Life and Times

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: It's taken me a while to muster up the courage to release one of my “babies” into the world. This is my first public fanfic. I tend to write stream of conscious-like, or at least I did here, bringing in aspects of what I like (romance, angst, music, film, psychology) and shaking them up into this consequential mixture of words. Offline, I write screenplays. So, as you're reading, you may feel the fic sway - just stay along for the ride. I'm not sure when I'll update next, but I'll try to update here and there. I'm writing for fun. Enjoy!

***

Season One - Harry's Journey

Chapter One ~ Complicated

What have I done since Hogwarts? Well, as you probably already know the obvious, Hogwarts was shut down after the “demise of Voldemort.” Or, at least that's what the Daily Prophet is calling it this week. Last week it was the “infamous fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” and every week I get another letter, stamped with the golden seal of approval, requesting an interview with none other than Rita Skeeter. She got her job back...and, I'll pass on that.

So, what does the “Boy Who Lived,” “The Chosen One,” do nowadays? I wish I could start my Auror training, for one. Not that I really want to go that route. The whole “Auror” track was pushed on me because of my “superior skills.” Actually, I quite enjoy what I'm doing now: living in the Muggle world. A certain sense of innocence or naivety still lays within this world, and I utmost embrace the atmosphere. I wish I were still oblivious to the wizarding version. Would I still enjoy walking the streets of Diagon Alley, window shopping for the next fastest broomstick available without being mobbed by fourteen thousand, three hundred and seventy-two people asking me about the one part of my life I wanted to move past?

Not that I didn't want to have done it. I mean, Fate I guess led me to that last battle, and I somehow escaped with my life. But, the thing is, if I could do it all over again…I'd want to be the normal student walking the halls for a change. The kids that didn't see what I saw the years coming to “the end.” Those are the memories I want to forget.

But anyway, for now I'm staying right where I am. Living in Number Twelve, waking up to a beautiful sunrise, jogging, reading a newspaper that didn't involve ME—being normal. Well, as normal as it can get. Number Twelve is hidden, and every time I go back the apartment suite does magically widen to provide me a home. That's something normal people don't have to deal with.

I received a letter a few days ago through the Owl Network. Molly sent a letter nearly begging me to join them for a dinner party they were having. Molly, like a second mother, I couldn't say no to. As much as I loved the pace of this world, I couldn't let go of the other and everyone I loved there as well. She'd send me letters like this, or letters of the “How are you?”-like, and sometimes even a care-package of various baked goods. So, declining the invite would be like declining an invite from any of my other family.

One simple negative loomed in the distance, though. As I packed my bags—knowing Molly would at least ask me to stay the night after the dinner party—I thought of that one memory in my head. The memory repeated itself as if it were a film stuck on loop.

Ginny, “Ginerva,” had moved in with Neville Longbottom after we'd all left Hogwarts last year. They were smitten together, and as much as I had these feelings for her, I couldn't make sense of them. I'd think late at night about it. I think, in a way, the feelings I had for Ginny were there because I wanted to belong. Belong, to be a part of the Weasley's that much closer. Not the sort of feelings that would have made either of us happy in the long run and not a foundation for a genuine relationship.

She'd visit me, and Neville, when they'd stop into London to check in with some business at the Ministry. Recently, they were in London to procure a lease to their new flat just north of the London suburbs, in a rural setting, so that their house didn't cause too much attention to itself. Their house, or so I was told, was decked out much like her mother's with all the magical fixings. “Definitely something a Muggle would second-glance at,” Ginny had said once over a cup of tea.

Her latest visit, however, spelt out this negative emotion for me in plain words.

“I don't understand that girl at all,” Ginny hadn't looked at me as she said this. She sipped her third steaming cup of tea and set it down on the saucer within her other hand. Her eyes were looking at the blazing fire held in its confines in front of us.

“What do you mean?” I glanced over at Neville who in turn shrugged at me and wrapped his arms across his chest.

“I really don't want to get involved in family matters,” Neville stated firmly. “Let Ginny tell you, she knows more about it than I do.”

“There's really nothing else to be said than what I've already told you,” Ginny placed the ornate-decorated cup on the table between our three chairs surrounding the fireplace. She looked me straight in the eyes; the light making her eyes unusually black with just the flicker of white dancing in the corner. “As much as I love my brother, he can be quite a dolt. He's not treating her right.”

“What do you mean?” I began to sound like a broken record. You see, I'd gotten letters of their presumed “happiness.” That's all I knew since we last spoke together, us three, but that was several months ago. Hermione and I had been sending each other letters, but she never let out she wasn't happy. “The last I heard they were going to go to the country.”

“Psshh,” Ginny scoffed and looked back into the reddish-orange blaze. She had her arms crossed in her lap and was leaning toward me. “Harry, they haven't moved from my parents' house. That's about as far as the `country' idea went. It was a pipe-dream derived from Hermione, to try and get a grip on their relationship.”

I mimicked my guests, folding my arms together and peered into the flame. Had something slipped by me? We were close, Hermione, Ron, and I, and I thought I could read their emotions quite vividly by our proximity. But now, according to Ginny—and I had no reason to doubt her—they weren't happy. I knew Ron had a problem expressing himself. We all knew it. But, Hermione not happy? I didn't like the sound of that at all…then again…

I hadn't worked out these feelings inside me. For moments, in the longest time, I had these dreams. Whatever I was doing at times my mind would trail off into its own universe with Hermione at the lead. She'd be on my mind. “Of course she's on my mind,” I'd once told myself in the mirror, trying to snap out of it. “She is your best friend and all. Maybe even moreso than Ron. She gets you.”

Then, that same statement reverberated within me one day. A very innocent day it had been, too. Maybe it was because it was a rare sunny day? Maybe it was because I'd gotten an Exceptional on one of my essays I'd actually finished by myself for once in Potions? I'd thought of these excuses after-the-fact. I was asked by Hermione earlier in the day at breakfast if I would study with her for an Arithmancy midterm. Ronald would whine any and every time she'd ask him, and I didn't have a problem with studying at all. That's what we had to do. Get our education.

But, when I rounded that corner in the garden, and saw Hermione sitting Indian-style on that stone bench with her back turned to me and the crystal-clear blue water cascading from the fountain behind her, something hit me like a bag of bricks right in the gut. She turned to me, as if some cosmic connection happened, and she knew I was there. Like our auras signaled the entrance of me, and the sunlight sparkled down her brunette locks draped ever-so down the back of her Hogwarts-insignia sweater. I was instantly stunned.

I wasn't smooth with any of it at all, either. During that one time, she asked me:

“Are you okay?”

“W-what?” I stuttered, breaking my concentration of how her lips moved when she explained the Theory of Mathematical Magic once again out loud. I fidgeted and dropped half my books and loose-leaf on the floor. As I went into a scramble, I said quickly, “What are you talking about?”

She laughed, and when I got back up, papers and books in disarray on my lap, she just looked at me for the longest time as if trying to read me. I couldn't look at her, and then I finally couldn't resist that. The smile on her face made my heart skip a beat, especially when she tucked some of her gorgeous hair back behind her ear as she played with her hair so many times that day.

Ginny broke my string of memory, clearing her throat. She'd tried to glance around at me, swerving her head to the side and looking up to catch some life back in my eyes. My vision blurred, and I blinked back into Ginny.

“He yells and screams at her.”

“He does what?!” I blurted out. My eyes widened and I looked between Neville and Ginny. Neville made a disappointed face, scrunching it up in such a way as if he smelled really rotten eggs.

“She's. Not. Happy. Harry.” Ginny spoke in such a way, slowed down and annunciated every syllable. I felt like a child being chided for a mistake, an accident.

“…Why are you guys telling me this?” I turned away from Ginny and back into the fire. “What are you expecting me to do? Wave a wand and make everything like it was? Like old times?”

“I'm not telling you, anything,” Neville spoke up affirmably. He straightened his slouched posture and pointed a finger from his crisscrossed arms. “She is.”

“Way to go for emotional support, dear,” Ginny snapped at Neville like a disturbed hornet's nest.

“It's none of our business, Gin,” Neville sighed. He took his arms from their position and leaned forward, placing them on his knees. “This is a situation only Hermione and Ron know how to fix.”

“This cannot go on for any longer,” Ginny looked back at me as if wanting some sort of answer from me. Some sort of assertion to the matter at hand at which I couldn't even grasp. “Something has to be done.”

She turned back to Neville, “What if he lays a hand on her? What if the yelling increases into physical confrontation and she gets hurt?”

Ginny looked back at me, “Mind you, if my brother does, he'll have me physically tearing his face off and shoving a boot up his ass. That's my girl he's messing with after all.”

“Ginny, hun,” Neville sighed again. “I love you, hun. I love how you want to help them, but this is a situation that, if we stick ourselves in too deep, can backfire on us. What if you do something? What if he, or she, tells you to back the Hell off? Then what?”

“She won't do that,” Ginny stated under her breath. “She wouldn't. That's my girl.”

Ginny looked at me in a way that I couldn't not look back. Her eyes widened, and the blackness of them became white and suddenly her eye color appeared as she lowered and set her hand on my knee. “I just need a little help. I need some support from someone who really knows her. I've tried talking to Ron personally and he's pissed me off. We have to get her out of that situation. I don't want to hear in a year…or less…that that bastard hit her.”

A flash of Ron punching Hermione streaked through my mind, and that's all it took. I straightened up in my seat and looked at Ginny back. Our eyes connected and she smiled.

“Thank you,” she said.

So, now the adventure began. Staging some sort of intervention for Hermione, and Ron, but focusing on her to possibly get her out of a volatile situation. I didn't have all the information, only the words Ginny had given me that night and some days after. All I could see in my mind was showing up one day, bumping into Hermione somewhere and seeing a bruise around her eye, or her cheek, or trying to cover up her shoulder with an ostentatious, bulky jacket.

I showed up at the dinner party on time. Being late was sort of a cop out, after all. Muggles could be late, what with traffic build up or possibly construction they weren't aware of prior to leaving their house to go from point A to point B. But people like us, having the knowledge and know-how to apparate got us to point B in an instant.

George was tossing around a bludger ball outside to pass the time when I poofed into thin air before him. He became startled, but was pleasantly surprised, dropping the Quidditch equipment to give me a warm bear hug. He even picked me up off the ground, which made me laugh.

“Hey mom!” he shouted, turning round and cupping his hands around his mouth. “Guess who just arrived!? Some short kid with a really wicked scar who says he needs a home!”

I snickered, and before I could take a step forward, the large shadow of Molly came rushing out the door. Her shawl bounced to-and-fro as she nearly leaped, not walked, toward me from their three-story household. She grabbed me in one of those motherly grasps and pulled me to her when she was in range.

“Harry! Harry! Harrrry!” she shook me around in her embrace. “I am just so happy to see you, dear! How are you?! How are things in the Muggle world?!”

“Extremely normal, thankfully,” I said into her bosom. She really had me in a lock.

Molly let out a laugh, ringing out into the night and scaring some nearby birds in a tree to flutter away. She let me go but held onto my shoulders to size me up, “Well, well that's just great to hear! But my, oh my…”

She glanced from my toes to the tip-top of my head.

“You're turning into quite the young man, there.” She always, always said this every time I saw her and I waited for her next line which always followed. “Why haven't you found yourself a girl and settled down, dear? After all that you've been through, you need a little `arm-candy'!”

“Oh good gracious, mom,” George ran his hand down the front of his face and made a gagging noise. “Did you just seriously say `arm-candy'?”

“Oh, hush George, and take Harry's bags to his room.” Like I said, she'd want me to stay the night. I smiled at the gesture. This was my second home, and it's not like I didn't want to spend some time with them. It's just that other…little…situation…

I began to move with her, Molly's arm wrapped around my shoulder, and George already entering the house had announced quite loud that some “lanky, homeless kid” had arrived. I laughed and Molly shook me again beside her.

“It's so great to see you here, Harry, it really is.”

“I'm glad you invited me to dinner.”

“Harry,” Molly said this in her most motherly way. “You are welcome here anytime, day or night, rain or shine.”

“I very much appreciate it.” I gave my second-mother a hug which made her smile so big that I believed that, if anything, that right there made her day.

“And besides,” Molly patted my stomach. “Someone has to feed you.”

***

The dinner had already been prepped and Ginny, alongside Neville and Mr. Weasley, were setting the table with the numerous amounts of food. The smell of roasted turkey and cranberry sauce caught my attention at first, and as I looked beyond the table, I realized that this could be compared to the first Thanksgiving. Ham and chicken, deviled eggs, homemade stuffing, three types of gravy, mashed potatoes, the grocery list of food could go on and on. The picture of everything and everyone could have come straight off of the front of Southern Living.

Mr. Weasley broke off from the crew. He wiped his hands on a dish towel he'd had over his shoulder and tossed it back across the breadth of his black blazer. He made his way to me and at first shook my hand considerably, but then took me into another embrace.

“Harry! You have grown so much, young man!” He released me and bent down to my eye level. “Time really flies, doesn't it? One day you're on the Hogwarts Express going to your first, frightening day of class, and the next you're here from the bizarre Muggle world. How fascinating life is!”

“Yeah,” a made a half-smile and looked away at Ginny and Neville standing beside each other, waiting for their turn at me. I peered back at Mr. Weasley. Two people were missing though from the room. “I guess that's how it is. Take one day at a time.”

Mr. Weasley lightly smacked my back and turned to the rest of the family, “This is one brilliant, young man. Great head on his shoulder, confident, knows himself. Good man.”

“Dad,” Ginny smirked from behind Mr. Weasley. She pried him off me. “Let Harry breathe for goodness sakes.”

“I just love that boy,” Mr. Weasley's voice trailed off as he went into the kitchen after Molly. “Good kid, positive, true, and I can't wait for all the strange Muggle-stories he has to talk about over dinner. Fascinating stuff!”

Ginny rolled her eyes and looked at me. Her hair was done up and she wore an emerald green dress. I'd always thought green was her color. The choice really brought out her Weasley-red hair in an attractive way.

“He says all that because we love you,” Ginny wrapped her arms around my neck in an embrace. “You know that, right?”

“I know, and I love you all back too.” I gave her a hug back in response. She smelled heavily of cranberries. I looked at Neville behind her, who smiled warmly at me. He put his hands in his black khaki pants, an emerald green vest matching Ginny's dress loosened in his stance above a reddish shirt resembling a hue much like Ginny's hair.

“How was the trip here?” Neville said smugly. Ginny unraveled herself, and when she did, he put his hand out to me and I shook it.

“Horrible. The roads were jam-packed. I nearly thought I wouldn't be able to make it.” I smirked back at him through my sarcastic chagrin. “Hey, if you're leaving on the M25, watch out for that quick left merge lane. It's a killer.”

“Ha!” Neville retracted his hand to wrap himself around Ginny from the side. She'd settled along him and gave him a hug.

I fixed the collar of my midnight blue button-up and slid my hands into my black dress pants. I gazed around at the glorious feast before me and sighed happily as Molly rounded the corner, ecstatic to see me still standing there in their home, with an overly-large bowl of steamed vegetables. I thought she skipped back to the kitchen, a hop in her step, after placing the bowl in its already assigned spot on the lengthy, wooden table.

“You make momma very happy when you're here.” Ginny whispered to me.

“I know,” I said, watching Molly come back out to glance over the table and run back into the kitchen as if she'd left something too important behind. Possibly some confidential files or the Ministry of Defense hit list no one was supposed to know about. I smiled at her enthusiasm and sighed.

“Have you thought about taking her up on the offer?” asked Neville. He tilted his head over to atop Ginny's and planted a kiss.

“I can't move in here,” I answered in reply, silently to them. “It's nothing against them, I just think I was ready to move on, grow up, and stop being coddled. I love them to death, it's just—“

“I get it,” Neville shook his head in an exaggerated fashion. “I wouldn't want to be stuck being a boy in a man's body.”

Ginny lightly punched Neville in his stomach. Neville flinched at her touch. Ginny pointed her finger at him, “There's nothing wrong with my momma.”

Neville looked at her, and then at me, “See how violent she is to me? Makes me wonder why I love her so much.”

Ginny punched his side this time, but a bit harder than the first, “I'll give you violent.”

“Oh really?”

I grinned and laughed at their playful banter. Ginny grinned up at Neville and soothed the areas she'd hit him with the light touch of her palm. Neville, in turn, kissed her lips slightly and ran a hand through her hair.

“You know I love my mother-in-law,” Neville said, taking another stroke of Ginny's hair with his hand. He did it carefully as to not mess her wavy concoction up.

“You better,” she smiled and leaned her forehead against him shoulder. She glanced over at me and smiled once more. Addicted, I couldn't help but smile back.

I didn't know how to break the ice. The mood was just so…happy. From everything Ginny had told me, what I wanted to ask wasn't. It was the opposite. But, not seeing Hermione, or Ron, down with the family got to my nerves. I'd sneak a quick glance every now-and-then towards the staircase I knew led up to the rooms, and Ron's room where if anywhere, Hermione would be there. As we lightly chatted, rooted in our spot, I finally gave up abstaining from not noticing the elephant in the room.

