All Because of Hermione Granger

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this work.

Life was absolute shit, Harry decided. He'd lost the last link to his parents, his godfather, and Remus had treated him like he'd just dropped out of Moony's butt during a full moon. The last day of term. Tomorrow, Harry would be setting off to the Dursleys, for another summer of chaos and misery.

It had been exactly eight days since the damned fight at the Ministry of Magic. Eight days since Sirius had been knocked through the Veil of Death in the Department of Mysteries by his own cousin.

Eight days since Dumbledore had told him that the fate of the world, literally, rested on his shoulders. His friends had been a little distant, probably on Dumbledore's orders.

Let him rest. Let him grieve in peace. It is what he needs right now. He could almost picture the meeting. Brave Ron, nodding in agreement because it was Dumbledore who told them. Beautiful Hermione, wanting the best for Harry. If Dumbledore, the greatest wizard in the world, didn't know what was best for Harry, at least in her eyes, who would?

Since then, he'd been moping around the castle. He'd turned up for lessons, let them go over his head so high they hadn't even ruffled his hair. It didn't matter. None of it really mattered.

- ABOHG -

Hermione.

She was part of the reason he was in such pain. When Dolohov's curse had hit her, Harry's brain locked. A single thought ran through it, Don't be dead! Don't be dead! When Neville had checked her, and found a pulse, Harry could have cried. Did cry, in fact. As long as she was alive, he'd survive. Bollocks to the prophecy. As long as Hermione lived, he would endure. She was his greatest strength. And also, he knew, his greatest weakness. If Voldemort ever found out how much he cared...

Cho Chang had been a distraction. He knew that. He'd thought to himself, if he went out with Cho, maybe he could banish the thoughts of Hermione that ran through his head. It had failed. While on the date with Cho, he'd mentioned needing to meet Hermione, and Cho had flown off the handle. For some reason, he hadn't really cared.

- ABOHG -

The train ride home. That's where it happened. Historians, looking back for that pivotal moment, would have only needed to look to the train ride, and all would have become clear.

The Ministry Six, as the Prophet was already calling them, had decided to share the journey home. It made sense to them, distracting stragglers, who would come up and ask them to explain what had happened. The last person to do that had received a nasty Furnunculous hex. When Malfoy had made his appearance, and been beaten soundly, it had sent a subtle message to the rest of the train to not disturb the people.

Harry waited until the train pulled up and Kings Cross, remaining sat while Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville had grabbed their trunks and dashed away. Hermione waited with him, reading the signs that Harry needed to talk about something, but didn't want to speak in front of an audience.

“Is everything all right, Harry?” Hermione asked softly. “You've been very quiet.”

Harry looked at her, relief on his face. “You know me so well, Hermione.” She just nodded at him. “There was something I wanted to speak to you about. I'm not sure where to begin, though...”

Hermione smiled her beautiful smile at him, and he felt his heart melt. “You can tell me anything, Harry. You know that.”

He just nodded. “Yes... Well... the thing is... Ihavefeelingsforyou.” He blurted.

Hermione just cocked her head. “Sorry... didn't quite catch that, Harry.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I... uh... I have feelings for you, Hermione.” He whispered. “As in... I'm attracted to you.”

“Oh.” Hermione's face remained expressionless. “Uh... Harry...” She looked away. “I'm... uh... I'm not sure how to respond.”

There was a `crack' in his chest. He knew what it was. His heart had broken.

“I'm sorry, Harry.” Hermione said softly, looking at her hands. “I... uh... I'm flattered, honestly. But... I'm not really looking for a relationship at the moment.”

Harry just nodded, standing up abruptly. “Okay, Hermione. It's not a problem.” He hefted his trunk, employing his meagre Occlumency skills to keep his face straight and his eyes dry. “I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Hermione stood, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I'm still your best friend, Harry.” She said softly. “I'll always be your best friends. I'm just not ready for a relationship.”

He just nodded, before heading out of the door.

- ABOHG -

When Hermione reached her parents, her grin was enormous. “He told me, Mum!” were her first words to her parents.

