Unofficial Portkey Archive

TITLE: All Roads Lead Back

KEYWORDS: Hermione, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco and the rest of the gang. Primarily H/Hr, but a slew of various ships as well. Post-HBP.

SYNOPSIS: Harry Potter always figured that once his destiny was fulfilled he could finally have a happy, normal life. Unfortunately for him, he fell in love with his best friend...and everything went straight to Hell! A very gradual, slow moving H/Hr love story told through multiple canon character perspective as well as several flashbacks. Set 7 years after the final battle.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 23,757

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: murphsmine. Best snarky beta a girl could ask for. *g*

WARNING: A little green-eyed Harry and a minor character's death. You've been warned.

DISCLAIMER: If it looks like it's JKR's, well, that's because it is. She's provided me with the canvas and I'm truly enjoying painting on it.

"I like it like that (yeah baby)
I like it like that (I like it like that)
I like it like that (I got soul, I got soul)
I like it like that (Por ti me quiero)
I like it like that (oh oh baby)
I like it like that (I like it like that)
I like it like that (Si aquí me quiero mi amour)
I like it like that (I got soul, I got soul)"

"Merlin! It's like one gigantic, hedonistic orgy in here!" exclaimed Charlie, voice filled with wonder as his eyes swept across the spacious interior of Bongos from the lobby's exit.

From where he was standing (right next to Hermione, thank you very much), Harry found himself hard pressed not to agree with him. As far as the eye could see were bodies writhing and twisting around each other in a tumultuous blur, driven wild by blaring horns and a percussive throbbing that could be felt more than heard. The music came booming out of dozens of loudspeakers embedded in the walls throughout the venue. Across the darkened room shot laser light beams of red, green, blue, and gold that made the partying crowd look like they were transplants sent from some distant galaxy. Every so often a fog machine would pump out dry mist to add to the other worldly atmosphere. The whirring of the aircon could be heard over the restless hubbub, but the body heat of the dancers coupled with the sweat in the air made the temperature nearly sweltering and somewhat reminiscent of some tropical den. Despite the heat, the party raged on.

When things looked like they were beginning to lull the DJ would flip a switch and a siren blast would incite the crowd into frenzy. The dancers in turn openly worshiped him as though he were some living god, calling out his name and shouting words of praise whenever he played a song that met their approval. The adoration seemed fitting seeing as how he and his turntables were situated in a booth perched several feet off the ground like an altar. The only way to reach it (and from what Candide shared with them, many a pretty girl often kicked and scratched their way up) was via a narrow set of rickety stairs. This left plenty of room for dancing as there was barely a piece of ground or surface in the club that wasn't being used as a floor. Even the bar towards the back held scantily clad women shimmying and shaking rhythmically on top of it. Bongos was a veritable feast for all of the senses. The final, perfect touch was the two massive drums that hung from the ceiling, suspended over the dancers, giving the nightclub its catchy name.

"Cor! Are they doing that there forbidden dance? Dad told me about it once," shouted Ron who was standing on the other side of Harry. He was gawking at a couple dancing nearby. There was hardly room to squeeze a sheet of parchment between the pair; they were wound so tightly around each other.

"That's right Ron, they're doing the Lambada," Glinda yelled back, barely suppressing an eye roll. They all had to speak loudly in order to be heard over the volume of the music. "The year also happens to be 1990 and Madonna still has her original accent. Ponce!"

Fred and George chortled hysterically as Ron glared at her.

"It's called salsa dancing," said Candide knowledgeably as she and Neville came forward from the back. Their small group crowded the doorway and had yet to enter Bongos fully. Other club goers had to go around them to get in and out the entryway. "In English it means sauce; zesty, sizzling...spicy," she told them, tapping her foot to the beat.

George gave her an affable grin. "Forgive us Candide, but I think this all might be a little too hot for the likes of us."

Glinda snorted.

"Speak for yourselves!" she boldly proclaimed as she grabbed her husband by the arm and yanked him into the mass with her.

Candide turned to Neville.

"Coming, Nev?" she asked sweetly giving him a rather sexy, doe-eyed look. The poor young man was powerless against it. Wearing a dreamy expression on his face, he followed her out onto the floor without further prompting. The rest of them all smiled at each other as they watched the lovebirds go.

"That just might be a little too much woman for our dear friend Neville to handle," joked George admiringly. The fancy oriental robes Candide had worn to the Ball, a hanbok as she referred to them, had been transfigured by Neville into a rather fetching mod styled minidress that sent many of the male tongues in the club wagging.

Charlie chuckled at his brother's observation.

"Oddly enough, I don't hear Longbottom complaining," he said.

The two brothers shared a hearty chuckle as they wandered off into the pulsing mob leaving Ron, Harry, and Hermione behind.

"Ella tiene fuego
Y tiene un ciclon en las piernas
Ella tiene fuego
Es la atracion de la fiesta
Ella tiene fuego

Y todo el mundo pregunta de que esta ella"

The three friends stuck close together as they too entered the fray. Although Harry had originally been against coming, he had to admit that the club was ripping. The music was lively and the crowd was spirited; some even singing along with the tunes the DJ was spinning. He only wished that he wasn't such shite at dancing. He would have had a legitimate excuse then to take Hermione out onto the floor and hold her tightly against him without a single worry of how it all might look. Sadly, he had two left feet and both of them were made of lead. Even Ron was a better dancer than he was, though that wasn't really saying much. Hermione, probably resigned to being a wallflower considering her present company, didn't appear to be too bothered missing out on all the action. Besides, she was too reserved for this type of crowd, Harry surmised.

"I could do for something to drink; would you like anything?" he asked turning to her, trying to catch her attention. The three of them had come to a halt near the DJ platform. "A pop...uh, some water?"

Hermione's hand rubbed at her throat as she nodded her head.

"I am a bit parched. Ooh, a mojito would be nice," she said as her eyes followed after a woman sipping the very same drink.

Harry looked ambivalent at the request. A drink like that just might lay her out.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"It's just one drink, dad," she said tartly.

With a twinkle in his eyes Harry conceded. "Alright, but when you can't speak tomorrow morning because you've been singing Henery the Eighth at the top of your lungs all night, just remember that I did warn you."

She had the decency to blush at the valid jest. At the sight of Hermione's pinkening cheeks, Harry and Ron traded amused grins over the top of her head.

"One mojito it is. I'll be right back. Stay right here," he told her.

She nodded her head gratefully and turned from him to look back at the dancing multitude. Before walking away, Harry gave Ron a loaded look that he hoped his still bombed out pal understood; keep an eye on her. He was entrusting Hermione's safety to the redhead, a fact he thought should have been transparently clear. Ron, having received the look, only wondered if Harry had a touch of gas before his mind then flitted off to its next thought.

As Harry headed off towards the bar he was surprised to discover that he was in an unexpectedly chipper mood. There was a pronounced pep to his step. His spirits were so high that he even hummed along to the Latin ditty that was being played.

Actually, since leaving Hogsmeade and Apparating into Diagon Alley the night had been going quite well, all things considered. Charlie's questionable hijacking of Hermione had been long forgotten, and Glinda hadn't made any further salty remarks in his presence or around the others. Harry supposed that meant that his earlier guess had been wrong and that his sister-in-law hadn't fallen under the impression that he was lusting after his best friend. If she had, she had yet to give him any further sign. What's more, she had practically ignored him since leaving Ron's flat. They had stopped there briefly to allow the men to drop off their robes before crossing to the Muggle side of London. When all of them began to walk over to Central Street, she situated herself between Hermione and Candide and stayed there as Harry, Ron, Neville, Charlie, and the twins followed up in the rear. She and Hermione took the time to get to know Neville's girlfriend while the men appreciated the dazzling view before them.

The walk to Bongos went by so quick, especially with the twins cracking jokes and teasing Charlie about Bernadette and a few of his other noteworthy conquests, that before long they had reached their destination. Once arriving at the club they had followed Candide to the front of the queue where she whispered into the ear of a rather beefy looking fellow whose thick arms gave off the impression that he bench pressed steel girders for fun. Candide called him Tiny. All nine of them were then ushered through the doors after receiving a purple stamp on the hand that entitled them to unlimited access at the bar.

"Hey mama, this that...that make you groove, mama
(hey)Get on the floor and move your booty mama
(yaw)We the blast mastas blastin' up the jamma
(hey)So shake your bambama, come on now mama
Hey mama, this that...that make you groove, mama
(hey)Get on the floor and move your booty mama
(yaw)We the blast mastas blastin' up the jamma
(la la la la la)"

The pulsating beat of the song sent the crowd into near rapture. So much so that Harry almost had a hard time navigating his way back to his friends while trying not to spill the contents of the two glasses he carried with him; Hermione's mojito and a whiskey neat for himself. He held them high above his head to keep them from sloshing over as people bumped and banged into him from all sides.

After not finding his two best friends where he last left them, he finally located Ron, George, and Charlie by their beacon-like hair off to the left. They were sitting in a booth on the sidelines unashamedly watching two women who were grinding against each other. Before Harry could even ask after Hermione, Fred and Glinda came staggering up to the table looking sweaty and rumpled, yet exhilarated. Without asking, Glinda snatched the cocktail out of Harry's hand, threw the tiny straw over her shoulder, and drank it all down in a single gulp. Harry could only scowl at her nerve.

"It's a madhouse out there!" she exclaimed breathlessly after tossing the glass aside.

Fred, wearing a huge grin on his face, agreed.

"All hands and arms and other assorted appendages," he added breathing heavily.

"And groping. Don't forget about the groping, Freddie."

"How could I? Put me in the mind of our first date."

Glinda gave him a pinch to his bum.

"Cheeky bastard."

"Whoa!" said George pointing off to the side.

All of them turned to find Neville and Candide dancing up a storm. The wizard looked like he was holding his own against his rather skilled partner.

"Would you just look at Neville go!" rooted Charlie.

"Would you just look at Neville fall. Oh…and he's back up again!" zinged Glinda.

Ron, Charlie, and the twins all hooted with abandon as Neville popped up from the floor and dusted himself off, the happy-go-lucky smile never leaving his lips. They could see Candide fall into his arms giggling as they continued to dance.

Harry turned from the merry scene and looked expectantly at Ron.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked, setting his drink down on the table.

Ron's face wore a puzzled frown. Even though the walk to the club had worked some of the alcohol out of his system, helping to straighten out his speech and wiping the drowsy look from his bleary eyes, he was still half-pissed and his faculties were a trifle sluggish.

"Where's Hermione's wha'?"

Harry had to resist the urge to hex Ron into minuscule freckled bits.

"You were supposed to be looking after Hermione, remember?" he edgily queried, pushing his glasses back up from where they had fallen down his nose.

Charlie, wearing a cheery grin, tried to help his younger brother out.

"Don't be too hard on him, Harry. Something walked by and distracted Ron. You know how he likes it when they walk."

"Oh?" Harry peevishly looked between the two men. "Did that something just happen to have blonde hair as well?"

"Yeah. And a skirt cut up to here!" answered George mirthfully as he held a hand over his head. "You could practically see all of her-"

Harry fired a severe glare at him.

"Then again perhaps I'll tell you more about it later," he hastily amended, busying himself with the abandoned glass of whiskey and chugging it down to avoid Harry's stern gaze.

"Sod off, George! I did not get distracted!" snapped Ron. "I very well know where Hermione is!"

He then followed that implicit pronouncement with silence.

When it looked like he would provide no further information Harry practically hissed, "Well then where is she, Ron?!"

Ron gestured off in the distance. "Over there humping that pipsqueak's leg, as far as I can tell," he said with little to no concern.

Five pairs of eyes quickly found what Ron was referring to. Near the center of the room, illuminated by a spotlight of neon green, was Hermione. She was dancing (if what that obscene gyrating and undulating of the hips she was doing could even be classified as such) with some Mediterranean looking bloke who barely reached eye level with her. The lucky little maggot did have a more than ample view of her cleavage; that is whenever Hermione chose not to rub her arse against the bastard's knob.

"WHAT IS SHE DOING?!"

It was at this point that George and Charlie chose to discreetly extract themselves from the table and head for higher ground, each going in different directions. Glinda, however, barely batted an eye at Harry.

"Dancing!" she answered him as her eyes sparked with gaiety. "Although I think the more apt turn of phrase might be, 'flying her freak flag'. Go Hermione! WHOO!" she cheered enthusiastically.

As if hearing her, Hermione looked towards them and gave a high spirited little wave before her partner pulled her into a steamy clinch. Harry spun around angrily on the woman standing next to him. That was not the Hermione Granger that he knew gallivanting about out there, dancing with abandon, letting some strange man put his filthy mitts all over her. Harry practically seethed with unrestrained resentment.

"Did someone give her something?! Glinda did you…"

Before he could even finish the question she cut him off with an exasperated huff.

"Slip one person a mickey and suddenly you develop a reputation," she muttered, throwing her hands in the air. She then put a hand on her hip as though settling in for a row. "Listen here, Old Man Potter, that out there is not of my doing. And even if it was, would it be so bad? Why are you getting so bent out of shape? If you haven't noticed Hermione could do for a bit of fun! She's been wound up all evening. What she needs is a chance to just let her hair down and kick her heels up for the night; preferably over the shoulders of some strapping piece of man meat," she saucily declared. "Ooh…like that one right there. Hullo!"

The retreating backside of some mincing nancy trussed up in a skin tight muscle shirt had suddenly captured her fancy. She even waved.

Fred nudged her hip. "Stick to the topic," he playfully warned his wife with an indulging look.

"Oh, sorry luv," she said grinning back at him. "Topic…topic…what was my topic again?" she flightily asked her husband.

"Hermione needs to get laid."

"Oh, that's right." She turned back to Harry and narrowed her eyes at him. "Hermione needs to get laid!"

Ron looked distressed at the turn of conversation. Harry was less than thrilled.

"Oh you two stop! You're both worse than a pair of old maiden aunts," Glinda chided them. "How is that girl ever to enjoy herself if she's too busy being the paragon of virtue that you two wankers insists she be? Leave Hermione alone! Let her have some fun, dance 'til her feet fall off, and kiss a few boys…or girls if she feels so inclined."

"Here! Here!" Fred readily concurred.

Ron slid out of the booth. He stubbornly felt the need to stick up for himself against his sister-in-law's assault.

