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.

Dreaming or awake, we perceive only events that have meaning to us - Jane Roberts

***

Chapter Fifty-Four - Dreams

***

The halls of Oxford gave off a slight buzzing; the much chatter of mouths echoing off the walls. The sun shone through the windows, equally apart by a foot, its large, rounded tops paneled in a descent towards two right angles. One of those curious days of sunshine in Britain. The students were in a flurry of action to enjoy the bright, cloudless afternoon sky.

I strolled beside Nathaniel in a cardigan, my hair tied back by a scrunchie, and some school texts gathered against my chest. He'd been talking about rugby, having just come from morning practice. We were on our way to one of the classes we had together, and I'd gone into habitually waiting for him after these months. It was nice to have someone to talk to, and not have to be defensive. I'd tried some friends from the social society, but we'd end up in what seemed like an inevitable argument.

Nathaniel was like a breath of fresh air.

"Did you get hurt?" I asked, concern in the vocal.

We let a group go passed, halting our step and watching them a second. Our faces went back to their position, together, side-by-side; though, I did have to glance upwards to see him.

"Nah," he shook his head and chuckled a bit. He leaned his head away from mine and slicked back his hair. He was the type of guy who applied just enough hair gel, emphasizing handsome and clean cut. He smiled at me, and I…couldn't help but find it absolutely gorgeous in the sunlight. "The poor sport did try and take out my knee. I wrestled him to the ground before he had a chance."

"That sounds so brutal. No foul?"

"It's all in good fun," We'd stopped outside the lecture hall and stepped out of the way a moment to allow stragglers leave the classroom.

I put my back against the wall while Nathaniel stood in front of me.

His eyes left me to watch this skirt saunter by and I was left feeling short-ended.

"I don't think Bradley meant to break my leg. We're on the same bloody team. He'd be better off saving that for a real scrimmage." He lit into laughter, and I pouted.

"I don't want you to get hurt. This Bradley sounds ghastly and rude."

"Nah, it's really cool. He's a good mate. A little slow," He tapped his skull. "But, a good mate."

He reached out aside me and put a hand on the wall, an inch from my cheek, strands of hair people created waving into his arm. "So, what are you doing this weekend?"

"Catching up on some of the reading."

Nathan smirked, turned away a brief second and laughed to come back to me.

"What?" I asked with my own smirk.

"That's just so like you. Staying home and studying some one hundred year old text-"

"But, you like that," I smiled and poked his muscular chest. My feet, my legs shifted from one side to the other. I fidgeted.

"Thomas is throwing a bash Saturday night."

"Thomas is a witless drunk."

"You don't have to drink, and you especially don't have to listen to his jokes." He smiled.

I smiled. "I'll think about it."

"I'm going to steal your books in class, then what?"

I sighed in the smile, at his smile. "I said I'll think about it!"

Nathan mimicked my voice, mimicked "I said I'll think about it!" and ran the pad of his index finger lightly underneath my chin. As if instructed by a heightened sense, an action with no effort, I realised I'd moved upward, by his finger, and closed my eyes on his approach. I felt his lips, soft, warm, his hand with a bit of strength on my shoulder, arm, my waist-

I gasped, disoriented, my world in waves crashing in shades of black.

I remember, or thought, I screamed, "No!" when I realised I was sitting erect in bed. In a fright, the sheets, which were typically pulled to my neck, fell to my lap. I was breathless and just a bit tense, noticing how my fingers, the nails clawed deep into the mattress cushion. I put my hand to my forehead, swept back the matted locks of hair, and looked hastily to my right.

Harry remained asleep, unawares in dreamland.

I couldn't have shouted anything. He would have surely woken. I kept my hand on my forehead and waited for a headache to occur, but found nothing. I closed my eyes and wished what I saw never happened. As if I were side-lined and saw everything second-hand, I screamed at that self for even liking what I'd seen. I felt guilt for even thinking of such a sight. I'd only ever dreamt of Harry, my favourite destination that field of flowers where we'd lay and watch the clouds go by or count the stars.

This was a travesty.

Blasphemous!

And to really make matters worse, with my conscious railing on me for it, there were but two months until I'd be Missus Hermione Potter.

I don't think Harry would accept his fiance, Missus Potter, dreaming about snogging some guy-let alone thinking about one regardless of if I had control. I wouldn't want him doing it. I mean, I'd understand. I think. I didn't know, and the more I tried to analyze the situation, trying to dive into the "Why's", I finally obtained that headache.

Congratulations!

I felt Harry move, startling me, driven by the guilt.

He looked so innocent beside me, and I was his train wreck.

Gods, why now?

He had had his arm around me, and I guessed after shifting to sit his arm had fallen and retracted. The arm now lay with him, its hand on the pillow. I put my hand on my cloth-covered stomach. I thought I'd go ill, my insides feeling queasy. I let out this enormous sigh, my eyes on him and how he was not Nathaniel. He was my Harry. But, like a reel of film, the projector continued to play and replay the kiss, and the kiss, and the kiss and how this alter-ego-alter-ego-liked it.

Accepted it.

And, more importantly…wanted it.

