Unofficial Portkey Archive

Life and Times

Rating: R

Ship: HHr (main emphasis)

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

Author Note: I always felt Hermione knew herself more than the others. But, I felt she always struggled because she was so much more mature than her age bracket. This, I believe, was another layer both Hermione and Harry had after Harry was thrown into a situation and was made to grow up. I wanted to take a visual of the emotion one might endure with feeling like an "outsider"; therefore, the representation is Hermione's wardrobe choice, for instance. Plus, I tend to want to play dress-up with my characters. Also, thank you for the reviews I've gotten. I do read them!

***

Chapter Four ~ Nostalgia

Take a handful of fresh vanilla beans. Take them, and put them in a blender. Turn the blender on for a tick and release the top. Take a deep breath as the prime oil from the vanilla surrounds you in pure, and utter, sweetness. Take that smell, the aroma, and try and picture yourself waking up to it. Laying beside Hermione and having her scent waft into me as I rippled through twilight sleep to become fully aware…yeah, I could get used to this.

We'd turned a few times in our sleep. Hermione fidgeted more than me, but I followed her, shaping to however she ended. My first waking perception was a sight full of her dark, brunette hair. I'd been laying on some of it, which I guessed would be uncomfortable, and went to lift my head. I hadn't realized just how close we were, her back all the way to my chest, spooning; so when I moved, I jostled her as well.

I had my arm around her. She'd taken my hand and held it near her chest. Both of her hands clasped around my one. When she adjusted after being disturbed, she tightened her grip. I heard her inhale. I felt her smooth legs run against mine, bumping around my knees.

Sunlight filtered into the bedroom. Daybreak had occurred, and went. One of the few times I missed jogging. I didn't miss it, per se, fairly warm and wrapped up with the softest thing I'd ever put my arms around. This was better. I thought she'd fallen back asleep. Her body settled, and so I gently relaxed my head into the pillow. But, before I could fall back asleep, or anything, I felt her move about. She slid against my front as she scooted to lie on her back. I elevated my arm and, as I did, she pulled it right back down on her.

I smirked.

She shifted her focus from the ceiling to me, where she smiled. She sighed, gazing, "Hey…"

"Good morning," I smiled.

"It's…more like the afternoon," she laughed. I felt her hand stroke the top of my arm, hidden underneath the sheets and atop her stomach.

"Really?" I was surprised. I was usually up before noon. "What time is it?"

"Almost one."

"Wow," I pushed off the mattress and settled so my right fist balanced my head. Thankfully, I was nearsighted. I didn't want to let go of Hermione to get my glasses. My eyes were locked to her. She didn't move, but her focus did. When the sheets and all slipped off me, revealing my naked chest, she grinned and re-focused herself on my eyes.

"That is late. Well, for me anyway."

"I'm sorry for ruining everything…," she said, her voice trailing off. Her eyes went to the ceiling.

"Hey," I slipped my arm from about her abdomen, upward across her chest and to under my chin where I pulled her eyesight back. Her hands followed my arm under the covers. I leaned in close when her attention was back to me, and looked at her straight, "You did not, and have not, done anything to ruin anything. I don't think you quite understand how happy I am to have you here. Right here."

I traced the leading edge of her jaw with the tip of my finger. She closed her eyes and remained still. Her head was tilted toward me, her breath calm. My fingers prolonged their exploration, following the line of her jaw to the contours of her throat. I found myself peeling away the sheet to continue along her clavicle, meeting the ribbed, grey tank top strap hugging her skin. She halted me with her words:

"…Do you like me, Harry?"

Talk about being completely, and utter taken aback. Confused with a capital "C".

"Now that's a silly question…," Hermione opened her eyes, and when she did, she closed them back as I bent down to kiss her lips. I pressed against hers a little harder than expected, my body wanting her to know how I truly felt.

That's when she did something I couldn't understand. She moved away from me, breaking our kiss, even after she responded back with her lips. She pushed right up off the mattress and sat with her backside to the pillow she once laid on between her and the headboard. Her brunette locks made a curtain as they swayed in her rush. I could see her face at times, and she didn't look at me; her eyes settled in front of her. She looked bothered, her eyebrows scrunched.

"What?" I asked, moving some to get about as level to her. I could see her white undies peeking out from the space she now created. In any other moment, I probably would have really noticed them; but, her displeasured facial expression worried me. "What's wrong?"

In one, single breath, she asked, "Am I a bad person?"

She remained staring at nothing. I shifted my head forward to get a good look at her, and still, nothing. "You? A `bad person'? What has gotten into you, Hermione?"

