the men who caught her by the shoulders in a grip so tight she cried out in pain.

Why had this happened to her? She thought as she gasped for air, the throbbing pain she was feeling coming from everywhere, nearly rendering her unconscious.

Help.

Her feeble mind couldn't help but reiterate over and over again.

Harry.

This time, she blinked in surprise.

His image flashing across her mind as if he'd been there all along, her desire for a savior providing her that very face she had intended to run away from.

Despite her circumstances, she couldn't help but think of where he could be this moment. Did he even know she was gone? How would he react once the news of her body found somewhere reached him?

She let out a groan.

All she wanted was to get away in peace and to live the life that she craved, free of worry, unbound from the responsibility that was thrown over her shoulders.

She never intended for things to get out of hand with him, but they had. And the only way she could solve her problem was to leave. But even when she had constantly told herself how she loathed him, it was he whom she was looking for.

After all her bravado of being independent, how could she have been reduced to such a…a…needy and spineless woman?

The one holding her upright leaned close, sniffing her hair as if he were a dog testing the scent of a meal he was about to devour. She struggled out of his hold, but the more she fought, the harder his hands gripped her arms.

The feel of something slobbery and thick on her cheek had Hermione's eyes widening in shock.

Oh God!

She didn't think she could take any more of his assault without fainting, but when he moved to touch her breast, she couldn't tear her eyes away. Her stance was still and her face rigid.

She didn't know what was worse: the fact that she was being molested without any sign of help near, or that she was just standing there frozen and doing nothing.

The fighter in her was slowly dying but she wasn't about to let it slip without one last attempt to redeem itself. She clenched her fists together as tightly as she could and prepared to attack before he could touch her any further, but her revenge was cut short when another man suddenly yanked her away from the filthy scumbag who had her pinned against him.

“Stop hoggin',” he said, clutching her to him only to toss her to another man immediately. She barely had the time to wonder why because no sooner than she could form a coherent thought when his voice penetrated through her ears, silencing all other sounds. “Hold her still, Lou, while I get her out of those frocks. Seems to me she's a little overdressed for the occasion.”

Hermione's heart leapt at her throat. Her heart thumped madly as her brain gave a jolt of electricity that had her speaking before thinking.

“Please…don't.”

Her pathetic attempt to plead out of her peril was not only unheard but lost the moment the sound of ripping cloth wrung out across the field. It was an obscene sound; a sound that tore wild sobs out of her.

The gown she had been wearing gave a soft flop when the one who tore it off tossed it aside.

Clad now only in her chemise, Hermione felt the cold air beating against her. Water dripped all over her body, the thin cloth barely doing anything to cover her now.

Harry.

Again, his name sounded in her ear.

She couldn't help herself.

After all the times that he had been there when she didn't want him, how could he not be here now when she needed him the most?

Yes, she needed him.

Now more than ever.

She didn't know how it happened, or whether it was justifiable that it did. She just knew she could no longer deny the fact that with Harry, she was safer.

“No one's here to save you, lass,” her assaulter said.

She didn't know she had spoken Harry's name out loud, but she had. It didn't feel good or bad that she did. All that she knew was that it was he whom she was thinking of.

She was openly crying now, not knowing what to do. Her struggles were futile, her words were there, but she had no more strength to cry out.

She wanted to die.

To be saved by death and finally escape everything.

But even death had no mercy.

Even when she was all but begging to be killed, she still breathed.

She knew she should still be fighting, knew in her heart that she still could. But the hopelessness in her situation was no longer conquerable and she gave in to her fate with a sob that clenched her heart.

She turned her face away as the man pushed her to the ground, the force sending her in a haze. She looked up, mustered all the strength left in her and gave one last cry. “Damn you to hell! Do you hear me, you bastards?! Damn----”

And everything went black.

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Dark.

It was all so very dark.

And quiet.

Was she alone?

Perhaps.

Was she even alive?

She hoped not.

There was nothing but coldness surrounding her, yet naturally enough, she felt nothing. Her mind had gone numb, and so had the rest of her body. Not even her heart could feel anything. Was this how it felt to be nothing more than just a spirit?

It was depressing.

“Hey.”

Hermione stirred slightly, frowning inwardly.

There was a voice calling her, but she didn't know where it was coming from. She knew she should open her eyes, but she felt weak, so weak that she could not even move at all.

Where had it come from?

Was that a human voice?

Or was she hearing the voices of the spirits, who like her, were now lost and waiting?

“Hermione.”

There it was again.

Somewhere, hovering above her.

She wanted nothing more than to see who it was but at the same time, there was a feeling of dread surrounding her.

Perhaps, it was not wise to go back.

Go back where?

Where was she anyway?

“'Mione.”

An abrupt flash of a face came before her, gone before she could actually get a clearer view.

But it lingered long enough to remind her of somebody.

She stilled.

“Come on, sweetheart.”

That voice…

She knew that voice.

“Wake up for me…”

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Harry didn't know he was holding his breath until he saw Hermione's eyes slowly flutter. He couldn't seem to stop shaking even when he knew that she was all right.

“Harry?” she croaked out, her voice barely making an audible sound.

Before he could respond to her obvious distress, Hermione's eyes suddenly brimmed with tears. Harry felt fury like no other rise in his throat as he watched her struggle to contain her feelings and then lose.

“Shh,” he crooned, trying to silence her, every sob tearing him apart.

He shifted his arm that she was anchored comfortably on it. His thumb grazed her cheeks, caressing and catching the tears falling down on them.

They sat there, neither knew for how long, until Hermione's tears begin to subside.

“Are you ready to go home now?” he asked afterwards, looking into her eyes.

Embarrassment and shame slowly crept to Hermione and she found herself unable to maintain eye contact. She gave the barest of nods before struggling, despite the difficulty, to stand on her own. It was only then did she notice that she was wearing his coat.

Harry let her move out of his arms but frowned in concern when she winced and swayed the moment she tried to stand upright. He was aware that she was exhausted, but there was no mistaking the look of pain in her face or in her eyes for that matter.

“You hurt yourself,” he told her, not really needing the confirmation.

“I broke my ankle,” Hermione managed to say above the different curses she wanted to exclaim. She didn't think the pain would be worse than before, but she was wrong.

At this, Harry did not bend down to look at the damage. He simply closed the distance between them and lifted her into his arms.

Hermione didn't say a single word of protest.

She had chosen to remain silent partly because she didn't think it wise to complain, but mostly because she had just noticed what was around them and was taken aback.

A sick feeling came over her when she made out one by one the bodies of her attackers lying like slaughtered animals around them.

There were six corpses sprawled in every direction…

All of whom had attempted to assault her were accounted for.

She couldn't believe it.

He had come for her.

And had killed these men for her.

She didn't need to ask what happened, nor did she have the slightest disdain over Harry putting to use his assassin's skills.

Instead, she felt a sense of relief overwhelm her, and for the first time…

Gratitude.

Not because he had used it to rescue her…

No…

She wasn't that shallow.

She was thankful that he had used it to get rid of those who had thought they could get away with evil.

Perhaps it was this point that he was trying to make during the conversations that they had in the sennight that passed. He had been constantly defending himself to her, saying that he was not a murderer, but only a defender.

She had only been too blind by her prejudiced opinions on him to see what was in front of her.

But that was then…

No cloud of confusion and hatred was hanging over her now.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, not exactly knowing how to repay him for this.

He nodded, not saying anything at all as he carried her away from the field.

His sudden passiveness unnerved her, but she didn't let herself be offended.

After all, he was her savior. He had answered to her call despite the odds that he would have heard it. She could only be thankful for that.

The walk back towards the main road was awkward, but she had a feeling they both welcomed the silence. She didn't particularly care why he thought of it that way, but for her; it gave her the time to think of what should be her next course of action.

She still couldn't quite get over the fact that she had almost been raped tonight. Just the thought had her eyes cloudy with tears. She blinked them away and took deep breaths.

This was not what she was hoping for when she came back to England.

But it was her fault that she had let herself forget that people were still after her title and her land.

Even after tonight, she knew that her life would still be in danger. Whoever those people were, they were working for somebody. And even if it weren't who she believed it was, that didn't make the situation any better.

How much more attempts would befall upon her?

And how much torture would she be able to handle before finally giving up the freedom she had struggled to keep?

And if these occurred, would Harry still be there to save her?

She sneaked a glance at him. He was frowning, his jaw tight with tension. He was working his way to his anger. She couldn't blame him.

She'd inconvenienced him tonight, and so many other nights as well. He had constantly put up with her tirades and she'd done nothing but foist her hatred onto him.

She'd been calling him a murderer all this time, but it had been she who had constantly put his life on the line.

But all this anger in him could not be dangerous, she thought, not with the way he's holding me. She sighed. It's as if he doesn't want to let go.

The thought warmed Hermione and she gave another soft sigh, and then had to force the smile away from her face, and her eyes away from him, when Harry's looked down.

She didn't need to think of a distraction because right at that moment, Hedwig's white form proved enough diversion for Hermione.

“Can she carry the two of us?” she asked, out of nothing else to say.

“What?” Harry asked back, his tone indicating annoyance and disbelief. “You want me to walk?”

The absurdity of his statement would have been laughable in another instance, but not tonight. Nothing would have spoiled the solemnity of what had taken place.

“Of course not,” she shook her head emphatically. “I didn't mean it that way.”

“She's stronger than any of the horses you've ridden in your damned independent life, so yes, she can carry the two of us,” Harry grumbled, dumping her unceremoniously onto Hedwig's saddle, but still careful enough not to hurt her ankle.

Hermione searched his face as he mounted behind her for any sign of feeling other than anger, but found none. “You're annoyed with me, aren't you?”

Harry's eyes flashed with renewed fury. “If you call my wanting to lock you up in that room of yours for as long as you live as annoyed, then you're damn right I am.”

Hermione nodded, knowing full well he had the right to be. “I'm sorry.”

“You should be,” he muttered to her, reaching around her to take Hedwig's reins with both hands.

The position placed her within his arms, yet it could not even be mistaken for an embrace. He looked uncomfortable, trying not to let his arms fully enclose around her. She had no clue whether it was because he was angry enough to be repulsed by the mere touch of her, or because he thought she didn't want him holding her.

And because she knew him enough to know that it wasn't the former, she solved his problem by leaning close to him, letting her head lie on his chest for support.

Above her, she heard him sigh after the longest of seconds, and then felt his chin rest atop her head.

They rode away from the village in silence, leaving the men, but not the memory of tonight, behind.

It was only a few minutes later that Hermione felt the tension ease out of Harry and it pleased her that he was no longer thinking quite mull-headedly.

“You scared the damnation out of me, did you know that?” he whispered to her a few minutes later.

Since there wasn't anything she could say to that, Hermione opted to simply apologize. “I'm sorry. I just decided---”

She felt him shake his head.

His gentleness gone, he exclaimed, causing a few birds to flutter away from the tree nearby. “Decided?! Ha! You can't even make right decisions, even if your life depended on it!”

“That is not---”

“No? Let me refresh your memory, my dear,” his scathing tone did no more than just add malice to the endearment. “Days ago, when we were out for a ride, you decided to follow me in the forest because you wanted to show me you didn't take orders. Because of that, you ended up with a tarnished reputation and I with a broken arm.”

“No, don't interrupt me yet,” he said when she took a deep breath to defend herself. “After that incident, I proposed to you because I knew that it was the right thing to do after----well---after. But you…you decided I was not good enough to be the Earl of Ravenclaw…”

“So then, you decided to leave without even telling Sirius or anybody else for that matter! And where did you end up? There with your virtue almost slain! Had it occurred to you yet of what might have happened had I not seen your carriage and felt something was wrong?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but Harry cut her off again. His patient tone irritating rather than pacifying. “Damnation, Hermione, I'm this close to shaking your head off. I'm almost afraid to think of what you're going to do next, and whether that would entail me to rescue you. Every time you decide on something, I just feel that it's going to be anything but right!”

Again, his accuracy left nothing more for her to say except sorry.

“Do you not have anything else to say?” A pause and then a shake of his head. “Never mind. At least tell me the next time you think of doing something. I shall need time to prepare for whatever that reckless mind of yours has brewed.” He stopped to look at her, and almost cursed at himself and his insensitivity when he noticed her weariness. “We'll talk about this later,” he mumbled. “Get some rest.”

Hermione nodded, glad for the reprieve. “Well, if it is any consolation, your grace, I've already decided on something,” she deliberately yawned, feeling his scrutiny. “Although I'm not quite certain whether you will think my decision right or not.”

Harry angled his head to look at her fully. His irritation was well-evident in those narrowed green eyes of his. “What, pray tell, would that decision be about, my lady?”

She closed her eyes.

“Marrying you.”

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A/N:

After that long break I took, because of school work and other concerns for this story, I'm back with another chapter.

And here to stay, of course.

Anyway, so this scene had been playing in my mind since forever. I really had no idea what should be included within it, but the start and end was exactly what I've been thinking of.

Hopefully, for my next update, it wouldn't be too hard coming up with the beginning, middle, and end.

The conversation between Harry and Hermione, I don't know if it was effective. It's been a long time since I've written a chapter and I was confused between the era for Caught in the Past and Dare Me. So, I have no clue whether Harry and Hermione sounded regency-istic here.

So sorry again for the added inconvenience of reading the past chapter. I solemnly swear that I would TRY not to revise chapters (except for minor changes in grammar and stuff).

And also…I will be updating DARE ME next. I figured I'll be alternately updating my stories so, in this way, it's going to be fair. To those of you who haven't read it, please do…just check out my profile.

This is all for now, thanks for reading and Please…please…please review!

Until the next update then.

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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A/N:

I'm back with a new chapter! Did you miss me? Hehehe!

I'm so sorry for the long wait. Really, I am. I've been working on this chapter for sooo long. I open the document and try to find the words to type, but they weren't coming. And then I just sat down last night and said, “You're finishing this whether you like it or not!”

And then halfway through, I just got around to typing everything continuously.

Anyway, I've recently noticed upon re-reading my favorite romance novels, that it is quite normal for the pace to be quite slow in the beginning, and then once it gets in the middle, it does start to go really fast up until the climax.

So a warning here, I don't know what would happen in the future chapters, but I figured since they're married and all that, the pace would be faster. But this chapter is only one day worth. So it's not fast at all.

For now---

So go ahead!

Read! Read! Read!

…and review?! Ok?!

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The wedding of the most controversial Duke of Godric's Hollow to the ever elusive Countess of Ravenclaw would have been the most remarkable event of the year --- had it not been for the tiny bit of fact that it was done in private, with only the closest friends and family of the bride and groom in attendance.

No one who was not part of the family was informed even when the scandal of Harry and Hermione in the cottage a few days before had already heeded an impending marriage. It was done out of the request of the groom who didn't want the entire ton up to date of their sudden wedlock.

Of course, that excuse could only be considered lame, noting that the couple was as infamous as ever and a marriage between them could only be kept a secret for as long as they remained in the mansion.

The ceremony took place in Sirius' drawing room three days after Harry came waltzing in the mansion, with Hermione safely tucked in his arms, sleeping. It had been close to dawn when they had arrived, and everyone in the entire household had been asleep, save for Sirius who had been informed earlier about Harry's disappearance, by Luna and Ron who were equally awake and frantically waiting.

No one dared to speak, in great fear of setting off Harry's temper, which was already flaring even without anyone saying anything. Mesmerized, all three had just stood exactly where they were and watched, transfixed, as Harry carried Hermione up the stairs.

“Harry---” Sirius had dared to begin but he had said no more than a few words when his godson glanced briefly at him.

“We'll be married in three days.”

And no more had been said after that as Harry disappeared around the corner where the stairs to the west wing was. Hermione's chambers, he had recalled with great accuracy, could be found in that part of the mansion.

A quarter of an hour later, Harry emerged from his own chambers and came bounding down the steps with the intent of letting out his frustrations by riding the day away. No one had seen him until it was time for supper. But even then, nary a word came from him.

His fiance, who happened to be Hermione, of course, had been just as quiet.

Although her silence was no longer foreign to anybody, the eerie stillness coming from her seemed to include something else, and it puzzled and concerned the majority of the people in the party. Her injury gave her the excuse of hauling herself in her chambers for the most part of the day and having her dinner in the comfort of her own room.

But whenever people inquired about her condition, all she bothered saying was that an unfortunate event had happened, and then immediately just shut off.

Harry came to see her once during the time between their arrival and their wedding. And it was only to inform her of the arrangements that had been made. He had not bothered to ask of her certainty regarding the impending marriage, nor did she try to consult him regarding his own thoughts.

Perhaps both had realized the time for talking had passed and actions were now desired.

The special license needed for Harry and Hermione to get married had already been drawn before any of them realized it. It had been Sirius who had handled all the details, his excitement evident, but trimmed down by the fact that neither the bride nor the groom looked too thrilled.

As soon as the last of the guests had left, a priest had been called to perform the ceremony, and it had been over before anyone could savor the occasion.

The service was simple, abrupt and direct.

Harry said his vows in a low audible voice --- his words muffled and contained, almost as if they didn't want to come out. And Hermione said hers breathlessly, as if wanting the words spoken before she had the nerve not to say them.

There had been no celebration, following the command of the duke who seemed to have developed the sudden itch to remove himself and his new wife from the place as soon as possible. And once the congratulations had been given, although no one really wanted to say anything, they were out the door and into Harry's carriage.

They had been traveling for almost half a day now, the ride uncomfortable and awkward. Not just because Hermione's broken ankle was still in pain, yanking a yell out of her every now and then, but also because they had yet to say anything to each other, their silence only lengthening their 3-day journey.

Hermione kept tossing and turning, trying to find the perfect position to stay in while doing her best to endure the uncomfortable silence inside the carriage, while swallowing the small whimpers of pain the throbbing in her ankle caused.

She reminded herself for the nth time, that she should not complain about anything --- not about the space she could maneuver in, not the uncomfortable position she had to bear, and especially not about Harry's treatment.

If he was being cold because he had to marry her, she could live with that --- for now.

She did rather take him by surprise when she announced, without even a hint of what was coming, that she would marry him. Even though it had been his idea in the first place, he hadn't asked again after that one time, which only signified that he didn't really mean to ask at all.

But still, she couldn't help but carry on a tiny bit of hope that what had transpired over the last fortnight would have at least been enough to raise the temperature around them to considerable warmth.

To her obvious chagrin, it even lowered to a degree that could only be possible when she's around him.

Normally, she wouldn't have cared.

And normally, she would have cherished the peace.

But they were husband and wife.

They couldn't very well ignore each other for the rest of their lives, could they?

But obviously, her husband meant to die trying!

She shuddered.

A husband…

Really…

She never thought she'd have one. After all those years of successfully evading the sweet nothings of the gentlemen coming to her doorstep, she thought she would be a spinster for good.

It didn't bother her at all. She'd embraced the idea, actually, when it had settled in her mind after hitting the age of 22.

But she did think of it sometimes.

And during those times, she'd always imagined that she'd feel something different the moment she wore his wedding band. But, as she stole a quick glance at Harry, her fingers idly twisting the plain platinum wedding ring he had inserted on her finger, she decided nothing felt different.

She couldn't say that it was a bad thing, but she couldn't say it was a good thing either, could she?

One thing was for certain, though, nothing would ever be the same again.

If that didn't make sense, then obviously, she was far more confused than she thought.

As she tried out what seemed to be the 10^th position the carriage would allow, she huffed out a breath, clearly indicating the length of her patience was about to come to an end.

“I say,” Harry suddenly said, turning to her with an irritated scowl. “Is something the matter?”

Hermione jumped in surprise. So now he was speaking to her? If only she had known that her restlessness would be enough to annoy words out of him, she would have doubled her efforts earlier.

“I shouldn't like to think that my company is so appalling that you feel the need to distract yourself by finding out how spacious this carriage is.”

She glared at him, recovering herself. “How considerate of you to notice my --- er, distress --- your grace, seeing that your mind seemed to have been somewhere else this entire time.”

“Oh, it wasn't all too hard, my lady,” he retorted, ignoring her innuendo. “As you have been far too kind to flaunt your feelings over the last three hours.”

Hermione's face turned a bit red, with anger and little touch of embarrassment. “I apologize for the inconvenience. I shan't bother you any longer.”

Her dramatic comeback would have had its wanted effect, had it not been for the wheels suddenly colliding with a rather large stone on the road, the commotion causing the carriage to land quite roughly on the road.

Hermione involuntarily winced when her injured foot, which was propped up on the empty seat on the other side of the carriage, recoiled twice.

“Bloody leg,” she cursed in pain and just shut her eyes, willing the throbbing to cease.

Beside her, Harry just shook his head and then tilted his head back to feign sleep.

`Some husband he is…' Hermione thought as she reached as far as she could to rub some ease into her leg. In her attempt to forget about the infuriating man beside her, she chose to look at the view outside.

The road they were taking seemed endless. On its side was a barren field, carpeted only by tall, green grass, shimmering with the drops of the recent rainfall. Over at the end of one pasture, the sun was about to set, casting an ethereal glow across the meadow.

Hermione had never been to this side of the country, her life having been spent only in Ravenclaw. But she loved its lush scenery. The smell of grass, wet after rain, was so fresh it nearly brought tears to her eyes.

When she was in Scotland, she had been fascinated with everything about the country, their culture, their rough outdoors, but nothing compared to the one-of-a-kind feeling that England had always given her.

Despite the memories that she'd rather forget, it would always be her home.

Hermione was just about done enjoying the sunset, when something caught her attention. She squinted and realized after a moment that the flash she just saw was lightning.

She bit her lip and turned to Harry.

“Begging your pardon, your grace,” Hermione said. “But how much longer until we stop for the night?”

Harry opened one sleepy eye and looked at her. He yawned. After peering outside, he leaned his head back again and closed his eyes. “There's an inn half an hour away.”

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment before nodding and mimicking her husband's pose. Although she didn't need or want the sleep, she dozed off merely five minutes after she closed her eyes, her head coming into contact with a very comfortable shoulder.

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The sudden stillness of the swaying carriage brought Hermione awake. The moment she opened her eyes, the first thing she noticed that it was pitch black outside. If it weren't for the candle that a woman in a red robe was holding up near her face, she wouldn't have seen anything at all.

She nearly screamed when she saw the unfamiliar face, but when she heard movement beside her, and tilted her head to see that her husband was beside her, albeit staring at her in a strange way, she let out a breath of relief.

“We'll stay here tonight,” he explained. “Best we alight from the carriage.”

She nodded and said nothing more but just watched him get off first. She saw him look up and for a moment, was worried that he would actually decide to continue their journey. She was then surprised when he suddenly took off his coat and covered her with it.

Wondering why he thought she'd need his coat, Hermione stepped out of the carriage and found her answer when she felt the tiny pats of rain on her head as soon as she alighted, with his assistance.

She felt him gently place his arm around her shoulders for support and they made their way to the cottage just up ahead.

They entered the inn buzzing with happy and loud clatters coming from the other guests who had also taken refuge for the night.

Harry looked around, his instincts forcing him to scour the area first for any suspicious-looking fellow. He didn't get to finish his perusal, however, because the landlady, whose name he found out was Mary, was already ushering them up the stairs.

The 2^nd floor consisted of a narrow, wooden hallway, with an array of doors on both sides. The walls were also lined with wooden frames, each displaying their own individual artworks of landscapes and portraits of different sizes. A bit of a tawdry display for decorations, but if someone asked her, it suited the place.

With her keys jangling against her hips, Mary led them across the lengthy hall and they rounded the corner which led to another long hallway pretty much the same as the one that preceded it. They stopped in front of the door at the very end when their hostess opened the door and then turned around.

“Your room, your grace,” she said, looking uncertainly at Harry. “Tis the only one left. Packed, we are for the rest of tonight. I am ---”

Harry held up his hand to stop a tirade of excuses that would surely follow. “It's all right, Mary.” Harry sighed, and then looked at the woman with knitted brows. “There are two beds, aren't there?”

Her instant pallor told Harry what he needed to know. He bit back the urge to growl and shake the woman in frustration. A room with two beds, he could do. But a room with only one was just unfair for a man in his state!

He could barely control his desire for his wife when they were in the carriage. How was he supposed to a handle a night with her beside him?

He cleared his throat. “I will require a cot.”

Mary looked appalled but seemed to remember that she was threading on Harry's already too-thin temper. She simply bowed her head in understanding and hastily left their presence with a frantic “I'll have my sons prepare it for you.”

As soon as they were alone, Harry escorted Hermione inside the chambers and helped her up the bed, careful not to bump against her injury, knowing full well how it was still tender after their bumpy ride.

“I'm not an invalid, your grace,” she murmured when he began to tuck the covers around her.

Harry said nothing, but he did stop the pampering.

He walked over to other side of the room where the dressing screen was. He loosened his cravat and shrugged off his coat. Hermione watched him, puzzled by his indifference. She wanted to ask, but knew that the simple lack of interest would keep him from answering.

“You shouldn't have tormented the poor woman.” Silence really didn't sit too well with her, she thought. “We did come by without notice.”

Harry glanced at her. “I was not tormenting her.” He unbuttoned the buttons on his vest. “If you think I was, I wasn't doing it on purpose.”

Hermione didn't respond to his statement because she was too busy eyeing him curiously and wondering why he was undressing in front of her. “Whatever are you doing?”

Harry's fingers stilled. “Loosening my clothes?”

“Y-you said you were sleeping on the --- uh --- on the cot.” She hated stammering, but the bored expression on his face combined with a growing interest did something to her brain that made it difficult to string words together.

“I will be,” he said in a voice so deep she barely heard him. “But---”

“But?” Hermione whispered, unable stand the tension of waiting.

“---but you could change my mind.” He smiled at her suggestively, unbuttoning the last button. “Would you care to try?”

She swallowed.

Now he was being charming --- or seductive, if she would take his innuendo that way. But she wasn't prepared for intimacy. Was she? She stole a glance at him and felt a mixture of emotions that she didn't want to name just yet, but she was fairly sure she knew at least two of them.

“N-no?”

“No?” He asked, advancing on her. “Are you certain, my lady?”

Hermione scooted away, her hands clutching the bed sheets for support. Each step Harry took meant an edge farther on the bed for her. Not too long after, she hit the headboard, her head coming into full contact with the wooden panel. This didn't bode too well for her.

“Your grace, stop.” She protested weakly as the bed dipped where his knee smoothly descended.

On all fours, he slowly crawled to her, his arms trapping her in between, preventing her escape. Hermione watched, no longer protesting, as his face and body drew nearer and nearer to hers.

She closed her eyes, hoping that he would leave her alone. But when she opened them again, he was still there, beside her, everything from his waist to the side of his arms up to his head was bent, blocking everything else from view.

He was looking at her intently, no longer was he smiling, and no longer did he look teasing. Hermione felt something change between them and she was afraid of what it meant.

“Harry,” she whispered his name, her breath touching his face. “W-what are you doing?”

“Convincing you.” He whispered back.

Hermione had sworn before that she would forget everything she felt where Harry was concerned. Especially his kisses. And she thought she really had. But the moment his lips touched hers, every sensation that he made her feel came rushing back to her in a sea of waves, a thousand times more powerful than ever.

It was the lightest of all his kisses, yet it was the most intimate she had ever received. Somehow, it felt different, more sacred. Just the simple thought that they were married had suddenly changed everything between them. Somehow, there was more meaning.

His lips were soft as they brushed hers, slanting back and forth to claim her as his, brand her as his wife, as he did with words merely hours before. His one hand came to rest on her shoulder, and as her mouth opened to welcome his sweet invasion, his hand began to play with the hollow of her collar bone.

It stayed there even as he drew an inch away, his eyes searching hers for an answer he already knew. “Are you convinced yet?” He asked, the corner of his lips lifting.

He kissed her swiftly before she could answer. He moved away, seeming to enjoy the way her eyes were still glazed even after he'd ended the kiss.

“I---don't know.” Came her tentative answer.

Harry's eyes were burning as his gaze dropped on her lips, slightly swollen and inviting. He wanted nothing more than to sway her further, but the tone in her voice made him think.

He had tried to control his desire since that morning in the carriage, but the longer he stayed close to her, the more it grew to an alarming height. He shouldn't have given in to the temptation of what should be for their wedding night, but he had no idea when that would be --- or if there would ever be one --- and no more could he take the agony of not tasting even a little bit of her freshness.

He did not want their first night together to be in the small confines of an inn, and he thought that he could satisfy himself with just one kiss --- a kiss enough to last him for who knew how long.

But he had been wrong.

It only intensified what he felt for her, this raging desire to consume and make her his as a husband should his wife. With this excruciating pain, he doubted it would even last him the night.

Before he could convince himself to abandon his decency, a knock on the door thankfully brought him to his senses, and regrettably made him aware of the awkward position they were in.

Harry was nearly sprawled on top of Hermione, his hands braced on either side of her body, and he was leaning so close to her, he could see himself in her eyes.

It took a few uncomfortable movements to right themselves and when they did; neither of them seemed keen on dealing with what should have been just right for any newly married couple.

Except they weren't an ordinary couple.

Their story weren't as conventional as others' courtships.

He couldn't say he liked the idea of being different, because it sure as hell had given him a hard time, but he wasn't up for anything ordinary either. Neither was Hermione, he believed. Her very being was not normal.

Or as she would rather coin…

Special.

Yes, that was her.

Special.

Harry shook his head as he strode to the door and opened it.

Two young boys were standing there, their hair slightly wet from the outpour outside, and they were carrying what looked to be his makeshift bed. Their arms were laden with rolls of blanket and two pillows.

Harry watched as they entered upon his command and began to arrange his sleeping place for the night. All throughout the process, he kept sneaking small and swift glances at Hermione, trying to see what her reaction was. His years as an assassin had given him the ability to make out the profiles of his victim with barely a second of a glimpse.

Her face was impassive, and she was biting her lip, which twisted something in his gut, but he just shoved the thought away, but her eyes were somewhat confusing to read. They were anxious, yet somewhat uncertain.

He shoved his hand into his hair. If he had it his way, he would have abandoned his respect for Hermione's preference and slept with her on the same bed.

But knowing that she was still adjusting to having a man in her life, he let her have it her way, although she really didn't say anything about it. He just knew that it was on her mind.

When they boys had finished, Harry fished inside his pocket for some coins and gave them their tip. Thanking him gallantly, they went off, leaving him alone with his wife.

The door was left slightly open, and when Harry walked over to close it, the noise below was at its height, somewhat inviting and very tempting. Booze and perhaps, some women…

He turned to Hermione to tell her of his sudden plans for the evening, and was not surprised, but still slightly discomforted, when she jumped in alarm, as if fearing that he might pounce on her again in a second.

For a moment there, he considered trying to make amends with her. But since he was aware of where that could possibly lead, he decided otherwise. What he needed was a drink, he thought, as he reached inside his breeches for his pocket watch.

And something to occupy his mind.

By something, he meant someone.

It was still early and he had nothing else to do that was not invading in a sort of way. He couldn't very well take one of the horses and ride out his frustration, seeing that it was already dark and the weather was not very friendly either.

Deciding that something was better than nothing, Harry reached over the knob and turned it.

“Where are you going?” Hermione looked at him.

“Downstairs,” he merely said, prepared to keep the matter as quiet as possible.

“Why?”

Harry turned around. The warmth of his passion had somehow gone missing. He wasn't too keen on explaining anything that would involve tonight, as he wasn't all too comfortable with the thought of doing it either.

“The answer to your question, my dear, is something I doubt you would want to hear.”

The look on her face, which wasn't supposed to do anything to him in any way, clawed at him and it dawned on his mind --- not to mention another part of him --- that other women were definitely out of the question.

Shocking as it seemed, the thought of him fulfilling his unsatisfied state in the company of another was not too good --- not for him, not for Hermione.

She didn't say anything after that, though, and Harry felt very much the villain that he was in her eyes.

With a low growl of irritation, he yanked open the door. With an “I'll have someone bring you supper,” he walked out of the room, leaving his very bewildered wife with her own bewildering thoughts.

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Hermione kept her eyes on the door Harry had closed behind him on his way out, half-expecting him to open it, half-hoping he would not. Frankly, she was quite tired of trying to think of what he would do next. She'd probably be too old to care before she finally cracked his code.

Ever since they had met, the man had nearly driven her insane.

His behavior was difficult to read; his actions not even coherent. She was always so hesitant to believe anything he did because she was afraid that it might only be her own wishful thinking.

If she'd had been the most cunning escape artist in the world, she might already be halfway home by now.

Did she regret marrying him?

Twice before the wedding, she'd almost changed her mind.

She wanted to call it off, thinking that the only reason she was going to marry him was because she'd just gone through another terrifying ordeal and she'd just experienced one of those white light moments that made you regret some past actions,

The first time she almost backed out was because somehow, her mind had not yet forgotten that she hated him and that her pride would not allow her to stoop low and let her bind herself with him through marriage. But, since she'd already come to realize that Harry's role in the death of his father was unintentional, as hard as it was for her to accept that, she let the matter go.

The second time was when he came by to tell her of the wedding plans that had already been made. His tone then had been impassive, uncaring. The way he said it gave Hermione a glimpse of what their future would be like --- or at least what his behavior at that moment was letting her see.

She nearly broke their engagement because of that.

But, in all honesty…after thinking of the pros and cons, she chose to marry him even with second thoughts because everything just came down to one thing:

She felt safer with him.

And she was…

Truly.

But now that they were married, he was starting to build these thoughts and feelings, causing turmoil of unwanted emotions churning inside her, making her feel things she had constantly denied before. Because of this, she was starting to believe that she was no safer with him than without him.

She was already in danger.

In danger of feeling something for him that was not hatred.

And that was even more risky…

How could she let herself fall for a man like him, whose actions, thoughts and emotions are equally hard to read?!

Could she bear the thought that after all this time, everything she felt and would feel for him, be it hatred or love, would be unreciprocated?

Harry was a difficult man. And while he was unaware of what he can do, she was an easy woman to hurt. How would it be possible for them to leave a life together wherein no one would get hurt, if from the start, everything was a simple farce?!

Briskly, Hermione touched her face, feeling the moisture settling on her cheeks. She was surprised to find out that she had been crying, all the more stunned that she had been unaware until then.

Since when had she mocked her character with tears? She'd tried so hard not to lose herself, to keep what was left of her intact, but she had been reduced to this frailty.

She hated it.

Yet she couldn't do anything to stop.

The consent, as it had been given, gave her the liberty to bury her face in her hands and succumb to this moment of weakness, the sky outside echoing the very feelings she had tried so long to keep.

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By the time Harry reached the barroom downstairs, it was already raining hard outside, he could feel the chills from the wind seeping through the cracks of the windows.

When he and Hermione had entered just a while ago, the barroom had not been full yet. But now that he was here, trying to look for a seat on which to take his brandy, he couldn't help but think the place needed a bit of clearing.

After some time of searching, he found himself slouched just in front of the bar, his heavy mood evident with his posture. “Whiskey.” He muttered to the man tending the orders. “One bottle.” He added and then slapped a big sum on the counter.

He wanted to drink the night away so that by the time he went up to bed, all he would need is a good night's sleep. Half an hour later, he was down to his last glass of whiskey, and his head was quite fuzzy. But it was still not enough to diminish any of the feelings and frustrations he had been feeling half an hour ago. He raised his hand to the bar tender, and held up one finger for one more bottle.

The man beside him chuckled.

Harry turned his head.

“Not a happy night, eh?”

Harry grunted. He was not that drunk yet, so he could pretend to be just to smack the face of the meddler beside him. With his face turned forward, Harry shifted his eye slightly to study the man.

Despite the hazy feeling he had, Harry's sense were still quite sharp as he observed his unwanted companion. The guy looked to be in his late twenties, with brown hair and blue eyes. His hair was a little long for the conventional clean-cut required of the ton because it was touching the top of his collar.

He was leaning on the counter, looking bored, indicating that he must be a traveler who had already seen all there was to see in different places, well, in England, at least. His black coat was somewhat thinner than necessary, signifying that he must be used to the cold weather, as any Englishman should be, and his well-worn boots didn't hide the fact that he usually took on his adventures without any ride.

He was sipping his drink gradually but not too slowly, savoring the taste but not worried he would not have enough money to buy more. The way he cocked his head showed that he was not waiting for someone, but rather he was aware of what was happening around him.

“Have you finished your inspection, detective?”

Harry blinked. Not too many was skilled or sensitive enough to be aware that Harry was observing them. If this man had been one of his targets, what a messy one his mission would have been!

Harry scoffed and then coughed. “And here I was thinking I haven't lost my touch. Must be one of those days.”

He wasn't up for a conversation tonight, but what the hell…

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Hell, maybe. But not paradise.” Harry shook his head. Then he looked around. “How did you---”

“Your ring, my lord,” And then he squinted his gaze. “Beg pardon, I meant your grace.”

“Harry's fine.” He offered, feeling a little bit friendly, and not to mention dizzy.

“Lye,” he extended his hand.

Harry shook it and returned to his drink.

“The ring, huh?” He mentioned a little later, his words somehow slurred but not offending. “I forget it's even there.”

“Not good for the wife. How long have you been married anyway?” Lye asked, eyeing Harry through the rim of his glass.

Somehow, Harry found this laughable even though it wasn't. “This morning.”

Lye whistled. “You must be in love with her, then.”

Harry stilled, his drink swishing in the glass. “What made you say that?”

Lye shrugged. “You haven't looked at any of the women who have been trying to get your attention since you sat down.”

“There are women here?” Harry asked, looking around.

Lye just chuckled, as Harry's actions confirmed he wasn't really paying attention, or perhaps he was just drunk. “So, yours was a match made in --- er--- hell, was it?”

Harry sighed, his head clouding. “Wasn't supposed to be a match at all…”

Lye looked a bit uncomfortable. “Compromised?”

“You could say that.” Harry snorted, not at all liking the word but it was the best that could describe the reason for his marriage. “Nothing happened, of course, as always is the case. I didn't want to marry her. But I offered for her, anyway. She refused.”

“And you're married, how?” Lye asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“She accepted three days ago. Still don't know why she did, and I won't bother finding out. Women are so fickle. They decide on one thing, and then turn everything crazy when they do something else.”

“Er---you're not complaining because you happen to prefer someone else, are you?” Lye asked again.

“Wasn't planning on marrying at all until she came barging into my life.”

And then Harry decided that there was something wrong about his statement. Perhaps, it was he who came barging into her life. But still, she didn't have to be so vulnerable or hardheaded that she needed saving, did she?

“Then, you're lucky.” Lye muttered. Something in his tone told Harry that he was about to hear a love story that ended up in tragedy. “I wanted to marry this woman I've loved nearly all my life. But when I had the courage to ask, she told me to leave.”

“I'm---sorry.” He offered tentatively.

Lye laughed a bit. “Don't be. I've always believed she did that for another reason---at least nothing as painful as she didn't love me back.”

Harry nodded, not really understanding the feeling, but of lack of anything to say. “How long has it been since you last saw her?”

“Years.”

“Is she married?”

“Last time I heard, she is.” Lye took a big gulp from his glass. Slamming it down with a little bit of force, he shoved his hand into his hair. “But it doesn't matter.”

Harry whipped his head around. “What do you mean?”

“I'll see her again.” Lye explained, looking at Harry in the eye. “And when I do and I find out she's not as happy as she should be, I'll do what I can to convince her to come with me.” He said this in an indifferent tone as if coveting somebody else's wife was not a sin.

“What, run away with you?” Harry asked, incredulous. “Wouldn't her husband file a case against both of you? You'll spend your life running away from the authorities.”

“That's the price you pay for true love, isn't it?” Lye muttered, laughing slightly.

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he had to admit. “I wouldn't know. I've never been in love.”

Lye inclined his head in his direction. “You don't love your wife? Not even a bit?”

“We've known each other barely a month. How could I possible love her?” He knew he sounded quite cruel, but the thing was, he just didn't know what else to say to a stranger who now knew one of the most private parts of his life that shouldn't have been shared to anyone at all.

“Does she love you?”

When had this conversation turned to a session with some sort of therapist? But what the heck? He'd never see him again anyway.

“I doubt she does.” Harry found himself admitting yet again. “She hates me.”

“Why are you married again?” Lye tried laughing the matter off.

“I reckon even though she hates me, she still needs me.”

“For what?”

Harry shrugged. “What other reason could there be?”