Emma Granger knew immediately what that meant. “Really? That's excellent, sweetheart! What did you tell him?”

Hermione's grin dropped a little. “I... I told him I wasn't ready for a relationship at the moment. He took it quite well.”

Dan sucked a breath through his teeth. “You're playing a dangerous game, pumpkin.” He said. “You're playing with his emotions, here. Are you prepared for the consequences?”

Hermione scowled at her Dad. “I've been waiting for almost three years for him to wise up to the fact that I'm a girl, Dad. I'm allowed to make him feel the same that I've been feeling.”

Emma and Dan glanced at each other, before looking over their shoulders at Harry. The slump in his shoulders was obvious, as an enormously fat man collected him from the station. Emma tapped on Hermione's shoulder, pointing out Harry's defeated air.

Hermione felt her heart go out to him. “I'll send him a letter in a couple of days, saying I've thought about it, and that I accept.” For three years, he's ignored me. The Yule Ball last year would have been the perfect opportunity for him to ask me, and he still didn't. No, it won't hurt for a couple of days.

How wrong she was.

- ABOHG -

Harry's arrival at Privet Drive was unremarkable. Vernon pulled up, switched off the engine, and got out of the car as fast as his morbid obesity would allow him. Harry opened the door, grabbing his trunk and Hedwig's cage, before climbing out, and struggling into the house.

A fist in the stomach from Dudley announced the onset of summer, as Harry rocked backwards, breathless and winded. After a moment, he grabbed his trunk, heaving it up the stairs. Behind him, Petunia followed, intent on locking the freak away.

Harry slumped onto his battered little bed, hearing the six locks click, before the deadbolt was engaged and the little hasp flicked into place.

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Hermione didn't love him. She was his best friend, the person who knew him the best in the whole world, and she didn't love him. Nothing mattered anymore.

- ABOHG -

Days passed. Harry hadn't sent any letters to the Order, and nothing to his friends. Hedwig had been allowed free to hunt as needed, and came back with at least one letter a day. They were sitting, unopened, on the desk in front of Harry's bed. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. Hermione didn't love him.

The Dursleys hadn't bothered to unlock the door, and Harry wouldn't notice if they had. They'd probably leave him in here until he died and started to decompose, before hustling his body into some dark alley in London.

But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. Hermione didn't love him.

- ABOHG -

The pile of letters grew. Hedwig was becoming annoyed at Harry's lack of interest in the letters she flew to collect. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. Hermione didn't love him.

Since Harry hadn't eaten or drank anything since his arrival, his body stabilised. Nothing was going in, so nothing needed to come out. He hadn't moved in almost a week. His body was surviving on magic alone. Bed sores had appeared, open and weeping into the mattress. Harry had become pale and gaunt, dark circles under his eyes, due to lack of sleep.

When he did drift off, his dreams were nightmarish images of death and destruction, both real, thanks to the scar, and imagined, courtesy of his own twisted imagination. He watched everyone he'd ever cared about fall behind the Veil, each of the cursing his name as they fell.

But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. Hermione didn't love him.

- ABOHG -

Voldemort knew. Harry realised that he was starting to become delusional. His brain, starved of input, had decided to make its own. Instead of being worried, Harry found this wildly funny. The content of said delusions would have been terrifying to a normal mind. But Harry's wasn't normal anymore, because it didn't matter. None of it mattered. Hermione didn't love him.

The Dark Lord had started to add his own elements to Harry's delusions. He manipulated the images so that it showed the Department of Mysteries. He was looking for the prophecy, Harry knew. It should have worried him, but it didn't matter. None of it mattered. Hermione didn't love him.

- ABOHG -

Voldemort came for him two weeks into his stay. He probably didn't have enough magic left to cast a `Lumos'. His body had been fighting to stay alive, burning through the core of Harry's magic, leaving his drained and vulnerable.

Thanks to the events of Harry's fourth year, the Blood Wards that had made Privet Drive so safe for Harry early in his life were utterly useless. Voldemort strolled through them with as much effort as it takes to cross a road.