"Of course I'm a bad person," she started away from me, throwing the covers off in haste. Most of the sheets landed on my face. I tore them away. "I'm a horrible, terrible, miserable person that needs to go to-"

I grabbed her waist, my fingers sinking into her hips, and yanked her back into bed. She bounced and gasped when she met my eyes. I didn't suppress my irritation. I was mad. How dare she go off like that when she knew she were the exact opposite! At least it shut her up.

"Why are you saying all these things? Why are you acting this way?" She'd look away from me and I would follow her eyes. "Look at me. Look at me, Hermione."

Somewhere in the middle of being sad and angry, the expression of both wavered in her facial features. She looked back at me, but didn't say a word. I pierced my lips together, and finally had to break the confounded silence:

"You are caring. You are brilliant. You are very, very beautiful," I began, annunciating each word to drive home the meaning. "You know it, and I know it, and everyone else knows it. You walk down the street and any bloody fool will instantly know it. That's how special you are. Don't ever go off on yourself like that again, do you hear me? It hurts you, and that hurts me."

I didn't know who to blame more: myself for having her endure my problems for half her lifetime, or Ron for messing her up. Maybe both, as I could have been by her side sooner and ripped her away from him. I was in denial for the majority. Maybe I didn't want to know she was hurting before? Maybe I wanted to think the world was perfect when it wasn't? I rationalized with my doubts that these people were good for each other. All of it was a lie; and bless Ginny, she tried to open my tightly-shut eyes. Maybe I was to blame for all of it.

My hand left her hip. She'd taken it and pressed it above her heart, against her breast. She held it there and I could see her emotions welling deep inside.

"I'm being torn!" I watched her, felt her chest hesitate with her breath. Her heart was thumping at an incredible rate. Keep going, baby, I thought. Don't let it eat you. Let it all out. Tears started to stream down her cheeks, "I feel guilty, and I don't know why! All I want to do is what I want to do! I want to act on what I think and what I want, and just-just me! For a change!"

"Who's telling you not to?" I asked quietly as she stopped to breathe. "Am I? Somehow?"

She closed her eyes and shook her head. When she re-opened them, I felt her push my hand farther against her chest. I could feel her little drum behind her ribs a-flutter. "I'm broke, Harry. I'll never be fixed. I can't be fixed! Don't you get it?"

"I want you, though," I shut my brain off. My heart led the way. "I've wanted you. I've always wanted you."

"I'm damaged-you won't want me!"

"I want everything," I went to her forehead and caressed with my lips softly. "I want this."

I moved to her cheek with my lips, "I want this."

To the tip of her nose, her chin, her throat-my lips moved down with my hands leading the way. I kissed a line from her shoulder to one hand, and then from the other shoulder and to its hand. My hand slid down her side, paralleling my mouth, as I continued to make a line straight from the starting of her chest to her stomach. Her hand held the back of my head, and I heard her make little sudden gasps at times.

My hand slid right over her arse, my lips going from her tummy to her hip. I had the majority of the sheets off us, my figure pushing it down the end of the bed as I crept on. My hand glided right down her thigh, to her knee, where I bent it and kissed the top. She couldn't reach me; I felt her hand leave me, and I needed her. I halted, looked up at her gaze and crawled right back in posthaste.

With my hands at her sides, my body hovering over her, I said plainly and clearly, "All of it. I want you: broken or not. This `damaged' you, I want it. You won't get hurt anymore."

Her hands found my hair, once again, as I lowered down to kiss the spot above her heart. I let my mouth linger for a moment, and said into her form, "I won't hurt you. I will never hurt you. Never."

I felt warmth; Hermione's hands had taken me, under my chin, and then around my face. She pulled me up to her and kissed me hard. Tears had stained her cheeks, and I tried to caress them away only to have her pull me back to her mouth.

I felt her slight weight on me. She shifted so she was higher than me on the bed. We moved, Hermione on her knees, backward. Falling back on the mattress, Hermione fell atop my form. She'd gradually pushed me to this point; her hands framing my face, her soft palms on my face. I wrapped my arms tight around her body haphazard-like, not really caring where-just needing to touch her-anywhere and everywhere. I couldn't quite tell what I was feeling, gone on a love-high, but what my hands touched felt extremely, extremely good. Such a tiny, little thing with such a mighty, caring heart. She wore hers, like mine, on her sleeve.