Lye nodded. He clapped Harry's shoulder. “What if you find out she no longer needs you?”

“I guess, then there would no longer be a reason for us to stay married.” Harry said, getting all riled up.

Hermione would need him forever, wouldn't she? If she wanted an earl for Ravenclaw, he would be necessary to her for as long as possible.

“You say that now, but when one of you falls in love with the other, you would be saying something else.”

“I doubt either of us will,” Harry shook his head. “If one of us would do one thing first, that would be killing each other.”

“That bad?” Lye joked. And then he splayed his hands. “Divorce is one solution. You don't have to deal with the mess of murdering somebody.”

“Yes, but that would still be messy. Divorce is considered social suicide, at least for her.”

“But what if she asks for it?”

Harry stilled. His finger toying with the rim of the glass he was holding. After one and a half bottle of whiskey, it all boiled down again to her.

He came down, wanting to forget, yet he met someone who wouldn't let him.

But it was a good thing that Lye had been there to prevent him from stop thinking about who he was with.

Now, he was facing an important question, how important exactly, he wasn't too certain, but he had a gut feeling that Lye didn't just ask questions out of the blue, he had something in mind. And for now, Harry wanted to believe that he was some sort of guardian angel who was looking out for him and Hermione.

As of now, he really didn't know whether he loved Hermione or not. He had feelings for her, yes, feelings that were too strong to deem as worthless. But he still had no idea whether they would mature into what people called love.

For now, this question was hanging in midair, waiting for his answer.

If Hermione asked for a divorce, would he give it to her?

But then, would she want to leave him?

Smug as the thought was, it did make sense.

Hermione was the one who sealed their fate. She accepted his proposal, despite the fact that it had been a late acceptance. And even though right now, she most probably would want to take back his wedding vows and shove it up his nose, but in the future?

In the future, when everything else had fallen into a routine, and they had both disappointed each other, which would most probably happen, would she give up? Would he give up?

And if she would, would he let her leave?

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There was nothing else to describe Harry as he swayed against doors after doors, trying to reach his room for the night. Foxed, though he may be, he still took great pride in the fact that he managed to find his way without having to knock somebody just for helping, or what he preferred to call, meddling.

He had always been a superb drunk, but never a poor one. Tonight had just been a different one. The drinks he had with his new friend Lye had caused him all his pocket money, leaving him a pauper, for the rest of the evening at least. Tomorrow, he'll retrieve some from his trunk.

But first, he had to get some sleep. One never knew when one's strength should be needed in case there was an emergency. With the storm at its peak, Harry doubted the morning will come by without a little bit of hazard in between.

His mind was fuzzy and his feet were swaying as he trudged over to his bed. Then through his swirling vision, he made out a form of a sleeping woman occupying the medium-sized bed he would be sleeping in.

What was a woman doing here? He wondered, nearly staggering backward for staying upright too long.

He didn't order for somebody to be brought up, did he?

Then he loomed nearer, nearly falling on top of the sleeping figure.

He couldn't make out who it was, and frankly, didn't really bother all that much to find out. He had no concern whatsoever to familiarize himself with whoever the lady was, if she was even a lady. What he wanted was some rest, and he'll be dead first before he allowed his aching body to lie on the hard, wooden floor.

Without another thought, since he wasn't really capable of any more, Harry lay down on the empty space next to her and dozed off even before his head hit the pillow.

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The first few cries had caused him to stir, but they weren't enough to keep him awake for long.

But when the soft sounds became harsh ones that came like warning bells into his head, Harry bolted upright. The first immediate thought that came to his mind was that he needed medicince.

His head was throbbing, his eyes were hurting.

But his ears were definitely working right.

At first, he couldn't hear anything, the harsh pounding of the continuous rain making it hard for him to distinguish any other sound. But because the whimpers were coming from somewhere close, beside him to be exact, he didn't waste time trying to fathom who was causing it.

Reaching over, Harry tried to grab Hermione by the shoulders, but found this a difficult task because she was covered with mounds of blankets. Harry briefly wondered where she had gotten the extra cloths and recognized one of them as the material that should have been part of the cot he had been supposed to sleep on that night.

Remembering the cot, Harry reached up to rub his forehead, if only to remember why he wasn't sleeping on it when he should have been.

But Harry's thoughts were interrupted when Hermione began to shiver, despite the many blankets that should have been competing with the sun for its scorching heat.

With one curse for each blanket, Harry began to peel them off her. This didn't prove to be a very easy task, because even in sleep, Hermione was adamant to keep them on.

At first, he thought it was just a normal reaction to the cold night, but only when he had begun to realize that her reaction was strange did he become more alarmed.

“Hermione,” he said, as he managed to take off the last of the extra blankets, leaving her with only one.

Still, she didn't stir.

But her puckered brows told him a different story.

She must be having a nightmare.

Nothing else could explain the whimpering.

Harry leaned close. “Hermione,” he called out again, a little firmer this time.

It was hard, trying to call out to her when the rain was beating furiously against the roof, and wind was howling like a mad animal against them.

And then when he thought that she'd quieted down, her eyes flashed open the same instant a lightning flashed across the sky.

The sound of the rumbling thunder that followed startled him.

But his reaction was nothing compared to hers.

It was almost as if she lost control of herself and became a different woman. No longer was she the strong Hermione he had met, the one who defied him at every turn. This woman was vulnerable, scared.

Harry couldn't help but stare as her wide eyes gave away every emotion she was feeling.

“Hermione,” Harry murmured, reaching out to her.

“Don't touch me!” She slapped his hand away and backed up against the headboard, drawing her knees close to her, wrapping her arms around them.

She started swaying back and forth. Harry moved closer. She didn't seem to be aware that he was Harry. Just that he was somebody. And he became more worried. What could possibly have caused her this fear? Granted that he'd never slept with her before; he should know something as serious as this, shouldn't he?

“Hermione,” his tentative tone was nothing like he'd ever used before, and he didn't like it because it made him sound like pathetic, but with the way Hermione was right now, he didn't want to take a chance with his normal voice.

And then lightning struck again.

And in the barest of seconds, he saw her flinch the same moment the lightning came.

“Is it --- is the storm?”

Somehow, his words had put the life back in her, but the fear never left her eyes as she looked up at him. “Harry?”

He hated the way she said his name, almost as if she didn't believe he was there, coming to her rescue. It was as if she didn't trust him enough to be there when she needed him. But wasn't that his fault? Despite the fact that he had come to her assistance before, he had never so much as indicated that he would help her with anything.

“How long has this been going on?!” Harry asked, taking hold of both her arms, shaking her when she didn't say anything. And when everything else was too much, she broke down, crying. With each sob that passed from her mouth and tore his heart, Harry heard bits and pieces of her story.

“I---I tried to f-forget. I r-really did.” She took a deep breath, and then she shook her head, her body suddenly feeling very weak. “But that night --- oh God --- that night.”

Just the way she said that, as if she was being eaten alive, was all it took before Harry knew what she needed. He didn't know where he got the strength, but he hauled her into his arms, wrapping them around her, trying to protect her from the memory, even though he knew in his heart, it was all up to her.

“Shh---” He murmured in her ear, rocking her back and forth, trying to make her see where she was and whom she was with.

But she was inconsolable.

“I still feel their---their hands on me. And their faces…” She nearly broke down. Harry began to rock her like the child she was lost in her own dream. “I s-see them in my d-dreams. C-coming…tor-tormenting me. I t-thought after that first night, they would go a-away.”

“Hermione,” he tried to interrupt.

“B-but they became worse,” she hiccupped, “Each time, each d-dream,” She looked up and touched his face. And then she began to cry earnestly again. “I tried to be b-brave until y-you came along.” He tried crooning to her, but as she looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears, he was silenced. “B-but---you weren't t-there to s-save me.”

Harry's breath hitched in his throat. He caught her hand in his and kissed her palm, trying to absorb her pain, telling her that her dreams told her otherwise. She sobbed even more after this, but appeared to be taking things in more calmly. “I---”

Then she stopped and looked away. Harry had the feeling that what she was about to say had something to do with him. It took a great deal of coercion and quite a long moment to make her speak.

“I---I knew it would happen again t-tonight,” she said.

“Why didn't you tell me?” He whispered to her. Silent tears were now falling down her cheeks. He tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming that Harry stopped altogether. “I would have stayed with you.”

He reached for a blanket to stop her chills, and then, at the back of his mind, he suddenly realized that she must have wanted him to sleep with her all along.

The blanket she'd used to cover herself with was from the cot that was supposed to be his bed. She must have woken up in the middle of the night, saw him sleeping beside her and then retrieved the cot from the floor.

She wanted him to stay.

“I---I wanted to.” Hermione admitted; her words soft and barely audible. “But I didn't know how---”

“Just ask me.” Harry interrupted, tightening his hold on her. He still couldn't believe that he had spent his night enjoying himself with his drinks, while Hermione had been all alone up here, trying to conquer her fear by herself. He should kill himself for this, or at least, crack his head against the poles of this bed. “I'm your husband. All you had to was ask.”

Hermione nodded and then looked down again.

Then Harry shook his head. “No,” he said, tipped her chin up again. “I'm your husband, Hermione,” he said, and then he kissed her lightly. “You shouldn't even have to ask.”

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Hermione woke up the next morning, with a light heart and beside her, an empty bed.

She reached over to smooth the place where Harry had lain last night, holding her as she tried to sleep. She had thought that just like before, even with him near, she would have a hard time sleeping after a nightmare. But surprisingly, his words had done more to her than what she was hoping for.

She'd gone to bed, thinking that she would suffer for the rest of the night, but she didn't.

For the rest of the night, she'd slept soundly and had not woken until she felt the bed sag beside her and saw that Harry had gotten up.

Noticing that his movement had awakened her, he crossed over to her side of the bed, crouched down, inquired how she was feeling, and then kissed her forehead like a child before preparing himself and walking out of the room, saying they were to leave after luncheon.

Exhausted from last night's ordeal, Hermione had fallen asleep as quickly as he had left and didn't wake up two hours after.

As she got up and did her morning routine, she pondered on Harry's gentleness the night before, thinking that it was one more point for this marriage of theirs. He'd seen that side of him, but they were but glimpses. Nothing could have prepared her for the full impact of it last night.

Half an hour later, she finished changing into her morning dress, her hair up in a messy bun, tendrils of it falling at the side of her face. She felt fresh and very much renewed for the day. As she was walking down the stairs to meet Harry, her injured leg causing her to take the steps one at a time, she began to wonder whether his behavior would last. Knowing that his moods had the habit of changing and were as unpredictable as the weather, which was now sporting a very sunny day, Hermione doubted it would.

But, she decided, not all good things last after all.

And she was prepared to deal with it if he was.

As she hit the bottom step, Hermione scoured the first floor for the sight of her husband. She found him seated behind one of the round tables, talking to a man seated just opposite him.

Curious as to how Harry had acquired a companion in barely twenty-four hours, Hermione slowly made her way to him.

The inn was not as busy as it had been last night, so Hermione had no trouble reaching their table, even with an injured leg. She arrived just in time to hear Harry say, “My wife, the Duchess of Godric's Hollow.”

Hermione had no idea what to say, taken aback by Harry's introduction of her as a duchess. She wasn't used to the idea yet, and that was just all right since she'd only been a duchess for one day.

So she fixed upon her face a smile with which to greet Harry's new friend, hoping he would be ready for the tirade of questions she would bombard him with. As for her, she was quite ready to be all courteous.

But what she wasn't prepared for was whose face had turned to meet hers.

“William?”

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A/N:

This was quite the hardest and obviously, the longest, chapter I'd made so far! It's 24 pages! Can you imagine that?

I've just finished, and it's 4:34 in the morning here. I have done my last minute editing, but I would still consider another one later, after I've had some sleep. Anyhow, this update should do for now.

I hope it was all right. It was such a long chapter because I needed everything you just read to be included in this one. As you all know, I really love cliffies, so I just couldn't resist ending the chapter with one.

I would also like to say, I'm pausing Dare Me for a while, until I've finished with Caught in the Past. I really think I should because I can't focus on two stories at the same time. As you may have recalled, writing Dare Me was just on a whim. I really didn't intend to write two stories all at once. This is tentative, for now, so I might update, I might not. But rest assured, with only one story to focus on, I will finish Caught in the Past faster.

Cross your fingers for me.

Thanks for reading….

And kindly, review.

This is all for now, until then!

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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A/N:

Yes, yes, I know. A long wait yet again. I'm sorry. Truly sorry. I hope you like this one. Just a little bit to reveal some things.

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There was nothing else quite like the sound of an astounded voice, echoing across the cozy little inn, that could convey a message quite appallingly clear as that of her own, Hermione thought.

It was embarrassing, to say the least, to be caught in such a situation in which one's mouth was hanging open and inviting more than just ridicule. Yet she couldn't do anything but stare at the long lost friend she had never considered to meet again.

The sound of chairs scraping against the wooden floor as they were pushed back brought her wits about and after a moment's hesitation; she finally coerced her feet to move.

The two men were now standing, waiting for her to get near. Whereas Harry stayed put, William met her halfway.

As she looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in five years, the first thing she noticed was how much taller he had become. He appeared even larger up close, when the distance was closed between them. His hair was shorter the last time she had seen him, cut just above his collar. His face was quite different now, what with all the angles that had suddenly been chiseled across it. Though he looked nothing like he did five years ago, she recognized him from the way he was looking down at her with a gentle smile.

“What on earth happened to you?” she asked, unable to stop her honesty, despite the fact that William's absence for quite some time called for some modesty.

He gave a short but deep laugh as he took one of her hands in his and lifted it up for a kiss, looking into her eyes. “Lady Hermione, you haven't changed a bit.” He shook his head, still not letting go of her hand. Then he scrutinized the ring she had on her finger. “Forgive me; I should address you as `your grace' now, shouldn't I?”

“You were never good at addressing anybody.” Hermione laughed a little, but gently tugged her hand from his hold, having been reminded of who she was.

“Ah, but five years is enough time to learn.” He effortlessly bowed before her, his gesture appearing honed as any other aristocrat's. “Do you not you agree, your grace?”

“Clearly,” she said. Then an uncomfortable silence ensued, followed by a prickling sensation she couldn't quite put.

It was at that point that her eyes flickered over to Harry who was still standing only a few feet away. He was looking at her, his eyes mocking, the corner of his lips tilting into a smirk.

Covering her delay with a smile, she looked up at William. “I see you have met my husband. How lovely,” she said, skirting her way around him to stand beside Harry. She didn't know why but she suddenly felt the need to stand beside him even though he appeared not to be bothered by William's apparent friendship with her.

“Indeed” was all William said as he strode over to the seat he left behind.

Harry regarded William with a slight frown but masked it away when he helped Hermione to her seat. He pushed the chair until she was seated comfortably.

“I trust you are feeling well, my lady?”

At the sound of his voice near her ear, Hermione's heart leaped. She managed to regain her composure though and voiced out a small “Yes, I am. Thank you” before he nodded and sat down beside her.

She glanced at him in the corner of her eyes, half-expecting him to stand up again and leave, which she was fairly sure he'd do out of no particular reason other than just because he felt like it. Yet there he was, perfectly still, looking like he had no better things to do than seat beside his wife all day.

“What would you prefer for breakfast?” Harry asked, almost cracking a smile when his question caused her to raise her brow at him. She did not expect him to be nice, he surmised with silent laughter.

“Anything would be fine.”

Harry merely nodded and signaled for somebody. He was done with her portion of the meal and was about to start on his when he turned to her and asked. “Would you care for something else?”

He was smiling.

She blushed.

Why was he smiling?

And what the hell was happening to her?

Why did she feel like an 18-year old debutante, fresh out of schoolroom, marveling at the attention of a gentleman? It didn't mean anything at all to him anyway, so there was no point in behaving like an innocent.

Hermione shook her head, giving him a small smile.

Harry's eyes flashed with something, but she didn't think on it too much. Was it her or did she actually like him treating her like this? She didn't know why, but the thought warmed her.

And then she saw him threw William a subtle look.

Barely a second passed when it dawned on her that Harry still did not know who William was.

That must be the reason he's acting strange, she realized, disappointed for some reason.

Forlorn, and angry that she even was, Hermione made the necessary introductions, telling Harry with few words that William had been one of his father's workers in Ravenclaw Keep.

“You forgot to mention, Hermione,” William interrupted, smiling. His illicit use of her first name was ignored by the two other occupants of the table. “We were…playmates.”

Hermione nodded absentmindedly.

Was it her or did Harry just…growl?

Perhaps it was just her wild imagination because when she had looked, there was only a mild expression of interest on his face. It wouldn't have been justifiable, but then, she would have liked it if he had.

He opened his mouth to finally speak, but decided not to say anything and opted to sit quietly instead.

Considering his constant reminders of the danger she could be in after what happened before, his lack of reaction after meeting someone she was associated with puzzled Hermione. Moreover, she wanted more from him, more than a simple nod of acknowledgement or silence.

She wasn't so overconfident to think he liked her so much already to be jealous, but the fact was: he was an assassin. It was in his nature to be curious and investigate.

But still, Hermione felt something else…

Like a tiny glimmer of hope that he was jealous…

She sighed, stealing a glance at her husband.

Even just a bit…

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Harry sat quietly, contemplating on whether or not he should put an end to the banter that had not even begun to form between his wife and the man who had vowed to steal her from him.

He smiled humorlessly as the innkeeper placed his and Hermione's breakfast on the table.

Funny thing, really.

When he arrived downstairs a little over an hour ago, he was accosted by a man whom Harry had sworn he'd never seen in his entire life. And since his mind refused to register the memory on its own, it took an hour of conversation to bring back last night's conversation, but only a moment to make him realize that he had been a blundering idiot, spilling out his personal relationship with Hermione to some stranger.

Harry waited for Hermione to get near before introducing her.

He had been halfway done actually, when wouldn't you know it?

They already knew each other.

The moment he heard Lye's name, everything else became clear to Harry.

Of all the travelers he could have gotten drunk with; it was with the last man he would have expected or chose to encounter.

“My lord?”

Hermione was looking at him.

He blinked.

“I beg your pardon, my lady. I was woolgathering,” Harry muttered generously. “What is it?”

“You are not eating,” Hermione said. “Whatever is the matter?”

Harry looked at his wife, whose eyes were slightly curious, but not concerned. He would have given something just to see concern in those eyes of hers. But now was not the time to dwell on that, not when somebody --- who'd already revealed of plans of abducting his wife --- was sitting so close to them.

“Nothing, my dear.”

He chucked her chin just for good measure. He may seem like he was putting on a show, but it was more for Hermione's benefit than his. How it was her concern, that much he didn't want to dwell on for as long as everybody understood that it was not his own.

Harry vaguely wondered whether “Lye” was mortified by the thought that the husband of his long lost love already knew what his intentions were, and that it was partly his fault that Harry did.

From the looks of it, even if he were horrified, he wasn't showing any sign of it.

Pity, he thought. I would have rather enjoyed it.

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Ten minutes had passed from their quiet meal when Hermione and Lye got to talking, the awkwardness from their unexpected meeting extinguished by good food. It didn't escape Harry that Hermione had perked up in her friend's presence, but he'd be damned if he let anyone say he was feeing insecure about it!

“That must have been extremely exciting, Will.” Hermione enthused, after hearing one of Lye's escapades in Paris.

“It was.” He winked at her. “I have made friends there. They will be glad to see me again. If you have time, you can go with me.”

`So the plan begins,' Harry thought smugly.

“That would be great.” Hermione nodded, beaming at William.

Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from interrupting.

“But that would have to wait, your grace, for I have some business to do before I can be free to travel again,” Lye said.

Hermione inclined her head. “Business? What sort of business?”

“Nothing serious.” Lye shrugged. “I managed to acquire some wealth over the past year, and I want to invest on something, horses, probably, before the month ends.”

“Dare I ask from where did your money come?” Hermione asked him, her eyes were twinkling.

Lye rubbed his jaw before commenting on it. “You would not approve.”

Hermione just shook her head and let the matter go. Not for one moment did she believe William did something illegal. And even though her curiosity was somewhat heightened, she didn't continue to press him, knowing that no amount of coercion would make him say anything.

Just like Harry.

Then she jerked her head to his direction, taking note that he was still sitting as calm and emotionless as before. William may be many things, she thought, but he is not Harry.

Somehow, that brought a smile on her face.

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After seeing how their interaction was growing livelier and livelier by the minute, Harry couldn't keep quiet any longer. “Where are you headed?” He asked, feeling the need to know how far William would be once they went their separate ways.

“Bertshire.” Lye said, turning his attention to Harry for the first time since Hermione came down. “I'll stop there for a day or two and make some purchases before heading off to Carden.”

Harry refused to say anything except “god speed” to his journey, but a squeal of delight came from the noisy excuse for a wife beside him.

“That is such a coincidence, Will!”

Here we go, Harry groaned.

“His Grace and I are traveling to that side of the country as well.”

“Are you?” Lye asked his eyes boring into Harry's, as if knowing what he had deliberately missed on doing. “That is a coincidence.”

“How do you plan on going there?” Hermione asked.

“I'm certain he has a horse, my lady.” Harry intervened, wearily. “That is one requirement that a traveling man always has.”

“Actually, your grace,” Lye said smoothly, looking him straight in the eye. “I am not so fortunate as to have a horse. The poor thing died just last night. I merely walked from the nearby village to this inn.”

“Oh, but that's wonderful!” Hermione exclaimed, and then covered her mouth. “Not your horse dying or you having to walk, of course.” She explained, and then plundered on. “You could travel with Harry and me! I am certain the duke's carriage would accommodate all of us.” Then she saw Harry's pointed look and mistook it for something else. “I had already made certain of that yesterday, hadn't I? You said so yourself, your grace.”

“Indeed, I had.” Harry gritted his teeth.

What in bloody hell was he going to do with this woman?!

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“After you, my lady.” William graciously stepped aside, offering his hand for assistance, as Hermione prepared to step inside the carriage.

Hermione smile at him, already lifting her hand to place it in his.

“Step aside, Averley,” Harry suddenly snarled close to William's ear, taking Hermione's outstretched hand at the same time. “I'll escort my wife.” He added emphatically. He'd been very lenient up until that moment with all the assisting the man had given to Hermione. It was high time he gave some himself.

William bowed his head politely, hiding away his grin. He watched Hermione responded with a smile, but there was some confusion in her eyes. He grinned in spite of the situation. For someone whose mission was to capture the heart of the one he loved, he was actually being very generous to Harry.

Now, why was that?

A little push here, a little shove there.

He'd accomplish what he came here to do.

`Soon,' he thought happily. `Soon.'

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Harry tried to ignore the gleam in William's eyes, but he couldn't.

It was directed right at him and he didn't have an inkling as to what to make of it.

Choosing to let it pass, Harry entered the carriage, and out of habit, took the seat opposite Hermione's. It was too late to realize that it gave William no other option but to sit beside his wife.

`Oh, how he must have been waiting for that slip.' Harry surmised, judging the smug look in the man's eyes. `Hell, he must have been counting on it.'

When the door was purposefully closed, and their coachman finally urged his team to begin trotting away, Lye and Hermione began to talk again. Their conversation during breakfast in no way sated their thirst to catch up with one another's lives.

Meanwhile, Harry was left alone, yet again, to find something to occupy his mind for the rest of the trip.

It was perhaps after half an hour of riding that he realized William and Hermione's conversation had taken a turn for the more serious. Curious, he listened, all the while pretending to find the scenery outside the window the most fascinating thing of all.

“What happened to you when you left Ravenclaw Keep?”

“There is little to tell.” William shrugged. “I worked here and there, earning my keep. I actually had no destination in mind. I just went wherever the wind brought me.”

Harry had to smother the urge to laugh at the use of the seemingly poetic phrase.

Hermione, however, found nothing funny about it. She nodded solemnly instead. “And your ancestry, did you ever find it?”

William hesitated for a moment, looking very grave. He ran a hand through his hair. “A year ago, I decided to go back to that old place I used to tell you about,” he started. “The one where I was found? Do you remember?” At Hermione's nod, he continued. “I didn't know why I did. I mean, I couldn't find anything the last time I'd been there, what difference would there be after so many years, right?”

“But you found something.” Hermione interrupted; her tone conspiratorial. She leaned close to him and then felt something hit her foot. Rather hard, if she might add. She momentarily glanced across the carriage, but found Harry rather taken with the scenery outside.

“Actually,” William said, interrupting her concern. “I found naught.”

Hermione's face fell and she grabbed his hands out of her habit before when they were younger and he had gotten himself in a fix. “You gave up? Tell me you did not.”

He shrugged. “There was nothing else there for me. I could not go on hoping that I'll find out anything. Perhaps I've lost my memory forever. Besides, John and Esther are enough for me.”

He was referring to his foster parents, who had been the butler and housekeeper of Ravenclaw Estate for as long as Hermione could remember. John Averley was the one found William wandering around the woods twenty-five years ago. He had been four then.

Without having anything else to say, Hermione merely nodded.

Then she got kicked again. She looked up, but once more, Harry was not looking back.

What was his problem? It wasn't as if she was dumb not to recognize somebody deliberately assaulting her foot!

And then she noticed her hand was still somewhat linked to William's, and she smiled knowingly, a thrill running up her spine.

There shouldn't have been thrills, really, but what was a girl to do?

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They had been seated in the carriage, traveling wordlessly and uneventfully for about four hours already when Harry declared he wanted a bit of reprieve. Hermione couldn't have agreed with him more, although she kept to herself the comment that her bottom needed some sort of break from being used as cushion.

The carriage door was opened, and one by one, they piled out of the stuffed vehicle.

William muttered something about taking a brief walk, and Hermione followed suit, but took off in the opposite direction. Harry was left, on his own, yet again, to mind his own business.

It was nearing noon, and his company might be getting a bit hungry. He looked around to gauge how far the nearest inn was and recognized the place they were in. He knew that just beyond the mountainous trees he could see from where he was standing was a vast field covered in wild flowers, glazing beautifully as the light of the sun came upon them.

Normally, he would have ignored that part of nature, but something was tugging him to see the place again. And it was just the right time, too. At noon, the sun really gave everything it had to light the fields below.

He had been a traveler the last time he came upon it. He had enjoyed the scene then, having been a carefree man. He wondered whether he'd like it now when so many things have come upon him.

Having given instructions to his coachman regarding his return and his destination, Harry wandered over to the palatial field.

He had been standing there, his hands in his pockets, for what seemed like a long time, gazing, sometimes squinting when the sunlight caught his eye, when he heard someone behind him.

“Oh my goodness.”

The intake of breath somewhat brought a smile to his lips. Without turning, he knew the expression that she was wearing. He had one on his face as well the first time he'd been here.

“It does take one's breath away, does it not?” Harry asked calmly, his tone even, when she came to stand beside him.

Instead of answering his question, she turned to look at him and asked one of her own. “How do you do it, my lord?”

His head moved so that his eyes could meet hers. “Do what?”

“Look as if you have seen everything and no longer care about anything.”

Her comment on his compassion caught him by surprise. He didn't think she'd already branded him as Mr. Insensitive but he supposed he had never given her a reason to think otherwise. But the idea that she thought of him that way did not sit too well with him.

“I assure you, my lady, I am not as unfeeling as you think I am.”

The sharpness in his tone stunned Hermione. She supposed her comment wouldn't have hurt him, but it did. “I was not implying that you had no heart, my lord. Just that you mask your feelings away quite expertly that it always seems as if nothing could ever affect you.”

“I see.”

“No, you do not see.” Hermione countered so forcefully that Harry's face turned her way again. “It is quite hard for me to understand you at times, my lord. Although I do not applaud you for concealing what should be brought out, I do admire that quality of yours, especially when I find the need to do it just as you can.”

“What are you talking about?” He asked blandly.

“I have always appeared independent and strong to everyone who knows me. It had not been that way when I was born, but growing up…” She trailed off. Harry knew exactly what made her willful, and he didn't blame her for standing up for herself.

“Growing up…” he urged her to continue, hoping she would tell him her story even though he already knew simply because he wanted her to trust him.

“I learned how to be me.”

Although disappointed for not getting what he wanted, Harry tried to tease her. “Sometimes being you is not such a bad thing.”

“Perhaps you are right. The strong part of me, I do not mind. But the truth is,” Hermione looked at him and laughed. “I am also weak.”

Harry thought of the times wherein she could have been deemed as fragile, but she chose to stay tough. He shook his head. She did not need to think of herself that way. “No one can be as strong as they are weak, Hermione. If you are, then so be it. But do not even consider for one second that the strong part of you is not greater.”

Hermione gazed at him, looking as if she was seeing him for the very first time. “You are not what you seem to be.” And then she laughed at herself. “Of course, I already knew that.”

Harry thought she was finished when she looked away and gazed across the field into the distance her eyes could reach. But her voice, soft and dim, rang out. “Sometimes, I wish I would not feel anything at all. So I would not remember many things and feel everything all at once.”

There was something in her voice and the weight of her words that carried its way through his heart that Harry could not have stopped himself had he even tried to. In a slow but deliberate move, he took her into his arms and was glad that she did not jump in surprise nor hesitate at all.

“You do not have to pretend everything is all right.” Harry reminded her, his hand cradling her head against him.

“But what if everything becomes too much?” Hermione asked, closing her eyes, relaxed for the first time. “I certainly do not wish it to overflow and consume me. I abhor showing any sign of weakness, you know.”

It hit him, then, that she was talking about how she had fallen apart the night before. It was not right for her to blame herself for being scared or traumatized about what happened.

His hold on her tightened.

“Everything will be all right.” He murmured in her ear, hugging her to him. “I do not think any less of you for what I have seen last night.” And then he sighed. “For what it's worth, you have done me a favor.”

“W-what?” she asked leaning away from him, her hands clutching his forearms.

“You see,” Harry said, his eyes twinkling. “I was beginning to think you were not human.” At her astounded expression, Harry chuckled. “Anybody who had gone or would go through the same ordeal will always have a scar. If you keep it all bottled up inside, there was no way to tell what may happen.”

“And I had done you a favor how?” Hermione eyed him testily. Her feelings were still somewhat heavy, but in some way, Harry had pacified it.

“Well, do you actually trust I would want someone unstable to be my duchess?”

“Unstable?” she repeated.

“Yes.” Harry nodded, looking very thoughtful. “You see; had I not comforted you, who knows how insane you would have become after many of those nightmares?”

“I see your point.” Hermione laughed. And then she sobered. “Thank you.”

Harry's smiling face, turned solemn as well. “I said it before and I'll say it again, Hermione. I'm your husband. You may not always think I'll understand you, but all you have to do is ask, and I won't think twice before coming for you.”

Hermione looked into his eyes, trying to look for something. “Thank you.” She burrowed her face into his chest. “I'm happy you're here.”

Her words were muffled by his shirt, but he heard her anyway.

“What happened?”

“To what?” She seemed genuinely confused.

“To you,” he said and then he looked away. “And me.”

Hermione's heart slammed against her ribs so hard she thought he would feel it too.

Really…

Here she was, standing in the circle of his arms, perfectly content to be where she was at the moment, yet she couldn't even begin to explain why.

How was she to describe to him after all those bouts and declarations of her hatred for him that she no longer felt any trace of that emotion at all? How could she make him understand something that she could not even explain herself?

“I---don't know.” Hermione replied lamely. And then she felt the need to say something to him which was remotely close to the truth. “But I like it this way.”

It took him a long time to answer, but when he finally met her gaze with his own, his lips had turned into a meaningful smile.

“Me too.”

She heard him say it above her head because by that time, she was already against him, his arms fully wrapped around her.

She could still see the way he had looked at her before she could no longer see past her own giddy feelings. It was not because of their conversation or the place that they were in that the mood had suddenly become so right. It was simply the way he was holding her without any inhibitions.

Nothing would have destroyed the mere vision of it in her head nor would she allow anybody to say that it was only an excuse to make her feel this way.

Perhaps in a few years, when she would look back and ask herself when she had felt the first stirrings of love for this man in her life, she would consider many things, for many things have come and gone worth mentioning. But nothing would ever compare to this one moment --- standing here in his arms, in a place she would have gladly stayed in forever.

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Harry dared not speak a word as he held Hermione, reveling in the feeling of happiness radiating from her. Words were unnecessary, for something vital had happened between the two of them.

However, he would prefer to call it a truce for this moment, because naming it something else would only mean a headache. He had no clue where to start or how to start describing every emotion she was causing him to feel.

All that he could recognize was that same feeling he had gone through four nights before when he had realized that she was in danger: the need to protect.

Yes, he cared for her.

Yes, he liked her.

But, no…he did not love her.

Loving entailed too much emotional investment that he felt he had already lost everything to that one person he had loved and lost.

`Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.'

But it felt good to be with someone.

That much he was willing to admit.

They were standing there, unmoving for who knew how long, until someone had the graciousness to appear unceremoniously before them, looking innocent as if he hadn't walked in on their privacy.

“A pleasant noon, is it not?” William asked jovially.

Harry casually let go of Hermione, while she blushed into a becoming shade of red.

“I beg to differ.” Harry muttered bitterly.

William had the gall to laugh at him. If it weren't for Hermione standing so close, Harry swore he would have smacked that grin away from his face.

Since Hermione showed no sign of saying anything, Harry did it himself. “What, may I ask, brought you here?”

“I was lured by curiosity, your grace.” William shrugged, and then he suddenly put on an expression that made him appear as if he had just realized something. “I caught a glimpse of something behind the trees and made my way over here. I apologize for intruding on your…er…moment?”

God help him if this man would start to suck up to him now!

“I shall leave the two of you now, your grace. I am truly sorry.” He then bowed, and left the field, his body still bent into that mocking gesture.

Harry watched him, his eyes blaring with annoyance. “Bloody git.” He muttered when he was out of hearing range. Then he turned to Hermione. ““Let us get back to the carriage; we still have a long day ahead.”

He had walked exactly five steps away from her, when Hermione suddenly said behind him. “William is nothing more to me than a dear friend, your grace. You need not worry about him causing any trouble. He has been quite like this since we were little. He loved to tease me and…”

“Enough.” Harry said abruptly. He didn't really want to here anything about William, not after having had a pleasant mood with her. Any reminder of William would surely sour it, and he would not be responsible if it angered Hermione.

Hermione blinked.

He half-expected her to get mad for disrupting her story with a snide tone, but instead, she began to smile.

“That smile of yours, my dear, is very daunting, as pleasant as it is to look at. I am afraid to ask what you are happy about.”

“If I did not know any better, your grace,” she began in a teasing voice. “I would say you are jealous of him.”

Harry looked taken aback not because she was far from the truth but perhaps because she was closer than she realized. But of course, being Hermione, she mistook his expression the other way.

“Oh.” Came the reply of her fallen spirits.

He turned around, his back facing her. It was his turn to smile. “If I did not know any better,” he said, mimicking her phrase. “I'd say you'd be disappointed if I am not.”

She blushed again, a deep, deep shade of red, but he did not see that. Harry took two another three steps forward and then stopped. “Do you know one other thing I would say, my lady, if I did not know any better?”

“What?”

“I would say that you like me already.”

With that, he left her where she was, surprised and quite unable to move.

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When Harry had gone off, his footsteps fading into the distance, Hermione couldn't help but turn around once more to look at the palatial spread of flowers in front of her. She thought of what he said before he left.

And sighed.

“If I like you,” she murmured softly. “Would that be so bad?”

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A/N:

All right, all right! I know it's been like a month or something and this is all I give you. Again, this one's not yet edited. Believe it or not I've been working on this, every single day since I last updated. I don't know why it took me this long. I was really hung up on William's role that I guess I couldn't get past that without thinking on it properly. And then I sat down in front of the computer three hours ago and told myself, “You're going to finish this today.” And so I did.

So I figured, it was high time one of them fell in love with the other. And of course, I wouldn't have had it any other way than Hermione being the first. But take note, that she isn't really in love with him that much yet. Just that, she is beginning to feel that first stirrings of love for him.

As for Harry, I got him to admit that he cared for her, as I'm sure you already know as much. But also, I am saying now that even if he did love her, he would be ignoring that feeling because of what happened with Polly. So there ya go…

On a more personal note, I would like to thank the readers of this story who have been with me since day one. The first year anniversary of Caught in the Past have come and gone, and I can't say I'm happy that it took a year to write this story and it's not even finished. But still, thanks for those who have constantly read it.

I recently posted the complete story of Twist Through Time in this website. I'm sure you already know that since I mentioned it in one of my author's notes. So, if you haven't read it and you're looking for a work of mine that is already finished, please check that out. Although, I feel obliged to warn you that the story isn't as polished in grammar or in plot as my other stories.

Another thing, I know I keep saying that the updates would pour now that I only have one story to concentrate on, but I can't help myself. The more I write down the things I want to happen, the more I get excited and then write a few more. When I look at the draft notes that I created for this story, I find myself saying `whoa' this story got more complicated (in a good way), so I hope you forgive me.

Lastly, I know that it is not really my choice whether or not people like this story. But the fact is, I am hurt whenever people send me reviews saying that Caught in the Past is going downhill. I would just like to point out that before you say anything negative about other people's works, please do make sure that you have written something better because otherwise, you really do not have something on which you could base your comments. If you are not a writer, then you do not know how sad it is when people do not like your work and they even have the insensitivity to tell you that they do not. I understand that you want to help me improve my writing, but sometimes, the criticisms left are not really constructive for me. If you write something, and you don't even try to tell me in a nice manner, what you're doing is trying to take the story down, the author along with it.

I do admit that the story is quite long, and moving a little bit slowly right now, and it is nothing compared to what others write, but please, I ask for your respect. If you do not have something good to say, or at least, something CONSTRUCTIVE to say, then do not leave me any more reviews. It just turns me into this freaking monster that needs to write something back, after which I will feel extremely guilty because I would think that have not been a good sport.

Thank you.

For reading and for understanding.

Please leave a CONSTRUCTIVE review.

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DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, J.K. does, and she has every right to do whatever she thinks is best for Harry Potter. I just love writing. So sue me. Wait, seriously… don't.

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A/N:

Hey, guys! This is a surprisingly early update, huh? I guess, I got so excited with the way the last chapter turned out. I'm so happy, really that I did not receive any negative remarks on it.

Thank you so much to those who reviewed. Really…thank you. You know who you are.

And now, here's hoping I won't get any negative remarks this time either…enjoy!

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A sennight earlier…

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Miles and miles away from the cottage where the Duke of Gryffindor was said to have been stranded with the Countess of Ravenclaw, a man was standing in front of a palatial home that looked to have been left to fend on its own, an expression of pure disgust written all over his face.

The mansion would have been beautiful, he snorted at the irony, but because of pure abandon and negligence, what was once considered a home, was not even fit to be a house at all.

For humans, that is.

Mice, roaches, termites---for them, it would have been a haven.

With his cloak billowing behind him, this tall, mysterious man walked up the steps that led to the entrance. His arrival must have been expected greatly because no sooner than he could raise the brass knocker, rusty with age, the door creaked open revealing a very forlorn looking fellow with graying hair and a failing back.

It was all for the better, he thought, entering the abode. Touching the thing might have infected him without warning.

Mindful of the glances that the servants, or what was left of them, were giving him, he followed the butler, mimicking his footsteps. He was in no hurry, and so he let the old man take as much time as his age needed. The stairs creaked beneath his weight, but it did not give away. For that, he was much relieved.

As he continued up the steps to the only place they probably thought would suit him, he thought of the reason he was here, tolerating what seemed to be prison when he could have been at home, dealing with his own business, like he'd always envisioned doing.

He'd never been a free man, for his whole life had been a captive of another. He roamed about freely, traveled to whatever place his heart desired. But duty, to his family and to his heart, had him chained to his ancestry.

Had he the strength to forget about everything, he would have disowned himself from obligations, even from the man to whom he owed his very life. He was grateful to his lord, oh yes, but it was hard to love such a cynical and selfish man. If only it weren't for his own selfish reasons, he would not have tolerated so much of the baron's greed.

Five days had gone past since the night he had received a letter from a tall, burly man, who had introduced himself as Cairn Mason. It contained a letter; summoning him to this hellhole he had disliked growing up, written by the baron himself. He had intended to ignore the call, but well aware that his resistance would only oblige them to use force, he decided to go the easier way.

The butler knocked on the door before opening it. “He is here, my lord.”

