Disclaimer: Don't own them. Trust me, you'd know it if I did! (Mutters Litigatum Nullenvoidicus spell, just in case.)
Spoilers: None. This story was completed before the release of Deathly Hallows. As I am unwilling to rewrite the story in order to make it canon-compliant, it must be considered AU. **shrugs** I prefer my universe anyway.
Summary: Harry makes an accidental discovery that throws his world - and his hormones - into a tailspin.
Friday, March 7
Harry was convinced he was going crazy.
In the wake of his truncated fantasy, he'd spent the rest of the morning running errands, doing anything and everything he could possibly think of to keep himself physically occupied and mentally distracted. But after lunch, instead of returning to his office, which he now facetiously thought of as "the scene of the crime," he'd opted to follow up with Hagrid, alerting Remus that he'd be traveling north and spending time with the former Hogwarts gamekeeper. Hagrid had provided him with an accurate, if colloquial, assessment of the giants' needs and viewpoints, and the two had spent the next day and a half working out a strategy that would hopefully mesh the giants' internal cultural hierarchy with a viable electoral process, providing an effective governmental infrastructure.
It hadn't been until this morning, over coffee and eggs, that Hagrid had begun to ask personal questions, specifically about Ron's new job, Remus and Tonks, and others from Hogwarts. But it wasn't until he'd asked after Hermione that Harry had decided it was time to leave. He'd wrapped up the remaining loose ends in their strategy, made a half-hearted promise of getting together again soon, then had beaten a hasty retreat, making a quick stop by Remus' office to deliver his report in person before heading home.
Unfortunately, home was the last place he really wanted to be because everywhere he looked he was reminded of Hermione. When the war had ended and the Order of the Phoenix officially disbanded until such a time as they may be needed again, Harry had found Grimmauld Place too large and too depressing to continue living there.
In the first move that truly defied not only wizarding convention but wizarding law, Harry had deeded number twelve to Remus. Hermione had been instrumental in this endeavor, working tirelessly until she'd found a precedent whereby an exception had been made to the statute which had prohibited magical creatures from owning real property. Once the paperwork had been filed, Hermione and Tonks had used Harry's status and financial backing to hire a renovator who had gutted the house, removing all traces of its previous Dark owners, and made it livable. The only remaining reminder of the former occupants were the photographs of Sirius which adorned several places of honor on the walls.
With Hermione's encouragement, Harry had moved on his desire to rebuild his parent's house at Godric's Hollow. She'd also contributed to the interior design and there wasn't a single room in the house which hadn't benefited from her surprisingly feminine touch. The color choices in the lounge had been his, but it had been Hermione who'd softened his selections of furnishings with contrasting accent pillows and ambient lighting. Hermione had been instrumental in making his kitchen both practically efficient and aesthetically pleasing. And it had been Hermione who'd found the exquisite brass bed which he now slept on in the master bedroom at an antique shop in Camden, bargaining with the owner until she'd not only gotten the bed for practically a song, but had also gotten him to throw in a night table and bureau for only two hundred quid more.
But the piece de resistance, Hermione's crowning achievement, now hung in his study. Buried deep in the half-ruined attic of the Potter's Godric's Hollow home, behind boxes of antique bric-a-brac and under an old Potter family tapestry, Hermione had discovered an unfinished portrait - one which she had vowed to have completed. In true Hermione fashion, as he'd later learned from Tonks, Hermione had searched for weeks until she'd located the retired portrait artist, now a fisherman on the Canary Islands. He'd remembered the portrait and the unfortunate circumstances which had terminated the subjects' patronage. It apparently had taken little convincing to get him to agree to finish the portrait, and with the use of a Pensieve, he'd been able to endow it with the magical qualities it was sorely lacking.
It had become Harry's most prized possession, this portrait of his parents: his mother seated in a chair, his father standing beside her with his hand on her shoulder and an infant version of himself playing at her feet.
Yes, Hermione would do anything for him.
It was the comfort of this portrait which he now sought, teacup in hand, as he entered his study. Ron had expressed doubts when Hermione had given Harry the portrait as a housewarming gift, wondering if it wasn't in some way similar to having his own personal Mirror of Erised at his disposal. But Harry had disproved that speculation. While in his first weeks of ownership, he'd spent an inordinate amount of time in his study getting to know his parents, he'd found the newness had eventually worn off and a comfortable familiarity had settled into their "relationship."