Ginny, Neville, and I had slowed down a group laugh after joking about something absurd written in the Daily Prophet when I finally asked the million dollar question:

“Not to be the spoil sport here,” I looked back around toward the staircase. “But, where are Hermione and Ron?”

“And, it begins…” Neville turned from us and dipped his hands in his pockets.

“Sorry,” I called out after him.

“Neville!” Ginny fervently whispered. Although quiet, her tone was punishing when she said his name. She turned to look at me and sighed, “Don't mind him. We had a conversation about this last night and he still thinks this whole `intervention' idea is a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Well, it's not like I was going to start something at dinner or anything,” I kept my eyes on Neville who approached Molly about something and followed her into the kitchen. “I just wanted to know where they were. Where my friends were and why weren't they down here. It's odd.”

Ginny took a step around me and crossed her arms over her chest. She stood, staring up the staircase from the base, and shook her head. I followed her and stood behind her, following her gaze, or at least trying to get to the third and final floor of the Weasley's.

“I haven't seen either of them since about an hour ago. I'm sure they'll be down for dinner when the time comes,” Ginny glanced around to look at me. “At least they're quiet now.”

“Now?” I stressed the word with vigor in my vocal chords.

“Yeah, earlier today they had another bout. Don't ask me who `won' because I think they lost their voice in the match. I don't even know what they were fighting about, but I did hear some vulgarity…from both sides…,” Ginny tightened her arms against her. I put my hand on her shoulder. “That's when mom stepped in because she'd had enough. She went right up those steps and told them both to cool it. I think she even made them hug.”

I made a scoff, “That sounds like Molly.”

“Yep, momma being momma…but, I don't think her `cure' helped. Now they're just silent, and I don't know if that is a good thing or a bad thing, really.”

“…Silence could be a `good thing'?”

Ginny made this knowing smile and left me at the base of the stairs. She giggled a little into her hand and turned to look at me standing there immobile by her action. I felt a little embarrassed, not understanding what she meant at all.

“And, that's why you're so darn adorable, Harry.” She said, walking backwards into the dining room. “You still have some of that innocence left within you, and that makes you almost irresistible to be around.”

“What? Wait—“ What she meant hit me, but it didn't feel good. Of course, my naivety was probably my way of not thinking about this. Repress the thought of them doing…anything. But, that's what two people do that are “in love,” right? In this situation, though, that isn't love…which made the image of Hermione and Ron in bed together that much more painful.

***

“Can I help you set the table?”

“No, no dear,” Molly patted my head and smiled. “Thank you for the offer, but you're our guest.”

“I'm a part of the family, though,” I felt a little like taking advantage of them. They'd prepared this extravagant meal with all the trimmings and here I was just walking around in circles not doing much of anything.

Molly's eyes sparkled, “I'm so glad to hear that every time from you, but really Harry, we have it under control. And, actually…”

Molly side-stepped around me and started around toward the stairs. I heard a chair from the table being pulled out and turned my head to see Neville take one out for Ginny. She smiled at him, the candlelight bringing the entire atmosphere of the room glow a surreal orange which reflected off the white cheeks of everyone present. She sat down and Neville tucked her into the table. He followed suit and sat to her left.

Mr. Weasley had situated himself back from carving the meats and started to pull out one of the heads of the table when I spoke up, “Uhm…so, where am I sitting?”

“Oh gracious me, Harry! How blunderous! I'm terribly sorry, truly. Here,” He made a gesture with his hand to the left of him on Ginny's right. “That is the perfect place to sit, especially when you tell me all those stories. Wouldn't want to interrupt other people when we really dive into our conversations!”

I laughed, “Thank you, Mr. Weasley.”

“For the thousandth time, Harry boy, call me Arthur!”

I'd gotten around Arthur at the head of the table and positioned myself in front of the chair I was about to sit in, “I find it strange calling you and Mrs. Weasley by your first names.”

Arthur had sat down by this time, his hands on the table and fully attentive to me, “Harry, you've been with us for years and you're a Weasley in my eyes. You can call me anything you like, really, and I respect your respect for me and Molly, but don't be withdrawn from calling us by our names. We won't take offense.”

“I'll—I'll think on it.”

“Good boy, and relax a little!” Arthur ruffled a hearty laugh. “You seem all tense tonight! What's got you in a knot?”

The knot tightened when I heard footsteps from around the corner. Molly came out first to the dining area. She went towards the other head of the table, opposite from her husband.

“Look who I found, Arthur.”

Molly began to seat herself, and I was about to when I couldn't. Something stopped me in that moment. First, I saw Ron. A bit disheveled, his shirt wasn't tucked in which was like him, ordinary, and his hair sort of up at an angle like he'd been sleeping on it. Behind him was really the opposing reflection.

Radiant, she was, Hermione was brilliant. In my eyes, a spotlight focused directly on her. Everything about her gave no faults. Her beauty was expressed without make-up, natural. Her hair all done up for the evening, and she wore what looked like dark blue silk. The glow of the candlelight brightened the soft folds here-and-there as she walked into the dining room.

The orange atmosphere gave her porcelain-like, soft skin tone an otherworldly blush. She took my breath away, and the feeling became more difficult to contend with when, as if in slow motion, she tucked some of her loose strands of hair behind her ear and smiled at me…just as she did on that one fateful day in my life. I think I grinned from ear-to-ear. I couldn't feel my body anymore.

“Hey, Harry!” Ron stumbled his way around the table after me. I caught him, and he embraced me like a brother. “Dude, if I had known you got here man, I'd have woken up sooner! How you've been?!”

From the corner of my eyes I caught Hermione standing behind a chair looking at us. The smile crossed her face again, but slowly faded away as she looked around at the table.

“Good evening, everyone,” Hermione said politely to the group.

Everyone in tune greeted Hermione back in their own way, together. Neville got up from where he sat and stood there, placing his napkin aside from his lap.

Ron embraced me again in his brotherly way and smacked my backside, “We're going to catch up tonight, man.”

“Yeah, sure thing Ron,” I laughed a little and smacked his back too.

“Hey, Ron, not to be a buzz-kill,” Neville said a half-sarcastically. “But your woman is waiting to be seated.”

“Oh, I see,” Hermione smirked from the side of her mouth. “Harry can meet-and-greet with the rest of you, but I don't even get a hug?”

Ron had already left me to go back around to Hermione by the time I made it over there. I stood, and felt like a moron, in front of Hermione. I gazed at her, her cinnamon brown eyes twinkling by the candlelight, and I at once felt like hundreds of eyes watched me, us. I gulped, and I found it at once difficult to move until I felt her warmth beside me—like a distant memory come back. How many times have I hugged this girl? A bazillion. This time, however, I felt an electric shock when I touched her bare skin. Her arm, her shoulder, her neck seemingly brought all the hairs everywhere on me to attention.

Hermione slid her arms delicately around me and said smoothly, quietly, but in the silence of the room which I realized occurred I knew they could all hear us.

“Hey…”

“Hey,” I smelled the scent of her aroma for the first time in a while. The floral aroma of a ripened meadow in the spring came strong to me, and to my still heart.

I closed my eyes some from behind my glasses when I felt her fingers sort of push into my skin from beneath my shirt.

She laughed against me, and breathed, “So, how've you been?”

“Hanging in there…you?”

I heard her sigh, “Okay I suppose…”

“Hey, hey,” I heard Ron start from the other side of me. “I don't get a hug like that from my best man?”

“Ronniekins,” George said into his hands. He had his elbows on the table watching us, and then Ron. “Lay off the bro-mance.”

The entire room laughed into an uproar. I felt now, more than ever, it was safe to break from Hermione…as much as I didn't want to. I wanted to affix to her and stay like that forever as lush as that may seem. I felt eyes linger on me as I crossed back over to my chair and saw not just Hermione's, but Ginny's eyes watch my every action from askance. Ironically, as I sat down with Neville in tandem, waiting for Hermione to be seated, I realized she was seated in front of me.

If I could fight Fate right now, I would. I don't know how long I could keep up the front.

***

The dinner was lively. Thankfully, I had Arthur to keep me busy from thinking about other things, especially when Ginny asked me at the beginning if I “felt all right.” Rule number one, if I don't feel all right don't ask me how I am. I get more uncomfortable. But after Arthur's eighteenth question into the subjects of Muggles, this time the question was “What is the Muggle's fascination of chewing gum when sometimes it makes them look oddly contorted,” I was feeling a little more at ease.

Ron asked me what I was up to several different ways. Everything I said back he'd make a face.

“You know, magic can do that.”

“Yes, I know Ron, but I like doing it this way.”

He didn't understand why I ran in the morning, either. Mind you, Ron's exercise left after Hogwarts. He fell out of Quidditch, at least playing it, and went back into solely watching it on television. Now that the World Cup was just around the corner, that was the bulk of our conversation. I hadn't exactly given up Quidditch myself, it's just in the normal world per se, flying around on a broomstick just doesn't fit in exactly. This is the boundary Ron couldn't come to cross or maybe he didn't want to.

Hermione also asked what I was up to nowadays. She was attentive to every word I spoke, but became extremely aware when I began telling her of a book series I started to read. The plot was similar to Romeo and Juliet with every bit of Shakespeare's plays submersed within the series. Hermione had a certain niche for Shakespeare. Not that I was particularly playing the field, but I knew that would get her attention.

“So, the major conflict within the premise of the plot is that she's a vampire and longs for this human guy?”

“Yeah, it's told completely from his perspective, but I'd really like to know what she's thinking. I can only hear and see the guy's thoughts and actions, and I'm not saying that being left out is a bad thing, it just would be great to understand the passion and thought behind her actions. For instance, she's so enticed by him, by his blood, and it's so very…it's Romeo and Juliet.”

“Sounds boring,” Ron chimed in with a mouthful of turkey and stuffing. The rest of the family was in their own little conversations amongst the table.

“Ronald! Hush!” Hermione reprimanded under her breath. She didn't even look at him, keeping her eyes either in front of her or at me. “Excuse him, Harry…”

“Look, all I'm saying is,” Ron reached out to grab his glass of red wine to wash the mouthful of mixed food down. “Vampires were written to be monsters. They kill and drink blood. Period. They don't love, they don't even have feelings—“

“…Sounds like someone I know,” Hermione stated looking away.

Ron stopped his rant to pause. He looked at Hermione and a souring, disgustful mask draped across his face.

“Don't start.”

“Hey, hey Ron, quit that.” I responded as he shot daggers at Hermione. “Come on, man.

“All I'm saying is,” Ron started again, sitting his glass of wine down where it laid before and stuck another fork of meat into his mouth. “Vampires don't sparkle like fairies. They hunt and kill.”

“Whatever you say, Ron,” I concluded, placing some mashed potato in-between my own lips. I noticed Hermione roll her eyes, completely turned away from Ron. If I wasn't mistaken, she'd entered Arthur and Molly's conversation if I hadn't heard their previous scuffle. Hermione took up her glass of wine and sipped on it for what seemed like minutes.

“Could you pass the salt?” Ron looked at Hermione. He tried to find her eyes by moving a little into the table, but when he moved, she turned further away. He looked at me and rolled his eyes, “She's always like this. She's turned into a big baby.”

“Ron, man, come on,” I set my wine glass down, trying to coax Ron to simmer down.

Hermione turned to the front and pointed at the salt shaker, “It's right there. Why do I have to get it for you? You're a man, move more than four inches and get it yourself!”

“Oh, grow up, Herm.”

Hermione flicked her head at Ron, eyeing him with the same sort of disgust he did, “Don't call me `Herm', and you grow up! Sometimes I think you're going to stay at the same level of maturity as when I first met you! What were you doing then? Picking your nose and pulling pigtails? Seems about right to me!”

“Okay, okay…,” I pleaded with them under my breath. Thankfully, even if people were paying attention they hadn't made a big deal about it. I knew from my side Ginny had turned her eyes toward their scene. I could feel her beside me. “Come on, guys…”

“Go to Hell,” spat Ron to Hermione's face.

Hermione, flushed with a bit of pink in her cheeks, took the remains of her wine—which was a fair bit—and downed it all in one, single drink. She tilted her head back and let it all go in. When I could see her eyes again, she had them shut for a moment, and when she looked once more, she looked…gone.

With one swift movement up, she stood, making the entire table silence. She placed her napkin from her lap into the plate and said very calmly, “I'm feeling a little under the weather. Thank you Molly, Arthur, for this fantastically prepared meal, but I must be excused before I become more ill.”

Neville stood up quick, and I did as well. I set my napkin aside and watched Hermione's facial expression move away as she did. She looked flustered…embarrassed…sad…exhausted… Everything she shouldn't be feeling.

Neville collapsed back into his chair and looked at Ginny. I peered down to see Ginny look up at me as if to say, “See, like I said…” I'd gotten a taste of what was to come. An acidic, wrenching taste one might come by before vomiting. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what to do. Hermione's curls, ever-so-done up in a way just for tonight, bounced freely as she bolted up the stairs to the upper floors. Slowly I sat down in the wake of what just happened and found Ron, seemingly oblivious, picking away at a piece of marbled ham.

***

After dinner, and after I finally broke Molly from her usual “you're a guest” routine and I helped with the washing of the dishes, she turned to me and asked if I was going to stay the night. Knowing quite well that that would make her just a little more happier, especially after witnessing what we saw at the dinner table and knowing within speaking what we all thought, that staying would help her out tons…as much as it hurt me to be here.

Arthur and Molly decided at the spur of the moment to take out the old Ford Anglia. Ever since me and Ron's little side-adventure with the flying vehicle, Arthur had jazzed it up a bit. The body was different, the insides were different; he even put in a CD player and updated his enchantment to a sturdier, more mobile style.

Knowing they probably needed to go out to get some fresh air, they hugged and kissed Ginny, Neville and I before heading out the door. We heard the Ford rumble to life and take off into the night. The three of us that were left meandered into the den where we sat in silence for a few minutes at a fresh flaming fireplace Neville and I made.

“I'm guessing you guys are also staying the night?”

I sat in a single armchair opposite of Ginny and Neville who were curled up together, moreso Ginny. She'd laid her head on him in a way that resembled the onset of twilight sleep. It certainly didn't help her in her answer as Neville stroked the length of her back.

“Yes,” she yawned and moved more into her lover. She pulled a bundled up quilt over her legs and atop her, settling into the sofa. “Of course. The family here breathes life into mom and dad. We couldn't just leave, especially after all that.”

“That…,” I began, but hesitated. I thought about what I was going to say, my feelings out loud, but retracted them to end the statement in, “…that really hurt me.”

“I'm sorry you had the bear witness to that,” Ginny groggily said, pressing both into the plush of the cushion and the cushion that was Neville. “But, in a way, I'm glad you got to see what we're up against.”

Neville could see my raw emotion as he was a little more alert than Ginny, “Harry, if you don't want to do this—“

“We're here, we might as well,” stated Ginny.

“Emotions are running high, dear,” Neville kept his eye on me for a lingering second, and then turned to look at his sleepy Ginny. “I get it, I do. But, Harry isn't the answer. We need more than just him, us, to solve this. We may even need professional help.”

“It's all right…we'll do it…,” I could hear Ginny slip into sleep after every breath. “…we'll do it…everything will be fixed tomorrow…I promise…”

I smiled when Neville shook his head at the Sleeping Beauty attached to him as if Ginny's hands where made of suction cups.

“Okay…I think it's time to go to bed…,” Neville started to get up, scooping Ginny with him in his arms. He whispered to me, “It's the wine…she's a lightweight, you know.”

I stifled a laugh and watched Neville begin to carry Ginny, quilt and all, up the stairs.

“Good night, Harry,” Neville whispered. He looked down at Ginny who had completely passed out and grinned. “Ginny says goodnight, too.”

“Good night, guys,” I whispered back.

“And, don't worry, Harry,” Neville said concerned. “We'll figure this out one way or the other. We have each other's backs.”

I smiled, “Thanks for the support.”

“No problem,” Neville progressed further up the staircase. “See you tomorrow morning sometime after she wakes up.”

I stifled another laugh, “See you tomorrow morning, guys.”

I pondered, when all went quiet, if I should go up to my own sanctuary and leave to dreamland for the night. The fire crackled and the log burned blue, pieces falling into the ash below. I sat in the armchair, perturbed by what happened earlier at dinner and the silence I heard once more from above me. I didn't want to think about what may or may not be going on in Hermione and Ron's room. But, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I heard him curse her…and, in another setting, I'd have laid into him.

He'd probable have had a broken lip, or nose, possibly even an arm.

Thinking about all this brought back too many memories; happy memories of when we were all kids and didn't have these “mature” emotions. All the girls had cooties. We didn't think of any of this. Was that the perfect time in our lives? I don't think, within me, that I could go without a day anymore without seeing Hermione. It's like, seeing her today made me realize more than ever before how much I wanted her. I didn't know if that was considered selfish, or if I should feel guilty; but, all I knew was Ron…Ron wasn't treating her right. Her, like many other women in my life, should be treated with respect and be loved—not live lives like this, ever. The life I saw, but a speck, was disturbing.

