Disclaimer- No, I still do not own or Prophet from Harry Potter.
Chapter 2 The Long Car Ride
"Harry!"
With a quick, fluid motion, she tossed her copy of the Daily Prophet aside and grabbed Harry tight around the neck, pulling him off his feet into the car with her.
"Woa! Hermione!" he yelped, falling headfirst, his trunk left outside. The door shut behind him with a muffled thud as the interior of the car went strangely quiet, the only sound, of course, coming from Hermione.
"Oh Harry! I've been so worried about you! That horrible vacation! I couldn't stop thinking about you, all alone at your Uncle's house!" She squeezed him tighter around the neck, his face pressing against hers cheek-to-cheek as she went on and Harry heard the boot shut somewhere behind him, his trunk now safely stowed.
"Oh, and my parents! The whole time I've been a wreck inside while they lived it up, completely oblivious," she released him finally, holding him at arms length to have a look at him. "But how could I say anything to them? I don't know if they would have let me come back if they knew--," she glanced at the tinted divider that separated them from their security in the front seats for a moment, her expression cynical as she said, "I don't know if they can hear us or not up there, perhaps we'd better not talk about anything too important, hmm?" The look she gave Harry then told him that she meant Horcruxes and Voldemort when she said too important, both subjects he suddenly had the desire to put off indefinitely.
Especially now that he had a proper look at her.
He'd seen her with her hair up before, of course. The Yule Ball had been an eye opening experience for him when it came to how he saw Hermione, but the way she simply returned to normal the next day, like it had never happened, seemed to deaden the lasting effects. In fact, he realized, until his dream a few nights prior, he'd never really considered how she looked that night.
"Mr. Potter, Mrs. Granger," came the driver's voice from the front seat. Without a sound, he'd lowered the partition and was glancing back at them in the rear view mirror. "We're off to London now. Trip won't be more than a an hour or so… traffic and the enchantments on the car permitting-was there anything either of you needed?"
"No-thank you," replied Hermione nonchalantly, as the divider returned to its upright position at the edge of Harry's vision and the car began to move forward.
"It's strange," she said, turning her attention back to him, "The enchantments on this car; it very cocoon-like in here. I didn't even realize I'd stopped outside your Uncle's house until the door came open!"
Harry was barely listening. He couldn't get over how different she looked, sitting across from him in the back seat of the car. She'd been a child of fourteen back in their forth year at the ball, just playing dress up for a special occasion. Now however, she was the lovely young woman in the neat olive suit that offset her tanned complexion and chestnut hair wonderfully.
"Hermione, your clothes…"
"Yes… my clothes," she sighed apathetically, extending her arms in front of her and looking herself over. "Mum took me to the shops when we were in France. She said I needed some proper travel clothes. I suppose she was right, you can't sport trainers and denim everywhere--,"
Harry smirked as he realized that he, as usual, was wearing trainers, jeans and his hooded sweatshirt.
"Oh, I didn't mean--," she said quickly, putting her hand on his arm, "Sorry."
"No, it's all right," he murmured, realizing he was having trouble formulating a proper thought as she unbuttoned her jacket and leaned forward in her seat to remove it. The seats where deep, leather clad affairs, and to get the jacket off, she had to contort in an awkward position with her chest thrust forward and her shoulders pulled back.
Good lord, he thought, has she always been so…
His eyes followed along the shape of her form as she peeled the jacket away and revealed a silk top that hung off her shoulders by thin, delicate lengths of material. Harry had never seen her in anything like this before, and he found he was gritting his teeth as she casually adjusted one of the strips, moving it and the strap of her brazier beneath it aside for a moment to expose the tan-line that was hidden by it.
It might have been the sexiest thing he'd ever seen.
"Are you all right Harry?"
He was staring. Blantanly. He fought the urge to shake his head and thus physically shake off the affects of her managing, "Yeah, fine… sorry."
This is all too much, he thought, his mind racing. What had happened to little, innocent Hermione in her school robes and bucked teeth? Where had the infuriating know-it-all with the frizzy hair and goofy grin disappeared too? And had the back of the car gotten smaller? Hadn't he been a foot or so farther away when he was first dragged inside?