Oh, I'm going to be sick…

I turned the sheets and gently slipped away. I didn't so much as bother to put on my Merlin slippers. I didn't so much as bother finding my lounge trousers. I didn't so much as bother flipping on a light to see. I just needed to get out and rid myself of any thought of that insane picture, now a memory seared into my brain.

I passed Crookshanks in his little bed on the way out.

Attached to his mummy, he grew concerned when I'd gone from bed at three o'clock in the morning. I was glad, as I made my way downstairs one step at a time that I was on winter holiday from school. Having a morning class, and then waking up at three, wasn't exactly what I'd like to do. Moreover, having the dream I had, and then seeing Nathaniel, and the feelings so ripe within me, would have been…priceless. I may have even fainted.

Crookshanks followed me into the kitchen. I found myself a glass, and then I found myself in the refrigerator. I wasn't entirely sure what I wanted before going in there, just knowing I wanted to get my mind off its current damaging route, but when I saw the wine bottle I instantly retrieved its darkened glass from the door.

My mind wasn't on Crookshanks, but knew he was there. I had to walk around him as he went in-and-out from my legs. He'd rub against me and purr. Maybe he knew the boiling turmoil; he was an extra-smart feline. He certainly showed my naked legs affection, and after putting the wine bottle back in the fridge pranced away in the direction I attended to head.

He'd stop ever so often to look back at me, see where I was going, and resumed playing follow the leader to the sofa where he hopped atop and made himself comfortable. I snuck a leg beneath my bum as I sat down in the far left corner and leaned into the armrest. I reached behind me and grasped the Gryffindor quilt forever on the backside and yanked it around my bare legs and feet where my grey sleep tee didn't mask. I then lifted my glass with my left and sipped whilst patting the side of my thigh for Crookshanks with my right.

He happily stretched himself and found his way over.

He walked in circles and plopped down when he'd flattened the quilt, his new bed.

I put my hand in the fur, scratched his beady little head, and set the glass of wine down on the lamp stand. I clicked the lamp on, the light bringing life to the still Number Twelve, and snagged the one item I knew could help drown out the transgression: Hogwarts, a History.

I wasn't but three pages in when I heard footsteps near the stairway banister, and shot a glance in the direction to see my shirtless Harry in his boxers. He had his hand on the wooden railing as he came down, stepping from the final step onto the ground floor. He wasn't entirely awake, noticing how he squinting in my direction from the shining lamplight. He had his other hand on his chest, rubbing it as he yawned and stopped when our eyes met.

"Why on earth are you up this early, baby?"

I sighed and glanced away, the fever of guilt coming back. I flipped to the next crisp page in the Hogwarts literature. "Got a headache and thought I'd become ill."

I heard his footsteps coming closer, but didn't bother to look back.

My heart had sunk.

The damn picture of this "me" enjoying a kiss from Nathaniel cropped itself a home in my mind again.

I shook my head, wiped my hands, arms, as if there were insects crawling all over me.

"Which is why you've clearly opened the bottle of wine?"

He was in front of me when I looked up.

He understood the obvious lies.

I was never a good liar, anyway.

"It's for the blood sugar. I think it may have caused the headache-"

"-`May have caused the headache'," He said the words right along with me. He knew where I was going with them and sighed. He squatted, his hands on me, my legs, my knees, having come to my level and said through his squints, "I don't buy it a bit. You're down here because something's happened."

"Nothing's happened," I flipped another page, having not read nor cared to read the other. I lowered my eyes and acted, reading.

He reached out and put his hand on mine, the one on Crookshanks, and scratched the orange furball.

Crookshanks let out a pleasurable purr.

"We're going to be married in a couple months, baby" He put his lips to my knee and lightly caressed through the crimson-and-gold embroidery. "We've always felt at ease in conversation, shared what was on our minds, in our hearts, the good, the bad, why not now?"

"Please," He wasn't squinting as much when he gazed at me this time, his chin on my knee, his free hand, the one not scratching my kitty on the hand which held Hogwarts, a History. "Tell me? Your hurt hurts me, and you're hurting. I know it."

He ran his thumb along the hills and valleys of my knuckles.

I could have swooned at just how kind and caring he was…

…Had it not been for the burden I currently shouldered this wee-houred morning.

I closed my eyes for I felt the tears welling behind them. I shut the book, shifted around and held out my arms to Harry. He immediately fled to them, catching me, holding me as he slid in to sit where I had been on the sofa. I embraced him along his side and rose, after a minute's time, to my knees. I brought the Gryffindor quilt with me as I sat, straddled, wrapped my arms about him and pressed me pink lips upon his own.

He had me at my hips and squeezed me, his hands, his fingers pulling at the sheer grey cotton on my form to have it rise and fall with his movement, my ebon knickers becoming exposed. I stood on my knees and leaned into him. He had his head all the way back on the sofa top, gazing at me as I gazed down at him. His hands were all over my back as mine were all in his hair. I kissed him, snogging him hard, and caught him breathless afterwards.