An old man's voice, a sound no longer foreign to him yet eerie quite the same, came softly through the gap. It occurred to him then that he was not yet prepared to face his fate. It had been quite a few months, a year at most, since he had last conversed with the Slytherin lord. The last time he did, he had agreed to come on a day meant for this particular reason. He just didn't think it would be this soon.

“Come in, Adam.”

With purposeful strides, Adam walked in. His head was in the air, his mouth set in a stern line, and his senses as sharp as a newly whetted knife. His eyes scanned the room, settling on the aging man seated behind a wide, wooden desk.

“I trust you already know the reason I have summoned you.”

The young man refused to speak until he was comfortably seated on the only presentable chair he could find. It put him directly across his host. “Has there ever been a moment you let me forget?” He asked bitterly. “My lord?” He added with menace.

Voldemort pursed his lips together. He did not like this boy's tone, neither did he find his attitude endearing. But if he were to acquire everything he wanted, there was no denying Adam would be the one to get it for him.

“I only did what I had to do.” Voldemort replied precariously. “Perhaps, I ought to ask you whether you are ready.”

“For wedlock?!” he gave a short bark of laughter. “A thousand years may pass and I would not be set even then.” Then he scoffed. “But even if I weren't, you will not give me any other choice, will you?”

Voldemort idly drummed his fingers onto his table, trying to gauge the young man's reaction. “You have always had the choice to walk away, Adam. It is not I who makes you stay. You chose your own fate.” He drawled out, his voice sneering. “Or have you forgotten what it had once caused you?”

Adam gritted his teeth, pain slashing through his eyes. “I remember it just fine!”

Voldemort smiled secretly, knowing how to get to him without even trying. “Now then, you have been informed of what has happened?”

Adam gave a curt nod. And then he idly rubbed his jaw. “The countess would already be a duchess before I can ask for her hand, I assure you. It is in my knowledge that she would wed him the moment they are found.”

Voldemort shook his head. “You and I both know that Hermione Granger is as stubborn as they come. She would not let anybody force her into marriage, even if her reputation has been ruined.”

He raised one brow. “And what makes you so certain she would marry me?”

“Oh, she will.” Voldemort sneered, almost deliriously. “She most certainly will.”

Adam sighed, giving in past his concerns. He had nothing else to lose; he recalled bitterly, nothing else that mattered anyway. “Well then, what do you plan to do?”

Voldemort smiled, although the effect was more of frightening than appealing. “Abduct her, of course.”

“Ah.” It was Adam's turn to sneer. “Back to your old habits?”

Voldemort refused to be annoyed. “They do die hard.”

He shook his head. “Hypothetically speaking, which cannot be far from the truth, I assure you, if the countess marries the duke before you can find the opportunity to abduct her, what is your next move?”

“Seize her before he beds her.”

At his silence, Voldemort continued.

“Adam, Adam.” He drawled out. “You disappoint me. Do you not understand me well enough by now?”

“I try not to,” Adam goaded.

Voldemort silenced him with a look. “My men are currently outside the Black mansion, keeping vigil for any sign of loose security on the countess. Once that opportunity comes, she will be taken to Prython Hill, where she will be held captive.”

“And my part?”

Voldemort stood up and began to pace, already on the roll. “You shall be waiting at the inn, anticipating their arrival. Once they have reached the village, you will know. My men will make a racket no one within hearing shall be able to ignore.”

Adam shook his head disbelievingly. “And when I hear them?” He asked. “What must I do?”

“Nothing more but play the gallant hero.”

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At present…

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Though it could be recalled that Hermione Granger --- or Hermione Potter, as was already the case --- was very skilled in hiding her true feelings, a fraction of a second was all it took for Harry to notice that something was wrong with his wife.

“Is something amiss, your grace?” he asked.

Hermione looked up from the ground, startled by his presence and his address. She thought he had gone back to the carriage long before she had started to return, but there he was, waiting just beyond the tall bushes. He had been completely hidden until the moment she had neared his spot.

Blushing a little at the thought of what he might have heard, Hermione continue forward. “You need not have waited, your grace, I would have found my way back quite easily.”

“I do not mean to belittle your capabilities in navigation, but I had to make sure you returned unharmed.” Harry gallantly explained. And then his words turned serious, as well as his face, when he addressed his first concern. “Are you all right?”

She simply gave him a distracted smile before walking past him. Harry frowned, quite unable to describe what was with her that made him think something was not right. And then he saw it, realizing at the exact same time that he'd been a blind fool to have just recognized it.

“Your grace,” Harry called after her.

She stopped and turned around, wonder in her face. “Why are you calling me `your grace' all of a sudden?”

“I was not aware that you have given me leave to call you by your given name.”

“But you have used it before, have you not?”

“Yes, well,” Harry waving the notion away as he walked slowly to her side. “May I call you Hermione?”

“Yes, you may.”

He nodded, obviously satisfied with her answer. “Shall we get back to the carriage now?”

“Of course.”

“Wait,” his voice commanded just as she turned around.

Hermione looked back uncertainly at Harry who seemed to be lost in thought. There was no time to react, however, or even voice out the question forming on her lips because in the next instant, he had her swiftly but carefully off her feet and into in his arms.

“Your Grace!” her astonished expletive rushed out of her before she could control herself.

“Harry.”

“What?”

“Call me Harry.”

She blinked at his response. “I have called you Harry before,” she reminded him, momentarily forgetting her original concern.

“Yes, but if you would recall, those were unguarded moments.” He explained pointedly. “I would prefer it much better if you intentionally call me by my name.”

She nodded. “As you wish.” And then her breath quivered slightly. “But, I do not need further assistance. I'm quite all right.”

He silenced her with a single look. “Injuries, madam, are not supposed to be taken lightly.”

Hermione's mouth formed a slight `o' before she closed it. It was not really because she thought she didn't need his help, but it was more of the fact that she was suddenly uncomfortable with him like this. Considering that he had carried her yesterday, she shouldn't be quite ill at ease today, should she?

“It is only a sprain, your g--- Harry, not broken, as I had originally assumed. I was allowed to exercise it for a sooner recovery.”

“Yes, but the physician did not say you can stay on your feet all the time, did he?”

Hermione overlooked his snide tone by the realization that he cared about her after all, enough to have acquired about her state from the physician. She kept her eyes on him in amazement.

“What are you staring at?” Harry asked after a while, his discomfort quite evident.

“Nothing.” She quickly lied, turning her head away.

“Here we are.” Harry said as soon as they stepped out of the woods and into the visibility of his coachman and William Averley. The muscle in his jaw ticked as he saw the pompous ass straighten, his eyes mirroring the concern he himself had felt for Hermione earlier.

“What happened?” William asked, stepping closer and meeting them halfway.

Harry had the strong urge not to say anything, but he didn't want Hermione to know that he was affected by her long lost friend.

“I fear I might have used my ankle for an unreasonably long time and it grew weary on me.” Hermione explained before he could.

William looked at Harry accusingly.

Harry glared right back.

“You need not be overly concerned, she only needs some rest.” Harry gritted, walking past him, and acknowledging his coachman with a nod. “We shall continue our journey to Bertshire now.”

Hermione said no more of the exchange and just waited until Harry finally deposited her in the carriage. If she found anything wrong with the fact that he positioned her on his side of the ride, she kept her mouth shut.

Moments later, the carriage slightly dipped as her husband's weight drew it to one side when he entered. He took the empty place next to hers, adjusting her skirts somewhat to accommodate his body.

`I won't make the same mistake twice, if that's what you think.' Harry thought, throwing William a glance.

It irked him how the man didn't seem fazed, even as he saw and took in the change of positions upon getting inside.

Really, what was he up to?

Harry tapped on the roof of the carriage to signal the coachman that they were all set to depart. A second later, they heard the lash of a single whip and a bawl, the sounds urging his team of steeds to finally move.

Harry originally did not think that Hermione's ankle pained her all that much until he began to notice that each time their carriage wheel rolled over a bump on the road, her breath hitched.

After some time, he could no longer remain indifferent.

“Would you feel better if the team slowed down?” he asked.

Hermione looked up, probably surprised of his attention, and then shook her head. “I told you, I'm fine. It is merely throbbing.”

“Perhaps if you propped it onto the cushion…” Harry began to suggest.

“Allow me, your grace.” William interrupted, already bending down to take hold of Hermione's foot. “Begging your pardon for this, Hermione.” He whispered before lifting the foot up and placing it gently onto the empty space beside him.

Seeing that it was still lolling from one side to the other, William removed his cloak and placed it around her foot to keep it in place.

“That feels much better, doesn't it?” he asked, looking up.

“Yes, yes, it does.” Hermione smiled warmly at him, missing the exasperated look that crossed Harry's face. “Thank you.”

“That was considerate of you, Averley.” Harry managed to say.

“It was nothing, your grace.” William inclined his head modestly. “Hermione's comfort was my only concern.”

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Not long after their journey began, Hermione started to feel the effect of the swaying carriage to her senses. She softly yawned and blinked several times, trying to keep her eyes open for the sake of her company, but she was slowly losing the battle.

“Tired already?” Harry asked her, quickly sensing the change in her mood as usual.

Hermione looked up at him with hooded eyes. “Not so much,” she murmured, and then her head accidentally landed softly on Harry's shoulder. Then she jerked upright to look at him sheepishly. “But I do feel sleepy.”

Harry's lips twitched at the way she sounded like a child. “You may have your rest, my lady; it will be hours till we reach Bertshire. I shall wake you the moment we arrive so that you can see Mr. Averley off.”

“That's right,” Hermione realized. “Will would be leaving soon.” She turned her head to focus her sleepy eyes on William. “I am sorry. I've been terrible company, haven't I?”

“You need not bother yourself, Hermione.” William smiled. “I am certain there will be other times for conversation.”

“In that case,” she mumbled, already her voice drifting into slumber. “I shall trust my husband to keep you company.” She yawned again, this time, her words merged with it. “Harry, do you mind?”

“No, I do not.”

“Thank you. I appreciate---”

“Sleep.”

She nodded her assent and closed her eyes, leaning on the side of the moving carriage.

“I believe the comfort you seek cannot be found there, my lady.” Harry murmured.

Before Hermione could wonder what he was talking about, Harry had already pulled her to his side, his palm gently placing her head on his shoulder.

Hermione opened her mouth in faint surprise, and then sighed, agreeing with him. “You are quite right, my lord.” She closed her eyes and then finally gave in to slumber, unconsciously snuggling next to his warmth.

Harry felt something tug at his heart as Hermione burrowed next to him trustingly. He even managed to suppress the urge to gloat at William, knowing that the intimacy was not supposed to be considered part of the unspoken challenge between them.

A challenge that should not have been issued, however indirectly it had been.

He was her husband; William was just her friend.

Apparently, William's eyes were not as clear as they ought to be.

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Harry had no intention, whatsoever, to talk to William at all.

Since the moment Hermione had laid her head on his shoulder to sleep, he'd been content to simply revel in the peace that had enveloped his senses, and was loath to give it up by a conversation he did not want to either initiate or keep up.

Whatever reservation he possessed for William was still there, but it had not been bothered him as much as it had earlier. He saw no point in dwelling on it further, for as long as the man left him alone.

But Harry had the feeling that an aversion to silence was a thing that William and Hermione shared, and so, he did not expect him to stay still longer than necessary. If only it was not his peace that was at risk here.

“Why don't you ask the question, your grace?” William crossed his arms across his chest, challenging Harry with a stare. “I know you have been waiting for this opportunity all day.”

Harry pretended not to hear, though William had been rather accurate with what he said.

“You do not mean to ignore me for the rest of the day,” he drawled out, amused. “Denying my presence will only be a waste of your time, for I do not plan to disappear any time soon.”

Harry gave him a deadly glare at his words. “Exactly what are you insinuating?”

“Just that.” William smiled.

Harry's eyes narrowed as he fought to keep his emotions intact. Glancing surreptitiously at the sleeping woman beside him, he found himself smiling despite his irritation. “Who are you?”

William caught the look Harry had given Hermione, and he smirked. “I am who I said I am.”

“Is that so? Then why was it that even though you already knew I was married to Hermione, you intentionally had me believed you did not?”

“I thought it was funny.” William shrugged. “Besides, I wanted to know what she is to you before I revealed who she is to me.”

“Be that as it may, I do not stand for you following us in that inn.” Harry said.

William rubbed his jaw with his thumb and forefinger. “That was unintentional.”

Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“In fact, believe it or not, everything was unintentional, except for me pretending I did not know your wife, of course.” William explained.

What is it with this guy, Harry couldn't help but think. Nothing seems to bother him.

“I arrived at the inn before you did. When word got out that a duke was staying in for the night, naturally, I was curious. You came in the next minute with Hermione and that was when I knew she was with you.” William leaned back casually, drumming his fingers on the windowsill of the carriage.

“Is that so?” Harry challenged. “What if I merely accompanied her inside?”

“I know Hermione better than you think. I grew up with her and I know that she has principles. And one of them dictates that she refuses the company of men of which she has no relation.” William said matter-of-factly. “Marriage would have been the only exception to her rule.”

Harry wanted nothing more than to wipe that smug of his face with the narration of the strange courtship that led to his marriage with Hermione. But the fact that the story was private and somewhat dishonoring, he kept his mouth shut.

“Getting drunk beside me was also a coincidence. But when you started to talk quite honestly, I wanted to know more.”

“And everything you said? What was that?” Harry could still recall, despite his drunken stupor that night, all that William had said to him. At that time, they seemed completely harmless as he had not been aware those threats were actually meant for him.

“Consider it a word of warning, your grace.”

Harry's fist clenched at his side. “I do not need your warning, Averley, or anybody else's for that matter.”

“Don't you?” William's eyes narrowed accusingly. There was such anger in his eyes that Harry had to blink to remain unfazed. “If Hermione is safer with you than she is with me, then kindly explain to me, your grace, why she is sporting what seems to be fading bruises and a sprained ankle?!”

Harry's hold on Hermione unconsciously tightened. “That is none of your concern.”

“Is it not?” William whispered. “Has it not occurred to you that what I am seeing is enough for me to take her away from you?”

“God! It's revolting how you think you have the right,” Harry said. “Who are you again?”

William understood the question perfectly. “I am her best friend.” He crossed his arms, tilting his chin. “She trusts me more than she trusts you.”

Harry laughed, feeling quite elated. “You'd be surprised to know that that isn't anymore the case, Averley.” Harry challenged, his eyes meeting his dead on. “Didn't she send you away from Ravenclaw?”

William's eyes narrowed. “What difference does that make?”

Harry snickered again.

“Well, you see,” he rubbed his jaw. “She married me.”

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“Hermione.”

Harry gently touched Hermione's shoulder to rouse her from her sleep.

They had arrived at Bertshire three hours after she had dozed off. William had already alighted from the carriage, and he was now waiting for Hermione so they could say goodbye to each other---forever, if he had any say in it.

Harry choked back fresh bubbles of laughter as he recalled how William had been quiet after his abrupt proclamation of Hermione marrying him. It had almost been comical, had he not been so serious that time, the way William opened his mouth to say his retort, but nothing came out.

That had dampened his spirit, and so the remainder of the journey had been spent in silence, which was altogether preferred by him. Harry had the feeling he had not heard the last from William, but if silence was what prevailed now, he would take it.

After a couple more nudges, Hermione woke, her eyes slowly fluttering open. The moment she registered who was in front of her with a whisper of his name, Harry smiled.

“We've arrived.”

Hermione straightened, lifting her head, which all this time had been resting quite comfortably on his shoulders. Harry watched her as she raked a hand through her hair. He waited for her to finish all the while rotating his shoulders to loosen the muscles that had begun to numb from being kept still for so long.

Instead of being apologetic, Hermione raised her eyebrows at him and said playfully. “Do not complain of pain, my lord, you were the one who offered after all.”

Harry threw back his head and laughed. “Ungrateful chit,” he said, chucking Hermione's chin before alighting the carriage.

Hermione was smiling as she took Harry's hand. When she was standing beside him she found herself looking at William. He was also staring back at her, but there was something disconcerting about the way he was doing so. Suddenly, she didn't know what to say.

Somehow it felt a little awkward seeing him even after hours of being with him. Yet, despite her uncertainty, she unhooked her hand from Harry's arm and held it out for her friend. “I will see you soon, I hope.”

William took her outstretched hand and gave the back of it a gallant kiss. “You shall count upon my fervor to visit one of these days, your grace.”

When he released her hand, he couldn't help but notice how she immediately tucked it back on the crook of Harry's arm. The movement had been light and swift; she must have not even noticed it.

Harry cleared his throat, forcing William to turn his gaze toward the duke.

“Averley, it was a pleasure meeting you,” he said, tipping his head in salute.

William reached up to lift his hat a fraction of an inch. “Likewise, your grace.” His lips were turned up in the corners. He must know how much control it took for Harry to say those words. With a final goodbye, he turned around and walked away. Harry and Hermione watched him turn around the corner and finally disappear.

“Shall we be off?”

It was Hermione who asked.

“Of course,” Harry said. He then turned to his coachman. “To Godric's Hollow, Emett.”

“Very well, your grace.”

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Three and a half days' worth of journey later, Hermione Potter, Duchess of Gryffindor, finally laid eyes on the estate that the ladies of the ton had been plotting for and failing to claim as their own for five years. As she stood before its magnificent display of majestic elegance, she felt Harry's arm wrap around her waist.

“It is not much,” he said in a smiling voice. “But I hope you can manage.”

Hermione couldn't help but share his infectious humor. Ravenclaw Estate was a country compared to this continent of regal splendor.

“It will be hard,” she said with a dramatic sigh. “But I will get used to it.”

With a laugh that could have shaken the very rafters of his mansion, Harry Potter tucked her arm under his and led her up the steps.

He liked this; he couldn't help but belatedly realize. Though there was still something between them, he liked her, and she seemed to have overgrown her aversion to him. It was better than most marriages these days, in his opinion. At least he had a wife who did not seem to have any intention of squandering away his money, and she had a husband who was not after her estate.

Harry led Hermione through the entrance and into the balcony where they were greeted by his entire staff assembled below, who seemed to be cheering with slightly, less enthusiasm than what he would have wanted.

Judging by the look of astonishment on their faces, they were not expecting this. He had no idea why, though. He had sent word to them three nights ago of their impending arrival.

Perhaps they didn't expect them to arrive so soon?

Hermione seemed unaware of it, so he dismissed the idea at the same time he dismissed them back to their works. He then escorted her up more stairs, which led to the hallway of the East wing, where the Duke and Duchess's adjoined suite was found.

Unbeknownst to him from below, little groups of his staff had already gathered around to talk about what they had just witnessed.

Contrary to what the duke thought, the couple's early appearance had nothing to do with their hesitant display of welcome.

No.

That was not the least bit surprising. The duke did not bear countenance for any dillydallying. He had always stressed that punctuality was vital in their everyday chores. Years of service had etched that fact into their heads quite nicely.

The marriage, yes…it was unexpected, but also inevitable. The duke had to have a legal heir, after all, and it was high time he took a wife. Considering that Lord Sirius Black had been adamant on it for the last couple of years or so, it had no longer been that shocking to learn Harry Potter had taken his advice.

So, what was it that they noticed?

Oh, yes…

He had been smiling.

And not just any smile.

He was smiling a smile that reached not only his ears, but his heart as well…

Now, that was a surprise.

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Later that evening, when everything had been settled, supper eaten, gossips exchanged, and baths taken, everything was quiet within the mansion. Servants had long ago retired for the evening, and there was neither a hound nor horse about.

It seemed all was well for the night, and happily content in their rooms, resting.

All, except for two people…

Hermione came in the duke's suite, clad only in her nightgown, but covered by her robe. She was barefooted, and so her feet padded quietly on the floor. Harry was sitting up on bed, reading, his feet stretched and crossed before him.

She looked uneasy for some reason. “The---uh---the door to the duchess's suite is locked.”

At first, Harry looked lost.

And then he remembered.

“The former duchess --- my mother, that is --- had the room be used as her sitting room and treasury. Hudson told me there had been no time to remove the items in there. I shall order the maids to clear it up for your convenience.”

Hermione nodded in understanding. But she still maintained her stance, unable to recognize what it was she wanted. She was standing in the middle of the room, wringing her hands absentmindedly. And Harry just had to look up again.

“What is it?”

Her gaze shifted to the empty space beside him, on his large four-poster bed and then back to his face.

“Where do I sleep?”

Harry bent his head and rubbed his forehead, smiling behind his hand. “Where do you want to sleep?”

She pursed her lips, thinking quite seriously. She couldn't see why he would want her to sleep with him. And so, she sighed quite disappointedly. “Would it be all right to ring for somebody at this hour?”

“Why?”

She looked taken aback. “Why?” She repeated the question. And then she lifted her dainty shoulders in what was considered to be a helpless shrug. “I gather you---that is to say---we would like some privacy tonight, my lord.”

She looked so uncertain; he couldn't help but tease.

“No.” Harry shook his head.

“No?” Hermione asked.

“No, I do no think it is all right to ring for somebody at this hour, even though one might say it is their duty to answer the call.” Harry explained somberly. Then he lifted the covers beside him. “And no, I do not think either of us requires time alone.”

“Oh.”

Hermione walked quietly, but quickly to the other side of the bed. Seemingly bothered by his presence, she fumbled with the sash of her robe. Considerate man that he was, Harry snuffed out the candles, and the whole room was emerged in darkness.

The cold air came in through the windows, casting an eerie sound against the sudden silence in the room. He heard Hermione remove her robe, felt her weight sink the mattress, and wondered why she had positioned herself no further than on the edge of the bed.

“Hermione,” Harry's deep voice came to her, soft but strong in the still of the night, causing an unexpected ripple of delight in her.

“Yes,” she whispered back.

“Come here.”

His request, or command, whichever it was, stunned her. But she found herself doing exactly as he said.

Though marriage was new to her, she had a feeling it would not be so bad. They were getting along now and there was also no point in denying that he'd soon have more than just her friendship. This sudden turn in their relationship was nothing short of a miracle. She just hoped nothing would muck it up.

She scooted closer until she felt Harry's arm drape across her waist, pulling her next to him. “Are you certain?” It was weird that she was asking him this, but nothing was ever normal between them, was there?

“What if it rains?” Harry whispered, his breath next to her ear. “You might have those nightmares again.”

Hermione's brows puckered together even as she turned to her side. “It has not rained all day.”

Harry shrugged, pulling her closer, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She could feel him smiling, and naturally, she couldn't stop herself from smiling as well.

“I won't have nightmares tonight, Harry.”

She saw fit to remind him one more time.

He pressed a sleepy kiss on her ear.

“Just in case.”

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A/N:

Okay…so this chapter was really, and I mean really, fluffy for my taste! But it had to be done. You were wondering how Harry would stake his claim for Hermione. And so, there you go. Although I would like to clear that he was not just doing all those things because of William. No, there's no *** yet, cause I have some other thing planned when that intimacy happens.

I don't know whether it was all right to have them that close to each other. But since they already had the truce, and they had admitted, at least to themselves, that they liked the other, I guess there's no harm in that.

I revealed a new character, Adam. And you might have already realized that he is the heir Voldemort was talking about. Since I have no plan elaborating on it further in the next chapter, Voldemort's plan was destroyed when Hermione jumped off the carriage. So Adam was left waiting in Prython Hill, which did not fare very well to him. Of course, he will appear again.

On the other hand, William's intention is still very vague, but it will slowly reveal itself in the next chapters. Some of you were asking for the appearance of the other characters, I have it all planned in the next couple of ones, you see, so don't worry. At least, I gave you Voldie this time.

Oh yeah…I haven't had much experience in sweet and fluffy moments, so I'd appreciate your take on the ones I did. Suggestions are also welcomed. I don't mind using other ideas, if you don't mind me using them.

Hmm…what else? Oh yes, the constant reminder. Please do leave CONSTRUCTIVE reviews. I've been given some, and they helped. And I took their advice…at least, I think I did. So, please, please…

By the way, to those who do not sign in when leaving reviews, especially anonymous reviewers, I reply to your message. So if you have questions, I answer them. If you have critiques, I respond to them as well. And if it wouldn't be so much trouble, could you leave your names, so that I would know to whom I'm addressing the message. And some form of contact details, for alert purposes.

I also get Yahoo! Id's from member profiles, but I stopped because there's just so many of them… Hehehe…so if you would like to chat with me, you can add my Yahoo! Id to your messenger. Or you could say, “you can add me to your list” or something like that, just to let me know you're up for talking, when I'm online, that is…

Windows live (MSN) works now in the new version of Yahoo! messenger, so if you're a Windows live (MSN) user, leave me your id, and I'll add yours in my list.

Thank you so much!

Till later then!

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A/N:

Hi, guys! I am so, so sorry that I was not able to update as fast as I did the last chapter. This one was so hard to do. I don't know why, I just did not have enough motivation. Details just kept on adding and adding into the story that I had to redo the entire plot.

Anyway, I am warning you now that this chapter may turn out unworthy of your time. It is long, because I had hoped that while I was writing, something would strike me as a major scene. I found that there are, although I think, without some sort of explanation, you would not deem them as such.

Anyway, I am not going to say anything further. I just hope you find something significant in here.

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The sun was already up and about, ready to kick in high gear, when Hermione woke up the next day. Through the balcony doors, of which the heavy draperies were already jostled aside, the ray of morning sunshine was already coming in.

Still groggy from the deep but restful sleep she had, she sat up, wondering what brought this sudden languor in her. She had never slept past sunrise before.

She stretched quite a bit before finally taking notice of her surroundings, which had begun to strike her as quite unfamiliar. As her heart set in panic, her wariness grew to amusement as it dawned on her who and where she was.

It was at this point then that her cheeks began to turn red.

Careful not to make a sudden movement, Hermione slowly turned towards the other side of the bed.

Her heart fluttered.

Only it was not because she saw what she thought she was going to see.

On the contrary, her fluttering heart only revealed the disappointment she certainly refused to acknowledge the moment she saw that the space beside her was empty.

She rolled her eyes at her self.

Of course.

Harry was not a late sleeper. Even if he were, he would not have stayed with her until she woke up. Such foolish fantasies were best left in storybooks.

But that thought did not --- could not --- stop her from leaning down anyway, and resting her head on the pillow next to hers. It still had a dent on it where Harry had lain last night. She could even smell him if she pressed a little more closely.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Hermione bolted upright; her cheeks tainted a much brighter red, if that could even be possible.

No one had seen her, so she felt rather stupid looking around guiltily.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

She cleared her throat.

“You may enter.”

Hermione waited as the door revealed the one responsible for the knocking.

A girl of about twenty years of age came in. “Good morning, your grace.”

Hermione smiled in greeting and then just stared awkwardly, not knowing what else to say.

“I am Eloise, your grace.” She supplied helpfully, reading Hermione's mind. “His Grace appointed me as your lady's maid.”

“He did?” Hermione wondered, although it was not out of the ordinary that Harry had. However, he should have realized by then that her penchant for independence would deem her needless of one.

“Yes, your grace.” Eloise said, her emphatic nod giving her excitement away.

Hermione regarded her with vague amusement. The young girl's sincerity was evident, and to say something else would diminish the anticipation she felt.

Besides, Eloise would fare much better in attending to her needs, rather than going back to the heavier and far more demanding household duties.

“Well then, Eloise,” Hermione smiled. “I am pleased to have you with me.”

The young girl beamed at her, before forging ahead with her first task for the day. “Would you like to break your fast in your bed, your grace?”

She frowned, expecting to dine with Harry as soon as she went downstairs. “Has the duke eaten?”

Eloise bowed her head. “He had. He also left right away to visit his tenants down by the village.”

Refusing to acknowledge disappointment, Hermione fiddled with her thumbs. “I see.”

Eloise disappeared behind the dresser to retrieve Hermione's clothing from the night before. When she reappeared again, she dumped the material onto the basket and turned to face Hermione. “Shall I carry your breakfast tray in here?”

Instead of replying, Hermione asked. “Did Ha---His Grace instruct you as to when he shall be back?”

Eloise nodded. “His grace said he shall return in time for luncheon. He also directed some servants to sort out the Duchess' suite.”

Hermione was thoughtful for a moment.

She was not expecting Harry to act as the perfect husband he certainly was not. Yet, it was unmistakable, this feeling of regret.

Half of her had been hoping that he was waiting for her downstairs,. The other half, as embarrassing as it was to admit, had been expecting him to stay with her until she woke up.

After last night's ordeal, it was not wrong to suppose something like that. When that did not happen, it was clear that she should have imagined instead, that he would be normal again after a night's rest.

Perhaps, Harry's unexpected behavior had been a one-time thing that had stemmed from her having nowhere else to sleep, and nothing more.

“Your grace?” Eloise asked. “Would you care to have breakfast?”

Hermione sighed. She should not so much trust him to change over night. “No.” She shook her head. “I shall wait for luncheon. I'm not hungry anyway.”

Eloise did not seem perturbed by her refusal to eat. She merely bowed. “Very well, miss. And what would you like to wear?”

Hermione watched as her new companion opened her trunk of clothes, sorted through the contents one by one, and then arranged them neatly in the closet.

Her trunks, which contained all her necessities and belongings from Ravenclaw Keep, had arrived in Godric's Hollow earlier than she had. The minute she saw them in the room, she knew Harry had been the one to dispatch someone to get them.

She wondered what her stepmother had to say. Lady Allyson would have known of her marriage to Harry because of that. How much longer, would it be until she heard from her? After all these years, the thought of facing her again seemed so surreal.

She had not set foot or eyes on Ravenclaw Keep yet since she came back from Scotland.

It was not because she was afraid of the memories they evoked. She did not need the sight to remind her of what her life was like in the place. God only knew wherever she went, she remembered…

It was more of the thought that whatever memories she shall make would not be worth the effort any longer.

------------------------------------------------------------

Half an hour later, Hermione stepped out of her bedchambers clad in a forest green morning gown, with puffed shoulders, long sleeves and a high-waist bodice. Since she was not expected to entertain any guests nor did she have any intention to leave the mansion, her hair was unbound, falling artlessly down her back.

“Eloise,” Hermione said, turning back to her maid, who was arranging the sheet cover on Harry's bed.

“Yes, your grace?”

“I should like to see to the cleaning of the Duchess' suite. Kindly inform me as to when the servants would start.”

“But His Grace did not…”

“I would prefer to include myself in it,” Hermione said gently.

“Very well, your grace.”

“Thank you.”

With those last words, Hermione turned on her heels to begin the exploration of her new home, excited for some reason to discover one of the many changes that would happen in her new married life.

Walking the corridors of her childhood home had been somewhat of a task for her, more than the simple pleasure of walking about. She had been accustomed to the dreary atmosphere at Ravenclaw Keep.

If she had any say in it, she would have shut herself from the rest, but her people had needed her…

Having had the title of Keeper of Estate thrust upon her when her father died, she had been the only one the people of Ravenclaw could count upon.

“I am not the countess, my dear, so why should I concern myself with those matters?” She had once said airily right in Hermione's face. “Besides, I have you to see to it, don't I?”

Still, even after all these years, she still yearned for Lady Allyson's approval. She was the only mother she had ever had, and no matter how much pain she had been through, there was still hope inside her that she would come to love her as a daughter.

Well, enough about that for now! She did not need to think of something so depressing. For all it was worth, it could spoil her mood for the rest of the day.

With her heart set and full of purpose, Hermione veered to start on it. Even before she could finish the first ten steps away from the suite, Hermione really had to stop.

Just by standing where she was, she could feel the magnificence of Godric's Hollow before her. Never had she seen a hallway more worthy to be ogled.

The floors were marbled, white in color and shining in the morning light. She saw nary a trace of footsteps or scratches on the seemingly perfect flooring. The walls were neutrally painted with an intense shade of brown, but when the sun illuminated its surface, the effect gave off a golden glow. The tapestries were, as in her bedroom, set aside for the sunlight to pass through the ten-foot high windows that paraded from one end to the other of the hallway.

On the other hand, a beautiful collage of abstract paintings displayed in colors of various shades and designs of various patterns adorned the ceiling. Each step she took revealed a different view, drawn out for anyone's pleasure. One could spend hours just looking.

Hermione laughed in delight.

She was not going to get tired living here, not when just walking along the corridor already felt as if she were strolling down the park.

---------------------------------------------

By the time Hermione had finished exploring the better part of the mansion, it was already half an hour past luncheon. She had only been to five significant rooms, yet she already felt worn out and almost ready to stop for the day.

Of all the rooms she had visited, it was her husband's study she had liked the least.

Her elated state had gone down a notch the moment she entered. She found it to be somber at best and depressing the least. Nothing much was inside, save for a simple mahogany table, chairs opposite it, and some shelves with more drinks, and a small, not even mediocre, collection of books. The curtains were shut and the walls were void of any decoration, save for a portrait of a couple, with a baby nestled in the woman's arms.

She wondered for some time about who the family in the picture was, but did not bother to dwell on the thought much. She left before she were turned off any further, and was sidetracked by Godric's Hollow's resident butler, Charles Hudson.

“Good morning, your grace.” He had bowed so low, Hermione thought he would not be able to come up. “Welcome to Godric's Hollow.”

There had been so much warmth in his voice and in his eyes, that Hermione had unconsciously returned the sentiment naturally, forgetting her surprise. Since that moment, she had never expected a butler to be anything but reserved.

“Straighten your skirts, miss. Lady Allyson objects to unladylike behavior.” Colburn said, shooting her muddy dress a dark glare.

“Thank you for the reminder.” Hermione smiled at him.

“And you would do well to remember it.” He snuffed his nose into the air and left.

An import from the household of Lady Allyson, Henry Colburn had been loyal and answered to only one. His treatment of the daughter should have been rebuked, but as Lady Allyson was the countess, no one dared question her choices.

Colburn's callousness proved to be true when Hermione's curiosity accidentally led her to the kitchen. Her appearance had caused a quite a commotion with staff, who had not been expecting their new mistress to drop by.

“Welcome, your grace!”

“Good morning, your grace, how are you on this fine day?”

“You only have to ask what you need, madam, and you shall have it!”

“It is a pleasure to have you here, madam!”

Those were just a few of what she had heard during her visit. She had stayed longer than necessary, which would explain the delay in servicing their meal.

Everyone had been intent on pleasing her.

And this led to the last room she had explored, or was exploring rather.

The dining room.

Although located at the far side of the mansion, sunlight equally bathed it as it had the other rooms. The rosewood dining table extended from one side to the other, with undercarriages drawn out to the center, and central legs for support. It was long enough to accommodate at least two dozen people.

Hermione primly sat on the first chair near the entrance, idly drumming her fingers onto her lap. She stole a quick glance at Harry's seat at the head of the table, which was still unoccupied.

She sighed.

For some unknown reason, he had not been able to keep his promise to return at the time of luncheon.

She saw no sign of his arrival and their meal, however late it had been, was getting cold. Her now growling stomach begged her to take a bite. Any more waiting and she would not think twice on eating alone.

“I apologize for the delay” came from a voice behind her.

Hermione turned her head around just in time to see Harry stride in the room and take his seat. Her exasperation over the past half hour vanished. He looked exhausted, his eyes somewhat weary.

“Have you been waiting long?” Harry asked.

Hermione contemplated on whether or not she should tell him she had been. “Not that long.” She shook her head, smiling at him. “I arrived mere minutes before you.”

“I am late, nonetheless.” Harry smiled at her sheepishly. “I apologize again, my lady. I sincerely hope, in my case, that it would not have to happen again.”

Hermione raised a brow at him. “You are a duke. You need not repent for fulfilling the obligations that are your own. If you had not done what you did, I would have demanded you to ask for forgiveness.”

“Be that as it may,” he glanced distractedly around the room for someone to start serving. “Prepare to still receive my apologies in the future.”

There was not much for conversation after that. Harry tried to engage her in one, but the journey to his tenants had been a tiring one. His words were somewhat faltering, and he looked as if he did not really want to talk.

After taking in the scrumptious meal in complete and utter silence, Harry excused himself from Hermione, saying that he would be expecting a messenger soon.

In complete fairness to him, he did look rather apologetic when he said so.

She rose from her seat, disappointed for some reason.

And then he kissed her.

Just a light and casual “see you” kiss…

A kiss that did not even linger for more than a second…

Yet a kiss sweet and unexpected enough to lift her mood and coax a smile out of her and the rest of the occupants in the room.

---------------------------------------------

By the time Hermione found her way back to Harry's bedchamber, several women were already buzzing in and out of the room, carrying all sorts of stuffs. She scrunched up her nose and walked in, wondering where all the artifacts were coming from.

Then she saw that the connecting door that led to the adjoining suite had been unbolted, and that servants were coming from within.

Harry had not been kidding when he said his mother used the room for storage of her most prized possession. No wonder no one had bothered to open the room before.

Amidst all the cluttering, Hermione saw Eloise.

“They have started already.” Hermione pointed out in such a forlorn expression that her maid had to bite back a laugh. “I was hoping to see what they would be taking out.”

Eloise smiled at her. “There has not been many at all, your grace. We cleared the ones scattered on the floor so we could sweep off the dirt.”

Hermione nodded agreeably. “Very good, Eloise.” She commented. “Do not mind me. I shall just look around. You can continue with the tidying.”

“Very well, madam.”

As soon as the other women had received the “go” signal, it was as if Hermione was not there. They continued to wipe and sweep, converse occasionally and gossip quite naturally.

She did not mind the invisibility. She preferred them to act normally and not be stiff and starchy, tiptoeing their way around her. Word must have already gotten out that she did not expect them to treat her as the high and mighty, something that she said to the kitchen staff that morning.

All that aside, Hermione took her turn about the room.

Judging from the many seemingly insignificant, but doubtlessly important, possessions within the chamber, she immediately knew that the former duchess and she would have gotten along splendidly. They wallowed in the joys of having something with which to remember good memories. If only Hermione's collection had been as vast the late duchess, she would have looked at life more differently.

By the window, overlooking the grassy field outside, Hermione immediately spotted a huge chest, its lock unbolted and dangling. Her curiosity won over cautiousness almost as quickly.

It was overflowing with various collections. Fans, some cloths, a music box, and other things rusted with age and wrecked by moisture were inside. Each time she took something out, a little bit of her late mother-in-law's life was revealed, as were her husband and son's.

Almost half-empty now, Hermione felt her hand touch something smooth and hard. It was not tough to take it in one hand, as it was only small and delicate. She lifted it and brought it to the light.

It was a miniature portrait, one bigger than her hand, but small enough to fit in her reticule. She saw first the back of it, on which there was an engraved message.

“Know in thy heart, we will always love you.”

--- J.L.

She turned it around.

The portrait was of a baby boy with jet-black hair and jade green eyes.

She should not have recognized him for he looked so different now. Yet, she did. Of course, the bright green eyes were a giveaway. However, even if he did not have the brand, she would have known it was he anyway.

Since she met him almost four months ago, Harry had this look of power with him that he carried even as a baby.

She reverently touched the image of what her husband had been when he was not yet the man she knew now. She smiled, a small sound of delight escaping her lips.

“You have a lovely smile, miss.”

Hermione was so surprised that she almost dropped the small frame. She looked around and saw a dainty girl with long blonde hair. “Thank you---”

“My name is Wendy, your grace.”

“Thank you, Wendy.”

Hermione had been so preoccupied with what she was doing that she did not notice the servant girl anywhere near her.

“And so very infectious.” Wendy added as an afterthought.

Hermione frowned gently. “What do you mean by that, Wendy?”

The girl blushed at her question and it only aroused Hermione's curiosity even more.

“The duke, my lady.” Wendy supplied as if that would help Hermione understand.

“My husband?” She clarified. Wendy nodded, and then she asked. “What of him?”

“He has never smiled before. Yet you brought one out of him.”

“Never?” Hermione laughed slightly, thinking the notion absurd. “Surely he has had a reason or two to smile at.”

“Nay, madam.” One girl suddenly said from behind Wendy.

It seemed that the conversation had attracted most of the occupants in the room.

“He keeps to himself, that he does.” Eloise put in.

There was no denying it. Servants did love their gossip. Of course, they could not avoid such things anyway. She was not with the servants twenty-four hours a day to monitor their behavior even if she wanted to.

“But last night, he was changed, miss.”

“And what a smile he had!” The previous one said, a dreamy look sparkling in her eyes.