"Don't go trying to pull me into this, Glinda. I already have one sister and Hermione isn't it. Sure I don't want to see her get hurt, but if good old Herms wants to let some random bloke stick his tongue halfway down her throat she has my blessings, provided the poor sod over there can reach it. Besides, it's Harry that's having the fit, not me."

Oh, oh.

"I've been properly toasted and keeping to myself all this time. Harry is the one whose been acting like he's Hermione's keeper."

Even as she addressed Ron, Glinda's eyes shifted over to Harry giving him a penetrating look.

"You make a good point there, my fine freckled friend," she said. "I wonder why that is?"

Damn! Damn! Damn! It was apparent that Ron was finally sobering up because his ramblings were starting to become lucid at last. Under the current situation this was not good seeing as how Glinda was taking an almost predatory interest in all that he was divulging.

One of the oft-told family jokes was that the youngest Weasley boy tended to do his best thinking while coming off a bender. Although Ron could be counted on to be generally oblivious to the goings-on surrounding him, it was usually after a night of a few too many Screaming Banshees, or pitchers after pitchers of 'Ye Olde Troll that he would suddenly come to some earth shattering epiphany that had previously eluded him up to that point.

It was on such a night that he realized that he had been in love with Lavender without knowing it. Sure he was marrying Luna that next day, but it was still better late than never. It was as if the alcohol vacating his system left him in some reflective meditative state, and with little fanfare the loud, happy drunk would turn into a thoughtful, introspective young man. At such times he would think with more clarity than when he was plotting one of his next chess moves. It was truly a wondering sight. That's why it came as no surprise to Harry when Ron's hazy blue eyes started to brighten and become more focused, as though he were seeing Harry for the first time in ages. While Glinda seamlessly prodded him to keep talking, each second that his friend innocently jabbered away Harry could feel the pressure building up inside his own head, dreading just what Ron might say next

"Well Harry thinks of himself as Hermione's brother you see," explained Ron, completely unaware of the minefield he was stepping into. "He has to look after her!" he told Glinda.

"Is that right?"

Harry absolutely despised Glinda's smirk and the insincere way she phrased the question. He couldn't help but squirm under her gaze.

"Yeah! Haven't you ever noticed how protective Harry gets over Hermione?"

"Hmm…now that you mention it," she began coyly, "There has been a time or two or ten that he acted damned near territorial."

Now she was being downright facetious. Harry could feel the sweat accumulating at his hairline. Glinda was like a rabid dog with a meaty bone, and yet Ron blathered on and on without end. If he continued on his current track he was going to unwittingly open up a can of flobberworms in front of his brother and sister-in-law that would make everyone uncomfortable, Harry most of all. And to add to his suffering, George had just rejoined them as well. There was going to be an even larger audience to witness the revelation Ron was about to inadvertently expose.

"You know, you're right Glinda. Harry would get so cranky just about any time Davies or the little Scotsman would get near Hermione. Hell, he was even worse than me."

And then Ron paused.

A peculiar look smoothed his features, as though he were just about to figure out the right incantation or wand pattern to conjure something that had been eluding him for quite some time. He stared at Harry for a moment, mouth agape as if to ask a question, then promptly popped it back shut. When he finally began to speak again he did so pensively, as though measuring out the words to examine each one carefully. It was as if he were reaching out for some intangible thought just beyond his grasp that could fall into his hand at any moment.

"Looking back on it now I suppose the whole thing was sort of bizarre, don't you agree Harry? If anything, you acted more like a jealous boyfriend than a brother to Hermione. Until just this very moment I guess I never thought about it that way. I wonder why you…SON OF A BITCH!"

Harry had cast the spell at Ron so fast that his wand was already back in his pocket by time Ron's outraged cry notified George, Fred, and Glinda that something had happened. He wasn't the fastest draw in the Department for nothing. Harry hated to do it, but Ron just wouldn't shut his yap! Judging by the hodgepodge of swear words that his best friend began hurling, the non-verbal spell had wasted little time doing its job.

At the sight of Ron's twisted expression of agony, Glinda's amusement swiftly dried up and turned to concern for her brother-in-law.

"What happened, Ron?!" she worriedly asked as she reached out to touch his arm. Fred and George looked equally as alarmed.

Ron was bent over, resting his hands on his thighs. He glared up at Harry and gave him an almost threatening look

"HARRY JUST HEXED ME IN A ROOM FULL OF MUGGLES, THAT'S WHAT!" he crabbily howled. The music was so loud though that his accusation barely carried beyond their little group.

Dear Merlin, I'm as bad as Draco Malfoy, thought Harry to himself.

"Stop being a jackarse, Ron, I was only sobering you up. You were babbling. It was annoying. That wasn't a jinx it was a Temperatus," said Harry effortlessly, shaking off the shame. Whatever guilt he felt was extinguished by the sweet relief of knowing that Ron was so preoccupied with his own supposed misery that he had completely lost track of whatever he had been about to say. Harry almost felt he deserved a medal for that bit of on-the-spot thinking. The crisis had been averted.

Once hearing what spell Harry had thrown at Ron, both Fred and George's worry seemed to diminish at once. They even laughed at their brother's melodramatic cries of anguish. However the explanation did little to placate Glinda.

"If you only sobered him up, why is he reacting that way?" she asked doubtingly.

"Because a fucking Temperare Charm only takes the liquor out of you. You know, the whazzit that makes you effing ripped," answered Ron as he slumped back down into the booth on wobbly legs.

"The ethanol," said Glinda.

Ron nodded his head furiously.

"That's right, the ethy-hol. That's what I said. However it does little to help the goddamned hangover!" he said between grinding teeth. "What in the hell did I ever do to you, Harry?!"

Seeing that their brother was in a bad way, the twins offered to help Ron to the bathroom so he could get himself together.

"We'll throw some water at his face," suggested George as he slung one of Ron's long arms over his shoulder.

"What will that help?" Fred curiously asked while holding Ron up by the waist to try and steady him.

"Nothing, but it should be loads fun," said George beaming brightly as they both trooped off with their younger brother slouched between them. Other club patrons paid them only a passing glance as they wobbled by. Harry watched them go until he lost sight of them. It was only once they passed his line of vision that he realized that their departure had left him alone with...

"Interesting. Very, very interesting."

...Glinda.

"What?!" he apprehensively asked turning to find her staring at him intently.

"Oh nothing…nothing," she said lightly. "Just things are suddenly starting to make some sense now, is all."

Harry cringed at the remark. What did that mean?

"Why are you giving me that look?"

"And just what look might that be, Harry?" she asked, feigning ignorance. She was all wide-eyed as she brought her hand up to her chest in a phony looking gesture.

He was becoming weary of playing this game with her. If Glinda had something to say he wished she'd just get on with it.

"You look like the cat that got the cream," he told her.

Glinda scoffed at that.

"Don't be silly Harry. By the way it might please you to hear that Hermione is no longer dancing with that swarthy little chap from before."

"Oh?"

He tried to sound disinterested, but the over eager manner in which he craned his neck to look for Hermione out on the floor gave him away. He kept trying to locate her in the thick swarm. It wasn't until a couple stepped to the side that his eyes landed on her and the man she was with.

His jaw sagged ajar.

Glinda was all smiles.

"Yes. Now she's dancing with Charlie."

Now had it been any other day, the sight of Hermione inside of Charlie Weasley's arms grinning and laughing as though she were having the grandest time ever might have sent Harry's already roaring temper blasting off into the stratosphere. During the most recent of Weasley Sunday get-togethers Molly had spent most of the evening dropping little hints about Charlie to Hermione and vice versa. Though it had grated like nothing else, Harry had done his best to ignore it. He simply chalked it all up to Molly being Molly; the woman was known to show off pictures of her two bachelor sons to complete strangers in the market hoping to reel in potential daughters-in-law.

But with Hermione being back home it looked like Molly had finally found in her the perfect prospect for Charlie, never mind the fact that she had once had the young women practically betrothed to her youngest boy. For Molly that was all inconsequential. On that particular evening she had arranged it for the two of them to sit next to each other when dinner was served and monopolized the whole meal talking non-stop of her precious boy's accomplishments. Charlie had laughed outright at his mother's guerrilla matchmaking tactics while Hermione acted as if she were completely clueless about the busybody woman's true intentions. George had simply looked relieved to be left out of the entire equation.

While most of the family treated the shameless exhibition as though it was nothing out of the ordinary, Harry's face had clearly displayed his annoyance with the whole state of affairs. In Harry's not so unbiased opinion, Charlie hadn't looked as though he wasn't open to the idea of dating Hermione. Not one bit! Since then Harry had caught Charlie and Hermione in a handful of flirtatious exchanges. Add to it all the fact that Hermione was known to go for redheads, Weasley redheads to be precise, and it wouldn't have been all that surprising that Harry might have been a wee bit distressed to see the two of them so intimately entwined.

His hand familiarly caressing her lower back. Her thigh lifted coyly over his hip. A turn. A pause.

But surprisingly that was not the source of Harry's astonishment as he watched Charlie skillfully twirl Hermione around by the hand as though she were a dervish.

The whirling motion had sent the skirt of her dress flaring up and out revealing a tantalizing stretch of skin that had been previously hidden. An undergarment had become visible for only a second, a scrap of black lace and leather encircling her left thigh. To the casual observer it would have easily been taken for a sexy little garter and nothing more. One probably would have even been shocked to find that Hermione Granger owned such a naughty bit of lingerie, much less wore it. But having seen Peggy O'shea, Doreen Dollanganger or any of the other women under his command at the Department wearing one just as similar, Harry was quite confidant that he knew the look of a loaded wand holster when he saw one.

Gotcha Granger!

"Wow, look at them. They're really going!"

Harry's sense of vindication was short-lived. His intense concentration on Charlie and Hermione was broken by Neville's voice. Harry turned to find him and Candide standing next to Glinda. Glinda, who had been silently studying Harry all that time, turned her attention towards the bubbly twosome.

"They do look like they're having a ball. Who knew that Hermione could shake it like that?" she joked.

Candide nodded. "She's not bad, but that brother-in-law of yours is fantastic! Where ever did he learn to dance so well?" she asked looking between the three of them.

Neville scratched his head and smiled at Glinda. "Probably from that snotty Castilian witch he brought home with him for Christmas that time, wouldn't you say?"

Glinda shook her head.

"No, the Castilian was Primavera, remember? Freddie and George pretended that they couldn't remember her name and kept calling her Pasta; Molly was terrified that the family would scare the poor girl off," she answered. "I mean we did, but that's neither here nor there. I actually liked her. She was flaky, constantly nattering on about that sanctuary for wayward cyclopes she ran out in Bath, but she was always willing to pick up the check at dinner. The one you're thinking of Neville worked at some fancy zoo in Lisbon; Esperanza. She was what they call a Muggle, like you and me Candide," Glinda explained to the other woman. "Oh Molly just loathed her! Charlie had to have her memory wiped first thing after Boxing Day."

Candide gulped.

"I...I...I don't right recall an Esperanza," Neville hastily covered, probably hoping that Glinda would lighten up on all the Memory Charms talk in front of his very young and impressionable girlfriend.

"'Course you do," said Glinda. "She was the aviation blonde with the fake cha-chas and the high opinion of herself."

"Oh." A blush rapidly stole over Neville's cheeks. "Oh."

Though Harry had been paying the conversation only marginal attention at best, he had been watching Charlie (and Charlie's ever lowering hands at the time); he still heard enough that when his and Neville's eyes met, Harry saw the same question that popped into his head reflected back at him.

Those weren't real?!

Glinda smirked at the expressions on both men's faces.

"Charlie sounds like a bit of a ladies man," said Candide smiling.

"Oh he is. He's quite the catch. Women just can't seem to keep their hands off of him."

Harry could practically feel the might of Glinda's piercing stare. He was sure that that was what was causing the vein at the side of his head to pulsate painfully. Then again the fault could lie with Hermione and Charlie. They were still wrapped up in each other, completely unaware of Harry covetously watching them from afar. Against his will, Harry found himself envying the ease and confidence in which Charlie maneuvered Hermione around the floor. He spun her. He swung her back and forth. Charlie dipped her like a real pro! And as the music started to slow and take on a mellower, more sensual tempo, Charlie pulled Hermione so close that the space between them became virtually nonexistent. Hermione didn't look like she minded the lack of personal space.

"Your friend looks like she can't keep her hands off him either," replied a giggly Candide. "I must say though, the two of them look rather good together. Don't you think, Nev?"

"I...um...er...well..."

Neville looked appreciative when Glinda answered the question instead.

"You know Candide, I think you might be right. Red does seem to suit Hermione. Wouldn't you agree, Harry?"

The two of them sized each other up. She wore an impish grin while the look on Harry's face left little doubt as to where his personal opinion rested on the subject. It was like a mischievous child poking at a slumbering hornet's nest with a stick, never realizing the true menace it was rousing. Harry could feel the thin control he had been employing to keep himself from marching right over to the pair and dragging Hermione off behind him like some low browed caveman become taught and start to fray at the center. Any moment it would snap in twain.

"No," he said decisively, eyes boring into Glinda, "I wouldn't."

And with very little explanation after that, Harry walked away.

"No quizo hacerte daño no le guardes rencor
Y sí ya el daño esta hecho pa que pedirle perdon
Es el que me hace sentir lo que contigo nunca sentí
(repitelo, actepatlo, comprendelo de una vez)"

He didn't go very far. Instead he circled the area where Hermione and Charlie were as his exhausted mind circled round and round from one jumbled thought to the next. He was tired of Glinda taking the piss out of him and he didn't necessarily want to be around when Ron made his way back from the toilets. What he really wanted was to be out there, out in the center or the room with Hermione in his arms, but there was someone already taking up the space where he was supposed to be; Charlie.

Harry was jealous; he wasn't above admitting that to himself. Whereas he knew his possessive posturing towards Ron or the Ferret was often uncalled for as well as unmerited, Harry now realized that he actually regarded Charlie as a genuine threat. He didn't know for sure if Charlie even fancied Hermione or if Hermione was interested in him in the least, but the mere possibility made a new monster take up residence inside Harry's chest; one whose eyes was just as green as his. All the same, acknowledging this fact did nothing to solve matters. His best friend had every right to date whomever she pleased and Charlie didn't have a wife waiting up for him at home to complicate things. No, the redhead had a laid back temperament that most found charming, a natural way with women, and knew how to dip a pretty girl in his arms without looking like a gormless idiot. More important, Charlie was free to do so if he pleased, unlike Harry.