The more I thought, the more I couldn't sleep, and sleep left me. Any spout of drowsiness left my core and I became a gifted insomniac. One person, one woman, could create such a happy destruction in my life. I couldn't think of anything but her now. I twisted my head to the side and glanced up the stairs. I sighed and my eyes fell upon a rather thick read, like War and Peace, lying on a side table. I picked it up and began sifting through it. If anything, I was wasting time to my impending doom…or, so I thought.

***

I couldn't see the clock in the darkness to tell you when it happened. My mission was to drown out all suspected thought or emotion I'd been having from reading this chore literature. The sound, like a clap of thunder, echoed through the Weasley household. Outside, it had begun to rain, but this sound—the crash, the slam—sounded much more diagetically within the walls of the home.

I heard a yell, and then I heard Ron's voice clearly from above on the staircase and footsteps coming downward.

“Don't walk away from me when I'm talking to you!”

“Rotten git!” Hermione shouted back. I saw what looked like a slender silhouette, and then saw Hermione dressed in her pajamas descend the final stairs. She mumbled, and I could tell she had been crying, “Rotten, loathsome git…”

“Oh, yeah, Herm? Herm! Little know-it-all! Where do you think you're going?!” Ron appeared at the bottom of the stairs and chased after Hermione. I didn't know what to do, or to say. I probably shouldn't have said anything, or maybe I should have acted sooner.

I heard them confront each other in the dining area and got up as quick as I could. They were still shouting things, words they probably didn't mean, but I don't know. Everything was a blur when I rounded that corner and heard others in the house wake from their individual slumbers. Hermione had crossed back around the table and Ron was on the other side by the time I made it there.

“Look at you, right?!” shouted Ron.

“Look at you!” Hermione's voice was shrill and losing tone. They must have been at this longer than I'd witnessed. I stood at the doorway completely useless. Hamlet had more decisiveness than I did; but, this was the first time I'd really, truly seen them at each other's throats. I must have fallen asleep, I remember telling myself. This can't be true.

“Look at you, Herm! Just because you think you're smarter than me? As if, with how you look! I mean, come on, you know Viktor, right? He's just using you as some sort of side dish because he just broke up with his girlfriend! You're the rebound girl!”

“What?!” Hermione scoffed, tears welled up in her eyes. “Wha—Ron you give me such a headache. The emotional range you have can fit into a thimble! You're such an immature little rascal! Do you actually hear yourself speak?! It's gibberish! Pure, and awful rubbish! You're crazy!”

“Hey, hey,” I tried to assert myself in between them. I heard others begin to come down the stairs. I tried to tell them to calm down, slow down, stop, but Ron cut me off.

“You're such a prude, you know that right, Herm?”

“And you're a foul git!”

“No, look at you,” Ron scoffed and started pointing at parts of Hermione's body. “I mean, come on. The only part of you that has anything going on, if that, is up here.”

Ron tapped the side of his head.

Hermione became quiet. Her puffy, red eyes overcome with water.

“RON!” I shouted this time. “THAT'S ENOUGH!”

“Look at you, Herm,” Ron slithered himself in. “No one will ever want you.”

I felt a presence behind me, but all I could think was what the Hell was happening. What the Hell was going on? Nothing, and I repeat, nothing made sense. The only part that made any sense was my biological need to severely hurt Ron. He was closest to me, but my eyes settled on Hermione—or where Hermione was—as she dashed outside and into the rain.

“Good job, asshole,” Ginny, half-awake, sounded off behind me. As I took off around Ron toward the front door Hermione ran out of, I heard Ginny say, “If you think you're better than her in any way, damn, you must be sloshed 24/7. Prick.”

Thankfully, the pajamas Hermione were lighter in color to the environment. I couldn't see anything, and the rain that poured in buckets didn't help either. By the third step into the mud, my entire body was soaked from head to toe. Lightning made me jump in my dash, but my mind was set solely on Hermione who ran and ran and ran. I didn't know where she was running, but I knew she was running far from the Weasley's.

I was half expecting her to apparate back to her house with her family. I was hoping I'd find her there if she did and not some random place. I was hoping she didn't disappear at all, and the more I followed her, the more time passed, the more she just kept running.

I saw her slip and fall into the muddy ground surrounding the Weasley's. When she did, the time it took her to try and stand back up was enough time for me to grab her, help her up, and start trying to get the dirty clumps from around her wet face and hair.

She immediately turned to me after I helped her up and began punching me. I tried my best to catch her punches, but then just took the rest. With each punch following the next, I felt her strength deteriorate. She cried out through the thunder and, my God, standing there holding her to me was all I could do.

She looked at me in the deluge. I knew she was crying, could feel she was crying as she shook, but everything about her was wet.

She screamed out at me and pummeled my chest with her fists, “You don't want me!”

How she screamed that at me, the words…it all stung harder than the sharp pin-pricks of the pouring rain. I tightened my embrace of Hermione. Torrents of emotions ran wildly, chaotically through my mind and I could grasp one to hold onto. The only thing I wanted was to hold onto my Hermione. That was all.

The pummeling lost its strength and soon Hermione fell limp in my arms. She tried to stabilize, but I caught her, holding her with every bit of my strength I could. She wrapped her arms around my neck and kept repeating slower and slower, “You don't want me…no one wants me!”

“I want you!” I said it loud and clear.

“No you don't!” she screamed into my chest. “No one wants me! I'm worthless! I'M WORTHLESS! I SHOULDN'T BE HERE!”

“Listen to me, Hermione,” I shook her. “Listen to me!”

All I could hear was her sobbing. All I could feel was the heave and fall of her chest as she stuttered every, single breath. My emotions took over me, and I let them. I caressed the top of her head, inside her drench hair, following the strands that adhered to her perfect face where I kissed her forehead, her cheek, her jaw—anywhere I could. I nuzzled my nose against her wet skin and hugged her tight. She wasn't going to slip away. I would not let her leave me.

She opened her eyes for a split second, enough for me to gaze into them.

“I want you…I want you…I want you…,” I kissed her forehead again, and then the top of her head again.

I felt Hermione grip me, slide her hands from my chest to around my neck and tighten. That was all I needed to know. I pulled her form as close to mine as I could and whispered to her, “I'm apparating us out of here. I'll come back for your things tomorrow. Trust me.”

“I've trusted you,” she whispered into my ear and leaned her weight into my own.

In one split second of time we were standing in mud to our ankles, sheets of water barraging us like white curtains, and the frightening snap of lightning looming overhead. Now, under the streetlight before Number Twelve we stood, Hermione still locked around me, limp, and myself around her. The aqua dripped off our severely wet clothes and onto the dry cement sidewalk below us. An elderly couple, walking the night, stood on the other side of the street. I didn't know if they saw us instantly come out of nowhere, nor did I care. More on the fact that they stared at us, in our private, vulnerable act—and I hated it.

I glared at them from across the street, my eyes slightly above Hermione's head. “Come on…,” I said, bending down to take up Hermione in one fell swoop. She kept her arms secure around my neck.

From the other side, I knew the elderly couple saw me vanish once again into Number Twelve. My flat can't be seen by Muggles, and that in itself is potentially bad…but, at that moment, all of me, everything, my world and universe were all about Hermione.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: I listened to a lot of The Scientist by Coldplay. The poetic lyrics and sequential melody fit so right, especially during the dinner and rain scenes.}

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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: While brainstorming ideas for the fic, I didn't want to isolate too much canon. I do realize JKR wrote HG; but, I felt their “relationship” as trite and undeserved. Thusly, I wrote Harry and Ginny as having recognized their relationship as such. But, from their ashes, per se, a strong friendship built. I also wanted the characters as victims of change, growing in maturity whether they follow what we may or may not consider “good” or “bad” paths. We learn from our mistakes.

***

Chapter Two ~ Neurotic

I heard the shower head kick on and the water begin to flow through the pipes. I stood at the door to my room. I'd given her space. Privacy, I didn't know if she needed it or not. Safest bet, I thought, would be to leave her on her own for the time being. Give her time. Give me time. What the Hell was I doing?

There had been so little time between what had happened and meandering from my closed doorway down the staircase. I'd thought about it ever since I'd taken her up here and sat her down. I didn't know what to say then, either. Figures. Again, I felt so much like Shakespeare's Hamlet. On one hand, I pondered, step by step down the stairs, they were together. Ron and Hermione are…were…are together. My involvement will have a lasting effect on anything that came in the future. This all will have put stress on our friendship; moreso with Ron than Hermione, as she'd given me a tight squeeze around my neck just before leaving my room to her.

On the other hand, Ron was utterly terrible to her. Horrifying, really, and beyond words even my imagination could come up with. I'd seen them bicker back and forth before. But, this? This was an outrage. Hermione has taken her own time to help us, in any way possible, for years. When Ron began courting her, he should have known how unbelievably good she is. How much she cared about him, me, everyone. She didn't deserve what I'd witnessed. When I think about it all now, the entirety of the night, Ginny was right: Hermione needed to be out of that scenario and into a better one.

My emotions ran high. I've never really expressed how I felt for her. Hermione, so close, up stairs—the thought of the proximity made my heart beat a little bit faster. I'd gone from being “friendly, with a place for Hermione in my heart” to “protector, with an even larger place for Hermione in my heart.” The secret, even if the secret wasn't that much of one, was going to be evident. It had to be evident. My actions were the evidence.

I must be naive. I must be. Either that, or I'm beginning to get paranoid. As I thought on and on, I began to realize that this all could have been a set up. Ginny probably had a sixth sense about my inner feelings. She probably knew how I felt for Hermione, and knew I'd come to her aid, regardless of what she told me. I just needed a little push in that direction. But, for what consequence? I've damaged me and Ron's relationship. I've created something between Hermione and I that was now blatantly more apparent than ever before in our trio's history. Duo…?

Ginny's voice, from her earlier visits to now, flooded my mind. Everything that was talked about, every little detail, every little verbal push, pierced my mind into the beginnings of a headache. Then, the voice grew. The voice echoed and I found the voice difficult to differentiate between inside me and around me. That's when I realized…Ginny was really talking inside my home!

My fireplace settled some in the tray of charcoal bits. I drew closer to the echoes of Ginny, moving toward the back of the sofa before the arched brickwork.

“Harry James!” my fireplace rang out. “Harry James, you better be home, damn it!”

I bent down on my knees and looked into the fire. I found the scene somewhat hilarious. There, within the tray, the charcoal had derived the facial features of Ginny with utmost distortion. I could see her eyes, but they were a tad inverted. Her nose was crooked and her mouth was parted on one side.

I laughed a little into coughing on purpose to hide my enjoyment. “I'm here, quiet down. You'll wake up my neighbors.”

“You know as well as I do that your neighbors can't hear us! And, don't you quiet me Harry James!” the distorted face fell in places as the angry Ginny barked. Pieces of her left cheek fell off the tray. “Do you know the worry you caused me? You had me in a total fit! I ran out there in the rain and called for you, and Hermione, and nothing! You could have been lying in a ditch somewhere!”

“All right, all right,” I tried to settle down the fireplaced-Ginny. “We're here, we're fine, safe and sound.”

“Where's my girl at? Is she there or did you take her back to her folks?”

“Yeah, she's here.” I glanced up at the ceiling and heard the shower continuing to run in my silence. “She's in the shower, probably relaxing. I gave her my room for the night and she accepted.”

“Oh, so she's staying there then with you?”

“That's what I'm guessing. I'm not going to throw her out, and if she says she'd rather go back to her folk's home in lower London, I'll take her there myself.”

“I'm feeling a bit better now that I know where you guys are, and that my girl's in your hands.” I heard Ginny move away from her fireplace. I stared at the motionless charcoal for a minute and decided the conversation was over. A little abrupt, I thought, but as I shifted to get up the fireplace blazed back to life.

“Sorry about that, Harry,” Ginny said. Her tone was less frantic. “Neville was asking me something.”

“What'd he ask?”

“If you guys were safe. You know, he gets worried like I do when friends disappear.”

I smiled at the compassion, “Tell him thanks for me.”

“Hey,” Ginny started. “Could I come over there?”

“What about your mum and dad?”

“Neville will write a note, or I will, whatever.” I saw the fireplace burn out and then strike back with life. “He's writing the note right now for me. He's such a sweetheart.”

“What about Ron?” I felt inclined to ask the obvious, but at the second, I bordered on “couldn't have cared less”.

“That he's an ass?” she asked rhetorically. “We knew that already.”

I smirked a little, “I meant, what happened after I bolted for Hermione? Did he do or say anything?”

“Harry,” I could tell by her voice Ginny was getting impatient. “Open up your Floo, Neville and I are ready.”

“Fine,” I sighed, rising from my sitting position. I put my hands inside my grey, dry sweat pants and peered down at the fireplace. “Let me go get my wand.”

As I turned the corner of the sofa, it hit me. I pivoted around to the fireplace to see the charcoal still burning. “Ginny.”

“Harry, hurry up I'm getting antsy sitting here.”

“Do you think it would be better if we did all this tomorrow or tomorrow night? I mean, she's been through a lot tonight. Why not let her relax? She was horribly distraught, as she ought to be. I know I am.”

“Harry,” Ginny sighed a little, flames sparking from where the charcoals aligned to form her mouth. “Dear, I love you, but Hermione is feeling extremely vulnerable right now. Leaving her alone right now isn't good. We need to keep her mind off of everything.”

“And, besides,” Ginny ended after a brief pause. “She needs me. I know it. Call it the, `female instinct'.”

Ginny was right. “Hold on.”

I turned around to go back up the flight of stairs to hear Ginny once more say, “Hurry up, slowpoke.”

At the end of the stairs, I tiptoed down the hallway to the door of my room. I stood there a moment, and then lightly tapped on the wood with my knuckle. I waited for an answer. I closed my eyes, hearing the shower running on full blast, and exhaled some pent up air. Slowly, I turned the knob.

“Hermione?” I didn't open the door all the way, just a crack. I leaned into the breach and asked again, “Hermione?”

The shower became louder the further I opened the door. I peeked my head inside to see an empty room. The door to the lavatory was still shut, a white light angled out from the inch or so exposed at the bottom. I noticed Hermione's wet pajamas draped over the desk chair as I slid open a drawer to get my wand. I glanced at them again. For some reason I felt if I touched them or moved them that that would be an infiltration of privacy…or something. But, as with my own wet clothes, I put them in the laundry room to be washed and dried with the rest of whatever was in there.

Before gathering them, I tiptoed over to the lavatory door as careful as I could. I probably looked like a moron. This was Hermione. This was my beloved friend…but, she was more than that. I wanted to treat her with the utmost respect, so I probably pushed it a little in my actions. Everything was very confusing to me, and I felt a little high come over me when I tapped on the door between her and me.

She'd been moving, or doing something, but suddenly stopped.

“Y-Yes?”

“Hey,” I paused and then began again. “Sorry to disturb you.”

“It's fine,” I thought I heard the shower curtain being pulled and her voice became clearer. “Am I taking too long? Sorry I've been in here for—“

“No, no, it's cool. Stay in there as long as you need,” I stuttered some. I closed my eyes. “I was just wondering if you wouldn't mind me taking up your pajamas to wash and dry with the rest? Mine are already down in the laundry room.”

“You don't have to do that, Harry. I'll wash and dry them. Don't be bothered with them.”

“But, I want to.”

“Really, don't bother with them. I'll get it.”

“I'm taking them down there when I leave the room.”

“Always so stubborn.”

I smiled at the way she said that, “Always.”

She paused and I hesitated. Maybe I'd gotten the wrong message? Maybe she meant it another way? Maybe I—

“Thank you,” she called out in her sweet voice, interrupting my newly neurotic personality.

“You're-,” I began, stuttering a tad. “You're welcome. And hey-“

I heard her pause.

“Hey, Ginny wants to come over here,” I stated. “Would that be all right with you? If not, I told her to come tomorrow, or whenever you felt like seeing people.”

Hermione paused again. The shower curtain must have been still open because her voice wasn't muffled. “Yeah…yeah, it's okay with me. Are they coming now?”

“By Floo,” I looked over at Hermione's clothes. “Do you want me to ask her about grabbing some clean clothes for you, or anything else for that matter?”

“Yeah, and uhm…,” Hermione stopped and started. “…and, uhm, some of my female stuff, too, please. That would be great.”

“Yeah, okay,” My eyes went wide at Hermione and her `female stuff'. Not like I was ten years old, just the simple fact that I wasn't speaking to Hermione the little girl, but Hermione the fully-fledged woman. “I'm going back down now. Stay in there as long as you need.”

“Thank you, Harry.” Again, a chilly tingle rode my spine through her sweet voice.