I caressed his forehead, his nose; he turned when I led him, and I caressed his cheek, his throat. I ended up at his shoulder, my arms enclosing around him, and I sat back down in straddle on his lap. I embraced him with my face hidden between my arm and his neck. He embraced me, his strong arms crisscrossing, his left sideways across my back whilst his right held firm around my waist. My legs and his were fairly warm beneath the quilt and I, inside, felt a little bit better.

"…I had a nightmare," my voice came muffled.

"You shouldn't have nightmares-ever." He began rubbing my back.

I sighed, my nose squashed against his throat. "Tell that to the one I had…"

"Was it what I think it was…?"

I couldn't hurt him.

He thought it was Voldemort.

I lied, and went with it.

I nodded, my strands having shifted in chaos along him and me.

We sat quiet, his fingers finding that niche, my spine, where he loved to love by touch whenever he could.

"You know," he said after a while. "You can tell me anything. Anything and everything. After everything we've been through I think we can manage."

He laughed a little, and I squished my face farther into his neck.

I breathed in his skin, that pumpkin scent.

"I love you, Harry."

"I love you, too, `Mione."

The ticking grandfather clock consumed most of the silence as we sat there, together, immobile besides of lifting ribcages and beating hearts.

I'd begun thinking about us, him, me, and smiled.

I sighed contently, nudging him with the tip of my squished nose. "Missus Hermione Jane Potter."

I could tell Harry smiled when he chuckled. "Mister and Missus Harry James and Hermione Jane Potter."

"We should name our first child `Hugo'."

"What?!" Harry's laughter shot in volume, surprised by my randomness.

My giggles were stifled by my closeness to Harry.

"He'd be tortured by his peers in school with that name!"

I lifted from my hiding space, smiling, and touched nose-to-nose with my Love. I kissed him and said, "Well, however we name our children they'll be very loved by us…"

"Mmm…," Harry's eyes widened when I laughed aside his lips and came in to snatch another kiss. "…Kids…"

"Kids…," I laughed through my nose in smiles. I kissed him quickly. "…Mm."

"Making babies…," He chuckled lightly and kissed me.

He squeezed my figure in his hands.

I tilted my head back and laughed quite loudly.

Looking back at him, I give him that smirk, an eye roll. "You're such a man…"

I took his face in my hands and gave him a lingering snog.

Lingering, for when I pulled away he followed, wanting more.

"Mm…," He kissed in haste. "Your man…"

"My man…," I exclaimed between our sexy whispers.

Harry nodded back towards the staircase. "Want to…"

"Mmm…," He kissed me in the middle, breaking his sentence. "Want to go back to bed now?"

"To bed, or…?" I couldn't help but smile, a centimetre away from his mouth.

He squeezed me again. "…You're such a naughty girl."

I laughed at how silly we were, and how hot we quickly grew. "Mm… I think I can be persuaded upstairs…"

"Can?" In one sweep he took me up in his arms, standing on his feet. I laughed again, as loudly as I'd laughed before, and hung on, my legs tight around his hips. The quilt found itself on the floor, as well as Crookshanks who bounded off somewhere with an irritated hiss.

"I think it's time for bed…" He jested, ascending northward.

"Glad we're both on holiday…"

"Indeed!"

I smiled at his…enthusiasm, and how he kick-shut the door behind us…and thusly began to snog him rotten.

***

Pleasantly warm beneath the sheets, sheltered from the wintery coldness, London's December weather, and amidst my man's lasting pumpkin pie essence… I awoke, blinking languidly, my hair in a mess, curls and strands everywhere blanketing a portion of my bare back which stuck outside the sheets. I had my cheek on his pillow, having moved when he did downstairs, and smelled of him. I buried my face within it, my legs, my feet stretching every which way. The white sheets were form-fitting, so one could easily see the curvatures of what was hidden move about as I took my time waking up.

The London sky brought a sort of dark blue hue to the wooden fixtures, the floor, in-between the cracks and corners of the room where darkness couldn't roam. The white bed stood out singularly, my hand shifting in the stretch to feel the headboard and all its intricate floral etchings.

I felt exhausted, but in the best way possible. It was like, when every inch, every fibre of my being would move the amazing feeling flourished. Like icing on a cake. I could hear Harry doing something as he'd left the door open when he went out, heard a sexy tune on the radio in low volume. I rolled to my back, an arm over my head and atop the wild bushiness.

Faintly, I closed my eyes and smiled.

This really is Heaven.

I let my eyes open slowly, having them attune to the mellowed sunlight pouring in from the windows.

I rose, and when I did, saw my little furball scurry from the bedroom. Surely he'd been watching over mummy, and now went to go tell daddy she'd gotten up from her lazy sleep. I didn't even bother looking at the time, moving sluggishly along the silky bed. My feet stuck to the chilled floor as I trekked, at my own pace, to the slung grey sleep tee on the ground not too far away from the bed.

I thought a moment to just go downstairs in my birthday suit as I slipped the tee over my head and pulled it down to my thighs. I grinned at the handsome, knowing smirk I'd receive when I met Harry in the doorway of the kitchen…

My arm on the doorframe, I'd tilt my head to the side and have all my strands sway across my features.

