Unofficial Portkey Archive

Life and Times

Rating: R

Ship: HHr (main emphasis)

The (unlovely) procedure: all rights go to JKR for previous plot and characters, Scholastic, Warner, and whoever else has their hands in HP.

Author Note: Reaching back, this chapter is to be compared to such previous chapters as "Nostalgia" (even down to similarities in choice of evening wear): a grown version of my characters and the stark difference in their dual societies. I also wanted to discuss Hermione's youth through her eyes and how it affected her, using the Yule Ball as an example, building from what was briefly discussed in "Shag". I didn't want last chapter to be entirely about one of several sexual encounters they've had.

***

Chapter Thirty-Two - Normality

***

I'd come from the shower. My hair, its fine threads clinging to the damp I couldn't quite get out with the towel now wrapped about my figure. Early hours, we drew near our bedtime, having played chase, tag, you're it. Harry, already in the achromatic sheets, had slipped into bed while I took a bit more time with my rigorous hygiene. I didn't exactly love how those threads liked to tangle, being considered bushy, wild, so I took a brush to it over and over until the strands were neatly spread.

Harry laughed. It wasn't a humorous sort, but more of a prompt, more of the kind along the line of a precursor of thought.

"What?" I said in brief, hopping from the ledge of the mattress and bouncing a second time to meet him above those sheets.

He grinned, closed-mouth and cryptic-or so he thought.

I gathered I knew at least half of whatever he pondered in that roused mind of his.

Though, he always did provoke me, and I'd grin on cue.

I glanced down and back up at him when he took my hand, my right one, and caressed the middle knuckle whilst never leaving my eyesight. Our breaths matched, and happy, I relaxed with ease and gently twisted to get to his mouth. He accepted, turning, craning his neck to return the favor softly. I nudged my nose against his, the tip of mine poking him and heard our sighs and smiles. He cradled that hand of mine and kissed the knuckle again, soothingly brushing the soft pad of his thumb over the hills and valleys the bone created.

"Marvelous," He said in murmur. We hadn't the need to talk any louder, being centimeters away, our body's perpendicular.

I kissed him, closing my eyes and savoring the taste of Harry. He thoroughly enjoyed the tease when our lips met once more, the subtle hint of my tongue, the light giggle when I released. He'd tickled me, raking a finger inside the palm he held so carefully.

He led me by that hand, ushering me over as he rolled on his back. My frame pulled, I lay on his chest, the knot and fold of the towel propped upon his pectoral. The sun rose, the sepia colour coming to form, the golden rays of the sun turning everything honey-hued. He let go of my hand and I watched him from his chest, my hands together, elbows bent, my cheek along his muscle. His skin was taut and manly, my own so incredibly distinguished yet complementing as my cheek lay at rest. He took his hand and set it on my head, the side, his fingers sifting the drying curls draped across his torso and the adjoined sheets.

I sighed when I felt him scratching, rubbing, massaging my head. As much as I wanted to peek, to observe him observing me and the hand in my stringy tassels, I began to slip into sleep. Our Circadian Rhythm off with needn't a worry of anything else, I couldn't help but close my eyes.

The sheets were silky to my legs and cool to the touch.

I could have gone to sleep, and Harry would have been to blame. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, maybe a minute if I had slept before I woken when I heard my name. I blinked, smiled at Harry and let out a mighty yawn resembling the nickname of "lioness" he often called me.

"'Mione." He whispered.

"Hm?"

"Did you want to go to that debut still?"

"Debut?" I had to have been out, or about out, my words coming around to me the second time when I evaluated what I had said.

But, Harry caught me before I had a chance to make sense of everything, stating in question, "Silverpond?"

"Oh, right," I yawned into the "right" and Harry chuckled when a feline-like sound escaped from somewhere within me. He always fancied those inescapable habits of mine. I didn't do them on purpose. I answered him, saying, "If you'd like and felt well enough. I didn't-"

"I say we have a go," He had stopped me mid-sentence. I leaned off him, propped on my arm to meet his sudden enthusiasm. My brow rose and he merely smiled. "I might look like a berk, but when haven't I?"

I gave him an eye roll and glanced down at his chest before kissing him at the spot where my had sight landed. "You're not going to look like an idiot. You're going to look dashing, and smart-"

I lifted to see him, concluding with, "Like always."

"Did you happen to see me at the Yule Ball?" He did this slightly high-pitched laugh which made me smirk, thinking back at the profound style of his two-left feet. "There's a reason why that was my first and only time dancing. I'm certainly not the definition of dapper."

I'd gone and lifted on my hand, having left the confines of his smooth, warm pectoral muscles. I peered down at him. "I'll teach you. It's not difficult-think of it like Ancient Runes, like finding a pattern. One, two, three. One, two-"

"This is coming from someone who learned how to imprint messages on Galleons with the use of Protean Charm. How many our age could pull that off? My guess is only you."

I scoffed.

I never was one to embellish myself as one of superiority among others. I just did what I thought was best at the time. I almost took offense.

Harry pushed off the bed and onto his elbows. Bestirred, I held secure the towel about me while I went to one of the smaller suitcases amongst our numbers.

"Where are you going?"

