No One But Two

Warning: They will be OOC, most likely. Horrible attempt at the British language/vocabulary, too.

Spoilers: Book seven, duh! Haha, jk. I dunno, 1-6? Whatever… if you're here, then you should've read all six, almost seven, books already! (If you haven't, I strongly advise you to turn your computer off and read the books.)

Summary: They were dating. No one cared. They were too busy with their own lives to notice the emotional turmoil two individuals were going through. With Voldemort, their on going relationship, and their everyday lives, what could they do?

Disclaimer: Do not own. I will return them as soon as I get some restraining orders. (Just kidding!) I own nothing of the Potterverse, nor do I own the wonderful Author who's made it all possible.

Author's Notes: I'm always reading stories on how everyone simply knew that Harry and Hermione were destined to get together one day. But, what if they thought it wasn't suitable? That it just wasn't… right? So, I decided to give my shot at it; to see how everyone's reactions would be if the thought of Harry and Hermione dating just didn't… fit. And, there is some mentions of Voldemort.

There are a few twists and turns in this One Shot, some of which will be obvious considering what I write. (Free Propel bottles to those who spot it out.)

I'm trying to stay in character for these three—mainly two, however. Hermione's character I imagine it to be a woman who would be willing to sacrifice anything—happiness, life, whatever, included—to ensure the safety and happiness in Harry's life. As for Harry, I can see him doing the same; caring for his lover, making sure that no harm comes towards her way, etc. You know what I mean. Harry and Hermione's cannon character. Wink.

Well, with that ramble being said, I hope you enjoy!

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June first, ninety ninety-seven…

After leaving the Hospital Wing yet again, Harry Potter strode towards the Great Hall, hoping there were a few kippers left for dinner. After their latest Quidditch match, Harry had managed to catch the snitch (yet again), but break his arm in the process. When he'd first been transported back to the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey simply took him to `his bed,' as he liked to refer to it. (Ever since the first year, no matter what injury he'd seem to get, even what season or time it seemed to be, he'd gotten the same exact bed. So, recently he decided to label it `his bed,' knowing from experience that no one but him—during his years at Hogwarts, that is—had used that bed.) She wasn't able to find the potion efficient enough to amend his broken bone, but there was one that would cure the major headache he'd been sporting since the beginning of the week. (Ron had been adamant that it was You-Know-Who's doing again, but Hermione reasoned that it was most probably cause by when he bumped his head off the table's edge a few night's ago.)

Currently, because she wasn't able to improve his right arm, he was temporarily in a Muggle style sling, waiting until tomorrow so Madam Pomfrey could stock up on her healing potions again. He opened a door to the Great Hall, and he immediately starting seeking the flash of ginger and brown hair that his friends had. As he got closer, he realized that Ron and Hermione were having yet another argument. He wasn't too sure what it was about this time, but he ignored it for the time being, settling on sitting next to Hermione.

“Honestly, Ron!” Hermione was saying, “Don't you have at least the decency to close your mouth while you eat? Some people are actually trying to study.”

Exasperated, Ron set down his fork and glared at Hermione. “You're the only one that studies during meals. Hell, you're the only one that studies at all!”

“That's not true,” Harry muttered quietly, taking some broccoli that was handed to him by Dean Thomas.

“What?” Ron asked, turning his attention to his best mate.

“I said,” he repeated calmly, “that Hermione is not the only one that studies. There are plenty of people in this school that study. How else would you get good grades, anyway? Cheating can only get you so far. Three minutes before the test actually starts, if any at all.”

He nodded, but he didn't seem too convinced. “But she's the only one who studies all the time,” he muttered quietly, picking his fork up again and stabbing his chicken. “Sometime's I wonder if she'll ever even get a boyfriend.”

Hermione blushed slightly, stealing a glance at Harry, but said nothing on the subject. She turned a page in her book (Hogwarts, A History, Harry found out) and took a bite from her mashed potatoes.