Plus, Harry had also come to realize that, while it was nice to have even the smallest piece of his parents to converse with, they were limited in their knowledge and their understanding. They could only imagine what he'd been through since their deaths, and he found their perspective somewhat narrow. Frozen for all time in their portrait, they would ever remain perpetual twenty-somethings and, as a grown man, Harry was now their peer. He found himself seeking advice more often from Remus, who had the wisdom of age and experience.
As he kicked his study door closed, his father greeted him affectionately. "Hallo, Harry."
"Evening, Dad. Mum."
He placed his teacup on the desk and sank into the chair, then removed his glasses and placed his head in his hands with a sigh. Not since Voldemort had invaded his dreams had he felt this emotionally out of control, and it unnerved him. Perhaps the most troublesome part of the whole situation was the fact that he couldn't get Hermione's body out of his head -- his best friend's body, which had heretofore remained hidden beneath school robes, Muggle clothes and business attire. In all the years he'd known her, he'd never once wondered what she'd looked like unclothed - not even when they'd been on the run together day and night for months on end.
That had been Ron's prerogative.
Ron had been the one who fancied her. Ron had been the one who'd been constantly jealous of any attention paid her by other blokes. Ron had kissed her, had held her …
Ron had kissed her.
An unexpected bubble of jealousy rose in his throat.
Bugger. Bugger. Bugger.
"Are you all right, son?" His father's voice was gentle in its concern.
"Long week," he muttered, not raising his head lest his parents see the heat coloring his cheeks.
Ron had snogged Hermione. He'd caught them in the act on several occasions. His mind dredged up those memories, then tortured him with images of Hermione's hand clutching Ron's long red hair, the plump redness of her kiss-ripened lips which parted around the soft moans she'd made as Ron had pressed kisses to her neck, the flush of arousal on her skin …
He wondered what else they'd done … how far they'd gone … what other sounds she made …
His head dropped to the desk. He was definitely going insane. This was Hermione!
He heard himself fuss as his mother snatched him mid-crawl away from the edge of the portrait. "You're working yourself too hard," Lily offered distractedly. "Maybe you need a holiday."
Harry groaned. "Now you sound like Remus."
"And that's a bad thing?"
"No." Harry lifted his head and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He could feel a headache brewing behind his eyes, and he'd end up needing a potion before the evening was over. "But there's too much at stake right now. I can't afford any time off."
"Overworking yourself isn't going to help your cause, dear," his mother chided gently.
"I know that," Harry snapped, "but I'm finding life out of the office not very relaxing at the moment." Instantly he regretted his outburst and hastened to apologize. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to take my bad mood out on you."
"It's all right, son. We're just concerned about you."
"I know." Sighing, he pushed away from the desk, tilting the chair back until he could prop his crossed ankles on the corner of the desk, then leaned back until he was almost horizontal, his forearms resting across his eyes to block out the offending candlelight. "It's just … I wish I could explain …"
Part of him illogically adhered to the notion that if he didn't give his emerging inappropriate feelings for his best friend voice - if he didn't acknowledge them out loud - then they wouldn't be real. Talking about them leant them credence and he was reluctant to give his surreal thoughts a semblance of reality.
"You know we'll be here to listen, Harry, whenever you're ready to talk."
"Thanks, Dad," he whispered. "That means a lot to me."
He felt the telltale tickle of his outer wards dropping, and he sighed again, wondering who was invading his privacy. Only Ron, Hermione, Remus and Tonks had immediate access to him, so it had to be one of those four. He suspected it was Ron, fresh from the day's practice and ready to regale him with tales of life on the pitch. As he heard the snick of the door latch, he wasn't expecting the soft voice, laced with amusement, which teased, "So this is what you do with your free time, Mister Potter."
Harry's feet hit the floor and he sat up with a rush. "Hermione!"
"You were expecting …?"
Harry shook his head to clear the cobwebs and grabbed for his glasses. "Ron actually. He was teaching the team a new defensive move today, and I figured he'd be primed to share either his success or his failure."
"Ah. Well, I'm many things, but a Weasley isn't one of them. Good evening, Misses Potter. Mister Potter."
"Hello, Hermione."
Harry chuckled. "No, you're definitely not a Weasley. You don't have the hair for it." Attempting to appear as if everything was normal, he rose and walked around the desk, his arms opening in invitation. Hermione's quick smile told him that the invitation was a welcome one before she stepped into his embrace, her cheek coming to rest on his shoulder, her nose nuzzling into his neck where she sighed contentedly, sending a shiver up his spine.
Just act normal.