She made a mini-moan through our kiss and pulled gently away to breathe. She attacked my throat next, and I tilted my chin to allow full access. My eyes closed, I could feel the instantaneous electrical sparks from the spots she brushed against, moving down to my chest where I felt her caress my pectorals. She'd straddled my right leg in the process, her left hip nearing the bed, and I hoped she would never stop sliding her leg between me-accident or not. I am human and I am male after all.

I felt her breath upon my ear. I'd been so caught up in the moment that I hadn't realized she'd gone back up with my hands on her back, my fingers following that indent I loved so much. She whispered into my ear, "I don't think there was a day where I didn't think of you…what you were doing, how you were doing, if you ever thought about me…"

"I thought about you tons…especially when I jogged…a reason why jogging became a routine for my day…"

I felt her warm aura leave my ear. I opened my eyes slowly, her hair brushing against my chest. Back in visual awareness, I studied the lovely face of Hermione as she rest along my chest. She laid her head just below my jaw and became fascinated by my chest muscle. I watched her make lines with her fingertip, her slight touch reversing the calm of my heart. I had to live with it: Hermione driving me wild even with innocent acts.

"I wore out four pens in a week's time because of you."

Hermione shifted her head, her cheek twisting on my bare skin to smirk at me, "Only four?"

I grinned.

She re-directed her eyes back to her finger. Her finger looped around my nipple. The feeling? Gratifyingly exhilarating. I closed my eyes as she laugh a little, "I went through seven."

I placed my hand on her head and gently led my fingers through her soft, soft hair.

***

That's my girl sitting over there at the table. She flashed a look at me, the flattened portion of her hair covering her right eye. She bobbed her head from side-to-side, and flicked it back to shake the hair away. It did, for a second, but fell right back in its spot. She smirked at me, her hands on the Daily Prophet spread out on the dining room table.

Her pale little knees were hidden under black, baggy pants, bent and on the leading edge of the setting furniture. A fitted, white-ribbed tank top clung to her upper body; the faint hint of a black brassiere underneath as well as some of the strap sticking out from the shirt straps. An ebony tie laid off-kilter, untaught from the loosened loop around her pale throat, across her top. She had a varied take on fashion; people who had grown up with her probably wouldn't recognize her like this if they hadn't been around her for a while, I supposed. Whatever made her comfortable from one minute to the next was completely fine by me. She could get away with a paper bag if she wanted.

Her lashes batted at me, black eyeliner encompassing the smooth skin around her eyes. Everything about her drove me into a frenzy. Even staring at her right now brought a severely toothy grin across my face. I flipped the faucet back on and rinsed off the soapy plate in my hand and placed it in the rack to dry. I'd made lunch-a really, really late lunch-of turkey sandwiches and chowder with crackers and was in the process of cleaning up. She'd made a fit about helping, of course, but gave in after the fifteenth, "Go sit down, I'll do it," I said.

I heard the paper rustle before she spoke, "What are you thinking about so quietly over there, mister?"

I beamed at her from the corner of my eye.

"You're not thinking about me now, are you?"

Cocking my head to the side to see her, I caught her adjusting a clump of black rubber bracelets about her left wrist. She glanced up at me and smirked, her hands busy.

"And, why would I be thinking of you?" I asked, my facial expression and tone filled with sarcasm.

Hermione held her mouth open in shock, "You're awful. Just awful! Do you treat all your girlfriend's like this?"

I returned my focus to the next plate, rinsing it off and setting it aside to dry. I couldn't keep from smiling, "Just the ones I like."

Hermione continued to smirk, "Hey."

"Is for horses," I finished, dipping my hand back into the luke-warm water to bring out another plate to rinse-and-dry. I peered over at her.

Hermione immediately raised the part of the Daily Prophet she held and ducked behind it, "Can you see me?"

"Oh my God!" I played along, the volume of my voice increasing. Her hands, arms, and knees exposed around the edge of the paper.

"What?" Hermione glanced around the side of the newspaper.

I laughed, "You disappeared, of course!"

Hermione gasped, "I know! I'm thinking about becoming a magician for a living-what do you think?"

"Hm…," My face contorted as if I were really contemplating her question. I set a bowl in the tray, looking back at her. "Well…"

"Weeelllll?"

"…I'd keep your day job."

Hermione gasped again. She crumpled up the sheet of Daily Prophet in her hands and threw it at me. I watched it sail over and dodged it by twisting my body.

"Hm…," My face contorted again, and I nodded my head. "Yeah, and you throw like a girl. Don't play sports."

Hermione lowered her head, her chin nearing her chest. She looked up at me in a pout.