Harry decided to stay quiet and kept on eating his dinner, occasionally chatting with a few friends.

“So, Harry,” Seamus said, grinning, “I heard you're free. I heard Susan Bone's grew up nice, and she's taken a small fancy to you.”

“I've already got a girlfriend, Seamus,” he said sternly. “I've already told you. I honestly don't know when you'll get it through your thick skull—even though I've told you countless times, but Hermione and I are dating.”

Seamus, Ron, and Dean all started laughing. Even a few girls joined in. “Oh, you'd be barking if you did that!” Dean exclaimed. “Why would you and Hermione ever date? You two are more brother and sister than husband and wife!”

“But she is my girlfriend,” Harry insisted. “Why won't you believe me?”

“Harry,” Hermione's soft voice sounded, “please don't press the issue further. If they can't handle the fact, then you should ignore the subject all together.”

“See!” Seamus called out, pointing a finger at Hermione. “They're not like siblings; Hermione is more motherly to Harry than anything! She's always comforting him, giving him hugs, even occasionally kissing him on the cheek or forehead! Only mothers do that!”

“Don't your girlfriends do that?” Harry questioned, starting to get angry.

“No,” the three said in unison. “We shag and snog, and that's about it,” Seamus answered with a grin.

Harry forcefully ran a hand through his hair (the one that wasn't broken), stood up, and stormed out of the hall, forgetting his half-eaten treacle tart. His main goal was to get to the Room of Requirement so he could let his anger out in peace. What a stupid oxymoron, Harry thought, smiling despite his mood.

Meanwhile, back in the Great Hall, Hermione shot the three boys a hard glare and stormed off to find her fuming boyfriend. Her first thought was to go to the Quidditch pitch, that perhaps he was flying his anger off, but then he rationalized against it, knowing that he wouldn't be able to fly properly without his right arm's assistance. Her next thought was to go to the Gryffindor Room, but then she knew that he'd definitely be somewhere else. Dinner ended in five minutes, after all. But then, she knew the one place that Harry could take his anger out no matter where he was. The Room of Requirements.

Setting off on a sprint (she never was athletic, so she wasn't too fast); she set off to calm Harry down.

A few minutes later, she finally found the door that hid Harry. Opening it cautiously, Hermione was met with Harry, sitting on a chair in an empty room, facing her, an odd look etched on his features.

“Were you waiting for me?” she asked quietly, closing the door behind her and kneeling in front of him.

He blushed, nodding feebly, “Yeah, sort of. I knew you were going to arrive sooner or later, so I decided to wait for you.”

She smiled, kissing the palm of his hand, just gazing into his eyes.

They were now in their Seventh year of Hogwarts, and they had yet to defeat Voldemort. At first, shortly after the Headmaster's death, Harry wanted to drop out of Hogwarts and search for the horcruxes. He was persistent, telling Ron and Hermione that it wasn't their duty as his friends to go along with him, but they were stubborn, saying that they wanted to help Harry on his search. After countless nights of insomnia, he finally agreed.

One night, while sitting in Grimmauld Place after just witnessing another nightmare, Harry wondered how much longer his life would last. He had just turned seventeen not even two weeks ago, a legal adult in wizarding standards, but still a child in Muggle terms. Hermione had come down shortly (Harry sometimes wondered if they had a connection—almost like one he had with Voldemort, but not strictly so), and they'd talked for hours.

He'd confessed about how he was scared, scared that he wasn't going to be able to make it. He'd told her the Prophesy, something she hadn't taken lightly, and he'd told her that he didn't want to die at this tender age. He wanted to learn how to live; he wanted a normal life, if he even knew what that was anymore. And most of all, he wanted to find love. He told her about his infatuations with Ginny and Cho, and about how he hadn't even gone further than snogging (which, he admitting, he'd barely even done with the two) and how he didn't even know if he was in love or not.