Suddenly she inhaled. "Why is it that you can still smell so good after a long day?"
Harry's nose brushed through her hair, the scent of her coconut shampoo filling his nostrils. "It's part of the Hero Code of Conduct… I can't smell bad. Says so on my membership card."
Hermione giggled and gave his waist a squeeze, then lifted her head, her brown eyes dancing with mirth. "Obviously the conferring body never experienced Potter After Quidditch."
"Obviously those who have experienced it don't appreciate it for its rugged manliness."
"Funny … those aren't the words I would use to describe it."
"Then I guess it's a good thing no one asked your opinion … not that that ever stopped you before." Harry grinned broadly, taking any sting out of his words.
Hermione tried to look indignant. "Are you implying I'm pushy?"
"Certainly not!" Harry waited a beat before adding, "I prefer 'single-minded.'"
"Semantics, you git," she sniffed. "Actually, I stopped by because I have a proposition for you, but given your attitude I may change my mind."
Harry waggled his eyebrows. "Ooooh, you're propositioning me? This is turning out to be a good day."
"Stop," she laughed as she smacked him lightly on the chest. "This is serious."
"Fine!" He glanced up at the ceiling. "I'll put on my serious face." He looked back down at her, his brow creased in a frown. "How's this?"
Hermione glared at him. "You're mocking me."
"No, I'm not. I'm sorry … it's been a long week." The excuse sounded just as lame as it did the first time.
"Apology accepted. I wanted to invite you over for dinner."
"Dinner? When?"
"Sunday night."
Harry shrugged his shoulders. "I have no plans." Hermione flushed and she began to fidget in his embrace. Loosening his arms, he asked, "Is there something else?"
"You won't be the only one coming."
Alarm bells went off in his head and he released her, then took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. "All right, Miss Granger, what did you do?"
"I'll have you know, I didn't do anything … yet."
"Why don't I like the sound of this?"
"It's nothing bad … trust me."
"I do trust you." Harry's voice held such sincerity that Hermione flushed again.
"Thanks, Harry," she whispered. Drawing a deep breath and straightening her shoulders, she began. "I had a very interesting client today."
"Do tell."
She frowned at him. "I will if you stop interrupting. Anyway, his name was Jean Claude Bonaccord, and he was at the library requesting research on his ancestor, Pierre, and his attempt to introduce legislation granting trolls Being status."
Harry scratched his chin, trying to recall the name. "Pierre Bonaccord … he was the first Supreme Mugwump, wasn't he?"
"Yes!" Hermione beamed. She was always pleased when Harry displayed an admirable retention of facts. "It's been centuries, but he's interested in revising the defunct legislation and trying to push it through again. I figured since you're the Department of Magical Integration, you might have a vested interest in hearing what he has to say, so I invited him and his wife to dinner."
Harry snorted. "I'm not the entire department, you know."
"No, but you've accomplished a great deal since you and Remus accepted your positions. And since you've had personal experience with trolls, you seemed the best choice."
Harry nodded his head distractedly. While trolls weren't on their immediate agenda, it would be beneficial to include them. Not all trolls were stupid, troublesome creatures … some races of troll could be taught skills and had been used in security fields before. "A working dinner, then? All right," he agreed. "It certainly couldn't hurt to hear the man's ideas. What time do you want me there?"
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione launched herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck. "I knew I could count on you!" After holding him for a moment, she stepped back, a genuine smile lighting her face. "How's seven o'clock?"
"I'll be there."
"And it isn't just a working dinner. I want you to relax and enjoy yourself. Jean Claude is such a pleasure to talk to! He's very knowledgeable and tells the most wonderful anecdotes. I promise, you won't regret it."
"I never do," he teased as he rubbed his stomach. "Can I bring anything?"
"Wine?"
"Wine it is."
"Great."
"Are you doing anything for dinner this evening?" Harry asked, trying to hide the nervousness that leant a note of expectancy to his voice.
"Sorry, I promised my parents I'd spend the evening with them. Would you like to come along? Mum always makes plenty to eat."
Harry was torn between disappointment and relief that she had a prior commitment. "Thanks, but I know you don't get to spend as much time with them as you'd like. I don't want to intrude."
"You know you're never an intrusion. They're always asking after you, and they'd love to see you."
"Thanks for the offer … maybe another time. But please tell them I said hello."