Voldemort blew the door the #4 off its hinges, striding into the house like he owned the place. Three quick AK's, three flashes of green light, ended the Ancient and Noble house of Dursley. The last of the blood protection, gone forever by two little words.

But, it didn't matter. None of it mattered. Hermione didn't love him.

Voldemort marched up the stairs, punching through the locks on the door with no effort. As soon as he entered the room proper, even Voldemort, the man who'd raped, maimed, killed and burnt his way across the country for over twenty years, recoiled from the stench of Harry's unwashed body.

A flash of red light ended Harry's thoughts, knocking the delusions out of his head. But it didn't matter. None of it mattered. Hermione didn't love him.

- ABOHG -

Dumbledore felt the wards at Privet Drive breach. Something had gone very wrong. As quickly as he could, he assembled as many members of the Order as he could, and apparated to the edge of the wards. He marched forward, a relentless foe, intent on discovering what had gone wrong.

He approached Number 4, realising something dreadful had happened. There was no Dark Mark in the air, but the stench of death permeated the air.

In the living room, the three Dursleys lay, their last expressions permanently etched onto their faces. Usually, when faced with a Wizard trying to kill you, the last expression was fear. But for the Dursleys, death had come much quicker. Their last expressions appeared to be confusion.

Dumbledore made his way up the stairs, absently noting the kindling that used to be a door laying on the landing. When he entered the room, he fought the urge to retch. The stench in the room, unwashed body, was almost overpowered by the scent of desperation and pain that seemed etched into the walls. Something terrible had happened here. Worse that the death of a body. Something here had destroyed hope.

For the first time in fifteen years, Dumbledore felt genuine fear. Behind him, he heard several people gasp, and one person, he suspected young Nymphadora, had burst into tears.

“We have to find Harry Potter.” Dumbledore said firmly, spinning on his heel. “It is imperative that he is found immediately.”

- ABOHG -

The following day was when everything changed. Dumbledore had gathered as many of the Order as he could, and sent them all over the country. He'd stationed half a dozen members in Knockturn Alley, looking for Death Eaters who could give them the information they needed.

He'd had the rest of the Ministry Six patrolling Diagon Alley itself, looking for anything out of the ordinary. He didn't really expect Voldemort to just turn up in the Alley, but it gave them a sense of purpose.

However, Dumbledore was wrong. It was rare of him to be wrong, but it did happen occasionally. Voldemort did indeed make his way to Diagon Alley, where he cast a number of wards. Anti-apparition. Anti-Portkey. Anti-Animagus. Anti-Broom. Whoever was is Diagon Alley would be staying in Diagon Alley.

Hermione had been the first to react, pulling out her Order pendant, setting it to alert. The members of the Order would have to Apparate to the Muggle side of the Leaky Cauldron and make their way on foot, or Floo into the Alley.

- ABOHG -

Voldemort, ever the showman, had quickly conjured a stage in front of Gringotts. His Death Eaters had rounded up everybody that they could find, and hauled them in front of the stage. A good showman needs a good audience, after all.

A chair appeared in the centre of the stage, followed by the dying form of Harry Potter.

- ABOHG -

Hermione saw him appear, and gasped in shock. He looked nothing like the depressed, but still lively boy she'd seen on the train fifteen days ago. Whatever had happened had crushed him. There was no life in his eyes, now.

Realisation struck her with the force of an express train. It was her. She'd crushed him when she told him she wasn't after a relationship. The letters she'd sent to him had coyly hinted at her interest, but if he hadn't been reading them...

Voldemort saw her then, and smiled warmly at her. He gestured to two of his Death Eaters, who pulled her up to just in front of the stage.

“Ladies and Gentlemen. Thank you for joining me here at this auspicious moment.” Voldemort said. It was strange... he was the epitome of evil, yet his voice was silky and smooth. “The moment when all shall be revealed.