Again, she did not see any reason to react strongly. Who could blame them if they fancied themselves in love with her husband?

He was sinfully handsome.

“Does he not have many friends?” Hermione wanted to know.

She was aware that the private matters her husband had before she came into his life should be left for him to tell. But she really did have the patience of a two-year old, and she could not wait to find out. God knew how long it would be before she did!

“Many of the ton's prominent men wish to be more than His Grace's acquaintances.” A matronly woman said, her heavy bosoms heaving with each wave of her duster. “But he rarely accepts invitations and almost never entertains visitors. The only people he permits to see are Lord Sirius Black and Lord Remus Lupin. The Family Weasley is also welcomed, but their visits are also rare.”

Hermione frowned at this. Harry had mentioned to her, while they were in the wood's cottage, that he had a foster mother. Why was she not on the list?

“You must love her a lot.”

“I did. I do.”

His answer was easy to remember because it had caused her to wonder whether they had some sort of falling out, which was obviously the case now.

Ever true to the custom, her own maid chose to divulge information to her mistress without any encouragement. “And, Emett, His Grace's coachman, says that apart from the House of Lords, His Grace only visits White's and Tatersall's when he is in Town.”

“That is not all.” One blonde and petite maid interjected. “His Grace also does rides with---er---lady acquaintances---in Hyde Park. On top o' that, he attends musicales and balls. That is what my sister said, miss. She works for him in his townhouse.”

Something about the way the girl said “lady acquaintances” did not brood too well on Hermione. But she let the matter drop. She was more concerned as to why this Polly, who was supposed to be Harry's guardian until he had been found, was not with him or even occasionally calling on him.

“Well,” Hermione said, clearly dismissing the conversation. “I do believe it was not the first time His Grace had smiled. I am certain that he does so all the time.”

“Perhaps, miss.” Wendy, who had initiated the comment, said. “But he has not done so in front of anybody. Last night had been a first. And we do thank you for that.”

“His smile is so important, then?”

“He looked happy, miss,” Eloise said simply. “And he deserves to be, that he does.”

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Almost an hour had passed since Hermione had discovered another mysterious part of Harry's life. The conversation had faded and soon the maids had dispersed into their own corners, no doubt gossiping once more.

The miniature portrait of Harry proved to be the last significant possession the late duchess had. The least significant for Hermione, that is. She could not possibly find anything intriguing with the rest of the things she found.

Harry's baby things were included, but of course, she also had the same kind, and so did not find them very much fascinating.

The last thing inside the chest proved her wrong as it grazed her fingers. This time, she needed both hands to lift the container---a square one, enclosed in plastic and sealed by a cloth.

“Letters!” She exclaimed when she uncovered it. Fortunately, none heard her, having dismissed the cleaners a few minutes before.

She looked down again.

Letters!

How wonderful!

Then she froze.

From her father?!

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Harry Potter, the 9^th Duke of Godric's Hollow, was not merely tired.

He was ready to pass out.

Of course, he had once told his wife that gentlemen do not faint. If he were to succumb to exhaustion, he would have to wait until he was in bed, where he could pretend fainting was merely sleeping.

It had rather been a demanding day. To top it all, it had to start so early in the morning, when all he had wanted to do was stay in bed and watch his wife sleep.

It had been so tempting to do just that, if it were not for his tenants having learned so quickly of his return.

But because it was his duty to listen to his people, listened he did.

Their visit had been about their lack of resources, due to a fire that had broken out a few nights before his arrival. That particular matter had not been brought to his attention until then, and so he had to investigate.

That explained the reason for his tardiness during luncheon.

His surly mood had been slightly pacified when he saw Hermione waiting for him. Despite his bravado in telling her that she should not have waited for him, the bigger part of his heart had literally jumped for joy when she did.

Though he did not exactly want it to jump each time and did not expect it either, Harry reveled in the simple fact that their marriage was as good as it could get.

However, not much of an improvement happened through their meal. He was too weary to hold up the end of his conversation and so disgruntled he almost forgot he expected his messenger that afternoon.

Though Hermione had said his schedule did not trouble her, it bothered him anyway. However, he could do nothing about it. He was the duke, and it was his responsibility to continue being one even after getting married.

What happened to him?

Nearly fortnight ago, he had nothing in his mind except to attend and leave a house party as the bachelor he had come.

Instead, he had left with a duchess!

Deep in the recesses of his mind, he had known his life would change the moment he met and held the gaze of this mysterious woman whose beauty enraptured him. He should have known just how much that gaze would come to mean.

Fifteen minutes past four was the time when his messenger had left. The message he brought with him to Godric's Hollow, already in Harry's possession.

Harry huffed out a breath.

The Lilian, a ship from his company named after his mother, had sailed six months ago to export some goods to America. His crew had been expected to return two months before to continue the trade.

But for some reason, The Lilian's return had been delayed. Harry had not concerned himself over the holdup, but neither did he expect something else had happened to his ship and crew.

He was not overly worried. His men were an expert lot, having been picked from the crème de la crème of sailors. He trusted them enough to come back alive and well.

Inconvenienced, that was what he was. Harry now had to meet a dealer in Town to discuss the matter of the goods still expected in America. All of his ships had been dispatched earlier to issue trade with other countries. They were not likely to return soon.

He was not thrilled to leave just after settling in; and neither was he looking forward to telling Hermione. He had no intention to bring her with him to London. Business was the only thing he shall go there for; hence, he did not see a need for her to go with him.

She may be feeling quite desolate right now, with him having been absent all day, but she did not expect him to dance attendance to her all the time, did she?

Yet, she deserved something better.

And he was trying to give it, damn it to hell!

But, again, he had no choice.

It was for this very reason that he had chosen not to brood anymore in his study and search for her in the Duchess' suite, wherein, he was told upon inquiry, she was trying to straighten the miscellanies his mother had left.

He entered his own bedchamber and proceeded to the door that adjoined his suite to hers. He prepared himself to greet her, but instead, froze in his tracks.

---------------------------------------------------

Hermione knew Harry had entered the room.

It was silly of her to know, that's true, when his footsteps did not even make a sound. But she was aware of his presence, just as she always was whenever he was around. She did not know whether to be thankful or spiteful that she felt him. Because that only meant he had already grown into her.

“Am I the cause of your tears, madam?”

Harry meant to tease, yet his voice came out all wrong. He just wanted to ask casually, except his heart had won over his mind, making him sound more worried than cautious.

She shook her head.

She nearly jumped when his hands fell on her shoulders.

“Hermione,” he coaxed gently.

“I am all right, really.” Hermione looked at him over her shoulders.

Harry sighed. “I have eyes and I am not blind.”

Her head turned about. “I did not say you are.”

“Perhaps not a fool, then?”

He walked around her and perched his hips on the window ledge. With crossed arms, Harry regarded Hermione with a stern look. “May I remind you that I have been a recipient of your tears, and so I know when you cry without reason?”

Hermione turned her face up to him indignantly. “When have I cried without reason?!”

Harry merely smiled at her. “So then, you are not all right.”

She marveled at his sharp wit before laughing bitterly. “I have found something in your mother's treasure chest.”

Harry looked down at the letter she was holding, and to the few more set on the tabletop.

“Letters?”

“Yes, letters.” Hermione took a deep breath. “From my father.”

Harry pondered on this for a bit. The first thought that crossed his mind had been somewhat degrading, yet possible.

“You have discovered a romantic liaison between them, is that it? Is that why you were crying?”

Hermione's shock at hearing his insinuation was enough to dismiss that particular idea. “That is a preposterous suggestion, my lord, as I have it in my knowledge that my father had loved my mother until the very end, as your mother had your father.”

“I would not know,” Harry said gravely, “as I did not have the fortune to know either one.”

Hermione looked pained for a time, but the weight of the letter in her hands kept her mind from straying. “The late duchess, your mother, had been in correspondence with my father years before either one of us had been born. If I am not mistaken, they have been childhood friends.”

“That cannot be.” Harry protested. “For my mother to have been friends with a Ravenclaw, she had to be…”

“From Ravenclaw as well.” Hermione finished for him. Then she shook her head. “No, she was not. And neither was my father.”

“But, your father is Ravenclaw's Keeper of Estate. How could he not be from Ravenclaw?”

She reached for one of the discarded letters, the one that appeared to be oldest. “My father was from a place called Muggleville. It is a town outside Hogwarts, smaller yet prominent as well. He came to Ravenclaw through marriage with my mother, who was the daughter of Lord Randolph Amherst, Earl of Ravenclaw Keep.”

“And my mother was from Muggleville?”

Hermione silently handed him the letter she had retrieved and pointed to a particular spot.

Harry read in equal silence the cursive writing of the late earl.

--------o0o--------

“I am aware of your plea, my dear, for that is my own as well. I should love to go back to Muggleville, if only to see what has become of it since last I saw its terrains. But duty to the estate, but more importantly, love to my wife comes first. I understand that you have been separated from home longer than I, yet I know that you do not miss it all too much. You have created a wonderful home in Gryffindor. I know too well that you are satisfied with the life you have with James, as I am with Julia.

We have grown, Lily. We are no longer the children who used to play in the grassy fields, with Trudy and Kyle, the baker's children, do you remember them? Sometimes, when I gaze upon the looking glass and see myself staring back, I laugh aloud. We have changed so much. But between you and I, it is you who have had the more difference.

How speechless I had been rendered when you said you were to marry James! He was not at all what I was expecting as the kind of man you would fall in love with. But he proved me wrong when he called on your parents. Despite their protests, he professed his devotion to you. It never crossed my mind that he would face their wrath.

I did not trust him, forgive me for that. How could I? He was from a different place, a place I had not heard from. But I am glad he proved me wrong. You are far better with him than with your family. Cruel, you may think I am, but you have been treated far less importantly. You ought to have had more.

As for me, I cannot say that I had a perfect life. However, I do like to believe that I have one now.

Life with Julia has been nothing but joy.

You are to thank for this. Had you not invited me to your wedding, I would have not met her, nor even laid eyes on her. I shall tell you, Lily, even if she would not have turned out to be the heiress to Ravenclaw Keep, I would have married her no matter what. A companion or a governess; I would have not given care. She stole my heart before I knew who she was. Nothing would have made me demand it back. I thank whatever force brought her upon me, and merely wish that we be contented for the rest of our lives.

We are loved, my dear, and I am glad that even this blessing, I can share with you.

Your precious friend,

Robert

--------o0o--------

“My mother was from Muggleville” was all Harry could say after reading it, as he did not know what else to think. He was not even sure whether it ought to be significant in any way.

Apparently, Hermione's father and his mother had been playmates since they were young. How they had not ended up together was another thing, yet Harry had the feeling Robert Granger and Lily Evans had not been attracted to each other. He did not notice anything in the letter that implied that idea.

“You cried because of this?”

Hermione shoved another letter in his hand.

This time, Harry read it aloud.

--------o0o--------

“She has died, Lily.

My beloved Julia is no more.

I did not know that this was possible, not with how things have been between us. Perhaps, I let myself believe that such cruelty could not exist. We were so happy that I began to think nothing could go wrong.

She had insisted I did not accompany her to childbirth, for it was not the place for men. I would only worry more if I were to see her in pain, she said. If only I had known it would be the last time I would see her alive, I would have gone with her no matter how much she protested.

I heard her crying out. I was in the room just beside hers, you see. And even without seeing her, I knew she was in pain, so much pain. Dear God, I did not know what possessed me to obey her silly command! It was agony, all that waiting. She labored for so long I thought I would go mad. But I knew the moment it was over, for I heard the child cry out.

It was all so overwhelming, to hear some part of you, alive and well. But I did not see the child right away for I wanted to see Julia, to see that she was all right. I wanted to thank her for finally giving me what I have always wanted, a family to call my own. I was excited to hear her laugh in delight, to hear her tell me that the baby took after her, or just see her looking at me again, love shining in her eyes. She did not do any of those things, Lily, for her breaths had been down to her last when I arrived.

I wish I could have stilled time, even for a few minutes just to tell her how much I loved her. I told her everyday since the first day I professed my love, yet it seemed not enough. Forever would not have been to show her how much she meant to me!

Rushing to her side had been the hardest part, for seeing her dying so close slowly took the life out of me. There was too much blood. It was the scariest thing I have ever seen, much more because it was hers that I see. She passed on almost immediately, minutes after I had come. But to me, those minutes had been an eternity.

I wanted to die as well, in fear that I have lost her completely. She was my life, but she left me, on my own. I thought I would not care anymore to breathe even when I could. But I realized that Julia was not lost, for she left a part of her with me.

Our daughter.

Julia gave me a daughter.

You should see her, Lily. She is every bit like her mother. I named her Hermione. Julia was so very fond of that name. I am not certain what color her eyes would be, but for now, they are brown. I wish them to stay that way, for Julia's eyes had been the same shade. She is so very small, but I know she will grow up to be strong. I shall make sure that she will be. Julia would have wanted her daughter to know many things just as she did.

So I will give her the world.

And I will love her, more than life itself. Everything I am, she shall know, and everything she will be, I will accept.

I do not want to be happy today, Lily, but Hermione makes me. Sometimes, when I look at her and she looks back at me, I have the feeling that she knows who I am. Then I start to feel everything will be all right.

And do you know?

I believe it will be.

When this letter reaches you, it would have been days since Julia passed away. I plan to bury her in the Family Garden, where her ancestors are.

Julia had only one wish before she left me completely, and that was to not mourn her death, but celebrate the birth of our child. I hope to give her what she wanted.

I am aware that nearly two months have passed since you gave birth to your son. But I trust you are well enough. I would appreciate it greatly if you and James would come to Ravenclaw Keep.

I have asked countless of favors from you, dear Lily, since we were but children. I do hope you forgive me for asking you this one.

With all my love,

Robert

--------o0o--------

Harry looked up after he had finished.

There were no words between them.

Clearly, he was touched as she.

He who had not yet lost a night's sleep over people he'd killed, not shown concern over the feelings of others, and had yet to believe in the power of love, was moved by what he had read.

There was no mistaking the pure adoration of a father to his child.

“My father loved me, Harry, didn't he?” She asked him, breaking not only the silence but his heart as well.

She was crying again, and he was powerless to stop her. The letter slipped from his hands as he did the only thing he could. He only had his embrace to offer and Hermione clung to him tightly.

“I would say that he did not just love you, sweetheart,” Harry murmured against her hair, rubbing her back. “He lived for you.”

Hermione's shoulders still shook with remorse.

“I am sorry that I took his life from you.”

He had never apologized for a something that was not his concern, but circumstances changed, and so did he.

Hermione moved away from him. Her eyes, which were still liquid pools, gazed up at him. They seemed to shine, not only with tears but with something else as well.

“No.” She shook her head. “His death was my fault more than it was yours.”

“If I had just abandoned my pride---”

“You had the right to decline. I did not.” Hermione interrupted. “When Lord Riddle asked for my hand in marriage, I was clearly aware of what it entailed. Still, I refused. My father told me to do what was right---to follow my heart.”

“And you did.”

“No.” Hermione shook her head again. “My heart told me that if I loved my father, I would marry this heir and not risk his life. But I chose what I thought would be for the better. My mind told me, not my heart. I thought I would be able to convince somebody to help. I came up with plans, but each one of them failed. In the end, I realized I made the mistake of thinking I could outsmart Lord Riddle.”

“Do not blame yourself, Hermione.” Harry said sternly, taking her hand in his. “There is no use. You must know that the only person who is at fault is Voldemort. Him and his greed for power.” His thumb idly soothed the back of her hand. “However, if you have to blame somebody, blame me. It would make me feel much better. You used to do it, too, remember?”

Hermione half-laughed through her tears. “That is not funny, Harry.”

Harry chuckled, wiping them with his thumb. “I miss feeling guilty, you know. I do not feel so much of it now.”

“Guilt, my lord?” Hermione asked, her mood lifting. “I do believe that is not even in your vocabulary.”

And then his features dimmed.

“I assure you, my lady, it is.”

Somehow, she had said something to foul his temper. Hermione was sad she did, and would have asked for pardon, if only she knew for what she should be sorry.

“Come with me.” Harry said immediately, appearing again as if nothing happened. “I would like to show you something.”

---------------------------------------------------

For the second time that day, Hermione felt like crying.

Except, this time, it was not out of remorse, but joy.

Harry had taken her upstairs to the East Wing, where he had pulled her, none too gently into his study. His face was as bright as a boy's was during Christmas day with all his gifts in front of him, waiting to be opened.

It did not matter to him when she explained how she would rather go back to the Duchess' suite and continue sulking, rather than relive the depressing state his study had caused her this morning.

Harry merely laughed at her.

“Trust me, you shall be returning here.”

His promise had her snorting in an unladylike manner as he proceeded across the room, dragging her with him, only to stop in front of an ordinary looking shelf.

His silence was a bit disconcerting and she wondered whether this was his big surprise. Then she saw the wretched man grinning at her over his shoulder. She was about to ask him what he was doing when Harry braced his hands against the shelf and pulled apart two of the books stacked together. Only, the books he touched were not the only ones that separated.

Her eyes widened with curiosity when the whole shelf split in two and revealed a door behind it, which Harry had immediately opened.

Her thoughts had gone astray after that as the perfect room in Godric's Hollow revealed itself to her.

She looked around, astounded of the room's existence, not to mention, vastness. From top to bottom, in every nook and corner, books of various titles and genre were perfectly aligned. The display went all around the circular room, and occupied each of the five floors within.

“Why do you have a hidden library?”

An absurd question, but the only one she could think of to ask.

Harry seemed not ponder on this. “I have no clear thought as to why my ancestors built another library, only to hide it from plain view. However, since it is here and I do not have any other use for the space, you are welcome to spend as much time here as you would like.”

She whirled around to face him. “You have another library?”

“Well, yes. That one is actually open to guests. But the collections in there are small compared to the ones in here.”

Hermione seemed transfixed. She was a bibliophile, and for her, this room was heaven. She should not have judged the book by its cover so literally. And to think, she intended to ignore Harry's study.

She laughed.

“I am assuming that you are pleased.”

Hermione looked up at her husband who had come to stand beside her. “Very pleased. Thank you.”

He looked uncomfortable. “Think nothing of it. As I said, I do not have much use for this room. If you had not come along, I would have had the walls crushed down.”

“And expand that ominous place you call a study?” Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust.

Harry tweaked her nose. “I happen to like ominous places.”

Yes, I know, and I wonder why. Hermione sobered.

“It is quarter to five in the afternoon, my lady.” Harry filled the silence that had suddenly ensued. “Supper shall be at six. What would you like to do before then?”

Hermione smoothed her skirts and then looked up at him. “I would like to go back to the suite and finish the letters, if you do not mind.”

Harry's brows crossed. “Are you certain you are up to reading so soon?”

She gently touched his forearm. “I know that you brought me here to lighten my mood. I appreciate the thought, Harry, and I cannot wait to explore this room. However, I want to finish reading the letters. I know I shall feel better once I do.”

The touch he felt on his arm sent warning bells in Harry's mind that he stepped back abruptly. He could not look in her in the eye for some reason and just stared at something above her head.

“All right, if that is what you want.”

A puzzled Hermione stepped out of the library and back into Harry's study. She turned back to watch as he closed the door and placed the shelf to where it was originally. She had taken a few strides to the doorway when she noticed that he had not followed.

“You shall not come with me?”

Harry looked at her. “No, I have to continue with my work. I merely wanted to take a break, that is why I went up to see---check on you.” Then he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Did you want me to come?”

Hermione shook her head slowly. “No. I was just wondering.”

Harry nodded and said no more.

A dismissal, if she ever saw one.

She knew it was coming. His mood swings had been getting confusing lately. He had the ability to charm her one second, and then shut her out the next. If she did not want better, she would have been fine with the arrangement.

Then she remembered the letter that she had brought with her. She had picked it up just before they left the duchess' suite, hoping that she would be able to make him read it.

It was not exactly so important for either of them to lose some sleep over, but she figured it would not hurt for him to find out.

“Here.” She handed the folded paper to him.

“What is this?”

“I reckon you would want to know what is inside that letter.”

Harry sat down on his chair and swung it towards her direction. He looked at the paper, then back at her. “Before you go, Hermione, I just thought I should inform you. I shall leave for London tomorrow.”

“Why?” She looked at him curiously.

“One of my ships has gone missing. There is a trade left hanging because of that. I have to deal with somebody to continue that trade.”

“And you could only do that in London?”

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No.” She daintily lifted her shoulders into what he called a gentle shrug. Her eyes sparkled for a reason. “It will be good to stay here for a while anyway. William did say he would call on me.”

Harry stopped rifling through his papers, long enough to shoot a murderous glare in her direction. Fortunately, Hermione did not see it. “You shall be traveling with me.”

“I will? But I thought you said---”

“I was not finished. You merely assumed.” Harry said.

“But if you shall go to London for business, what purpose shall I serve you?”

Harry had thought of the same thing a while ago. But that was before she inadvertently reminded him that a certain William Averley still existed.

“I cannot leave you on your own until I am assured you can handle yourself in Godric's Hollow.”

“I handled myself quite perfectly on my own today.”

Another pang of guilt shot through Harry, but he shook it off. “Yes, but today is only a day. And I was close at hand. I---that is to say, we---shall be gone for a senight or so. I daresay I shall not be comfortable during that time, if you were to be alone here.”

Hermione looked at him curiously for an awfully long time before finally consenting. “I have no way of winning this, have I?”

“None, whatsoever.”

She sighed. “Very well.”

Harry nodded with a smug tilt of his head. Then he gazed at her with a look, saying without words that the discussion was over and that she could and should leave now.

Hermione controlled the urge to roll her eyes, and walked away from him. She stopped at the door and turned around. He was still looking at her, an unreadable expression on his face.

She shut the door firmly behind her.

---------------------------------------------------

Minutes had gone by since Hermione left, yet Harry could simply stare at it, dumbfounded. He turned his chair around to face the window in hopeless confusion. After his sudden revelation of her going with him, he did not know exactly what else to think of.

Why did William get to him so much?

Did he actually think that Hermione would fall for that bastard's charms?

Harry sighed in frustration. He had never had these kinds of turmoil before until she came into his life. He was beginning to think that marrying Hermione had somewhat been a joke, and that meeting her had been a mistake of fate.

He turned around again.

Something fell on his lap.

The letter.

Unable to concentrate on anything else that did not concern Hermione, Harry leaned back on his chair and began to read.

--------o0o--------

“A year has passed since Julia had departed this life, Lily, but it seems only yesterday that she was here with me. I wish she could see our daughter blossom, to have that privilege of seeing her smile and look about in wonder, each day.

Hermione is doing beautifully. She has spoken her first words. `Papa' is all I hear from her now every time I walk into the room. Did I not tell you she knows exactly who I am? She will be smart, I am certain of that. And she will be beautiful. She takes more and more after her mama, day after day. I truly believe Julia is with us.

This leads to the reason I have written to you.

I consider every decision made should be thought carefully. As I am the Earl and Keeper of Ravenclaw, I have other duties that entail a lot of my time. I did not favor this, for it may look as if I have forgotten my beloved Julia, but I had to do it.

I have married somebody, Lily.

Her name is Lady Allyson Browen. She is considerably younger than I and have recently made her debut in London. I married her not because I love her. You bear witness to my everlasting devotion to my late countess. I shall not forget her, nor have any intention to replace her. I married, if only to give a mother to my daughter. Hermione has my attention and my love, but she also needs a woman to be there. I believe that Lady Allyson is the perfect one to fill that role. She is of good blood.

However, the future is uncertain. As far as I am concerned, I do not wish for Hermione's to be. As much as I would like to deem that someday she would be a strong woman, I cannot help but be her father.

We have been friends for a long time, Lily. And I have always understood that had you not found James, and I, Julia, we would have agreed to marry. I trust you with my life, and am bold enough to say that you trust me with yours.

I have thought a great deal, about what you said the last time you were here. That is why, even though your proposal had seemed a jest, I do believe that some part of you was serious. I hope that your mind has not changed.

Therefore, I am writing to you with my approval and a draft of the necessary papers to make our agreement legal and binding. You have only to change a word and it shall be done. These papers shall hold proof of our accord, until the day they say no.

I shall be waiting, dear Lily, for your response. I have a feeling it will be favorable on both our parts. I propose, then, an advanced celebration, to be held here in Ravenclaw Keep.

I shall invite all of London's finest. It shall be the grandest ball of the year that not even foul weather could stop them from coming.

I intend to give to our children the best. After all, it is not everyday that the heir to Godric's hollow is betrothed to the heiress of Ravenclaw Keep.

Until then, my friend.

All my love,

Robert

--------o0o--------

---------------------------------------------------

A/N:

The scenes in this chapter are simple, something just for the continuity of their married life together. I hope to God that you would not kill me and say bad things about this…cause I really worked hard for it.

If there are historically incorrect words, inventions, places, etc. in the story, which are not fit for the era, please excuse them. I have not the time or the inclination to search for minute details. But if you know what should be in their place, I would gladly change them for the sake of not misleading anybody…

I also know that Hermione is supposed to be a year older than Harry, but due to the time frame of this story, and it being an Alternate Universe, I had Harry become older by two months. I hope that disturbs no one.

Also, one of the reasons that I failed to update quickly is that I have been hooked with this anime called Kaikan Phrase. It is an inspiring anime, albeit already an old one. I loved it so much that I just had to download the episodes and burn them in a DVD.

Two of the main characters there, the female and male, remind me so much of Harry and Hermione in my story. They look so much like them too. I told you this so that you would know I have not been procrastinating all that much without a reason.

Anyway, the second letter from Robert Granger had served as the turning point in Harry and Hermione's relationship regarding who is to blame for the earl's death. As you can see, it has turned the tables, with Harry now admitting fault while Hermione is no longer accusing him.

I worked hard for this chapter to be meaningful, although there was not much fluff in it, I hope it was worth the wait. If you did not like it, you can only trust me to write something better. I wish that no one flames me for this.

So until next time…please leave some CONSTRUCTIVE reviews! =)

-->

A/N:

Omigod! I am SO, SO, SO SORRY it took me forever for this update. I really hate myself. I originally thought I'd have this chapter in a jiffy, but I was wrong. Totally wrong!

I only hope that what I wrote would make the wait worth the while!

So, ok…I won't say anything anymore because I think I've kept you waiting long enough.

Happy reading!

---------------------------------------------------

Peter Pettigrew stood in front of his master, quaking unsteadily in his boots, sweat dripping uncomfortably down his back. He was painfully aware of his disheveled clothing, unkempt hair, and undoubtedly foul odor.

Standing here in the worst condition he'd ever been, he could only imagine what his lord was thinking.

He had not the opportunity to rest or change clothes, having been called by Voldemort's messenger immediately after three days' worth of traveling.

Voldemort raised his hand to massage his neck, the sudden movement inciting a flinch from Pettigrew.

“What news have you brought me, Peter?” He asked after an excruciating silence.

Pettigrew had been waiting for this moment, to finally divulge the information he had been called for. Yet reluctance was all he felt now that it was here. For only now did he realize that whatever Voldemort had dispatched him for, the details he possessed were definitely not what he wanted to hear.

“According to my men, my lord,” Pettrigrew began hastily when he caught the murderous glare sent his way. “The duke and duchess left the Black Manor right after their wedding.”

Shards of broken glass suddenly exploded dangerously close to Peter's face.

“And so they have married.”

Careful not to ignite more of his temper, Peter looked up. Recognizing the danger behind those eyes which were glaring at him, his heart skipped a beat.

“According to your men, Wormtail?” Voldemort repeated, wiping wine off his hand. “Old as I am, I still have a memory good enough to remember that I directed you to look into them on your own. Or am I mistaken?”

Pettigrew swallowed convulsively. “You gave me two orders, my lord. I had to choose which one I was to personally handle.”

Voldemort threw the rag aside. “I gave those orders because I had the strangest notion you could manage them on your own.” And then he sneered. “Perhaps, I was misguided to have trusted you with such crucial tasks.”

“But, my lord---”

“Spare me your excuses.” Voldemort interrupted. “Perhaps I should just talk to your men, instead of you. They did the work.”

“I apologize.”

“Stop groveling and tell me the rest of what your men said. What of their journey?”

Pettigrew clutched his hat firmly, hoping to infuse his nerves into the material. “There was not much activity between them. They stopped in an inn a few miles away from Bertshire and left the next day for Godric's Hollow.”

Riddle tapped his fingers idly on his armrest.

Peter was sweating greatly now, even more so than before, the liquid uncomfortable and salty as they trickled down his lips. He had no idea what his master was waiting to hear.

“They made a final stop at Bertshire before continuing their journey.” He added as an afterthought.

“Bertshire?”

“Yes, my lord.” Pettigrew drew a deep breath now that Riddle was looking at him with curiosity rather than animosity. “They did not stay long, however. The duke and duchess dismounted their carriage for no more than five minutes.”

Voldemort snarled. “Stop saying `duke' and `duchess!' It offends me that such grand titles now belong to filths who do not know the first thing about being privileged!”

“Beg pardon, my lord.”

Voldemort waved his hand for Pettigrew to continue.

Snatching once more the opportunity to please, Peter persisted hurriedly. “The stop at Bertshire was minor. They simply escorted somebody, before making their way to Godric's Hollow.”

“You did not mention they were traveling with somebody else.” Voldemort interrupted. “Who was he?”

“He was unimportant. A man Harry Potter met in the inn. Apparently, he was a traveler who needed a ride to Bertshire.”

“Did your men find out who this traveler was?”

Peter's scrunched face earned him a frown from Voldemort.

“Your excuses are unnecessary, Wormtail. The fault lies on me, for having trusted you to do the deed.”

Peter shook his head and took an abrupt stepped forward. “They did not find out who he was, my lord. But they did say the duchess,” Pettigrew flinched at his inadvertent use of the title, “Lady Granger was quite friendly with him. Lord Potter also called him `Averley'.”

This caught Voldemort's attention. “Averley, you say?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“I see.” Riddle looked thoughtful. “What of the other task I instructed you to do? What happened?”

“It is as you expected, my lord.”

The Slytherin lord was quite for a moment.

And then.

“Wormtail,” Voldemort suddenly said.

“Yes, my lord?”

“I want you to deliver a message to Adam Kerrington.”

Adam Kerrington?

“May I be so bold enough as to inquire who he is, my lord?” Pettigrew asked, his anxiety over now that his master had something else on his mind.

Voldemort leaned back on his chair and swiveled it around.

“The future of this estate.”

--------------------------------------------

Half an hour later, Pettigrew walked down the decapitating steps of Slytherin Lair with renewed determination. After his disastrous visit, he was now hell bent on getting this new task right. If he gave this letter without hitch to the Heir of Slytherin, his master will no longer remember his blunder.

Unknown to Pettigrew, however, that as he mounted his horse and rode into the darkness, his deficiency was the last thing on Voldemort's mind.

--------------------------------------------

“Averley.” Voldemort drawled out from the alcove above. “William Averley.”

He lifted the heavy curtains aside in time to see Pettigrew's hefty form disappearing into the haze. He let the curtains fall limply back into place and clenched his fists.

“What are you planning to do?”

--------------------------------------------

Harry Potter jolted awake from his sleep, as the closed-carriage he was riding in stopped unexpectedly and rather callously.

Clearing his throat, he looked over on his right to ensure that his wife's rest had not been disturbed as his were. Satisfied and convinced that his shoulder indeed made a more than acceptable pillow; Harry carefully reached up to tap the roof of the carriage.

A couple of seconds later, the carriage door opened beside him, revealing Emett who stood quietly, staring up at his confused look.

“What is it?” He barked impatiently.

“Er,” His coachman blinked, wondering why he was suddenly the recipient of Harry's frown. “We have arrived, your grace.”

“Have we?”

“Yes.”

Harry looked through the open door of his carriage and registered the front of his townhouse.

“Is something the matter, your grace?”

Harry shifted his gaze to his coachman. “No. I merely did not expect us to arrive early.”

With a curt nod of dismissal to Emett, Harry turned to his side and nudged his wife awake. Unlike him, Hermione was not at all surprised that they had already reached their destination.

“Emett must have the stomach flu, Harry.” She kidded as they entered the house, nodding graciously at the footman who opened the door. “I've never ridden in a carriage that seemed to fly rather than run.”

They had been like this since they left Godric's Hollow. Exchanging, banters here and there and even going over some petty but enjoyable arguments, Harry liked to think they were slowly growing comfortable around each other.

Of course, that final letter from her father helped quite a bit.

It made light their situation.

Who would have thought that even after all these years, the arrangement had still taken place? It was quite a surprise, that betrothal, but not really significant. After all, all's well that ended well. Broken engagement or not, they were already married anyway.

Harry smiled at Hermione fondly, a reply to her quip forming in his lips. But a sudden greeting from the foyer prevented him saying it aloud.

“Good afternoon, your grace.”

Harry turned. “Ah, Newbury.” He smiled and spread his hands. “Come forth and meet my wife.”

Newbury stepped forward awkwardly, his mind still reeling from confusion as to whether it had been really for him, that smile of his employer.

Harry frowned when his butler did not immediately do what he was told. Hermione, on the other hand, knew the reason for his bewilderment, having heard the reason from her maids. She gave him a small smile. “Good afternoon, Newbury.”

“Your grace.” The butler acknowledged with a bow. “It is an honor to be in your presence.”

“I am not the queen, Newbury.” Hermione laughed modestly. “But thank you for nonetheless.”

When greetings from the rest of the staff had been dispensed with, Harry insisted that Hermione take a nap in her quarters so she could get some rest, an order at which Hermione laughed, saying that she had had enough rest in the carriage to last her the entire day.

When Harry asked her what she'd like to do instead, her suggestion of a tour around the house earned her a scoff from him. In a laughing voice, Harry said her suggestion really meant an exploration that would lead her to his library.

Even though Hermione had given him a look, she did not deny anything. Harry said nothing more. As soon as she was done changing her gown, he wasted not a single second of their time and immediately led her to his library.

One look at her face told him all he needed to know.

Laughing, he shook his head. “I'll have Emett prepare the carriage again.”

----------------------------------------------------

Hermione wandered aimlessly around the bookstore, deciding on which would best complete her purchase for the day. She had already bought loads of books, much to the delight of the store owner, enough to fill that pathetic excuse of a library Harry had in his townhouse, but she seemed to have no control over herself.

She wanted more.

Glancing through the glass window, at the ducal carriage parked beside the busy street, Hermione suppressed a smile.

She slyly wondered whether he will last a minute more.

It was not her idea that he stayed in the carriage, so he should not berate her for taking her time.

Seriously, the man had issues when it came to socializing!

Just the thought of dealing with the crowd in the store had him ignoring her request to accompany her inside. Hermione briefly imagined what he might be doing to amuse himself.

Shoving the thought aside, she continued to pace upon her selections. Too preoccupied in her decisions, it took her a while to realize that the subject of the buzzing noise inside the store was the same person inside her head.

“He is back, Mrs. Burns.” The excited tone in the young voice had Hermione turning to listen despite its unethical tendency.

“Who is, Lady Hannah?” Came the sound of a low, but decidedly female voice from behind her.

Hermione suppressed a smile at the disapproval in the woman's tone.

There was a sound of a book being brought down with force. “When have I ever mentioned somebody not worth my time? And anyway, you do know I have been waiting for his return since he left, don't you?”

Hermione's brow shot up at the reproof of this debutante. She casually shifted her body so she could be able to see the two females through her peripheral vision.

It was easy to distinguish who was who.

Mrs. Burns was a plump, matronly lady, with short, but thick brown hair. She was carrying herself regally, her shoulders thrown back, her chin jutted out. Hannah was the petite and beautiful young woman standing next to her, her expression as that of a child feasting her eyes on her Christmas gifts.

“Ah” was all Mrs. Burns said. “Itching to take a look? Go, if you must.”

Too excited to show the slightest bit of modesty, Hannah rushed to the window and peered outside, knocking Hermione out of the way in the process.

“I beg your pardon.” Hermione mumbled after the impact.

There was only silence from the lady she collided with, and then. “This is wonderful, Mrs. Burns!”

Curious now, Hermione turned her attention to the direction the two ladies were busy ogling in.

It figures.

Why was she not surprised that they were ogling at the ducal carriage?

“Do you think he will be attending the Reynolds' ball tonight?”

“I do not know.” Mrs. Burns gave an unladylike scoff. “But what good will it cause if he attends? He will just stand there and talk to no one except the gentlemen. He has not the reputation of being friendly.”

“He is not unfriendly.” Cried out a very indignant Hannah, turning for a second to her chaperone before shifting her attention back to the carriage as if any minute now, Harry would just spring out of it.

“And how do you know that?”

“His mistresses, of course.”

There was a loud thud on the floor on which the book Hermione had been holding fell. Startled on the word `mistress,' Hermione had forgotten she was not supposed to react. She had dropped it without thinking.

As she bent to pick it up, she noticed something.

`Why is my heart beating so fast?'

This was absurd.

She knew Harry had mistresses before they were married. Heard it over grapevine and reprimanded him for it, even. Maybe she was just disconcerted to hear it now as his wife.

Yes.

That was it.

She was just looking at it in a married point of view.

Trying to slow the furious rhythm of her heart, Hermione took a deep breath only to feel their curious gaze at her. She continued to pretend she was searching for some books.

Then one of them walked past her.

Thankfully they were still within earshot.

“You are hardly of age to know such things.” Mrs. Burns wagged a finger at her charge. Then she said in a low voice. “I have heard, of course. Why do you think I disapprove of that man? His friendliness is too direct! I shall be careful with him, if I were you.”

“Oh, pish posh.” Hannah shook her head.

“Do not belittle the matter.” Mrs. Burns berated, her face darkening. “He is hardly known for being noble, despite what his title as Duke and Keeper of Gryffindor entails! Do not, for one second, believe he would spare innocents! That man has no scruples!”

`Oh yes, he has!'

“I do not believe he means to do it, Mrs. Burns.” Disagreed Lady Hannah, her voice obviously dreamy. “Perhaps, he is just looking for the right woman.”

Hermione nearly choked and controlled the urge to roll her eyes at the sentimentality of the chit. `Really.'

“Being wed to that man is one more thing you can just keep dreaming about. He shall never take a wife.”

`Too late.' Hermione couldn't help but feel a burst of satisfaction at that. `He already has.'

“How do you know that for certain?”

“He is a rake!”

`Yes, but reformed rakes make the best husbands.'

“Perhaps, Mrs. Burns. But think of the position I shall hold once I marry him. Duchess---and Lady Keeper!”

Hermione's fists clenched at her sides. `MY husband is not some price to be won!'

“The very idea of becoming Harry Potter's wife is upsetting!”

`No, it is not.' But Hermione couldn't help but contradict herself. `Well, perhaps a little bit.'

“Why is that?”

Mrs. Burns puffed. “If I were to be his wife, I would not feel comfortable having a husband whose reputation with women is as dark as a cold winter night. He is not one to be faithful, trust me. Who knows what he might do once I look away?”

Hermione froze. `What?'

Hannah mirrored Hermione's thoughts.

“Men like him do not change overnight,” Mrs. Burns said. “They may take a wife, yes, but their carnal intuitions do not change. They can never refrain from straying, especially when their marriage is not based on love. Why do you think society gets away with that? It's because it is rare to find couples who marry because of affections! Men do it, women do it. It is a circumstance better left alone than dealt with.”

Although slightly shaken by this, Hannah took a deep breath, keeping her resolve. “Then I shall have to be a very good wife to him, so he would not have any other direction in which to look but mine.”

Mrs. Burns only shook her head. “Enough of this, Lady Hannah. Do you not have an appointment with your modiste this afternoon?”

At the mention of her garments, Hannah turned even more enthusiastic. “Oh! That is right. Thank you for reminding me, Mrs. Burns. She is bringing the gown I shall wear tonight. Would you care to witness my fitting?”

Mrs. Burns scrunched up her face. “No. I have had enough witnessing to last me a lifetime. I do not have a say in your choice of attire at any rate. I will just have to wait before we leave to see your gown.”

The sound of the bell chiming above a door being opened snapped Hermione out of her eavesdropping state. Only then did she realize that Hannah and Mrs. Burns had left. Walking over to where they had been standing, she felt a deep burden on her shoulders.

“A love match, huh?” Hermione echoed without thought, absentmindedly fingering the spine of a book.

Theirs was not, that was certain.