Somewhere in the middle of the conversation, Hermione somehow convinced Harry that the three should stay at Hogwarts. That they could obtain useful information there, and train even more.

“Honestly, Harry,” Hermione persuaded, “think about it. If we just left, and Death Eaters attacked us, do you think we'd possibly be able to survive with sixth year spells? No. We—me included—don't have the proper knowledge, and if we stayed in Hogwarts, studying everything we possibly could, we could have even a minuscule chance of winning.”

He sat there in thought, seemingly considering the idea. “But what about school work? How would we be able to manage everything? And then you'd get Head Girl, and Ron would probably get Head Boy--” Hermione interrupted.

“Don't worry about that,” she reassured. “I could always turn it down.”

“But being Head Girl was your dream, Hermione!” Harry retorted. “I don't want you to give it up because you want to save my pathetic arse once more.”

“Language,” Hermione scolded. “But Harry, you're not pathetic, and I want to be there with you to fight Voldemort.” Before Harry could speak, however, Hermione held up a hand. “Yes, I know, the prophesy says you—and only you—must fight Voldemort in the end, but that doesn't mean I can't help you to get to Voldemort.”

He nodded mutely, agreeing.

He wasn't sure who initiated it first, but the next thing they knew, their lips were together in a soft, tender kiss. It wasn't as awful and wet as the kiss he shared with Cho, nor nearly as `loud' as the one he first shared with Ginny. This was quiet, soft, nice. Once they pulled apart, they'd agreed that they did take a slight fancy to each other. After that, they'd agreed to try their new relationship out, and if it didn't work, they would still have their strong friendship to rely on.

Now, Harry got off the chair so he was nearly eye-to-eye with her. (Though she was still a few inches short of his five nine, she enjoyed the four-inch height difference.) He gave her a soft kiss.

His voice was soft, and although she was just a few inches away from his face, Hermione had to strain her ears to hear him properly. “I don't know why no one believes me. I just don't…”

She put her arms around him in a comforting hug. “Don't worry Harry, just ignore them. If they think we're not right for each other, that's their opinion. No one's opinion matter's except ours.”

He nodded. “You're right.”

“And I always am,” she whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.

After a few minutes of kneeling in each other's embrace, Harry stood up, offering Hermione his hand. She smiled and took his hand, dusting off some dust from her skirt. The room changed from the plain white room to a comfortable room with a lush couch, so Harry led her to there. She sat and Harry lay down, resting his head on her lap. She offered him a smile and started running his hand through his soft, unruly hair.

After a few minutes, Harry spoke.

“Hermione?” murmured Harry, absently taking his glasses off.

“Yes?”

“What would you do if I died?”

Her fingers stopped moving. “W-why would you ask such a horrendous question?” she stuttered, her eyes fixed on Harry's. Without his glasses, he looked younger somehow, more innocent without the circle taped spectacles.

His vision was blurry, so Harry couldn't read her expression, but he still knew what she was feeling. “I don't know. There's a chance that I could die, and you know it.” He closed his eyes. “Really, what would you do?”

“I would be lost,” she answered truthfully. “I wouldn't know what to do without you. There wouldn't be any reason for me to live… No reminders… Nothing…”

His mind started racing, forming ways to ensure that Hermione would do nothing to harm herself. A few conclusions came to mind, but he knew Hermione wouldn't like them anyway. But, his curiosity got the better of him, and he asked.

“What… what if you had a child… my child to be specific?” he asked quietly, so quietly Hermione almost couldn't hear him.

She gasped, her eyes widening in surprise and slightly horror. He really thinks he's going to die! Hermione thought. “W-why… w-where is this coming from?”