The shower curtain pulled back to its original position. I'd gone back over to the desk chair where her muddy pajamas lay curled over the backside. I picked up first her shirt, and stopped. I wasn't used to picking up…panties, and there were hers laying neatly between her shirt and her pajama bottoms. My photogenic memory instantly flashed a mental picture of them as if my biological, male need willed it so. I was powerless to halt my eyes. The design felt sexier than what I'd picture Hermione wearing. Not that I thought she wore white, and white, and white—but, a black little number with a small white lace trim?

Egads.

I felt like I was gazing at the biggest archeological find in human history. What do you do with it? How do you pick it up? What if I made a mistake? Do I dust it off first? Wait a minute—grow up, Harry! For goodness sakes…I leaned over to retrieve it. The soft material felt silky smooth under my fingertips.

Wow.

I shook my head. Come back to earth, Harry. She's going to come out right now and think you're a pervert, or something. Be an adult, they're just underwear…just a Hell of a lot smoother and softer than anything you've ever touched.

I placed her panties in between the shirt and pants, across my arm, and set off downstairs. My wand was securely in my pocket. I felt it move and jostle as I walked past the den area, holding the fireplace, and went to the laundry to drop off her garments. Seeing hers, there with mine, looked like a mismatch of two worlds, but felt really, really good at the same time.

I crossed back into the den to meet Ginny ring out:

“Finally.”

I pulled my wand out and slid the tip across a section of the brickwork arch above the fireplace. “She needs clothes and some…`female stuff'.”

“Got them,” Ginny made a tiny laugh through her nose. “Like I said, call it the, `female instinct'.”

“Or,” I made marks in the brick as if writing a language only I understood within them. “You can call it, `knowing she'd need some stuff to stay over here'. I'd have happily given her my shirts to wear, but I think my boxers would have swallowed her.”

“She probably wouldn't have cared.”

“She'd need a belt to go with it to keep them up. She would have cared.”

“Quit being naive.”

“What does that mean?”

Ginny sighed, “Nothing, just hurry up, damn.”

“Don't give me anything to hope for,” I said, having made marks throughout the framed fireplace architecture. “She's technically still with Ron. I'm the one who muddied this all up bringing her here.”

“Because we all wanted her to stay with that little git, right?” Ginny breathed. “Besides, get with the program. You two are a freaking cute match. Why she ever went with my brother is beyond me. Believe me, I've asked her.”

I scraped a few more lines into the fireplace when I heard Ginny again, “You know, I could have been over there fifteen minutes ago…but, no…who's the Secret Keeper of Number Twelve again?”

“…Ron.”

“And, why not moi?”

“Because up until now,” I set my wand down back in my pocket and stepped back from the fireplace. I crossed my arms and looked at the messed up face of Ginny. “Shit hadn't hit the fan. Anyway, the Floo is ready. Come on.”

“We're coming, we're coming,” Ginny laughed. “God! Hold your horses!”

I rolled my eyes. Before me sat a normal, typical Victorian-style fireplace. Such a fireplace would be expected in a flat as this; but, not as the architecture stretched wide like an opening mouth. The flaming charcoal ceased and spread out. The tray began to shake as well did the wall surrounding. The small trinkets and pictures I had on the mantle shook, too, the mantle bending out horizontally and vertically at once to accommodate the growing hole.

The three foot gap quadrupled in size. Mere seconds passed, a smoky residue of a greenish hue bellowed out from the hole and out sprang a feminine hand, then an arm, a body and Ginny's head to complete her figure. Neville followed suit behind her, his body appearing in stages from hand to head. Both stepped out from the fireplace, their matching pajamas and robes on. The bottoms of their robes swayed to-and-fro as the fireplace all at once sucked back into place.

Ginny shivered and looked back behind her at Neville, “You'd think, after all the times I was dragged to Diagon Alley by mom, I'd be more used to that. The pulling feeling still gives me the creeps.”

Ginny looked at me standing in front of them and leaped. She switched the bag she held in her hand to her left as her right arm wrapped around my neck. She whispered into my ear, audibly enough for Neville to hear, “I never did tell you thanks for getting her out of there.”

“Yeah, well…,” I looked from Ginny's bouncing red hair beside my cheek to Neville. “What else were you expecting me to do?”

Ginny backed away from me, but kept her eyes locked and smiled, “Exactly what I expected. The hero for the heroine of the story, to live happily, ever after.”

“And, in the process,” I stuck my hands back in my pockets. “Getting shit from Ron? You know it's going to happen.”

“Ron can go to Hell,” Ginny stated bluntly. “He probably feels like he's in one right now, anyway.”

“What?”

Neville wandered over to a nearby armchair and flopped down in it and yawned, “He's probably going to have a black eye in the morning, thanks to her.”

“What?!”

Neville put his hands up, “I didn't do it!” Then, pointed at Ginny who looked smug with herself.

“He got in my way, so I socked him one.”

I backed up and flopped, like Neville had, into the sofa behind me. I pulled my glasses up and ran my hand down the length of my face. “You hit him?”

“I asked him as plain as day to remove himself from my sight. And, when he asked `Well, what are you going to do?',” Ginny mimicked her brother's voice. “Pop! Knocked a little light out of him and said, `What she should have done!'”

Ginny turned on her heel to Neville, “And I hit his big nose, not his eye.”

Neville put his hands up again and looked away, as if to not take part in any of it.

Ginny glanced back at me, “And, if momma wants to gripe at me for smacking him good, I'll be happy to explain the situation in its entirety. Not like I need to, anyway. She hears the crap as much as I do.”

She pointed between her and Neville, “We do.”

“Oh boy…”

Ginny peered up at the ceiling. The water had been running since she got here, too. She pointed up above her, the black canvas bag shifting from one hand to the next. “I'm guessing that's her?”

I nodded, still rubbing my eyes with my fingertips while holding my glasses steady with my other hand. “She's in my room. The door should be unlocked unless she locked it after I went in there.”

Ginny kept her eyes focused above her as if trying to channel something between her and Hermione. I watched her leave Neville and I, swinging the black canvas bag over her right shoulder and traipsing up the first set of stairs and onto the next. I looked over at Neville who, for the first time, resembled the epitome of exhaustion. He yawned, and I caught it, yawning as well.

“They'll be up there all night,” he said, stating the obvious. “I hope you don't mind us staying here, too.”

“Nah,” I shook my head and began to rub my eyes again. I had the onset of another headache. “It's fine. Take the guest bedroom. You know where it is.”

“We can sleep wherever, man,” Neville tried to persuade. “You know that. I didn't mean to intrude.”

“Take the guest bedroom, really,” I said in response, now with both my hands on my face. My palms felt the growing stubble along my cheek and jaw.

“Where are you going to sleep?”

I sighed, “Right where I'm sitting.”

“You sure? I mean—“

“Yeah,” I exhaled some more of that pent up air; this time, for a reason far opposite than the last. “I'm sure.”

***

Have you ever had the feeling, when you're asleep, that you're falling? You fall, and fall, and fall, and you never seem to hit the bottom until you realize—you've fallen off the sofa. That's what woke me up. I heard the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. Whilst pulling myself off the floor, the clock began its chime six consecutive times.

I sucked in some air through my nose and scratched the back of my head. “Six o'clock,” I repeated after the grandfather clock stopped. “Guess I should just start the day…great.”

Just like yesterday, I didn't know what to expect today. One day you're waking up completely in a different world, and within the next twenty-four hours, your world has completely changed. I felt flip-flopped, and older, turned on my head. I fished for my glasses in the dark and found them atop the side table where I put them. I slipped them on and began to run at least a preliminary grocery list of what I had and needed to do today.

For starters, a fire would be nice. The cold, stiff air could catch someone out of breath if they weren't used to it. The flame had died in the fireplace through the night, leaving the atmosphere brittle and icy, especially to my bare feet. Two years ago, I would have easily picked up my wand and cast incendio. Instead, I got down on my knees and did it the Muggle way—how I'd taught myself to do—by bringing the pre-cut logs beside the niche in the wall to the tray, and manually igniting the logs with my hands.

With the fire lit, I began step two. Induced by all the commotion last night, I'd forgotten to turn the washer on for the clothes. That led to the kid-like memory of staring at awe at what I considered Hermione's “work of art.” I laughed at myself, how embarrassing if she would have ever caught my just staring like an imbecile at her under garments. I probably would have died, I kidded, if I found both her panties and her bra…which led to a most interesting image in my mind.

Check one, warmth. Check two, clean and dry clothes for both of us. Check three…crap. My running shoes were where? Upstairs. In what room? Mine, of course. I stepped to the landing at the base of the stairs and looked up, hearing nothing but silence. And who is asleep in my room? Hermione. I thought about it for a moment, there at the first step. My shoes weren't that far into the room. I could just slip quietly inside, grab them, and slip back out just as quiet. Easy.

I needed some time to myself. That was, in essence, why I'd begun running in the first place. I needed to work out everything I'd ever thought of and seen. Picture a dying man, Dumbledore, and witnessing his murder. Tell me that don't play deep with one's mind after a while. So, I jogged every morning to isolate myself, or repress, just a little bit further from once I came. Not that I wanted to forget. Never did I want to forget. But, I'm only human after all; I need a release.

I also thought of Hermione.

I touched the coolness of the doorknob of my room. For a brief second, I thought the knob wouldn't turn. That she'd have locked it. I lock it when I'm sleeping. But, I twisted the circular metal easily and the door slid right in. Slowly, I told myself, no sound. I peeked into the room and saw…dark red hair sprawled all over my pillows. What?

I didn't see Hermione until I was closer to the bed. I tiptoed around the foot, moving toward my shoes but eyeing the scene before me curiously. I felt like a spy, laughing a little in my head; a spy into the curious world of women from the other side of the fence. They were bundled up together within the sheets and thick quilt. Ginny had her arms around Hermione in a constant embrace. Hermione had her head somewhat under Ginny's chin, but tilted up onto the pillow for a small breathing area between Ginny's throat and her face. Most of Hermione was covered in her hair or Ginny's, or the quilt wrapped to her neck. At least she looked peaceful.

Of course, I wasn't really looking at where I was going at the time. I was more inclined at looking at the intimate scene rather than my feet. In this case my leg, as I ran right into my desk chair making the legs scoot across the wooden floor. I grabbed the chair as quickly as I could, to keep it from falling, and bent down to scoop of my shoes when I heard the rustled breathing and moving from the bed.

Damn it.

I glanced over, tiptoeing as quickly back toward the door as I could, but saw Ginny's form move. With her hair in a sleepy tangle, she inhaled and blinked her eyes at me, “Harry?”

I flinched, and whispered, “Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up.”

Ginny inhaled again audibly and yawned, “No, no it's okay…” She looked around, as she leaned up, but stopped halfway. She squinted at me.

“Gosh, what time is it?”

“A little after six,” I replied in a breath.

“Six?!” she whispered in astonishment. “What are you doing up at six o'clock in the morning?”

I raised my shoes in my right hand to show her the pair. I pointed at them, “Forgot them last night to jog this morning.”

“You're crazy,” Ginny shook her head. “Utterly insane. You're the only person I know who would wake up at this bloody hour.”

“Well, I was up,” I slowly approached the bed. Coming to the edge, I bent down a level just low enough to see Hermione on the other side of Ginny. Making a notion toward Hermione with my head, I asked, “How is she?”

“We did our thing last night,” Ginny glanced over at the still-dreaming Hermione curled around her and back at me. “And, I think we're slowly getting somewhere. At least she realizes she can do better. Much better. Better by a mile.”

Instinctively, I moved my hand around Ginny to touch Hermione. I pulled away some of that hair around her gorgeous face and tucked the loose, darkened brunette strands behind her ear. I didn't look at Ginny, keeping my focus intently on the serene features of Hermione, when I said softly, “Wonderful.”

I saw Ginny's stomach sink slightly under her jade night top, and then she exhaled a breath. When I glanced up at her, finally, her gaze and smirk bugged me. As if she knew something I didn't, or at least her pierced lips showcased her not wanting to expose her thoughts.

“What?”

“Would you like to switch places with me?” Ginny said through a thick grin. She began to lift further from the bed when I stopped her.

I shook my head and stood up in my spot, “Don't move her, and you get some sleep, too.”

“I don't think she'd mind the switch.”

“Um…,” I didn't know how to respond. “…Okay?”

Ginny fell back against the pillow. The pillow poofed outward by her slight weight, her crimson coloured hair falling everywhere. She made a tiny laugh and looked at me, “Harry, stay just the way you are—please. You're so freaking cute, and that gets the girl's attention the most. All of them, Mr. Bachelor, especially…”

Ginny pointed over at Hermione, “…That one.”

I just smiled and rolled my eyes.

“And, besides,” Ginny continued in her whisper. “I couldn't switch places with you, anyway. For two reasons.”

“…Which are?”

“One,” Ginny put a protective arm back around Hermione. “Hoes over bros.”

I put my hand over my mouth, and played along as if she were really teaching my something insightful; but, was secretly laughing. She was exaggerating, and smiling, so she was being ridiculous for a reason. I widened my eyes, and said through a stifled laugh, “Oh, okay. The second?”

“And second…” Ginny lingered her gaze at me for a while and then spoke, “She has my arm pretty good. I can't feel it! We're talking pins and needles here.”

I let an audible laugh escape, but caught it back, “Ah, those would be a problem.”

“Exactly,” grinned Ginny. “Glad we're on the same page.”

“Will you and Neville be staying for breakfast?” My internal, weekly list had bolded a stop at the marketplace. I needed fresh eggs and milk even before all of this went down.

“And not give you two some `private time'?” Ginny played shock.

“Come on, Gin…,” I rolled my eyes once more. “I'm being serious.”

“I'm being serious!” she laughed. “Hm…but the moment you two look like you're getting cozy…we're out of here!”

I turned on my heel and began strolling back towards the door, “I'm leaving now, Gin. I'll be back in an hour or so.”

I looked back as I shut the door behind me. I pointed at Hermione, Ginny still eyeing me leave, “Take care of her while I'm gone.”

Ginny put on her best Queen Elizabethan wave as I softly closed shut the door. The last image, looking on through the slowly decreasing vision of my room, was Ginny slipping back through the sheets, under the quilt, and around Hermione.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Bittersweet Symphony by The Verve, especially when writing Harry's wavering “neurosis”}

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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 wanted to see the scenes in Book 4 where Hermione helps Harry throughout the Triwizard Tournament on screen. I guess that's why I've written the scene for the longest time in the majority of my fics. Also, I'd always thought Viktor would continue his love interest for Hermione long after Book 7, that Luna would continue her father's work at The Quibbler, and that Professor McGonagall became Headmistress of Hogwarts. - My favorite part of the chapter is the end.

***

Chapter Three ~ Aftermath

The heat from the rising run gradually evaporated the London morning fog. Taking the long, scenic route, I met up with random patches through the park across the street and onto the sidewalk beyond. The early risers had already begun the day. I passed a newspaper boy who drove by on his bicycle, tossed an elastic-bound paper at a flat's door, and take off to the next. I had to cross a few streets, pushing the button to change the signal, giving me a breathing second.

I'd never run so hard. Then again, I never had so much to think about in a split second. Have you ever had the feeling as if you were going to get sick, but couldn't? Where everything in your core told you that things were going to change? My life was going to change. I knew my life was going to change. The inevitable turned my stomach, gave me butterflies. The butterflies were having a fit, and so was I.

Would I be shallow or egotistical to want her to stay? Maybe persuade her? The up-and-go way I handled the situation…no, it was better that way. I'd take my consequences for it. I was ready. I felt a confrontation with Ron on the horizon. The confrontation today, more than likely, as I'd hope Hermione would give the a-okay to take her things from the Weasley's and move back in with her folks…or, with me.

I tried fighting my bias; but, really, I didn't want to. I wanted her, Hermione, to be in my life and no one else's. She deserved far, far better than Ron—spoken perfectly by Ginny. Could I be that person? Could I be the person who could take care of her as she should be? I was ready for that challenge, and I had an audience cheering me on from the stands. However, all of it, every single bit, felt overwhelming. As I turned into Worthington's General, I felt a little woozy. Even Mr. Worthington could see it in how I acted, coming up to the register and placing the few morning perishables on the counter.

“Good morning, Mr. Worthington,” I greeted the graying, wrinkled elderly man. He sat, just like every time I've been in here, on a rickety stool that looked as if it had seen more days than old Mr. Worthington.

“Well, good morning, Mr. Potter!” he greeted back in his usual jolliness. He took a better look at me as I reached for my wallet. “You don't look so good this morning. What's troubling you, boy?”

He began ringing up the goods. I took out the exact change and held it ready as I said, “Being nineteen.”

Mr. Worthington let out a muffled laugh behind his thick, salt-and-pepper moustache, “You have a long way to go before you start feeling an age, young man. Enjoy life while you can, believe me. Time slips away faster than the ocean tides.”

I handed him the money and took up the paper sack he'd put the majority of the food in. He then handed me a separate one and noted, “Your eggs and bread are in this one.”

“Thank you,” I placed both the sacks between me and my chest. “Have a good day, Mr. Worthington.”