"Aw…" I smirked. A though, of the mischievous kind, came to fruition in my mind. My eyes went from the cooling water, and then to Hermione. "Do you want me to come over there and make it all better?"

"Yes…," she frowned. Her pouty lips and drooped shoulders lingered.

"All right…," I sighed a heavy, exaggerated sigh. I slipped both of my hands into the temperate aqua, a little dirty too, and cupped some in my palms. I turned my body to her and picked up the boats of filthy water in my hands. Some of the water dripped on the floor. I looked at her with a big smile. "Come here, baby. I'll make it all better."

"Um…," Hermione became uncomfortable, quickly. I stepped to her hastily, almost in a run. She pushed her chair back with her knees and took off in a sprint. "Harry! Harry, no!"

"Aw, baby! But you looked so sad!" I yelled after her. I was laughing as I followed her up the stairs. "I'm coming to make it all better for you!"

Hermione shrieked when she saw me coming, on the second floor, and slammed closed the bathroom door. "Eek! Harry!"

"Mwahahahaaa!!!" I was having a ball. Hermione's giggles made it all worthwhile.

***

Hermione leapt over the back of the sofa. I had my arm behind my head, my free hand working the television remote. Flipping through the channels at random, I first saw her slight mass, and then felt her weight. She landed right atop my lap, making me breathe out an "Oomph!" I caught her around the middle; my fingers went to the silvery notches in her black leather belt, just above her hips.

"You make it sound like an anvil just landed on you." She wiggled her rump, getting comfortable.

As she adjusted, I scooted up in a sitting position, one leg dangling off the sofa. "Well…"

Hermione jerked around and pointed a finger at me. "I swear, you say what you're about to say and-"

"And?" I interjected, my grin was inevitable.

She leaned over and flicked my nose, "What's on TV?" She bent over and grabbed the remote from my hand. She sat perpendicular on me. She raised a leg and hugged her knee, her thumb pounding away at the elevated keys on the television changer.

Examining her attention thoroughly on the tube, I tried to tickle her sides to gather her back to me. Not even bothering to look at me, her hand swatted mine. Her thumb stopped on the remote, and I heard the comic antics of Joey from Friends say, "How you doin'?" and the audience laugh out loud. Rachel responded to him in a chuckle, the chuckle reverberating throughout the den, "What's up, Joey?"

"Nuh uh," Hermione shook her head, her locks waving.

I frowned and prodded her tummy with my finger.

She fidgeted, "No. Not after you called me fat."

"Yeah," I began with a smirk. "All one hundred pounds of you."

Hermione gasped. She shot a glance at me, my smirk still there. Dropping the remote in her lap, she grabbed the pillow at the arm of the sofa. She swung the pillow into the air and had it come crashing down on me. My face became the victim of her violence. "Digging yourself deeper into that ho-"

"Oww…," she nailed my bruised brow hard, and I jostled at the amount of pain, making her raise a little.

"Oh my goodness!"

"So violent!" I sneezed. The pillow had caught my nose, too, a reflex.

"Harry, oh my goodness!" Frantically, she moved down on me. I felt her hands on my face amongst my own. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

She kept repeating it as I said, "I'm fine…I'm fine…"

I felt her fingers slide across the slightly swollen area. Her touch already made the majority of the pain go away. "I'm so sorry…does it hurt really bad? I didn't break the skin…the bandage is still there…"

"The pillow isn't going to break the skin…," I laughed a little.

"I could have if I hit you hard enough. So, don't laugh!" Her fingers began massaging the bruised parts. The pain had ceased before I found Hermione slip further north, her lips to my purple skin. A brief kiss, and she was back looking between me and my eyebrow; her fingers back massaging. "I don't want it to scar."

"It's not going to scar…" I lifted and kissed her mouth. "And besides, it feels ten times better than ever. Anytime I get a kiss from you I feel loads better."

Hermione's expression changed to smug. Her eyes were on me, and then my lips as she replied, "Well then, I guess you were feeling loads, loads, loads better earlier, eh?"

"You could say that…," I smiled, my eyes averting to the television screen when the audience gasped. Someone probably said they were pregnant. My eyes came back to Hermione.

"An hour isn't enough for you?"

"Hour-shmour," My lips went to the side. I tried to suppress my giddiness. My hands were around her torso. They slipped up to her ribs, slowly as if surveying a crime scene and not allowing any detail, however large of small, behind. "Now, maybe two or three hours…"

Hermione's eyes widened with her smile, "A three hour make-out session?! How do you expect me to breathe?"