Things would have turned out differently for her and Harry, had the Potters manage to avoid the carriage accident on that fateful night twenty-four years ago. Their betrothal contract would have been signed, then and they would have been introduced much, much earlier.

Friendship, perhaps even love, might have budded out of it.

Now, even though one might think fate had worked its magic on them, their marriage was only considered as one out of convenience.

Harry had merely saved her reputation. If it were not for her impulsive nature, they would have left that house party with no more than a memory of a chaste kiss.

Thinking about it now, he had not said a word about it since then, but that did not mean he was the least bit happy he had taken home a wife.

Did he consider her a burden?

Did he blame her for his lost bachelorhood?

It seemed that he had been enjoying it more than he would ever admit.

This should not have mattered, that he may not want to be with her---in more ways than just physically.

But it definitely did.

For a woman who no more than mild affection for her husband, this should not even be an issue.

But why did she feel threatened?

Was it because of pride?

Or…

She shuddered…

Love?

----------------------------------------------------

Harry couldn't help but smile as he watched Hermione stock on his bookshelf, next to his “piteous” ones, her recently acquired book collection. It has been an hour since they had returned to his---their---townhouse, but it seemed as if her `oohing' and `aahing' were far from over.

That simple look of delight on her face had him feeling as if he had championed a dragon. She had been silent during their ride home, barely listening to his complaints on having to wait for a full hour in the stuffy carriage, which were good-natured teasing, of course.

But his attempt at light conversation did not work.

The words `leave me alone' might as well have been stamped on her forehead for the lack of interest she showed. If that had not been as clear to him as daylight, he would have pursued his intent to break her mood.

Looking at her now, he could breathe more evenly.

Sighing, he hoped that books were not the only happiness he could give her.

But for now, it was enough.

As she was perusing over her choices for the day, there was a discreet knock on the door that she failed to hear. When it swiveled ajar, Harry saw Newbury standing there, staring at him with an awkward look.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“An invitation has arrived earlier, Your Grace, when you and the duchess were out.” Newbury stretched out his arms, holding a simple, yet elegant envelope.

Harry nodded. “Thank you. Is that all?”

“Yes, Your Grace. Pardon me for the intrusion.”

Harry shook his head and smiled. “Not to worry, Newbury. We were simply admiring my wife's good taste.”

Behind him, Hermione tossed a distracted smile their way.

Newbury, seemingly over his initial shock that Harry Potter was indeed capable of humor, bowed and closed the door.

Harry twirled the envelope in his hands, unsure whether or not to open the thing. It looked to be an invitation to some ball. He had no intention of attending anyway, so he saw no point in wasting conscious effort of opening and then reading it.

“What is that?”

Harry glanced down as if he did not know what she was talking about. “It is merely an invitation.”

“From?”

Harry shrugged.

Hermione rolled her eyes. She strode over to Harry's side and took the invitation from him. She scanned over the letters. Her surprise came as abruptly as it was gone. “The Reynolds are having a ball tonight.”

She looked up at him, waiting.

“What of it?” Harry asked. “Do you wish to attend?”

“Not particularly.” Hermione whispered.

“But generally?”

Hermione bit her lip.

A ball with Harry seemed a bit vexing.

Not so quickly after her depressing mood.

But she did not want to stay home tonight.

She had not the nerve to wait whether Harry would finally ask her to be his wife in the truer sense of the word. Neither did she want to risk seeing him leave, and wonder all night where he would have run off to.

She was a coward, yes.

But it was better than being a martyr.

“Hermione?”

“Yes, I should like to attend.”

Harry hesitated, the thought of the inevitable announcement of their marriage during the ball crossing his mind.

The likelihood that his bachelorhood was still believed to be true was great. None had seen him and Hermione since their arrival, except for their servants. Granted that they were more likely to spread the news, he was confident few would believe the tale.

Not a single logical reason existed for him to put off the announcement, though. Society was bound to find out. Besides, who would think anything wrong about it?

“Harry?”

Harry took the envelope from Hermione's hands and tapped it on his hand.

“An hour or so would not hurt, I suppose.”

-----------------------------------------------------

When the Reynolds hosted a ball, they certainly did it with style.

As the guests were ushered inside, they could not help but remark that each year; the celebration was more lavish than the one that came before it.

The lights were bright, illuminating every single floral and orchestral decoration within the ballroom, which should have been crowded, judging on the number of people who arrived, but was not, because of its grandeur.

Everywhere you looked; there you would lay eyes upon prominent figures of Hogwarts, all from different estates. Decked in their impeccable suits and pantaloons, the Lords of Hogwarts had on their arms, beautiful ladies all dressed in gowns of the latest fashion, their necks sporting shining pearls and sparkling diamonds.

All were smiling and greeting each other pleasantly.

It seemed that for the sake of attending this annual bash, all disparities were set aside.

As Harry and Hermione prepared to be announced just by the entrance to the ballroom, Harry did a quick scan over the sea of faces below. As usual, his bored expression ignited whispers among the crowd, yet the buzzing that reached his ears was up to an unusual level tonight.

The latest adornment on his arm was probably what they were gossiping about.

It was not exactly folktale that he had attended balls escorting different women. At first, it had been a distress to get over. But after a while, the Ton simply grew amused over his desire to change women as a lady would her garments.

Tonight was quite different, however, for the introduction to be made would surely shock everyone within hearing distance.

Hermione's hand on the crook of his elbow tightened as if she knew his concern. He covered it with his own and gazed down at her. His boyish wink elicited a small laugh from her lips, despite her early concern. Freed from anxiety, she lifted her chin just a bit more.

“His Grace, Harry James Potter, and Her Grace, Hermione Jane Potter. The Duke and Duchess of Godric's Hollow!”

It was as if somebody not only turned down the volume of the room, but also had the inkling to put it in mute mode. She was pretty sure a hurricane could have knocked the place over, but every single one of them would remain frozen.

They both realized, of course, what the silence was all about.

To have Gryffindor's Keeper of Estate marry was already news enough to shake the rafters of the building.

But to have him marry Ravenclaw's Keeper of Estate was enough to stir the dead!

Especially when one had been publicly adamant about it, and the other had even moved to another country just to avoid it.

It was somewhat awkward to continue moving when everybody else were like statues, but to do that would only prolong the moment Harry wanted to avoid.

As they descended the winding staircase, Harry whispered teasingly. “Will you smile? They will think me a brute to have my wife appear unhappy.”

Hermione subtly shook her head, recovering from her own shock. “That is not necessary, Harry. They will simply think me insane to have married you.”

“In that case, shall we go now? We have put up an appearance, have we not?”

“You agreed to stay for an hour. It has been barely two minutes.”

“Alas.” Harry mocked. “Fifty-eight more minutes left of agony.”

Hermione wondered whether their banter had already reached the farthest ear in the room. But of course, it would seem an exaggeration where she to narrate that nobody breathed enough to give the room the least bit sign of life.

After all, the surprise only lasted for a few seconds after their descent, for as soon as they reached the bottom step, people crowded around them to offer their congratulations.

A full hour later, Hermione was exhausted from trying to keep up with the names tossed their way. For formality's sake, their host paraded them around his ballroom; taking care to introduce them to everybody they meet along whichever way he stirred them.

As courtesy demanded it, Hermione played along with Harry, even though they both knew all the people Carter Reynolds invited.

Well, almost.

“My dear duchess, may I introduce to you a very good friend of mine, Lady Miranda Porter, Countess of Migherhall.”

Hermione inclined her head to acknowledge the introduction. Beside her, Harry remained standing and aloof, looking above Miranda Migherhall's head.

Odd.

He seemed to be avoiding her gaze.

Then Hermione subtly looked at the other woman. She was surprised, to say the least, that Miranda was not only looking at Harry, but was looking at him with adoration shining in her eyes.

Then it struck her.

Lady Miranda Migherhall had been---or still was---one of Harry's mistresses!

Just then, Hermione wondered just which of the many women they had greeted belonged to his flock. There was no way she would be able to tell, of course, since Harry had acted turned into a block of ice since Carter Reynolds came to greet them.

Did the thought bother her?

Of course!

For reasons that were more than what she was willing to admit…

Beside her, Harry finally noticed something was bothering Hermione.

He gently touched her arm.

He didn't need to say anything because he knew that somehow, with that simple gesture, Hermione understood him.

He wished could say the same for himself, though.

Her answering smile was not able to suffuse any understanding in him.

A few more minutes of introduction passed by before Harry felt the necessity to stop Carter Reynolds. If he continued on like this, they may just reach the point when their host would start steering them towards the people they had already greeted.

“Forgive me, Carter, I see that the Quartet is just about over.” His observation quite correct, he seized on the excuse. “I promised my lady duchess the next set for tonight.”

An excuse which he had not trouble saying…

“Ah, of course.” Carter Reynolds inclined his head. “But please, grant me this last introduction, Your Grace. I am well aware this young lady would be disappointed if I do not do so right away.”

Harry bowed his head and sighed inwardly.

“Lord and Lady Potter, may I present to you Lady Cho Diggory.”

Hermione gave a start at the name, recognizing the name. And then she looked closely, the familiar face belonging to one of Ravenclaw's few Ladies of Estates.

The last time she'd seen her, Cho had been mourning over the death of her husband, Cedric Diggory, the heir to Hufflepuff Sett. His untimely demise was brought upon by defeat in a battle against Lord Voldemort.

It was to be recalled that the Keeper of Hufflepuff Estate, Lord Miller, had sided with Voldemort for the supremacy over Hogwarts. As next in line, Cedric Diggory made a move that inevitably cost him his life, and the life of other Hufflepuff Lords as well.

Cho had been distraught back then, looking ready to meet death herself.

Hermione barely recognized this regal woman, standing in front of her now. She looked to be even younger…and definitely more beautiful---sparkling beneath the glowing light of the ballroom.

“How do you do?” Hermione inclined her head.

As duchess, she was only required to curtsy to someone of higher rank. Beside her, Harry took Cho's gloved hand and kissed it. As he looked up again, Cho was looking at him with an indecipherable gaze.

“It has been a long time, Your Grace,” she said, referring to Hermione. “When did you return to Hogwarts?”

“A little over three months ago.” Hermione said friendly. Though she'd never liked the woman herself, courtesy called for it. “I stayed with my friend, Lady Weasley.”

Cho smiled slightly. “Have you been to Ravenclaw Keep yet?”

Hermione's answer was a demure shake of her head. “I am afraid I haven't had the time. How about you? Do you visit London just now, my lady?”

“No,” Cho opposed. “London is my home now and has been for two years. Ravenclaw Keep is not what it had once been.”

Hermione was not certain she heard correctly, because she seemed to have heard malice in Cho's tone. But the point hit her directly, and she felt more ashamed of having run away from her responsibility as Lady Keeper.

“I see” was all she could say.

Sensing the change in disposition, Cho regarded everyone within the circle. “It is good that you accepted Lord Reynolds' invitation for tonight. Was this unexpected announcement of your marriage the purpose of your attendance?”

The question had been directed at Harry.

For some reason, Harry refused to look. He answered her nonetheless. “No. It was purely out of respect for a friend. As it is not in my habit, nor in Lady Hermione's, to flaunt what we have, there are no other grounds. In any case, this marriage would have been found out, whether we intended to keep it a secret or not.”

Beside him, Hermione inwardly flinched at how he said `this marriage.' It sounded as if he were simply discussing the next horse race at Tatersall's!

“And you did not?” Cho interrupted her thoughts.

Harry kept his façade, but the steel challenge in his tone warned Hermione of an unspoken dare. “For what reason would we have done that?”

“Perhaps the underlying cause of its haste?”

“Lady Diggory, our wedding was not done out of haste. As for the reason why we did not include the Ton, that is for ours to keep,” Harry said, his jaw tightening.

“Very well.”

That was it.

No apology from her discourtesy, despite its vulgarity.

Then Cho turned towards Hermione.

Was it really just her, or did Harry move a bit closer?

“Do you dance, Your Grace?”

Hermione humbly inclined her head. “But of course. After all, a gently bred woman hardly forgets her lessons.”

Cho's delicate brow lifted as if to say, `You, a gently bred woman?'

Hermione was not the type to sit back and take an insult. That brow raised for all to see was an affront, if she ever saw one. “In fact,” she said, smiling brightly, linking her arm through Harry's. “His Grace promised the next set to me.”

Cho's eyes shifted swiftly towards him. Hermione felt uneasy at how her eyes changed from challenging to imploring. But it did not decrease the level of disdain in her voice that Hermione was just beginning to realize was there.

“Ah, yes. My Lord Duke is good at making promises,” Cho said suggestively. “You would think he was better at keeping them. But alas, nobody is perfect.”

Hermione frowned, a question forming on her lips.

But Harry was fast.

“My pride refuses to accept such failing remark. Allow me to prove you wrong, my lady. Save a set for me tonight.”

Cho's answering smile told them she won this round.

But Hermione couldn't understand what game they were playing.

Unless…

No.

That was impossible.

Had she not been privy to the suffering Cho underwent over her husband's death, she would have thought about it further. As it was, she could not have forgotten her husband so quickly.

But, as Harry bent over to write his name on Cho's dance card, the pure look of satisfaction on her face told Hermione otherwise.

“Forgive me, my lord, my lady,” Harry said as he straightened. “But I mean now to claim my wife for the Waltz.”

--------------------------------------------------

Customarily, it was not approved to hold a lady in a close proximity, but as Harry had never thought to follow most of the ton's rules, this one was most assuredly ignored. Fortunately, this one particular dance allowed him such privilege.

“What is the matter, Hermione?” Harry asked, savoring the opportunity to hold her close.

Hermione slightly shook her head. “Nothing at all.”

Harry only saw the top of her head, for she refused to look up at him.

“As I am not taking that pathetic response, you better come up with a good reason. I know there is something bothering you tonight.”

`You are bothering me,' Hermione thought, `you and your bloody collection of mistresses!'

“Why do I have to ask for this?”

“Ask for what?” Harry's grip on her waist tightened. “What strange nonsense is this?”

Hermione shook her head quickly, not realizing she had spoken her thought out loud. “Do not pay heed to my ramblings.”

“Hermione,” Harry began.

The desperate tone in his voice was her undoing. She then made up her mind. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. “Do you know her well?”

For a moment, Hermione thought Harry did look confused. “Who?”

Hermione took her eyes off him to lay them upon the woman she was most bothered with. “Lady Diggory.”

She held her breath for his response, praying that he tell her what she wanted to hear.

No…

The truth…

She wanted the truth.

“She is an acquaintance,” Harry finally said, following her gaze. Hopefully, no one would notice how they were eyeing the lady in question. “But I do not know her particulars.”

Hermione's relief was short-lived.

“She seems to know you.”

Harry sighed. “Everybody claims to know me well when they do not.”

She was silent for a moment, not knowing what to believe.

She had always been good with her instincts. Her judgment on people may not always be precise, but it had been enough to keep away from trouble. But lately, she realized, her good opinions had been getting poor, especially where Harry was concerned.

Perhaps, this was one of those times.

“She is from Ravenclaw, do you know?”

“Y---no.”

“But you do know she is a widow, do you not?”

“I surmised that much.”

At least at this, Harry thought, I did not lie.

Hermione nodded. “She was never my friend, but as the Keeper of Ravenclaw Estate, I felt it a duty for me to be with her when Lord Cedric Diggory passed away. I left Ravenclaw soon after his funeral. She has been lonely ever since.”

“Oh,” Harry whispered, turning to look back at her.

“That is why it came to me as a surprise to see her tonight. Do not get me wrong, it has been five years since his death. But you would think that somebody who loved as much as she did would not get over his death. I wonder what has her looking like this tonight.”

“How does she look?” Harry whispered absentmindedly, his gaze fixed on her, suddenly mesmerized by how she looked.

Clad in a gown of lovely primrose lace and silk, she looked good enough to eat.

He had noticed earlier, feasted his eyes upon her, actually. The moment she came down from her chambers, there was nothing he thought to say that could have described how she appeared to him.

And so, he kept silent.

She was lovely, this duchess of his. And her shoulders, creamy-white and bare, how he wanted to cover them with soft, feathery kisses.

Tonight, she was a sight for all to behold.

But only his to claim…

“She looks lovely. Lovelier than anybody in this room.” Hermione whispered.

“You are quite wrong on that score, my lady.” Harry whispered back, the corner of his lips tilting. “There is someone even more beautiful than she.”

“Really?” She asked, turning to look at him. “Where is she?”

Her breath hitched in her throat, seeing her reflection in the depths of his eyes.

“I'm dancing with her.”

---------------------------------------------------

Already minutes had passed since the dance had been over, but only now did Hermione realize that Harry's words gave her comfort, over the budding insecurity she had been feeling ever since that afternoon.

The feeling clouded over her judgment, disabling her ability to dwell on the reason why a simple compliment meant so much to her and why she had needed them in the first place.

Excusing herself properly, Hermione left, feeling calm enough to leave Harry with Cho, as their dance is about to start.

She ended up going to the lounge to rest.

Just beside her, the entrance back to the ballroom was wide open.

And for the second time that day, Hermione came upon another conversation, a conversation that she ought to not have heard.

“Did you see how he was looking at her?”

“Why, yes.” A voice Hermione recognized all too well as Lady Lavender Brown's answered. “You do not have to tell me how shocking it was, Parvati. I am certain Lady Diggory is not taking this well.”

Cho?

Parvati Patil laughed gaily. “That ought to serve her right. To think, she has been dropping rumors that Lord Harry potter would propose to her after his return from the Black Mansion.”

“Her pride must be suffering more than her heart. Do you not believe that to be hilarious?”

“Hers might be the only one. Hearts, I believe have been breaking since they stepped into the room. Surely, you can recall that most believe themselves in love with the duke!”

“Most, including you?”

“That may have been true once, Lavender, but I should like to forget that I, too, once wanted to have him.” Then a good-natured laugh came. “Did I tell you the time my chaperone believed me to have claimed attention from the duke? I wonder now if the woman mistaken to be me was Lady Hermione Granger.”

“Lady Potter now, you mean.”

“Why, yes, of course.”

Lavender sighed dreamily. “Well, if she was, Parvati, she is very fortunate. To be the Lady Keeper of the highest Estates at Hogwarts, oh, I wonder how she feels about it!”

“But do you not think it a bit strange that they married so suddenly? And no banns were read for it?”

“Well, yes. But does that even matter?”

Parvati was silent for a moment.

“Are you not the least bit curious as to how the story goes? Lord Harry Potter never keeps any of his affairs a secret. Surely, marriage is one that is quite difficult to keep, especially with servants roaming around the place!”

`Affairs? Surely they do not mean his mistresses?'

“There has been talk from some who came back from the Black Mansion, but none were boorish enough to destroy the lady's reputation. Perhaps it is simply a love match. And with all their close friends and family there, it was convenient to marry.”

“I feel quite sorry her, do you know?”

Why would you say that? The undignified Hermione wanted to scream out loud.

“Really? How so?”

“Standing there, not knowing that she has faced the duke's mistresses, unaware that half the women here are probably cursing her as of this moment.”

Hermione's heartbeat seemed to stop.

`How many were they exactly?'

“How are you certain she does not know?”

“She seems too calm for someone who does.”

Lavender huffed out loud. “Surely people understand that he had to choose someone. If they were foolish enough to harbor hopes of becoming the duchess, then they should have been just as wise to expect that their chances were slim.” Then Lavender shrugged the thought aside. “I would wager none feel too strongly, of course.”

“Well, perchance just one.” Parvati murmured, but it was clear enough for Hermione to hear.

Lavender seemed to agree.

“Pity that, if the duchess only knew Lady Diggory is Harry Potter's most devout mistress, perhaps there would be something to watch tonight.”

-------------------------------------------------------

There was something in the cold air that night that possessed people to do things they would normally think of first before executing.

Leading a former mistress to a secluded area was one of them.

As Harry closed the door that led to the Reynolds' balcony, he had no other choice but to put the blame of his stupidity on an unknown force.

“Could not wait for a little bit more privacy, Your Grace?” Cho asked as she turned around to watch him.

Far enough from the ballroom to give them the privacy, but close enough to fend off unwanted conclusions, the balcony was still an unsafe location. Below them, guests hovered about. They were in plain view if someone bothered to look up.

“Contrary to what you think, Lady Diggory, I can hardly wait to go back,” Harry said. He glanced around uneasily. “But I must speak with you about some things, which are best said here and now.”

Cho Chang flashed him a grin, ignoring his remark. She closed her fan. “Your absence was well-marked by many, Harry. I, for one, have been counting the days until your return. These past weeks have been quite---lonely.”

Though she was looking at him with the eyes of which gaze invited other men to fight duels just to be the recipient of, it did nothing more than make Harry want to step away. Normally, he would have succumbed to that smoky stare of hers, but as he had said before, circumstances had changed, and so did he.

“Kindly keep your distance, madam.” Harry whispered, moving away.

Cho smirked at him. “What is the matter, Harry?” She asked gaily. “Country air must be clouding your senses.”

“My senses are working just fine.” Harry gritted his teeth. “This is neither the time nor place for us to be having this conversation.”

“Perhaps later then?” She smiled at him invitingly. “In your townhouse?”

“I believe it is your senses that are clouded.” Harry warned savagely. “I have a wife, or do you not recall?”

“Oh, I recall her.” She spat with disdain. “How can I not? You married my superior. That woman who left Ravenclaw without a by-leave! Of all the people you could have married, why her?”

“You are not privy to my personal life. So do not waste your breath asking me questions that are not in your affair.”

She laughed haughtily; a dangerous gleam appeared in her eyes. Then she raised a brow, stepping closer to trace the buttons on his shirt with her finger. “You have not told her about me, have you?”

“You are stepping on the bounds of propriety by being so close to me. I do not wish for your reputation to be in tatters more than it already is.” Harry took hold of Cho's hand and pushed her gently away. “There is nothing to tell Hermione.”

“Oh? Calling her by her name now, are you?” She mocked brightly. “Do my ears deceive me? Pray tell me I am wrong, or do you actually hold your wife in esteem?”

“Again, that is none of your concern!”

Cho placed her forefinger on his lips. “Hush, Harry, love. It is tempting to argue with you, but do you think you can lower your voice a bit? I should think that you do not want to be seen with me,” she said, purposefully looking at his lips, the end of her fan, pressed on the edge of her own. “But if you want more privacy, I do not believe anybody would mind either of our absence.”

“Yes, I do believe my absence would be minded.” Harry muttered, thinking of Hermione, who had now probably noticed his disappearance from the ballroom. “You are free to leave, however.”

“Is it not you who asked me to come here? What is it that you want to tell me, then?”

“There would be no more unnecessary privacy between us after tonight,” Harry began. “I shall be by the townhouse later to recover my belongings. However, you are free to stay for as long as you want. I do not mind.”

“We had an arrangement, Harry.” Cho interrupted him. Although her voice was soft, her eyes were glittering precariously.

Harry closed his eyes in frustration. “I do appreciate the loyalty, my lady,” Harry placed a little roughly. “But I am married.”

“And so?” She asked rather loudly. “Why is that of any substance?”

Again, Harry shot a worried glance below. Cho was not behaving like the well-bred woman she should be. Perhaps, she had been like this before, but he just did not care enough to see.

“Why?” Harry echoed. “Being married is enough reason, do you not think?”

Cho lifted a delicate brow. “On the contrary, your grace, I am much more confused.”

Harry pressed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I can't imagine what has you in bewilderment. Is it truly because you do not understand---or you simply do not agree?”

“The latter,” she said matter-of-factly. With a toss of her head, she continued. “Marriage is a natural occurrence. It does not mean that just because you have a wife, you should deny yourself the pleasure of other women's company.”

“Ah.” Harry nodded, understanding her logic. “But I am no common husband. As I am certain I have already said before, I do not agree with most of the customs the Ton have made for themselves to foolishly follow, especially those that are against my principles. Affairs outside of marriage are one of them.”

“You did not even believe in marriage! How can you not believe in affairs outside one?” She pointed out. “Surely, you jest with me.”

“And what purpose would I have for doing so?”

“Unless you are to tell me you love your wife, I find no other impartial reason for you to discontinue our affair.”

The corner of Harry's lips lifted bitterly. “Concern, yes. But love? I doubt it.”

She stepped closer, apathetic to what he had just said. “Your conscience shall not be a bother, then.”

“No matter what you say, Cho, my decision has already been made.” Harry shook his head.

Realizing that he was actually fervent in his decision, Cho abruptly grabbed his hands in frenzy. “Do not do this.”

Harry sighed, taking both hands in his and pushing her gently away. “If it is any consolation, I shall provide you the deed to the townhouse. You may keep everything that is within it.”

“I do not want your townhouse!”

Harry crossed his arms and leaned back on the railing. “Then what do you want? Ask me anything, and it is yours. But I will no longer provide you the protection you seek.”

“I want…” Cho bit her lip and turned around.

“What?”

“I want your name, Harry,” she whispered. “And your love.”

Harry stared at the back of her, dumbfounded. It was not the first time he'd heard a woman say that to him. But to come from the mouth of Cho Diggory, the lady who had caused more heartaches than he, it was startling enough to render him speechless.

When he found his senses, Cho had already turned to face him. “I had no wish to degrade myself by becoming your mistress whilst you have a wife, but a divorce is out of the question. All I need is a promise that you shall not end our relations. I shan't ask for anything more.”

Harry continued to say nothing.

For what was he to say?

It was not her mind talking, it was her heart.

And with it, he had no intention of conversing.

“Harry?”

Harry sighed. “No.”

Cho's hand fell limply against her sides. Her head bowed, and her shoulders began to shake. Harry heard her taking deep breaths and gave her the privacy she silently sought. He did not leave, however, merely stayed where he was and waited.

Still perturbed by the sudden change in her character, Harry spoke without good judgment. “If it would make you feel better, I shall arrange for you a new protector.”

Cho's head abruptly lifted. Her eyes blazed with anger. “Do you not hear what you say?! How can you utter such words? I am no toy to be passed around after you have had your fun!”

“Do not be a hypocrite by saying that your plea is done merely out of love. You are afraid of losing comfort, madam. And I am giving it to you, to replace my affections.”

“I care nothing for your heartless exchange, your grace.” She quietly said.

“Do you not understand? I bear you no love! Would you wish it upon yourself, Cho, that I continue our relations, with you loving me and me feeling naught but lust?” Harry shook his head. “My heart is no longer my own, for I have lost it many years ago.”

It was Cho's turn to shake her head. “This is about your past, isn't it?”

“Do not speak to me about things of which nature you do not know!” Harry shouted.

And for the first time, Cho was afraid. The man in front of her was different, more savage, and more lethal. It was then, at that moment, that she knew he was utterly serious.

“You feel as if you know me better than I know myself. I may have shared my body with you, but this goes beyond what you feel is under your understanding.”

Cho stepped backward, putting as much distance away from him as possible. “You are wrong, my lord. You still have your heart. You are just too selfish to give it. And do you know? I pity your wife.”

Harry refused to be swayed, but the word stayed with him no less.

“I doubt she would think the same.” He recovered barely a second later. “As she bears me no love either, she would not beseech my heart as you are doing so now.”

“Give my sympathy then, if you will. She may have your name and your protection, but it is not always as you say. She will want your love, I assure you.” Cho whispered savagely, gathering up her skirts. “The heart is as valuable as a diamond, your grace. If only yours were not as hard.”

-----------------------------------------------------------

On the other side of Town, Adam Kerrington could do nothing more but stare at the latest messenger of his grandfather as he stumbled across the room and departed in haste.

In the five minutes that he had stayed, Peter Pettigrew proved not only to be a coward, but an imbecile as well. Adam could only surmise that his grandfather had no more funds to pay for more qualified men, and just opted for loyalty over quality.

A good thing, it was, that he worked alone.

It was not his style to collaborate with so laughable a servant.

He leaned back on his chair, and took a deep breath; the weight of the thing in his hand rendered him unable to focus on anything else. Idly tapping it on the table, he somehow felt hesitant to open it. The burden of what was inside seemed too heavy for his liking.

What would Riddle say if he ignored the message?

He tilted back his head and pinched his nose.

“Lucas.”

He said the name out loud.

He had to.

No matter how revolting it was to follow orders from somebody else, he was not doing this for himself. And despite what Riddle thought, Adam was not doing this for him either.

He was doing this for Lucas.

He would do well not to forget it.

Sighing, he opened the letter and read it.

“You know what to do. Do not fail me.”

“Bloody git,” he muttered, crumpling the paper into a tight ball.

He tossed it aside and stood up. With one last look at the room, he shrugged into his coat and strode out the door.

-------------------------------------------------

There was nothing more disconcerting than a lengthy carriage ride that involved a woman of indecipherable condition and a man with the burden of a lie and a broken engagement.

As Hermione sat next to Harry inside their carriage, quiet as she had been all night, he couldn't help but think that the afternoon's eerie silence was nothing compared to tonight's frigid stillness.

He would have attributed the disposition to exhaustion had it not been for the fact that her treatment started the moment he came back to the ballroom. Though Hermione still looked the same, the laughter in her eyes was gone.

Her mood continued on until she had quietly implored him to call for the carriage. Even after a half hour of riding with her, it appeared that she had no other intention of addressing him.

Harry wondered what could have caused this.

The only reason he could think of seemed quite impossible to him.

“Hermione?”

Her face was turned towards the window, but Harry could see through the vague reflection from the glass that she was awake.

“What ails you?” He asked again, hoping to get any kind of response from her. “Damn it, Hermione!”

At least this outburst caused her to throw him a surprise, albeit challenging, look.

“Why will you not say anything?”

She sighed. “Because I do not have anything to say.”

Finding it reasonable, he suggested. “If I talked, would you listen?”

Hermione yawned. “My ears are not in the mood to hear anything right this minute.” She closed her mouth and kept them shut after that, the prim line almost sending him over the edge of his seat in annoyance.

Harry shifted in his seat. “You do not have to undergo such juvenile behavior.”

“Is it not my right to speak when I wish to speak, to listen when I want to listen?”

“Something is definitely not right with you,” Harry said instead.

“I simply do not wish to converse with you. Is that so hard to understand, my lord?” Hermione confessed blandly. “Nothing is wrong with wanting a bit of silence every now and then.”

“This is ridiculous!” Harry blurted out, throwing his hands in frustration. “This is not like you to desire such things. Why do you want it now? At least give me an explanation.”

She gave him a sharp look. “Well, if you really must know, I rather prefer silence over lies.”

Harry's thoughts stopped, his gaze fixed on Hermione.

Lies?

Could she know he lied about not knowing Cho?

“What are you talking about?”

Feigning innocence was the only way to find out whether they were thinking of the same thing. Immediately taking her bait would have put him in an unnecessary spot.

Hermione refused to look at him, annoyance and another kind of feeling bubbling inside her.

What was with his tone?

Why did he have the nerve to sound irritated when it was she who should be more offended?

“You know, don't you?”

Still, she refused to say anything.

Harry resisted the urge to run his hand all over his face.

“Ask me, and I will answer you.”

“I already did,” Hermione whispered. “I do not have the patience to do so again.”

“You are talking in circles, I do not understand you.”

“You do not understand? Or do you not just want to admit it freely. And why am I to ask again? Did you not say that I need not do so, for you were my husband?”

“That is not what I meant when I said that,” he warned in a low voice, irritated by her childish behavior. “If you think otherwise, then forgive me for not fulfilling that particular promise right this minute. I am not perfect, as Lady Diggory had crudely pointed out earlier.”

The moment he said her name, Harry knew he'd done the wrong thing.

“Ah, yes.” Hermione turned to him with a smile too sweet for his taste. “Now that you have mentioned it, do you know what puzzles me? For somebody you are barely acquainted with, Lady Diggory seems to know enough about your imperfections.”

“So you do know the truth.”

“What truth?” Hermione said, still in that calm voice.

“Do you not want to hear my explanation, or would you prefer to ignore me for the rest of the evening?”

“If I let you explain, would you tell me the truth?” Hermione challenged, but there was a catch in her voice.

“Now I no longer have your trust?” Harry asked, his expression still aloof. “I understand the punishment. However, I refuse to accept it. My offense is not as massive a deal you seem to think it is.”

Hermione jeered at him. “Is it not? Perhaps to lie is not as unpleasant to others as it is to me. But do not forget, my lord, it was I to whom you offended.”

“Then what would you have me say at that time?” Harry asked.

“I rather think that an intelligent man like you would know the answer to that. I expected a simple one,” Hermione mocked. “After all, I asked a simple question.”

“All right. The answer to your question is just as you say. Lady Diggory was simply my mistress.” Harry said insultingly. It was a surprise his ears did not flame with the anger he felt for being goaded into impatience. “In fact, she is just one of the many I have, whom, if you must know, you have unknowingly greeted the entire evening.”

Hermione glared at Harry in silence, slightly offended by the venom in his voice.

To point out that she had looked stupid in front of the Ton, who probably pitied her now for not knowing, was the last thing she expected from him.

“Is that so?” She asked, hoping to keep a modicum of pride with her. She would not let him know she was affected by anything he did, only his dishonesty. “And the reason for not telling me right away?”

After his outburst, there was nothing more Harry could do but watch Hermione's reaction. He was waiting to see shock on her face, disappointment, or perhaps, sadness.

But to his chagrin, not one of them appeared.

“I did not think it mattered whether you knew about my affairs.” Harry shrugged. Two can play at this game, he thought bitterly.

She turned away from him, tracing the edge of the window with her finger as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. “Why not simply tell the truth? Did you believe it would bother me?”

Harry couldn't make up his mind whether to tell her he now wished it did. Her nonchalant responses evoked strange feelings in him, feelings that made him wish insecurity---perhaps a little bit of jealousy and possessiveness, as well---from her.

The silence that ensued only thickened the tension.

Hermione slowly felt something squeezing her heart. She blinked, for the feeling seemed so intense, proof of it threatened to spill from her eyes.

“What?” She managed to say without her voice breaking, albeit it was soft. “Did you expect me to be sad or angry that you had mistresses? Do not be foolish, Harry. I am not a stranger to the ways of the Ton.”

Harry's fists clenched at his sides. And then he too turned his gaze outside, away from her, and away from the. Though he saw everything they passed, his thoughts were far from the sights.

The very idea that Hermione had known he was expecting a violent reaction from her only added to the wounds she had inflicted.

Hearing her now, his affairs merely nothing but a custom of inconvenience for her, annoyance…and something else, replaced his displeasure.

“If that is the case, my dear, I do not see a reason why you are angry.” He said in a tight voice.

Beside him, Hermione huffed. “I merely do not appreciate looking like a fool.”

He thought her voice was not so calm this time, but he decided otherwise. It might simply be his wishful thinking. “Then I shall endeavor not do so again,” he whispered.

He had half the mind to reach out and see for himself why she couldn't face him, but enough of his pride had been shattered by her dejection. The remaining part firmly attached itself into his resolve.

Hermione wanted to open the window so she could breathe more freely, the iciness in Harry's voice forcing much air out of her. A good thing it was, that merely minutes since the hush began, their carriage drew to a smart sop in front of their townhouse.

The footman opened the door, revealing the couple who looked more like strangers to each other than husband and wife. Despite his indifference to her, Harry rose from his seat and descended the carriage, before offering his hand to Hermione.

“Thank you,” Hermione whispered softly as she passed by him.

She wanted to say more, but the rest of her words got stuck in her throat.

It seemed Harry had no intention of retiring for the evening yet.

“Where are you going?” Hermione asked before she could stop herself.

His feet on the steps, Harry turned his head to look at her, one corner of his lips lifting into a sardonic smile. “Now wouldn't you like to know?” Not waiting for her answer, he called out to his coachman. “You know where to go, Emett.”

Standing next to the open doors of their townhouse, Hermione could do nothing else but watch as the carriage was pulled away from the drive, the soft plops from the horses' hooves, the only sounds heard in the unfathomable air of the night.

Dazed, she entered the house, unmindful that the staff had retired for the night.

Leaning back on the door, she closed her eyes to stop the tears that mirrored this sudden pain in her heart.

It was ridiculous, this thought…

But why did she have the feeling they both lost tonight?

--------------------------------------------------------------

A/N:

Ok, so it took me more than a month to finish the bloody thing! No excuses, of course. I just have to tell you, there was something wrong with me throughout writing chapter 22. The conversations just do not flow in my head like they used to, so it was a bit hard for me to put together every scene.

I've read the chapter, did some editing, and boy is it long! The longest I've done so far. Some might think that other scenes were unnecessary, but I do say they are, after all, I've planned the story from start to end already. It may seem to be going at a slow pace right now, but you have to admit, a lot happened in this chapter.

If you got bored or something and you think that this is pointless, just bear in mind that I do not write unnecessary things. I may not get down to the heart of the matter right away, but I always have a purpose. I don't like to rush things because the result sucks when I do. Hehehe…

Anyway, just to give you a heads up, this may be the last chapter I'm going to put up in a while…

My family and I are about to move to another place, so the preparation would entail a lot of my time, I sincerely hope that by the time we've settled, I would have enough drafts to continue where I left off. But of course, this is only to keep you from expecting another update soon. But who knows? I just might write when I am doing nothing…

So, until then…thank you for reading. I hope you review!

By the way, I just might rewrite this when I've had sleep. But don't worry. No major changes… =)

-->

A/N:

Finally! I put this chapter up just so you know I'm still alive and very much willing to continue this fic. So terribly sorry that it took me six months. It's just been really hard and hectic for me. I moved to Canada last October 18, 2008, and since then, I've been on my feet, working to pay bills and everything. So, yeah...I've never had the energy to write until now, so please bear with whatever I came up with. It's been quite some time and I left my draft notebook back in the Philippines, so I'm trying to recall everything that I had so far.

I don't think I did a good job with this chapter, but I hope you'll still continue to read.

------------------------------------------------

True to his word, Harry did exactly go to his townhouse, the one he'd purchased impulsively more than three months ago, to mee up with Cho. NOT to do what he had let Hermione believe, but to do exactly as he had declared earlier that evening.

“I knew you would change your mind, Harry,” Cho said with a delighted smile, meeting him halfway down the steps, her robe billowing behind her as she ran.

Beneath that, he caught a glimpse of her black nightgown, the silk shimmering against the faint light the street lamps provided. He remembered buying it, just to ease a broken engagement many fortnights ago.

“You have known me for years, madam,” he replied curtly, removing the hands that had all too swiftly wound themselves around his neck. “Indeciveness never agrees with me.”

Truthfully speaking, as he gazed down at Cho's indignant face, he could not quite understand her persistence.

Of the number of mistresses he'd kept in three months, she was the last one he had expected to act as if her world would fall apart if he were not in it. He had originally thought that after their affair was over, it would be a clean break, and they would remain friends.

Checking both sides of the street for any passer-by or gossip mongers, for the lack of a better term, he firmly pushed Cho inside and prepared himself for another bout of seduction --- the prospect making him flinch.

He did not linger long, for he had only but a few possessions within. So, half an hour later, he was tipping his hat to a woman who was absolutely raving mad, cursing him to oblivion, while standing at the wide open doorstep, well her doorstep to be exact --- considering that though she had been none-too-friendly about it, she still accepted the deed to his, er --- her, townhouse.

“Let's go, Emmett,” Harry called out to his coachman the minute his foot landed on the step of his carriage.

Without another glance at the woman who had once been part of his life, Harry closed his eyes and let the gentle swaying of the carriage lull him to sleep.

------------------------------------------------

It was not long before Harry was awakened by the abrupt stop of his ride.

Lifting the curtain aside, Harry peered out the window. With a sigh of relieved anticipation, he jumped out of his carriage as soon as the fresh night air swamped him through the open carriage way.

The blast of the late evening merriment from within greeted him as the doors were thrown wide open. Accompanying the noise was the long and narrow entrance leading to The Leaky Cauldron's reception area, which reeked with its usual scent of beer, faint cigarette ash, and good-natured profanities.

The Leaky Cauldron was not the most conventional of places for the duke to be visiting. He belonged, according to social hierarchy, to Gentlemen clubs like White's, where cheap booze and brawls were as frequent as warm weather in England.

Yet, despite his personal history with the place, Harry had never found a bar quite like this one.

Here, he felt at home.

“Pleasant evening there, Harry.” The resident innkeeper, Tom, greeted with a toothless grin, his grey hair, with white streaks from age, sticking out in all directions.