“You too, Mr. Potter.”

Walking back was the preferred way; walking gave me more time to think. As I passed back through the suburbs of northwest London, I thought about the past. I thought about what would have turned out if I would have taken Hermione, courted her, instead of Ron. What if my arms were the ones around her? My lips upon hers? My soul bound to her? Would my life be different? Of course, my life would be different; but, would it be different for the better?

Did Fate somehow keep me back until this time? Did Fate do this on purpose? Was this Fate telling me I had a chance, at least a little, or was this Ginny wrapped around in my head? She had a way of getting into me, that's for sure.

Gosh…everything I'd let go came rushing back. One memory crept happily in my mind and settled itself quite comfortably there. As I sauntered with my goods in hand, I remembered…

“Someone's gunning for me, Hermione,” I said, standing straight with my wand pointed toward a bookcase. We'd been at this all night. The Triwizard Tournament was tomorrow, and I was ill-prepared. My nerves were shot and I'd gone weak in the knees, paranoid.

Hermione sat in a corner sofa, pouring over several large books of spells we'd previously tried and tried, and tried. We tried everything in the book, anything, to have an upper-hand if anyone or anything tried to harm me. She gazed up at me through her curvy bangs. “No one is after you, Harry. I promise. Dumbledore, and McGonagall, and the people from the Ministry are all here. Nothing can get passed. They'll be in the stands.”

Just hearing her try to sooth me dropped my paranoia several notches. I steadied myself, eyed the bookcase, and cleared my throat. “What's next?”

“Try accio again,” she yawned.

I glanced at her, her hand over her mouth, “But, I did this one already.”

“I have a feeling it'll come in handy, that's all,” she yawned again. “Trust me.”

Focusing back on the bookshelf, I raised my wand and recited, “Accio book!”

The bookcase shook for a few second; then, all at once, a novel-sized piece of literature flew out at me. I caught the book when it plopped straight into my arms and laughed, peering down at the upside-down cover, “Yeah, I think I have that one down.”

I was fixing the book, to make it aesthetically pleasing, when I'd noticed the silence. “Hermione?”

I turned toward the crimson and gold sofa, “Hermione?”

I found her sound asleep. Her arm cradled her head while her other nestled against her sweater-clad chest. She'd set aside the books, her lithe figure giving enough birth between the edge and her to place them there without having one fall off. She looked like Gulliver amongst the Lilliputian houses made of stacked magical tomes. I would have taken her up to her room was it not for the blasted charm, specifically put into place to not let us boys go up there.

I glanced up at the clock and noticed the hour hand closing in on the four. We'd been at this since ten, yesterday. I sighed. She was so good to me. I remembered collapsing down beside her and remembered leaning back against the arm of the sofa. I couldn't put myself to wake her, so I relaxed into sleep right there on the floor of the Gryffindor Commons.

The streetlights were out when I got back to my curb. I made sure, as I did every day, to be vigilant to my surroundings. I hadn't been on purpose, the following night, but I didn't want it to become ritual. People who aren't used to people disappearing in front of their eyes do talk, and talk spreads fast in both worlds. I wouldn't want my name to appear on the headlines here anymore than I did over there.

As I slowly approached, I looked both ways, every way, until I knew the coast was clear and plunged into the middle between buildings eleven and thirteen. Sure enough, the door appeared as well did my flat and I entered. I wasn't sure what to expect when I closed the door behind me. I checked a clock on the wall, which we'd previously refurbished when the Order was here those years ago, to see the time.

“Seven fifty-two,” I repeated after a tick of the clock. I switched my bags around and headed into the kitchen to find one beautiful soul sitting at the dining room table.

Hermione had been reading a paper I presumed to be the Daily Prophet as I hadn't quite secured a way to get the London Times here…what with the obvious. She'd been rather involved when I interrupted, eyes secure to the pages and people moving between photographs. Hermione was leaned forward in the chair, her legs curled underneath her rear and her arms crossed at the table's edge. To my interruption, she glanced up and beamed a quiet grin at me as I entered to get to the kitchen counter.

“H-Hey,” She'd also caught me off guard. I would have expected Ginny, or Neville, before her. Not that I wasn't pleasantly surprised, grinning. “Good morning, sunshine.”

Hermione smiled one of those addicting smiles and tucked the hair that had gotten in her face from gazing over the Daily Prophet, “Good morning. Sorry to frighten you like that, I thought I'd—“

“No, no,” I began, setting down my sacks and noticing, from the corner of my eye, Hermione shift right up from her seat. “You didn't frighten me. Pleasantly surprised is more like it.”

Hermione smirked, standing next to me, as she took hold of the smaller sack holding the bread and eggs. I couldn't help but notice she'd changed from her pajamas to a stunning plum-and-black number; the black being one of those small, feminine vests that hug the body just to the rib, and some blue jeans with her Converse's. She peeked into the bag and looked up at me, “Did you want these out here or in the refrigerator?”

She'd already glided to the bread basket to deposit the whole wheat loaf when I replied, “You can leave the eggs out here. I was thinking omelettes and toast.”

“Mm…,” she reached into the sack and carefully placed the egg tray on the counter by the stove. “That does sound good. Like cheese?”

I had the refrigerator open, placing in some fish and vegetables I'd picked up in their orderly spots inside, “I have some ham, or bell pepper, tomato…”

“Hand me something and I'll start cutting.” I heard the drawer to the utensil pull out, the metals clinging together.

I looked over the door of the refrigerator, “I've got it. Go read the newspaper.”

Hermione didn't look at me. She did, however, have that smirk on her face. She laid out a knife and went for my cutting board. After positioning one after the other, I noticed her coming around me and slipping right on aside me in the niche I'd created. She bent down level to me and sized me up with that crazily beautiful smirk of hers.

With her left hand, she reached in and took hold of the bell pepper, tomato, and onion. With her right, she tapped the tip of my nose, “I'm going to help you.”

I flicked the tip of hers playfully, “I have it.”

She placed on a shocked face, her grin widening, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” I nodded.

“Well then…” I heard her put back the vegetables, my eyes still focused on her. That's when it happened. She reached out and grabbed my side closest to her with her fingertips. I jolted up, laughing, feeling her grasp my other side and begin to tickle at once. “We'll just see about that, mister!”

Strength over strength, I slipped around and out of her grasp to wrap around her waist. An eye for an eye, she was just as ticklish if not more, and easier. With a slide of my hands, I'd gripped lightly onto her slender waist and felt the satiny fabric verses the plum-coloured cotton button-up.

I had her from behind. She squirmed in my arms. Hermione the possessed, a giggle-fit erupted from her lithe figure. I had her just where I wanted her. Even when her little pleads would come and go, I continued. For a moment, I didn't remember we were standing in my kitchen. I didn't even remember why I started tickling. Everything just fit for that moment; the tiniest hint of vanilla on her soft skin animated through the air surrounding me, wrapping me in an invisible embrace.

If Ginny hadn't have cleared her throat extremely audibly, I'd have continued until we'd exhausted ourselves probably. When I looked up at Ginny, I had Hermione in my arms, around her middle, standing straight up—caught—with her backside on me. A part of me flashed just as quick as Ginny's smile to not want to stop holding her; but, the reaction hit and I quickly slipped away my arms. Hermione stood there for a moment, looking back at me as if to say something, but glanced toward Ginny.

“Go on,” urged Ginny in a chuckle. “Don't stop what you were doing just because we were strolling on through now.”

Hermione lowered her head a little, shot a glance in my direction and smirked. She backed around and grabbed the vegetables again, walking over to the cutting board. I think I was in a trance. I watched Hermione first, stared at her as she went into the fridge and out again, how she moved, before noticing Ginny again. Ginny's expression, of course, hadn't changed. Neville stood behind her looking confused, having stepped around the corner midway between everything.

“Good morning, Ginny,” I scraped together at last. I bent back into the refrigerator and grabbed the hunk of ham. When I closed the door, I looked back over at her and said casually, “We decided on omelettes and toast this morning.”

I don't know why, but something in my mind told me to give Hermione more than enough room between me and her body as I moved around to grab another knife from the drawer. When I'd gotten back to the hunk of ham, I heard Ginny sigh, “I certainly saw something other than eggs breaking in here.”

I glanced at Ginny again and saw Hermione shoot an askance look at her. I couldn't see what she did, but whatever it was made Ginny's smile widen and Hermione's cheek blush with rose.

“Ginny,” I started. “Could you and Neville hand me the plates and cups over the in the cupboard? You guys know where they are.”

Halfway through slicing the ham a quarter-inch thick, I found Ginny in between Hermione and me. She looked from her, to me, and back again. She smiled, and winked in my direction whilst leaning over the stove to flick the burner on `high'. “We're not staying,” she placed a hand on my back. “We have other arrangements scheduled.”

“We did?” asked Neville from the doorway. “When did we—“

“YES…,” Ginny said aloud, wandering back over to Neville. She grabbed his shirt and began tugging him toward the exit. “We did…remember?”

“Uhm…,” Neville looked back at me and shrugged. “I guess?”

I noticed Hermione had stopped chopping up the vegetables, as I did with the ham. Our eyes followed Ginny pull Neville from the doorway and out of sight. My ears followed their footsteps to the main door. I found myself rooted to the stop, watching Hermione swish back to the vegetables and begin again on them. I followed suit, looking as if I was busy as I continued to search for where Ginny and Neville were in the house.

“We'll talk to you guys later, okay?” shouted Ginny from the hallway.

“Okay, see ya!” I said that a little louder than I should, making Hermione laugh while turning the vegetable slices around to further dice them up.

“Have fun, kids,” murmured Neville. I felt heat flicker to my cheeks, embarrassed. I heard the door of the flat open and close, leaving silence behind where Ginny and Neville once stood.

I glanced over at Hermione from the corner of my eye and found her doing the same. We both stifled a laugh, trying heartily to immerse ourselves in the monotony of our cutting pursuit. Quietness lingered after a while, just the sound of our knives hitting the cutting board, and the tick of the grandfather clock in the den. I laughed to break the silence. Hermione nearly jumped beside me, turning to see what had happened.

“What?” she smiled.

“Nothing.” I smiled, looking at the cubed ham before me.

“You know, I was just thinking…,” Hermione began.

I tilted my head around to see her looking around below her, “Yes?”

“Weren't your pots and pans down here?” She pointed just below her near the oven.

“Yeah, that's where they are.”

“Gotcha,” she lowered herself into a squat and opened the sliding drawer beneath the oven to procure a medium-large wok-type pan. When she stood up, placing the pan on the burner, she slipped on beside me. She looked at my hands, the knife cutting into the meat, and breathed, “…I was just thinking that I hadn't done any of this in a while.”

I looked at her and immediately her eyes found me. “What hadn't you done in a while?”

“Cook,” she slid her hands into her back jean pockets. “Like this.”

“Ah, yeah,” I nodded. The Weasley's were very, very magic-oriented in every way. “Sorry about all the manual labor.”

“I didn't say I didn't like it,” she gently bumped me with her hip. I grinned. “Besides…it's refreshing, and it reminds me of home. Waking up with my mom, or dad, and cooking right there with them side-by-side, just like this.”

“The Dursley's didn't allow me to do magic, which you know all about,” I set the knife down and reached for a few eggs. “So, moving back into doing things without magic I'd guess was smoother in a way…I mean, if I'd had lived with the Weasley's—“

“Here,” Hermione reached for one of the eggs in my hand. I let her slide it out carefully and begin to break it against the pan behind the one I'd already broken. “Let me help.”

She broke the yoke and all into the pan and let it sizzle right next to mine. “…and, yeah…I got sort of used to it, I guess.” She laughed a little, looking up at me. “Got pretty gluttonous, I suppose.”

“I'd have gotten used to it, too. No big deal.” I smiled at her. I let my hand slip to the upper arch of her back and rubbed it a little. I saw her close her eyes in a blink and re-open them. “I'm glad the atmosphere reminds you of home. It's pleasing. Step to the right one step…”

She did so, allowing me to take the spatula off its hook on the wall and turn down the heat on the burner. I dropped a few more eggs into the pan and motioned for her to toss in the vegetables. She slipped back out her hands from her pockets, picked up the cutting board and knife and assembled her mixture with the ham. We synchronized our stuffs when it hit me.

“We forgot something.”

“The cheese! Little bugger…” Hermione danced on behind me and back to the fridge. She bent inside and called out, “Cheddar, Monterey…Blue Cheese?”

“You're call. Whichever you want, I'm good with,” I stirred the egg with the meats and veggies, turning the burner down some more in the process. “Could you grab the—“

“Butter?” she was already back around to my right side.

I smiled, “Yes, and thank you.”

She handed me the cheddar at which I broke of a piece to put into the mix. “You're quite welcome,” she added.

She left me to meander over to the bread basket. I couldn't help but watch her walk, move; it brought me back to those days after she stayed in my mind. I couldn't believe something so angelic could sustain what Fate had dealt me. My life had been rough, but this magnificent woman always stuck right by me. In this light, I just could not believe such a fragile creature as her could come out of it. I guess, in a way, I'm glad I hadn't exactly thought of her as the fragile flower I see her now…for I'd have fought her to stay far, far away from the war against Voldemort.

Hermione came back to me and noticed my stare. She slowed down her motion, placing two slices of bread into the toaster, and gazed right back, “What?”

I had to think of something fast. I didn't know if saying, `I was just comparing you to a fragile flower' would cut it. Instead, I said, moving my hand to her hair, “You've got a little piece of something in your hair.”

I pretended to take it out; although, nothing was ever there.

“Oh…”

I turned back to the pan. I was glad she couldn't read minds for mine, right now, repeated the word `moron' several thousand times. I was so involved in assessing the damage when I felt something, startling me just a tad, when I realized the feeling was a waft of hair grazing my exposed arm. I felt a slight weight on my shoulder, and then felt arms around my chest enough she didn't disrupt my ability to cook. I found her head inclined on my shoulder and heard her sigh.

I closed my eyes a little, just taking the warm feeling in before I spoke. “Something wrong?”

I felt her hair first, and then her head shake. “No, not at all. Not at all.”

I reached up with my free hand and rubbed the smooth arm of Hermione. She moved again, her hair escaping from my arm, leaving a gentle waft of cool air in its wake. I turned to see nothing but the top of her head, her forehead against my shoulder and what I thought to believe the tip of her nose just touching.

“You're so good to me, Harry…”

I gulped. I didn't know what to say or how to act. I literally stopped my continuous flipping motion of the omelette and let my other hand hold stationary on her arm.

Hermione inhaled, and then sighed, “…Why are you so good to me?”

Because I love you.

“…Because you're my best friend,” I stated softly. My heart wrenched when my brain picked the safe-route. I didn't want to screw anything up, especially with…us.

Hermione stood in silence. The pop and sizzle of the egg was all that I could hear. I grew tired of the nothingness, and was about to say something—anything—when I felt her rub her forehead along my shoulder and say almost disappointingly, “…best friend.”

***

Not one time during our breakfast did the noticeable elephant get talked about, I guess he either shrunk or left the room while we had a big laugh in reminiscing. We talk about the days of Hogwarts in length. The first time we walked through the doors. The first time at Hogsmeade, and the subsequent delinquencies there that had us in front of McGonagall. How complete children we were, running around oblivious, without heartache or regret. The sun seemed to always shine.

We talked of our friends and where they were, or where we thought they were. Seamus had followed his father's footsteps; a Muggle, too, in metal construction and odd jobs around London. Lee Jordan went onto bigger and better things after Potterwatch, now a radio correspondent for the Daily Prophet's new rival: The Quibbler. Luna, also, fell into working for The Quibbler like her deceased father. She's become the main editor, oddly enough, and always throws in her unusual twists on current events.

Hermione wrote to McGonagall, now the Headmistress of Hogwarts. She kept up with the professor and, especially, the new classes they were teaching after rebuilding from the War. She also continued to write Viktor Krum, who went on from Durmstrang's leading Seeker to become the Bulgarian's official Seeker. He'd written her several times, she said, asking her to come and visit him in Bulgaria.

“He even wrote numerous times that he'd fund the complete trip, get me special event seats for their matches, and even Box seats for the World Cup soon,” Hermione shook her head. “I know he likes me, but I don't want to lead him on. I decline his invites…I hope that doesn't hurt him. He's a good friend.”

I smirked, seeing the image of Viktor following Hermione around like a puppy our fourth year. He hadn't changed.

As we washed the dishes—Hermione worked her way into taking over drying them after I asked her not to—I finally had to let out the elephant. I needed to know a course to take. My mind was buzzing, and I think in moment of our conversation I went a bit crazy after analyzing and analyzing what should and could be done. Of course, it didn't help that it was never discussed. Not that I wanted to bring up Ron—I didn't at all—but I need to know.

When Hermione had gotten done telling me about a new bookstore that she heard opened in Diagon Alley, I thought this was as good of a time as any other. I began to speak casually:

“So…what's on the agenda for today?”