"Hey…," I'd say, and watch Harry turn around from whatever he was doing.

Maybe he was eating toast at the dinner table, reading the paper, drinking coffee…

…To see him nearly drop the coffee cup as he glanced in my direction, not recognizing at first, for his faculties became overloaded by my stimuli, and would have to shoot a second.

He'd sit, erect, from looking over the paper.

His toast now out of his mouth and on this plate.

"A truly good morning…," he'd say.

And, I'd stroll on over, casually, seductively.

I was at the balcony overlooking the rest of the stairs. My hands on the banister, I gripped lightly the rail and leaned to see the commotion. The aroma of breakfast readily available when I breathed from my new stance, of bacon and eggs, the buttery toast-as I smiled-alongside that tune. I heard the washing of pots and pans in the sink, the splash of soapy water and the plunge of a cloth.

Crookshanks poked his bitty black eyes from around the doorway and I caught him, the little stinker, divulging my grand scheme to surprise Harry. I took the fluff into my arms and over my shoulder, holding him and hearing him purr, rubbing against me.

The breakfast was set, the table prepared.

Harry had his back to me at the sink, a dry forest green cloth over his tanned shoulder. I stood at the entry knowing he knew I was down for my kitty had spoiled my magnificent entrance.

Harry looked my way and smiled, unplugging the sink, hearing the water drain. Clean cooking utensils were in the rack.

"He told you," I smirked, putting Crookshanks down after he became fidgety.

He ran right over to Harry and began running himself between the lounge trousers he wore.

Harry beamed his pearly whites, his crow's nest as maddening as mine. He set the dry cloth from his shoulder on the counter and made his way towards me. He touched me nowhere else but the chin, as frenzied as I felt by the energized touch, and led me to his soft lips. I had to close my eyes, melting, really, and made sure to grab onto him for fear of falling straight to the floor. My hand remained between his forearm and bicep after the kiss.

I had to blink back to reality.

"Did you sleep well?" He said this whilst perusing my estranged locks, running his fingers gently through what could only be deemed as shrubbery.

"I don't think I've ever had a better sleep," I replied, having him stop, making him come to me as I placed my hands on either side of his face to kiss him again.

He took my hands and kissed them, palms first, tops second, when we released. He wrapped his arms around me, took me to him, and embraced me tight. Unattested, I wrapped my own around him, around his neck, and pressed all that I could against his warm body.

I stood on my tiptoes to keep our forehead together, our noses touching, our grins as one.

We caressed once more, a lingered caress which may have lasted seconds but felt like hours.

He led me to breakfast, hand-in-hand.

***

"So, what shall we do today?"

I lay underneath the growling Leo, the Gryffindor quilt since breakfast. A slow day, with mucky, frigid snow outdoors, I didn't much care to go anywhere. Where I wanted to be was here, indoors, in the warmth of the fire and enveloped, heavily, within Harry's own furnace. All of the above happened to be what I'd been doing, and doing pretty well.

I had my head on his chest, sprawled out the length of the sofa. Harry had his legs outstretched, relaxing, as we both were, taking the afternoon without much action. I had the remote control and was in the process of clicking through the channels when he asked me the question. "What we're doing."

"Which is?"

"Being lazy couch potatoes."

Harry snorted. "That's no good. What about that Mexican restaurant? You rather enjoyed those tacos when we went there."

I shrugged. I was being rather bearish. I wanted to sleep in, hibernate-as I was presently doing, the pocket Harry created my little cave. "Or, we could just as easily make tacos here, and then shag. But then again, your idea might be better."

I smirked and looked in his general direction without actually looking at him, my cheek firmly attached to his naked pectoral.

"No-no," Harry all but fell over, stuttering. "I like your idea better. Much, much better."

My eyes lit and I laughed.

I rubbed my cheek against him, nuzzled his chest and gave him a kiss where my lips first touched.

I stopped on the weather channel, and I felt him kiss the top of my head.

"You work tonight?"

"Yeeeessss…," I closed my eyes, wiping away the image of Nathaniel hurriedly from my mind. Only a few hours ago I'd dreamt that stupidly ridiculous dream. Thankfully, I could manage to stay away from him with the workload, keeping with the bar patrons rather than with my fellow employees. How that would go was a different story… What with the evident fancy he found with me, and that damned, damned dream…

I kissed that spot of his chest again, cuddled with him for a second and felt his arm squeeze me. He had me quite securely under the quilt, and I didn't ever mind. I loved when he staked claim, so utterly manly, and protective, and his. Loved it.

I wanted more of it.

"My working girl," he squeezed me.

And, I got it.

I smiled.

My eyes affixed back to the telly when a commercial came on, changing the channel.

"The pictures Luna sent over from the photoshoot were stunning."

I looked up at him from the channel-surfing. "Weren't they gorgeous? I especially loved the one where I was in the ball gown-"

"-And me in the tuxedo robe?"

"Yes," I smiled, made a delectable moan of satisfaction and offered a kiss.

He gladly took it.

"So handsome."

"You took that photograph and made it effortlessly spectacular."

"Says my ravishingly beautiful man."