"All right … if you're sure." She leaned up and kissed his cheek. "Thanks again, Harry. Goodbye!" she called to the portrait as she turned to walk out of the study. Harry's eyes followed her, his intense gaze drifting from the top of her head, where her chignon perched precariously, to her hips, which swayed gently under her work robes with each step she took. His eyes lingered on her lower back, at that inviting, mysterious spot where he knew her tattoo lay hidden from his questing scrutiny.
Stop it, Potter!
She paused at the doorway and called over her shoulder, "See you Sunday night!" before she disappeared and he felt his wards reset.
Harry scrubbed his forehead with his hand before running it back through his hair. He was in so much trouble. Even a few minutes alone with Hermione had left him aching for more. How in Merlin's name was he going to survive an entire evening with her?
Saturday, March 8
"Can I see it?"
"Can you see what, Harry?" she asked absently, her attention riveted to the book in her lap. She sat curled in her favorite squashy armchair in the corner of his lounge, the one he'd placed there along with a special reading lamp just for her.
"Your tattoo." He was relieved that his voice didn't crack or quiver.
Her eyes widened as her head snapped up, and she regarded him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. He shuffled his feet nervously under her scrutiny but when she realized that he wasn't going to recant his request, she sighed. Carefully marking her place, he laid the book aside on the floor.
His heart rate sped up as she unwound her legs from the chair and stood, then walked slowly towards him. "Why do you want to see it?"
"Because … because I …" he stuttered like a schoolboy.
"Why, Harry?"
"I just need to. Please, Hermione?"
She shrugged and nodded. "All right."
She stopped an arm's length away from him, then smiled an enigmatic little smile as her hand drifted down to the button on her jeans. His eyes never left her fingers as she popped the button through the buttonhole, teasingly drawing the zip down with the other hand. He could just see the lacy top of her plain white knickers peeping out where the two sides of her jeans opened; his breath caught in his throat.
… anything for you …
As her thumbs hooked in the waistband and her hips shimmied in a provocative wiggle, he licked his parched lips. The dull ache in his own jeans suddenly intensified. His eyes rose to meet hers and she winked at him before her shimmy produced the desired results and her jeans and knickers lowered over her hips. He found himself circling behind her, his eyes glued to her lower body. He stopped directly behind her as her jeans and knickers slid to her knees, the hem of her shirt just covering the crest of her bum.
He felt himself harden.
As his hand reached out to lift her shirt, she asked, "What else do you want to see, Harry?"
His hand froze in midair as she slowly spun to face him, the jeans binding her knees together vanishing with a whispered spell. Reaching out, she took his hands in hers and placed them on her bare hips, under her shirt, making him even more painfully aware that his best friend stood before him with no knickers on. She then slid her hands up his arms and took a step closer, allowing his hands to slide along her smooth skin, to drift around her hips and down to rest on the cheeks of her bum.
He couldn't resist giving them a little squeeze.
Her hands paused briefly on his chest before they moved to her shirt buttons. She was so close that her warm breath tickled his chin. "What else do you want to see, Harry?" she repeated as she opened the first button.
"Everything," he whispered with a gulp.
"Good answer," she whispered back as the next button slipped through its buttonhole. He glanced down to where the placket of her shirt parted - he could just see a hint of cleavage, a peek of white lace. He swallowed his groan as his hands gave her bum another reflexive squeeze of encouragement.
She made quick work of the rest of the buttons, then raised herself up on tiptoe so that her lips were close by his ear, her lace-covered breasts pressed to his chest. With breathy puffs of air, she said, "I want to see everything, too."
He was so hard he hurt.
"Ooh," he groaned as one of her hands slid into the hair at the nape of his neck and the other dragged up his arm, then down his chest to rest over the bulge in his jeans, pressing him gently with her fingertips. "Hermione," he whispered on a breath as her lips just barely brushed his, the pressure of her hand in his hair drawing him closer while the pressure of her hand on his erection making him crazy with need.
"Harry," she answered softly.
His eyes closed as he waited for her kiss.
"Harry …"
"Harry!"
Harry's eyes snapped open, then automatically slammed shut again as bright sunlight assaulted his sleep-blurred vision. He ran a hand over his face, knocking his glasses askew, then cracked one eye open again to find Ron's freckled face hovering over him.
"Hey … wake up, you lazy arse! We have Quidditch tickets with our names on them!"
Damn! It had only been a dream!
Harry groaned and tried to roll away from Ron's annoying cheerfulness only to find his face smashed into a cushion. Bugger! He must have fallen asleep on the sofa last night.
"Go on," he muttered grumpily, his voice muffled by the upholstery. "Leave me alone!"