Hermione had been drying one of the larger plates, turning it clockwise in her hand and pinching the glass-like material with the cloth. She halted for a second, gazing at the plate, and gradually lifted it to the spot in the cupboard.

I stopped as well, the dish in my hand dripping soap suds back into the frothy pool of warm water below. Sighing, I glanced to her and back at the faucet. I flipped the nozzle to wash away the lines and handed the plate unhurriedly to Hermione. My hand stayed in mid-air for the longest time. Hermione, her hands clenching the edge of the counter, just stood there without a word.

“Hey…,” I put the plate down on the counter and wiped my hands on a paper towel. Tossing the wet paper behind me to the bin, I slid my hand onto Hermione's shoulder. “Whatever you do, anything at all, I'll be right there with you. One hundred percent. No questions asked.”

She didn't say a word. I began to think she'd struck rigor mortis. My hand went from her shoulder, to her left hand. Her face instantly went to me in response and I could tell emotions were building behind her stoic facade.

“Better yet…,” I tried to calm her. “…I should ask if you even want to…leave…You know you can stay here with me for as long as you want. Never think I'd ever throw you out, or put you in a situation where you'd be alone or hurt. Never going to happen.”

Moving her head back, she faced the kitchen wall again and stood as still as a statue.

“Hermione…,” everything about the sudden change in her atmosphere hurt me. My heart tore at her clearly lacerated soul. Between her head and her heart…I couldn't even understand what she was going through. If I could, I'd have taken all the pain she felt away and given it to me instead.

I twisted towards her, making her look back at me. I slipped my arms around her and pulled her away from her attachment, away from the counter. Her muscles were stiff, and she blinked rapidly, trying to hold back tears. All I could do in the moment is what I did. I held her. I held her close.

I could feel her trying to sustain from the feeling. I could feel her repress the urge to break. Her chest heaved at random against my own, and she finally hid her face within me. Gliding upward, I laid a gentle kiss atop her head before stroking her hair—anything I could think of to soothe her.

That's when I heard her, and it startled me. After so many minutes of silence, the crackle of her voice in restraint from falling rang out quietly into my chest:

“…will you go there with me?”

“Absolutely,” I stated firmly, my hand cradling her head. “Or I could go there and get your things and bring them back here, or maybe to your folks if that's what you want.”

“…could I stay here?” her words muffled against the fabric of my shirt. “At least for a little while longer?”

“You can stay here and leave here at any time you want,” continuously, I sifted my fingers through her hair like a comb. “No questions asked.”

I felt the warmth of her breath filter right through the cotton, and onto my chest. The sudden waft brought goosebumps and a chill up my spine. She said something that I couldn't quite make out, rubbing her nose, the front of her face, into my left pectoral. She exhaled warmly again and shifted in my arms.

“What was that?” I asked curiously.

Hermione pushed away from me and stood straight, erect. She placed her arms around my neck, her hands having been on my arms, and balanced some on her tiptoes. I didn't know what to expect, those large, cinnamon-brown doe eyes staring straight into me. I smiled, confused, trying to make sense of her intent stare when she acted. She went to my left side and lightly peck-kissed my cheek.

Electricity coursed up and down my body, pin-pointing various regions from head to toe and leaving the hair standing. I let my eyes close, and when I went to re-open them, felt her nestled between her arm and my throat. The heaving had subsided considerably, her body relaxed.

***

I'll try and spell out what came first: the chicken or the egg. From the beginning to the end, it all was a blur. From the moment we stepped onto the Weasley's soil, apparating, to the moment we stepped back onto the small walkway to my flat came and went like one big woosh of wind.

The first problem began soon after we'd exited my room there. I had the least to carry out and thought it best to go ahead and grab my minimal belongings I had left. I set them at the base of the stairs, ready to go, and sent Hermione and Ginny up to get her stuff. That's when Neville came rushing in from the front of the house to tell me Ron had gotten back.

“But, I thought you guys said he wouldn't be back until later on tonight?” I protested, heading up the stairs two at a time. Neville was behind me in pursuit. “I thought you said he was working with George at the shop?”

“Beats me why he's here,” I rounded the corner and picked up my pace into Hermione's bedroom. Hermione was on her knees, folding some clothes, and Ginny was on the other side of the room placing things on hangers and setting them on the bed. They both flicked their heads back on our fast approach through the doorway. Neville continued, “I noticed the clock downstairs point Ron from work to home, and heard the apparation snap outside. His is pretty loud, so I'm almost certain that's him.”

“You didn't see him in the yard?”

“What are you guys talking about?” asked Ginny, halting her once-over of one of Hermione's various shirts on a hanger. “Ron's here?”

“Yeah, hun,” answered Neville. “At least the clock said so.”

“The clock never lies,” Ginny set down the shirt on top of a pile of them. She started hastily zipping up an opened suitcase. “Damn George letting him off so early. We should have had hours before he was due home.”

My eyes locked onto Hermione who sat on the floor with the folded clothes in her lap. Her focus was intent back to me, and jumped some when the front door slammed. Molly was outside tending her garden. She probably told Ron who was here, and Ron made one and one fit together. He probably saw the luggage at the bottom of the stairs now.

Plodding footsteps started up to us.

“I'll deal with him,” Ginny said starkly. She stomped on by me and thrust the hanged shirt into my hands. She yanked Neville with her.

As she left with Neville, she closed shut the door behind. My focus went from Ginny's disappearing form to Hermione. Hermione pulled herself off the floor, using the dresser as a crux, and glided across the room to the bed. I followed right to her and stood next to her, placing the shirts in the pile and hooking my finger around the metal.

“Is this all of it?”

“I just need to grab a few more things from the bathroom and put them in there,” she pointed out a smaller, black leather case overflowing with hygiene products.

I couldn't make out which way the footsteps were going now. Sometimes they went up, sometimes they went down. I heard muted rumblings of a loud discussion below, but couldn't make out here nor there of what was being said. All I knew was the increase in volume from both parties.

“Hurry up in there,” I called out to Hermione with urgency. “We still need to get out passed the gate to leave.”

“I'm coming, I'm coming…,” repeated Hermione, scuffled back across the rug with a few slim boxes amongst her fingertips. She pushed them into the leather case.

I grasped the heavier pieces, throwing one over my shoulder and carrying two more medium-sized, but heavy, satchels in my other hand. I glanced back, making my way to the door, to see her take up the rest in her hands and hastily follow behind me. I took a deep breath and paused. I reached for the doorknob and turned, “Ready?”

“Ready as ever.”

“If he says anything or starts in on you, ignore him and keep going. I'll take care of it,” I opened the door and a flood of yelling, and screaming, ejected from the fresh gap. I nodded forward, “Stay in front of me so I can see you and keep walking. Neville's down there to pick up your other things.”

Hermione shook her head and slipped by me and into the small hallway. The hallway would have been bigger, save for a wardrobe and a half of Hermione's personal belongings decreasing the width. I heard Ron's voice as clear as day shout something nasty at Ginny.

“Get out of my way you blooming munter!”

“Who the Hell are you calling a `munter', you grotty ass!”

“Ronald,” I heard Neville boom. “Don't call my fiance names! I don't care if she's your sister.”

“You're so bloody gormless, Ron,” laughed Ginny in a screechy tone. “I don't see how you can even pick up a lass, let alone have one touch you!”

“Both of you's can go to Hell!”

Hermione and I had made it to the inevitable turn. One more step and we were at the base. She looked back at me, and I could see her emotions evolving. I stepped up behind her and urged her on with a, “Don't look, just go. Make it out the door. I'm right behind you.”

I think she tried to smile, but came out poker-faced and straight. I noticed her feet move quicker, a jaunt by the corner, ducking though we were in plain view of the scene and its players. Neville had the rest of Hermione's bags when he saw Hermione push around the other side, heading towards the dining area. He scooted on off in front of her, like a motorcade, with me at her rear.

“Come on, Gin,” ushered Neville.

Ginny screamed, “Harry!”

I flipped around to see Ron coming up fast. I didn't know how to react. I dropped Hermione's things around me and saw Ron push me back. I stumbled into the wall, and as if in slow-motion, twisted back around to see Ron's fist. My head jerked to the side, the entire weight, knuckle and all, ramming into my jaw. A faint irony taste developed within my mouth soon afterwards.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?!” shouted Ron. I saw his fist came back at me, his body holding me up against the wall. In reflex, I grabbed Ron and tackled him backward.

Hermione screamed, “Stop it!”

“Neville!!” yelled Ginny. The sound of several heavy weights dropped in the room all at once.

Ron was heavier than me, bigger with fat, but I made up for it with lean muscle. The force of my tackle tripped Ron up. Our bodies tangled up in the Weasley's sofa and down we went into the coffee table. A crack, and then a slam onto the floor. The table went down, its legs snapping in half underneath us.

I was never really the violent type. But everything, seeing everything, hearing Ron verbally bully Hermione, berate her genius and beauty...I had my arm raised in the before I knew it and my fist collided with Ron's face. Someone grabbed me from behind and yanked me away. It had to have been Neville, as I tried to see, but saw Ron leap back as soon as I was off. He jumped into the air and came crashing down on me and Neville.

I rolled to the floor and caught myself. I went to turn over, to get up, but felt the strike against my face again. My glasses flew off and broke, the glass shattering on the wood under me. I couldn't see, the world becoming blurry. I had my body turned around, disoriented, when I saw the red-headed blur in my vision and the weight of him on me. He came crashing back down and knocked my head to the side.

“Stop it, please!” Hermione shrieked. I heard her crying somewhere near me. “Stop it!!!”

I heard Molly's voice enter into the picture. I couldn't make heads or tails from where, but I could taste the blood and the pain in my head.

“Oh, in Heaven's name! What the Hell is going on here?!?!”

I felt Ron's weight come off me in a hurry, and heard Neville shout, “Get off him, asshole!” I thought I saw Neville's shape pulling Ron back and toss him to the floor. I heard Ron thud when he hit the wooden ground.

***

I inhaled sharply. We were back at Number Twelve. Home. Neville had helped pick me up off the floor after Molly ordered us to leave. Consequence. She had Ron by the ear, too, and ordered him to his room. I could walk fine, a few stumbles here and there, but Neville held me at his shoulder. He picked up a few pieces of luggage, as well as Ginny, and assisted us passed the gate. Hermione side-apparated us both here.

Now, I lay sprawled across the sofa in the den. Hermione sat in front of me on the floor and was having fun torturing me. She found the first-aid kit and dabbed hydrogen peroxide on my cuts and bruises. Each time an open sore was touched by the lightly damp cotton ball, I winced. Hermione would make a face when I did. She'd blow cool air on the spot, alleviating much of the prickly-pain the peroxide left.

“Just one more…,” I felt her dab at a spot above my right brow. I clenched my teeth and grimaced. Quickly, she blew her lovely, cool air, “I'm sorry…”

I had my eyes closed. My right arm was behind my head, my hand languid. My left arm at my side, my long-sleeved T contorted to the pull. I felt the chilly room atmosphere against the small exposed portion of my abdomen. But, I didn't care. I sighed, feeling Hermione fidget.

My eyes lingered open a smidgen to see what she was doing. All I could see in my motionless state was her plum shirt and black vest. She was so close to me, that now I could identify that the vest wasn't strictly black, but had small pin-stripes of grey. I smelled her vanilla scent and shut my eyes again, feeling her soft fingers examine the brow.

“…Are you sure we shouldn't go to the hospital?” I heard something tear. She'd been putting tiny splint band-aids over the cuts, and knew this was just the same. “I don't want these to scar your face…”

“No, I'll be fine,” I breathed. Hermione applied the band-aid, my skin tightening up where she laid the adhesive. “Where'd Ginny and Neville put your things?”

I heard Hermione crumple up the wrapper and sit back down on her knees, “Everything's in the guest bedroom. I'm not going to take over your home.”

I blinked my eyes open for a brief second to see her, “You know you could have my bed if you want. It's bigger, more room.” I smiled.

I could feel the ripening of my brow as it began to swell. I shut my eyes again, but not before seeing Hermione smile, and her move back up. I felt her hand on my arm, and then on my side, “Don't move too much,” she stroked my hair from front to back. “Rest. You've done more than enough for me.”

I inhaled more of her vanilla aroma, Hermione around me. I felt her against me and had to glance to see her positioning along the sofa, perpendicular to my form. She gently laid some of her weight on me, part of her chest on my own. I went to readjust and her stroking of my hair stopped.

“Am I hurting you?”

I shook my head and grinned, “Nope.” I closed my eyes. “Just moving around a little.”

I felt her move in. The warmth of her aura toward me, and then that strong sweet vanilla made me inhale, take it in. The softness of her lips caressed my forehead where a bruise had appeared. She went on to the side of my nose, my cheek in several places, and then under my jaw. I tilted my head up as she caressed my jaw line twice, and scooted up to my brow, her fingers lazily wrapped in tufts of my hair.

I had to grin. She was kissing my boo-boo's and making them feel hundreds of times better.

“…Feel better?” How she said it, I knew she was grinning too.

“Very much…”

“What about…,” she traced the pad of her fingertip across my bottom lip where it had been split. Her slowness made me tingle. “Here?”

“That hurts the most.”

She chuckled lightly.

With my eyes closed, I picked up those extra-sensory sensations. The touch, her silky, smooth lips were just the perfect wetness and temperature when she placed them on mine. She tasted so sweet; a ripe peach, enticing my lips to move to her accord. She released in her brevity of the kiss, leaving me momentarily stunned by how warm her mouth was, and now isolated, how cold my lips were without hers. She kissed the side of my mouth. She kissed the top lip, and then the bottom where the majority of the split occurred. She kissed my cheek, my cheek bone, and then my forehead before lifting away.

I knew she felt my chest rise and fall. How my breathing became slightly rapid, and my heartbeat, too, while she caressed my lacerations. I had to look at her, and I did. She smiled at me, and said, “How was that? Better?”

Right then and there, I could have been shot and near-death. Nothing hurt. Not one bit of me felt pain. In fact, quite the opposite. I pushed myself to her, in the small breadth of space between us, and found her lips again. I caught her off-guard, happily, as she smiled into my response.

I fell back to the sofa, having kissed her, for better or worse. The conversation with myself this morning came back to me. Everything was changing, and these were the steps. Hermione blinked, her eyes wide and with a smirk. All I could do was watch her, see how she reacted as I was once again…paranoid, neurotic. She wanted me to kiss her, or at least…I thought so. I was overcome with joy quickly when I saw her lower her head, her forehead touching my chin lightly, and felt warm breath escape her lips and wash against my throat.

***

Hermione. Is. Limber. She had her legs bent and curled in a way which resembled a contortionist, or a cat. I stared at her from the corner of my eye, to my right, when she stuck her hand back into the potato chip bowl between us and crunched down on another Lays. She had her Nintendo 64 controller secured in her hand. I don't think a hair could slip between her skin and the plastic of the remote.

She lounged in an Army-type get-up. Her little body in these two-times-too-large cargo pants. They were camouflaged with black, grey, and white splotches along her legs. A black belt had to hold the pants up as they could easily have slipped…not that I'd have complained. From large to small, her lithe figure was showcased in a tank top, just tight enough to reveal her feminine form. My eyes began to linger on that—how she'd grown—when her laughter broke my trance.

“Did you see that!?” she smirked and looked over at me. “That was me!”

“What?” I looked back over at the television, where our go-karts were split screened, to see hers on full throttle and mine spinning out of control. “Wait, what just happened?”

“You slipped on my banana peel!” she laughed, her eyes returning intent to the gaming.

I smirked, “I'll get you…where are you?”

“I'm too far ahead! You can't catch me!”

“Are you sure about that?” Mario, my go-kart driver, picked up one of those first place-seeking shells from the randomizer. I laughed a little. Who might be in first place?

“What was that?!” Princess Peach, her driver, suddenly spun out of control and landed in the water. Peach was stunned as I heard Hermione jiggle her joystick hectically.

“Hahaha…,” I zoomed right on passed her, as well as four others, pushing her to sixth. “Who's in first place now?”

“I knew that was you!” Hermione wiggled toward me and pushed my side. I leaned to my left and wobbled back like a pendulum. “Meanie—you're not supposed to hit girls!”

“Crap!”

“Hehe,” she stifled a giggle. Bowser had shot a red turtle shell causing me to spin out. Peach drove on by. I thought she even waved in spite. “Karma!”

“Rah—I'll get you!” I took my hand off the controller to lightly push on Hermione. She mimicked me, swaying a bit like a pendulum on the sofa. “Just you wait!”

“Noooope!” the victory music rang out. I looked at her screen below and saw Peach dancing in her go-kart. I turned to see Hermione all smug-looking. She smirked and tilted her chin up, “T'is my mad skills.”

I scoffed, “Mad skills…” Smiling, I pushed on her again. She went farther out, this time, even though I'd pushed on her easy and she came back to bump me with her shoulder.

She glanced at the screen, piercing her lips as to not make a laugh, and looked back at me, “Ehh…third place. You'll do better next time.”