"I only hope…," He made an attempt to point at where the bludger had hit him, the bruise covering that part of his face, and how the eyelid drooped after the trauma his eye endured.

I shifted up to him.

These occurrences were rarer nowadays, but when the revelation of self-esteem, be it however, happened from him it'd make a tear at my heart. "No one will care about that-they'll care about you. Like I care about you."

"Skeeter will take the Mickey out of me for sure."

"When has she ever mattered?" I caressed his scar, the slowly fading lightning bolt, and then the lasting splotch of dark on his face. "She's a conniving bat that will get her comeuppance in the end. Don't worry about her. She hates everyone who doesn't kiss her bloody arse."

He kept his eyes on me, locked, like a chain, a bond anyone could see including us. I could feel it, as if it were a literal manifestation of our love. He took me up, his hand cradling my head, his fingers in my bushy brown, and kissed me. "I love you," he breathed.

I lay my forehead against his cheek, eyes closed.

He leaned into me, both of his arms padlocked at his elbows about me.

"…And, I'll have to kick her bloody arse if she says anything, anyway."

Harry chuckled, shaking against me and making me smile. "Anyway… Change of subject."

"Mm…," I smirked, sliding back to his chest.

My hand went back to the click of the remote, a subtle noise in our environment.

I hadn't been paying particular interest in the channels that didn't look interesting, especially the news channels to which I hastened my thumb over the arrow "Up" button. There were several of these in a row, for easier access I assumed; but, all of them were either annoying or so depressing I couldn't dare watching them. So, I didn't. We didn't, and it came as surprise when Harry told me:

"Stop-stop!"

"What?"

"Back up a few channels."

"What in the blazes, Harry… It was probably another feature about us, Love."

"No, it was-"

I stopped when he put his hand on mine, a scrolling ticker at the bottom of the screen and an indication, a rotating WNN in the bottom left corner. In a big banner above the ticker read, "BREAKING NEWS".

"The Hell…," Harry's voice went soft, and I hadn't the time to construct a conclusion of what was going on on-screen before he asked me to, "Turn it up, will you?"

I did.

"…the deconstruction of Azkaban Prison is in the right direction. It's never been a safe place, not for its inhabitants nor for its stationed employees."

"But where, exactly, is the Ministry going to place all the high-profile criminals if not in Azkaban?" asks a reporter off-screen to Press Secretary Toulsen.

"Minister Shacklebolt would like to assure people that he's not going to simply release these criminals after Azkaban is leveled. Taking precautions, we are to believe it better for them to be put in a Ministry-run facility closer to home."

"That's an outrage! Undesirables in our backyard?!?!!"

"Ludicrous!"

The Press Secretary puts his hand up at the stirring crowd. "The most dangerous of criminals have been taken into the Ministry under our watchful eye since the swearing in of the Minister. Mind you this, please, before thinking that we're going to put the lot in downtown London. We're not. Azkaban Prison was never a safe haven. It wasn't. To say it was is a lie. Look at what happened a few years ago, and what happened a few years before that-"

"But breakouts of Azkaban have been few and far between!"

"The previous Ministers and their administrations haven't told the truth. There have been escapes, and more attempts to escape, than there is to be believed. I wish I could delve further into the matter, but Minister Shacklebolt wants everyone to know that this is the best way to solve a bad problem. Azkaban Prison isn't safe, and it hasn't been safe for centuries. Gone are the days for Dementors, now comes the day for the Prison itself to be destroyed."

"Kingsley Shacklebolt is a scam! A madman!"

Toulsen at centre frame is quickly panned away from to a screaming, shouting, clamoring man in dress robes and cap being dragged away from the Atrium by Ministry guardsmen. "He's a Death Eater-he's working for Him!"

"Quincy Nolpho for the Chair! Quincy Nolpho for Minister of Magic!!" was the last of what was said from the angry reporter before taken by lift.

I turned from the shocked crowd on the telly, to Harry who stared blankly at the screen. "When did the Ministry say it best for the Press conference?"

"After the holidays. They wish it not weigh on us."

"Now that's an understatement," I said sarcastically, observing how Harry had gone to answering, and then go quiet. My eyes studied his face and the stress becoming more evident as time went on.

Finally having enough, and I wouldn't have taken talk from Harry if he hadn't liked it, I turned the channel off the bloody news.

I hated it, anyway.

Always something bad.

My eyes went back to him, and his face which left mine to rest on his hand.

He'd turned from me.

I led him by fingertips back, to my eyes, where they interlocked by that bonded chain. "I'll be there with you… Okay?"

"I'm just so tired of thinking about it… I just want it to go away."

I pulled him to me, and into an embrace. "I'm just so glad you're not getting involved…staying out of everything entirely…"

"…Am I making the right choice, though?"

"Yes," I exclaimed with validity, confidence. "Yes, absolutely."

Silence ensued until…

"…I wouldn't know what to do without you…" he declared, maintaining that sense of retreat.

I held him to me and wouldn't let go.

"Let's do something today," I caressed the top of his head. "Let's get out of the house-the Mexican place, right?"