“Harry Potter will die shortly.” His statement generated gasps of shock through the crowd. “Sixteen years ago, a prophecy was made about myself and my young friend here. I recently discovered the contents of that prophecy, thanks to Mr. Potter's broken little mind.” He smiled at Hermione. “It states that he is the only one who can defeat me. If he dies, I will be truly invincible.”

“But, what could make our young hero's mind break? What could possibly drag him to the pit of despair?” He pointed at Hermione. “Hermione Granger. I must thank you.”

Around her, people started to edge away.

“You have done what an army of Death Eaters could not do. You broke him.”

Hermione's hands raced up to her mouth. “No...” She managed to gasp.

“Yes!” Voldemort crowed, enjoying himself immensely. “If is wasn't for your rejection, our young hero here would have fought. Instead, he gave up. I win. All because of a little Muggleborn witch named Hermione Granger.”

Voldemort turned back to Harry, raising his wand. “Avada Kedavra!” The spell hit Harry, causing him to simply go limp. It was oddly anti-climatic. Two little words, and the future of the Wizarding world was gone.

Her mind raced. No! It screamed at her. It can't be! Don't let him be dead! I love him! He can't be gone! It isn't fair!

But he was. The future of the Wizarding world was gone. All because of Hermione Granger.

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the intellectual property of JK Rowling, and the fiscal property of JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Warner Bros. No profit has been made from this work.

Life was absolute shit, Harry decided. He'd lost the last link to his parents, his godfather, and Remus had treated him like he'd just dropped out of Moony's butt during a full moon. The last day of term. Tomorrow, Harry would be setting off to the Dursleys, for another summer of chaos and misery.

It had been exactly eight days since the damned fight at the Ministry of Magic. Eight days since Sirius had been knocked through the Veil of Death in the Department of Mysteries by his own cousin.

Eight days since Dumbledore had told him that the fate of the world, literally, rested on his shoulders. His friends had been a little distant, probably on Dumbledore's orders.

Let him rest. Let him grieve in peace. It is what he needs right now. He could almost picture the meeting. Brave Ron, nodding in agreement because it was Dumbledore who told them. Beautiful Hermione, wanting the best for Harry. If Dumbledore, the greatest wizard in the world, didn't know what was best for Harry, at least in her eyes, who would?

Since then, he'd been moping around the castle. He'd turned up for lessons, let them go over his head so high they hadn't even ruffled his hair. It didn't matter. None of it really mattered.

- ABOHG -

Hermione.

She was part of the reason he was in such pain. When Dolohov's curse had hit her, Harry's brain locked. A single thought ran through it, Don't be dead! Don't be dead! When Neville had checked her, and found a pulse, Harry could have cried. Did cry, in fact. As long as she was alive, he'd survive. Bollocks to the prophecy. As long as Hermione lived, he would endure. She was his greatest strength. And also, he knew, his greatest weakness. If Voldemort ever found out how much he cared...

Cho Chang had been a distraction. He knew that. He'd thought to himself, if he went out with Cho, maybe he could banish the thoughts of Hermione that ran through his head. It had failed. While on the date with Cho, he'd mentioned needing to meet Hermione, and Cho had flown off the handle. For some reason, he hadn't really cared.

- ABOHG -

The train ride home. That's where it happened. Historians, looking back for that pivotal moment, would have only needed to look to the train ride, and all would have become clear.

The Ministry Six, as the Prophet was already calling them, had decided to share the journey home. It made sense to them, distracting stragglers, who would come up and ask them to explain what had happened. The last person to do that had received a nasty Furnunculous hex. When Malfoy had made his appearance, and been beaten soundly, it had sent a subtle message to the rest of the train to not disturb the people.

Harry waited until the train pulled up and Kings Cross, remaining sat while Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville had grabbed their trunks and dashed away. Hermione waited with him, reading the signs that Harry needed to talk about something, but didn't want to speak in front of an audience.

“Is everything all right, Harry?” Hermione asked softly. “You've been very quiet.”