Glinda was right, Charlie was a catch. Harry only wished he could hate him for it. If it were any other tosser practically mauling his best friend Harry would have had no problem jinxing the bastard cross-eyed for daring to get that close to her. But it was Charlie. Harry liked Charlie, had liked him since the day he first met him. He was a Weasley, filled with all the vigor and vim, warmth and good humor that Harry always associated with the clan, save for Percy of course. Charlie was a good guy. Charlie was his family. Charlie was a-WAIT; DID HE JUST GRAB HER ARSE?!

"Mind if I have the next dance?"

He hadn't realized he had moved until he was standing right behind the pair. Thankfully he had only raised his hand to politely tap Charlie on the shoulder and not punch out his lights. It had been close, though.

A pleasant smile, far more relaxed than Harry's painfully fake grimace, formed on Charlie's face once he saw who had interrupted him and Hermione.

"Hey, Harry! Of course you can," he said without pause, readily releasing Hermione's hand and letting go of her waist as if to hand her over to his brother-in-law. Harry, ashamed of the unkind thoughts he had just had about the man, nodded his head gratefully and took a step towards his prize to claim her. Hermione, however, remained rooted in place.

"But...but...HARRY CAN'T DANCE!" she yelped, eyes bulging out at the both of them.

Charlie, probably made uncomfortable by the off-the-cuff remark, chuckled nervously while Harry felt his face become hot. Sensing right away how tactless her comment must have sounded, Hermione ineloquently tried to soften the blow.

"I mean...well...you can't dance, Harry. Can you?"

Not that she did a good job of it.

Hermione looked to Charlie at once, as if hoping he might help her extract the foot currently lodged inside her mouth. Charlie looked like he was very cautiously trying to ease his way from the maddening duo. Probably from all of his years working with temperamental beasts he undoubtedly recognized a tense situation for what it was and knew not to make any sudden movements.

"You know, I really don't mind," he shakily said to her and Harry, still inching away. "I was thinking of wetting my whistle anyhow. Can I get the two of you anything?"

Both Harry and Hermione shook their heads. Finally judging it safe to go, Charlie hurriedly made his escape. Harry and Hermione watched him go.

"So what happened to my drink?" she asked when she finally turned to face Harry again.

Harry eked out an abashed smile. "It met with an unfortunate accident; Glinda."

The right side of her mouth turned up.

"That's alright."

Agitatedly, Harry began to swing his arms back and forth. Hermione, unsure of what else to say or do, shifted restlessly from side to side.

"So..."

"So..."

Dirty looks began to be flung at them from those nearby. Then again the two of them were standing in the middle of a packed dance floor taking up valuable leg and elbow room. Hoping to solve the problem, Harry decided to just take the Minotaur by the horns and get what he had come out there for in the first place.

"So I was watching you...and Charlie," he added quickly, "dancing and it looked like you two were having so much fun that I figured I'd join in." He hoped he sounded as smooth and cocksure as he imagined Charlie might. "Ron's hands were too sweaty for my liking though so I thought that you and I could give it a go," he said gesturing to the couple dancing right next to them.

It took him only a second to recognize the male as the same berk Hermione had been dancing with previously. However the sneer on Harry's face vanished as the little fellow lifted his current partner by the waist, flipped her over, and set her back down on her heels without ever breaking his stride.

"Though I don't think we can do that," Harry said, gawking in awe.

Hermione chuckled dryly. "Are you joking? I don't think Torvill and Dean can do that."

A small smile played at Harry's lips. He was glad to hear the overstrung tenor fade from her voice.

"So tell me, Harry; have you ever salsa danced before?" She looked at him skeptically as though already knowing the answer.

"Honestly? No. I was kind of hoping that you would be willing to show me the ropes." Harry gave her the puppy dog eyes in hopes that she would agree.

"Oh no!" Hermione cried out in dismay.

"Then again if it's too much trouble..."

With hunched shoulders, Harry quickly tried to cover his embarrassment by looking anywhere but at her. Her refusal sliced as swift as a switchblade. Hermione, who had been staring at a spot just over Harry's shoulder, gave him a sharp, baffled look.

"What?! Oh I'm sorry, Harry; I wasn't listening to a word you said. I was too busy looking at that!"

Harry turned to see what she was pointing at. His eyes landed on the DJ booth where two figures stood close together; a man and woman. One of the figures, who looked fishily like his sister-in-law, appeared to be speaking into the ear of the fellow at the turntables.

"Now what do you suppose she's up to?"

Harry stammered, "I...I'm n-not sure." For some reason he felt the contents of his stomach wriggle around each other. "I wonder how she got up there."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. "Well this is Glinda Weasley we are talking about here. She has all of the impulse control of a 16 year old boy. Knowing her, she probably barreled her way up into that booth for whatever ungodly purpose drove her."

Harry thought the painted on, backless black dress the woman was wearing might have played its own part as well. Glinda had herself practically draped all over the DJ and the poor sod looked smitten from all the attention she was doling out. Harry had been about to make mention of this when he suddenly realized that Glinda was staring directly at him. He did a double take, puzzled at first by the thumbs-up signal she sent him, but as the DJ began to speak into his microphone Harry's bewilderment quickly changed into complete and utter mortification.

"WE'RE GOING TO SLOW THINGS DOWN NOW FOR A SPECIAL REQUEST. THIS SONG GOES OUT TO H FROM G. HERE'S HOPING YOU LIKE IT. PERHAPS THE REST OF YOU WILL TOO."

A soft, sultry tune began to slowly drift out from the speakers as the woman on the record began to croon out the first verse of the song.

"You won't admit you love me
and so how am I ever to know
you always tell me
Perhaps perhaps perhaps"

Harry visibly blanched. Hermione groaned loudly.

"A million times I've asked you
And then I ask you over again
You only answer
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps"

"She's a menace! A goddamned menace!"

Startled by the remark, Harry's green eyes found Hermione fuming in her friend's direction.

"P-p-pardon?"

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and continued to glare as Glinda flounced her way out of the DJ booth.

"She thinks she's so damned clever!" Hermione hotly cried.

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck in uncertainty as he looked back and forth. Glinda's little stunt had nearly knocked him on his arse, but it was Hermione's indignant grumblings that made him long for another stiff drink. He was utterly confused.

"I...I...I don't understand," he dazedly said.

Hermione paid him a patronizing glance. "Come on, Harry; to H from G? Don't you get it?" she asked, looking at him as though he were the daftest git alive. She rested a hand on her chest. "Hermione..."

She pointed across the room.

"...Glinda. She's being a smartarse. I should have never told her-"

"Wait, told her what?" Harry tersely cut her off.

Hermione opened her mouth, but all that came out was a strangled cough as her words collided together at the back of her throat. Her lips clamped together and she cast her eyes away from him furtively, almost as if rethinking what she had been about to say.

Now Harry was really befuddled. When the DJ had made the announcement, Harry had naturally assumed that he was the "H" that Glinda's snarky little dedication had been directed at. She had been riding him all night, and when the opportunity to have a little fun at his expense had presented itself, she had taken advantage of it full tilt. The question of whether or not Glinda knew that his aspirations towards Hermione were more than friendly was now moot, at least by his reckoning. But from the sound of it, Hermione had thought that the gag had been meant for her. What exactly was going on? Just who was being played here?

With a sigh, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him behind her to the other side of the club, hoping to put as much distance between them and Glinda's mocking presence as she could. When they reached a spot that was less populated she stopped and turned to him.

"Look, at lunch yesterday Glinda made this outrageous claim that it was impossible for a man and a woman to share a strictly platonic relationship," she said while chuckling lightly. "She even tried to use you and me as an example to prove her convoluted theory."

"SHE DID WHAT?!"

Hermione held up her hands as if to slow him down.

"Don't worry; I cut her to the quick. I told her that we were only friends and that we would only ever be friends."

Harry felt his jaw stiffen.

"I mean for God's sake, you're married! What kind of scarlet woman does she take me for?"

She looked at him expectantly, smiling faintly at her own quip. When she got no response she gave him a funny look.

"That was called a joke, Harry. You were supposed to laugh."

With vacant eyes, he forced a mirthless snickering sound from his throat. The breezy tone remained in her voice as she continued to speak.

"Well I guess I might have said something that made her think that I had proved her right. Add that to the rather compromising position she found us in earlier that day, it's not all that surprising that her imagination simply...ran away from her. She's pretty confidant that I'm lusting after you now. She said as much."

Hermione let out a jaunty laugh to underscore the absurdity of the notion. Harry didn't find it nearly as entertaining as she did, though. In fact, it almost made him anxious. There was something about the way her eyes had guiltily shifted away from him as she spoke.

"Oh? And what was it you said Hermione?" he asked, really interested in hearing the answer. It looked like he wasn't the only person whose cage Glinda had been rattling lately. The thing was he knew that Glinda had hit the mark with him.

The question caught Hermione off-guard.

"I said...look, it doesn't matter what I said." Her forehead furrowed. "The point is you and I have never seen each other that way. Glinda obviously doesn't buy it hence the public humiliation. Well I for one will not give her the satisfaction of thinking that her infantile prank unnerved me in any way. Put your hand on my waist," she ordered.

Harry's mind had been picking over what Glinda had said earlier, something about things suddenly making sense, when Hermione's bossy command cut through his thoughts. It had come out of nowhere.

"Put my what, on your what now?"

Hermione puffed herself up with impatience.

"You wanted to dance; let's dance! There is nothing unseemly about an innocent rumba between two friends. Come along."

She raised her right hand and placed her left on his shoulder while Harry's arms hung floppily at his sides. He was still working through everything she had told him about her chat with Glinda and his brain had failed to send out the correct signals to the appropriate parts. Then again, she was standing so close to him all of a sudden.

"R-rumba? W-what happened to the s-s-salsa?

"Oh Harry, do keep up!" she scolded, frowning. "This music isn't appropriate for salsa dancing." she said, roughly taking one of his hands and slapping it to her waist.

Harry felt like a proper clod; completely ham-fisted, nearly pigeon-toed. He was unsure of just where to place his other hand or even where he should look. All of his instinctive authority during basic maneuvers or natural grace while flying on his broom seemed lacking. He was made impotent by her nearness.

"I...I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Hermione. I'm rubbish at this," he bleakly admitted as he turned his face from her.

Hermione grabbed his chin, moving his head so that he could look at her straight on.

"Nonsense. There isn't a thing that Harry Potter can not do."

And she meant it.

He smiled. "You think?"

"I know, because I'm going to teach you how," she said pertly pulling a chuckle out of him.

She dropped her hands and pulled away from him. She began to move back and forth, suggestively swaying her hips with each step.

"Are you looking at my feet?" she asked.

Harry almost snorted aloud. Instead he densely nodded his head as his eyes lingered considerably higher. In comparison to the various states of dress, or rather undress of most of the women in the club, the simple yellow gown that Hermione wore might have seemed demure, plain even. But as the delicate material pulled, and stretched fluidly against her body with her every movement, Harry thought of another word that best described it. Distracting.

"This is what a rumba looks like; it's often called the Love Dance. This and the bolero are the slowest of the Latin dances, also the easiest. If you can waltz, you can rumba. Anyone can rumba," she said assuredly.

"Somehow I doubt that," said Harry, cocking a disbelieving smirk.

"It's true!"

Her face broke out into an effervescent smile as she moved close to him. From the energetic dancing she had been doing earlier most of the pins in her hair had fallen out haphazardly and the humidity in the room had helped to make her already unruly mane frizz out wildly about her head. It was all over the place, and coupled with her flushed and glowing skin, gave her a disheveled, almost debauched appearance; like she had just been caught doing naughty things in some secluded niche somewhere and didn't care if everyone knew it. Harry thought it made her look sexy as hell.

"Now one of the most important factors in dancing is the timing. If you can follow the beat, you can pick up the steps easily."

Hermione placed both of her palms on Harry's chest and splayed her fingers out, gently giving one of his pectoral muscles a light squeeze. At the rather intimate touch, Harry felt pleasure lick through him and flame his blood. The pace of his pumping heart heightened.

She tipped her large, golden chocolaty eyes up at him. "Am I too close?"

At a loss for anything better to say he roughly grunted, "No."

Hermione tilted her head. She seemed to find his slightly flustered state terribly intriguing. Her eyes twinkled at him.

"Am I making you nervous?"

Goofily, he smiled.

"A little."

She grinned at his apparent silliness. She then began to tap out the rhythm of the rumba on his shirtfront. Their eyes met and held.

"You feel that?" she breathily asked him.

Merlin!

Harry nodded his head. If she kept that up much longer she would soon feel it too.

"Slow...quick-quick, slow...quick-quick, slow...quick-quick..."

She continued to rap gently on him.

"Do you think you can handle it?"

He swallowed. "A-yup."

Hermione giggled in amusement.

"Now as the man it's your job to lead," she stated matter-of-factly.

Harry placed both of his hands over hers, stilling her actions for a moment. The pattering sensations had become harder to handle elsewhere. To hide this from her he jokingly asked, "Doesn't that go against your feminist leanings?"

Hermione's perfect, Cupid's bow mouth stretched itself coquettishly.

"Au contraire," she said moving even closer to him. Harry wanted to shrink back as much as possible. He didn't want her to discover just how turned on he was, but her dark, smoky rimmed eyes were hypnotic. He couldn't look away or move. "You see the rumba is considered a woman's dance. The man might lead, but it is the woman who teases, who seduces."

She pressed herself up against his arousal.

"The woman holds all of the power."

If she was toying with him, and Harry wasn't so sure that she wasn't, she was doing a corking job of it. She had him fully under her spell.

"Now when the man advances, she steps back as if to say 'ah, ah, ah you can not touch'. But then she goes back to him, tempting him over and over again. She pulls all of the strings and all her partner can do is endlessly chase after her."

"Story of my life."

Hermione removed a hand from his grip and teasingly ruffled the shaggy hair against his neck, lightening the suggestive mood that had just begun to simmer between them. For a while there the music had become nothing but background noise and they had been the only two people inside the cavernous room, in the entire world almost. For Harry, all there had been was the bewitching sound of her voice and the acute awareness of where her body and his touched. But now a bit of reality had seeped back in.

"Be serious, you!" she said.