He nodded at my bosom, holding on as tightly as I did.

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

SOUND THE ALARM: CRIMINALS LOOSE

You heard it right. Straight from the daily conference from Minister Shacklebolt's Press Secretary, Mister Toulsen unveiled our atrocious administration's ability to open the floodgates to an unforeseen nightmare. Minister Kingsley will be, without our consent, overseeing the complete destruction of the one construct to keep the evilest of all evils from our streets. Ironically, this is the same admin current investigating us here at the Prophet for consorting with Death Eaters. Now we'll have Death Eaters terrorizing the public thanks to our Minister.

Of course, the act of actually overseeing the destruction of Azkaban Prison should include the Minister being present at the site. But, just like Mister Holiday himself, he's left the walls of the Ministry. Our sources conclude he's been gone and only gave the issue to his high-ranking officials a few days ago. He is also abusing Aurors, instituting their magical prowess for security when they remove the hundreds, if not thousands, of detainees to London over the coming week. Instead of Aurors helping to keep the peace, they've now become a janitorial rung doing the dirty deeds of our King.

Adding insult to injury, our taxes, more sources say, have built the new facility in the Ministry underground. We could have kept Azkaban Prison and our taxes used to promote other, more genuine, routes-but who are we dealing with here? The Shacklebolt Admin knows better than us serfs. Hail Kingsley!

Quincy Nolpho gave the Prophet an exclusive interview, where he gave concern for the direction the Minister has put Britain on. "The difference between our society and the Muggle society has never been less thin. Anytime now I foresee a cataclysmic error where thousands upon thousands of us all dead because of our current Minister's ideas."

"He deserves to be investigated for treason," added Ministry challenger, Nolpho. "This is just another abhorrent step in the wrong way. What they're not telling the public, and is a travesty, and is what is causing quite a division within the Ministry, is the facility will only be for `certain individuals'. What does that mean for the others? Freedom. I wouldn't in my right mind decide this choice. Azkaban Prison might not be the safest, but to abandon what has held ones like Bellatrix Lestrange for so long isn't right. Overhaul the Prison for the new millennium. That's what I would do if I were Minister and hope to be come next year."

The rest of the riveting report will be on WNN this Sunday evening.

Angelica Teivel

Writer

Page 1

***

"The movie was lovely."

I couldn't believe no one had really seen us. We were walking amongst crowds, but by now someone would have shouted our names. We'd get a look here or there, but so much for a fuss. It was quite nice, actually; the serenity for at least a second.

I swung Harry's left arm, bumping into him and giggling when he'd make that most handsome of smiles. I loved when he smiled. I wish he'd smile more, having grown quieter day by day it seemed. I hurt, too, but I couldn't ever feel the type of pain he felt. I'd try and make his day just an inch better.

I squeezed his hand, our fingers interlaced, as I watched him slide his hand through his hair and then squeeze back. "You really liked that stuff, eh? The Matrix?"

"Yeah, I really did," I held an ebony shawl over my shoulders, across my chest, at the middle and grinned at another smile form Harry. Straightened curls wavered to and fro, free, clasped firm by a headband and black bow upon my head complementing the black sash loosely swaying on my waist.

Harry slipped his hand from mine, taking me at the hips as we choreographed our walk down the street towards the restaurant we would be dining at tonight. His burgundy suit, a bit of grey coming from the cuff, matched my carmine-coloured cocktail dress. I should have realized our calm would end. Within a brief kiss, nearing the doorway sparkling with all the candles inside, came a scream. A scream I'd come to know all too well.

"HARRY!!!"

A group of young adult girls around the same age as us, each in their own elegant evening gowns, and possibly from out of the country with their accents heavily Americanized, bounded for us-or him. Accustomed to the frivolity surrounding my fiance, I was glad I wasn't the jealous personality-type. These girls weren't exactly ugly, and they approached Harry rather flirty even with me beside him.

"Can we please have your autograph?!" said the darkly-haired girl in pink sequins in the middle. She chided the jade dress aside her, "Tanya, your pen please?"

Restaurant patrons outside became interested at the commotion, watching Harry being barreled over by the three girls.

"Hi," they each said to me while Harry took their pen and addressed them courteously, albeit a bit frightened when one of them actually started tearing up.

"I've wanted to meet you so badly!"

"Courtney, control yourself!" said the one in the middle, or the alpha female of the group I gathered from her direct language. She began apologizing to Harry who would look up every once in a while from the pads he wrote on. "She gets emotional over the darnedest things…"

"It's quite all right…," assured a hastily-writing Harry. "I get it a lot."

I heard a "Heh" from him.

"Can we get a photo?!"

"Um…," Harry glanced over at me.

I stepped to the side and waved my hands at him to go ahead. Why not? At the end of the night he was coming home with me. He never cheated, nor did the thought ever address itself in my mind. Harry was a gentleman, class-and this wasn't the first time a bunch of attractive young females clamored over him. I could only imagine what sort of images and emotions he'd get when some handsome guy would do this to me.

"Smile, Courtney-quit crying!" Their alpha announced, holding a camera out the farthest she could reach as they all huddled around Harry. I looked away, arms folded, at the stars, the moon, an elderly couple who went by and smiled at me.