Harry tipped his head to acknowledge the greeting.

Tom was never the one to mince words. With a conspiratorial wink, he leaned in. “Heard you got yerself a new missus out o'town.”

For the first time tonight, even as it seemed quite misplaced, the memory of his marriage and Hermione had him chuckling, albeit with a little less enthusiasm than expected. “That's just about right.” He answered without looking up from the registry he was signing.

“Quite sudden, wasn't it?”

The squeaks of glass against cloth defeated the silence that ensued. Harry was not too sure what to tell people why he and Hermione had to get married in haste.

“What can I say,” he muttered. “It was love at first sight.”

Tom scoffed in disbelief, throwing away his rag and leaning against the counter. “And I am the newly-crowned king.”

It took another long time before Harry had a response to that one. “Never you mind.”

Tom threw back his head and gave a sharp bark of laughter. “Grapevine is not as reliable as it was.”

“Was it ever?”

“No, I reckon it never was.”

“I would not listen to gossip at all, if I were you?”

“It comes with me life's work, your grace.” Tom shrugged. “You cannot last in this position and NOT listen to what folks come in here to say.”

Harry snorted and decided to leave it at that.

He started for the bar room's entrance.

“Say hello to your bride for me.”

Harry glanced back and gave a curt nod.

Upon entering the crowded room, Harry exhaled an exhausted sigh of relief as he immediately saw Ron among them.

His flaming red-hair had been known to stand out amidst a crowd of brunettes and blondes, and Malfoy's shockingly flaxen head next to his, he noted in disbelief, added to the ease. The contrast not only between their hairs but personalities, as well, was so amusing that it was really quite vexing just thinking how on earth they'd ever become comrades.

“Ron,” Harry greeted, coming up to them. He saw surprised pleasure light his friend's eyes as he stood, seeing him approach.

Taking his outstretched hand, Ron chuckled. “Didn't expect to see you here tonight.”

“Me neither.” Harry sat down at the chair immediately procured for him by one of the attendants. As he did so, he acknowledged the other gentleman whom he'd unbelievably and unexpectedly become quite good friends with over some time. “Draco.”

Draco raised his hand for a drink.

“Thank you, my lord, but since I arrived late and unexpected, I shall take care of my own drink.”

Draco shook his head with a smile. “Oh, but I insist.”

“Let him, Harry.” Ron interrupted the protest that was about to come once more.

Harry eyed both of them suspicously. “You seem festive tonight. What are we celebrating?”

Malfoy casually leaned back, the subtle arrogance catching Harry's interest.

“Ginny...” he began.

“That's Lady Ginevra to you, git.” Ron interrupted with a raised brow.

Malfoy reciprocated the gesture with a smug smile, not taking much offense. “Lady Ginevra Weasley,” he emphasized with great feelnig. “...has given her consent to marry me.”

“You mean, my father gave you his consent, Malfoy.” Ron interjected again, this time, though without much bitterness, and was actually good-natured.

Amidst their banter, Harry blinked in surprise, his recognition delayed.

In the recent events, he had forgotten that Malfoy had been courting Ron's younger sister, the youngest and only female in the Weasley clan. He had not been overly aware the feeling was returned quite seriously.

He wondered what Ron's initial reactions was. A few years back, he had carried the hope that Harry would become his brother-in-law.

The idea had been reciprocated.

In secret, however.

He'd considered offering, but he'd soon realized that it would not have worked. His penchant for guilt outweighed his fondness for the young Weasley. He had regretted his decision a few times in the past, she was too spirited, gently bred away from the realities of life, to fully understand the pains he'd gone through.

Back then, and until now....he needed somebody who'd been through something similar, if not the same...

Somebody who knew more than the life that was expected of her...

Somebody like Hermione...

“My felicitations,” he offered belatedly, taking a sip of his drink.

And blanched.

Too strong for his taste.

Lifting it to eye level, he studied the drink and swirled it in his glass, sniffing.

“Vile stuff,” Malfoy commented. “Tried it once, t'was the last time I ever did.”

“I understand your desire for a happy cup, Malfoy,” Hary ignored Malfoy's comment, and then looked at Ron with speculative eyes. “What I do not get is why you are here.”

“Offering company.” Ron wiggled his eyebrows at him.

“And in the process, caught yourself a free drink.” Malfoy chided.

Ron scoffed. “I may be titled, but I do not turn down treats. Besides, you are not a pauper.”

“Indeed.”

“I hear congratulations are in order.” Dean Thomas, Count of Norville, suddenly came up behind Harry and Ron's chair, clasping the backs of it with his hands. Trailing behind him was another friend of theirs, Seamus Finnegan.

Seeing the somber look on Harry's face, Dean concluded otherwise and blanched. “Beg pardon, perhaps I should offer condolences instead.”

Harry tossed him a sideway glance. “Who are you congratulating? Me or Malfoy?”

“Malfoy, of course.” Seamus Finnegan clapped Malfoy's shoulders good-naturedly. “For his good fortune and upcoming nuptials.”

“I appreciate it, gentlemen.” Malfoy acknowledged with barely controlled enthusiasm. “Have a seat, the both of you.”

As they sat down, peculiarity dawned on Seamus. “Why did you think we were congratulating you, Harry?”

Harry picked up his glass and swirled the contents inside. “Grapevine,” he murmured to no one in particular, remembering and quoting Tom's words, “...not as reliable as it was.”

“I was out of town,” Dean responded, uncertain on what to make of Harry's statement.

“I'd just learned from my wife that Malfoy got himself engaged, when he literally dragged me out of my house. I reckon there was something else my wife wanted to tell me...” Seamus trailed off. Then he tapped his hand on the table. “So why should we congratulate you again?”

Harry chose not to reply, not wanting anybody to make any more deal out of the topic. He was not exactly repulsed at the idea, just that he did not want people gawking at him every time they learned of it.

Ron shook his head in disbelief at Harry's unnecessary secrecy. “The bloke's got himself married, that's why.”

For a brief moment, none from those who'd just arrived could speak or do anything, except breathe and stare.

Harry crossed his arms. This was the very reaction he had been hoping to avoid. “Frankly speaking, I am quite exhausted from those reactions.” He looked from one face to the other. “People marry. Why is it that my marriage seems bigger than that of others?”

Malfoy was clearly enjoying Harry's bewilderment. “For one, you married Lady Hermione Granger.”

The sounds of jaws dropping couldn't have been more pronounced had everybody in the room actually fell silent.

“You are joking, right?”

Harry turned a sarcastic face towards Dean. “Right, because this is a face of a man who is bloody well joking.” He splayed his hands in irritation. “Have I ever, with something this serious?”

Dean threw up his hands in mock defeat. “Well, I'll be! It's bloody well true!” Then he rubbed his forehead and shifted in his seat. “But Christ, married to Hermione Granger?”

“The Countess of Ravenclaw?”

“Is there any other Hermione Granger or Countess of Ravenclaw?”

“You married her?” Seamus breathed out again. “When did she return?”

“More importantly, where did you even meet?” Dean countered.

“How, my good friend, how?”

Harry shook his head at the typical, yet sensible questions. “It is quite a long story.”

Seamus and Dean turned to look at each other, Draco and Ron looked on with interest.

“Lucky bastard.” Seamus whistled. His eyes were fixed on Harry, the shimmer of admiration clear in them. “You must have had quite a courtship. She is beautiful and rich. Saw her before --- a long time ago, mind you --- and though to hell with propriety.”

Harry abruptly fixed his gaze upon Seamus, his eyes alight with a dangerous fire . “And what exactly are you insinuating?

Unbothered by the cold tone, Seamus explained. “I almost offered for her, even when she had not come out yet.”

He tapped his finger on the table. There was nothing wrong with that, was there? He did not even know Hermione then. In fact, he had not known any of these men existed at all.

“Feisty, isn't she?”

“Quite so.” Harry agreed wholeheartedly.

Everybody heard the longing in his expasperated response. It seemed that it was he who only thought it sounded aloof.

“If you are newly married, why is it that you are here and not with your wife, your grace?”

Why was that again?

Oh, yes...

Because he had a useless fight with his wife, who was probably cursing him for leaving her, thinking that he went to his mistress house to have fun, when in truth just ended their affair, and in the process, lost a perfectly good townhouse, and did not want to go home just yet, into the reality that never would there be real marriage between them, not when even simple trust turned out to be something difficult for them to have.

Harry blinked, even the long thought caused him to lose his breath. His audience was expecting his reply, but was saved from doing so by an eruption of good-natured cheers from the other side of the room.

Turning to look, he saw a small group gathered at the farthest corner. The object of their merriment was obviously the big, burly guy, smiling sheepishly while running his hand through his short hair and crinkling his crooked nose.

There was a subtle arrogance in the man that Harry didn't like. He seemed too sure of himself, and the three women oggling him, glued to his arm, was not helping at all in deflating his misplaced confidence.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered suddenly, his voice full of disbelief, but awe and excitement as well.

Harry didn't miss the tone.

“What?”

“It's Viktor Krum,” he breathed out as if in a trance.

“Who?”

“Viktor Krum,” Ron repeated as if doing so would actually clarify who the person was. “It's really him.”

Harry turned to the others, who were equally looking, but were not as dumbstruck as Ron .

“A famous horseman from Bulgaria.” Dean informed. “Has won races, is worth more than my money and Dean's put together, probably not as much as yours, though, and travels quite a lot.”

“Quite the adventurer, eh?”

“The last place he went to visit was Scotland, I believe, and took up residence there for three years.”

“Where do you get all this information?” Harry asked.

“My wife,” Dean said. “A big fan of men who can seat a horse well.”

As he said this, Dean gave a helpless look at Harry, clearly meaning that he was also included in those men. Years as a dueler required him to have a fast getaway, and so, Harry had learned to ride well.

Amidst their explanation, Harry had turned back towards the apparently rich and famous Viktor Krum, observing his friends, who were surrounding him, and again, at the women who were clinging on him like monkeys.

For the first time, he took note of Krum's appearance, wondering. As he would not describe the man as someone pretty enough to attract attention solely on looks, Harry believed it could be bcause of his money and repuation.

His perusal was taking so long to support his theories that Harry failed to see straight away that the object of his scrutiny was actually scrutinizing him back!

Krum must have recognized him somewhere, because he bent down to whisper something in his companion's ear, who in return, gave a fleeting glance at Harry's direction.

Much more to his surprise, with exactly five long and purposeful strides, Viktor Krum was already standing in front of him, bearing down with menacing eyes. Despite his aknowledgment for the other occupants at the table, it was quite obvious Harry was the only person the stranger was intent on paying attention to.

“You are Harry Potter?” Krum finally asked. His voice rang with a hard accent. It was almost as hard as his piercing eyes .

Almost.

Harry gave a curt nod. “How may I be of assistance?”

When the man continued to look at him without so much as a single word, Harry lifted his cup and took a hearty sip of his port, no matter how repulsive he knew it was.

He was about to ascertain the size of Krum's nostrils, as it was directy down at him, when he grunted, his words almost unclear.

“Where is Herm-own-ninny?”

Harry snorted out his port.

Embarrassing for an esteemed duke but...

Who in bloody hell was Hermn-own-ninny?

“Begging your pardon?”

“Where is Herm-own-ninny?”

“Are you foxed, sir?” Dean interrupted before anybody could say anything..

Not to everybody's surprise, the most certainly rude gentleman, an irony if there ever was one, ignored Dean's comment.

“Where is Herm-own-ninny?” He repeated, without looking at anyone else.

Oh, big surprise there!

“Hiding, I assume,” Harry murmured, “...if that's actually the poor fellow's name.”

“Herm-own-ninny,” Viktor said again his brows crinkling, “...you are her husband, are you not?”

Herm-own-ninny...

Hermione?

Harry's confusion was supplanted by the suddent urge to laugh, and then the more abrupt trickle of annoyance as he realized that his man, this insanely rich, powerful and God-knows-why appealing man, knew his wife enough to be on a first name basis with her, even though it was not really how he should pronounce it!

“My wife, Hermione,” Harry emphasized both with great feeling, something that bought out a guffaw from Seamus and Dean, and a chortle from Draco and Ron, “...is currently at home, in our townhouse, waiting for my arrival.”

Krum crossed his arms across his chest. “You leave her alone?” With disbelief, he leaned closer to Harry's face. “Is she safe there?”

“My lord,” he inclined his head. “I reckon I know how to take care of my own wife.”

Indignant, Viktor scratched his chin. Harry wondered why he was looking down at him that way. It was as if the man was seeing him for the very first time and was just deciding what to think of him. Harry fought the urge to lean away.

“I do not like you.”

Superior breeding, however late it had been, dictated him to leave the matter to rest. Yet, could he simply let it pass? He lifted one brow, which was all he could seem to do lately, and then shrugged.

“I missed the part where that is my concern.” He stated with a smirk. Oh, what would he give to find out whether Viktor Krum's nose could get any more crooked! His fists were actually shaking to do the deed. “Now if you do not have any other business to conclude with me, may I suggest you leave? I am not at all sorry to admit that your being here has cut our merriment in half.”

The others sniggered, even Ron, who had been admiring the man earlier.

“Hmph,” Viktor Krum grunted in disgust. Robbed of anything else to say, he turned around, but then stopped to look at Harry over his shoulder.

Harry inclined his head but said nothing more.

The volume in the room, which had been lowered to a non-existent level, escalated again the moment the two were poles apart. Soon, the patrons were back to their own little worlds, wallowing in their own pitiful sorrows, and drinking to their hearts' delight. Even Viktor Krum seemed unfazed by their exchange.

Harry wished he could say the same for himself. He turned to his friends, inwardly fighting the urge to bombard them with questions.

“Odd sort of fellow, isn't he?” He remarked casually, taking another sip of his drink, looking at them behind the rim of his glass.

Draco rubbed his jaw, hiding his smirk, but no one else showed any reaction. In fact, he might have just imagined the entire conversation, if it weren't for Krum's short but piercing glances thrown like daggers his way.

Uneasiness, mixed with annoyance, forced him to swallow his intention for nonchalance.

“Would somebody please care to explain what that man's connection with my wife is?”

Out of the four, it was pretty obvious that Ron's knowledge mattered most.

His friend held up his hands in helplessness. “I honestly do not have that much valuable information. However, I do know that your wife, Herm-own-ninny,” Ron couldn't help but add, and then sobered when Harry glared at him. “What? It was funny, you have to admit!.”

Harry shook his head.

Ron sighed. “Well, she was introduced to Viktor Krum at a party---”

“Scotland does not have parties. She told me so herself.”

“The Scots are not savages, Harry,” Ron exaspearated. “They're quite civilized, and apparently, have a penchant for entertaining as well. Besides, if you could recall, Hermione did not seem keen on having a conversation with you during that dinner. It was so obvious that negating everything you asked was her way of losing your interest.”

“So now they're great friends?”

God!

First William...

Now, Viktor Krum?

What was it with his wife and her male companions?

“Viktor Krum, according to Luna, called on Hermione often until the day of her departure.”

“But did Hermione return his affections at all, to make him believe that he could just waltz up here and accuse me of being an inept husband?”

“You are the only one who knows, or who can find out, the answer to that.” Draco murmured.

Having been provided the obvious advice, Harry slumped back on his chair. “I do not like you,” Harry mimicked in a low voice, imitating the accent he'd come to hate. “Who in bloody hell does he think he is waltzing here just to say he dislikes me? And how dare he accuse me of being an inept husband? And how dare that dimwit ask me whether my wife is safe?”

He shook his head and continued to rant on.

“Honestly! If he even cared for my wife as much as that big head of his thinks, one would think he'd have the decency to find out that her name isn't bloody well Herm-own-ninny!”

“Do you realize,” Draco drawled. “...that you've said 'my wife' about three times already?”

“And he has not flinched yet.” Ron added, amused and clearly enjoying Harry's outrage.

“I fail to see anything wrong or even vital with that.”

“Barely a month ago, you scorned the idea of marriage.” Ron pointed out. “Now, you cannot even sprout one sentence that has no connection with it.”

“Can we not talk about my marriage like this? It is quite insulting, I'll have you know.”

“Can you hear yourself at all? If I did not know you any better, I'd say you've come to care for Hermione, Harry.”

Harry stared at him as if he'd sprouted two noses. “Why else would I have married her if I had not cared for her at all?” Harry huffed out, each word dawning on him as brightly as the rare sunshine that grazed the vast plains his estates entailed.

It was the first time he had ever said it out loud, though he'd already admitted to himself as much. Yet oddly enough, the vulnerability it brought did not bother him as he had expected it would.

Deep in his mind and heart, he wanted to protest, to revolt against this growing attachment to her. This should not be happening. His vow never to take into his hands the responsibility of loving, even just simply caring, for another woman had kept him safe for numbers of years. He'd been above the clouds, perhaps not exactly happy with life, but doing just fine, when the next moment, he had come crashing down without warning.

The events that passed beforehand were too much to foist on him all in one night.

It was quite difficult to take in that just last night, he was riding peacefully in his carriage, with Hermione sleeping trustingly beside him. The smell of her hair lingered with him still. It was hard not to, as her head had comfortably rested on his shoulder, close enough for him to take in the cinnamon scent.

He sighed.

He never thought it possible that one day could change everything.

His deliberate abandonment of Hermione tonight, with nothing more than a cruel insinuation of where he`d be, was an impulse he`d given in to because of a pride that should not have been, but was in fact, battered.

Yet, as the night progress and his port settled uncomfortably in his empty stomach, his contemplation provided nothing useful, nor did his mood improve at all. His friends, having gotten over the quite serious discussion earlier, were clearly deep in their cups and enjoying themselves, cracking each other up with anecdotes of their own. Try as he might, Harry could not even bear to pretend to listen. His thoughts were louder than any of their voices.

Another topic had taken place as he'd been thinking, a topic that did not incite his interest. It gave him more time to brood things over and calm his nerves over the unsolved mystery of his wife --- there were those bloody words again! --- and her suitor.

Yet, even as he debated on whether or not to pound Viktor Krum's head, his words had a certain volume of truth in it, enough to make him think.

Was Hermione safer with him?

That had been his intention, wasn't it, when he'd agreed to involve himself with her?

But, so far, all he'd managed to do was give her reason to think she'd been better off unmarried.

Call it his instinct to protect or whatever, but he wanted --- no, needed --- her to feel that she made the right choice, despite their current situation.

His distracting thoughts would have taken him deeper into his troubles, had there not been an interruption, when he heard a chair being scraped back, rather loudly, from the direction of Viktor Krum and his friends.

Involuntarily, Harry looked, and unsurprisingly caught Viktor Krum's eyes. In a move that was obviously deliberate, Viktor touched the brim of his hat and tipped it to acknowledge Harry's glance.

Something about the cockiness told Harry of a message he'd been expecting all night.

A silent challenge...

What was at stake was undoubtedly a certain chestnut-haired chit who both drove him insane yet incited in him a passion unlike any he'd ever heard or felt before.

He'll be damned if he let this one guy intimidate him!

But the issuance did dampen his already surly mood. And if he did not reach rock bottom this time, the next thing he realized just managed to sink him under.

Viktor Krum had left with the look of a man on a mission.

-------------------------------------------------------

“Eloise! Eloise!”

Harry could barely contain the worry in his voice as he yanked on the bell pull.

He was not in the brightest of moods, nor was he in a state of perfect clarity. He'd arrived a few minutes earlier and gone straight into the master bedroom, with every intention of hauling Hermione from their bed and apologizing until she begged him to stop. Yet to his utmost surprise, his wife was not there!

Where could she have gone?!

He kicked the nearest piece of furniture, and encountered the hard and sturdy legs of his bed. Not only did it do nothing to alleviate his frustration, it also caused him pain. Cursing, he sat down in helpless exhaustion, burying his face in his hands.

Where was that bloody maid?!

“Eloise!”

It was not reasonable to be making a racket so late in the night, but be damned!

His wife was missing, while her kidnapper was on the loose, her long-lost best friend was potentially hanging about with that vow to take her away from him, and her big oaf of an admirer had just issued a warning against him!

So no, he did not care to be silent at all!

Harry shook his head.

My God!

Could have something happened?!

He should have not left her alone!

Perhaps she was just out for a stroll?

No, that was ridiculous, he wasn't thinking straight, or at all for that matter!

Stroll indeed!

Maybe somebody forced her out of the house?

Was she with somebody?

What the hell?!

Harry stilled.

Why was he worrying?

She could just be having a tryst with her lover, for all he knew.

“You rang, your grace?” Eloise came in suddenly, her face flushed, her breathing heavy.

“Where is your mistress?!” He demanded straight away.

Eloise looked confused for a moment.

“My mistress?”

Harry refused to wipe his face with his hands in frustration even though every ounce of him wanted to shake some bloody sense into the girl. “Yes, your mistress,” he said venomously, “Lady Potter...my wife. Where is she?”

“In the duchess' suite, your grace.” Eloise answered, looking at him as if he'd gone mad.

Harry wouldn't be surprised if he really had.

“In the duchess' suite?” He repeated lamely, all the energy drained from him.

Why didn't he think of that?

“Er---yes, thank you.” Harry nodded. “Pardon me for intruding on your rest.”

Eloise gave him a bewildered loko, curtsied and hurried out of the room.

Harry glanced towards the door that connected his room to Hermione's.

She was just on the other side.

It was weird, this...

He'd spent all his life sleeping by himself, but after a couple of nights of sleeping with somebody, he had gotten used to it that his initial reaction over her absence was to conclude that she was having an affair.

The boys had been right.

Something had changed in him.

Taking a deep breath, Harry went to the other room to finally do what he'd been planning on the way home.

But he was too late.

He found her in the middle of the bed, buried under mounds of blanket, asleep.

Careful not to wake her with his footsteps, although perhaps it wouldn't matter since she'd managed to sleep through his racket earlier, he crossed the spacious suite and sank onto the mattress space beside her.

He ached to touch her, to feel that smooth skin beneath his fingers, and to kiss the stubbornness away from those soft lips. Once, in the many minutes he just stared at her, he almost reached out to do everything he'd been craving, but pulled back when he realized he had no right.

He didn't know how long he sat there, just that he didn't want to leave.

His anger over what happened had quite dissipated. He no longer felt humiliated by her rejection, and was now convinced that nothing could go any further between tthem. He was already resigned into simply being friends with her, if they could not be husband and wife in any other sense.

Yet, somehow, his heart revolted against his mind.

It just wouldn't settle for less.

For another second he took in her face.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered helplessly, bending down to kiss her forehead.

He stood up and left the bed.

Nearly across the darkened room, her voice floated to him.

“Are you really?”

Harry did a quick turnabout and saw her slowly sit up, her silhoutte outlined by the moonlight barely passing through the curtains.

Shoving his hand in his pockets, he asked. “Did I wake you?”

She shook her head and then looked down at her hands. “No.”

Harry frowned. “You were pretending to sleep?”

“I was not.” Hermione got up from the bed, moving the covers aside. She could feel Harry watching her as she put on her robe. “But I heard you.”

“That seems a little doubtful, my dear.”

“I---I haven't been asleep that long,” she explained in a soft voice. Harry did not need to ask why, for he had little wonder regarding her sleepless night. It made his guilt greater.

“I apologize for the inconvenience.” He muttered, not really knowing what to say. “I was not aware you would be worried.”

Little did he know, his words were the last thing Hermione wanted to hear. He was belittling her concerns, dismissing them as simple inconveniences on her part, when in fact, they seemed to take a lot of her energy, physically and emotionally.

Was it really hard for him to accept that somebody actually cared for him?

Even though she knew she shouldn't, she couldn't stop her insides from curling with bitterness.

“Do not insult me, Harry,” she whispered. “I am not a fool.”

“Insult you?”

“And if you please, stop this hypocrisy.”

“Now I'm a hypocrite?”

She could hear the disbelief in his voice.

“You knew very well when you disposed of me earlier me without so much thought that I would be thinking something after you left. And now you're apologizing because you didn't think I would be wondering where you were?”

Harry took a deep breath, knowing full well the last thing both of them needed was another argument to end the night. He took a hesitant step forward, closer to her. “All right, I knew you would be. But I truly am sorry.”

“People apologize for mistakes they unknowingly did, not for deliberate ones. I can not fathom whatever for you are sorry.”

“For making you believe something else.”

Hermione defiantly crossed her arms. But her eyes, if he could see them at all, were dark with pain. “Did you really?”

It seemed to Harry that it was his night of confessions. And as much as he hated opening up to somebody, surrendering vulnerability, he fet she needed an answer. A sound answer, one that didn't require any room for doubt.

Yet, he found none.

“Did I really what?”

“Just make me believe something else?”

Harry began to understand what she meant and as much as half of it was his fault, he couldn't help but be annoyed by her question.

Did she really think of him as a man without principles?

A man who would deliberately tell his wife he was going off to his mistress?

He might have been an unscrupulous lad before, but he respected women. That was a lesson Polly Smith had ingrained in his head while growing up.

“Where did you go, Harry?” Hermione asked in a whisper.

It might have been less insulting had she thrown her question in anger. He'd have appreciated the passion, and would have seen it as an excuse of Hermione's irrationality. But she was asking calmly, almost emotionless, as if she had already judged him as an adulterer and was just waiting for his admission.

“The Leaky Cauldron...” He couldn't help but think that his effort in answering without giving much emotion should be commended. “I went to The Leaky Cauldron.”

How could she accept that when it was so easy to make up a story, to ask people for alibis? Hermione couldn't bear to accept this now, only to later be convinced otherwise.

“Are you certain?”

She had to step back when Harry suddenly bore down at her, the gleam of anger in his eyes startling the defiance out of her mind.

“What in bloody hell is this, Hermione?” He asked, his voice raising. “An interrogation? Of course I am certain. And I do not see the reason to explain any further!”

“Damn you.” Hermione hissed back, her curse catching him by surprise. “Do not play games with me.”

“I am not in the mood for bloody games!” Harry said, raking his hand through his hair. “Where do you think I went?

Hermione lifted up her chin and defiantly looked at him with fierce brown eyes. “You know very well what I think!”

“It wouldn't hurt to say it, would it?”

Hermione bit her lip, but stubbornly kept her stance.

“To Cho Chang.”

If he was taken aback by her bluntness, he didn't show it. He just kept looking at her, wondering how on earth she could look so beautiful to him, despite the words that were coming out of her mouth, a mouth that right now, was so luscious he just wanted to swoop down and kiss it into silence.

Hermione took his silence as a yes and had to turn away to keep herself from seeing the truth in her husband's eyes. She had never imagine pain greater than the loss of a loved one, yet the pang she was feeling in her heart seemed more, now that what she lost was somebody she never even had.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered softly behind her.

She felt his hand on her shoulder, gently stirring her towards him. But she didn't know whether to let him or keep herself away. Either way, he would not be able to make things better.

She'd not only lost sleep that night, but tears as well. She didn't think she could shed any more tears after her father died, but Harry had reduced her into a crybaby. What was more frustrating about it was, it seemed right he was able to.

“Why do we have to be like this?” she asked him.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered beseechingly. Harry felt like an emotional wreck. He had no idea what was it about her that made him feel so much anger one moment, and then so much desire to please her in the next. “What can I do to make you believe me?”

Hermione ignored him. “Did you go to Cho Chang?”

Harry sighed, lifted his hands in helplessness then dropped them on his sides. Truth be told, he had no idea why Hermione was behaving this way. But it pleased him absurdly, deep beneath his annoyance. “Yes, I did.”

“I see.” Hermione nodded.

Harry spun her around, impatient. “No, you do not!” He nearly growled when she refused to look him in the eye. “Would you just listen to me?! I went there to give her the deed to my townhouse.”

“What townhouse?”

“The---” Well, he couldn't say that. He tried to think of other explanations but ended with a lame one. “I own other townhouses.”

“For your mistresses, you mean?”

Damn! Damn! Damn!

“My point is, I went there to give her the deed as a solace.” He explained. “I ended our affair, and gave it to her as a gift. She and I were friends before, I believe it was necessary to make up for this sudden change. Now stop this tirade! You are acting like a crazed, jealous wife!”

Hermione locked eyes with him in a split second. “That's because I am!”

Harry looked so shock that Hermione had enough time to recover. When she realized what she'd just admitted, her face turned red.

“You're jealous?”

“I---”

“Is that why you can't stop lashing out on me? Because you're jealous?”

Hermione threw him a scathing look to cover her embarrassment. “Of course I would be! I am your wife, and she is another woman. But that does not mean anything more.”

Harry looked at her for the longest time, trying to gauge her honesty. She didn't give him time to come with a verdict. “Go away, Harry. Leave me alone.”

He wanted to grip her arms and shake some sense into her. “I did not sleep with Cho, Hermione.” He said solemnly. Somehow, he knew she needed him to say it, almost as much as he needed her to believe it.

It was her turn to judge his sincerity.

She took the damnest time and then...“I'm sorry...”

He started to smile...

“...I don't believe you.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her, his lips thinning, turning down into a frown. This conversation was getting nowhere, but for the life of him, he couldn't seem to be able to make himself leave despite the fact that he should have a long time ago. “I didn't go to bed with her.”

“All right.” Hermione nodded, accepting his claim, But she wasn't finished. “Why?”

Harry looked almost about ready to laugh.

“Why?” Harry repeated, then did it again, this time sarcastically. “Why?”

“Yes, why?”

Harry shook his head. “What do you want me to say? You don't even believe I didn't take her to bed.”

“I just want the truth.”

Hermione's fists were clenched at her sides. She was half afraid he'd give in and admit that he had indeed done what he'd insinuated. Half of her was afraid he was telling the truth.

“I was not in the mood for it.” He whispered lamely.

It was as if the wind was knocked out of her, as everything swayed and all she could see was him. Did that mean, had he been in the mood, he would have gone through his threat?

Harry took one look at her and knew he made a mistake, but that didn't stop him from venting out his frustation. Suddenly, he turned around, leaving her standing still. Hermione didn't know they'd been so close until he'd left, and a sudden chill had passed, causing her to shiver.

But as abruptly as he had walked away, there he was again standing so close she could see the slight flaring of his nose as he tried to even his heavy breathing.

“Do you really want to know the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Then ask me again.”

“What?”

“Ask me again, Hermione, and I'll tell you the truth.”

Hermione couldn't see the reason for it, but she gave in.

“Why did you not take Cho to bed, Harry?”

Harry pulled her to him, kissed her hard, and then released her.

“Because I'd rather make love with you instead.”

Hermione was too stunned to speak, he could tell. And by the look on her face, she had not expected this revelation. Harry waited, but his anger and pent up desire stubbornly refused to wait any further. With a resigned sigh of indignation and desperation, he turned around.

He was halfway across the room when her voice stilled him.

“Then why don't you?”

------------------------------------------------

A/N:

I have no idea what I just wrote. Hehe...rusty chapter, if i may say...it's been six months...please bear with the lameness...

I hope I haven't lost any of my wonderful readers...and hopefully, I've gained new ones even though I was absent for half a year.

Thanks for reading, and until next time. I promise the wait won't be as long as this one!

-->

A/N:

Here's the next chapter. I hope you guys like it!

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The next day...

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Hermione woke up with a very different feeling ---

Oh come on, did you really think I`d leave you hanging like that?

Don`t be mad, it was pretty funny (probably)...

All right, go on to the next paragraph...this one's the beginning of this chapter for real...

-----------------------------------------------

Harry stopped in midstride, unsure of what he'd just heard.

He'd had a few drinks, but he was quite certain he wasn't drunk enough to be hallucinating.

How many times in the past few nights he'd come close to asking her to spend the night with him?

It was torture, this, that though they were husband and wife, lived in the same house, and hell, even slept in the same bed, he didn't believe he'd the right to touch her, claim her as his own. His hands, which had done so much terrible deeds, were not fit to even graze her soft skin.

He placed his shaking hands on his waist and hung his head to in defeat.

He sighed before answering her, not even sure if he should. “An offer, my lady?”

Hermione wrung her hands together, glad that he couldn't see the uncertainty on her face.

She didn't know what possessed her to actually say the thought aloud.

She'd been expecting a wedding night ever since they were married. At first it was a relief that he didn't demand it right away. Soon after, her relief turned into wonder, and then lately, disappointment, when night after night, she waited for him to ask, but he didn't.

The catalyst for her bravery was the possibility that he might seek intimacy somewhere if he didn't share it with her, a thought that had plagued her throughout the night.

But it wasn't the reason...

She didn't want this just so he would not leave...

She wanted it because...she wanted it...

The physical contact...

The heat...

Everything he made her feel...

Just the thought made her heart beat faster, her breath shorter...

“A reminder,” she murmured softly.

At first, she didn't think he heard her.

But, slowly...deliberately, he turned.

And met her gaze...

Whatever he saw there must have been mirrored in his face for he saw, with barely concealed interest that Hermione's breath suddenly picked up, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that matched this sudden uncontrollable beating in his heart.

How it happened or when it happened, there was no certain answer. But he was soon standing directly in front of her, one hand on her shoulder, the other restless, caressing her face, grazing that spot right behind her ear, and moving up and down her arms. And then, he stilled, his hand arrested on the side of her cheek, his thumb tracing her lips.

He watched as she bit her lips in uncertainty and her eyes cast downwards toward his own.

He'd seen her do that countless times before, never saw the move as anything more than a habit. But not now, not when he was imagining all kinds of pleasure in his head, not when he kept on hearing the words she'd just spoken.

In one purposeful second, before that mouth of hers could voice out any protest, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to hers.

Harry had shown her how kisses could incite passion, could arouse the most dormant of all feelings within her. But nothing could have prepared her for this wicked onslaught, this never-ending exhaustion of energy. Her growing excitement matched the movement of his lips, a groan escaping them as he deepened his caress.

With every breath she took, she breathed him in.

He was everywhere.

In her mind, filling her lungs, swaying her heart, caressing her soul.

His kisses drugged her, made her dizzy.

She tasted his desire, his frustration, his...passion.

He was strong, holding her against him, imprisoning her in his arms, tightly, without room for escape. It was as if he was forbidding her to leave with his body, stopping protests with the gentle assault of his mouth, obliviating all thoughts with the sweet invasion of his tongue.

Yet her back stayed rigid, unbending...

And he sensed her fear, acknowledged it by stopping and pulling back.

He touched her forehead to hers, smiling, eyes closed, trying to regain his ragged breathing...

“You're trembling,” she whispered.

Harry chuckled, smoothing the hair on her forehead and planting a lingering kiss on it. “Not as much as you, sweet.”

Hermione closed her eyes as well, drew in a deep breath, but she couldn't stop shaking. She hadn't even noticed it, consumed by the feeling of desire. Despite her bravado, she was a bit frightful. She wanted this to happen, with every fiber of her being, but her body was unaccustomed to the waves of pleasure Harry was radiating into her, it was not in agreement as her mind and heart were.

Above her, Harry smiled.

Slowly, almost reverently, he took her hands in his and brought it up to his lips, all the while looking into her eyes. And then, he placed it on his chest.

Hermione's eyes widened as she felt his heart, beating rapidly almost erratic, against her palm.

He bent down so close to her she was taking in his very breath. “You do this to me, Hermione,” he whispered, against her lips. “Do not be afraid.”

Somehow, he had changed it from her to him. A shiver of delight reverberated throughout her whole body. And as if sensing her acceptance, Harry hooked his arm at the back of her knees and carried her all the way to the bed, where he gently laid her, his body following hers, not allowing their bodies to lose contact.

A reminder, she remembered saying, as his fevered touches became more demanding, more consuming.

This was no longer a reminder...

What he was making her feel...

There were no words, no words at all.

She felt beautiful every second that passed.

He revered her with his touch, the same way she humbled him with her acceptance.

Her whimpers brought him to the brink of uncontrolled frenzy. He was aching with the impatience of taking her, making them one. Yet, his self-control won the battle. He would not make this another coupling. With everything he was, Harry vowed he would make this night special, a night she won't soon forget.

He was in bed with Hermione, his wife.

His bride...

He'd be damned if he let himself think or feel that she was just anyone!

With his women, he'd been a generous lover.

With her...he would be a slave...

It took him the greatest sense of sanity to pull back, to stop himself from devouring every inch of her. As he gazed upon her radiant face, took in her eyes, slowly opening in wonder, he tried to pace his breathing.

“Shh...” Harry whispered, giving her a quick kiss. Then without standing up, he unfastened his coat, and discarded it along with his shirt. Before she knew it, he was back, taking her in his arms.

Hermione sucked in her breath at the sight and sensation of his naked chest pressed against her. Through the thin silk of her nightgown, she could feel his warmth, emanating all over her.

“Harry...”

Her breath caught in her throat at the look in his eyes. Blushing, she nodded. Slowly, he unbuttoned her dress with one hand, all the while looking into her eyes, respecting her innocence to never let his gaze stray away from her face.

When he'd disposed of her nightgown, he didn't allow her time for embarrassment, for he was soon kissing her with such reverence she nearly cried in appreciation.

When his hand left her waist, Hermione stilled.

With hooded lids, Harry looked down.

“Just say the word, sweetheart, and I will stop.”

Hermione wondered if he really would, but she didn't want him to.

For the life of her, she wanted this.

“No.” She saw the slight hesitation in his eyes, the disappointment and then resignation. He braced himself on his arms, prepared to stand up and retrieve his clothes but not leave, no...never leave. Yet she chopped her arms across his elbows, locking him on her.

“Do not even dare, my lord.”

Harry's lips quivered.

And then he let out huffed breath.

“What am I going to do with you, Lady Potter?” he whispered conspiratiorally. There they were, lying so close, so intimate they didn't know where one started and the other let off, and he was bantering with her.

Hermione bit her lip, sober now.

“Take me...” she insinuated, looking into his eyes, letting him catch her meaning.

“Where?” Harry gritted out jokingly, forcing his body to calm down from her words.

Hermione wiped the sweat forming on his forehead, her touch ending as a caress on his cheek. “Here,” she said and pressed her other palm against his heart.

Harry looked down at her solemnly, what little he could see of her face squeezing his heart with an emotion he would not soon recognize. Clasping her hand in his, Harry turned to kiss her fingertips.

“You're already there, sweetheart...” he whispered with barely disguised sweetness. “Tonight, I'll take you somewhere else.”

And as a man of his word, he did as he vowed, giving her no time to think of what he'd just confessed. Perhaps it was just because of the moment, perhaps it was not. But all that concerned Hermione at that moment was the destination he'd promised.

And take her, he did, to a place she'd forever remember...

As paradise...

-------------------------------------------------------------

“A messenger has come for you, my lord.” Peter Pettigrew stood by the door, halfway inside his master's chamber, halfway outside, ready to bolt should any untoward anger be spent on him, which it often did.

Tom Riddle was not in a good mood.

Suffice it to say, that was an understatement.

It seemed that the dark manor, in which he lived, had become darker in the past few nights after news of Harry Potter's departure from Godric's Hollow with his wife had reached the estate.

In fact, his duties had gotten heavier since then. First from the list was his task to relay a message to Adam, which required him to travel all the way to London and search for the bloody man without a hint as to where he had been staying.

And for what message was that?

You know what to do...

What was that supposed to mean?

He went all the way to that damn place just to relay that one short sentence?

Not to mention, he had been told to spy on the couple, which meant he had to mingle with the Ton, which had not always been a pleasure for him since everybody seemed to think he did not belong in their circle. He'll have them know, once they paid attention, that he was the only son of a baron.

If it weren't for his loyalty, and of course, fear, to Lord Riddle, he might have been managing his own estate at Gryffindor.

The Potters had only been in London for one day, yet the havoc that Harry Potter's affairs were making to their marriage had been enough to convince Peter he had sufficient information to satisfy his lord.

Yet when he came back bearing the news, he was met with nothing but contempt and a beating that almost sent him packing.

“What?” Riddle drawled out boringly. “More of that bastard and that whore he chose for a wife?”

Peter blinked then decided not to say anything about that.

“Shall I tell him to come again on the morrow, then?”

“No.” Tom Riddle said, waving a hand, or at least that's what Peter thought for he but only saw a shadow. “Let him come in here and see the state I'd been reduced to. Perhaps once he does, he'll do his job better than most.”

Ignoring that comment, Peter bowed his head and went to the sitting room.

He returned moments later, the messenger behind him.

“So,” Riddle sneered, already sitting up. “What did my heir say this time?”