For the next few minutes Hermione set about walking Harry through the uncomplicated footwork of the rumba, still beating out the meter on him. His hands had found their way to her waist and there they stayed, unconsciously stroking her side and back, as he watched his feet to make sure he didn't step on hers. Surprisingly, Harry caught on to the simple box-step in little time, just like Hermione told him he would.

"Other dancers may be on the floor dear

But my eyes will see only you
Only you have that magic technique
When we sway I go weak."

"See, you're getting it," she said proudly. She moved one hand to his shoulder and reached for his left hand with the other, holding it in the proper position. "Once you get the proper rhythm it begins to feel good, yes?"

Harry looked up. There was a scampish luster in his eyes.

"We are still talking about dancing, aren't we?"

Hermione's mouth hung open as she laughed outright at the daring of his remark.

"Harry!"

He chuckled at his own bit of boldness.

Deciding to play along, Hermione's eyes glinted minxishly.

"You know, dancing is the most fun you can have without taking your clothes off. Or so they say." She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

"Now who are 'they' and just what sort of baseless propaganda have they been filling your head with?"

Her head fell back as she emitted a throaty laugh, exposing all of her well formed neck for his eyes very appreciative consumption.

"You know, I'm not sure. I never met 'them'," she said before both of them began to shake from the force of their merriment. Without forethought, Harry pulled her even closer to him. She rested her head against his shoulder and sighed while burrowing into his warmth.

"You're pretty good at this," he said just above her ear. "That flat mate of yours teach you?"

He felt her head move up and down.

"Everything he knew. Benitez's mum had a dance studio in Havana before she fled the island. He was born dancing, or so he claims." She reared back from him slightly, beaming with approval. "You're not doing too shabbily yourself. Before long we'll have you doing a Texas Two-Step."

Harry pulled her back and held her tightly. He wasn't ready to let go just yet.

"Then again you've always been a quick study," she continued. "Look how fast you learned how to do a Summoning Spell."

"I had a good coach then too," he said, the tenderness in his voice ringing true and heartfelt.

Though he couldn't see it, Hermione's cheeks burned warm and pink and ached so blissfully good.

"So is this all there is to the rumba?" asked Harry after about the third...fourth...fifth song. Harry wasn't sure, he had long lost count. "This was easy!" he boasted, filled full with confidence.

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Mr. Cockypants," she said making Harry guffaw loudly. She looked up at him. "This is just the basic framework. From here you add on breaks and turns and..."

"Dips?"

An image of Charlie lowering Hermione to the floor had popped up in his head suddenly. Harry's muscles began to quicken with some nameless anticipation.

Hermione shook her head at him prudishly.

"That is considered a trick and can be a tad difficult to pick up right off. I'm not so sure that you're ready for it."

Feeling a mite rebellious, Harry abruptly plunged Hermione back into a low sweeping incline. He supported her weight firmly on his arm. Hermione's eyes rounded like coins and her bottom lip began to weakly quiver as he held her there.

"I'd say I'm ready for anything," he said as his face hung just over hers. He noticed the gold flecks in her eyes.

In answer, all Hermione could do was blink at him.

Harry gently eased her up. Even when he resumed steering her around as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, she still uttered not a single peep, just continued to stare at him wordlessly. Her entire body became malleable to his direction and there was little doubt who was leading whom now. She had virtually become putty in his hands. Why yes, Mr. Cockypants was feeling quite sure of himself.

"Your heart is beating fast," Harry murmured seductively against her ear, taking note of the faint shiver that ran through her as he did it. It was hard to miss really.

Hermione thickly swallowed, uncertain of what might come out.

"I...I know." She quickly bowed her head.

Seeing her frazzled like this, when she always tried to be the one so poised, so cool, and so zealously in control of their every interaction, made Harry feel a modicum of power surge through him. He was doing this to her. It was his touch that was affecting her. He was the one who was making her body respond to him so forcibly. Come to think of it, she had been like this that night in the cottage's kitchen.

Deciding to press his luck, Harry said, "You know, we can stop if you'd like."

His hand had boldly begun to caress her side, gathering and smoothing out the fabric at her waist. Hermione's head popped up.

"I mean, if you rather dance with Charlie again I'd-"

"NO!" she vehemently squawked right before wincing at her lack of comportment. "No I'm...I'm...I'mfinerighthere."

She latched her arms around his neck and lowered her head again. Harry placed both hands around Hermione's waist. If possible, she clung to him even tighter than before. Harry was near rapturous with joy. She wanted to dance with him, only with him. It was his arms that she held fast to, not Charlie or Ron or Malfoy's or some other faceless man; only him. She wanted him. That's what Harry's heart wanted to believe. He didn't even care that he was building some illusion out of nothing more that a friendly dance. They were so much more than friends. They just had to be!

He had been so swept up in his own euphoria that he barely recognized the fact that Hermione had been speaking to him.

"Come again?"

"I said, I remember the last time we danced like this."

Harry's stride broke. His feet stumbled over themselves before he found his footing again.

"What?" asked Hermione, confusion registering on her face as she saw the stunned look on his. They had stopped moving.

Harry racked his head for the memory that Hermione was referring to, but came up short.

"I...don't," he said feeling suddenly wary. For some unknown reason a chill passed through him.

"That's ok. I mean...it's not like it was a big deal or anything. It wasn't important." She looked away, but not before he could see how much his admission had hurt her.

They had begun to rock back and forth, unmindful of the livelier music that had begun playing. Neither was aware of anything much; the tenor of the air between them had become strained once again distracting them both to their surroundings. Harry wasn't exactly sure what had caused the change, but he tried to rectify it valiantly.

"Yes it was...is. Important, I mean." She glanced back at him, drawn by the gravity of his voice. "I just...I don't recall you and me ever dancing together. Strange, isn't it?"

Out of the dozen or so parties and countless balls he and Hermione had attended together before her leaving, Harry couldn't remember a single instance where he and Hermione had ever shared a dance. But now here she was saying that they had.

Staring straight forward, focusing squarely on his shoulders, Hermione said it again.

"The night before you got married…It was the night before your wedding day. We danced at the Ending Party."

Ah, his Ending Party thought Harry to himself, well then that explained it. He had spent most of that night in a drunken stupor. One of his few recollections of the reception was Seamus jumping behind the bar at the start of the evening and staying there all night serving up highballs of Guinness topped off with just a shot of Ogden's; a Witch's Hammer he dubbed the potent brew. Harry had had about six of them, maybe eight. No more than ten, certainly. He had sought out the liquid courage to help fortify him for his nuptials that next day.

"Hmm...Truth be told, that night was a blur to me," said Harry. He quirked a smile. "Still is, obviously. I do remember Ron saying that he didn't know where you had gotten off to towards the end, but when we searched the place we couldn't find you anywhere. Other than that I'm just drawing a blank."

Harry cupped her chin and raised it to get a better look at her.

"Where did you go?"

She answered him at once.

"My flat. I wasn't feeling well so I decided to go home," she told him.

Harry raised a hand and gently smoothed down her hair.

"I wish I could remember dancing with you. Was it terribly bad? Was I the reason you left so early? I didn't hobble you or anything, did I?"

Hermione smiled. It was an achingly bittersweet one. "No, you were perfect."

Her eyes broke contact with his and looked away.

"Oh look, here comes Ron," she brusquely said, pulling away from Harry and waving her arms like mad. On her face she fixed a perky smile. "RON! OH RON!"

When Harry looked off to the right he saw a head of flaming red hair cutting its way through the dense crowd. Harry was dismayed at the sight of it. Though he loved his mate dearly, Ron couldn't have picked a worse time to show up. Why was it that anytime he tried to steal a moment with Hermione someone or something was always there interrupting it?! If he was a superstitious bloke he would think the universe was conspiring against him or something.

Walking right up to his two best friends, Ron grabbed Hermione about the waist and gave her a robust squeeze, raising her slightly from her feet. Hermione squealed and swore at him as soon as she touched the floor again.

"So," he began, tetchily eyeing Harry up and down, "thought you could keep her all to yourself, did you Potter? Probably why you hexed me. We've been looking for you two all over this place," he said.

Hermione looked back and forth between them.

"You hexed him in front of a slew of non-magical people?" she asked Harry before turning on Ron. "Ok, what did you do?" She placed both of her hands on her hips and gave Ron a haughty once-over. Harry chortled out loud at the sight of it.

"NOTHING! I was just minding my own business when Super Auror there-"

"YOU PEOPLE NEED TO STOP CALLING ME THAT!"

"-went all spell happy on me," grumped Ron, completely ignoring Harry's protestation.

"Well you must have done something," said Hermione prissily. "That can be the only possible explanation."

Ron stared at her, open-mouthed.

"WELL DOESN'T THIS JUST TAKE THE BISCUT?! And here I was, being a good friend, rescuing you from Harry committing some crime against nature on your feet. See if I ever care again!"

"Oh, I'm not that bad!" Harry grouchily contested.

Seeing Hermione nod her head in agreement nearly made him burst with pride.

"And you have no room to talk, Ron. Lavender was practically limping around the day after the last party we all went to."

Smugly, Ron smiled.

"Well if you must know, that didn't come from dancing!"

Harry and Hermione both gaped at him, too appalled to say anything at first. It took a moment before either of them could react.

"Eww!"

Although Harry's own opinion on the subject wasn't as strong as all that, he still blushed to hear Ron speak so frankly in front of Hermione. That was the kind of talk you had over ale when it was just the blokes around.

"Too much information, mate!" he scolded.

Ron merely smirked at their stricken expressions.

"You're both just jealous."

~~**~~ ~~**~~

It was nearing four in the morning when their group finally disbanded and departed the club. Ron and Harry had early plans for the day, while Neville was due to open his shop in only a few hours. They were all exhausted as well. Their excursion to Bongos had evolved into a full-blown bash. Once Ron located Harry and Hermione on their cozy patch of floor, the rest of the gang had joined them. They had a grand time dancing together, laughing, drinking, and generally enjoying one another's company. It had been a fun evening, but like all good things it had come to an end.

"So you and Ron are going house shopping, hmm?"

Harry and Hermione were walking through the sleepy village of Godric's Hollow. Although she had accepted his offer to take her home again, he ended up Apparating them to the very outskirts of the town. He was trying to extend their time together for as long as he could. Hermione didn't seem to mind, though. She appeared to be just as reluctant to end the evening as he was. The two of them chatted comfortably as they picked their way towards the cottage in the dark. Despite it being morning, sunup was still some hours away.

"A best man's job is never done, regrettably," said Harry with a stiff laugh. "He's whittled down the field to two, but he says that he'd like my opinion on them."

Harry tried not to sound too glum about it. He usually had Sundays off, but Ron had been begging him for days to go on this little pre-wedding errand of his. Half-heartedly, Harry had finally agreed. That had been before he had spent most of the night (and a good chunk of the morning) bouncing around like a maniac trying to keep up with Hermione. After pretty much getting the hang of the rumba, Harry had set himself against the daunting task of conquering the samba.

The samba won.

Muscles and joints ached that he never knew he possessed. The thought of the soft bed he was going to be forfeiting actually depressed him. Harry sighed at the stolen opportunity to just laze about the house for most of the day. He was sure Ginny would find something to occupy her time and just leave him alone.

"I don't know why he just doesn't take you," he added sullenly.

A peal of laughter poured out of Hermione at the suggestion.

"Oh yes, because the good Widow Pye would gladly live in a house that I picked out for her."

Harry pulled a face. The scene that Ron's future bride would make if that were to happen made him actually shudder.

"She'd chop him off at the knees!"

"I was actually thinking a bit higher," said Hermione archly. "But seriously, Harry, a boys' day out with Ron doesn't sound so bad, does it?" She gave him a good-natured check to the side. "After all, Ron was the thing you'd miss the most once, was he not?"

"Sorely miss."

Hermione frowned. "Excuse me?"

"You're talking about the Second Task, right? 'And while you're searching, ponder this: we've taken the thing you'll sorely miss'."

Harry could still recite the egg's curious clue by memory.

"It wasn't the thing I'd miss the most; it was what I would sorely miss. Everyone always gets that part wrong. There is a difference, you know."

Hermione looked dumbfounded to hear it.

"Oh."

He took Hermione's arm and hooked it through his. He readjusted the robes he had hanging over his shoulder.

"Ron and I had just made up, remember? At the time I would have missed him badly if things had gone back to us not speaking again. But if it had been what I would miss the most I would think they would have taken you instead."

A slight arching of the eyebrow told Harry just how much Hermione believed that one. Harry laughed. Ok, maybe he had been laying it on a bit thick there.

"Alright, maybe not Harry at 14..."

She gave him one of her know-all smirks.

"...but I like to think that I've matured enough to know just how much you mean to me now, Hermione," he said, pausing a moment to look down into her face. "How much you always have meant to me. I hope you know that I will never take you for granted again."

Hermione smiled. "You never took me for granted, Harry. Anything I ever did for you, I did it willingly," she told him.

He had nothing to add to that so they resumed their stroll.

"So what do you have planned for today?"

"Ooh, a nice late lie-in," said Hermione teasingly. He groaned making her laugh at his pain. "After which I plan to go out to Newcastle. Amparo Leon has invited me to Tea."

Harry became alert. His mind touched quickly on the golden business card that was tucked securely in the pocket of his robes, before focusing solely on her. He was actually surprised that Hermione had brought up Amparo to him. Considering how jumpy and nervous Hermione had acted when the two of them had been introduced, Harry would have figured that the solicitor was the last thing Hermione would have wanted to discuss. He hadn't forgotten the bits and pieces he had heard exchanged between the two women at the tavern, but he had decided not to bring any of it to Hermione's attention just yet. He actually wanted to have his own little sit down with Zabini's wife before he did so. Still, he was suspicious as to just why Hermione would mention her now.

"She's nice," he began, parsing his words cautiously. "Amparo, that is. I like her."

"Oh good, so do I," replied Hermione hastily. "I can see us becoming good friends. So um, what did you two talk about?" she asked giving Harry a side-long glance as her shoulders tensed.

And there it was; she was trying to work him over. She was probing to find out just what he did or did not know. The deceiving lightness to the question hadn't fooled him a bit. Then again he was starting to learn to not take much of what Hermione said at face value. His gut instinct told him that she had gotten herself mixed up into something all those years she spent in the States, and for some reason or another she didn't want to share any of it with him. She had no problem involving a stranger like Amparo Leon, though. If he had to make a guess, Harry figured that she probably wanted to know what, if anything, the woman might have said about her to him. Harry decided to allay her fears right away. After all, Amparo Leon hadn't told him a thing. Yet.