He sat up abruptly, his uncovered eyes gazing intensely at Hermione. “Please, Hermione, just answer me! What if you had some reminder of me? You yourself said you'd be lost, and I don't want you to harm yourself. And… I'm nearly sure that I won't survive.” He was now nearly whispering, “I don't want to… but I'm ready, if it means I can get rid of him…

“Just… think about, Hermione,” he whispered, taking her hand in his and intertwining them. “I know you probably feel like you're under immense pressure, and that if you say no, that I'll be mad. But I won't. It doesn't matter, I would give away everything, I don't care about anything anymore. The only thing I care about is you, Hermione, and your well-being. And I'd be wiling to do anything—and I mean anything—to make sure nothing would happen to you.”

She nodded feebly, feeling the weight of tons on her shoulders. “If… if I have this child, will you promise to come back to me?” she asked quietly, gazing at him with teary eyes.

He held his head low. “You know I can't promise that. But I can guarantee you that I'll try my best.” She felt a tear drop onto her hand. She gasped; Harry never cried! He was always the strongest of the three, keeping his emotions in check, or showing no emotion at all when everyone else was emotional. Sometimes she'd even break down for a good cry. But not Harry, no, he never cried. So when she saw, and felt for that matter, the tear, she instantly broke down, knowing that what Harry was going through was just as hard as it was for him, her.

She felt tears stream down her cheeks, and she enveloped Harry into a hug. “Oh Harry, don't think about that, please. Please, don't think like that. I can't stand it if you're thinking process is so morbid.”

He nodded, his arm wrapping tightly around her, his own tears dropping on to her crisp blouse. They cried in each other's arms for a good ten minutes, neither facing the fact that one could die, one emotionally, the other physically.

Pulling back slightly, Harry looked into her tear-filled eyes (best as he could without his glasses, anyway). Reaching for the glasses, he put them on the bridge of his nose, smiling softly when he was able to see her in clear focus. He leaned in and gave her a chaste kiss, lingering for a bit longer than he usually did.

She was the one who pulled back, resting her forehead on his. “Are you sure you're willing to do this?” Hermione asked.

He smiled fondly at her; usually, it was the man who asked the woman if they were ready to be intimate. But not with Hermione, apparently, he thought amusedly. “I should be asking you that, love. I'm going to be impregnating you,” he whispered.

“I know,” she told him just as softly. “But I just wanted to make sure you were ready for this. I know I am… I'm willing to sacrifice anything—including my virginity—for you.”

“And I for you,” he said, kissing her softly.

Pulling back, she asked, “So you've never…”

He shook his head, “Never. You'll be my first, too.”

He kissed her tentatively, giving her a chance to change her mind if she wanted to. And although they'd kissed many times before, they felt as if it were their first kiss (with each other that is) all over again: soft, and full of love and passion. Their lips ventured each other's faces, necks, and bodies.

Soon, they were lost in the throws of passion.

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“What's wrong with Harry?” Dean asked while walking towards the Gryffindor Common Room. Seamus shrugged while Ron and Neville lagged behind.

“He just wants people to think he's off the market,” Seamus answered nonchalantly. “You know, so all of the bird's out there will want him more.” He grinned, “The sly bastard.”

“Seamus, you might want to shut it,” Ron muttered, saying the password (“Pumpernickel”) and plopping onto the couch. “They really are dating… I just don't want to fully acknowledge it yet.”

“Mhmm,” Seamus nodded, feigning interest. “That's what he told you, right? Answer me this, Ron: have you ever seen them kiss in public? What about hold hands? Have you ever even seen them act as if they have feelings for each other in public?” he questioned. All he needed was Ron's silence to know he was proved wrong.

“Seamus,” Neville spoke up for the first time, “they don't need to act as if they're a couple. If they say they are, we should take their word for it. They're our friends, we should trust their word.”

“Neville, you don't know what you're talking about,” Dean muttered, staring at Lavender Brown. “See, now let me show you, boys, how to actually have a girlfriend.” He walked up to her, turned her around quickly, and gave her a quick kiss.

“Oh my, Thomas,” she gasped. “Good kisser!”

He nodded, walking away. “See, and that's how you show a girl you fancy her.”