"Thank you very much!"

"…I'll never wash this dress again."

"…He's so much hotter in person…"

Harry gave an eye roll when he turned around to accompany my side once more.

"Is my most attractive, handsome trophy done with those three alluring girls over there?" I smirked up at him when he put and arm around me and pulled me to him. I found his instant warmth inviting. "Need a cigarette?"

"Oh, quiet Hermione."

I laughed, picking at him.

He ran his hand through his hair and laughed. "They were nice. The centre one was a little loud…"

I poked his abdomen, his black skinny tie swinging with our conjoined laughter.

They were quite a riot. They always were a sight, whenever that happened.

"Let's just get inside before anymore pry me away from you."

"Mm…," I kissed him, not having to stand any higher in heels, which left him with a smile.

With chivalry, he opened the door and followed closely behind, a hand on my lower back.

***

"And, ta-da!"

The match sparked a glorious flame after the very chef of the romantic dine let the banana flambe dessert on fire. A bright shade of blue clung to the sweet, a vivid apricot-orange on the outskirts. I applauded gaily at the performance, smelling immediately the aroma of the fresh tropical fruit mixed with brown sugar and rum.

This was all for me for Harry hadn't ordered a third course.

He got his kick over my happiness, smiling, thanking our chef who gave a flourishing bow and exited from our table quietly.

The fire simmered, a flicker of candlelight dancing between my eyes and Harry's as he watched me so carefully take a piece on my fork. I put it to my mouth, and he quirked his brow. He smiled when he saw me close my eyes, make a moan after the incredible taste tickled my palette, and re-open them with a sigh.

"Mmm…!" I shook my head, the exquisite sensation scrumptious. Digging the fork in, I gathered more, held my hand beneath it and hovered it over to Harry. He opened his mouth and took what I had, having not to reach far at our small, intimate table. I could feel him move, his leg shifting against the dangling heel, sitting cross-legged. The immobile hands of ours lay together, his hand supporting mine, palm-to-palm, alongside a vase holding a single long-stemmed rose.

I watched him smile, seeing him savor the dessert as much as I did.

He leaned across the tiny distance, took my cheek with light touch by vacant fingers and caressed me.

I wouldn't let him leave, coming back in when I felt him release and kissed him, keeping him at a standstill and in his smile.

We rested our foreheads as one, and slowly pulled apart, our hands on the table, in each other's, ceasing to move.

His eyes never moved, either; never leaving a fleeting second from mine. His stare, it felt like I was the only one in the room, in the world. He made me blush, coyly. Just by his look the room grew a bit hotter than before. A split-second I looked away, but not from his aura, to my fork, to the bite I ate, and then back to him. He smiled, and I, scrunching my nose up at how adorable, how beautiful he was in the soft light, tilted towards him and brought him to me with a kiss.

He stole the fork from my hand within the moment, taking to feeding me, cutting into the banana, the vanilla in cream and the pool of caramelized rum, and led the dessert to my mouth.

I happily devoured, never blinking as I followed his pure jade-green irises.

***

"Dance with me?"

He put his hand out, and I grinned.

I gently laid my hand with his.

"Thought you'd never ask."

He stood from his chair and came around swiftly and assisted me from mine. He kept my hand softly, leading me in the direction of other couples leisurely stepping, in a slow promenade to the jazz from a live band. With timid lighting, chandeliers hung over us, my heels now on a wooden floor from the plush sanguine carpet. At the core, I couldn't care less if others observed us. Harry brought me to him, against him, the hand with his, always, my opposite on his shoulder and his at my back.

Continued focus, he beamed, and I smiled.

My hand slipped from his to meet its twin, from his shoulder, around his neck. I leaned into him and he caught me, arms tight and protective. I lay my head on the broad span of his figure, sunk into the loving scent of pumpkin, and let him guide my feet wherever.

Lost, simply gone, not in the restaurant, not in London, not on planet earth-but somewhere else, in that field of flowers, thousands of stars above us, with him, with me.

I felt him stroke my back.

I felt myself move without thought and come to his lips.

A kiss, with length, scandalous, really, by how much passion put behind the act for I tasted the essence of the dessert and Harry at once.

When we pulled away he knew instantly my one, and only, thought:

"Want to go home?"

I nodded, biting at the corner of my bottom lip.

He asked the first waiter-any waiter-for our check as he led me quickly off the dance floor.

***

Harry carried me into the house. I had my purse in my lap, my arms about his neck. He had my legs, my underside and back. He walked precariously up the stairs; precarious, due to the loving nature developed even before we made it into Number Twelve. Our lips were locked. We were locked. I felt the warmth of him, of me, and it felt…indescribable. We had our eyes closed, Harry stepping by memory.

I giggled when he jerked his leg, having shifted the heel of his shoe off his ankle and kicked the article across the bedroom. Giggled again when he did the other, jolting me in his arms. I wiggled just as soon as he lay me down on our made bed-made, for it was time for it to be unmade. The time was just right. The time was always right. With him. With me.