But Ron merely took a seat in Hermione's chair. "Rough night?"
"No more than usual." Harry rolled onto his back again and ran a hand through his hair, mentally hexing Ron with every disfiguring curse he could think of.
Ron waved his hand at the teacup. "I thought you had a better tolerance for Earl Grey than that."
"Very funny." Harry's voice was raspy, making him sound all the more surly. "Go bother someone else."
"Can't. It's my sworn duty, as your best mate, to give you my exclusive attention. Besides, the Wasps match starts in a little over an hour and I know you'd never forgive me if I let you sleep through it."
"Wanker," Harry grumbled.
"Tosser," Ron threw back, grinning.
"Prat."
"Git." Ron settled himself in, crossing one long leg over the other. "Now, much as I'm enjoying this little display of mutual affection, I'd much rather feel the love by having you get your scrawny arse off that sofa and into the shower. Oh, and some clothes. There are ordinances against public nudity."
Harry kicked the afghan off and sat up, only to discover that he was indeed only wearing boxers. As the cool air hit his chest, he suddenly remembered the dream and the very obvious condition it had left him in.
Ron snorted. "Nice dream?"
"Shut it!" Harry whipped a pillow at Ron's head, then pulled the afghan back over his lap, leaned his head against the back of the sofa and closed his eyes.
"Was she pretty?"
"Gorgeous." Harry surprised himself with his own conviction.
"Anyone I know?"
Harry didn't answer, but he didn't have to - the flush of his cheeks told Ron all he needed to know.
"Woo hoo," he cooed, rubbing his hands together, "a lovely witch of our acquaintance, then. Hmmm …"
"Why don't you make yourself useful and go get me some coffee?"
"Because this is more fun. Let's see … who would Harry dream about?"
"Ron," Harry growled in warning.
"It wouldn't be that cute blonde secretary in International Magical Trading Standards, would it?"
"No."
"How about that bird in Floo Regulation … you know, the one that always purrs your name? Harr-rrr-rrr-y."
"No!"
"I know! It's that new Auror … the one that Shacklebolt brought to the party! What's her name … Higgins? Huggins?"
"Timmons. Peony Timmons."
"That's it! Oh, good choice, Harry! She's definitely got a nice set of …"
"Oh, for crying out loud, Weasley!" Harry threw the blanket off and stood, no longer caring if his erection, still at half mast, was visible or not. "I'm up, all right? Now do me a favor and go get me some coffee while I shower!"
He stomped up the stairs, pretending not to hear Ron as he called, "Mind the time if you decide to take care of that now. We don't have all day!"
Harry slammed the door to the bathroom, then carefully laid his glasses on the vanity and lowered his boxers, kicking them behind him as he stepped into the shower. He turned the water on cold, depending on it to finish disarming his arousal. As he soaped himself, he tried his best not to think of Hermione or the dream his traitorous subconscious had conjured.
Yet he couldn't help remembering her shining eyes, her lovely breasts, her red lips …
His hand drifted lower …
No!
What was wrong with him? This was his best friend, his staunchest supporter, the one person who'd always, always, stood beside him no matter what. How could he taint the sanctity of their friendship with lust?
How could he not?
Feeling as if he'd been Confunded, he let out a low growl worthy of Fluffy then quickly stepped out of the shower and dried himself off before he changed his mind. Storming into the bedroom, he selected a jumper and jeans, then dressed quickly and headed downstairs to find a humming Ron leaning against the kitchen counter holding a steaming cup of what he hoped was coffee.
"Here, grump … have a bit of Instant Personality."
"Oh, you're just a riot this morning." Harry snatched the cup out of Ron's hand, then proceeded to scald his tongue on the hot liquid.
"Careful … it's hot," Ron warned, laughing.
"Am I going to have to put up with this all day?"
"Unless you get a better offer."
"Filch in a dress would be a better offer."
"Here, now! That's no way to talk to your best mate and the man who braved the intricacies of a Muggle coffeehouse to bring you your Elixir of Life."
"Get used to it. I doubt my mood will improve much."
"Thanks for the warning. Are you ready to go, sunshine?"
"After you, buttercup," Harry answered as he handed Ron his ticket.
Both men waved their wands over their tickets, activating the complimentary Portkeys hidden in the stubs, and found themselves outside the gates of the Wasps stadium.
"Bloody hell! Look at the crowd," Ron whispered.
"Yeah. Guess we got here none too early."
"At least we don't have to fight for our seats."