"Not much. She just has a scholarly interest in one of my cases. Nothing too spectacular."

Hermione let out a pleased, "Oh."

Her rigid shoulders relaxed.

"Well she's going to be handling some of my legal affairs for the time being."

She was throwing him a bone to throw him off the scent. Harry recognized the tactic for what it was.

"Nothing too serious I hope?"

"Oh no, no," she said shaking her head, "just a few loose ends I neglected to shore up. Nothing to worry about. So you don't have to worry. About it, that is. I can take care of it myself, understand?" She gave him a meaningful look. He caught the not so subtle hint.

Shove off Harry!

"I won't."

Not that he was going to listen to it.

"If you tell me not to worry, then I won't."

She timidly smiled. "Good."

After that the conversation tapered down into a distended silence. When Harry glanced over he saw a troubled, despondent look marring her tired face. There was something still weighing on her mind and yet she seemed determined to stay quiet. When he could take no more of her blue mood, Harry spoke up.

"Sickle for your thoughts."

Her head jerked towards him. It was almost as if she had forgotten where she was.

"I'm afraid you'd get back change, they aren't worth very much." Her eyes veered straight ahead of her again as she faintly grimaced. "Today was...would have been Boadicea's birthday."

Harry was startled.

"Did we know that? How did we know that?" he asked her. "I don't remember ever knowing that."

"You wouldn't. I only knew it because she told me once," Hermione said simply. "She told me a lot of things. I told her a lot of things."

She turned to face him.

"We...got each other."

Hermione launched herself up out of her seat and ran for the portrait door. Before the three boys could utter a word or do anything, she was already out the exit running hell-for-leather down the hall. Both Harry and Ron jumped up and made a move to go after her, but thinking better of his place, Harry grudgingly hung back to allow his best mate to chase Hermione down instead. She was his girlfriend after all.

"Who slapped her two tits together?"

Harry's head snapped around to find Malfoy lying on the sofa once again with his book propped up against his legs like before. With his free arm, he turned the page while sparing Harry not a glance. It was impossible to ignore the disgust that the dark haired wizard leveled at him as Harry came marching back across the room, though. Harry had just about reached his breaking point with the slimy git and it was at times like these he wished he could simply climb over the armrest of the couch just so he could pummel the bastard's face into a meaty, squishy pulp. But he couldn't. Malfoy was a part of the team; an Order Member, like the rest of them. To pick a fight with the little prick would be considered juvenile. Unsporting. Then again...

"Malfoy, you are one foul, soulless cockroach!"

The blond lowered his book just an inch so he could toss an insolent look Harry's way. He then went back to pretending to read.

"Why? Because I have no problem speaking hard, ugly truths while the rest of you would prefer to cling to your precious, pretty lies?" his blasé voice drawled. He turned another page.

Harry goggled at the bastard, stunned.

"WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT IS MURDER!" he yelled.

Swiftly his eyes traveled to the top of the empty staircase. He was aware that he was letting his disgust and anger get the best of him, but his animosity towards the Slytherin was beginning to make him sloppy. What if DuManoir had woken up already? What if DuManoir were to hear him and Malfoy arguing?

What if DuManoir had heard everything already?

Harry planted his hands on the side arm of the couch and tiredly dropped his head. After taking a moment to collect himself, he looked back up again.

"What you are talking about is murder," he tonelessly repeated.

"The nutbar is a Horcrux."

"She's an innocent!"

"Who just so happens to be a Horcrux," Malfoy replied icily without a hint of contrition.

He finally closed the book and rested it atop his lap. Although he didn't budge from his relaxed pose, his gray eyes glittered with an almost frenetic hostility.

"She-"

He drew a sharp breath as he shook his head.

"It knew just who the Dark Lord was when it got tied up with him. The Muggle-born knew what he was capable of. The Muggle-born knew his crimes. The Muggle-born chose to become his plaything. And he chose to turn the wench into a vessel of evil."

A cruel smile twisted his pallid face.

"As our fearless leader once said, it's our job to destroy Horcruxes; or have you forgotten?"

Harry laughed mirthlessly.

"Our job? OUR JOB?! Oh, and I suppose you're going to be the one to do it, then?" came the barbed query.

Malfoy looked momentarily shaken by the jibe. He quickly regained his composure, though.

"I'm injured," he said while motioning his slinged arm towards Harry and smirking.

Harry could only marvel at Malfoy's audacity. He was such a slithering little diva. He also happened to be a big fat phony!

"Odd isn't it that everyone else seems to have recovered just fine since the convent raid?" Harry asked rhetorically. "Everyone except you, that is."

Malfoy stretched himself lazily like a sleek cat and placed his uninjured arm behind his head.

"What can I say, Potty; saving a life takes a lot out of a man."

Fury blazed white hot inside of Harry's chest. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate breathing and whatnot, Harry just hated the idea that he somehow owed anything to Malfoy, even if it was his life. Of course that only meant that the braggart took immense pleasure holding his little act of bravery over Harry's head every chance he got. If that wasn't bad enough, the bastard tried to use the so-called "selfless" deed to curry favor with Hermione. And Hermione fell for it! She honestly thought that there was a chance that Malfoy could change and become a decent human being some day. Harry knew better of course. It was only a matter of time before Draco Malfoy showed his true face.

"You're no man," said Harry so violently that the muscles around his mouth twitched. The threatening tone to his voice was chilling. "Coward's too good a name for you even. You're nothing but a heartless, no-good Slytherin! All you care about is your own sorry arse."

Malfoy swung his feet to the ground and sat up. He glared at Harry malevolently.

"SOMEONE'S GOT TO!" he yelled. "You might like playing 'Potter the Martyr', but I had a life once. I had a family..."

"Pack of dogs, more like."

"...and friends..."

"Bought and paid for, I'm sure."

Malfoy hurled his book to the floor. He pointed back towards the stairs.

"That crazy BITCH up there has got to die or nothing will ever be as it once was. The Dark Lord will have us all before long if you don't finish it. I think the choice is pretty obvious."

"Merlin, where's your compassion?!" Harry demanded, finally tiring of the row. "She's just a girl!"

"I DON'T CARE!" Malfoy childishly bratted. "I'm for whatever it takes to free me from the company I've been keeping these past few months! I've grown tired of you bleeding hearts, vagabonds, and mongrels who aren't even worthy of wiping out my arse!"

Harry's vision tunneled and he could practically hear the blood bubbling in his ears. Within a flash he had Malfoy hauled out of his seat. He held him up by the collar of his shirt and looked menacingly into the pale eyes of his nemesis. For what it was worth, the git didn't flinch.

"I swear, Malfoy," he growled, "if ever I hear you say another unkind word about Hermione again, so help me I'll-"

"I WASN'T TALKING ABOUT HER!" the jerk snapped cantankerously.

The statement shook Harry out of his vengeful fog. Of course he had assumed that Malfoy had been taking a cheap swipe at the Muggle-born while she wasn't around to hear it.

"You...y-you weren't?" he questioningly stammered.

Malfoy wrenched away from him.

"No! I wasn't talking about her!" he snarled again. He jutted his chin out obstinately. "I was talking about you!" he obnoxiously informed Harry.

"Oh."

Harry stepped back, almost as if searching for his footing.

"Well I've got news for you," he said once getting over the initial frankness of Malfoy's response, "I'm not killing DuManoir. And as I recall, you suffer from a bit of performance anxiety."

With Hermione not there to referee it was officially open season.

"No, you can't quite get your wand up, so to speak," Harry continued. "Since you don't have what it takes to deliver a Killing Curse I guess you'll just have to suffer through somehow, Ferret."

Malfoy began to tremble. His free hand flexed as though imagining his wand in it. He wanted to hex Harry so badly that he looked like he would implode if he didn't get a chance to do it soon. Harry wasn't scared though, he continued to goad the blond with an almost sinful glee. Hermione often said that the two of them brought out the absolute worse in each other and she was right. No shock there really!

"I HATE YOU!" yelled Malfoy, eyes smoldering with contempt and rage. There was little doubt that he meant it wholeheartedly.

Harry mockingly smiled. "Good. I hate you too. I say that makes us about even."

With that said he turned his back on the idiot and headed towards the door. He figured that Ron should have found Hermione already and he was beginning to grow concerned that they hadn't come back yet. He needed to find them and make sure that Hermione was alright. The look on her face as she went out the door troubled him greatly.

As he prepared to open the portrait, he scooped up his broom that had been propped right next to it against the wall and tucked it under his arm. In case they had gone outside it would be easier to spot Hermione and Ron from high up he figured. However before he could leave the room, Malfoy served up one last parting shot.

"DuManoir is an abomination, Potter. I know it. You know it. Granger there knows it. Hell, if that freak show upstairs had even half a gobstone left in that empty head, the weirdie would know it too! You'd be doing that wack-job and the world a favor if you'd just waste the bitch. But you don't care about that, do you? No, you don't care about anything that tarnishes your own precious self-image; that makes you feel anything less than the hero. You are the great Harry Potter after all; protector of all things fluffy. Just answer me this oh brave and fearless leader; are you really going to sacrifice countless lives just to save the one?"

Harry looked back at Malfoy incredulously. Not because he couldn't believe that the Slytherin could be so cold-blooded, that was a given, but because he was astounded to find a kernel of truth to what the blond wizard was saying. Still, Harry would not bow to Malfoy's twisted logic.

"You might be able to live without a conscience Malfoy, but I have one," he soberly said before leaving the room.

He was just reaching the first floor when he came upon Ron on the marble staircase. The redhead Gryffindor was shivering, wet, and alone. A trail of melted snow lay behind him and patches of his hair had matted together with small chunks of ice. The only color left in his face appeared to be the freckles that dotted his pale cheeks and his blueish lips. Harry made a note to cast a Heating Charm on himself before he went outside.

"Ron, where is Hermione?" he asked, searching the empty space behind the wizard as if the brunette would somehow materialize in it.

"I th-th-think sh-she w-was head-d-ding to-to Hag-g-grid's," came Ron's chattering response as he brushed snow off of his shoulders. He had foolishly gone outside with nothing warmer than the light jumper he had been wearing all day. A small puddle had begun to form beneath him.

"YOU LEFT HER OUT THERE?!" yelled Harry. "Hagrid's is right next to the bloody forest, Ron. Anything could get at her out there!"

"I know b-but..."

"It's dark out! And it's cold. Hermione's upset; she shouldn't be alone right now!"

"I know b-but..."

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING, RON?!"

Ron waited for Harry to cool down and to get his own clacking teeth under control.

"L-Listen, Har-r-ry, when I got out there I h-had no idea what t-to say to her. Not that it would have hel-helped any if I did. She's a basket case! She told me to l-leave her the hell alone."

Ron looked so pitiful that Harry feared that the occasionally insensitive boy would begin to tear up himself.

"Harry, you g-g-go. She'll t-talk to you," he finally said looking optimistically at his best mate.

Though he had no idea what he could possibly say to her either, Harry agreed without a moment's hesitation. There was just one thing he needed taken care of first.

"Fine. I need you to do me a favor though," he told Ron.

"Sure, Harry. Anything!"

"I need you to go back upstairs and look in on DuManoir."

Ron's eager face fell. "Do I have to?" he petulantly whinged. It wasn't that he was scared of the spooky French bird...old lady...whatever, it was just the prospect of possibly receiving a black eye for his troubles was not on the redhead's top ten list of things to do.

"Ron, get over it," said Harry with little sympathy. "She's virtually helpless. You're not scared of a girl, are you?"

"Depends on who the girl is," said Ron half-jokingly. "Besides, why do you need me to check on her? I thought Hermione drugged her up good."

Harry thought back to the few moments before they had all stepped inside the Pensieve. For some reason he couldn't shake a single image from his head, that of turbid, purple eyes staring down at him. Had that been what he had seen?

"I could be wrong, but I think our guest might be playing us all for fools. I don't think she really took that draught Hermione gave her. I know I should have said something before, but when we were talking earlier I could have sworn I saw her up on the top landing listening in." Harry paused, desperately concentrating on that moment again. No matter how hard he reached for the exact memory he couldn't be sure if he had imagined the whole thing or not. "At least I think I saw her."

Ron was bowled over by the disclosure.

"WHAT?!"

"And while we were inside the memory I couldn't shake off the feeling that we were being watched," continued Harry. "Like there was someone else in there besides us."

"You think she went into the Pensieve after we did?" Ron questioned. "Do you think she saw V-V-V...You-Know-Who's me-memory too?"

Harry frowned. He felt fairly certain now that the memories they had all witnessed had not belonged to Tom Riddle. His mind kept going back to the fact that DuManoir had been in that first stall waiting for Riddle before he even got there. Harry neglected to mention all of this to Ron, though.

"I don't know," he answered him. "But if she saw it I'm sure it didn't bring back any good memories...pun intended."

Ron's blue eyes rounded as he slowly shook his head in wonder. "She'd go mental."

He then winced from his own poor choice of words.

"I mean, if she wasn't...already...mental...that is."

A wry smile softened Harry's face. "I'm starting to think that's debatable. Go check on her," he urged his friend. "Make sure she's all tucked in nice and tight, will you?"

"Alright, alright," said Ron reluctantly, shoulders sagging. "I'll do it. But if she gives me a shiner and you laugh, you're a dead man, Potter."

Harry snickered at the humorous threat. "I'll kick my own arse if it makes you feel better."

"The black eye would be worth it just to see you try."

Both of them grinned.

Harry gave Ron a brotherly clap to the shoulder as he clipped past him down the stairs; broom still held securely in place.

"Take care of my girl for me," Ron called after Harry just as he reached the bottom step.

Harry looked over his shoulder and gave his best mate a heartening smile.

As if he even had to ask.

"I'll do my best," he said before heading for the nearest exit.

~~**~~ ~~**~~

As Ron predicted, Harry found Hermione standing outside of Hagrid's cabin, bathed in the tinted light and warmth of one of her bluebell flames. It hovered in a glass jar near her head. Harry also saw that she wasn't alone. Her ghostly looking companion for the evening was Puddin', a thestral whose odd name came from the intense fondness for the goopy concoction the ominous looking creature had developed while under the gamekeeper's loving care. Harry had long grown use to Hagrid's rather unconventional naming practices.