Flicking a loosened strand behind my ear, a dry string having caught in my face, I bent to my knees and set to rummage the tiny case of our personal belongings. "Here," I said, plucking the invitation I packed if the situation arose in the conversations. I took a pen with me as well.

I went back, Harry's eyes ever following me, and hopped with a bounce on the bed. I kind of shook the envelope nearside him, showing what I had up close for him to see and blew into the flap to take the letter. "We reserve with our signatures down here," I pointed to a box with several lines within borders.

"That's it?"

"That's it," Clicking the end of the pen for the point to emerge at its tip, I readied it in my hand.

"Give it here." He reached for the pen and I gave it to him.

He scribbled his name legibly on the first line.

While he signed, I asked in curiosity, "Why such the turnaround? You seemed quite distant when I mentioned this days ago."

He gave the pen back to me, but my eyes were still on him. He glanced at me, smiled, and leaned in to kiss the side of my forehead. "Because you want to go. Should there be any other reason?"

"'Do you want to go,' should be the question."

"I want to go," He nodded. "But, I also want to go because you want to go, and I love you. So, it's decided."

"But-"

"Hermione…" He spoke firm.

"Okay, okay…," I smiled, but it was secretive. I wrote my name, my tidy handwriting withdrawing in cursive ink.

A flourish of words appeared beneath our signatures the moment I'd taken the pen away. Immediately, "We'll be seeing you at the Rapture!" swirled in writing, giving us an instant validation only magic could quickly dish. The letter then carved itself origami. Even I was astounded, the structure leaping from my hand and flittering about with sprouted paper wings. Its tiny grown feet fidgeted and kicked off, zooming from our auras and vanishing with a pop.

My surprise and the haste of what I considered a fowl left me with a laugh, a turn towards Harry, and another laugh. He shook his head and shrugged, reflecting the same emotion of "Huh" that we witnessed.

"Never ceases to amaze me," he said afterwards.

I lay with my back angled against his framework, "I couldn't agree more."

My arm in an arch, I had it across Harry with my forearm on the flat of the mattress along his far side. Positioned sideways, I came to him and placed my chin back on his chest. I simply stared at him, the white decor and our surroundings reviving from its bath of brown colour.

"You never cease to amaze me," Harry added.

"But, I can't make wings and fly."

Harry chuckled, shaking me upon him.

I smiled at his laughter warmly.

He began rubbing the top of my head.

He brought me to him, and I let him, falling towards his mouth where he kissed me. I had my hand in his hair, combing his curls, clutching his tufts of saturated black. I moaned, subtle, and without hesitation. The caress came so sweet, so kind, so soft. He held me, his other hand slipping to the knot and fold of the towel and slowly started to unwrap me like a holiday's gift. It wasn't an act of lust. He didn't want to shag me. Instead, after unwinding the cloth wound so tightly on me, he touched me. He laid the hand on me and felt of me. He wasn't clawing or pawing, but a slow lead of fingertips along my lines.

I helped peel the towel off. It caught around my legs and I took my feet, my toes, and slid it down off the bed. His hand, beneath the arm which held him, felt those curves, the softness and south down the center. He followed the indent, less prominent than my spine, but there from my breasts to my navel. Our noses meshed and I breathed him in. He stopped and hugged me, embraced me and pulled me farther upon him.

I wrapped my arms around him as much as I could, touching his face, his neck, shoulders, chest-everywhere. I sighed, our legs intertwining while he slipped and set the sheets about me, too. We connected again through our senses, of taste and smell, feeling, seeing-being. I smiled amongst our kiss and relished the not-so-silence of being together. I kissed his chin, caressed his throat, and curled around him. Cheek-to-chest, he was inviting, sensual, and mine.

I closed my eyes and fell asleep in smiles.

***

The sun had risen, brightening our holiday flat. When I woke, I didn't think I was out but for a few hours, maybe less. Harry, by contrast, had been struck by the sandman. He laid still, an arm above his head, his other hidden under the sheets and around my middle. I'd fallen to his left with his back on the mattress, my arms about him, my cheek having rested on his chest before I'd lifted.

I had to use the loo, but I didn't want to waken Harry. He looked so serene and happy. He even caught my smile, taking away one for himself. I waited, or had intentions to wait, but nature began to nudge me. Finally, I kissed him-his cheek-something, I thought, which could occupy him for he had a way to coming to with the slightest of partings. As I lingered my kiss, I slid a finger, and another, then its twins before prying his arm and hand away to slide off the far end. I stopped about halfway, a snore from Harry having him move around.

I felt my feet hit the cool of the room, my legs, and then the removal the sheets altogether from my body as I observed Harry until he'd calmed down. When he halted, I began my movement, carefully walking straight for the toilet. Along the way, I grabbed one of Harry's isolated t-shirts tossed over the back of a chair. Probably from one of our many romps, the t-shirt still smelled of strong pumpkin. He'd worn this under another shirt, having absorbed that natural aroma I loved. Grinning sleepily, I breathed the scent, taking the last trappings of my curls and pulled them from the crew neck collar.