Hair, wait--that was it! If he could just get her talking about something normal, like her change in hairstyle, and keep her from removing any more articles of clothing… maybe he could get his head straight and not make too much of an arse of himself along the way.
"So, have you invested in Sleekeazy's now?" he managed hoarsely, reaching out his hand timidly and spinning a loose tendril that lay curled in front of her left ear with his finger before he realized exactly what he was doing and quickly retracted it, cursing himself silently.
She smiled at him, apparently impressed that he had noticed anything different at all and said, "Actually, I've worked something out that could bankrupt them if I let enough people know about it." She smiled slyly and went fishing in the bag at her feet, procuring her vinewood switch and holding it at the ready
"Observe," she ran the wand over his head, slowly at first, then ending in a firm, almost abrupt motion that made his scalp tingle like the top of his head had fallen asleep.
"There, what do you think?"
The image that stared back at him in the reflection off the ebony divider was smooth, angular--almost sinister. His hair was slicked back and flat against his head as if held down by a large amount of an industrial strength styling gel. He turned from side to side, looking the reflection over from all angles and watched as his face curled in a peculiar smile.
Is she playing games with me?
A moment later however, he realized who the smiling visage in the divider reminded him of, but it was Hermione who spoke first.
"Hmmm, perhaps not. A bit Malfoy-esque, isn't it?"
"I was thinking the same thing," he said, smirking at his reflection and wanting to muss his hair back to the way it was before when Hermione's hand entered the reflected view. She ran the back of her hand slowly down the side of his face, testing the dark stubble along his jaw line.
"I do like the whiskers though," she said happily. Harry turned his head to face her, enjoying the contact of her skin against his. He wanted to grab for her hand, but she pulled it away before he could.
"Oh, thanks," he said, trying not to sound disappointed, "I thought I'd skip the razor for a few days and see what grew."
"Well, it's very becoming. You look much older, more mature."
Harry felt his face flush and his mouth water in anticipation of what she might say or do next, but frustratingly, Hermione leaned back into her seat, crossing her legs and glancing out the window with her hand under her chin. It was possibly the worst thing she could have done. In one motion, she turned away from him, her attention now on the passing scenery, unknowingly thrusting her nylon-clad legs into full view.
Harry's eyes were drawn down to the soft, tanned shape of Hermione's legs as she absently twirled her ankle round and round, watching the world pass outside her window. It was most disturbing, Harry realized, that the same legs that only last year, while presented in a similar manner at Professor Slughorn's holiday party had gone all but unnoticed, now were the focal point of his entire attention.
His insides seemed to have lost all form or function as he just sat there and watched her. It was like he could actually feel his lungs melting, his heart congealing into something pudding-like and feckless; no matter how hard or fast it tried to pump, no matter how vigorously he tried to pull a breath, they where simply no use while she sat across from him, looking, smelling, acting like this.
"Harry, are you sure you're feeling quite well?" she asked, her attention turning back to him.
He tried to answer her; some wishy-washy, Charlie Brown non-admission of guilt. Maybe he could say how hot it suddenly was and how he needed some air. Hermione had just removed her jacket for the same reason, right?
Oh God, her jacket. The image of her taking it off crushed his psyche for a moment, making him wish he'd never remembered it.
As all this happened behind the scenes, Hermione watched his face flush as he shook his head quickly, no words coming from his slack jaw. She raised a confused eyebrow at him, scooting across the leather seat to place her hands around his arm and finding the muscle there straining and shaking with nervous energy.
"Goodness, Harry! Are you all right? You're very tense, is it you're scar?"
She reached out and touched her finger to his forehead, her hand cool and soft. Harry closed his eyes and tried to enjoy the contact, but she moved her other hand to his cheek, holding his face in front of hers and saying, "Harry, I'm getting worried. What's going on?"
I've been dreaming about kissing you and now you're here in front of me, in a skirt that's too short with legs that are too long and shoulders so brown and soft that I can't think straight, he thought to himself as he opened his eyes and found confusion and concern on her face. He realized that he hadn't been this close to her, seen her face so clearly, since his last dream about her when he'd saved her from the troll in the bathroom. Even her expression was familiar. Concern, confusion-but there was something missing.
"Hermione, I've been thinking a lot about someone-someone I shouldn't be thinking about."