Harry had easily recognized Puddin' by her gimpy left wing. Grawp had accidentally thrown the horse into a tree during a temper tantrum one day and Hagrid had been taking care of her on and off ever since. He had actually been gone from the school grounds since that morning; off collecting a rare ingredient needed for a salve that would help the thestral heal faster, maybe even help Malfoy out too. Though Puddin' had been on the mend since the accident, she did have a tendency to list ever so slightly to the right. Before taking off with Charlie as his backup, the half-giant had asked Harry to check up on the thestral if he got a chance; the horse never missed a day to stop in for a treat. Hagrid had only left Hermione and Ron out because it was assumed that Harry was the only one of the three who could see the deathly looking animals.

For Harry it came as no shock to find Hermione feeding Puddin' out of one of Hagrid's large bowls; one hand holding it up, while the other stroked at the horse's black mane. In times of extreme emotional distress Hermione usually reverted to what she did best; looking after something or someone she deemed needed looking after. Harry really couldn't judge. He was a brooder, Ron was a yeller, and Hermione sought control wherever she could find it. This impossible situation they were now finding themselves in with DuManoir probably was close to sending her over the edge.

Puddin' was the first to sense Harry's presence. Her dragonish face lifted out of the bowl and her white, sightless seeming eyes lingered on him as a reptilian tongue peeked out to get at the bit of tapioca left in the crevices of her mouth. Hermione looked over her shoulder to see what had caught the thestral's attention, but the look on her face told Harry that she hadn't been all that surprised to find him standing there in the bitter cold. Both of them gazed at the other for a moment before Hermione finally broke the silence.

"I guess I got my wish, I can finally see them now," she said with false cheer. A mordant smile spoiled her sweet face. "Only had to kill someone to do it too," she added.

Even Puddin' didn't care for the remark. She made a puffing, snuffling sound out of the two nostrils at the end of her snout and shied away from the girl. Hermione's hand fell from the thestral and dropped lifelessly to her side. When she turned to face Harry, the blank expression she wore nearly punched him in the gut.

"Hermione..."

"You can save your breath, Harry. I've heard it ad nauseum," she said wearily as she lowered the now empty bowl. "'Hermione you didn't mean to hurt anyone. Hermione it was an accident. It was either Carrows or you, Hermione'. I got it. Still doesn't change the fact that I killed that woman." She let out a dispirited sigh. "I'm a murderer now."

The thestral twisted its head from Hermione to Harry, then back to her before turning itself around and trotting back to its home inside the dark woods. Hermione watched it go with a pensive expression before heading towards Hagrid's opened door and going inside the hut, the bluebell flame bobbing up and down behind her. When she came back out a minute later her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle. She took a moment to close Hagrid's door and turned to find a stoically straight faced Harry standing right before her.

"Is that what you'll think of me too? Is that all you'll see me as?" he asked calmly. "If I manage to beat Riddle somehow, will I be just another murderer to you afterwards?"

The question caused an instant sea change in Hermione. She went from mopey and self-pitying to being incensed at the very idea.

"HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT?! OF COURSE I WOULD NEVER SAY ANYTHING LIKE THAT ABOUT YOU! I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT!" she exclaimed as she grabbed at his arm.

"I know you didn't mean it that way, Hermione. You've just developed this troubling double standard lately. How do you think Remus would have felt if Carrows' spell had hit Tonks? How do you think I...Ron and I would have felt if it had got you?! I'm sorry, I just can't care that Alecto Carrows is dead, especially when it means that you lived. Don't tell me no good came out of what you did because that's a big fat stonking lie! You're so hard on yourself these days. What's with that?"

With tears brimming in her eyes Hermione let him go and turned away to look at the lightly powdered ground. The earlier snowfall had already ceased leaving only an already diminishing blanket of white across the browning grass.

"I'm...I'm just tired, Harry. That's all. It just feels like no matter what we do it's never enough," she said, despairingly, as she began to walk away from the cabin. Harry matched her step for step. "We went through all of that just to save Boadicea's life and now we have to...to..."

Hermione stopped in her tracks and looked at him plaintively. "What are going to do, Harry?"

He sighed, not really wanting to answer the question. "Dunno. What helpful advice did your planner dole out for today?" he asked, chuckling darkly. "Maybe it could be of some help."

Hermione gravely shook her head. "'Dementors often follow a sudden chill'," she said morosely. Harry could only roll his eyes.

"Well isn't that just encouraging!" he grumbled.

"What are you going to do, Harry?" she tried once again. "Really...what are you going to do with her?"

Grim faced, he despondently asked, "What is there to do?"

The question hung ominously in the air between them.

As they resumed their walk down the sloping lawn Harry noticed that Hermione didn't lift her eyes from her feet, not once. He didn't pay much attention to where they were going because of his intense focus on her. It was truly a case of the blind leading the blind because neither teenager realized that instead of heading directly to the castle, they had taken a turn down to the lake instead.

"You know, you kind of scared me and Ron back there. Taking off like that, I mean," said Harry when he could no longer take her long-faced silence.

Hermione looked up at him. "I didn't mean to."

He curiously asked, "What was all of that about?"

Hermione sighed and shook her head.

"I don't know; a little over identifying? Projection, perhaps?"

"I don't understand," said Harry, forehead creased with worry. As far as he could tell she was babbling.

"You and me both," she said with a dry snicker. When Harry continued to look at her warily she said, "Never mind me, Harry. I'm just reciting a load of psychobabble. It means nothing."

They finally came to a halt near the bank of the lake. Although the imposing body of water hadn't frozen over yet, the fact that the squid didn't seem to be up to his usual frolicking lent to Harry's suspicion that it was as cold as a crooked crone's teat in there! It gave him the shivers just thinking about it.

As he gazed across the dark water he began to feel despair rising up in him, threatening to drown him from within. He had long lived with the fact that life wasn't fair, his own pitiful existence up until this point being exhibit A for that argument. But the idea that it was somehow his responsibility now to end the life of a young girl just to even the score was repellent to him. Just how many sacrifices would it take for any of this to make sense, Harry wondered. He had already lost his mum and dad, Sirius, Dumbledore; he was even prepared to sacrifice his own life if it came to it. But now he was being called on to take the life of an innocent; of a person who was as much a victim in all of this as he was.

To Harry, killing DuManoir made him no better than Riddle and that was a line he just couldn't cross. He couldn't think of the Horcrux as simply an object that needed to be obliterated. It-she was a living, breathing person. While Harry often thought of Riddle and his minions as monsters deserving of death, DuManoir was different. According to Malfoy DuManoir had chosen her fate, but Harry had to disagree. He had seen the memory too. All she had been guilty of was placing her love and trust in the wrong person, of someone who didn't even know the meaning of those words. Was that really worthy of a death sentence? If he or anyone else were to kill her how would that make them any better than Tom Riddle who doled out death without remorse? How could he possibly live with himself if their continued existence counted on hers being extinguished?

Once again Harry had to wonder why all of this had to fall on him. There was no comfort in the idea that this was somehow his destiny. It was either scream or cry. He didn't know which yet, but he feared that once he got started he would never stop.

He turned to Hermione.

"Look, I can't kill her," he said, voice wavering. "I don't care if this is my fate, or my mission, or my...my goddamned purpose in life! I can't...I won't..."

He paused, rooting around for the proper words. His knuckles turned white as his hand gripped tightly around the handle of his broom.

"I DIDN'T SIGN UP FOR THIS!" he finally yelled as his temper flared. His breathing pumped out forced and ragged. It came out like puffs of smoke from his nostrils.

Hermione silently blinked back tears, but didn't shy away from him. In fact she opened her arms out like a mother would do a child offering whatever strength she had in face of his momentary lapse of weakness.

"Oh Harry," she soothingly murmured as her arms tenderly went around him. "Of course you didn't."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Harry felt himself go limp in her arms. He felt like a ratty old Quidditch robe, careworn and moth eaten. He hadn't meant to take out his anger on her, never her. It did feel good though to know that there was someone who was always there to tell him what he needed to hear, not just what he wanted to hear.

Getting himself together again, he abashedly pulled away from her embrace and looked back out at the fathomless abyss.

"I didn't sign up for any of this," he mumbled bleakly.

"I'm sorry," she said, face lined with concern as she stroked his arm.

Harry bowed his head before glancing at her. "It's not like it's your fault."

"I'm still sorry," said Hermione. She then smiled reassuringly. "You know, I'm sure there is a way to reverse what was done to Boadicea. It might not even have to come to...to..."

Her mouth twisted on the words, as though refusing to speak them aloud. With an airy toss of her bushy hair she seemed to shake off the thought. She became more and more animated as she continued to speak.

"A counter is what we need. I'll...I'll just do some research and..."

"Hermione, you already do enough research."

"I'll do more!" she exclaimed feverishly working herself up.

"And when do you suppose you'll sleep?" he asked jadedly.

Scoffingly, she laughed. "Sleep? Who needs sleep? It's so overrated. Besides what's important is finding a way around our current obstacle. I'm sure there is one. We just haven't found the right book yet. I'm sure I can find a way to―"

Harry held up a hand and looked at her squarely. "Just how long have you known it was possible for a person to be a Horcrux?"

The question instantly stilled Hermione's aimless rambling. Her wide brown eyes didn't even blink. Without meaning to, Harry let out a dreary chuckle. His inkling had finally been settled.

"That long, then?"

The remark loosened her tongue.

"I didn't know anything for sure until we all went in, I swear. I had wondered if it was likely before that, though," she admitted. "You mentioned once that Nagini could be a Horcrux."

"Dumbledore thought it was a possibility."

"It made me think that it was feasible to turn something that lived and breathed into a Horcrux. I thought that maybe...I just never thought he would do that to her," she explained in haste, trying to appease him.

It was what she still refused to say that bothered Harry.

"But I guess why trouble yourself with just an old Pensieve when you can desecrate Ravenclaw's heir herself," she continued on resentfully. "That Voldemort; ever the overachiever."

"So do you think that's why she didn't age?" he asked.

"It could explain it. What good is a Horcrux if it can just rust or break, age and decay too easily. The magic involved probably makes the target more durable, long-lasting. Who knows, that little bit of Voldemort in her is what probably drove her mad as well, made her try to kill her mum."

"Perhaps," said Harry reservedly.

Hermione paid no heed to the somewhat hesitant and noncommittal answer. She mournfully looked out at the water as she spoke.

"That poor girl thought he returned her love. It would break her heart if she ever found out just how and why he used her."

"Hopefully she'll never know," he said as he also turned towards the lake. "But I guess now that we know he's made a human Horcrux before, I think it's pretty safe to assume he might have done it twice," said Harry in a scarily detached and accepting tone. The sound of it made Hermione turn to him straightaway. Even if Harry hadn't seen the terror on her face, he wouldn't have been able to miss it in her voice.

"You are not a Horcrux!" The certitude in which she said it was wanting. It was pretty obvious she had long reached the same conclusion that he had. Harry only wondered just how long she had been struggling with it.

"We don't know that," he said, looking at her sadly.

The resignation in his voice provoked her into fury. The ball of fire near her head flamed out in a blue puff of smoke and seemed to shatter its jar prison from the inside out. The glass fragments fell to the ground as though they were made of nothing more than icicles. Hermione didn't even bat an eyelash at the display.

"YOU ARE NOT A HORCRUX! Why would Voldemort even make you into a Horcrux? He went to your parents' home specifically to kill you. It would make no sense for him to make you into a Horcrux. And if he had, why has he continued to try to kill you? It's illogical!"

"What of any of this is logical, Hermione?!" he asked. "Maybe Riddle goofed. He's not all seeing and knowing, is he? If he was he wouldn't have gotten himself blown up the first time. When he marked me as his equal maybe he put just enough of himself in here," Harry tapped at his scar, "to make it happen. He had already killed my...my mum so he had his sacrifice. What if I somehow became the seventh Horcrux?"

"We're looking for something of Gryffindor's. As powerful as you are, Harry, you are not related to him. I know; I did your family tree myself. Besides, Godrick Gryffindor never sired children. It's well documented. You are not the Gryffindor heir and you are not the Gryffindor Horcrux," she stubbornly fumed, arms folded before her.

"But I am Gryffindor's, through and through. From the very moment I stepped into that castle I chose that path. Or maybe that path was always chosen for me, who's to say?"

"Now you sound like Trelawney. Stop it at once! There is no reason to think Voldemort made you into a Horcrux. For one, unlike Boadicea, you have gotten older."

He had to give her that one, but still he argued his point.

"Our wands are brothers. I can see into Riddle's thoughts and he into mine. I'm a Parselmouth, just like he is! For Merlin's sake, I even look like him apparently! Maybe I have a bit of him in me too, just differently than DuManoir. You have to admit I'm pretty damned durable; I should have died several times over by now but haven't yet."

Hermione turned her back on him, scoffing dismissively at his sketchy evidence. He came up behind her and gently rested both hands atop her shoulders.

"Hermione, we have to stay ahead of him. You have to stop keeping these secrets! I understand that you think you're protecting me, but we are going to have to start looking at this as though it's a possibility. I might very well be a Horcrux."

In a tiny, tear strained voice Hermione asked, "And what do we do if you are?"

The splashing of water saved Harry from having to respond.

"What was that?!" he asked, looking over his shoulder. He instantly reached for his wand and stepped away from Hermione, holding out an arm to keep her back. As he peered out into the darkness around them he tried to search out the culprit that produced the sound he had heard. With no light being provided by the waning dark moon overhead it came as no surprise that he was unable to see a thing. Still, his muscles began to thrum under his skin, wary of whatever unseen menace the night shielded. Hermione, either unaware of any possible danger or simply not caring, tried to get him to answer her again.

"What do we do if you are, Harry?!" she repeated, frenziedly tugging at his arm. "Harry answer me; what do we do if you are?!"

Harry shook her off.

"Lumos." He pointed his wand out as he cautiously edged towards the direction he thought he had heard the noise come from. He didn't see anything at first, but as his arm lowered he noticed the slow moving concentric circles that sluggishly moved across the surface of the lake. Even as they faded away he still held his light on the water.

"Did you hear it? It sounded like someone threw something in," said Harry, almost as if speaking to himself. "Something heavy."

Hermione continued to grab at him frantically, trying to keep him from going any further.

"What?! I didn't hear anything. Harry! HARRY!"