I wasn't in the loo long, washing and drying my hands taking more time than anything else. Reopening and shutting the door back, I started toward the bed again only to be startled. Harry, jumbled in the sheets, twisted and turned violently. He was fighting something. His eyes were closed and he'd curse obscenities. His body literally leapt from the spot he laid and that had my feet hit the floor fast. I was at this side in seconds, a heart beat's time. This time I didn't care about waking him up, my entire thought flip-flopped in needing to wake him.

I was at the ledge, opposite from where I'd laid prior, and shook him as he yelled out my name:

"HERMIONE!!"

"Harry!" I couldn't keep him from jostling, my strength being completely overpowered by his fight. I hung on and accelerated the shaking of his body, my hands slipping on the sweat that gathered on his arms.

"YOU!" He belted out, snarling. He said something in parseltongue. I needn't understand the language to see he was being antagonized. He convulsed, throwing my hands away and spat at me in English, "DON'T YOU TOUCH HER!!"

He screamed like he was in pain. My heart-strings ached to comprehend this horrific dream. I tried shaking him to wake again, seeing his chest drenched in a lather of his perspiration, but all he did was cry out my name and wail as if he'd undertaken a Cruciatus.

"Harry!" I screamed over his swollen tears now streaking his cheeks. He sobbed, and I pushed him one last time, calling for him-"Harry!"-when he shook out of it.

He sat straight up and shuddered.

He winced and felt of his scar a moment.

He wiped his face clear of himself, the sweat actually dripping from the wet clumping curls attached to his forehead. His eyes wide, he felt of himself, touching his chest, his legs, his face once more before flipping to me.

"I'm here-" I tried to comfort him, but he caught me.

He put his hands behind my head, led me to him and cradled me there against him. I caressed him, my eyes closed, my hand going to his cheek so slick to the touch.

He did all this in haste, the dream, the nightmare leaving him breathless. When he removed from me, he grabbed my arm. He yanked any sleeve hanging down to see the etching murderously scarred into my left forearm: Mudblood.

"I'm sorry," He said with lament, his tears in floods from their ducts.

My heart fell in pain inside the lower reaches of my soul and I felt it hit like an anvil at the bottom.

I kept my eyes fixed on those tears when he ended, swallowing hard in his sobs, "I'm sorry I didn't get to you fast enough."

…Christ…

I held my hand over my heart for I thought I had died. I couldn't feel the beat any longer, it strumming in my throat and head for the longest time; but realized, soon afterward, that the rate had picked up significantly. The hastened pace made it seem like I had flat-lined, but in actuality, I was still breathing.

Not taking my vision from him, I crawled right to him on the bed and wrapped myself around him. How I laid in his pool of sweat didn't impede me whatsoever. I held him to me, kissing the saline from his lips. He embraced me tight.

When I released, my fingers betwixt sodden, obsidian tufts where I supported him, I looked at him-right in those beautiful, deep green eyes-and said very quietly, trembling, for I too bordered on tears, "…It wasn't your fault. None of this is your fault."

I had to stop, feeling my throat tighten in earnest to cry, but tried to remain a structure for Harry to stand on. He hadn't much of any left, sadly, society playing him.

"You did nothing wrong."

I saw him restrain himself. I wish he wouldn't, bottling his emotions so the world-including me-couldn't see. He didn't want to be ridiculed anymore, and I understood this, but it was…me.

Only in these bouts did I see the turmoil wrecking him within. On the outside he was happy-go-lucky Harry.

He stared at me and became rigid.

I watched as a tear somehow made it from his eye and trickle down the crevice beside his nostril while he stared.

I kissed his lips lightly, and then kissed his jaw, his jaw-line, and his shoulder where I lingered. Pressing my face into him, I hugged him, bringing him so we were as one. He tightened around me, his arms like safety belts and secure, warm.

"…You did nothing wrong," I repeated in hushed words meant solely for him on his shoulder before we lay in silence.

I began to stroke his back until I found him settled, sleeping again.

I kissed him where my mouth lay and closed my own eyes, latched on, and somehow traveled back into my own slumber.

***

He woke me up earlier than I expect, surprising me with:

"I'm taking you to dinner."

We were in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror.

He was much happier, smiling while he shaved. I didn't know if this was a lie or the truth, and albeit for Harry he wouldn't tell me either way what he felt after his nightmare. I knew what he dreamt after all. I stood beside him, becoming obsessive compulsive. I'd already gave myself a once over, looking for any blemish. He'd push on me, and without speaking he told me to calm down.

I watched his reflection, how meticulous he was, but leaving enough hair for stubble. He held the side of his cheek, covering his mouth, pulling the skin tight at that ledge of bone beside his ear. When he moved away, switching to the other side, he revealed himself, his expression, a smile, his eyes flicking toward my curiosity.

I stopped brushing my teeth, the toothbrush aside at a corner. My peach-coloured lips curled in a smile. Keeping those mahogany locks from falling as I spit, I bent down and back up, rinsing the sink out. When I came to my original stance, his eyes still upon me, I blushed.

With slight dimples, he grinned and placed the cap back on his razor. He took up a previously warmed cloth and patted his face, turning on his heel toward me, the white towel on his hips swaying.

I'd begun to brush again, but halted when Harry purposely raked his fresh stubble along my bare shoulder, alongside my neck. I leaned towards him, scrunching my nose up, and patted the side of his cheek. He tickled me, making me lightly gasp. He sniggered at my throat, placing a hand at the small of my back, clad in towel, and kissed the top of my head.