Harry looked at her, relief on his face. “You know me so well, Hermione.” She just nodded at him. “There was something I wanted to speak to you about. I'm not sure where to begin, though...”

Hermione smiled her beautiful smile at him, and he felt his heart melt. “You can tell me anything, Harry. You know that.”

He just nodded. “Yes... Well... the thing is... Ihavefeelingsforyou.” He blurted.

Hermione just cocked her head. “Sorry... didn't quite catch that, Harry.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I... uh... I have feelings for you, Hermione.” He whispered. “As in... I'm attracted to you.”

Hermione just stared at him for a moment. Harry felt his bowels clench and unclench. His digestive tract was attempting to perform ballet of some kind, and every sweat pore was working itself into an overload. All in all, he felt a tad nervous.

Say something... Harry's brain started chanting a mantra. Please, anything. Don't leave me hanging like this.

“And how long have you felt this?” Hermione asked, her voice cold as ice.

Ooh... that's not good. I can feel my manly bits shrinking from the cold. “Uh... s-s-since Second Year?” Harry stammered.

Hermione glared at him. “And why are you only know telling me, Potter?” She demanded angrily.

It's official. She hates me. Harry slumped in depression. Combined with the loss of his godfather, and June was not shaping up to be his best month. “I... you know Voldemort's after me.” He said softly, his defeat evident in both posture and tone. “I didn't want you to get hurt.”

Hermione growled. Actually growled. Under other circumstances, Harry would have become quite aroused at that noise. “And didn't you consider my feelings?” She near-shouted. “Shouldn't I have had the right to choose?”

Harry stood up, barely managing to get his shoulders up. “I'm sorry.” He whispered. “I'll... I'll just go.”

Hermione's wand whipped up, slamming and locking the door. “Oh, no, you don't!” She shouted, waving her wand again, petrifying Harry, who slumped into the seat.

“You do not get to tell me that, and then run off!” Hermione said, a little quieter this time. “Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting to hear that?”

Even though he was frozen in place, Harry's eyebrows managed to rise, a tiny fraction.

Hermione waited for an answer, before impatiently waving her wand, releasing the Petrification. “I've been waiting to hear that for two bloody years, Potter!” She said, her voice back to the angry near-shout. “Two bloody years!”

“I'm sorry.” Harry whispered.

“If you have feelings for me, why the hell would you lust after Ho Chang?”

Harry snorted, before managing to get his laughter under control. “Uh... I was trying to distance myself from you, Hermione.” Harry replied softly. “To be frank, if she was hurt, I could live with that. When you were hurt... I about died inside.”

Hermione's stern countenance dissolved instantly. “You prat... You know I would have died for you, Harry. Ever since first year, dealing with that smelly troll.”

“I don't want you to die for me, Hermione.” Harry said, staring intently into her eyes. “I want you to live for me.” Actually, I want you to live with me. And wake me up doing naughty things. And let me wake you up doing naughty things...

Hermione noticed the glazed look on his face, waving her hand and clicking her fingers a couple of times. “Harry?”

He shook his head, bringing himself firmly into the present. “Sorry, Hermione, were you saying something?”

“No.” Hermione replied, looking vaguely amused. “You looked like you were day-dreaming.” Hermione's face suddenly gained an impish look. “Anything you'd like to share?”

Oh, shit! Lie! LIE! “Uh...”

“Come on, Harry.” Hermione cajoled softly. “You know you want to...”

Harry harrumphed. “To be frank, I was having an interesting day dream about your thighs and a pot of whipped cream.”

Her instinctive `Harry!' rebuke was cut off, as the image permeated her mind. Mmm... whipped cream... She shook her head, to see Harry staring at her, a small smirk hovering on his lips. Her voice dropped to huskiness. “And what would you be doing with this whipped cream, Mr. Potter?”

Harry just grinned. “Well... I doubt I'd want dinner afterwards.” His grinned turned into a slight leer. “I'm sure I'd be able to find something to eat.”

Hermione's brain froze, and several fantasies fought for dominance in her mind. Without a word, she raised her wand, throwing two sticking charms at Harry, who found his hands above his head, neatly stuck to the compartment wall.