"Think of it like scuba diving," I chuckled. Her eyes were back on my mouth. "Get your oxygen from me."

Her eyes lit up, and she laughed. With her rolling eyes, she kissed me, "You're such a pain…"

"You give me lots. I think they're excuses to kiss me," I smiled through our kiss.

"Your deduction of my work is quite unfathomable, my dear Watson," she giggled.

I flipped her over onto the sofa dexterously and settled around her. The possibility of two hours? Three? I grinned at the thought, feeling Hermione take the lead; her hands gripping at tufts of my hair lightly. She exhaled, and within the exhale possessed a moan. She snickered, her lips leaving mine but for a second; just enough time for me to smile before she came right on back, her warm lips upon mine.

***

"Turn around."

"I think it's stuck."

"Just turn around…"

"It's really stuck in there, Hermione!"

I had my hand on the knot of my tie. I wriggled it back and forth between the white, starched collar of my shirt. Hermione had been observing my tie-up prowess…until I somehow got the leader end of my black tie looped backwards in the knot. I felt her hands jerking the knot around, loosening and tightening at random when I felt her finger lift my chin.

"Look up at the ceiling for me."

I did as she instructed. The band I created around my neck swiveled. I was glad there was fabric between me and the tie, or I'd surely be chafed by now. I slipped my hands into my dress pants and asked after a while of her re-fastening, "And, when did you learn how to tie a tie?"

"Girl Scouts," she replied at once.

"When did you have time for Girl Scouts?"

"I didn't," she made my chin still. She gripped me lightly under my jaw. All I wanted was a peek at her work. "Be still."

I glanced back up at the ceiling, still as stone…besides my mouth, "I don't understand."

Hermione made a laugh, "Maybe my father really wanted a son?"

"I've met your father. He wouldn't think that the slightest."

"I know, I'm just being flippant because you think a woman wouldn't be able to tie a tie," I looked at her, and she looked at me, while she spoke. "Am I right?"

I gazed back up at the ceiling, "Of course not. It's just-it's like if a man came up to you and started fixing your dress."

"Sexist now, are we?"

My eyes went to Hermione who stared back at me with a smirk, "Hermione…"

I felt her pat the knot, "There now-a knot as sturdy and as clean as one can be…even if a woman did it."

I smiled and turned back around towards the mirror. The meeting of the reflections, hers and mine. My attention went everywhere about her body. From the natural, to the material, utter brilliance. The only make-up applied was a small bit of black eyeliner which brought out her cinnamon brown eyes. Her pink lips were wet, and maybe a dash of blush for her cheeks. All of it still complemented the pure base beneath the dabs here and there.

Hermione sat back down on the edge of my bed. Her dark blue jeans crisscrossed in front of her; her legs stretched out straight with a little bit of heel. A beautiful white, silk-like material made up a dress, stopping mid-thigh and cropped at the top. The material widened around her hips, mimicking a smaller version of a ballerina skirt. Her shoulders were bare; her darkened mahogany curls covering the exposed areas.

I'd asked her after our frolic on the sofa what we intended to do for the rest of the night. She asked if we could out. Drive a stunning woman to a romantic dinner? Does that really need an answer? And, yes-an actual car. You didn't expect me to run everywhere, did you? I'd gotten my driver's license a month or so into living here by myself, and with it, a shiny BMW. BMW's ran in the family, by the way. From the pictures of my dad and mum I'd seen and the questions I asked of them, I detailed the vehicle sitting behind my father in one of them. Sirius had told me the model, and I'd wanted one ever sense. It's an extreme pretty chrome colour convertible with black leather seats, disc player, eight-cylinders-the works.

The lights at night from the panel glowed this intense blue, making the inside of the car look altogether futuristic. My second baby. I might even have to say it's prettier than my updated Firebolt.

I told her about this Italian restaurant that Ginny, Neville, and I went to a few weeks ago. They stopped in, said hello, chit-chatted, and we ended up at Mi Amor. They served what you'd expect any Italian restaurant would serve. I'd gotten the spinach linguine, Ginny ordered the chicken parmesan, and Neville asked for eggplant parmesan. Mi Amor was one of those higher-end places. Jacket and tie required. We hadn't made arrangements that day, so I'd hoped we would get in tonight the same way.

The atmosphere was unseasonably warm for early November. Usually, we'd have snow or at least frozen sleet. Thankfully, the air was crisp, but not cold; though, chilly enough for Hermione to second-guess going in a dress. I told her to wear something on her legs. Being turned away from the restaurant was less important to me than her catching a cold. She did, however, wear a feminine, black mini-peacoat over her bare shoulders when we finally left my flat.