“My lord,” the messenger acknowledged first. “Lord Adam has confirmed his understanding of what he needs to do. He is on his way to carry out your orders as we speak.”

For the first time in many nights, Riddle spoke with enthusiasm. “Good, that is good.”

He slowly stood up and made his way to the messenger.

“Perhaps you could tell me all about that in the Drawing Room.” He maneuvered him outside the room, Peter alongside him. “Wormtail, give this fine man a glass of brandy. Have one yourself. I will be down in a while.”

Peter showed nothing of what he thought of this strange occurrence. With Tom Riddle, you learn not to ask in fear of being given more than an answer. So, he merely nodded and led the messenger to the manor's Drawing Room.

Halfway across the hallway, he and the messenger turned their heads sharply towards the room they'd just vacated, wondering why there were sudden bubbles of laughter coming from within.

Neither of them asked, yet that didn't stop theme from wondering, him, the most...

What was that message all about?

Hermione woke up with a very strange feeling.

The early morning sunshine was falling upon her face, indicating it was time to rise and face another day. Yet, her eyelids seemed to have their own thoughts and as of now, were still unwilling to open.

Her rest had been uneventful, caused by the sudden absence of her nightly visitor, the same nightmares that hunted her from time to time, more so lately, since that night she ran away.

Whatever it was that gave her this languid feeling of contentment, Hermione was loathe to let go, thus her entire body seemed unwilling to copperate with her mind.

When she finally did move, it was her legs that kept her from going any further. They felt stiff and sore, muscles protesting and all.

She winced from the pain, and then suddenly, memories of last night came barrelling down on her. It was so unexpected that for a moment, she lost her ability to breathe.

And when she had recovered a minute later, her eyes suddenly opened and met, with surprised delight, and yes, maybe a little shock, the handsome and peaceful face of her sleeping husband.

Although still sleepy from the exhausting night they'd gone through, Hermione couldn't stop but stare at his face, now relaxed and void of worries. From beneath the silken sheets lying on top of her, she felt her heart and found it to be beating rapidly with each moment.

Dear God!

She`d never noticed how handsome he really was.

But being this close to him, having this opportunity to look at him without looking at him with those green eyes, disconcerting enough to make her turn away, she sighed dreamily.

She reached over to smooth the lock of hair that had fallen on his forehead. The scar that he hid behind his unkempt locks bared itself and she smoothed her thumb over it. It must have hurt, his wound.

Then, her eyes shifted past his aristocratic nose and landed on his lips.

Hermione licked her own as she studied his.

Images of last night, and where those lips of his had been, which parts of her it had claimed, came in a speed that threatened to take her breath away.

And take it away, it did!

She soon found herself breathing with difficulty.

With her forefinger, she traced the outline of his lips, wondering what it would feel like to be in control of a kiss for the first time? To give back what he made her feel when he took without inhibitions.

Before actually losing the nerve to the do it, Hermione leaned forward, eyes closed and placed her lips on his, not kissing, just touching, feeling the sensation of such gentleness.

How long she did it, she had no clue.

Still dazed, she closed her eyes, prepared to sleep off her desire for him to respond.

Then she heard him chuckle.

“It seems a bit too early for breakfast, isn't it?” he teased. He was looking at her with hooded lids, still sleepy, yet unmistakably pleased and aroused.

Hermione felt herself redden in answer. This only seemed to increase his playfulness.

“But who am I to turn down grace,” he whispered merrily.

She tried to answer, but a moment before she could, she found herself being kissed thoroughly. She responded with growing enthusiasm, but when she stretched out her leg, she involuntarily winced. Harry pulled back, but did not ask. His eyes told her he knew.

She felt his hand graze her thigh in a gentle caress. He smiled and gave her a soft but swift kiss and then tweaked her nose. Dazed, she was barely able to comprehend more than a few words of what he said, “That settles my good morning kiss.”

He then got up and strode across the room, retrieving his robe in the process. Hermione felt disappointment at seeing all that male glory being covered and tucked away for the day. But more so when she realized that the evening of passion they had shared had obviously come to an end.

“What are your plans today, Harry?” She asked, sitting up, watching him with barely concealed glum.

Harry glanced at her, pleased she called him by name in a different tone, and then turned away to face the vanity mirror. “I shall meet with my messenger before luncheon. Nothing definite after, though. But I surmise I shall be quite busy.”

“Oh” was all she felt saying.

Dancing attendance upon her after last night had not been something Hermione expected, but she did hope for a little bit of change from her husband. Perhaps just a few more minutes of his time. Alas, she was mistaken. It was merely she who thought what happened meant more than just the physical act.

Adjusting the buttons on his shirt, just so that the smooth plane of his upper chest was slightly revealed, Harry leaned down and gave a pefunctory kiss on her cheek. “I shall see you later.”

Hermione could do nothing but merely nod.

-------------------------------------------------------

“My lady?”

From behind the closed doors of Harry's library, Hermione heard her lady's maid call out. She put down the book she purchased the day before and answered.

The door opened and Eloise came in, curtsying before speaking. “His Grace has summoned you to the Dining Hall.”

Frowning with wonder, Hermione left to do as she was bidden.

It was half past noon and Hermione had gone to the library after taking her lunch. She'd taken it alone, as Harry was still a bit preoccupied with his business to dine with her, something that added to her depression and brought an even greater worry in her heart.

Upon entering the Dining Hall, she saw her husband sitting at the head of the table, sipping what seemed to be coffee, and reading the newspaper. When he sensed her presence, he turned towards her and looked up.

Raking her entire form with a gaze that was unmistakably appreciative, he gave her a grin. “You look lovely in that morning dress, my lady.”

Despite herself, Hermione blushed in pleasure, despite the fact that she saw nothing special about her green high-waisted dress with neat puff sleeves, which was apparently the rage all over London at the moment.

Harry bit back a wicked laugh. If she knew that he was not just thinking about the dress, but actually the one it concealed, she would probably be doing more than just blushing a becoming shade of pink.

“Thank you, this was---”

“Perhaps you might like to change into something else?” Harry interrupted her, enjoying the way her mouth turned into an 'o'.

She blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“You can't very well go traipsing into town in a morning dress, can you?”

His words merely increased her confusion, her brows creasing. “Am I going out?”

Harry shook his head, then he shifted his head back towards the paper he had been reading. “No, sweet.”

“Then---”

“We are.”

----------------------------------------------------

Life in Town was not as exciting as compared to how one so fresh and innocent initially thought it was.

There were jewellers' shops, booksellers, lending libraries, and millineries all over, with people in different shapes, sizes and fashion walking in and out, curricles, carriages and phateons gallivanting on the road with teams of horses pulling their burden. Parks and clubs were at the residents' disposal, providing young couples with the opportunity of romantic courting, amidst a group gathered for a picnic.

It was a buzzing busy place, but not exactly exciting, especially for Hermione who had seen it before and had long since then experienced visiting and meeting far more memorable places and people.

But to sit under the sun, on a lovely green field, albeit slightly concealed behind a huge tree trunk, with a husband contentedly sleeping on one's lap was something she'd never done before.

It was not in fashion amongst the Ton to show affection between married couples. Yet, neither she nor Harry cared whether people who recognized them paused in between strolls to glance, if not stare, at their position, or discreetly whisper their disapproval to their indifference.

For Hermione, it was a merely a blissful day, an unexpected one at that.

But for Harry, it was something else.

Last night, the entire Ton had been privy to their awkward situation, it was just right that they should witness their comfort now.

Watching the lake lying so still in front of them, the distant sound of children playing near the water echoing in her ears, Hermione looked down at Harry, unaware that her hand was caressing his hair.

“We came here for your shipping problems,” she whispered, knowing that despite his closed eyes, he was fully awake. “Should you not be dealing with them right now? We just arrived yesterday.”

The smile on his lips was the only response she received.

She sighed, looking far away again.

It had been the perfect day.

He took her riding around the park, raced with her even, challenging her more when he didn't let her win, but actually urged his horse to go faster the moment she gained on him.

His suggestion to visit the modiste shop eventually landed them into a booksellers' where she purchased more than the number she had the day before. Harry had disappeared for a while as she browsed through the new arrivals, surprising her when upon his return, he'd been holding a bouquet of myrtles, her curiosity piqued when he said “I trust you know the language of flowers.”

She had not bothered to recall what myrtles stood for, as she found it hard to concentrate on anything but the fact that Harry gave them to her.

And then they'd simply walked around, exploring and talking about various topics, mostly affairs of the estate, which had Hermione pleased, knowing that Harry trusted and respected her enough to include her in them.

After what seemed like hours of their excursion, he'd suggested they rest in Hyde Park where a nearby lake offered enough privacy from the prying eyes of the Ton. It was in this moment of rest that she remembered the reason they came here, which was certainly not to merely stroll all day.

“You met with your messenger this morning, Harry.” Hermione tried again. “You must have sent some very important messages to your solicitors, no doubt summoning them for a meeting.”

Harry caught the hand caressing his hair and brought the palm of it to his lips and met her gaze.

“I sent for a messenger merely to advise my solicitors on how to handle our situation even without my authority.”

At the look of deeper concern on her face, Harry got up from her lap and leaned closer to her. “I also had them informed of my schedule for the rest of our stay. After today's meeting, wife,” he tweaked her nose, grinned at her. “I am all yours.”

--------------------------------------------------------

There'd been nothing but pleasure after that for both Harry and Hermione, though neither of them bothered to voice out. What seemed to have been the most satisfying day had been simply the start of more blissful and passion-flared nights and heartwarming strolls and delightful picnics outdoors.

With each day that passed by, Hermione felt her heart being broken into pieces, and then rearranged into a more fitting position in Harry's heart. Slowly, she began to realize that she was not merely feeling gratitude nor attachment to her husband, but something else.

Something skeptic people called deeper concern, but what believers called love.

It was a long overdue recognition that had been masked by past concerns and tainted with turbulent emotions. In the end, one thing was for certain.

If she did not love Harry just yet, she was halfway there.

Seemingly, there may be a few things to like about him. But to look beyond what was apparently dominant was something Hermione had learned to do over the past weeks.

His past held the direst and darkest of struggles, but there he was still, strong and full of resolve. It was not easy to live after having seen death countless of times. For him to still be able to smile, it made her heart ache to remember and then leap each time he did because of her.

At night, when he lay sleeping beside her after making love to her with a passion that always brought tears to her eyes, she found it satisfying to look at the man he had become and bask in the glory that all that male magnificence was hers.

And, as if he always knew she was watching him, he would wake up, do so with a grin, then lean over and kiss her, pulling her in his arms with a contened albeit sleepy sigh.

She never knew how happy it was to be in love. Now that she was closer to it than she realized, It made everything seem right. If it were only up to her, this was the happiest feeling she'll ever want to know.

But hovering just above her ecstasy was the reality that she could be happier than this...

But that would only be if Harry were to love her in return.

-------------------------------------------------------

A week after their first night in London, Harry took Hermione out once again to enjoy the Town's busy streets.

While walking down the streets, dodging attempts at conversation with acquaintances --- who were probably just gossip-mongers --- Harry paused in front of Rundell and Bridge, which was the most famous, thus the most expensive, jewellery shop in England.

Hermione, who had been talking at that time, was forced to stop and glance at the shop Harry was perusing. “Shall we goi inside?” Hermione asked.

Harry patted her gloved hand, which was tucked at the crook of his elbow and then gave her a quick sideways glance.

“We are not going in there, Hermione. Just me,” he said. Then he turned to her. “Would it be ungentlemanly of me to ask you to wait out here?”

“That is an undebatable question, Harry. I am certain you know me well enough to know my answer.” Hermione smiled up at him. She inclined her head in his direction playfully, not giving him time to figure out her reply. “That would be a no.”

“You are insolent, wife.” Harry teased before releasing her hand. “I shan't be long.”

“I'll be right here.” She locked her feet on the floor, deliberately showing him she was taking her words literally. Laughing, Harry pushed open the door to the jewellers' shop, noting with indifference the bell that rang above his head and acknowedging the delighted greeting of the shop's owner.

Meanwhile, still standing where she was left, Hermione primly placed her hand on reticule and glanced around, hoping that a female acquaintance would materialize out of nowhere and draw her into a conversation.

Squinting at the rare glare of sunshine, Hermione's gaze fell on a man across the street who looked awfully familiar. As he seemed to have recognized her as well and had started walking towards her direction, she too began forward, the name forming on her lips.

Her friend raised his hand to wave, but she didn't quite see the rest of his greeting because a carriage suddenly pulled up in front of her.

There had been no time to pull back either from the sudden obstruction, for amidst the buzzing and hussling streets of London, and certainly not for the first time, Hermione Granger Potter was abducted again.

-------------------------------------------------------

A/N:

I would move this into the R-rating but I guess it's not really R, just PG-13.

I had no idea what I was writing during the first scene. Never really had the opportunity to write that kind of scene before, so I guess it wasn't that effective.

Okay, so this didn't have it's long conversations, for which I WAS particularly fond of in the previous chapters. It didn't call for it because it had a climactic beginning, i didn't want the entire chapter to be filled with tension.

If Hermione's revelation about her feelings came as a unfitting to any reader, I guess I am to blame. In writing chapters with a long time in between, I probably lost the sense of continuity and might have appeared foisting it suddenly in this chapter. But then again, when I read romance novels, i often find myself wondering why authors choose to have their characters proclaim their love in those particular moments. Then I realize that no timing can ever be right or wrong for a man or a woman to realize how he/she feels. Sometimes, it springs out of nowhere, sometimes it gradually reveals itself. As I quoted in the revelation, Hermione's proclamation is long overdue. It would have been sillier had I said yet again that she didn't love him at all.

*The terms, places or names pertaining to the regency era in this story are not meant to be historically correct in some parts. So yeah...

I apologize yet again for the 3-month wait. I know you guys are getting impatient with me, probably you're not going to believe me when I say I'd have the next chapter up soon, but to tell you honestly, I've not been feeling the urge to write. I've been preoccupied lately with work, and worrying about whether or not I study this year. As I have recently been splurging my money on things that I missed out on buying before, I have nothing to send myself off to college. That's pretty stupid, eh? But I'm leaning the error of my ways and I have started saving.

Anyway, just one last note. Does anybody know the Asian group Dong Bang Shin Ki, a.k.a Tohoshinki, a.k.a. TVXQ? They're my favorite band, recently proclaimed though. They're so awesome, so if you're a fan as well, I'd like to know. Hehe...

I won't be making any promises, you'll probably curse me to hell and back if I did. So I'll just leave you with an “until next time!”

thank you so much for reading! I hope you guys won't get tired of waiting.

-->

A/N:

Ok, I tried my best to finish this story before putting up another chapter. However, a recent promotion, among other things, kept me from sitting down firmly and coming up with the climax and end of Caught in the Past.

I know that finishing this story is very vital to my aspiration as a writer. However, I also came to realize that compared to other things, this one is pretty trivial. Personal matters presented themselves and prevented inspiration to strike.

I've been toying with this chapter for a long, long time. Cutting out bits and pieces, rewriting and rephrasing. I think it's a bit overrated, and I would not condemn people if they would think so, but I've long since finished with the highlights of this story, and therefore, I can no longer change whatever it was I had in mind. I could only hope that during my hiatus, my ability to deliver did not wither.

I know you probably are tired of reading explanations and apologies, but I hope that my updating a chapter would be proof that I have no intention of becoming a writer who starts but never finishes her work.

Here's the next chapter. I hope you guys like it!

------------------------------------

At the sound of a door slamming, Hermione's lids fluttered open.

Darkness greeted her as eerie silence consumed her thoughts.

Tight and constricting against her eyes was a thick cloth that reeked with an inexplicable odor falling in between rust and iron. It was pressed just against the tip of her nose, she couldn't let air in without also breathing in the foul smell. She cringed, too, at the material tied around her hands, the dampness against her wrist too sticky for water or sweat.

A dull ache started to fully awaken her from her confusion. From a distance, there emerged faint sounds of laughter, busy movements, and profanities mixed with good-natured rallies. Slowly, she remembered standing on the street, seeing a friend, and then a hand clamping suddenly on her mouth, with another grabbing her arms and dragging her without a sound into a closed carriage. The smell of an intoxicating substance was the last thing she could recall before waking up.

Here.

In this filth-smelling place.

All alone, incapacitated, and with no chance of help.

Again.

“How bloody convenient,” she interjected sarcastically.

Oh well, she realized with momentary relief, at least she could say something.

The mattress dipped beneath her weight as she struggled to get up. It creaked so heavily Hermione wondered whether it would break. The sound of a wooden chair scraping against the floor, however, had her immobilized.

She realized then that she had made a premature conclusion.

Abducted, she was.

Alone, she was most definitely not.

She waited to find out whether the sound had been a figment of her imagination, but after a second or two, there it was again. Clearer and louder this time, almost as if she were meant to hear it.

Mustering up haughtiness that only a duchess could carry, Hermione tried to discover whether her companion had intimidation in his vocabulary.

“Identify yourself,” she said.

A slight movement, perhaps a foot propping on a knee, was the only answer she received.

“What do you want?”

Another movement, but nothing else.

Irritation bubbled inside Hermione.

The man was not trying to disguise his presence at all. On the contrary, he seemed to be pronouncing it even, for neither was he still nor was his breathing low. It was clearly evident that her acknolwedgment of his proximity did not bother him. This man definitely had intimidation in mind, difference being, he was trying it on her!

Frustrated, more than fearful, she tried to adjust the tightness of the ropes around her wrist.

“A noble attempt,” the man finally spoke. “Yet, I fear your efforts would go to waste.”

There was a thud on the floor where his boots landed as he stood up, followed by a serial of them, getting closer.

“What do you plan on doing once you remove those bindings?” He scoffed. “I feel generous enough to warn you that I am armed, and would not hesitate for one moment to stop you in any way I can.”

His voice was deep, smooth and had a hint of bitterness in its timbre. She tried to place it, familiar, but hard to place.

“You are warning me, sir?” Hermione said in a tone that she wished conveyed disbelief, still hoping to give out the act of a haughty duchess, not of a helpless woman. “My husband is the Duke of Gryffindor. He will not stop until he has found me, in whatever state that might be. Unless you desire to meet your end by his pistol, I demand you release me at once!”

Instead of the violent retort she would have expected from an abductor, his rebuff was calm and controlled. “I know you not to be so high in the instep, your grace. So do not pretend that position means anything to you, merely to get you somewhere else than here.”

She heard the window open and felt the cold evening breeze sweep in the room. Shivering from the sudden change in temperature, she momentarily dismissed any other thoughts other than the ones she found most disconcerting.

She would have never thought that her abductions could be caused by somebody else. Voldemort had always been behind the complications in her life. As his hatred for her was apparent, his greedy solutions were expected.

But with this man, it was not.

Oh, it was there, she could feel it right down to her bones.

But instead of flaunting it for the world to see, his animosity came from somewhere deeper.

It was subtle; therefore, much, much more dangerous.

“Your independence is well-renowned,” he said from across the room. “Such a disappointment that you now easily use your duke to instigate fear. I expected more from your reputation. And while we are in the subject of positions, might I point out that your husband's matter to me like mud on my boots?”

Hermione kept silent.

“You see, we do not exactly move in the same circle. I grew up in a world where mud is not dirt, but a reminder of where I came from. A place where I learned people like you are all the same: greedy liars. Abducting you may have been initated by---shall we say---a mutual friend---but I do this for myself.”

Her head turned sharply as she sensed his presence on her right.

“I have been waiting for a long time to meet you, Hermione. Shall I call you Hermione?” He added as an afterthought, then laughed. “You must be getting weary, so let's speak in plain terms, shall we?”

Without waiting for her answer, he said. “Riddle wants you---”

“I am married already.” Hermione gritted out.

“Tut, tut.” He whispered. “No interruptions, please. But in light of what you said, are you with child?”

Hermione's heart thudded against her chest, his implication plain and simple.

Riddle would never stop until she produced a son.

And even then, he would surely plot to kill him.

Her mind reeled and her stomach lurched with fear and protectiveness for a child that had yet to be conceived.

“Well, that old git is a pillock, if I do say so myself. Still chasing after you, even now, is a waste of time.” Then he gave a long suffering sigh, “He is greedy, however, and so he thinks you owe him the bloody treasure. I could care less whether he succeeds or not. His delusions are his own. However, your debt to me is greater. I would have never desired to have our lives cross, but now that they have, I intend to collect before I hand you over.”

Hermione struggled in her seat, suddenly angry and, at the same time, helpless to do anything else. “You have lost your mind. I have never done anything to you.”

“You may not know me, my dear, but you have cost me greatly.”

Hermione shook her head vigorously. “Regardless of our acquaintance, if it does exist at all, I have never done anybody harm in my entire life. So it is not right to accuse me of anything. You have a maggot in your head to believe I shall recall anything when there is not a thing to recall!”

There was silence for a long time. Even without seeing him, she could feel his stare. The nerves at the back of her neck were driving her mad, making her jittery.

“Of course you don't,” he said almost in a patronizing way.

He now seemed like a mad man, but sanity was there, evident in the straight line of his thinking. Only his reasoning was difficult to understand. His innuendos taunted her, urging her to recall a moment wherein she caused him hatred.

But none came back, and she felt desperate.

“It's a bother, actually,” he muttered after a while, “I would have liked you in any other circumstance. Females of my acquaintance have more hair than wit. You are a bluestocking, but hidden beneath is a fighter. However, like I said, the situation is different.”.”

Hermione gritted her teeth. “What have I done to you? If you could just tell me what you think I did, I might be able to remember.”

“Do not insult me, madam! I am not some cork-brained dandy you can degrade. I know what you did, and it sickens me you had not cared enough to remember!”

Tired of persuading him to realize how hard it was to remember what she knew didn't happen, Hermione kept her mouth shut.

Undoubtedly, he began to explain.

“Not too long ago, you hurt somebody I care about. You cruelty towards him was beyond words, my lady.” He paused, as if thinking of his next words. “He would have never approved of this, but it matters no longer.”

“He?”

“My brother,” his savage tone caused the hair on her arm to rise. “Lucas Evan Kerrington, Lord Colbrid of Slytherin.”

Hermione shook her head violently. “I know no one who goes by that name!”

“Went, my darling chit, went.”

“Pardon me?” Hermione paled. “Went? Is he---”

“Dead?” He asked. “Yes.”

Hermione shook her head.

Things started to get even more confusing.

“And you believe that I---”

“Killed him?” He interrupted again, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Yes, very much so.”

“No,” she denied instantly.

Despite her disbelief in being falsely accused, Hermione could hear the anguish in his voice, the pain behind the anger, and for a moment, she couldn't help but sympathize with him.

She'd lost someone she cared for and had falsely accused a man who neither had the responsibility nor the desire to help her. She'd been in both sides of his situation, and now that she was in the receiving end of his wrath, just as Harry had been of hers, she couldn't point fingers.

“I did not kill anybody,” she stated calmly. “Your brother's death has nothing to do with me. I would never commit murder.”

He laughed, a bitter one, an exhausted laugh that came from despair. Then his hands wound painfully around her arms like a vise. He shook her hard. “You do not need to just to say you've killed. You pushed him to his death.”

“I do not know what you are talking about, but killing me would not bring him back!”

“My dear,” he drawled out, “Who ever said anything about killing you?”

Fear clamored through her entire body as she realized he had no intention of actually releasing her. Then he let go of her abruptly, distracted for some reason. There had been a certain amount of noise from below that had started increasing during the past few minutes. Hermione had barely noticed until her captor momentarily forgot his tirade of accusations.

Hope bubbled in her chest when, in the prolonged moment of silence, her name rang out above the commotion.

“Bloody timing.” She suddenly heard him mutter.

Up until this point, she'd made no move to disentangle herself, but as she felt him move away, she began struggling to free herself. But the rope was tied securely, and all she managed to do was twist it abrasively against her skin.

“Do not get your hopes up, my dear. They may have found you, but it will be an effort not worth furthering.”

“Hermione!” She could hear from a distance, the sound getting closer, yet muffled by the closed door. Then her captor's footsteps, light and quick, faded, and then she heard a door creak open, and then shut.

It was long time before she heard anything else, but what she did hear was nothing close to reassuring. There were two men fighting, she could hear it in the grunts and the sounds of fists connecting with flesh. And then suddenly, there was a thud against the heavy door.

She called out with all the breath she could force out. She tried bouncing off the bed, but in her desperation, she merely stumbled onto the side. When she finally got herself upright, she found herself merely inching, not running, towards the door, not being able to see a bloody damn thing.

Then she stilled when the door creaked open once more.

Her head turned sharply to the side, a hand connecting violently against her cheek. Her heart thumped madly as she straightened, only to be shoved back onto the bed, with a force that had her head colliding against the wall. Then, she tasted metal, and realized her bottom lip was bleeding.

“I'm not an imbecile.” Her captor's voice said, breathing hard, his voice unusually low. “I know how to defend myself.”

Despite the pain that she felt with the hard and unexpected blow, Hermione couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of satisfaction at hearing him wheezing hard.

Then the worst occurred to her.

“What did you do to him?” She whispered savagely.

Ignoring her question, he merely stated. “What an easy quest your knight was.”

Hermione struggled angrily against the sudden vise-like grip he had on her. “You bastard! What have you done with him?”

“Ah,” he said still trying to keep her still. “Do not fret, he may still be alive.”

Then he chuckled as Hermione froze in place.

No.

No, it wasn't Harry outside. She realized with certainty. With firm resolve and trust, she knew it couldn't be him. He would have never allowed this man to win. Yet, why wasn't he here? Was he trying to find her at all?

Something was wrong.

Hermione knew it, or else Harry would have come instead.

Oh, God.

What if they'd killed him?

To assure themselves that no one would come to rescue her...

No.

“Now, my dear, would you like me to tell you in detail how I'd exact my revenge on you?” He brought her back to reality.

She froze, all thoughts suspended in her mind, when a hand suddenly grazed her thigh. And for the first time since she'd discovered herself in this room, she felt real fear.

The man before her had changed.

“Or better yet, I'll show you. But first, I'll remove this.” He said yanking down her blindfold. She blinked at the sudden light, however dim it was. It took a while for her to have a clear sight, and then her captor became more than a voice.

He was freakishly tall, his face a mass of scar and violence. His eyes, they burned with something else. Not anger, but an inner tumult.

“That's better, ain't it? I want you to see my face clearly, when I bury myself in you, so you won't forget this night as long as you live.”

His words made her forget everything else, and she felt like throwing up.

“Don't touch me!”

Ignoring her, he kept his hands on her body, his fingers tracing her limbs. He utilized a slow excruciating move, unquestionably to make her suffer more. To make her shiver in disgust. Hermione bit back a sob, refusing to succumb to weakness.

“You and I are going to play a little game,” he whispered moving closer.

But when he started to peel off the gown on her shoulders, she managed to kick him in between his legs. In a forceful, and violent move, she was able to push him away and scramble towards the door.

She didn't know how she managed to get out, only that the door had been left ajar. But she didn't get very far, as she stumbled on a body slumped on the floor.

Her body gave away in shock as she realized who had been her rescuer.

“William!” She shouted, using her shoulders to bump him out of his stupor. Any moment now, she knew her captor would recover and come after her. She only had seconds to bring some sense into her friend.

“You bitch!”

Hermione sharply turned her head around, and lost her breath. He was already coming up behind her, a murderous look in his eyes. Praying to God she would manage to outrun him, Hermione stood up and did as she dared.

She didn't get very far, with her hands tied behind her and her head throbbing with pain. His hand had clamped around her arm, and he pulled her, almost tearing it out of its socket.

She yelped in surprise and hurt. “Let go of me!” she shouted. “I didn't kill anybody!

“Shut up!”

She screamed as he dragged her across the hallway.

Why wasn't anybody helping her?!

“Harry!!!” She shouted with all her might as her mind and body threatened to give away with exhaustion. She could feel her energy slipping, and all she could do was cry and scream.

No, she thought. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she knew she could still fight. Harry was not going to be around all the time to rescue her.

She should do this on her own.

She could do this.

She had been independent once, had not needed a husband before. She sure as hell couldn't afford to wait for him now.

Back in the room once more, Hermione did her best to keep a clear mind and looked around before he tossed her on the bed. Reaching over on the table, he took a long swig of brandy and as soon as it was empty, he tossed the bottle onto the wall where each shard came crashing down with a piercing sound.

Hermione scooted herself at the farthest corner of the bed, unsure of what to do, her hand grazing something solid.

“No use, my dear. Even if you scream, no one's going to mind. They're all out of their wits tonight, what with the free drinks that came with some shillings I tossed into the innkeeper's hands.” Then he chuckled. “They'll only think you were screaming in pleasure.”

Then he wiped his mouth with his sleeve and came towards her, obviously more drunk than he'd been earlier.

“Which you will be if you stop protesting.”

He swaggered and reached the end of the bed.

Hermione kept herself still until he started crawling towards her. Her heart was beating wildly, but she knew she had to be strong. When he was merely a foot apart from her, she screamed at the top of her lungs, distracting him, and then hit his head with a loose pole that had probably been laid forgotten by the side of the bed.

She'd managed to get his temporal, and as he howled in pain, she hit him again, only this time, on a more vulnerable spot.

“Bloody bitch!” He shouted, but Hermione was already bolting for the door.

Then from the corner of her eye, she saw him slide sideways in an effort to control the pain. A flash of metal stilled her for a moment.

Her heart was racing and everything seemed to go slower than normal as she saw the open doorway. She heard a click, and knew only two things could happen.

She would escape or she would die.

She closed her eyes and ran towards the door as fast as she could.

“Please,” she whispered in prayer, and collided with something hard as a gun shot reverberated in the room.

-------------------------------------------------

It was all a dream.

Hermione couldn't help but think as her eyes opened, and the surroundings that greeted her were completely different from the one she had awakened to last time.

It wasn't as if she thought she were in heaven. She knew better than to entertain the foolish notion that she was already a spirit hovering over the living. Neither did she believe the pain she was feeling was due to the fact that she was in hell. She'd never done anything to merit such punishment.

Yet, how could it not be, when even the slightest move caused her entire body to protest in pain? With each sharp twinge and relentless pounding, she was reminded of her abduction and the attempt on her virtue.

That was the second time she'd gotten close to losing it, and it was also the second time she'd been rescued.

Her rescuer, still unnamed, was somebody who'd cared enough to listen to the plea in her tone, if not her words.

She winced as she tried to get up.

“It is about time, your grace.” Someone said from across the room.

She squinted, her eyes unaccustomed to being used. “Poppy?”

A relieved laugh and then. “Yes, my dear. How are you feeling?” The former nurse of Hogwarts inquired.

Now that she had asked, Hermione suddenly felt sick, as if something was boiling in her stomach, sending an acidic taste in her mouth.

Other than that, however, she felt quite fine. Although her mind was starting to reel with the questions that suddenly started flooding her head.

“Where are we?”

Poppy sat down on the chair just beside her bed. “At Godric's Hollow, my dear.”

“We are?” She asked in confusion. “We were in London. Harry and I. I was---abducted---in London---”

“Harry---”

“Oh!” A sharp cry came before Poppy could finish.

It was Eloise.

Turning, she met her maid 's greeting face, which was beaming with surprise but obvious delight. She was carrying some blankets into the room, presumably to change the ones on Hermione's bed.

“Good morning, Eloise.” Hermione cleared her throat. “It is morning, is it not?”

“Why, yes, madam!” She said, rushing over to open the curtains on Hermione's window. Sure enough, the sun was up and about, beaming brightly at her as well.

Poppy helped Hermione sit up. And as she did so, Hermione noticed for the first time the numbing of her face, and the raw color her wrists sported where the rope had been securely tied. Her neck was stiff and her thighs throbbed.

“It is good to know you are all right, your grace.” Eloise whispered, approaching the bed, the folded linens on her arms forgotten. “You had the entire staff worried over you. You were asleep for three days.”

Had she been? She couldn't remember. Her thoughts were still hazy, although some of them formed visions of a man holding her hand or touching her cheek.

Hermione felt weary all of a sudden.

“Where is Harry?” She forced out the question.

Eloise gave her a sly smile, one that was too informal for someone of her status, but Hermione didn't mind at all, she was too busy wondering where her husband was.

“He is with Lord Black and Sir Lupin. They arrived just this morning. Lord and Lady Ronald Weasley are expected to arrive soon.”

The answer was nothing of importance to her.

What she cared about was if Harry had even stayed with her for the last three days she had been sleeping, unaware of any activity. She felt tired, but she wanted to exercise her muscles, knowing that activity would help her recovery.

“I should like to greet them, Eloise. Would you help me with my bath and my clothes?”

“Oh, I do not know about that, your grace.” Poppy intervened before the maid protested the same. “His grace ordered me not to let you do anything for a while after you wake up.”

“I am fine.”

“But still.”

“Eloise,” she said in authority, attempting to get out of bed. “You may have been his to command when I was asleep. But now that I am fully conscious, you do not have to answer to him anymore.” As her foot settled on the solid ground, she clutched Poppy's arm to support herself. She sat down as quickly as she had stood, cursing over the sudden spinning that consumed her vision.

“Hermione?” Poppy whispered. “Are you all right?”

Hermione held up her hand to wave her concern away. “I am quite fine, I assure you. It's merely a spell.”

Poppy shook her head. “This is the first time in three days your body is being put to work. You should not overtax yourself by moving so quickly and so unnecessarily. I suggest you rest.”

Hermione dared to look at the nurse. “I need to see my husband.”

Poppy and Eloise exchanged a look. “For whatever reason, dear? He will come to you when he is informed of your conscious state.”

The look of determination on both their faces was not enough to deter Hermione, but the unstopping motion of everything around her was her undoing. Sighing inwardly, she settled back on the bed, with the assistance of Poppy, but purposely refrained from lying down.

“Thank you for your concern, Madam Pomfrey,” she whispered in consent. “Eloise, if you would be so kind as to tell his grace that I am awake, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Eloise still looked unsure if it were right to leave her mistress alone, but she conceded as she went out to do as she was bidden.

“While your maid is making her way towards Harry, I suggest you rest your eyes, my dear, for I am certain once he knows you are awake, he won't keep himself away.”

Hermione swallowed the contradiction her mouth wanted to voice out and yawned instead. “I shall wait for him.”

But those words were her last for the hour, for as soon as she made the mistake of settling her head on the pillow, her mind instantly put the rest of her to sleep.

---------------------------------

“It will never stop, Harry, if you, yourself, do not ensure that it does.”

Despite her exhaustion, Sirius' low and rouch voice managed to ring in her head. It was soft, but it was there, clear and distinguishable. It came from the drawing room just outside her bedchamber.

How long had she been asleep and what was Sirius doing in there?

She had not long to ponder for another voice soon joined in, one that was not so difficult to realize as Lupin's. “This was not the first time, nor the second time there has been an attempt on your wife's well-being. Will you wait for one more before you act, Harry?”

Hermione could almost see Harry rubbing his forehead.

“I merely do not see the reason why retrieving this key is important. It is better off left alone. Obtaining it poses even more danger to us, and you know that well, Sirius.”

He sounded so tired and very much defeated that Hermione wanted to comfort him. It took her a few minutes to gather enough strength to sit up during which the conversation had gone further, and what Hermione heard next was another point Sirius was trying to make.

“...with or without it, Voldemort is still very much willing to endanger you both.” Sirius snapped.

A long pause, giving Hermione ample time to maneuver off the bed and put on her robe. Slowly, she made her way to the door, which had been left slightly ajar, explaining how the voices had drifted from the other room to hers.

From the opening, all she could see was Lupin's profile.

About to push open the door wide, she stilled as Sirius's back came into view.

“Do you not care for your wife?”

She stopped in her tracks, sudden erratic heartbeats filling her chest.

It wasn't clear where she stood in Harry's life. The past few weeks had proven her to be more of a liability than an asset in his existence. But for her, he was more than a husband now. He was her companion, one with whom she was destined to share her life.

When she was little, she didn't have the time to fantasize about making the right match. She had been too busy seeking her stepmother's attention and drinking in her father's love, that getting married had been trivial. Only when Voldemort started pushing his heir into her life that she began to think of what her future would lead to.

Not once had she dreamt either of loving the man she married or marrying the man she loved.

Then how could it be possible to have both happen with the same man?

“I care,” Harry finally whispered, “for her safety.”

Her heart floundered.

“Our vows spoke clearly for themselves,” he continued amidst everybody's silent vigil. “I promised to protect her, and I shall.”

“Then protect her,” Sirius said. “Voldemort is still trying to find ways to obtain Hermione. Which only tells us that he either believes your marriage is still unconsummated, which I doubt, or she knows the location of the Key.”

There was that key again.

“Again,” Harry breathed in impatience. “I do not see the point why I have to get the Key. The less we know of its whereabouts, the better. Voldemort would definitely pursue us if he finds out we are after it.”

“Voldemort already owns two pieces, dear boy.” Lupin added. “If he manages to get a third, there would be no stopping him from obtaining the last using whatever means to get it. If you have two...”

“He still would not stop with his attempts on Hermione's life.” Harry finished.

“And yours, Harry,” Lupin reminded. “Without you, Hermione is vulnerable. She cannot defeat him all by herself. Scotland had been a temporary sanctuary, but even there, she still could not get away.”

“Ensuring that the Keys are in the right hand would be the best step, should either of you...”

“That will not happen, Sirius.” Harry cut off savagely. “I will see to it that it doesn't.”

It was Sirius' turn for frustration. His godson's stubbornnes was going too far. “You are not a seer, Harry. And you are most definitely not the strongest man in the world. You may think you are strong enough to fend off a whole army, but you are not.”

Looking at him with extreme patience, Lupin took the reins in persuading him. “Now, if you stir Voldemort in the wrong direction, he will follow it. He is desperate enough to overanalyze and he will believe that once you have both Keys, you will ensure its safety by sending it off somewhere else. He will not bother you as much for he will be too busy searching for them to do so.”

Harry raked a hand through his hair, shaking his head at the same time. “No.” He looked directly as Sirius, meeting his gaze with defiance. “That answer is final.”

“What key?”

Every head turned towards her as she pushed open the door to reveal her presence.

“Good afternoon,” she greeted, having decided she'd had enough. She hoped everyone was too surprised to notice the perspiration forming on the side of her forehead. It took a great deal more energy to cross the room than what she had originally thought.

The sound of her voice seemed to have snapped Harry out of his shock. And he immediately abandoned formalities as he strode over to Hermione's side.

“You are awake,” he commented quite stupidly.

“Your observational skills are quite remarkable, my lord.” Hermione said, disappointment affecting her disposition. She longed to take back the words she spoke, but the darkening in his eyes prevented her.

“You must keep yourself in bed.” Harry whispered in clipped bits.

She searched for concern in his eyes and was awarded by profound sincerity. In her earlier concern, however, she failed to realize its burning intensity. She sensed something else in them, too, as she continued to look. It had been a long time since he'd given her this kind of perusal, this wariness.

Hermione tore her gaze away from his and regarded the other occupants in the room.

She'd met Remus Lupin quite a few times before and was fond of Sirius' friend, but they had never really talked much. The gentlemen all looked so somber, both seniors appearing as if they had the weight of the world on their shoulders. Harry seemed a bit indifferent as he led her to the sofa.

“May I ask what Key you are referring to?” she asked as soon as her nerves calmed a bit at Harry's unexpected choice of seat.

“It is of no consequence,” Harry said from beside her, his tone taut.

“Of no consequence? Then how is it that it has gotten all of you appearing so burdened---” she but all began to voice when she was silenced by Harry's frown.

“How are you feeling?” Sirius thought to ask, the edginess in his voice was meant for Harry, but his look of discomfort mixed with pity was meant for Hermione.

She was no stranger to her bruises, for even if she had yet to see how she looked like, she knew she was not a sight to behold. As she had felt earlier, her cheek still stung from the wound her captor somehow inflicted and the other side still felt swollen from where he'd slapped her.

Expecting his query, Hermione politely inclined her head to the side. “To say that I am physically fine would be as confounding as it was misleading, for as you can see, I still sport bruises from my---encounter. But you need not tax yourself over my appearance, uncle. They must look worse than they feel.”

“It was kind of you to ask Sirius.” Harry offered, not bothering to conceal his annoyance. It was frustrating enough that he couldn't voice out his concern for his wife's well-being, but to have an old man do it for him and then rub it in his face, well...that was just wrong.