"Look, I know what I heard," he said giving her a put out look before pulling away from her again. He headed off to their right in search of what had made the sound. Not letting his snippy tone deter her, Hermione followed after him, lighted wand drawn as well.

"Harry! Harry! Wait up. It was probably just the squid, Harry! Harry!"

His abrupt stop nearly caused her to ram right into him. Harry didn't budge though, his attention was focused solely on the ground. The light from his wand tip revealed a barely legible trail in the sprinkling of snow that still covered the grass there. When Hermione added her wand light to his there was no question as to what they had found.

"Footprints," Harry muttered aloud as he squatted down to take a closer look. "I wonder where they came from. Who would be stupid enough to be out here in this cold?" he asked as he looked up at Hermione.

She gave him a pointed look.

"Besides us, I mean."

"It's probably one of the Order members on patrol," she said uncaringly as he handed her his broom.

Harry lowered a finger to the grass to inspect the faint impressions.

"They're awfully small," he said with reservation.

"Perhaps it was Tonks. I think it's her night for guard detail. Doesn't she usually use your cloak? She likes to sneak up on Malfoy that way."

Harry stood back up. "No," he said with absolute certainty. "Tonks would have said something to us. Besides have you ever looked at her feet?"

Hermione shook her head. He smirked as he took the Firebolt back.

"Huge."

A hand sprung up to hide the smile on Hermione's face.

"I'm talking flotation devices."

A fugitive titter broke out from behind her fingers.

"She wouldn't need skis for the bunny slope, I can tell you that."

Hermione playfully wagged a finger at him. "I'm going to tell Tonks on you."

Harry chuckled with devil-may-care ease. "Tell Tonks. I'm sure she could turn me into one of Grawp's bogeys or something, but I think I've lived through far worse. I'm not scared of-"

"HARRY!"

Their laughter was stoppered as both teenagers whipped around.

"Ok, now I know you heard that!"

Frowning, Hermione put away her vine wood as she squinted into the distance. "It sounded like it was near Hagrid's. It sounded like Ron."

Her guess was confirmed only a second later. The distant pounding of feet accompanied the shouting as well.

"HARRY! HERMIONE! HARRY!"

"GRANGER!"

"And that's Malfoy," said Harry uneasily, legs already pumping as he pocketed his wand and charged in the direction of the calling voices. Whatever errand brought Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy out into the freezing cold together did not bode well at all. "Come on!"

Hermione trailed behind him as they began to race up the lawn's incline. Because they were so far away from the castle, and due to the pitch black of the night, Harry nearly collided directly into Ron and Malfoy. Upon seeing Harry, Ron practically lunged for his friend. Harry, unsure of what exactly was going on, held the redhead back by his shoulders as he looked him up and down. He was thoroughly thrashed! A quick glance at Malfoy showed that he was pretty much in the same condition.

"HARRY! HERMIONE! HAVE YOU SEEN HER?! DID THE TWO OF YOU SEE HER?!"

"Ron, what's going on?" asked Hermione, winded, as she came jogging up next to Harry. "What happened to you two? Why do you look like you've been run over by a pack of blood starved acromantulas?"

Ron went slug-mouthed at the description. "DID YOU HAVE TO PUT IT LIKE THAT?!"

"Ron, what happened?" Harry soothingly asked, pulling his mate's focus back to him.

"That crazy bitch is what happened!" answered a snarling Malfoy.

"DuManoir...I went to go check on her like you told me," said Ron cutting in. His breathing was heavy and labored but he tried his best to go on. "When I got back to the tower I tripped over something by the door and fell."

"That would be me," Malfoy grumbled sourly.

"Then she flung me into the opposite wall," finished Ron.

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stared at the two young wizards standing before him, staggered by what Ron was trying to tell him. Then he got angry.

"ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME THAT SOME FRAIL, FRAGILE GIRL DISPATCHED THE BOTH OF YOU?!"

"FRAIL? FRAGILE?! THAT FIVE FOOT DOXY IN A DRESS IS AS ABOUT AS HARMLESS AS A RECURRING CASE OF DICK ROT!"

"She had this," said Ron holding up a stubby and gnarled hornbeam wand.

Although he had heard Hermione's hitched breath, Harry thought nothing of it.

"She used it to stun him," continued Ron as he motioned to the blond, "then turned it on me. As she ran out the door she dropped it."

"NO!"

At the strangled cry Harry, Ron, and Malfoy all looked over to find Hermione staring at the wand in Ron's hand as though it were some specter come to haunt her. She dazedly backed away from them as her head twisted back and forth.

"No, no, no, no, no! It can't be. It just can't be!"

Harry tentatively stepped towards her. "Hermione?"

Holding a shaky finger out she whimpered, "That's Alecto Carrows' wand."

The expression on the boys' faces said it all. Dumbstruck.

"WHAT?!" the three of them shouted simultaneously.

"Are you sure?" asked Ron, waving the wand about hysterically.

"If ever you have the pleasure of looking down the tip of a wand that is about to kill you, trust me, you will remember it for the rest of your days, Ron!" she said indignantly.

"But how the hell could the wacko have gotten her hands on Carrows' wand?!" Malfoy interjected. "The Prophet just reported a sighting of the hag and that halfwit brother of hers in St. Moritz."

Brown, blue, and green eyes guiltily darted from one to the other. No one spoke a word for a moment. There were only four people in the world who knew what had actually happened in that convent basement in Boussac after Tonks ran out with DuManoir that not too long ago morn. One of them was Merlin knew where by now. The other three had agreed to never divulge the information to another living soul.

"Well...well," Hermione began uneasily, "she had it pointed at me when I..."

Harry gave a small, imperceptible shake of the head. Hermione caught it, glanced at Malfoy, then swallowed back the lump in her dry throat.

"...and then it fell," she said. "I saw it hit the ground and...and roll. And then I...and then..."

Hermione's eyes grew large as it hit her all at once. Her hand crept up to her mouth as it rounded in dread.

"I never saw where it went after that."

Harry felt his throat constrict at the tale. Ron fearfully looked back and forth between his two friends. Malfoy began to lob out curse words as he kicked and stomped at the ground.

"You and Tonks were so preoccupied that it doesn't surprise me," Harry finally said as the shock began to wear off.

Ron stared at the wand he was holding as though it were something vile and filthy. His hand actually shook. "You mean she's had it all of this time?!"

Looking more pleased with his self than was warranted, Malfoy smiled triumphantly. He got right in Harry's face as he spouted, "See Potter, I was right all along! The Dark Lord's Horcrux had just been biding its time."

"We've got to find her," said Hermione, closing Malfoy off and bringing Harry's attention to her.

"That nutter's halfway to its Maker by now!"

Harry opened his mouth to yell at the creep, but ended up closing it. Now was not the time to get into it with him. Instead he said, "There's no way she can get past the front gates without being spotted."

"What if she went into the Forbidden Forest?" asked Hermione worriedly.

"Now there's a thought. Maybe a werewolf will pounce on the cracked cauldron and take care of the job for us."

Harry shoved the git aside in response. He walked right up to Ron and said, "Take my broom. Do a flyover and see if you spot anything suspicious."

Quickly obeying the order, Ron grabbed for the Firebolt, straddled it, and kicked off into the air. Harry watched him speed away before quickly turning to the brunette at his side.

"Hermione..."

"I'm already on it!" she said pulling her wand from out her jumper. She pointed it towards Hogwarts and a large, silvery otter burst forth and went streaking gracefully towards the lights of the castle.

"What do I do?" asked Malfoy gravely.

The three of them had already begun heading back towards Hogwarts to meet with whatever Order members Hermione's Messenger Spell had alerted. They were going to need every pair of eyes and hands available to do a full blown search of the castle and the grounds. But for some reason Malfoy's offer of assistance had grated on Harry like nothing else. He was already on edge and the last thing Harry needed was the Slytherin pretending to care about something other than his own pale arse. Plus his heating charm had worn off; he was cranky.

Wrinkling his nose at him, Harry snottily said, "Stand there and look pretty."

Malfoy hung back. He wrathfully fumed at Harry's back as he balled the fist connected to his one functioning arm, prepared to go down swinging.

"YOU KNOW WHAT, POTTER?! YOU AND YOUR SANCTIMONIOUS ARSE CAN GO JUMP IN THE LAKE FOR ALL I CARE!"

The insult stopped Harry cold.

Hermione, who had also paused at Malfoy's childish retort, turned to look at Harry, eyes bulging as she saw the very same comprehension that was on her face spread across his. Harry didn't bother with words; just turned and ran like lightning down towards the lake. Funnily, Hermione expressed his exact feelings as she took off after him.

"SHITE!"

Not knowing what the hell was going on, but not wanting to be left out either, Malfoy gave chase, quickly outpacing Hermione and catching up with Harry in no time. He asked them both repeatedly what was going on but got no response.

Over and over Harry silently berated himself. He knew he had heard something hit the water, but he never imagined that it was a person, especially not DuManoir. Then again how could he; she was supposed to be in her own little world, completely unaware of the universe spinning around her. But Harry knew that wasn't true. Although it had come too late, he had reached the conclusion that Hermione's assertions had been correct all along; that DuManoir did indeed understand everything they had been hashing out together in the South Tower the last few weeks. And now Harry had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what he was going to find once they reached the lake.

A Bubble-Head Charm, that's what he'd need. He wasn't too confident about performing a self-transfiguration, but perhaps Hermione could help him out with that one, Harry told himself. Too bad there was no gillyweed handy, though he supposed he could summon some from the castle. Whatever he decided on Harry knew one thing for sure, he had to get in that water and fish DuManoir out as fast as he could. He couldn't bring himself to think about how cold it was or just how long the girl would have been under. The only thing that drove him, that registered in his head, was anger. He was tired of innocent people dying around him. He wouldn't stand for it anymore if he could help it.

As he neared the waters edge, Harry began kicking off his trainers and yanking off his cable knit jumper. Before he could get it fully over his head he heard Hermione screaming behind him. Finally freeing himself from the heavy jumper, he looked towards the lake and saw a sight that made him drop to his knees as though all the blood in his veins had suddenly hardened and turned to lead. The sound of yelling and shouting as help finally came from out the castle only left Harry feeling numb.

He watched as the giant squid unhurriedly drifted close enough to the lake's grassy bank to deposit something shriveled and dripping from its tentacles before using them to push itself away. The misshapen object it left looked decayed, as if it had rotted from the inside out. Everything about it was gray, even the long hair that fanned out across the ground around it. All that was recognizable to Harry were the vacant purple eyes that stared unblinkingly into the darkened havens above them all.

Tom Riddle's fourth Horcrux was no more.

"I've been thinking about Boadicea a lot recently," said Hermione, turning away from Harry.

"I wish she had never heard me and Malfoy tearing into each other that night," he said. "I've always felt partly responsible for what happened to her."

"Don't do that to yourself, Harry. You read the note she left behind. The acceptance that Voldemort never really loved her, that he had only been using her had killed her already. She just finished the job. In the end she did a very brave thing, sacrificing herself like that."

Harry solemnly nodded in agreement. His forehead then wrinkled as he thought about something she had mentioned before.

"What did you mean when you said that you 'got' DuManoir?" he asked curiously. It was such an odd statement when he thought about it. What could Hermione have possibly had in common with the poor, ill-fated girl?

Hermione stared at him for a moment before she finally answered.

"Do you know what hubris means?"

"Ah, yes. That would be the word with Malfoy's sulking picture above it, right?"

She laughed and Harry's stomach fluttered.

"In classical mythology there is no greater sin than hubris. To think so highly of one's self, to go so far as to put yourself on par with the very gods themselves almost always equaled tragedy. Just about every great hero suffered from it and paid the price; Jason, Theseus...Cadmus."

Harry's eyes bugged out. "C-Cadmus?"

"Uh huh. Thinking yourself better than someone else was practically a crime to the ancient Greeks."

Ignoring Harry's suddenly fidgety state, she continued.

"I used to pity Boadicea. I felt very sorry for her. I mean yes, the choices that she made were her own. But did that fact make her any less of a victim? She paid for those choices and in the end became a prisoner of the consequences. It took death to finally free her. I pitied her. And yet I learned nothing from her," she said with a weary sigh.

Harry frowned. "What could you have possibly learned from some girl who was nearly driven mad?"

Hermione gave him a disapproving look.

"A few of the decisions I've made throughout the years have been," her eyes veered from his, "questionable. They've been haunting me lately. A lot. I mean, I thought I was doing the right things for the right reasons at the time but now..."

Her voice trailed off without finishing her thought. Harry stopped walking and she did as well. He stuffed his robes under his arm and forced her to look at him.

"If you continue to second guess yourself you'll never have peace. Hermione, all anyone can do is hope for the best and if you've found that you've made a mistake, fix it." He couldn't help but think of his own tangled predicament.

Hermione looked like she agreed.

"You're right. I know you're right," she said, reaching for his hand and holding it tightly. She gave it a squeeze as they began to walk again. "When did you get so smart?"

She looked far more at ease now than before. He liked to think that he had helped with that.

Harry shrugged. "A little of you must have rubbed off on me."

"Hmm, there's a dirty joke in there somewhere. I'm far too tired to do a thing about it, though," said Hermione making him laugh. "So are you going to let me see it?" she asked changing the subject.

Harry's lips rakishly curled.

"And here you said you were too tired."

She smacked his arm.

"You know, if I didn't know better, I would think you were flirting with me, Mr. Potter!"

Trying to keep a straight face he said, "Stranger things have happened."

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I was talking about your brand new mobile." At his amazed expression she added with a frisky grin, "Well either that's what's been in your trousers all night or you have been beyond ecstatic to see me."

"It's no big deal," said Harry, red faced, as he let go her hand to reach into his trouser pocket. He pulled out the little black gadget and handed it to her. It had been a spur of the moment decision when he purchased it down on Oxford Street the day before. He hadn't even learned his number yet.

"Of course it is. It's about time that you left the dark ages and joined the rest of us in the 21^st century." She took the mobile from him. "So why did you get it?"

"To keep track...erm...touch with you," said Harry, curious as to what she was doing. She was fiddling with the gizmo's punch pad. "I figured it would make it easier for us to reach each other. In case of emergency of course," he lamely added. "What are you doing?"

She gave him a winning smile. "Giving you my number so that it will be easier for us to reach each other." She winked at him. "In case of emergency, of course. There."