His reflection left mine in the mirror, his fingertips dragging the breadth of my back as I heard him twist the knob of our clothes closet.

***

"Your hair just doesn't want to keep flat!"

I'd been struggling with a comb in one hand and some paste in another. Harry sat in front of me, far clothed than myself who wore a black bra and stockings to my thighs, black lace knickers on my hips. A pattern of up-and-down diagonals, black in colour, too, dropped from the upper brim to my feet. Harry, on the other hand, kept still, dressed in black trousers and a white shirt with suspenders. His matching jacket laid on the made bed aside him.

"It's decoration for the rest of my accessories," he retorted with acute sarcasm.

I sniggered, but huffed. Throwing my hands up, and watching the strand I fought so hard to stay down win. It shot straight back up, and I said with exhaustion, "I give up."

"Aw…," He took the comb from my hand and put it down beside him. He grabbed some tissue. I watched him watch his actions, how delicately he expunged the paste, even going so far as to clear beneath my nails, between my fingers. He caressed the top of my hand when he finished, turning it upside down and palm up, and caressed its centre.

"You make it horribly difficult not to love you," I breathed into a grin.

He chuckled, eyes on me, his hands bringing me between his legs until my knees touched the bed. He lowered and kissed the flat of my stomach directly above my navel. He lowered further, directing another kiss beneath my navel. Inhaling slowly, I let a breath out just as slowly. I had my hands on his shoulders, feeling where his suspenders held to him. I closed my eyes when he caressed, finally, my navel and concluded with a loose embrace, his arms surrounding me.

"We really should get going."

"You say that like a demand," He stated, smiling up at me. "Are you hinting for my leave?"

"We really would be late."

He peered at me quizzically.

I squeezed his shoulders.

"You keep this up and surely we'll be late for our reservation."

He laughed.

I was positive he understood by the squeeze, or even before, but sported jest.

"Would that be such a problem?" He asked, seemingly rhetoric by the cute way he sounded. I pushed on him, but he stayed sitting, his hands on the semi-transparent tights clutched at my thighs. Nonchalantly, he'd draw lines, circles, on the back of them while he looked at me.

"Maybe it isn't so difficult to love you after all."

"Should I risk it?" He leaned forward again and kissed the centre of my abdomen.

"Indescribably beastly."

Sniggering, he kissed my abdomen, staring after and in a deviled grin, "I simply love when you talk dirty to me."

He moved, caressing the spot and breeched the invisible contract I'd contrived by word.

"Most awful, a vile gentleman."

"Is that so?" He took my hand, and then its partner, and led me to a crawl. Prodding the mattress on my knees, I stood above him but for a moment until meeting below.

Our bodies, faces, eyes, lips leveled, we took each other in a final second…

"Behave yourself." I spoke soft, rough, the tips of my fingers on his five o'clock shadow.

…For the next second brought our inhuman, carnal selves from the background to the foreground. Our limps intertwining, our mouths locked. My arms about his neck, my hands in his hair, he flipped us over and onto my back. He pushed my leg at its bend, my knee and thigh rubbing against his hip, his side. He gripped and felt of me, those tights not surrendering to anything other than the sensation of smooth flesh.

He rocked into me, and I was utterly taken.

***

"We're going to be late!" He cried, calling for me upstairs.

I'd been adjusting a black bow in my hair to remain above the part which always fell across my eye. The bow sat on the forefront, the crumpled curls of darkened brunette hair falling like curtains above and behind my shoulders. The sun was setting, and that sepia tone crept into the flat. I grabbed the set of charcoal flats I'll be wearing for the night off the bed and fixed the dress coat on me. The coat had only one button where my navel would be, but the curved rim wanted to turn up. Smoothing the silk-like texture of the coal-coloured jacket, I bounded downstairs two steps at a time to see Harry tapping his watch at the banister.

"Don't you start with me." I gave him a light tap on the cheek and skipped toward a corner where the wall came out and used it as leverage. Picking up my foot, I slipped one shoe on at a time. A pencil skirt clung from my hips down, frilling mid-thigh to layers of white-and-black.

Harry came around me, and I felt him while I adjusted my black tie upon my white shirt, the knot at the starched collar. He placed his hand on my lower back and gave me a kiss, my graphite-black lips matching his natural pink, before stepping away and towards the main exit and entry.

"Milady," He bowed, opening the door for me when I'd gotten behind him down the hallway.

I curtsied, stepping out and hearing Harry close the door behind.

I held my hair, palm flat on those curls while the wind picked up. I gazed out over the blue waters of the ocean, the falling, vibrantly orange-and-red sphere beyond the horizon. The clouds, once white, now took on a similar purplish colour of the darkening sky. A few fowl took from the beach and cawed into flight.

My debonair of a man swiftly pranced to my front. "Are you ready?" He asked, those few strands billowing from his fringe from his handsomely parted hair in a howl of wind.

I took a step toward him and clutched his chest, the soft fabric of his dress jacket. I gazed at him and nodded, having to squint within the zephyrs of dusk.

"Hold my hair?"