Exaggerating a gasp, I continued to take Hermione's cinnamon brown eyes in, “Miss Ego, huh?”

She lightly pounded on her chest with her fist, and did a peace sign with her eyes in a slight squint, “That's how I roll!”

I tried, I really did, to not laugh. I put my lips together and really did try, but failed as I busted out with laughter. “What?! Hahaha…wow. All right, you and your `mad skills'. I am in awe. Such awe. Teach me these skills, Master.”

I playfully bowed before her.

Hermione patted the top of my head, “All in good time, Padawan. All in good time.”

Briskly, midway into a bow, I reached for Hermione's mid-section and caught her in her Jedi role-play. Her controller went down, as well as mine did, and she went backward against the sofa. I followed her, tickling her as she wiggled around laughing. Extremely easy to tickle, I found all her little sweet spots thanks to the grey, ribbed material that stuck nicely to her small waist. I caught her just under her ribs and wouldn't let go.

“Master?!” I watched her body squirm. Her knee bumped into my side as I halfway fell on her. She moved too quickly, I had to act or she'd get out of my tickle-contraption. “Master, what's wrong?! Is this laughing gas?! The enemy!”

“H-H-Harry!” I felt her leg rub against me as her hands grappled around my arms. She wasn't so much trying to push me away; rather, it felt like she was holding me. “Stop! I can't breathe!”

“Mm…,” My fingers frolicked along her petite frame. “I don't know…this could be a trick. Is this secretly a training session, Master?”

Hermione tilted her head back and let out such a giggle-fit that it made me smirk, her dark brunette hair chaotically twirling around the shape of her face and on the smoothness of her neck. She made laughing so damn attractive. I kept it up for a few more seconds, the tiny creature below me fidgeting, and then gradually lessened the onslaught.

Hermione dropped down into the plush of the sofa. Her hair kind of poofed outward against the reclining arm. I leaned my weight on my right arm, which balanced me between her and the backside, and took up her right hand on my arm. I carefully put her palm to my lips and kissed her as she watched on with that smirk.

“Do you know what time it is?”

Hermione went to lean her head back, but met the vision of the sofa arm instead. She looked up at me, “I can't see the clock. Late, I'm guessing.”

“Mhmm,” I let her hand go, watching her slip it to her chest with a lingering stare. “It's like three o'clock-late. Aren't you tired?”

She shook her head the best she could, “Nope. Are you?”

“I'm slowly getting there…”

“You want to play one more game?” she asked, her eyes never leaving me. “Or, do you want to call it a night?”

“You'll win,” I stated, lifting off her with my arms and sitting back in my previous position. I took hold of the controller which dropped to the floor in our tussle.

“Probably,” she replied, fixing her hair and shirt. She twisted around to find the controller lodged in the seat cushion. She looked at me with that smug smirk.

“You…” I grinned at her. “Exploiting my weaknesses…”

“Which ones?” she laughed. I observed her lie back against the sofa. She scooted to me, so her behind touched my thigh, and laid her legs across my lap. She set her controller on her flat abdomen and gazed from the television screen, and then to me.

I cleared my throat, “Right…so…”

She laughed.

I immediately noticed her warmth on me. She was so incredibly warm. A little furnace. My mind got warped in her warmth and left earth for a while; but, eventually I re-focused on the game's menu screen.

I smirked at her, “I'm going to pick that ice race you hate so much.”

She gaped, “Fine—I'll just beat you there, too!”

Four minutes later, my plan…didn't work. Princess Peach crossed the finish line in first place. Mario…well, Mario finished fifth. Of course, Hermione was grinning from ear-to-ear when I met back with her. Her little smug look.

“Thought you could try and tickle my feet halfway through the race, eh?” she laughed, the light in her dark eyes sparkling.

I leaned back against the sofa, placing the controller on my left side. I swiveled my neck to the right to see her staring up at me. I smiled, “Effort for trying?”

“You tried,” she beamed.

I shook my head, smiling, “Mad skills?”

Hermione placed her controller on her stomach, balled a fist, and lightly pounded her chest with puckered lips. She mimicked a rapper-tone, “Mad skills, baby.”

I turned my head to the other side and laughed. My hand went to the place just above her knee when I came back to her eyes. I squeezed her lower thigh gently, grabbed lots of fabric as well, “What am I going to do with you?”

Hermione took the N64 controller from her stomach and leaned down to place it on the floor. When she rose back up, she moved her arms behind her head and shrugged her shoulders. She looked pleased, and in thought. I just wondered if she was thinking around the same things as I was thinking. I smiled at the thought and poked the middle of her tummy with my free hand.

“That was `one more game',” I stated, yawning too.

“Aw…,” she stretched out like a cat across me and yawned too. She picked up her legs and swung them around to the floor. “Yep, that was one.”

I watched her get up and stretch again, her arms pulling over her head. I couldn't help but look when her skin appeared. Her shirt lifted just off of the rim of her camouflaged cargos and her white skin exposed in contrast to the darker hues of her attire. I noticed the starting of her spine, and how it made and indent in her back, as well as how the pants fit her. Her small hips rounded out the top and only really became baggy halfway down her thighs.

Good. Gracious.

Hermione turned to look at me, and reached out her hand. I took it and she helped me up off the sofa with an “Umph!”

“Skilled and strong…,” I mused out loud. I'd gone over to the television and clicked it off, as well as the gaming console. I shifted back to see her. She still stood near the sofa. “I better watch out now.”

“Oh yeah,” she giggled. She put her arm out to flex. “Look at these big guns.”

Her extra-feminine arm barely, if any at all, lifted. I laughed on my way over to her to examine her flex, “Oh yeah,” I nodded my head. I put my hand around her arm's complete circumference. “Definitely need to watch my back.”

She laughed, “All right, mister, I want to see what I have to watch out for.”

I pulled at the sleeve of my shirt to get it farther toward my shoulder. I lifted my right arm at a ninety degree angle and flexed. I wasn't hugely muscular; lean and tone, and easily two and a half times larger than Hermione's. She put her hand to her chin. She squinted, looking as if she were really scrutinizing my arm, and nodded.

“Yeah,” she reached out and gripped my arm. Her hand couldn't hold the circumference as much as she tried. She did become very interested in a line the muscle formed near the bottom of my arm. She traced it with her finger, and she felt extremely good. She took her eyes off my arm and laid them back on me. Nodding exaggeratingly, she said, “Oh yeah, definitely watch your back.”

I rolled my eyes and slipped my arm around the back of her neck. I pulled her to me and began walking towards the staircase. She laughed as I did so, smiling as we went from floor one to floor two. With her arm loosely around my torso, at the landing of the second floor we stopped. The guest bedroom was down the hallway.

I looked past her at the door to her room, and then at her who kept her eyes on me. I slipped my arms from her neck, to her waist, where my hands held her frame. She stepped to me, wrapping her arms around my neck, and embraced me tightly. My hands slid to her back, my fingers finding that indent I found when her shirt came up. Our noses touched, and then her lips met mine for an ever-so-light kiss.

We remained vertical for a while after she kissed me. Her arms were tight around my neck; my hands back on her waist. Gradually, I felt her strength fall, her arms loosen and slide against my skin. She looked up at me, and smiled. Suddenly, I rush of awkwardness settled around me. Like I had absolutely missed something. I know what I wanted to do…but, I couldn't read her mind. All I could do was stare into her; and then, she moved away from me, backing from my grip and starting down the hallway.

“Good night,” her wave lingered in the air. She glanced down at the floor, tucking a bit of her hair behind her ear and moved into the doorway.

Hermione clasped the frame of the door and kept her head out, and part of her body. This was why I was blundering. I was rooted right to my spot, alone, and all I could do was think. Her and I created a connection. Whether that connection had come into fruition back in Hogwarts, or after, maybe through our dozens of letters, or right now at this very second I didn't know. All I knew was me, myself, I found my soul cold. As far away as she went, it felt like a part of me was being strung out like taffy—and I didn't want it to snap.

But, of course, my brain persuaded the safe route:

“Um…,” I scratched the back of my head, glanced at the floor and back at her. She held a half grin. “Good night.”

I blurted the last part out and, frantically, raced up the stairs to my room feeling like an utter fool.

***

I don't remember if the intense cold, settling atmosphere or my door squeaking that woke me up. I remembered my feet were chilled to the bone to the point of hurting, and my hand trying to find another blanket to cover me.

That's when I realized I wasn't alone. The squeaking of the door wasn't my imagination. A faintly shadowed silhouette stood near the door, shutting it to, I supposed. I'd already laid back down when I raised my head. The poor aspect about the situation was I couldn't make heads nor tails, my vision smeared in black splotches. I turned to grab my glasses, hearing footsteps of my intruder.

My glasses on, I shook back around to see a light shine upon the porcelain skin of the delectable sort. The female figure wandered right over to me, her feet gently prodding the chilly wooden floor. I must have been ignorant to not realize the woman walking toward me was Hermione, the only other person in the house. But, the white-glow of her skin made her form ethereal, from a whole other world. A world that made my breathing cease.

The last second, when her knees were level with the bed and she pulled back the sheets, I became greatly aware of how sparse she was in the clothing department. She'd taken off her baggy cargos, and what was obvious because of the contrast became even more obvious afterward. I saw the slight length from hip-to-hip, hidden by her bloomers, and the ivory hue of her legs.

Hermione glided in between the sheets, pushing the rest behind her as she came right to me. I lay there, my elbow supporting my weight, not knowing really how to react. Her emanating heat quelled against me. I looked down to see her bundling up in the incline my body made in the bed. She peered back at me, quilt and all to her neck, her hair in chaos behind her. That's when I observed the twinge, her puffy red eyes—she'd been crying. Words could not express the wave of emotion that struck my core when I saw the angel in tears.

“…Can I sleep here with you?” Hermione whispered. I heard her voice crack, and how she said it nearly sounded like she thought I'd throw her out.

My heart exploded.

I pulled the sheets and all over my shoulder and slipped right along beside her. I placed my arm securely about her body, my frame to hers. She wasn't ever leaving me.

I looked at her in the darkness. All I could follow was the slight light glinting from her eyes as she lay, looking at me, she on the edge of her pillow and me on my edge. Face-to-face. I felt it right to kiss her, my core melting around her. I set my lips lightly on hers; her lips dry. I kissed her cheek, her chin, and her neck before going back to her lips. I held my gaze on her when I released, my head falling back beside hers on the pillow.

“You don't ever have to ask me that again,” I stated firmly, my heart racing on high. I pulled her right to me, giving my warmth to her as much as I could. Her body had been tense, but relaxed in my arms. She lowered her forehead onto my clavicle, her hands alongside my bare chest, the pads of her fingertips gently gripping my skin.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: With many shifts of action, tons - World I Know by Collective Soul, Complicated by Avril Lavigne, Violet Hour by Sea Wolf, Slow Life by Grizzly Bear, and more}

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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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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 read the Potter series before seeing the films. In my head, when I read the part of Hermione I saw Natalie Portman. If I were to cast the part of Hermione outside the Potter series, I believe Natalie would be a great “adult Hermione”. She's so nerdy, independent, humble—aspects that fit well with the Hermione character. I'm not too sure about Harry. If Johnny Depp were younger, he'd be a great possibility.

***

Chapter Five ~ Perfection

I'm going to try and explain something that cannot be explained by in words. Webster's dictionary defines perfection as “freedom from faults and defects”. Another definition proclaims, “an exemplification of supreme excellence,” while another definition of perfection simply says, “an unsurpassable degree of purity”. A year ago I would scoff at the word. These definitions were lies. They weren't present in my life; a foreign entity garnering nothing. Until…until now. Right now. Now.

Hermione has been with me for three weeks. Three weeks. Just three weeks. The best three weeks of my life. At times, I felt as if I'd died. Voldemort had to have killed me. This cannot be reality. Let me paint you a picture of what I mean.

This morning we lay in bed for a while, just the two of us enjoying our sublime gratification. She lay on me, her arms across my clavicle and her chin on her hands. I felt their softness where my shoulder blades met in the front under my chin. She kept her deep, cinnamon brown eyes always on me; a smile on her face. Her mahogany locks were like a veil around me, like another curtain of intimate privacy.

My white, snowy sheets created a canvas of which my Hermione was its centre piece. She was the focal point, her head just out of the comforter, her body making a slight hill atop me in the middle of the mattress. From a nearby window, the morning's beautiful rays of sunshine shown in, making streaks along the eggshell-coloured bed. One of those streaks of pretty light cascaded right over and on top of Hermione's features; her brown, wild hair catching much of the sun. The subtle light produced a glow not only along her hair, but some escaped through, bringing a soft gleam to her silvery cheeks.

I lay haphazardly spread out under her; her body aligned in the centre of mine. I had my arms, much like the random way my body settled, under my head to prop it level with her eyesight. I needed to see my angel. She'd kissed me the moment I awoke, and several times after that. The caresses felt completely innocent, and extremely sexy.

Hermione purred, grinning. I felt her body slip on me, moving up. The sunlight breached across her face, the bridge of her nose grazing me, starting from under my chin and going up and over on my cheek. I closed my eyes and gently inhaled, the inhale subsiding into her lips when she met mine. I had my arms out, placing one on the backside of her head, in her chaotic locks, and cradled her to me. Her natural vanilla scent enveloped me, embracing me like her arms did. I felt her knee slip up my bare side, tracing the line my weight made in the bed.

I had her tilt her head. My mouth peck-kissed a line from her lips, down her chin, and to her throat. With my hands around her waist, I lifted her towards the headboard to further access the sweet spots of her neck. I heard her hesitate in breathing. She'd inhale sharply, sigh, and I'd smile when she would moan softly. I had her ribbed-tank top off her halfway, to her breast, and roamed my hands, my fingertips all along the unclad, tender portions.

She had tufts of my black hair in her hands. In intervals, especially during a sharp breath she'd take, she'd grip. With my face buried in her chest, her arms collapsed around my face, I felt her lips lightly caress lines above my brow. I felt her smell my hair and sigh as we had to tame it down. We'd discussed if we were going too fast nights ago. The only part she asked for me was to wait. I loved her, and with that love I felt for her grow every day, if she wanted to wait for that extra-special moment between us, I was fine by it. Full and utter respect, care, and unconditional adoration for Hermione. Snap my fingers, and it was done.

We had a difficult time taming ourselves. Ironically, she'd have to calm far, far more times than I did. I'd smirk, laugh a little, when she'd become flush.

What is there left to ask for? Perfection. She came down on me, my hands loose for her to move, and placed her chin back around where it originally lay. She laughed at my smug look, having made her have a time resisting. She put her face to my chest, smiling with a bit of pink in her cheeks. She took up the edge of the sheet, and comforter, and yanked it over her head. The unshielded light came across me now that the angel withdrew.

Slowly I lifted the sheet and all with my fingers. Slowly her dark brunette hair dropped forth from its containment. Slowly I found Hermione, her eyes locked onto me with a smirk. She laughed and pulled the sheets away from me and back around her. I hugged my little hill, her tiny body squirming. I felt her kiss my chest and ease out of her spot, breaking through the shell she created to my lips. She kissed me softly, her hands on my shoulders. Her fingers found me and intertwined, lacing them between my laying, limp fingers on my pillow.

***

The following day, a minor bump occurred within our passionate, intimate universe. I'd been washing up dishes in the kitchen after our lunch. Hermione got used to me shooing her away. She didn't need to do this when I was home. I'll take care of this manual stuff. Of course, it was because I loved her, not because she couldn't or that she was a feeble woman. The cliche, “damsel in distress”. We did make an agreement that she'd cook for me, but I wasn't budging from the dishes. And, washing dishes also included drying them. She tried to find a loop hole in my system.

I was in the middle of wiping my hands off on a clean dish rag. A tiny, pitch-black owl flew in the open window above the sink. The wind increased its power, pushing the little creature further in like the curtains. The owl landed right on the tip-tip of the water faucet. Perched there, my eyes went to the oversized letter; or, at least it looked oversized. The contrast between the owl and its massive letter made it seem larger than normal.

The owl flapped its wings and I noticed the emblem wrapped around its claw: the Official Owl Networking Service. The owl had difficulty with the bulk, and I immediately felt bad for it as gravity pulled its head down. I took up the letter, patted the miniature owl on its head, and watched it take off. For a tiny thing it sure did fly: one moment I saw the black dot flap away, and the next, the owl had vanished in the partially clouded sky.

Instantly, I knew who this was from. I didn't have to second guess; though, this was an actual letter. The person who had sent the other howlers had sent this one, too. This wasn't a howler. The red was remarkably “Weasley” in its nature. Wax, it was, had an imprint of “RBW” from his signet ring. I sighed, ran my hands across the dish rag once more and threw it over my shoulder.

From the den, a continual strumming of a guitar echoed off its walls. She'd been singing acoustic with a guitar after we finished eating. I turned the corner of the kitchen so I could see the den just a step down from me. In the corner she sat between three windows. The centre one in a half-hexagon type of seating was just open, letting some of the wind brush her hair while she fingered each string on the guitar propped on her lap.