She handed him back the device.

"I am officially your very first contact. I'm just a few finger punches away now, just don't abuse it."

Harry took it and shoved it back into his pocket.

"So you mean I can't ring you twenty times a day?" he asked charmingly.

"No, ten will have to suffice I'm afraid," she joshed. "So I guess this is it."

They had come to a halt just outside the front of the mostly darkened cottage. Usually the sight of his home filled within Harry a sense of warmth and completeness that he never knew he missed until he was inside its walls again. Whenever he was there he had a feeling of truly belonging to something. But now it was just a visual reminder that he was going to have to let Hermione go for another day. She would walk inside, climb the stairs to the bedroom, turn out the lights, and shut him out as always.

Harry sighed wistfully. "Home sweet home."

He turned to her.

"So, did you leave the door unlocked?"

"No, no, I have my key."

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck and gave her an inquisitive look. "Um...where?"

She advanced forward, stooping down to lift the welcome mat that lay in front of the door. When she stood back up and turned, Harry saw the door key in her hand.

"I didn't feel like carrying a handbag and I always keep a spare here in case of emergency," she told him. "See?" She held it up. Turning her back on him again, she stepped up to the door and put the key in the lock. Jestingly she asked, "Where did you think I had it, up my dress?"

Not missing the unintentional humor, Harry laughed so hard that his stomach began to protest.

"No, I definitely did not think you had a key stashed in there."

She gave him an iffy look over her shoulder. The joke hadn't been that funny to her, it seemed.

"Ok," she said shrugging her shoulders. "So I'm going to go inside now." She faced him fully. "I would invite you in but..."

He stepped closer to her smiling lazily. "But?"

She leaned against the door and folded her arms comfortably.

"I have a thick slice of Black Forest cake sitting in my fridge and I don't want to share," she saucily said. "Also I think you have another hour or two to beat the sun home. If your wife sees it before she sees you I think you're going to be in big trouble, mister."

Ginny was the furthest thing from his mind and it showed on his face.

"Eh, I'm toast either way. Still remember a good Bat Bogey counter?"

Disgust etched itself on her face. "She hasn't grown out of those yet? Well, at least you have the excuse that you were with me and not out trysting with some tart somewhere. That should help smooth things over at Potter's Palace, eh?" she jested causing him to scowl at her.

Harry wasn't so sure about that. He was going to have to talk to his wife about the fight she had picked with Hermione. Of course he still didn't know what to do about all of the affair talk, but he figured he would know what to say when the time came.

"I don't have a secret lover, remember?"

Naughtily, Hermione grinned.

"Oh, but I'm sure that's only due to a lack of advertising. There must be dozens...nay, hundreds of women who would be willing to take on the task. Mobs of them would pack the streets to queue up. Witches everywhere would scream out 'pick me Harry Potter, pick me'," she said in a scatterbrained, fangirl simper as she exaggeratedly fluttered her eyelashes. It was eerie how well she did that. "It would be like Sixth Year minus all the love potion shenanigans; Harry Hysteria all over again."

With a rueful smile he said, "That was only because I was 'The Chosen One', whatever the hell that meant. It's been seven years. All of that went away after I became just another stodgy old Ministry stiff."

She looked at him cynically. "Harry please, you're gorgeous."

Hearing the compliment, Harry perked up. He felt like he was on top of the world...until she went and pushed him clean off of it.

"I mean, did you miss all of those shameless hussies practically drooling all over themselves at the club? I feared for your life. They looked like they just wanted to devour and swallow you whole. Harry, you could be the droppings sweeper at Eeylops Owl Emporium and women would still flock to the store on a daily basis just to steal a peek at you."

Harry didn't know what to make of the comment. Any normal bloke would have been glad to hear that the woman he loved found him appealing. He was by no means vain, but it would have been nice to know that Hermione was just as physically attracted to him as he was to her. But that was just it, he didn't know.

"And you?"

Hermione gave him a quizzical look.

"What about me?"

Harry gritted his teeth. She was actually going to make him spell it out, wasn't she?

"You wouldn't...um, flock?"

"Now why would I do a silly thing like that?" she asked.

Despondently, Harry sighed. "I must look like a troll to you then."

He tried to say it as though he were kidding, but it came out sounding too embittered to be a joke.

"A troll? What an odd thing to say. Of course I don't think you look like a troll. Why would I think you look like a troll?"

Deciding to just cut to the chase he said, "Because I have no idea what you think I look like; you've never said."

Either Hermione was playing dim, or she was pulling a Ron.

"WHAT?! What do you mean? You're Harry! What was I supposed to have said?" she asked, flustered. Her eyes went flitting back and forth as though she were trying not to look at him straight on and her relaxed posture became stiff as she stood up ramrod straight. "I mean, do you really need an ego boost that badly? Have you become that shallow?" she asked with a jittery chuckle crossing and uncrossing her arms. "I'm sure dozens of women..."

"DAMMIT! THAT'S NOT WHAT I ASKED YOU! THIS ISN'T ABOUT WHAT OTHER WOMEN THINK, OR SAY, OR WOULD DO! I DON'T CARE ABUT THEM; I ASKED ABOUT YOU, HERMIONE!" barked Harry finally losing his cool.

He had asked her a simple question. A very simple question, if he said so himself. All he wanted to know was what Hermione thought when she looked at him. Did she like what she saw? Was he good-looking? His nose, was it dead center enough in her estimation?! He really wanted to know because as far as he could tell...he couldn't. Whenever Hermione mentioned that he was fanciable or handsome or not that hard to look at, she always framed it in a way that left her own position on the subject in question. It was almost as if she didn't want to give her opinion. What was she so scared of? Why couldn't she just be straight with him? Several times in the past few weeks he had felt some spark of chemistry between them, they had practically set the dance floor afire that night in his opinion, but maybe it was all just one-sided. Maybe when Hermione looked at him all she saw was the pathetic little wretch she had befriended as a child. Maybe that's all she could see him as. Maybe, just maybe, the truth was better left unsaid.

"You know what, never mind," he said piercingly, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking off into the distance. All the drinking he had been doing that night had finally caught up with him leaving him prickly and sullen. The roller coaster evening had chugged to a stop on a sour note and he was ready to just leave before anything was said he might regret the next day.

"Harry, I don't understand. What's this all about?"

Too late!

He angrily pounced on her.

"You know, I get that there are things you just don't want to tell me," he began, infuriated at her steadfast stonewalling, "but I am really growing tired of all of the head games Hermione!"

The sudden change caught her by surprise. She stared at him, taken aback as Harry began to blow his stack. It was obvious that he had been saving up for this moment and he let her have it. The stress of having to juggle so many veiled agendas had finally worn him down, and as was usually the case in these things, the most minuscule of offenses was what ended up setting him off.

As he began to rant he backed her into the doorframe of the house. He was like some caged beast whose cell door had been foolishly left open. It had probably been building all night, he had been patient with her and he had tried to understand her need for space, but her constant refusal to just speak openly had finally struck the wrong nerve at the very wrong time.

"You have your secrets and I'm trying to be mindful of them even though I think it's stupid and selfish of you to keep them. You know that there is nothing you can tell me that would ever make me feel differently about you. But I figure hey, maybe she really does have her reasons to keep everything bottled up so tight. Or at least she thinks she does. But when you can't even answer a dumb question straight it becomes frustratingly clear that you've only been paying our friendship lip service all this time, Hermione! I mean....FUCK! DO YOU JUST ENJOY TOYING WITH ME? DOES IT GIVE YOU SOME SICK THRILL? WHY CAN'T YOU JUST ANSWER A STUPID QUESTION?! WHY IS THAT SO DAMNED HARD?!"

Feeling drained suddenly, Harry made up his mind to just leave then before he made an even bigger arse of himself, if that were possible. He gave her a regretful last look before readying to Disapparate away. However before he could, Hermione latched on to him to keep him from going.

"Wait! What is it that you want from me, Harry?" She pulled him back into the doorway with her. "What is it you would you like me to say to you? That I find you attractive?" she asked. "That I think you're good-looking? That you are quite possibly the most breath-taking man I've ever seen?"

The words stunned Harry into silence.

"My God, have you never looked in a mirror?! Come on, the hair, the eyes, the package..."

Hermione's mouth popped open and her blush rivaled his. Her face screwed up and her eyelids clamped down tightly.

"I mean, not the package. I'm sure that it's quite nice too but...ARG!" she hollered in frustration as she stomped both of her feet. "Harry, you're beautiful!" she finally blurted out as she opened her eyes to look at him again. "But I always thought you beautiful. Always! I thought that 11 year old boy with his outdated frames and his shabby clothes and his heartbreakingly thin shoulders, was beautiful. After all the world had done to him he was still kind and caring and loyal and brave and good, oh so honest to God good. And yeah he could be a prat, and reckless, and a bit of a hothead at times, but he was the best person I had ever known."

Tears started to fill her eyes.

"He still is!"

Harry, too moved to even make a response, raised a hand to brush away an errant tear that had spilled down her cheek. The action made Hermione's face jerk away from his touch. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"BUT WAIT, I HAVEN'T ANSWERED THE QUESTION YET, HAVE I?!" she shrilled as she batted his hand away from her.

She was trembling and she looked like she was disintegrating before his eyes. The only thing he could think to do was grab and hold tight to keep all of her intact.

"You wanted to know if I thought you were hot, right? Yes Harry, you are hot!" she said in a voice oozing sarcasm. "Harry Potter is sooo hot! I most definitely would not kick him out of bed; is that what you wanted to hear?" she bitingly asked. "Are you happy now, Harry?! Hmm, are you?! ARE YOU?!"

Her vehemence would have been quite scorching too if she hadn't begun to cry.

Although she pushed him away initially, Harry held fast to her as she wailed onto his shoulder venting everything onto his dress shirt. He caressed the hair at the back of her head and gently rocked her to-and-fro. His lips grazed her temple as he murmured nonsensical words of comfort to ease her distress. Hermione had finally opened up a bit of her heart to him and he was humbled by the act. What could he say in the face of such honesty? What could he say that could ever compare?

"Oh God, and now I'm crying," she tearfully sobbed, sniffing loudly as she tried to reign in her emotions. "WHY AM I CRYING?! I must look so stupid!"

Harry, not being the type to carry handkerchiefs on him, offered her his robe to dry her tears. She accepted it and used the collar to dab at her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Harry; I'm just a mess. I don't know why I just went all dotty like that. You didn't deserve it. I hope you don't think less of me."

She miserably sniffed again.

"Quick, tell me something to take my mind off of how foolish I feel," she said ashamedly, handing him back the sodden robes. Her face was splotchy, her eyes were glazed and caked with mascara in the corners, her hair looked snarled and in bad need of a comb, and her nose was red and leaking.

She had never been more lovely.

Caught off-guard by the request, his brain short circuited making him say the first thing that came to mind.

"My god; I'm in love with you, Hermione!"

At the earnest, yet bungled confession, Hermione lurched back from him. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Then opened and closed again. She watched his relieved and hopeful expression morph into one of horror as if viewing it all from far, far away somewhere. Panic slowly crept across Harry's rapidly paling face. It was the last thing she saw too. As her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her world descended into nothingness, Harry caught her slumping body before it could tumble to the ground.

She had fainted dead away.

"So if you really love me, say yes
But if you don't dear, confess
And please don't tell me
Perhaps...perhaps...perhaps"

A/N: Next up is Ron's POV. I know...I know. You hate me. LOL! Things to look forward to: a Burrow breakfast blow-out, the "sidekick" shows why he is a member of the Trio, and Ptolemy Cadmus takes out his next couple(and yes, it is a couple you know).

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Tiny the bouncer, short Mediterranean looking bloke, Doreen Dollanganger, Primavera, Esperanza, and Puddin' the thestral are canon.

2) Bongos is based on a club in Miami that I used to frequent called Mangoes. I know nothing of the London club scene so please don't fault me if my interpretation is too far off.

3) A hanbok is a traditional formal Korean dress. It looks kind of like a kimono/gown/dress robe.

4) "I'm Henery the Eight, I am" is an old British music hall song. You might remember it from the movie Ghost.

5) "You know how he likes it when they walk" is a shout-out to Ron's similar line in the GoF movie.

6) I'm pretty sure that "flying her freak flag" is a Sex and the City reference.

7) Torvill and Dean are an Olympic winning British ice dancing team.

8) "Put your hand on my waist"/"Put my what on your what now" is shout-out to the McGonagall/Ron exchange in the GoF movie. Guess what I was watching when I was sketching out most of this chapter. LOL! It's from the scene when McGonagall tells her Gryffindors about the Ball and she makes Ron dance with her.

9) Everything about the rumba is accurate with a few of my usual embellishments for extra flavor.

10) "And while you're searching, ponder this: we've taken the thing you'll sorely miss" is of course from chapter 25 of GoF.

11) If you'll remember from OotP Hermione once foolishly wished to see a thestral. Why yes I am mean. LOL!

12) All of the songs for the Bongos half of the chapter were selected from my music library. Lyrics used as followed: "I Like it Like That" by Tito Puente, "Ella Tiene Fuego" by Celia Cruz ft. El General, "Hey Mama" by The Black Eyed Peas, "Por Ese Hombre" by Tito Nieves, Brenda K. Starr, and Victor Manuelle, "Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps" by Doris Day, and "Quien Sera (Sway)" by Arielle Dombasle. Because I'm a dork I actually wrote the club section using a soundtrack. Salsa section: "I Like it Like That", "Ella Tiene Fuego", "Nina" by Cheo Feliciano and the Joe Cuba Sextet(more of a mambo song but it works), "Hey Mama"(more of a samba song but it works), "La Negra Mariachi Medley" by Eddie Palmieri, "Cuba, que lindos son tus Paisajes" by Willie Chirino ft. Celia Cruz, "Fiesta palos Rumberos" by Albita, "Mi Bongo" by Orquesta Zodiac, and "Por Ese Hombre". Rumba section(extra hawt w/ linkys to all): "Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps"*, "(Yours)Quiereme Mucho" by Linda Ronstadt, "Orfeo Negro" by Trios Los Panchos, "Quien Sera(Sway)"*, and "Vuelvo a Sur" by Gotan Project". FF.net'ers, you'll have to go to my site or portkey if you want to hear them. Sorry.

13) The Screaming Banshee, the Witch's Hammer, and the Temperatus Spell are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.