“You fancy me?” Lavender asked.

“It's just for testing purpose, love,” he answered sweetly.

“Still,” Ron muttered. He was suddenly sorry that he hadn't said anything during dinner or during the months Harry and Hermione had been dating. “Why don't you two just… stop talking to them about their relationship?”

“Oh, going all motherly on the two of them now?” Seamus shook his head. “Why don't you just pick up Granger like you wanted to?”

“I don't fancy her,” Ron insisted.

Seamus just nodded faintly. “Sure,” he said, extending the “u” for a ridiculous amount of time.

“Look,” Ron said, getting up, “I'm going to sleep. I'll se you tomorrow.”

Once he got up the stairs, he noticed that Harry's bed was untouched. And he knew Hermione wasn't in the girls' dormitories. They were somewhere, together. And because of that little fact, Ron gave a small smile.

0—0—0—0

They were walking along the corridors, hurrying to get to their first class (Transfiguration) on time. When they'd woken up, they realized that they only had ten minutes to get ready for their first class. Forgetting about showers, they'd rushed out of the Room of Requirements and raced toward the Gryffindor Tower to brush their teeth and cast a proper cleaning spell on their bodies. (They had to admit, though, it was a hell of a lot faster than taking a shower.)

“Do you think I, err… you know?” Harry asked quietly.

“Well, you did say the charm,” Hermione answered. “It must've worked, I mean, saying the conceptive charm…”

His head was transfixed as he talked to her, blushing all the while. “Yeah…” He paused for a moment. “You know… it wasn't bad… it was enjoyable.” He smiled, making her blush this time around.

“At least for you it was,” Hermione mumbled. “I was in pain.”

His head shot up in alarm. “What? How? Oh God, Hermione, I'm so sorry!” he apologized. “Tell me what I need to do and I'll fix it. I'm so sorry! It was my first time and I know I was a little slow and clumsy but—”

She shushed him by putting a finger to his lips. “There's no need to apologize, alright? It's painful for a girl when she loses her virginity, but eventually it gets better.”

“O-oh, a-alright,” he stuttered.

She gave him a small smile, patting his arm. “Don't worry; I'll be in a lot more pain in a few months from now.”

He grimaced again. “I'm sorry,” he murmured. “I… need to go to class now… I'll see you later.”

Sighing, she quickened her steps to catch up with him. Her face was serious as she spoke to him. “Remember, Harry, you promised.” Her lips pursed in mild anger, “I know what's going on in that head of yours, Potter. And I don't like it one bit. If you think you're going to die, then I'm going with you!”

He sighed, holding her by the shoulders. “No, see, that's the problem! I don't want you to die! That's why I got you pregnant!” He sighed in frustration, running his left hand through his hair. “That's why I did it. Incase I die!” His voice was getting quieter, since students were staring to roam. “I can't trust anyone else… because I don't care about anyone else.” He was now whispering, “Don't you see, Hermione? I think I'm in love with you.”

Tears were starting to well up in her eyes. “I… I love you too,” she whispered, going on her toes to give him a chaste kiss. Before she could complete her task, however, a student bumped into her accidentally. It was someone she recognized as Susan Bones, the polite seventh year Hufflepuff.

Sighing, they both left for their morning class. It didn't matter if they hadn't proclaimed their love with an exuberant, over the top speech. As long as they had each other—even if it might've been for the moment—they were going to enjoy every last second of it. With each other. Voldemort be dammed.

Author's Notes:

I think this is the longest One Shot I've ever written—in one sitting, nonetheless.

I think the characters weren't too Out of Character, but knowing me, I've just type-raped them all.

So, are you all going to see the movie tomorrow? I know I am! And the book! OMG! Not too long until we reach Judgement Day. Willing to talk about the movie and/or seventh final book? Send me a PM! (Err, sorry, shutting up now.)

Reviews are welcome, as are flames. Come one come all.

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