Harry chuckled. "With pleasure, madame."

I saw his wand, felt him nestle me to him as he cradled my head from the back, and then felt the gentle absorption, a flash of light, and a wash of colour fill my sight.

We landed with a miniscule amount of rattle.

I could tell by the manufactured trees lined in rows, the winding pavements on rolling hills, the busy streets of bustling patrons that we weren't anywhere near our secluded island. We were back in the wizarding world, and by the take of my hand and the run Harry jogged into, I knew we were back in this society. Rightfully so, too, as those bustling patrons soon realized who had entered Silverpond. Unfortunately, apparating was licensed to particular partitions outside of cities, so we had a walk to come.

We slowed down, or I did when Harry did. A flash of a camera shocked the blackening atmosphere, and another shutter struck us. I hid my face with my left hand and kept up with Harry at the lead. His name was called out, and my name, too. Questions buzzed about rumors and whereabouts, how are lives had changed, about Voldemort or-"He Who Must Not Be Named". Our society still couldn't just say Voldemort without succumbing to a nervous breakdown even after his demise.

I was sure they were capturing several thousand photographs of his bruised face beneath his glasses, my engagement ring which unfortunately was on my left hand, our escape, even down so far as to how fast we were moving to get away.

I could see the Prophet's headline for tomorrow: Granger's violent rampage on our own Harry Potter, detailed pictures of the abuse on page three.

We rounded our last corner, separating a gathered few of civilians and journalists alike, and came into the rotating glass doors of Balthazar, our restaurant destination. A high elven hostess, who saw the commotion brought, assisted in keeping out any stragglers who followed us inside.

Harry glanced at the watch on his wrist, the cuff of his white shirt sliding from his jacket sleeve.

"Ah, Mister Potter and Missus Granger," A goblin concierge graciously bowed and deferred his wrinkled, yellowed hand towards the innards of Balthazar. "We've been expecting you most excitedly, Sir, Madame."

I nodded and smiled when the goblin greeted me.

"We're a bit early, if that's quite all right," said Harry most politely.

"Right this way," He hopped from his stool behind a podium and took up two gravely elaborate menus. The menus, which he stuck under an arm, were the same height as him.

I thought it was rather adorable, especially when he wobbled while walking.

"Always the news of the day, Sir, Madame," The goblin spoke, small-talk, on the way to our table through a mix of mazes. The restaurant was filled from one end of the space to the next, and all eyes fell on us, stopping the customers by our presence.

I heard whispers, and I was sure Harry did, too.

"We've kept the table just as you've asked, Sir."

"Excellent," Harry replied, the goblin maneuvering us farther into Balthazar's confines. The further we went the more ornamented the building displayed with details of lovely flowers and swirling lines amongst pseudo-columns built into the walls. Torches turned into candles and the crowd became the few until we were left at a vacant table, alone but for few highly-classed couples and families who paid us no mind.

"Here we are, Sir," He sat us in a corner, and with a wave of his hand a single red rose, two wine glasses, and two candles lit at the table's centre.

Harry motioned for me to sit first, taking my hand and helping me into the circular booth. The seat sat comfortable, cushiony, and with a slight move to my right I let Harry in.

"Everything satisfactory?" The goblin asked, peering first at me, and then to Harry where the stare lingered.

"Exceedingly." Harry wrapped his arm around my middle and I leaned into him.

"Superb." The concierge then handed us our menus. "Our waiter will be out shortly. May I ask the Mister or Missus for their beverage? A glass of the house Elven wine perchance? It complements our various choices of game."

Harry glanced at me, offering my choice first.

"Oh," I said, diverting from him to the goblin. Perusing the menu, I chose a wine described as rich with berry flavours. "The Oak Vineyard Mix, please."

"A fine wine," The goblin nodded with a smile. "And you, Sir?"

"I'll have a light Chardonnay."

I felt eyes even in this room and followed my feeling to a furtive look from a table of two, like us, both the male and female couple curious at us. I smiled at them, not exactly knowing what to do at their gazes, and they smiled back just the same.

"Excellent. Excellent," He nodded in acceptance at Harry. Harry backed into the cushiony seat, rubbing against me in the process. "Afradas will be with you with your wine. Please, enjoy our complimentary biscuits while you wait."

The goblin snapped his fingers, a basket of bread with butter appearing in front of Harry and me.

"Thank you," I said as the little man in coattails left us for ourselves.

My eyes went to Harry, my head turned slightly to see him. I grinned and chose a biscuit, feeling my knees close together when I pushed up to butter the top by knife. I crossed my legs, my left over my right, and fell back into Harry and by his side. I snuggled into the crook he created, his eyes never leaving me. The biscuit was warm and freshly baked, its aroma filling our sense of smell.

I scrunched my nose up, looking at Harry sitting so still and so confident as he watched me. I laughed under my breath, hovering the biscuit above one hand and had him bite. I made sure no crumbs fell to his severely black jacket attuned to his darkly locks, and then divulged into whatever was left from his bite.

He kissed me while I ate, the bridge of his nose colliding with my jaw, his lips at my neck.

I grinned and looked across from us to see the same couple staring at our private intimacy.