I held her hand, her hand firmly clasped over mine, and we strolled together after our initial look-out. I guess if people saw us appear from thin air, we could possibly…possibly…say we were making out like Penn and Teller. A long shot, but who knows? Stranger things have happened.

"Brr…," A gust of wind blew strong at us. Hermione shivered alongside me, our arms rubbing along each other. "That wind is brutal."

"Here," we'd gotten to my car, parallel parked against the curb of the street in front of Number Twelve. I'd opened the door for her to step in, and halted her. I took my blazer off and had her slip her arms in.

She grinned at me, the blazer swallowing her double-in-size. She leaned over and kissed my lips before moving down into the passenger seat. I smiled and shut the door behind her. With a skip in my step, I jiggled the key in my hand and hummed a tune. I glanced up at the waxing moon overhead and did a wave to the pureness glimpsing in-and-out of cloudy wisps. I opened my door and climbed on inside.

I started the ignition and Hermione's hand immediately went to the heater settings.

"How do you make the seats heated again?"

"Right here," I pushed a button and turned the dial toward red. From around me, cool air blew into gradual warmth. I turned to look at her and found her buckling up, "Better?"

"Much," she laughed through her nose. I placed my hands at ten-and-two, and started swerving my head around to back out of parking. When I flipped around toward the passenger side, having rotated the wheel to the right and begun to drive from the slot, Hermione put her hand on my shoulder and kissed me again.

I let her work, the brevity of the kiss making me stop. She released and smirked, adjusting my blazer around her body and bent over to flip the radio on to something rock-and-popish. I knew it at once: Blink-182. She sat back in the seat and began bobbing her head to the catchy tune.

I think this is what they call "bliss". Everything at the moment, the way she was so comfortable, the way she looked at me continuously as I drove the motorways, how we sang Sugar Ray, Red Hot Chili Peppers-anything that came on the radio together-and would laugh when we'd mess up a line and catch each other, filled my longing. Two people, enjoying their moments together, is that not genuine? We were young, too, so we could get away with acting like kids; what with Hermione dancing to some rap song that came on. I passed a car full of older people that just stared at us, and I laughed when Hermione waved at them and kept on twisting in the seat to the beat.

I didn't really have experiences like this back when I was a "child". I was "Boy Wonder," and was treated as such. Everyone expected the next big thing from me. I wasn't fifty, I was fifteen. I wished for this for so long. Living life-finally-and loving it. All problems aside, and being myself-ourselves. I chuckled so many times, trying to rap like the singer booming from the surrounding speakers, as Hermione slid her hands around on the dashboard in a way resembling turn-tables. Something so simple as this-this made me warm and fuzzy on the inside.

I pulled up in front of the valet. A younger male in a red dress shirt and black pants awaited my park. He pulled the door open for Hermione, who stepped out after I'd opened my side. I turned down the speakers, the patrons around the door turning to look at the commotion coming from inside my BMW. Hermione traveled to me before I could get to the man. The valet held out his hand for my keys, of which I gave him and thanked him. He took them, nodding his head, and drove on off.

I slipped my arm around Hermione, who in turn kissed me, strolling under the antiquely made lamplights. Stringed instruments, violins mostly, greeted us with authentic Italian music; the kind you could picture yourself hearing as you took a stroll down the Venice waterfront. Vividly green vines grew up the reddish-brown brick walls of the establishment. Rows of bougainvillea and rose bushes lined the crimson carpet to the entrance. People stood in various-coloured suits and dresses, waiting outside the door.

We didn't have to wait much inside. The hostess gave me a small beeper after asking me for the name of my party of two. "Potter," I stated, which felt amazing when Hermione from the side laced her fingers in-between mine. Talk about a love-high: my heart nearly pounded out of my chest. We sat squished together on a bench between two other families. I'd taken my arm and held Hermione to me under my blazer; her body warmed. We were amidst, enthralled completely at our fingers interweaving with one another that we almost didn't hear our party get called out.

The inside of Mi Amor was lit entirely by candlelight. The booths around the outer ring of the restaurant had their candles held within circular cups-like saucers. They were small stained-glass pieces in an array of dark red hues. The tables in the middle were composed much like the booths, wooden tables, cushioned chairs, but had two candlesticks between the laid out and cloth-wrapped silverware. Chandeliers hung over us; their tiny shards of glass echoing the miniscule, white lights of the broken up rooms. Some of the establishment was meant for groups, while the other was meant for intimacy. A live band performed the likes of what we heard outside to the dining audience.