The men showed their tickets to the wizard at the gate, who directed them to a magical lift labeled "Press" at the back of one of the towers. Nodding their thanks, Harry and Ron climbed into the lift and gawked at the people below as they rose into the air and were deposited at the top of the tower in a glass-enclosed booth. Reporters and photographers lined the windows in an effort to attain the best vantage point for watching the match.
Harry and Ron found a seat in the corner, away from the rest of the press, and Harry quickly conjured a Wall of Indifference between them and the reporters before anyone noticed their presence.
"Did you bring anything to take notes?" Harry asked.
"Nah … I'd miss too much of the action trying to write everything down. I'm going to put my memories of the match in a Pensieve and take notes later, when I can slow the action down."
"Good idea."
Harry finished his coffee while the announcer heralded the arrival of the teams onto the pitch. Wild cheering shook the stands and while Harry was grateful to be in the press box with its bird's eye view, he missed the thrill and the excitement of being part of the crowd.
The match itself was exciting, ending when, after being tied for an hour at three hundred thirty-five points apiece, the Wasps' Seeker finally caught the Snitch, giving the Wasps a huge victory.
Ron was like a little kid. "Wicked match, eh, Harry? Did you see Ellerton? You would have never guessed he'd been injured!"
Harry agreed that the Seeker had seemed to be in top form. He was glad of the distraction the match had provided, realizing that he hadn't thought of Hermione once in the six-and-a-half hours that the match lasted.
Of course, once he'd made that realization, she came slamming into the forefront of his mind again. He wondered what she was doing … if she was buried deep in the stacks of her research library … or if she was at the market, shopping for dinner the next evening … or if she was home, curled up in a chair reading ….
Hermione was fast becoming an obsession.
As they exited the lift from the press box, Ron turned to Harry and asked, "Want to stop at the Leaky for a drink?"
Harry nodded, then followed Ron closely as they threaded their way through the crowd. He kept his head low in hopes that he wouldn't be recognized, for that would then require a lot of handshaking and autograph signing and photo taking, all things which made Harry uneasy. With his maturity came an acceptance of his fame, but he'd never developed a fondness for it. He still preferred anonymity and the pleasure of being Plain Old Harry.
As they cleared the Anti-Apparition wards which surrounded the stadium, Harry was grateful his luck had held out; he hadn't been recognized. Now, if he could just stop thinking about Hermione, his evening would be perfect. But he was finding it harder and harder to stop thinking about her, with her long curls and her feminine curves and her special smile just for him. He could still feel her body pressed to his in their embrace, could still feel her sigh into his neck ….
He felt the first tingle of arousal as he imagined his hands roaming down her back.
Merlin, what if he got hard the next time he hugged her??
In the blink of an eye, Harry found himself outside the Leaky Cauldron, not even aware that he'd Apparated and grateful that he hadn't splinched himself. With a nod to Ron, he followed his friend into the tavern. He was relieved to see that the pub was relatively empty for a Saturday evening and they easily found a table in a secluded corner. They waved at Tom as they passed the bar and he sent over a bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses as they settled into their chairs.
Harry poured himself three fingers of the firewhiskey, then took a large sip and closed his eyes as the alcohol burned an incendiary path down his throat. "Did you learn anything useful?" he managed to ask, his voice raspy from the burn.
"Seems to me that the Wasps I saw today would beat the Cannons hands down. However, I'm confident that with more practice and a willingness to learn from scouting reports, the Cannons might be able to beat them by the end of the season."
Harry nodded, then smiled a crooked smile as his eyes scanned the tavern. Little had changed in the establishment since the first time he'd laid eyes on it at the age of eleven. Same décor, same innkeeper, same regulars in their usual places. It seemed the only one who'd changed was him.
"Feeling any better than you were this morning?" Ron's tone was casual, but Harry could hear the underlying concern in his voice.
"Yeah … sorry about that. I haven't been sleeping well lately - got a lot on my mind, y'know?"
"Anything you care to talk about?"
Harry shrugged, brushing Ron's offer aside. "Most of it's work-related."
Ron wasn't having any of it, however. "What about the parts that aren't?"
"Oh, it's nothing." Harry waved his hand in the air. "Besides, it's something I have to deal with on my own."
As Harry looked up, he could swear he saw hurt flash across Ron's face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile as a shadow crossed the table and Ron stood to shake hands with Remus Lupin.
"Remus! It's been too long!"
"Indeed it has," the werewolf replied. "Harry," he greeted the raven-haired wizard with a clap on the shoulder. "How are you gentlemen this evening?"