***

Having ordered a heap and variety of vegetables, sliced grilled chicken included with a creamy house dressing, I relaxed, stuffed. Harry ordered a filet mignon with a mushroom sauce and baked potato on the side. My glass was at half, my second as the wine would refill immediately after consumption. Harry was on his second, as well.

Gently, he stroked me lazily with a finger on my arm, wrapped back around me. For such a spacious booth, we sat together, close, in the middle, leaving much of the seat unattended. My arms crisscrossed, a hand was placed on Harry's stomach where I rubbed him from view. He kissed the side of my head, smelling my hair. I started thinking, a ruse to my personality, and said aloud for Harry to hear:

"You know…"

"Hm?" That lazy finger stopped, but began again, tracing in circles along my arm farthest from him.

"About yesterday," I glanced at him and saw him attentive to my every word and movement. I kept my eyes on him. "What I said…"

He cocked a brow. "Illuminate me once more on which part? We speak a lot."

"The-my, uh, er…"

"I don't remember a "Myuher". Been reading the Quibbler?"

"Harry…" I poked him with the point of my elbow.

"Right, I'm playing…," He caressed atop my head. "We scheduled our loving banter yesterday for this time."

I smiled, but became stern, "But seriously, my…c-h-"

He nodded, breathing in and out, "Got it."

"And, you remember what I said?" The flicker of candlelight and the darkness outside emphasized the white of his eyes. "That I love you for you?"

"I thought I should clarify…"

"Go on," He slipped his free arm across mine which held to his abdomen. He held onto my waist, crossing my body in reach.

"For a very, very, very long time," I began, elongating the last `very' with an English lisp. "Or at least until dear Viktor was I seen, or rather, not seen as a-"

I shook my head, trying to find the chosen words, "People treated me like, `one of the guys'. For all anyone knew I could have been a warlock. I never got the attention other girls did. One day after the next I'd ask myself if I were to blame, if I had a problem. I had this picture in my head of what and who I wanted to be, the most beautiful witch, and maybe-"

"-maybe that's why I took to books. With books, I never felt judged. They were like a home, something to look forward, too. I'd hear other girl's stories about this guy and that guy, but I could never…contribute? I could never contribute."

"Then came the Yule Ball, and as much as I wanted you, and even Ronald, to pick me as a date for the night-I don't even think I wanted so much as that, for just one night, and one night alone, nothing more-both of you looked right through me and at other girls like the gorgeous Fleur and her flock of Beauxbatons."

Harry tried to say something, but I cut him off. He just smiled at me and allowed me to finish.

"I love you, with all of this," I picked up his hand, the one which held my waist, and set it above my heart. "I truly, truly do, and I cannot wait to be your bride. I'm not bringing this up to chide you. This has just been carried with me, this luggage, for quite a while and I needed it to come out. It didn't quite come out how I wanted it to…yesterday."

"Do you remember when I saw you before the Ball that night?"

"Yes," I responded, shaking my head. "I remember it vividly. You looked at me in such a way that I wished you had stepped in and asked Viktor if it were all right to take me into the Hall instead. Although, it's clouded when I took my frustration out on both of you afterwards after Ronald's monologue into how I let him down. How I was to blame for his dissatisfaction that night. Little did he know how wrought with sadness I was and he tore down a perfectly wonderful night, one of few romantic days I had at Hogwarts."

"We were stupid-I," He pointed to himself. "I was stupid, a git."

"You weren't a git." I shook my head "No" this time.

"Ninety-seven percent of males that age couldn't distinguish their arse from a hole in the ground believe me."

He nodded and I made a tiny laugh at his tactful analogy.

"When I saw you that night I was struck dumb. Sure, I heard Ron go on and on about you, but it was, inside-I didn't have any fun at the Ball. All I did was watch you, and Viktor. Later, I couldn't sleep. I don't think I slept. Because one," He held up his index finger. "I'd hurt you where it counted the most and that was simply unacceptable."

He laid his hand on my heart.

"And, two," He held up his index and middle fingers together. "Beyond beating myself senseless for treating you like something other than the beauty that you were and are, seeing you solidified my thoughts, a desire to test the waters and actually grows balls enough to court you wanted out."

"All I can for my stupidity then is that," He sighed. "I didn't know something so very right for me literally was under my nose. Then in the last moments, I'd thought you were infatuated with Ron where I had no chance; that, there was the boundary I couldn't cross any longer."

I made a laugh, and it was audible compared to all our whispers.

"Please, don't think I'm lecturing you or reprimanding you. I didn't want you to take what I said one way when it was another."

"Hermione," He tilted inward and kissed me softly. He gazed back at me when he pulled away. "You're God's gift-intelligent, beautiful, kind, heart-felt-I swear, if I've ever recognised an angel you'd be the image of one."

"Harry…" I lifted to kiss him at his height slightly over me. I had my hands on his chest and I felt him squeeze my arm in response.

"Please," He hugged me, and hugged me tight. "Please don't ever think you need to change for me or anyone else. Bollocks, all of them. I understand, but I don't understand. I'm sorry for helping with the pain and not hindering it."

"You've never intentionally hurt me. If by accident, I knew it was so, and coped. You had a lot on your plate, my Love. I'd just continue to watch over you as best I could, regardless to whichever mood you were in."