I led Hermione, hand-in-hand, between the tables and chairs. Following the hostess, I found she was seating us far from the laughter of the group rooms in the back. I was thankful, too, when she presented us a booth for two. The seat was one big maroon cushion pad atop stained wood support. The make-up was in a half-circle, with the table shaping to its form. One stained-glass candle sat in the middle with two maroon-coloured wrapped sets of silverware on either side.

Hermione slid right in from behind me, and I followed her until we were curled up together in the middle of the half-circle. I glanced around at the other booths around us and found other couples following the same procedure. I smiled and wrapped an arm around Hermione's bare shoulders. She had given me back my blazer to which I was putting back on when the hostess left us, having placed two menus in front of us.

We were together. Something, I thought, would only happen in my dreams. The violinists picked up a slight crescendo after our waiter came and asked us for our drinks. I ordered a Sicilian Chardonnay to go with my fettuccini and fresh scallops over a light alfredo sauce. Hermione asked for Chianti, a spectacular choice for her chicken and tomato-basil combination over rigatoni noodles.

We gently chit-chatted amongst the low rumble of conversation throughout Mi Amor. We were close together, our shoulders bumping. We'd laugh when it happened, but neither of us ever moved a muscle. Our legs were together; she even had her foot across mine for the longest time. I didn't want to fidget, a reflex I needed to do as my right side began to wane, but I didn't want to in fear of her shifting her feet. And, I dare say I wanted that foot on mine forever.

Amongst finishing our meal, we had our heads aligned. Simply enough, we turned to each other, our noses briefly touching, and caressed our pairing lips. I placed my hand on the small of her back and she arched into me. She slipped a hand to my side and responded, her lips synchronizing with my own. We probably let it go for a little longer than it should because when we did finish, a group on the other side stared awkwardly at us. Or, maybe it was the other couple beginning to kiss beside us. It could have been the wine. I honestly didn't care. Hermione, the wine on her tongue, the smoothness of her lips, the sweetness of her breath and scent-I really don't know why, in retrospect, I stopped. That kiss would have had us in detention back at Hogwarts for a powerful PDA.

"We should come back here again," Hermione breathed. She lay beside me, our plates clean and our wine glasses half-full after their second fill. She had her legs up underneath her, relaxing, with my arm along her back.

I began to run my hand up and down her spine. I had my back to the cushion wall behind me. "You seemed to really enjoy it."

"I did. It was wonderful," she batted her obsidian eyelashes at me with a pink, natural smile on her lips. Lower than me beside my shoulder, when she leaned the smidgen the highest she got to was underneath my jaw. So, she kissed me there.

I tilted to her and kissed her forehead, "I'm glad. And, full I assume?"

"Oh," she patted her stomach. "Oh yeah. I think I ate too much, actually."

I chuckled underneath my breath. I set my hand on hers upon her abdomen, "I guess I can't tempt you into getting that chocolate gelato?"

"Chocolate!" Hermione pouted and frowned up at me. "You tease me-I can't fit anymore in!"

I smirked, "It's sooo good, though. They even serve it with a homemade chocolate brownie, still hot."

"Harrrrrry, stop…," her lips puckered in her pout. I felt her fingers hook into mine. "You know how I am with chocolate…"

"Aww, well-"

Our waiter cleared his throat. We'd been oblivious to him. For all I knew, he had been standing there for hours.

"Here's your check, sir," he handed me a small, crimson notebook with Mi Amor written in golden cursive on the leathery front. "Thank you for coming to Mi Amor, and I wish you both a pleasant evening."

"You too," I replied as he left me with the bill. I glanced at it. Thirty-six pounds and change. Yeowch. Hermione and I had already had a discussion over who was paying what. She'd given in, letting me have this one if she could take the next. Agreed. I sifted into my pocket and pulled out my wallet. I distributed the amount, and a tad over, to compensate for the tip. I sat back again against the cushions and Hermione instantly met me, her arms sliding around me.

"If I asked you a question," Hermione started with a low verbal tone. "Would you get mad at me?"

"No," I answered. "Unless it was something ridiculous like, `What's the meaning of life'."

Hermione laughed into my arm, "Darn, nevermind then."

I peered down at her, "What's on your mind? You know you can ask me anything."