"Oh, Harry," she said moving her finger from his scar and cradling his face with both hands now. He waited for her to speak again, their eyes locked together as his anticipation was doubled, then squared, then cubed.
But she said, "I'm sure Ginny is thinking about you too! When this is all over, you'll suss things out between you, don't worry."
It was agony.
Her hands fell down to his and held them in the most platonic way, like she was trying to comfort an old friend, which he supposed, he was.
It made his stomach turn.
Was he really doing this? Throwing away six years of friendship and loyalty over some ludicrous dreams he'd had? So she looked amazing, so what? She was a woman, he was a man, he couldn't help but notice. Hadn't she said he was `fanciable' only last year? Surely she felt the same way abut him. Respect, admiration--but nothing more.
Of course she thought he was talking about Ginny! Hadn't she been there in the common room, a beaming smile on her face as he'd kissed Ginny after the Quidditch match? He and Ginny were perfect together, everyone saw it, even Hermione.
His eyes sank down to their joined hands, Hermione's gripped tightly around his, exposing only the back of his right hand. That was enough though, because there, written in his own blood one hundred times over, he saw it.
I must not tell lies.
To let this pass, without so much as a word about what he'd dreamed, what he'd seen, what he'd felt, it would be a lie. Something had changed inside of him. Something about the way he saw her, about the way he felt about her. It had been torn down and rebuilt and he couldn't undo it.
Besides, there was a war on. What if the car was attacked right now, on the way to the ministry? What if he was killed and never told her what had happened to him. If he never at least put his cards on the table and waited to see how things played out?
Worse, what if it was Hermione that was killed? He would try and protect her, like he always did, but there where things out of his control. If she was killed and never knew how he was feeling…
His mind filled with the memory of her being struck down by Dolohov in the Department of Mysteries and the terror he felt, watching her hit the floor. It broke something open inside of him to watch her like that, he realized. For months his subconscious had stowed the feeling away, deep down into a place the he wouldn't find, at least not while he was awake. But there is only so much room in your dark corners of your mind, and when they're full up, you start to have the strangest dreams…
"No, Hermione," he said with newfound conviction and clarity. "I haven't been thinking about Ginny." He moved his hands over hers and squeezed gently, I must not tell lies now standing out like a beacon from the back of his hand.
"But then--," her eyebrow shot upward again, perplexity on her face.
Harry took a deep breath, held it tightly in his lungs for a moment and then said, "It's you Hermione. I've been thinking about you." He couldn't tell her about the dreams; they somehow seemed to mitigate his feelings. Like if it was just a dream and nothing else, then somehow it wasn't as important.
"Me?"
Harry waited for a sign. Something to tell him that he hadn't just made a huge mistake. It seemed like hours to him, but mere seconds slipped by as she sat across from him, her hands still in his (which he regarded as a good thing), the edges of her lips curling in a peculiar smile.
"Me?" she said again, and then finally, she turned her head away and said under her breath, though still loud enough for Harry to hear, "Goodness, I should have had Mum take me shopping ages ago…"
Harry's nervous energy erupted in a loud laugh, "No, no! It's not your clothes, although, you do look, quite nice." He grimaced as he realized that now, at the moment he was professing his feelings for her, "quite nice" was the best compliment he could come up with. "You've been stuck in my head for the last few days, well, truthfully, for the last few months. I've realized how important you are to me Hermione, how I couldn't do without you, and--,"
He paused as he watched her face color so darkly, he worried she might pass out. Was she happy to be hearing this, or terrified?
"Hermione," he said, as the moment stretched on, "Say something, please. Even if you tell me I'm a fool and I should tuck this back away where it came from… Just say something."
"What can I say to all this?" She ducked her head down, avoiding his gaze, her hands still locked with his. "Oh, why did you have to do this now, Harry?" she growled, her voice suddenly sharp and frustrated.
Harry gripped her hands tighter still, willing her to stay there physically connected to him as he said, "I know, my timing is impeccable as always, but what should I have done? Not said anything? Just let it go and hope it passed?"
"Yes-no-I don't know, Harry! This-this just can't be, alright? You and I are…"
"Just friends?" he finished for her. She looked up at him then, her expression more collected and lucid than before, though she seemed surprised that he knew what she was thinking. "Now, you know that isn't true, Hermione. Friendship takes you so far, but you and I…"
"Yes," she replied, waiting for him to tell her exactly what they were.