"Being an accomplice is as good enough in my book," He caressed the top of my head and gradually let me from his embrace. "I swear a solemn oath, a promise, that I'll never hurt you."

"You'll never hurt me. I know." I squeezed his hand.

"I'll never let anyone or anything else hurt you, either. Honest. I swear." He squeezed my hand.

It didn't take but a blink's time to wrap my arms about his neck and snog him.

***

When we were about to leave, Harry called for the master of the property and a goblin more adorned than any other in the place came rushing out. He thanked and paid compliments for our food, which created a carved smile in the old goblin's face. While he had his attention also, Harry asked to be led to a fireplace or a way of communicating to someone at our next destination. From what we carried with us outside, Harry had no intention in reliving that party. The goblin master quickly led us to a private office where he opened his fire pit as thanks for Harry's well said praise for the establishment.

What we witnessed afterward, leaving Balthazar on a personal motorcade of brooms produced by Rapture themselves, was a scene of madness. Screams rang out as we grew closer to the club. Photography lenses hastily snapped shots of us being led by guard. Droves of people, witches, warlocks, fantastical creatures alike stood in waiting for societal stars to walk a black-carpet runway. Barricades of velvet rope stationed off where the public had to stop with several other guards positioned at weak points in the crowd.

Harry helped me from my broom and into hundreds upon thousands of quick-snap bulbs bursting and lighting the night as well as blinding me. He took my hand and hurried behind two large men in suits. The civilians went nutters, crazily yelling our names, Harry's being called out over and over:

"HARRY, I LOVE YOU!!!"

"I WANT TO HAVE YOUR BABY, HARRY!!"

"PLEASE, HARRY!! PLEASE! PLEASE!!"

"HARRY! SIGN, PLEASE!!"

My name was called out, but not in the type of child birthing. I'd smile coyly in the direction my name was shouted in, but the fanatical patrons were a sea of faces and all moved alike.

We were coming beneath Art Deco structures, Ionic columns and sharp, bent edges of metallic rectangles and squares. The sign above the main door displayed Rapture in silver neon. Mirrors encased the building's exteriors, making the craze that much more bewildering, looking doubled in size.

Harry squeezed my hand, and I squeezed him back. I could see the open doors closing in. I heard my name, and waved to whoever called out to me so shrilly in the blackness. That's when I saw her, the tiny tot; a pre-witch not yet old enough to join Hogwarts. She was blonde and dimple-faced, shy when our eyes met, a piece of parchment in her hand wafting in a breeze. She was being pushed around by the older members of the audience, and even her suspected mother beside her didn't so much as see her being jostled below. The mother was more intent on yelling my fiance's name out like a hungry baboon.

"Harry," I squeezed Harry's hand again and held him, moving to his ear so he could hear me over the crowd.

"We're almost inside. Tell them to sod off if they're bothering you."

"No, it's the little girl," I pointed at the tot, fully smiling teeth and all when I picked her from the crowd. I glanced across Harry to the bodyguard still progressing forward from where I stopped Harry. "Tell the blokes to hold up, please?"

I let Harry go, and I heard him shout my name as I left him to go over to the screaming crowd. I became the perspective, and anyone who screamed for Harry in my proximity now screamed for me. And, deafly, might I add.

"HERMIONE!!"

"HERMIONE, PLEASE!! SIGN MY PROPHET!!"

"OH MERLIN, HERMIONE, PLEASE, PLEASE!!!"

"HERMIONE! PLEASE!! YOU'RE SO PRETTY!!"

People started to shove various pieces of paper at me, but my eyes were fixed on the little girl. I bent down, tucking a curling strand behind my ear, and smiled just as bright as the tot.

"PLEASE, HERMIONE!! PLEASE! MY WAND!"

"And, what's your name?" I wanted to whisper this to the pre-teen, but my voice grew louder with the increase of the persons around me.

"Gracey…" She pivoted on her toe and shied away from me the moment I lowered to her height.

I felt a familiar presence behind me, and then felt a hand on my back.

"Gracey, hm? Well, that's a very pretty name. May I ask how old you are?" She spoke in this baby-ish sweet tone that I began to imitate. I couldn't resist.

"Six!" She blinked her big blue eyes at me and held up her fingers, adding one to the six she showed me. "Seven in a month!"

"Well, happy early birthday to you, Gracey." I saw a shadow close by, the hand leaving my back. When I peered up I saw Harry taking quill after pen in hand. He was the one I found so familiar, his warm aura unmistakable. While he waited for me, he took care of those screams to sign autographs.

I turned my attention back to Gracey. "Would you like for me to sign your slip of parchment?"

"HARRY!! HARRY!! OH GODS, HARRY!! PLEASE!!"

"Yes, please! Pretty please!" said one shy Gracey, handing me her tiny quill and the parchment she desperately held tight.

An uproar of elevated, fresh screams stirred from the beginning of the walk from the pavement to the entrance. I would have looked to see who or what caused the following stir, but was caught up in the swarm of fast-moving bodies.

I sat the slip of newsprint on my lap and realized it was a Quibbler article based on me entitled, Grangeritis: Charming, Sophisticated, Lovely. A mobile photo of a patronus-like otter swished its tail in an ethereal sea of sparkles. The editor: Luna Lovegood.