But I never really liked to just give in-I liked to play.

Hitting the mattress I fled, in laughter, away from Harry who smirked at how suddenly silly I got. I fled to my pillow, far, far away from the ledge he stood at and where I left him. I saw him start taking his tie off with that all-knowing smile, shrug his jacket off and pull his dress shirt from his trousers. He threw his tie away, always his eyes on me, and I shrieked, giddy. I hid my face, giving a squeal when I first felt the bed lower by his weight, and again when I felt him touch me.

He was in my sight, face-to-face when I turned to where I knew he was and he snuck a kiss. I didn't flee. He ran his hand down the curve of my back, down to where he knew the zipper lay. I sighed when I heard the pull, the slow descent, and the loosening of my dress. I felt his lips on my bare shoulder, on the part of my bare back closest to my exposed neck, hair brushed away. The zipper ended at my hip, and he continued, slipping a hand inside my now opened evening fashion, the carmine red leaving for the white of my skin.

He lowered himself and I felt the first kiss, the second, and by the third my eyes closed. He made a line, the cool of the bedroom filtering in as slowly as he took the corset top away. He stopped when the fabric could go no more, to his displeasure I assumed with a shut-eyed grin, though it had no affect over the light touch of his fingers, his warm hand crisscrossing my back. He found that niche, his niche, my spine and followed it with extraordinarily soft pressure down southward.

I shuddered with delight.

Every nerve, every sensation in my body charged.

He made love where he could with kisses, with rubs, sliding a finger beneath the strapless, matching brassiere where he knowledgably unhooked the bands.

He led me to turn over, roll over on my back after caressing the newly exposed me under the one strap. He had me, doing as instructed and not playing. I shifted me legs, my knees, my black tights running against each other smoothly. He found my lips and kissed me with strength, to my cheek, my chin, my throat where I lifted my head and let out an intensely content sigh quite audibly.

I heard him chuckle, lowering, finding the crook of my neck. My hands were on him, everywhere, his head, his hair, his face, the back of his neck. My shoulder received a lingered kiss. The hollow of my throat received one, too. He approached my chest, a kiss, one, and then two, and-

Before my breasts, arching in anticipation, at a reveal…I cursed under my breath when he stopped. He laughed, and I pouted, eyes lit to see him, feel his weight shift down, shuffling, to the heels I still wore on my feet. He sat on his knees, and me, getting upon my elbows watched him slowly unbuckle the loops, the black leather bonds about my ankle. He took my other in his hands and did the same, carefully, without looking, without seeing me looking so intently at him.

Off one shoulder held my cocktail dress, the curve I created whilst seeing him allowing that part of my body unshielded.

I watched him through my hair, those locks covering half my face, carry upward my foot. I closed my eyes with haste, feeling him graze the bottom of my foot with a finger. From the ball to my toes, I couldn't help but squirm on my bum. I opened my eyes in time to see his upon me, his lips giving my foot a needed caress. He kissed my ankle, allowing my leg to drop, allowing himself to fall, too, to caress my calf, my knee as he swept downward.

I could feel my heart beating.

I could feel my form shake as I breathed.

I took a breath when I felt him kiss my stomach through the red, upward and again, an inch, and another. I grabbed him, gripped his hair when he chased the imaginary line, to my breasts, between my breasts, and then, with a bothered sigh, my lips.

I had had enough.

I loved it, and really did…

…But his teasing drove me to the brink of madness.

I pushed him up and over, sprawled on his backside and me on my knees surrounding him.

He smiled, and I let out an addictive giggle as I gently took away his glasses…in case they broke…and put them on the nightstand beside my purse. I gathered those lovingly warm, strong hands and placed them firmly on my chest. I made him feel me, squeeze me, tilted my head, my hair falling back, and let out this incredulous moan.

It didn't take but half a second for him to engage with what I wanted, sitting up, lifting me up and slinging me back on my backside. I let out laughter, smothered him with snogs, and felt an ever-so-gentle tug to remove the corset.

***

Harry observed a very tired, but happy, Hermione at his chest. He could feel the beat of her heart, the lifts of her breaths, her satin skin. She was on him, with him, to never let go. He rubbed, soothingly, combing her silky locks with one hand whilst the other propped his head above a pillow.

The fragility, the innocence, how we can love…

He thought as he watched her in her pleasant dreams, a smile carved upon her face.

…One doesn't know until…now, right now.

He glanced at the ceiling, and then at the curtain-covered windows.

She moved, running the tip of her nose along his chest.

Her skin, so flawless and so ethereal, failed to complement his abused, and darkened, flesh.

And how everything, everything, can change in a fleeting second.

He closed his eyes, kept Hermione close and wished for none other than her blissful happiness.

***

{Author Note: Hello there, readers! I guess since being shelved for a bit Hermione and Harry needed some love, and I hoped to let them have their wish. I think it turned out pretty well. What do you think? There was to be more to this chapter, but realized after going passed 7500 words that I could easily hit 15,000. If you haven't noticed I've been paralleling the Christmas party for the characters, revealing their introspection. Hope you enjoyed it!}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

-->