She adjusted her head so it leaned back on my arm. Her hand found my own, again, and laced her fingers. She liked doing this, and I loved the feeling. "It's just…," she began, and I could tell when she sighed that this was something that was toiling away inside her.

"It's just…," she sighed again and looked up at me. Her eyes were large, her pupils dilated in the dimly lit atmosphere. "…Am I really not a bad person?"

"No," I stated, unwavering. "No, you're not. You'll never be a `bad person'. The concept of being `bad' isn't like you at all."

"Then why do I feel like I've done something wrong?" she lightly ran her cheek along my upper arm. "Why do I feel guilty all the time?"

"I think…," I tried to figure out my words so I said them precisely. The confounded question was loaded, and I could say the wrong thing in the blink of an eye. I turned my brain off. "I think you said it already. That you are doing the things you want to do. You're not confined anymore, and that feeling of freedom can feel daunting. Like you've caught a case of agoraphobia."

"And besides…," I cleared my throat. My eyes went to my wine glass. The flickering candlelight sparkled within the chardonnay to our breathing. "I'm the one that should be feeling guilty…"

I turned back to Hermione's gazing eyes, the same candlelight from our table dancing away in them, "I wanted you for the longest time. I feel like, maybe, I played a hand in this; coaxed you into doing something you didn't naturally set out to do. That I've become a puppeteer in this whole mess."

"Harry…," she grinned and kissed my lips softly. "If it's not apparent that I've grown the same feelings for you over the years, I'll say it now very plain: I'm falling for you. I've fallen for you."

She swished her head around to stare in front of her, locks of her hair sway at the immediate action. A faint, rosy blush settled in her cheeks, "…That sounded really, really corny."

I laughed out loud and said, "Not as much as mine." She returned to meet my eyes. She smiled and brought her hand to the back of my head. She cradled me, as I continued to run my hand down her back. We kissed, rubbing noses.

"Let's go," I said, scooting out from under the table. When I stood up, I slightly bowed to her. She'd gotten to the edge of the cushions when I laid my palm out, mimicking a haughty Southern accent you'd find in one of those Westerns, "My lady, if you please."

She giggled and set her hand all dainty into my awaiting palm, mimicking back the accent, "My, my, Mr. Potter, I do declare you are the most charming in all of Texas!"

***

The night grew late when we arrived back at Number Twelve. I had my shoes off before exiting the hallway at the entrance. Hermione had stepped to the side of me at the door, pulling a clip from her hair and closing the door behind me. She shook her hair back and forth, to get it all naturally chaotic again. I didn't expect her to come up behind me and hug me; but, when she did, her arms around my waist, I shivered. Feeling good as good can get, and more.

We had quite a riot coming back as we did going there. We cranked up the volume and really let loose. She turned on a station of classic rock. She air-guitared Nirvana's "Smell's Like Team Spirit". That had to have been the sexiest thing I'd ever seen. As if she was pleasing herself, exposing the parts of her never shown to anyone ever before…just for me. I found it difficult to drive and watch her go at it hard, her hair hitting the top of the car when she'd leap in her bang. I took mental pictures, capturing every, single, sudden twist and turn her lithe, hot body formed.

Queen came on soon after, "Bohemian Rhapsody". I started the lyrics off with her as the backing vocal. Chills, simply put; chills rode my spine. Really? I thought. Is this real? Did I die? Perfect. Sexy. So completely and utterly sexy. When the song took on the rock opera during the last half, we switched together, chorusing each individual line. My voice reached the peak, and broke, making us laugh. She took over the high pitches after that embarrassing moment.

"So, you think you can stop me and spit in my eye?!" I rang out.

"So, you think you can love me and leave me to die?!" she sang in tune.

We turned to each other in smile and sang together, "Ohhh, baby! Can't do this to me, baby! Just got to get out! Just got to get right out of here!"

And, now my sexy little thing had me around my waist before the stairs. She had her face in my back. I held her arms before me, climbing the stairs one at a time in tandem with her. I made it to the second floor, still latched, and felt her let go. At once, I grabbed her back to me, having to turn to catch her before she took another step away from me. She tilted her head to the side and watched me oddly.

I clasped her hands with mine and motioned, with a bob of my head, toward the next set of stairs. Hermione grinned and took the steps with me. I led her to the next floor and up to my room without a single word spoken.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Complicated by Avril Lavigne (I was quite stuck on this song for a while), Shooting the Moon by Ok Go, Violet Hour by Sea Wolf - tons more - All the Small Things by Bink-182, Scar Tissues by Red Hot Chili Peppers, Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana and Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen}

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