She stood, slowly, and prowled towards him, a hunter, stalking her prey. Harry was enchanted. When the hell did she learn to move like this? There's more seduction in a two-foot walk than Dudley's entire porn collection. Not that he'd ever admit to actually watching said porn collection, but Hermione's horny walk was enough to send his blood rocketing southwards. At warp speed.

At that thought, another mental image appeared, of Hermione in knee high boots. And a smile. His blood accelerated to warp 9. For the first time in his life, Harry was glad he was wearing Dudley's tent-sized cast-offs, to hide the new tent he was making.

Hermione slowly straddled his lap, placing her hands on his shoulders, and leaving her face an inch from his. “Are you hungry, Harry?” She asked in a breathy whisper.

Her warm breath, an aroma of mint, chocolate, and that uniqueness that was Hermione, washed over his nose, causing him to twitch. Hermione looked down, where she had felt the twitch. “Most impressive, Mr. Potter.” She said in her best McGonagall voice. “I assume it's fully equipped?” Harry nodded. “Powered up and ready for action?”

Harry just nodded. The faint traces of blood that weren't being used were at that moment pounding around his body with the force of an explosion.

“Bollocks to it.” Hermione said, before she grasped the side of his head, and kissed him.

This was what a kiss was supposed to be! Not that pathetic fish-lipped wet fumble in the Room of Requirement. This was bells, whistles, fireworks, stars exploding, dogs and cats living in harmony, end of the world!

Hermione ground down slightly, causing Harry to gasp. Hermione used that moment to start tongue duelling. She almost seemed to be transmitting a message to Harry. I'm in charge, here, Harry. Buckle up, hang on for the ride.

At no point was Harry willing to argue this very important point with her. He poured as much of his soul into the kiss as he could, summoning everything he was. Hermione began to wriggle, pressing herself further into Harry's arousal.

With a strangled moan, he pulled away from the kiss. “Hermione!”

“Yes?” She asked softly, continuing to wriggle.

“If you keep doing that, I'm gonna have a messy lap.” He gasped out.

Hermione pressed down further. “And that's a problem... why?” She smiled, and began to nibble on his neck. After a moment, she stopped, and looked back into his eyes. “I think I like that idea, myself.” She said huskily. “You, meeting my parents, your crotch wet and messy... because of me.”

Harry moaned. “Minx! That's not fair!”

“Hey, life isn't fair.” Hermione said, blowing on his ear, before starting to nibble on his ear lobe, still writhing on his crotch.

Harry felt the familiar burn start at the pit of his stomach, slowly moving forwards. “Hermione! Come on!”

Hermione just grinned at him. “It's your turn, baby.” She breathed into his ear. “I can wait a little bit.”

He continued to wriggle. “It's not fair! I'll be all wet and messy, and you-”

“Am already there, lover.” Hermione said. “You don't think doing this has no effect on me, do you?” Hermione slowed her wriggling, pushing a hand down the waist band of her jeans. She moaned for a moment, then pulled her hand out, her middle finger glistening. “See? You're not the only wet one.”

He didn't even need to think. He leaned forward, his tongue running up the side of her finger, before taking the whole thing in his mouth, and sucking gently.

Hermione moaned. She didn't think seeing that would be such a turn-on... She pulled her finger out of his mouth, and kissed him again, hungrily. She could taste herself on him, and his own unique taste. She started to move quicker.

Harry's brain cells were melting in their millions. His IQ was dropping five points a second. Only one thing was occupying his mind; the bushy-haired minx gyrating on his lap. With a strangled yell, Harry exploded. Hermione kept kissing him, prolonging his orgasm as she tried to remove his tonsils with her tongue.

Harry pulled back, gasping heavily. Hermione, panting also, was staring into his eyes. “Was that good for you?” She asked softly, smiling saucily at him.

“Gods, yes.” Harry panted. “You're evil, Hermione Jane Granger, and I love you.” Harry's eyes widened comically as he realised what he said. “Um... er...”