"Couldn't be better," Ron answered jovially. "Pull up a chair and join us."
As Remus took a seat, Harry waved at Tom and another glass appeared on the table, which Ron promptly filled. "What brings you to the Leaky tonight? Where's Tonks?"
Remus took a sip before answering. "She and Molly went shopping … for a wedding dress."
Two pairs of eyes stared at him for a long moment as his revelation sank in. Then there was loud laughing and shoulder clapping and congratulations all around.
"And when were you planning on telling me?" Harry asked, pretending to be affronted.
"Hell, Harry … I only asked her last night!"
Ron's eyes widened. "And Mum already has her out shopping for a dress today? "Cor … I think that's a new personal best for Mum."
Remus shrugged. "She was the first person Tonks told. Molly's been like a mother to her all these years."
"You better be careful," -- Ron wagged his finger at the older man -- "or Mum will take charge completely."
"We don't mind … if it makes her feel needed, well, then it's the least we can do for her after everything she's done for us."
Ron opened his mouth to retort but Harry backhanded him on the bicep, cutting him off. "Hey … look over there." Harry's eyes narrowed as he pointed to a nattily dressed wizard at the bar chatting up a brunette witch.
"Who's he?" Ron asked, rubbing his arm.
"Paul … Hermione's date from the other night."
"Oh, right. I vaguely remember meeting him before the serious drinking started. Fred said he left her at the party for some blonde."
Harry's fists clenched where they rested on the tabletop. "Yeah, he did, the bastard." He watched as Paul leaned close and whispered something in the woman's ear, something which made her blush and smile coyly. What had Hermione been thinking by agreeing to go on a date with this … this … slime?
And if the stupid git hadn't left her at the party, if he'd taken her home, would he have wheedled and coaxed his way into her bedroom, into her bed, and been given the privilege of seeing her tattoo?
Before Harry?
Not if I'd have had anything to say about it!
"Easy, Harry." Ron glanced at Harry's fists, where the latent magic building under the stress of Harry's barely checked anger arced blue, visible several inches above the skin of his knuckles. "He's out of Hermione's life, and we all say Good Riddance."
Ron was right, of course, but Harry was having difficulty getting the image of Paul touching Hermione with his filthy hands out of his head.
Suddenly Ron's eyes caught the clock on the wall. "Bloody hell!" With a start, he gulped down the last of his drink, slammed his glass on the table and announced, "I have to go. I promised Bonnie I'd Floo her ten minutes ago. Remus, congratulations again. Harry, I'll talk to you later." He tossed a few coins on the table to cover his share of the drinks and then he hurried out the door.
Remus watched Ron's retreating form in amusement, then turned to Harry and asked, "Who's Bonnie?"
"One of the team's sports Healers." Harry flexed his fingers as the magic ebbed, leaving a pins-and-needles sensation in its wake. He was grateful that, if Remus noticed his slip, he chose to ignore it.
"I thought he was going out with Elizabeth."
Harry chuckled. "That was last week." He paused, rubbing his thumb along the rim of his glass. "So … you're finally getting married."
"You make it sound like it's been a long time coming."
"Hasn't it?" Harry asked. "I mean, I remember Molly pushing you and Tonks together right after the attack on Hogwarts. That's been years ago."
Remus sighed. "For some ridiculous reason she seems to love me. So, I finally gave up trying to hold her at arm's length. I wasn't happy, she wasn't happy … and while it was great being friends with her, I have to admit I want more."
Harry's face flushed at Remus' confession - how he wished he could admit that himself.
Oh, well … in for a penny, in for a pound.
"Remus … I … I need some advice, and I was wondering if I could ask you a question."
The werewolf's blue eyes held his for a moment before the corner of his mouth lifted in a half-smile. "Of course, Harry. Ask away."
"Well, I have this friend … a former Gryffindor housemate. He's been having odd and somewhat inappropriate dreams and he doesn't know what to do about them."
Remus twirled his glass between the palms of his hands. "You know from personal experience that dreams can hold great importance. Are they prophetic in nature?"
Harry ran a hand back through his hair. "Merlin, I … I don't think so. You see they're …" He glanced around to make sure none of the patrons at nearby tables were paying them any mind, then lowered his voice and leaned closer over the table. "They're more sexual than anything."
"Oh!" Remus' eyebrows shot up and he sat back in his chair. "Well, that's certainly not unusual. Everyone has erotic dreams."