"HARRY!! HARRY, PLEASE!! MY BOOK! PLEASE!!"

"MY GODS, HARRY! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!"

"I LOVE YOU, HARRY!!"

I grinned at the dreamily-dazed photograph of Luna and began to write in the margin, Dearest Gracey, work hard and achieve everything you ever wish for and never let anyone tear you down, your friend, Hermione Granger.

"Thank you, Missus Granger!" She squealed with glee, accepting the Quibbler piece back with eyes so wide it was if she had struck gold.

"May I get a hug?" She was just adorable!

She nodded, and kept nodding, and kept nodding to the point where I thought she'd hurt herself. She giggled and accepted eagerly my embrace beneath the posh rope.

When I stood up, the mother thrust her Prophet at me. She wasn't blonde like the little girl, dark, inky hair coming from her scalp, but the tot clutched onto her close. I didn't want to cause a scene, though I found it incredibly rude, and took the Prophet and her pen into my hand.

"You have a very sweet daughter," I exclaimed, glancing from the yellowing paper to Gracey's mother.

"Sign it to Fran," was her answer, and I was a tad perturbed.

I did, though.

To Fran, Hermione Granger.

And handed it back to her.

This began a ripple effect that I didn't think had an end. Suddenly surrounded by requests for my signature, I took more parchment and books, raising a brow that people would want my signature on the pages of a Rita Skeeter authored text. I signed wands, robes, the occasional appendage, and when asked would take pictures with people. I had to lean across the ropes for those, an ever-vigilant Harry watching me when I'd get close to our fans.

Someone got in-between us when Harry stepped to his right to catch someone in the far back of the line. When I looked I had to take a second to find myself, the person, a woman who I stared at wearing a shredded Daily Prophet as wardrobe and bits of abstractly shaved Prophet pasted on her hair and face. She wore aviator sunglasses even though it was nighttime and smiled coolly at me from the side. She signed autographs and at an alarming rate, too. She was obviously a professional, having done this and been in this sort of environment far more often than myself.

"Fancy seeing you here, mon cheri."

Shade-bloody-Epsilon.

I'd become star-struck.

"SHADE, OH PLEASE, PLEASE!! SIGN HERE!!"

She was like a product line, going from one person to another without stopping to breathe. I don't think she even had time to see those she signed for, for the masses were on her like hyenas to a fresh kill.

I went numb for a minute, but came to with a clever, "Hi!"

"SHADE!! I LOVE YOU!! I LOVE YOU!!! WHEN ARE YOU COMING BACK TO LIVERPOOL?!!"

Her vivid yellow lipstick shone bright in the many lights.

Her own bodyguards, two men in white suits and white top hats, stayed close behind her as if they were on leashes. They had to be part Veela, flawless skin exposed where white leather gloves didn't cover, their faces shimmering with natural glitter within each camera flash. Propped on similarly white canes, each were at Epsilon's shoulders.

Shade snapped her fingers between one signature on parchment and her next, one of her men pulling out a slip of blank paper to which she retrieved between her own Prophet-pasted gloved fingers.

"May I be so bold as to ask for your autograph, Missus Soon-to-be-Potter?"

Harry heard that, coming around to meet me for he'd lost track in the rush of new people walking the carpet. He put both of his hands on my shoulders, watching me as I plucked gently the slip from Shade Epsilon's hand and wrote, nervously, for I hadn't an idea what to write:

Sincerely yours, Hermione Granger.

I handed it back to her.

"Gracias, Love." She smiled at me. "It will be cherished."

She put it within her torn and burned Prophet dress.

She snapped her fingers once more.

"Boys!" She announced, walking off with her men in haste behind her.

"Enjoy the show," she said on the sly, moving on from us to the double-doors.

I glanced back around at Harry who looked extremely…confused, or something. I'm not quite sure even he knew how he felt. This was his first introduction to Shade Epsilon up close and her style and speech wasn't rather normal.

"Well, she was…," He started, gazing to me. "Interesting."

I nodded. "Yeah, she'll do that."

"She's nice," he added.

I sniggered, but quickly shushed when I saw…

Rita Skeeter and her cult of Propheteers hurry to catch Shade before she entered into Rapture.

Of course Missus Prophet herself would be here. I wouldn't have guessed anything less after witnessing such a sight myself. I hadn't counted on this number of souls. From behind us our own bodyguards called off anymore requests, shushing the crowd around us with his own bellowing yell to quiet down, "No more autographs!"

The crowd let out a drowning sigh when we were directed off, ushering us forward where we were greeted by one of a dozen elves. The smiling elf, which I made sure wasn't here under any other circumstance beyond wanting to be here, became our chaperone in finding a room.

"There's a room made especially for Mister and Missus, there is! You're both part of our very important peoples tonight!" He squeaked so happily.

He led us, in his itsy tailored suit and tails, to the upper reaches of the night club where others of the so-called "Very Important People" were congregated.

{Inspiration for the chapter: Body Control by Leighton Meester. I've been pretty much stuck on this song for weeks. I swear female pop is laced with something… And, as per her character, Shade Epsilon is influenced by Lady Gaga}

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