“It appears to me that matters were being settled before I came in. Do carry on with your conversation, please. I shouldn't want to be the cause of its delay,” Hermione said after a minute or two's unnecessary silence.

Sirius and Lupin looked at Harry, undoubtedly asking for permission. The look he gave them was clear enough.

No.

They were all saved from replying when the footman suddenly knocked, announcing the arrival of two of Harry and Hermione's close friends.

Luna was beside herself as she abandoned all the proprieties of a young matron and rushed forward to envelope Hermione in a bone-crushing hug. Hermione winced as her friend, who was quite a ball of energy, collided with her with a resonating 'oof'.

“Hermione!” She bellowed. “Oh, Hermione! We were so worried about you.” Still not letting go, Luna kept saying.

Finally, Ron had the sense to pry her loose.

After greetings, more formal this time, had been exchanged, each occupant took their own places and sat down. Their conversation from before Hermione had arrived was not brought into subject again, and soon Hermione found herself more than willing to go back to bed. Much as she was happy that friends had come to visit, fatigue came back.

As the hostess of that particular gathering, she couldn't summon herself to leave yet, without seeing to their visitors' comfort.

Harry must have felt her motive to stand, for no sooner than she could position herself to stand when he reached over to catch her hand.

“What are you about?” he asked softly. Sirius was currently telling a story of his escapades with Harry's father, Remus and Peter Pettrigrew (Hermione nearly keeled over just by the sound of his name, recalling who he was and for whom he was working), when they were still in training at Hogwart's School of Wisecraft and Weaponry.

“I would like to summon Eloise for tea,” Hermione whispered back.

Harry firmly held his grip. “We have a bell pull for such tasks. Do not tire yourself, please.”

“I am aware of that, my lord, that is why I should like to get up---to pull on the bell.”

Harry sighed, and then wordlessly got up, took the few strides that was required to get to the other side of the room, and gave three mighty tugs at the bell pull by the door.

No sooner than they could discern what had transpired when a maid came knocking on the door.

“Tea,” Harry said as soon as she got inside. “Send it in the drawing room right by the Rose Salon, please.”

The maid curtsied and went about her task.

Harry returned to Hermione's side and took her hand without another glance, a gesture that went unnoticed only by him.

“This may seem ungallant of us, but as you are all well aware, Hermione needs rest.” He shook his head at Hermione as she made a sound of protest. To the new arrivals, he inclined his head. “Ron, Luna, we shall be happy to accommodate your stay for as long as you want. You are welcome to my game room, if you feel like entertaining yourselves before supper. Remus, Lupin, my invitation extends to both of you, but I should like to discuss something with you, if you do no mind waiting for me in my study. I shall just see to my wife's welfare for a moment.”

“Take your time, dear boy,” Sirius said, standing up.

'Take forever,' Hermione thought, as she swallowed her protests and allowed Harry to guide her as the rest went out in pairs.

As she was being tucked in deafening silence, she resisted the urge to ask Harry to stay. His actions were brisk and controlled, indicating that once he was done, he'd leave without another word. They were also very impersonal, almost as if touching her was the last thing he wanted, a complete contradiction to what he'd displayed moments ago.

She couldn't fathom why he felt the need to pretend now, if he'd only been playing for the crowd then. She would understand more if they'd been strangers, but in front of friends and family? It was absurd. If that were not enough reason to be concerned, she didn't know what was.

She was surprised that he chose to sat down instead.

He looked so vulnerable her heart ached just looking at him.

She remembered hearing exhaustion in his voice when she'd woken up, seeing it on his face up close made her want to comfort him. She sat up, almost expecting him to forbid her, but he did not. Twiddling her thumbs, she gazed about the room, having been here only a week after their marriage.

“What Key, Harry?” Hermione asked when it appeared he would not start a conversation.

Harry sighed after looking at her for a painfully long time. “That is not exactly an appropriate bed time tale, my dear.”

“It is not in my intention to sleep.”

“It is not a relaxing story, then.”

“I have been asleep for three days, how much more rest would you like me to take before I shrink like a vegetable on this bed?”

“Until you glow like one,”

“Vegetables do not glow!”

“But they make you,” he countered smoothly, his lips twitching.

“Tell me about this key.”

“No.”

“If you do not tell me, Sirius shall.”

“Like hell he will!” his exclamation reverberated across the room. “I warned him not to, he would not want my annoyance on him.”

Hermione hesitated before replying. “And you'd rather have mine, is that it?”

He chuckled, tipping up her chin to get rid of that stubborn pout. “My dear, if annoyance is the only thing you're threatening me with, I have nothing to worry about.”

“Then would you tell me why you keep insisting this key to be a secret?”

Harry crossed his arms, meeting her defiant look. “Because, you would insist that I get it.”

“How do you know that I will?”

“I know you.”

“No, you do not.” She rolled her eyes. “At least not fully.”

“Hermione,” Harry whispered, regarding her with a heated gaze. “I know every inch of you.”

Unable to continue looking at him, when her face was flushed with intimate memories, Hermione crossed her arms and turned away. She muttered something like 'that does not count' and then stared out the window.

“How do you feel?” Harry asked after a while.

'Well' was all she muttered, still annoyed with him for shutting her up so easily.

“Does anything hurt?”

Yes, she wanted to say, but if she did, he would certainly not care to know which part of her. “No, just sore.”

This caused him to lurch up, alarmed. It was too late to realize that the word inadvertently indicated a part of her that would definitely be, if the attempt on her virtue had been successful.

As he did not know yet what transpired before she'd been rescued, it was justifiable for him to come up with the wrong conclusion. Hermione winced. He'd grabbed her arms in rage and was gripping it so tightly.

“Did he---?” Harry couldn't finish his question, the possibility closing in on his throat.

“Harry, no.” Hermione shook her head, willing him to believe her. His eyes looked like his mind had gone numb, rendering him incapable of understanding her words. “No, he didn't do anything. He tried, but somebody rescued me in time.”

Her eyes widened in remembrance.

“Oh, God! Harry, William---he tried to save me, but the man, he---he---we have to go back to the place---!”

Harry released her so suddenly that she gasped in surprise.

“Your William is safe.” He ran a hand through his hair, clearly shocked of his outrage a moment ago. To lose control like that was one of the reasons he didn't want to care for anybody. The weakness, the vulnerability, gave anybody a leeway to crack his defense.

“H-he is?” Hermione rhetorically asked in relief, believing him with just that simple statement. Her trust in him had escalated to a height so unbelievable, given her initial impression of him. “Where is he?”

“Resting,” Harry said, “...in one of the guest's suites.”

“How did he get here, Harry?” she asked, adding this in wonder, “How did I get here...”

Harry refused to look her way, clearly avoiding her gaze. Why she even had to ask, she didn't know. The answer was right in front of her. She let out a breath, her lips trembling, her heart filling with so much love that she feared she would burst with it.

A drop of tear escaped her eye. She grasped his hand, holding it against her cheek and then kissing the inside of it. “Thank you.”

He kept looking at her, his throat working convulsively. Abruptly, he pulled his hand away and stood up. He strode over to the window, bracing his palm against its wooden frame.

Seeing her in that tavern room had awakened memories inside him that only came back when he was filled with helplessness. Thrice in his life, he'd encountered such a burden. To have someone die right before your eyes, knowing there had been a way to save them but you didn't, was not a feast he'd likely attend ever again.

By simply marrying Hermione, however, he'd endangered his emotions once more. Nothing he could do would prevent that from happening again. But what he could stop was this connection slowly growing stronger between them. It was best, he thought, to keep distance.

With his back to her, his words came, low and harsh.

“Don't thank me, Hermione.”

Hermione shook her head, unmindful that he could not see her. She struggled to stand, thankful that dizziness didn't come to her as easily as it had earlier. She walked over to him and laid a hand on his arm, felt his muscles tense beneath her touch. “You helped me.”

“I do not deserve your gratitude.” He pushed himself away from the wall, ignoring the comfort she was giving.

She curled her hand and followed him tentatively. “You have it anyway.”

“What you are thanking me for is an illusion. You were in danger, and I barely made it in time!”

“I know I was. In case you it slipped your mind, I was there!” Hermione shouted. She took a deep breath, forced herself to calm down. “It matters little to me when or how you arrived---”

“You could have died---”

She laid a hand on his chest. “It would not have made any difference to me either, if you'd found me dead, Harry. You came. That is enough.”

Harry turned around savagely. “Forgive me if I find that hard to believe!”

“I am all right.” Hermione closed her eyes in frustration. “Look at me.”

“I am looking at you!” Harry bellowed. “And do you know what I see? All I see is your face, battered and bruised, your hands tied behind your back!”

Harry didn't move away this time, but neither did he return her embrace. “Danger follows you wherever you go. I wish---”

I wish I didn't care so much.

He'd been about to say, but caught himself just in time. Forgetting his resolve to keep his feelings at bay would only endanger their lives even more. The pleasure of living normally was an unaffordable situation, especially now that marriage was no longer a barricade for Voldemort's intentions.

I wish what? Hermione thought meanwhile. I wish I had not married you? Was not responsible for you? Was that what you wanted to say, Harry?

“I was a fool to believe that marriage to me would give you protection.”

“It has, Harry.”

“But when will it end? How will it end, Hermione?” he whispered in despair. “How many more times should I wake up, thinking this might be another day that you'll be gone again?”

Hermione snatched her hands away and stepped back, stung. “I am sorry that I have been an inconvenience---”

Harry shook his head, unaware that his honesty was shattering Hermione's world.

“Do you know what frightens me most?”

At Hermione's no, he let out a deep breath. “It frightens me that a day might come when I will not be there when you call me. Or that if I were late once more---it would be the last time that I---” Harry turned around and rubbed his forehead, his voice carrying defeat. “Sirius is right. I am not the strongest man in the world. I certainly can not save you all the time..”

A long silence ensued, followed by a broken whisper.

“Do you regret marrying me?”

Harry's head whipped around.

In a way, he did think it was a mistake to have put her in a situation more vulnerable than where she'd been before. But to say that he regretted it was simply wrong. She was more important to him than breathing. Yet, by marrying him, she'd married danger as well.

He tried to tell her this.

“I did not believe marriage was the best choice---” started to come out his mouth but faltered when instead of listening, she looked away almost immediately.

Panic engulfed him. He wanted to take back what he'd said. To take away the shock and pain he'd seen before she'd hidden them away. But she'd already braced her arms around herself. The anguish that came with his admission surrounded her, an impentrable wall he did not know how to break down or merely scale it.

“Hermione,” he whispered tenatively, hoping to endear her into listening to the rest of what he had to say.

“I-I'm tired,” she said quietly. “Please go.”

Harry wanted to, but he couldn't bear the thought that she was thinking he didn't care for her at all.

His fists trembled at his side, not from anger, but from weakness. How can she not see how vulnerable she made him? If she only knew how he would walk to hell and back just to release her from the curse of a life filled with threat.

He sucked in his breath.

Therein lay the greatest difficulty of all.

She did not know because he could never let her.

Silently and slowly, he embraced her from behind, his arms tightening around her. His heartbeats painful against his chest, sorry he could not give the words she longed to hear. It was simply too dangerous to let them go.

“I don't expect you to understand all my reasons. I never meant to marry, and neither did I intend for our paths to cross.” he coaxed, tipping her chin up and turning her head to meet his gaze. “But they did, and I began to want you for myself.”

Hermione tried to turn away. “You were forced to marry me. You didn't know then what you were marrying into and that's why you regret---”

He silenced her with a long kiss, filled with all the pent up emotions he kept bottled inside, hoping that in that one simple gesture, she'd feel everything he felt.

“You're mine now, Hermione,” he whispered against her lips. “I'd be a fool to regret that.”

----------------------------------------

A/N:

There are a lot of questions raised in this part of the story, which was initiated by the abduction of Hermione. Lots of confusion in the last scene. After all these years, Harry still has a lot of issues with forming a sense of belongingness and attachment, while Hermione is confused as to what Harry's feelings are.

I hope that I'm making sense and progress even after nearly a year of hiatus. To all those who patiently waited, thank you. To all those who kept dropping by to coax me out of my shell, thank you even more. Without your words of encouragement and your requests, I wouldn't even have thought I still have people waiting for an update.

I hope I can put the next chapter right away.

Lots of love!

A/N:

For some reason, my story does not appear in the updated page. So, I just posted this note to give you guys a heads up. Revived Hatred is the latest addition to my story..

Thank you and enjoy reading.

-->

A/N:

I know it's been a while, so I'd rather not say so much.

Read on and I hope you enjoy!

----------------------------------

“That was quite---fast, Harry,” Sirius observed as Harry strolled into the study, a scowl on his face.

“She was exhausted.”

“No doubt, with how you callously showed her how much her health is important to you.”

“Now is not the time, Sirius.”

Sirius ignored his godson. “Clearly, you love her. What I do not understand is the reason that you keep pretending she is no more important to you than a ward you unintentionally accepted.”

“I do not love her!”

“I certainly hope Polly Smith did not race an imbecile, Lupin,” Sirius said to his friend who, until then, had been silently watching the exchange.

Lupin shoved away from the desk he'd been leaning on. “Oh, I am quite sure she did not. Harry is merely in denial, my good friend.”

Harry's head jerked towards Lupin.

“Hermione loves you, Harry,” Lupin said gently, hoping a less assertive tactic would fare much better than Sirius' aggressiveness. “What are you scared of?”

“I am not scared of anything where Hermione is concerned, only that she gets into trouble more than I can count.”

“Such bitterness, I hope you did not tell her that directly.”

Harry looked so grief-stricken he couldn't have said his affirmative any louder for Sirius and Lupin to understand.

“Do you have any idea what that woman had gone through and the first thing she hears upon waking is that you think she endangers herself on purpose?!” Lupin whispered; incredulity clearly in his tone.

“I did not say that!”

“But you let her think it.” Sirius snapped, following Harry as he walked around the room. “Are you so destroyed that you merely want everybody to be miserable?”

“Stop making accusations of matters you are uncertain of!”

“Then make as understand!”

“Damn you, I do not want the risk!”

Sirius and Lupin exchanged looks.

“I lose those I care about, Sirius.” Harry bit out. “I shall not risk a life by letting emotion control my mind.”

“What of Hermione, what has she done to suffer whilst you do?”

“She would certainly become the pawn for this never-ending game of greed, if I all but shout to the world how I feel.” He shook his head. “Am I to spill my heart out and announce to the whole country my feelings? Without it, Voldemort already has designs for her safety. To reveal such emotions would only invite more power to his cause.”

“Then confide in her. Does she not deserve the truth from the man she loves?”

Harry's head looked up at this. “How can she? We have only known each other for months, not years.”

“You do realize, don't you, that by questioning her feelings, you are also questioning yours? If we were to judge solely on how you two behave either in or out of each other's company, there is no doubt. Actions do speak louder than words.”

“I see no point in this conversation, Sirius,” Harry sank into one of the chairs and rubbed his forehead.

“Every point is in it.”

Harry sighed, opening his mouth to answer, but stopped as a knock on the door came.

Ron came in, looking quite worried. His face bore no hint of the amused expression known by all as his eyes instantly searched and then found Harry.

The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up so quickly that he did not allow himself to ask for a reason before he was on his feet, starting towards the door.

“It's not Hermione, Harry,” Ron eyed him wearily.

Harry felt Sirius and Lupin's eyes on him. Avoiding their gaze, he shifted his attention to Ron.

“I did not want to alarm the ladies; therefore, I postponed any untoward reaction until now.”

Harry merely waited, resisting the urge to cross his arms and tap his restless foot.

“A runner told me that there has been some activity on Voldemort's side of Gryffindor---”

“Of course there would be, my wife had just been abducted.” Harry interrupted, annoyed.

“While I appreciate the sarcasm at this hour, I would postpone it, if I were you, because the activity involves the Key,” Ron warned, although his glare had been enough to shut Harry up. “According to my resources, Voldemort has found its location and has sent men to retrieve it.”

Ron was now staring at him intently and openly, and so were Sirius and Lupin. Their gaze was disconcerting, but not as much as the meaning that lay beneath.

“All right. If it means that much to all of you, I will search for it.” Harry shook his head, sighing as he took a seat on the nearest available surface, which turned out to be his desk. “But nobody is to tell Hermione what is going on, or she will definitely insist on accompanying me.”

“She has the right to know where you are going, however.”

“That she may trail after me? I do not think it wise, Sirius. Your intentions are duly noted and received, but unnecessary. I shall do whatever I can to prevent this Key from getting into Voldemort's hands.”

As Harry paced the room, Ron sat down on one of the plush armchairs by the window. Sirius was, thankfully, keeping silent while Lupin merely stood with his arms crossed.

“In light of the situation, might I ask what significance these Keys pose to you?”

“To everybody, Ronald.” Sirius glanced at him absent-mindedly, and then resumed his thinking.

Ron looked even more bewildered. As a lord in the Gryffindor estate, he was quite well off and extremely apt in taking care of his tenants. But his recent appointment, by Harry, proved to be a burden, for all matters of importance had been discussed long before he was part of the circle.

Bits and pieces of information were thrown every now and then, but they were not enough to make him understand fully.

“These Keys have been mentioned a number of times to me, and I am well aware that it is important. However, it has never been brought to my knowledge the reason they are held in so high a regard.”

Lupin uncrossed his arms and walked over to where Ron was and sat down opposite him. “Would you mind pouring us some of your fine brandy, Harry? It should not be hard to explain, but I feel I need a drink.”

“It is not so dire, Ron.” Harry reassured him as a he did what his barrister asked him. Taking out four glasses from his shelf, he mused. “I certainly do not see what the necessity for drama is all about.”

“You would not, definitely. As Keeper of Gryffindor, you have the easiest access to the Keys.” Sirius rubbed his palms against his thighs. “Where shall we start?”

“Kindly make it plain and simple? I wish to retire early.” Unmindful of how the rest had reacted to his words, he sat down.

Despite his worries over people finding out how much he cared for Hermione, more than enough of his feelings were already tumbling out of his heart. He would rather show bits and pieces of this emotion every now and then, rather than have all its content pouring out in the most inappropriate time.

“If you want it quick, then may I have your promise of complete and utter silence? I would not care for your remarks, may they support my story, more so if they would not.”

Harry gave him an innocent look and hid his grin behind his glass. Crossing his hands on his table, he prepared himself to be quiet. Noting this as a sign of compliance, Sirius began.

“Hogwarts Estate is a wealthy land, not only because of its vastness, but of the minerals hidden beneath it.

Centuries ago, the Forefathers of Hogwarts stumbled across a reservoir of treasures, of which origin they never found. They divided the wealth equally amongst themselves and began to manage their own lands. Thus, the four Estates of Hogwarts.

However, during the years, Slytherin started to squander his share in illegitimate investments that resulted to the decrease in his estate's worth.

He'd approached Hufflepuff, who lent him some of his share. When Slytherin had failed to return the money, Hufflepuff's estate never recovered from the loss. Ravenclaw intended to help both estates, but neither would accept assistance.

Thus, we see now the difference between the values of the Four Estates and the ranks of their Keepers.”

“Yes, yes, a sad story.” Ron mused aloud. “But I do not see where the Keys fit into the story.”

“I'm getting there, my boy,” Sirius huffed, and then cast his godson a look. “Your manners seem to be rubbing off on your friend.”

Harry merely chuckled.

Shaking his head, Sirius continued. “Because Gryffindor believed Slytherin was prideful, but not principled, he knew that the Slytherin Lord would resort to theft in order to regain his wealth. And so, Gryffindor proposed a combination of assets. Every year, a percentage of earnings from each keep shall be deposited in a chamber. To protect the treasure within from commoners, even from themselves, he had each Keeper choose a jewel from their long found and divided treasure.

He had them fashioned as keys. Only when these four keys are used at the same time can this room be opened.”

Comprehension marred Ron's face. “Bloody hell. It all makes sense now---why his pursuit of Harry and Hermione is relentless. If he gets those keys...”

“Exactly, Ron.” Lupin countered. “However, that room poses more significance than what any of us originally thought.”

“What do you mean?” Ron asked, his baffled expression falling on all three.

Sirius splayed his hands wide. “This fifth room is said to contain wealth that signifies more than monetary value. Whoever claims the treasure within has legal rights to rule over Hogwarts. Gryffindor proposed that it be opened only when leadership is in question, or when Hogwarts is in a dire state. With the fifth chamber only opened by all four keys, it is understood that whoever does it has been given full rights by the other Keepers of Estates.”

“Pardon me, but Gryffindor and all the other Forefathers have been dead for centuries. They could not have known that there would be somebody who would go after it for the wrong reasons. Shouldn't their bloody negotiations be considered null?”

Harry sighed. “The contract they drew up is still legal and binding. Ravenclaw had it handed down, and re-written by barristers and their successors. Up to this day, it is still most powerful. In Hogwarts, it may matter who becomes Keeper of Estates, but to the rest of England, all that counts is following the papers.”

“Where are the papers then?”

“It's under the care of the Bow Street Runners.”

“And the chambers?”

“Beneath Gringott Mountain.”

“Bloody hell, that's just outside London.” Then Ron paused. “A mountain? How could they have built chambers large enough to house properties beneath a mountain, with doors that can only be opened by keys and not force?”

“Renovations have been made since the first time it was built. It was only when Voldemort became Keeper of Estate that it stopped. Now we know that it was only to prevent it from getting more impenetrable.” Sirius looked at Ron speculatively. “You question such simple structures when all around you, there is proof of man's innovation.”

“Yes, but man's innovation was not as remarkable as it was when the Forefathers were still alive. Pardon me for all the surprising questions.”

Harry laughed. “It is merely the fact that you asked them which is astounding, Ron.”

Ron ignored the insult with a snort. “My brain does tend to work every now and then.” Then he turned serious. “Where are the keys? And why do they sound hard to find?”

“Each Keeper of Estate decides on their dwelling place during their succession. They can hide them in wherever place they wished, and however disguise they believe would keep them safe. The location and form is then revealed to their successor upon their deathbed, or whenever they deem to be the right time.”

“Have you hidden yours, Harry?” Lupin thought to ask belatedly.

Harry nodded once. “It is safe.”

“And Hermione's is not.” Sirius concluded. “I wonder if she has been informed of it when her father died. He might not have had the chance to tell her where he hid it and what form he disguised it in. Has she mentioned anything to you?”

Harry looked at them incredulously. “She was asking about them. She couldn't know.”

Sirius and Lupin shared looks of comprehension.

“This is dangerous,” Lupin observed evidently. “Voldemort might actually know its whereabouts. He could get it before you, who do not even know what you are looking for.”

“We cannot be too sure, Lupin,” Harry countered. “I know Ravenclaw's jewel is a sapphire. That is a start.”

“These jewels are common throughout the world, and may I remind you that they can be in any form. They are not just keys plastered on things, their form might actually be hidden beneath something you would just look at but not see.”

“I wonder whether you are on my side, Sirius,” he mumbled. “I am having enough trouble as it is, without you constantly opposing my solutions.”

“I am merely stating what I believe to be facts, Harry.” Then he gave a profound sigh. “If I am making it harder on you, I am sorry.

In all fairness to him, Harry thought, his godfather did sound apologetic.

Harry waved his silent apology with a curt nod and looked somewhat distracted. Glancing outside his window, he caught a glimpse of a shadow moving across the window from the opposite wing. He tensed as he realized that that part of the manor led to his chambers, and Hermione's.

Not wanting to alert anybody, should it be a false alarm, Harry straightened up abruptly.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I had forgotten an initial concern I wish to address with Hermione. Perhaps we may resume this conversation tomorrow morning before I leave to retrieve the Key.”

At this announcement, Ron and Lupin exchanged looks of surprise. Sirius merely stared at him. He wondered whether his godfather knew more about him than he dared to admit. Nevertheless, he could not dwell on it right now.

First, he wanted to make sure Hermione was safe.

Second...

Just because.

-------------------------

“I am well aware I should not be here, Hermione---your grace---but I simply had to see you were all right.”

Hermione refrained from yawning as she looked at her sudden visitor with hooded lids. Having been awakened from slumber, she still sported sleepy eyes and uncooperative limbs. Thankfully, she had managed to pull on a robe before rushing to open the incessant knocks on her door.

“Do not fret so, William,” she said with compassion, unable to summon a hint of annoyance for her friend who himself sported an ugly bruise right above his brow.

William shook his head, clasped her hands in his in a swift, frenzied motion. “How can I not? You look as if you've lived through hell...”

“I am all right.” She smiled dreamily. “My husband has been giving me excellent care.”

William looked away, a flash of anger covering his face for a split-second before returning to concern.

“You must have your rest, Will.” Hermione noted the fatigue under his eyes and the tension lining his mouth.

He laughed with less sombreness. “As much as I am contradicting my actions, I believe it is you who need rest.”

“As I had assured Harry a while ago, I look worse than I actually feel.”

William shook his head, mournful. “I feel quite shameful that I had not come in time to keep you from being hurt. I am dreadfully sorry.”

“You need not apologize.” She looked at him, her face contorted with confusion. “I did not expect you at all.”

William sighed, leaned back a bit on the chair. “I understand.”

Her sleepiness gone, she leaned forward, her hands still in his. “How did you know where they kept me?”

He merely pondered on the question, shifting ever so slightly in his seat.

“Even now, it makes no sense, however grateful I am that not only did Harry save me again, but he also managed to find me in a place he would not have searched. Did you have anything to do with that?”

William was looking at her intently, battling, it seemed, an inner turmoil that she couldn`t quite fathom. Just when she felt as if he would not answer her question at all, he gave a profound sigh.

“I was there when you got abducted.”

She frowned.

“Do you not recall seeing me across the street that day?” William asked, brows knitted in confusion.

Hermione bit her lip, suddenly remembering what she had forgotten amidst the adventure she had involuntarily gotten herself in.

“I was about to cross the street, but a carriage passed by. The next thing I saw was you, getting in a carriage. It seemed suspicious to me that it was not the ducal carriage, and that you seemed weak somehow. You weren't unconscious, but --- I believe the right word for it was --- dazed.”

Hermione pondered on this, recalling the smell, blanching at the memory of how it had numbed her senses. “But that does not explain the reason you were there, or how Harry got there. Did you look for him when you saw me?”

William shook his head, raising his brows. “I followed the carriage by myself. I wanted to make sure that you were in trouble first before I alerted anybody.” He shrugged his shoulders.

She nodded, if only to keep him talking. Inwardly, she knew that William's actions had been made out of pride. If it had been Harry, she was certain he wouldn't have had second thoughts to alerting anybody, whether he'd had doubt of her condition. But then again, Harry would have just gone straight after her.

That was who he is.

Her knight; her saviour.

William's voice slowly drifted back to her senses.

“When I saw where the carriage stopped, a shady inn that didn't shout even a modicum of respectability, I got suspicious. Somebody went in and then came back in a hurry. The next thing I knew, one of them was carrying you out. You were unconscious already, and it confirmed my fears.” He rubbed his forehead. “I paid a stable boy to send a message to your husband. I don't know why I waited before I went in. A few minutes before he arrived, I came to my senses and went in anyway, hoping I would be able to buy him some time.”

“And you got hurt.” Hermione eyed his bruises and squeezed the hand that held hers. “But thank God you came.”

William chuckled feebly. “Fat lot it helped. You barely made it out.”

Hermione exhaled sharply, annoyed. “You and Harry, with your self-pitying. Frankly, I am a little bit tired trying to make you see reason. All you consider is the fact that I nearly got killed. The reality that I am still alive and well must have escaped you both.”

“Self-pity is not the reason I cannot let it go, Hermione,” came Harry's voice from the doorway.

Hermione looked at him sharply, her face registering surprise at how menacing her husband looked, leaning on the threshold, his arms crossed, and his eyes shooting daggers at William's direction.

She felt William tense beside her, his hand squeezing hers.

“Averley, you are aware of the time, are you not?” Harry asked undisturbed by the discourtesy he was displaying. “I have a perfectly good timepiece that not only tells the hour, but counts the seconds as well. Perhaps you would venture to look.”

Sensing his unwanted presence and the meaning beneath the duke's tone, William rolled his eyes. “I shall visit with you tomorrow morning. Will that be all right, your grace?”

Hermione smiled weakly. “That would be wonderful, Will.”

He nodded, and as if to provoke Harry even more, he pressed a longing kiss at the back of Hermione's hand. “Rest well,” he murmured before rising.

Hermione did not react, not even so much as blush. “Thank you.”

Harry stepped aside for William to pass, but only after sending him a clear, but subtle warning glare.

Closing the door behind him, Harry continued over to the dresser and began to remove his clothes. Hermione continued to stare, unabashed by her husband's current state of undress.

Amidst changing, he caught a glimpse of her, watching him.

“I give you leave to continue your perusal, madam, but with the warning that whatever consequence shall arise, it would be nonnegotiable.”

Hermione glared at him. “You know very well why I am looking at you, my lord. You did not have to be so rude to William. He was just concerned over my condition.”

“No doubt you are flattered by his attention,” he mumbled.

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and then she sighed. If loving him meant she had to deal with the swings of his moods, then so be it. No matter how hard he might become in the coming years, what was she to do but try to soften him?

“Yes, it does flatter me” she admitted slowly, gauging his reaction. Then she inclined her head to the side. “But it is yours that pleases me.”

Surprise flickered over his face.

Replaced by heat that slowly wrapped her from the tips of her toes, to the stomach that suddenly rumbled with anticipation, to her chest that tightened with desire, and to her face that flushed with memory.

With a primordial growl, Harry crossed the room and grabbed her, fitting her lush body against his hardened one. His hands were rough as they roamed over her body, as if just realizing she was flesh and blood and with life.

Revered.

That's how she felt.

And when his lips descended on hers, it was everything she was expecting. The desperate, hungry kiss she was waiting for did not fail to awaken her. Their bodies were together in the barest of contacts, but he kissed her with urgency, as if he couldn't do anything but try to fuse them much closer than they already were.

She tasted his worry, his urgency, just as he tasted her compassion, her sweetness.

Tears misted in her eyes.

He loved her.

She was sure of it.

Harry pulled back, feeling the moisture against his face.

“I love you.”

Her eyes searched his for an answer she already knew in her heart. She lifted her palms and placed it on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart that was rapidly gaining speed, no doubt by the kiss they shared, and further hastened by her confession.

Although, truly, it was not a confession so hard to understand.

“Why?” Harry asked, his voice hoarse.

If he had asked in mockery, not against her but himself, she would have been furious. But seeing the look of total incredulity in his eyes, as if he did not know how she could love a man like him, had her heart bursting with all the answers she knew to give.

But there was only one that explained it all.

“Because I do.”

She could feel him withdrawing; felt it in the way his grip had slacked, the way his eyes turned from hers. But she would not allow him. Even if he shouted to the world that he did not return her feelings, nothing would have induced her to turn away from him. She knew the truth, no matter how he tried to hide it.

“Don't,” he said.

Laying a hand on his cheek, she coerced him to look into her eyes. “I love you.”

“Hate me, Hermione,” he answered instead, frantic. “I can bear hatred from you. Anything, but your love.”

Hermione's eyes moved over his. She slipped away from his embrace, but not far enough from his reach. “All right.”

His eyes glazed over from the compliance. If it were even possible, he looked more pained than when he rejected her love.

His hands, on their own volition, came up to her face, his fingers caressing the cheek that were damp with her tears.

“I hate you,” she whispered as she reached up to press his hand against her cheeks. “I hate that you always rescue me, because it just shows me how much more you've done for me than I have for you. I hate you because you think our marriage has given me a life worse than before, when I know it's the only good thing that has ever happened to me...”

Harry's jaw clenched against her palm, his throat working convulsively as Hermione continued her litany.

“I hate that you were not the arrogant man I thought you were, and because of that, you showed me how wrong I had been to judge you. I hate you for making me feel guilty about hating you, and that you never let me know your past exactly as you know mine.”

Harry closed his eyes against the rush of feelings her words evoked, knew from the very depths of his soul that he was close to revealing what his heart beat, his mind screamed.

“Most of all,” Hermione hiccupped through her tears. “I hate you because you made me fall in love with you, and because you want me to hate you when I know that's the last thing I would ever feel for you again.”

Harry groaned, losing himself in her voice, in her words. He hauled her into his arms and buried his face in the crook of her neck. He pressed soft kisses from there, outlined her jaw with his lips and then finally covered hers.

“If that is how you hate, my darling,” Harry whispered, his breath mingling with hers. “Please hate me forever.”

“I will, my lord.” Hermione sobbed, her arms wrapped around his waist. “I will.”

He captured her mouth with his in a lasting moment of triumph, knowing that his surrender meant both his and her victory. His life and hers were on the brink of danger with each turn they took, each day that passed. If there was one thing he had learned while still lingering in the ghost of his past, it was that each moment counted. Time can never be regained and if he kept losing his with hers voluntarily, regret would come in volumes after.

With all his talk of not putting her in danger by revealing his feelings, he knew what a fool he would be if he kept disregarding his emotions. As he had surmised earlier, bits and pieces of them were already pouring out. Their enemies, weak as they were, were wise. No matter how hard he tried, they would know, if they did not already.

And Sirius was right.

Hermione deserved to know.

He tore his mouth from hers, smoothing her hair from her forehead. “My love,” he coaxed her eyes to open. When they did, he smiled at her. “Lay with me, my darling, and let me show you how much your hatred means to me.”

Her answering smile sent waves of pleasure in his gut. Her wandering hands found the sash on his robe, her fingers sending bolts of electricity through his skin.

For the second time, Sirius was right.

Actions did speak louder.

“Feel my desire for you, Hermione,” he whispered as he trailed kisses on her shoulders, exposed by the robes he had parted ever so slowly. “Feel it, and know it does not even begin to rival my love for you.”

And that was the last coherent words both of them spoke or heard for quite a while.

---------------------------------------------------------------

“What do you think Harry wanted with Hermione,” Ron asked the moment unified silence came over their conversation about the certain merits of Draco Malfoy's marriage to Ginevra Weasley.

Lupin surmised over this for a moment. “He merely wants to make certain she is resting and not being her usual exuberant self.

“Yes, no doubt Hermione is on the brink of insanity, if Harry had his way of keeping her there all day.”

Lupin nodded. “He is a tad bit overprotective when it comes to her. And he says he does not love her. Does he not find it odd to be parading around as a walking contradiction?”

“What do you think, Sirius?”

Sirius straightened from leaning against the balcony door frames.

“If I am not mistaken,” he grinned at them. “I believe Harry merely wanted to ascertain my precision on certain things.”

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Hours later, as Hermione nestled warmly by Harry's side, his fingers stroking the smooth skin of her hips, she sighed.

“Did that mean you love me a great deal?”

Harry laughed, turned on his side and tipped her nose. “Would you care for another demonstration, wench?”

“Wench?” Hermione asked turning on her side as well. “I believe I prefer to be called your `love', or your darling.”

“Those you are, mon haleine.”

Hermione's inside twisted in warmth.

“You are my breath, Harry,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Thanks to you, I am still alive.”

Sobering, Harry looked into her eyes. “Do you really believe that I've done more for you than you for me?”

Hermione nodded.

With a sigh, Harry kissed her lightly before speaking. “You have given more than you think you have, sweetheart. You give me peace.”

At this, Hermione laughed incredulously. At Harry's surprise, she clamped her mouth shut. “I'm sorry, my lord, it's just that your words are very much a contradiction of what has happened to us since we met. Why do you believe I've given you peace when half the time we have been together, you're always chasing after me?”

Harry considered this for a moment and must have realized the other meaning his words revealed. True as they were, they had another side, a side which he should explain to her.

Gathering her in his arms, he recalled what she said earlier as well. “My past is something I wanted to keep from you. Not because I don't trust you with it, but because I did not want you judging me.”

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione whispered. “To judge you would never be something I can do. Not blindly. Not anymore.”

“Yes, but moreover, relaying my past to you would bring back the memories that I long to bury. I judge myself, sweetheart, what more you?”

“I can try to understand, Harry. That, I can do.”

Searching for reassurance in her eyes, he proceeded to tell her of his past with Polly: the stories she'd provided him with when he'd asked of his origin, the times she'd comforted him when he felt he was abusing her hospitality, and the mother she'd been, whom he'd loved more than the birth mother he only came to know and love upon his return. Most of all, he told her of the night she'd been murdered, and his remorse over losing someone without doing anything.

“Oh, my love,” she whispered, gathering him in her arms when he'd moved away from her as if he had some despicable disease. “You believe you let her die, don't you?”

Harry said nothing, just revelled in the feeling of her supporting him.

“It wasn't merely about surviving, was it? When you decided to duel for a living.” She rubbed the nape of his neck with her thumb, soothing him. “You believed that if you learned to protect and be good enough to kill with your skills, you were not only saving her life over and over, but also preventing yourself from feeling that way ever again.”

“That's one way to look at it.”

“Is that also the reason why you didn't want me to love you?”

“And why I didn't want to love you.” Harry sighed, lying on his back. He brought her against his chest. “I was selfish. I did not want to feel anything for you because you thread in danger most of the time. The risk of losing you is so great, now more than ever. I know that if I gave in to loving you, I would be putting myself in the same situation that I had with Polly.”

Hermione nodded in understanding, and God help him if he didn't love her more for it.

Tipping up her chin, he asked. “Forgive me?”

She smiled up at him. “There's nothing to forgive, Harry. I don't care what your reasons are for not telling me right away. You love me enough to risk your heart again. That is more than what I deserve.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

“My place is with you, Harry. To understand what is in your heart is not chore, but a privilege that I intend to appreciate always.”

“How could I have been so fortunate to have you as a wife?”

“I bet you didn't' think that when we got married.”

“Ah, but you are mistaken there. I wanted you from the very first moment I met you. But you had some maggot in that brain of yours when you persisted to ignore me. I wouldn't have married you had I simply wanted to keep you from danger. It was merely an excuse, my love, so as not betray what I really wanted.”

“And what was that?”

“To keep you safe with me,” he kissed her. “...by me,” and again. “...and for me.”

And again.

Hermione smiled, pleased to the tips of her toes. She never expected anything like this from him, not even his admittance of his love. But to hear him say these words to her as if he couldn't say them fast enough was a boon she would forever hold dear.

“Let us sleep, love.” Harry suggested, blowing out the candles. “Tomorrow, I need to travel. I wish to investigate on your disappearance. It has gone far enough, this threat on your life. Would you be all right by yourself for a fortnight?”

Hermione nodded, her eyes closing drowsily. “I am within your walls, husband. I know better than to doubt my safety here.” But she can't help but feel sad that he was leaving so soon after this wonderful revelation. She had thought to spend the next days with him, basking in the glory of loving and being loved with the entire world as witnesses. Moreover, she worried over him. But she did not want to say anything for she knew he would do as he pleased.

It would have bothered her, had it not been for her he was doing this.

“I shall endeavour to return to you as fast as I possibly could.”

Kissing him in the dark, she whispered. “I shall hold you to your promise, my lord.”

Tightening his arms around her, he prepared to settle for the night. Despite how it had started, he found it hard not to grin and be pleased. He'd thought that if he told her how he felt, he'd regret it the moment the words left his mouth. What a fool he had been, and would have been had he not decided to risk it.

It had been turmoil, keeping his feelings locked up. The battle he constantly felt within tired him in more ways than he could count. But as soon as he told her, something inside him was wrenched open, the contents poured out, and nothing but clarity was left for him to bask in.

This was the peace that she gave him.

The peace loving her enabled him to feel.

“Harry?”

Her voice came in the dark.

“Hmm?”

He could feel her eyes on him despite the dimness of the room.

“I hate you.”

He smiled.

“I love you, too.”

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A/N:

Yeah! Hahaha, I finally had this chapter done. I originally planned on Harry saying those three words somewhere near the end of the story, but as some of you had voiced out, it has gone far enough, Harry's denial. I think most of you think that way but only few said it aloud. Anyway, I was sitting in front of my computer and I was thinking how I should end this chapter with a bang. Then I just sat there and continued to type until Hermione suddenly said I love you to Harry and it just clicked how it felt right for him to say the same thing to her. But I didn't want a conventional I love you.

Again, there are lots of things in this chapter. Hopefully, I didn't destroy the mood with all the technical talk in the beginning. Hope you liked it anyway.

Until the next chapter, then.

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