"Well, you and I," he looked her deep in the eyes, realizing that there was part of her warming to the situation, like she was over the initial shock and interested in what he had to say.
"You and I," he sighed, collecting himself. Finding the right words for someone with a vocabulary like Hermione's was a daunting task. "I can't tell you exactly what we are Hermione, but I know what I'd be without you."
"And what is that, exactly?" she asked, meeting his gaze now as he realized that the back seat of the car seemed like it had shrunk again. When she spoke, he could almost feel her breath on his face.
"I'd be lost, Hermione. Do you remember in the Department of Mysteries a few years back, when you where hit by the purple flame?"
As if involuntarily, she clenched her hands tight in his. He knew that she had the urge to touch the area across her chest where she'd been hit by Dolohov's curse. Even now, months later, there was still some fear in the memory of that day.
"Yes, I won't forget that anytime soon," she said.
"Neither will I," he swallowed hard, realizing exactly what he was about to do. "Hermione, when I watched you fall that day, something happened to me. I've tried to forget it, tried to ignore it, but all I did was build a dam that shored up what was going on inside me, and now…"
"It broke?" she said softly, now very close to him. The back of the car seemed like the rear seat of a hatchback now.
"Yes, it broke. It's good that it broke though, what if I never said anything about it and something happened to me, or worse to you? I know a lot's gone on since then, what with Ginny and all that nonsense, but I would hate myself if I never told you anything about this."
"I don't know," she said, her voice a whisper in his ears, "But Harry, we can't-we've got so much to do…" but as she spoke, her hands left his and spider-walked up his arms, coming to rest on his shoulders.
"Yes," he whispered back to her, every one of his senses now overrun with her, "We can't…" He put his hands in her lap, his fingers gripping the outsides of her thighs as he leaned in close to her.
Her lips were soft and warm, like he'd imagined they would be over the last few days. He turned his head to the side as the kiss went on, opening her mouth slightly and finding her tongue waiting for his, luring him just inside where she tasted better than anything he'd ever know.
They broke apart a moment later, both of them taking a deep breath and opening their eyes.
"Damn," she said suddenly. Harry's face contorted in surprise, he'd never heard her swear before. "My last hope was that you'd be a really horrible kisser, but…"
She attacked him this time, her fingers gripping his shoulders tightly and pulling his body against hers. Her mouth was hard on his, kissing furiously as her fingers ran down his back, nails clawing roughly as they went.
Harry didn't miss a beat. His left hand slid along the hem of her skirt as his right ran up under the back of her blouse, caressing the soft flesh he found there and then starting towards the clasp of her brazier. Her mouth was almost carnivorous against his; he never imagined she could be like this.
He pressed her tight against him, enjoying the swell of her breasts against his chest as his left hand moved father up her stocking clad leg until suddenly the nylon ran out and there was only soft flesh. He'd expected she was wearing panty hose but…
"We were in the lingerie department," she panted, answering the question he asked when his attention shifted to her bare thigh and he stopped kissing her, "but they didn't have any panty hose, so Mum bought these. I suppose it's a French thing."
He glanced down and saw her leg, tanned like the rest of her, covered in a dark stocking up until just below the black panties she was wearing. The amount of exposed flesh was only a few square inches, but the effect was unreal… He laughed to himself when he remembered how sexy he'd thought the tan-line under her bra strap was and how very insignificant it seemed now.
"Vive la France," he muttered, smiling boyishly and pushing her gently down onto her back. She gripped the back of his head and pulled him down on top of her, wrapping a leg around him and moaning softly as his weight came pressing against her.
He moved his lips to a spot where her neck and shoulder met and slowly thrust his pelvis against her, feeling her push back and wondering if she could feel his hardness throbbing against his zipper. Unfortunately, in the next moment, he knew he'd never have that question answered because the door Hermione's head was pressed against opened and flooded the space with sunlight and the sound of someone gasping loudly
"Good heavens! What are you two doing in there?" said a mortified Professor McGonagall.
Tease, tease, tease! Yes I know, I'm horrible. Next time, Chapter 3 The Meeting.
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