"Yes, but … you see, his dreams are … they involve someone he shouldn't be having those kinds of dreams about."
Remus puffed out his cheeks and blew the air out with an audible whoosh, then gave Harry a probing glance. "Are they homosexual dreams?"
Harry almost spit his firewhiskey across the table, coughing as he managed to swallow it. "Homo-- no! No! His dreams definitely involve a woman." He gulped as his mind conjured an image of exactly how much of a woman Hermione was.
"Is she married? Or in a position of authority over him?"
"No, nothing like that. She's someone he cares about a great deal - a friend -but because she's a friend, she's off-limits to him."
"Has this woman given him any indication that she might return his interest?"
"No. And he can't tell her, either, because he doesn't want to jeopardize his friendship with her. He can't risk losing her … she's too important to him."
Remus' voice softened. "Harry, anytime love is involved, there's always risk." Harry opened his mouth to protest that he hadn't said anything about love, but Remus held up his hand to silence him. "If I understand what you're telling me, it seems to me that your friend's recurring erotic dreams about this woman are trying to tell him something. If he's keeping his feelings to himself simply because he's afraid of her rejecting him, then perhaps you need to convince him to reconsider. She may feel the same way but, like your friend, doesn't want to risk the friendship. He needs to take that risk before someone else steps in and beats him to it."
"But what if she doesn't feel the same way and he loses her? I honestly don't know if he can handle being shut out of her life … he needs her too much."
Remus nodded. "That is the risk. But if their friendship is as strong as you imply, then it will survive. Not taking that risk, however, means he has to live with the regret of never having said anything for the rest of his life. He'll always wonder, 'What if?' And if he has to watch her walk down the aisle to start a new life with someone else … "
"I get it, I get it." Harry's shoulders slumped as he slouched in the chair, legs extended under the table.
"Harry, let me share a little story with you that may help. When I was a sixth year, I fell in love with a girl, one of my best friends. We'd shared most of our classes and had been friends for years, but that year we were prefects together, therefore we spent a great deal of extra time together and had gotten to know each other even better. She'd always been easy to talk to and fun to be around and, before I knew it, I'd fallen head-over-heels in love with her.
"I tried to keep my feelings platonic, but she didn't make it easy on me. I even went so far one day as to give myself a stern lecture in front of the mirror. I figured she couldn't possibly be interested in someone like me, but she was a very tactile person and she always doing things that drove me crazy, like holding my hand, or grabbing my robes, or linking her arm through mine as we walked down the hall. She would hug me and kiss my cheek and I truly thought I was going mad.
"But the time came when I decided I couldn't pretend any more … I wanted a real kiss … and I was absolutely terrified. She had dozens of other boys who vied for her affections - she was probably the most popular girl in school -- and I knew it was only a matter of time until one of them succeeded. Anyway, one evening we were in the library, in one of the corner alcoves, studying Ancient Runes together. Her head was bent over her book and she had her hair tucked behind her ear like she always did, and her lips looked so pretty and pink, and her skin looked so soft in the candlelight. Well, I decided that it was 'now or never,' so I took a deep breath, leaned over, turned her face towards me and kissed her."
"And?" Harry asked anxiously, completely engaged in the story.
"And … she started to cry."
"What?"
Remus chuckled. "I made her cry. She was upset, you see, because she'd apparently been waiting for me to make a move for a long time and, since I hadn't, she figured I wasn't interested and had already been dating one of her other suitors without my knowledge, and no amount of persuasion would get her to break her word to the other young man. In essence, Harry, I was too late, and because of that, I lost my chances of having the girl I loved. Fortunately, we did remain very close friends." Remus stared off into space. "I never quite stopped loving her, though."
"Have you stayed in touch with her?"
Remus scowled, then shook his head before quickly downing the rest of the drink in his glass. "She, uh … she died a few years ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"So, the moral of the story is … don't wait! You … sorry, <i>your friend</i> may not get another chance to let her know how he feels. Love like that is a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Don't let him waste the opportunity out of fear, Harry."
"I'll … I'll tell him. Thanks."
"Any time." Remus glanced out the window and saw Tonks waving furiously. "And that, my lad, is my cue to leave." He reached into his pocket for coins, but Harry waved him off, jokingly telling him it was the least he could do for a condemned man, and Remus nodded his thanks before excusing himself to join his fiancée.
As Harry watched the older man exit the pub and wrap his arm around a beaming Tonks, he wondered what exactly it had been about James Potter that had attracted Lily Evans enough to make her choose him over Remus.