Hermione released the spell on his wrists, allowing them to fall onto her waist. “Do you mean that, Harry?” Hermione asked tentatively. “Don't just say things like that out of obligation.”

With a final deep gasp, Harry managed to get his breathing under control. “I've not exactly had a great deal of experience, Hermione.” Harry said, firmly, but quietly. “My view is, I wanna wake up next to you in fifty years, kiss you awake, make love to you, go and make you breakfast, make love again, get in the shower, make love again, go to work, find you at lunch for a quickie, come home, make love again, make dinner, make love again, then go to bed, possibly making love again.”

“Seven times a day, Harry?” Hermione raised an eyebrow, an impish smile on her face. “I may hold you to that.”

Harry just leaned forward and kissed her. “I love you.”

Hermione got off his lap and shot out of the door. A moment later, her head re-appeared. “Grab your coat, love. You've pulled.”

War Journal of Harry James Potter

July 31^st, 1998.

This will be my final entry.

I'm 18 today. When I was younger, I didn't think I'd make it this far. It was just after fifth year when I was at my lowest. I'd lost Sirius. I was single, and being sent back to Durzkaban for the summer. I didn't think it could get any worse. Then, I did something which, at the time, I thought was monumentally stupid: I confessed my love to Hermione.

Instead of slapping me (which I thought would be her first instinct) or running away screaming (joint second-place with a swift kick to the balls), she sat on my lap and wriggled. She turned from my adorable bookish friend into a sex kitten.

Since the earlier parts of this journal contain tactical intelligence, after-action reports and medical logs, I thought I'd briefly sum up my life to this point. When we got off the train (after Hermione had been evil and given me a lap-dance) she dragged me over to her parents, introducing me as her new boyfriend. They were so nice. Hermione then dragged me over to the Dursleys, gave them a verbal bollocking that made me blush, then practically threw me into her parents' car, telling them that she was keeping me over the summer.

Not exactly wanting to argue this point, I obeyed. When we got back to her house, she dragged me upstairs. I didn't want to seem like a little wimp, so I decided to take the initiative. Hermione was shock when she found herself petrified on the bed, while I worked a little Parsel-magic on her. After a good three hours, she begged me to stop. When I released the Petrification, Hermione started trembling, and couldn't walk until the following morning. It seemed I'd worn her out. The fact that I had lockjaw and couldn't chew for two days was a minor pain on my part.

That summer was fantastic. We managed to break two beds, the kitchen bar (impressive, considering it was made of marble) three dining chairs, the sofa, the coffee table and managed to crack three of the banisters on the stairs.

Hermione's parents were obviously less than thrilled with the destruction we'd caused, but when Hermione started to explain about sex-magic and the power of love, the `power the Dark Lord knows not', they relented.

I still remember the most embarrassing part was them asking us for advice. A pair of early-forties dentists asking their sixteen year old daughter sex advice. Even now, it makes Hermione blush and me giggle.

Note from Hermione: And if Harry wants to keep his wedding tackle intact, he will not mention that again.

Hermione's still a little sore about that point, obviously. Still, we had a fantastic summer, which turned into an inordinately dull sixth year. Seems Voldemort was in pain on an almost-daily basis. Professor Dumbledore asking me why Voldemort was in constant agony still rests in the number one spot on my `Top Ten Favourite Memories' list. Watching a 161-year old man blush and stammer like Colin Creevey has to be in the top spot!

It was towards the end of seventh year, a mere two months ago, that Voldemort died. It was brilliant. Voldemort attacked, the DA decimated his Death Eaters, while I took him on. When he threatened to keep Hermione as a whore for his Death Eaters, I let loose a blast of pure magic, fuelled by my love for her. Voldemort was atomised into a fine red mist. On the plus side, Hagrid says that the blood has fertilised the vegetable patch, leading to the school's cabbages being bigger and better than ever.

So, we won. Voldemort was destroyed. I saved the world. All because of Hermione Granger.

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