Hermione's focus was intent on her fingers. With her head lowered toward the guitar, her hair fell to the side. The wind picked up again, pieces of her hair floating in mid-air. She found a liking to my shirts, wearing a white one which became transparent against the sunlight. I could see her arms around the guitar placed along her side. My dress shirt waved in the breeze around her; she hadn't buttoned it, allowing her pearly crop top to be seen. Her skin hue was just a tad darker than the purity of the white surrounding her, glimpses of it exposed at the wind's mercy.

I stood at the entrance to the den. We had to step down to enter, my feet right on the darkly stained, wooden ledge. I wrapped my arms together and tilted my body to the right so it lay on the frame of the entry. My shoulder and the side of my arm touched the coolness of the similar in colour, stained wooden framing.

“Mama, put my guns in the ground…,” her eyes were closed as she nodded her head a little to the beat in her head. Her voice sang out gently across the quiet environment. The only sound was the small breeze slipping in from the window. “…I can't shoot them, anymore.”

Hermione opened her eyes when her fingers stroked a different chord. She noticed me standing there and smiled. She lowered her head to the guitar lying between her legs, the knee farthest from me bent slightly, and sang the soothing descant. “That long black cloud is coming down…”

Her fingers frolicked through the chords, “…I feel like I'm knockin' on Heaven's door.”

She glanced up at me, strumming, and grinned. The light amongst her created a halo about her form. A glow shifted softly along her contours. She shut her eyes briefly before opening them back to me. She tucked some of her falling hair behind her ear. I didn't want to stop her. My little sprite hummed her tune. The windows, alight with the bright sun, made it look as if she wore wings.

Silently, I tiptoed down into the den. Hermione followed me with her eyes, her lithe fingers getting it done amongst the guitar strings. My own private concert. I sat down on the sofa farthest from her and leaned back against the arm. The letter burned in my hand. The Weasley-red insignia made me nervous…at least the entire letter wasn't all red. Howlers…three he sent, two aimed at me, the first one sent at her. He started on her bad when she opened it and I didn't give it time to say one more word. My hand wrapped around that damn thing and tore it to pieces. Not even magic can find a way around the handiwork of a severely pissed person, and his hands.

Hermione tilted her head up, a notion of wanting to know what was on my mind. Her soft strum spilled from her instrument. I held the letter up, insignia out, for her to see. She closed her eyes and laid her fingers on the last three chords. With her eyes still closed, she set her guitar aside for the moment. Her feet landed on the floor in front of her, having been swung over from her relaxed positions under and beside her figure. She sighed whilst her lithe form prodded over to me gently from her seat by the shining windows.

When she sat in front of me, she immediately went Indian-style. Her body was aligned with mine, parallel. She stuck her hand out, her other taking the hair above her forehead and combing it back. She looked beleaguered, irritated. I didn't hand the letter to her right away, keeping it in my hand. She glanced from the off-white envelop to me, and back to the envelope.

“…Are you sure?” I asked, worried she'd get angry, sad, depressed—a pattern in these letters. “I would have just thrown it out, but I made sure.”

Hermione paused, and then sighed again. She repeated her action prior, taking the hair away from her brow and pulling it back to the crown. She looked as if she zoned out for a spell, but came to, “Just give it to me…” the black outline from her liner brought out her eyes as she blinked back-and-forth from the envelope and me. “I've grown numb to his habitual cursing.”

“Hey,” I cried out softly to Hermione. She looked up at me after staring at the envelope. I'd given it to her, amidst removing the wax to reveal the contents. “I love you.”

She made a face, feeling how genuine and heartfelt I was, and leaned across the small breadth between us to lightly kiss my lips. She sat back, the parchment sliding out from the envelope in her hand. The parchment was rather long in length. I could see Ron's handwriting when she'd move the letter further in the sunlight, stretching it out to read everything. I put my hand on her knee. She wore dark blue jean shorts today that didn't make it past mid-thigh. I marveled over everything that mind of hers had in store for herself, and me.

“What's it say?” I said after a while of quietness. She was still reading it, but I'd become antsy. Something fell out from the parchment and into her lap. She went to retrieve it, but stopped to answer my question.

“He…,” Hermione exhaled a breath of pent-up air. “He's asking for my forgiveness. He…”

I began rubbing her leg and scooted up so we were less than an inch away from each other, “…go on.”

“He wants me back. He's pleading…,” she set down the parchment in her lap, continuing to read the last parts. I gazed down to see Ron's chicken-scratch sprawled along the paper in ink. “'…you know I don't mean what I say, muffin, especially when I've had a really rough day at work', he says…and many other things like that…”

“Wow…,” hearing Ron actually say something sensible was shocking. A dramatic change.

Hermione picked up a piece of the Daily Prophet that fell from the letter. I knew it was the Daily Prophet by its extreme yellow discoloration. The piece was folded twice, and when Hermione opened it, she immediately crushed it in her palm. She glanced at me, her facial features somber. She looked as if she were to cry.

She took action quicker than I expected…but, I hadn't expected her to do something like this. The piece of the paper was dropped from her hand and onto the floor away from the sofa. She tilted forward, her knees going to the plush of the cushions. She crawled on me and pushed me gently back into the arm. She wrapped herself around me, straddled my waist tight with her legs, and slid her hands behind my head. She brought her lips to mine and kissed me hard.

I couldn't figure out what was going on. Actually, my brain went dead on account of Hermione's tongue teasing me. I had my hands on her instantaneously, feeling her torso wriggle with her slithering motions against my body. The piece of the Daily Prophet…the letter…something had made her react this way.

Confused, but exhilarated, I let her roam about my face with peck-kisses. Down my neck she went, and to my clavicle where she lingered. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the arm. A brief thought flashed through my mind. I wondered if I could see whatever it was she crumpled up and threw out without doing much thinking. The crushed paper sat on the floor like a used, rotting apple core.

I rolled my head to the side; rather, she led me into the roll with her direction of caress. Just enough, too, as my sight struck the mobile photograph jumping around on the squeezed newsprint. The photograph I recognized right away. My own face looked right back at me. It was taken a day or two after Voldemort's death when the various media swarmed us. People, of course, were thrilled during the occasion. I was too, smiling off into the camera. Us three, the “trio”, together with Neville, Ginny, and Luna. Beside me, however, was Ron's true intention. Hermione was between Ron and I, and happy as happy can be beside the person she was courting at the time. The picture was never-ending, repeating from the point where Hermione would throw her arms around Ron to when she kissed him in the excitement.

I heard Hermione about my neck. She moaned, kissing my cheek, my chin, and then my mouth, “I love you.” The smile on my face spoke everything.

***

I breathed into the gentle breeze. The trees overhead swayed within Mother Earth's sigh. The sunlight hit along the leaves, breaking off a variety of green hues. They sparkled against the purplish sky gradually churning with orange sherbet. The clouds, once white, now mirrored the colours dancing together up above. The sounds of automobiles were far off; only a beep of a horn could be heard every now and then.

I lay in the grass on my elbows. My elbows held my weight as I watched the scene in front of me. A concrete jungle, of sorts, in south London: the Stockwell Skatepark. Hermione wanted to visit the park for the longest time. While we left the confines of Number Twelve, we met up with Ginny and Neville who came with us. Neville sat beside me, Indian-style, and observed the groups of skaters and bikers riding and jumping the loops and barricades. The majority of the patrons held skateboards much like my Hermione.

She and Ginny were trying to get something going. Hermione, in her little white shirt and black baggy pants get-up, drove her skateboard a fraction off a turn and got about an inch or two of air. She looked pleased with herself, an amateur, and I applauded when she came down without falling. Ginny, right behind her in torn dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt, went to mimic Hermione but the nose of the board caught against the cement. She took a few steps off her board from the momentum, her tennis shoes leaving marks on the concrete.

I saw Neville go to get up, his arms clutching the grass. Ginny hadn't fallen down, and with that conclusion, Neville relaxed back on his behind.

“Think we should go help them?” I said, my attention on Hermione and how her shirt was trimmed to showcase her thin physique. The sides on the cotton slid perfectly in shape with the ever-so-slight curve of her torso and down to her hips from her chest. Some of her hair got trapped in the tiny pocket above her chest. Turning around to look at Ginny, she flicked the strand out and had the wind pick it up with the rest of her gorgeous hair flowing behind her. She'd turned her board around and was going back toward Ginny.

“And look like a fool falling down?” Neville snorted. “I might as well be dancing.”

I sighed, seeing Ginny get right back up on her board and skate away with Hermione in lead. Hermione's loosened, ebony tie waved in the air as she picked up speed. The bottom tip fluttered, having been shifted under her arm where it grazed the boundary between her sleeve and her skin. The sleeve had been folded up high on her arm, almost to her shoulder. Hermione glanced back at Ginny. I caught her smile; her pink lips in a large grin. She said something to Ginny, tucked a lock behind her ear and took off. Clearly, they were racing.

“Look at her,” I sighed again. I heard Hermione laughing in a zephyr. The wind softly pushed on me, and I could feel my crow's nest of mess and tangles being combed by nature. I took a deep breath. “Isn't she just the most brilliant and amazing thing you've ever seen?”

“You guy's seem pretty happy,” Neville answered, looking on at Ginny with Hermione. “…Maybe Gin interfering was legitimate.”

“She's absolutely sexy and smart,” My head swiveled slowly to follow her form with Ginny in chase. I gritted my teeth. The curvatures of her body, the way she moved herself, how she knew herself…everything about her made it so very difficult to not run to her and toss her over my shoulder. “Damn, damn, damn!”

Neville just laughed, and then his tone dropped off as if something died. I glanced at him, vigilant to his trailing off. He did like I had done, turning his head to watch Ginny skate on by, but in silence. I kept my eye on him for a moment, but couldn't resist another laugh of Hermione from afar. That's when he finally spoke up:

“Ron asked about her yesterday.”

“He did, did he?”

“He came over to reconcile with Ginny. They've been talking off and on since that day…you know.”

Hermione leaped in the air and grinded her board against a rail a foot or two off the ground. She was only on it a few seconds, landing with a smack on two axils. Ginny tried also, getting a few seconds of air-time on the railing, and fell nearly in the same spot as Hermione. Neville and I clapped for our girls on the sideline.

After a brief pause, I asked, “…So, what did he ask? I've got to hear this.” I didn't take my eyes off my lithe fairy flittering across the manmade landscape.

“If she'd gotten his letters. He hadn't heard back.”

“Oh, yeah, she got them. The howlers included,” I rolled my eyes. “Does he actually expect her to reply? In the first howler he compared her to a whore. Can't really blame her for not writing back.”

Neville made a light chortle in his hand, “I'm no messenger here. You guy's really are great for each other. I haven't seen Hermione smile so much since Hogwarts, and Ginny is just gushing over how good you are to her `girl'. Sometimes it's sickening it's so sweet.”

I grinned and gazed at Hermione as she went to flip the board in the air, but the board landed on its side. She had to stop in her tracks, return the mode of transportation over, and go again. She waved over at me after flipping the board and having it land on its wheels. I waved back. “Neville,” I began.

“What's up?”

“I am in love, man.”

“I've overheard some conversations of Ginny's between her and Hermione, and Harry,” Neville patted my shoulder. “That, my friend, goes both ways. Ginny went into a fit one night and screamed over the phone, `I knew it! I knew you guy's loved each other!' I hear it all the time. You know how vocal Ginny gets when she gets all giddy.”

“She gets quite giddy when she's talking to Gin over the phone, too,” my heart was a-flutter, and I couldn't stop the massive grin from happening on my face. “But, she always quiets down and looks at me with that smirk of hers when I enter the room. They're up to something.”

“They're talking about you, you two,” Neville placed his hands under his chin and propped his elbows on his legs and looked on at the people twirling about on their various wheeled rides. “Watch out, though. The other night I was upstairs and heard Ginny cry out something about a wedding. `When's the wedding?'—or something like that.”

I let my elbows buckle, and I fell back into the soft, green grass. The sky had grown darker, the setting sun in the far horizon glowing a deep, dark red. The clouds had gone completely purple, matching the night creeping across the atmosphere. I closed my eyes with a smile. I breathed in and slowly let it out. I pictured in my mind Hermione, my beautiful, gorgeous woman, walking down the aisle with bouquet in hand. I stood at the front in my tuxedo, grinning from ear to ear, catching the bug from her as she peered on with that knowing smirk of hers. All of our friends watching us, peering at me, when I pulled back her veil and kissed her after saying, “I do”.

***

“All right!…,” Ginny called out in a near-yell. She and Hermione were in the kitchen. Ginny and Neville invited us over following the day at the skatepark to watch a movie and hang out. I was sprawled along one of their sofas while Neville sat on their other across from me and between a table. Hermione had been relaxing on me prior to Ginny making her get up to go in there with her. I didn't want to move a muscle. The concaved shape of Hermione still on me, I wished for her to come right back and be with me like before. I thought I'd jinx it if I fidgeted.

A variety of bowls of all forms and colours sat around the table in front of the television. Anything from candy, like M&M's and those pre-packaged, bite-sized bars to buttered popcorn and cheese puff balls lay within the containers. Butterbeer bottles littered amongst the bowls of junk food as well as Coke-Cola and Mountain Dew liters. Four red and white plastic cups sat around with ice melting away in them from the various beverages inside them.

Neville turned around in his seat, his arms over the back of his sofa. Ginny set a large plate of mini-pigs in blankets in Neville's hands and shook a blender of something red at me. I couldn't quite tell what it was in the light, the flash of the television the only thing illuminating the pitch room. I did see it slosh around and make an icy, cold sound.

“What are you boys talking about in here? Being all quiet and secretive…I want to know!” Ginny sat the blender down on the table. As she did so, Neville reached out and gripped her waist. He pulled her down on him on the sofa and pushed her back against the cushions. Ginny screamed into a laugh.

I looked up to see Hermione making her way towards me, her eyes rolling. She went to sit back down between my legs when Neville said aloud, “We were talking about how you women are always so slow!”

Ginny lightly popped his cheek, “Watch your mouth, young man! You'll get your food whenever we feel like feeding you!”

Hermione slid easily on me. A small portion of the sofa was exposed, my thighs becoming the seating's containment. She scooted backward and laid back, a new plastic cup in her hand. She took a drink, and I immediately smelled strawberry schnapps, a strong alcoholic puff of rum in the air. Her fingertips on the leading edge of the cup rim, she raised it for me and I grasped it firmly.

I glanced over at Neville attacking Ginny with his lips and made a tiny, yet exaggerated, gagging noise, “Let's keep it under PG-13 for the kids, eh?”

“Says the guy who just made out for a good fifteen minutes straight.” Neville laughed and maneuvered back so he was seated again.

Ginny lay still for a moment, but gradually lifted, saying, “Yeah, you hypocrite—I thought I saw tongue, too! Talk about PG-13…If we weren't here, you'd probably go NC-17 or worse!”

I smiled at the television and peered down at Hermione who also smiled. Flashes of white, red, and blue hit her pale skin at the rate of the pulsating tube. A commercial streaked by at an incredible rate…something along the lines of a new way of cracking nuts. I didn't recall, my attention absorbed in Hermione who leaned out to grab a quilt at the end of our sofa. She pulled it over both of us whilst I took a drink of what I noticed had to be a strawberry daiquiri; the shredding, fine ice chunks melting right when they hit my warm tongue, mixing with the sweetness of the fresh, sanguine berry. The alcohol made me make a face, and I lowered the cup back to Hermione who retrieved it.

“And, who are you calling kids? We're all `underage' the last I counted.” Ginny picked up a fresh cup from the stack of them, and then another. She poured the daiquiri into both, keeping one and giving the other to Neville behind her.

“You're the youngest, Gin,” I chuckled, seeing her make a face and stick out her tongue. “Shouldn't you be in bed by now, anyway? It's nearly midnight young lady!” I wagged my finger.

Ginny shook her head and laughed. She leaned back into Neville. They weren't quite as low as Hermione and I, but they relaxed similarly; Neville's back against the armrest farthest from the television. “Harry…you wouldn't want us to go to bed right this second…”

Neville wrapped an arm around Ginny's chest while Ginny grabbed a quilt to put over them. Hermione held the cup up for me to take again after taking another swig. I grabbed it, watching her tilt to the side to grab a pig in a blanket. She blew on the miniature hot dog, cut down the centre and loaded with cheese. The cheese had melted out one side and oozed when she bit down. I grinned at her when she jerked her head to catch it from falling on us. She glanced back at me and grinned, raising the rest to feed me.

Hermione placed the rest of the bite in my mouth, and after I chewed, asked, “And why might that be?”

I heard Ginny make a low giggle and saw her peer up at Neville. He looked down at her, slid in and kissed her mouth. Ginny glanced over at me after their release and said with a grin, “Because you'd hear us from here to Number Twelve.”

Neville burst out laughing, shaking Ginny around as his side began to hurt.

“Aww…,” An image I wanted to get out of my mind of them two entered. I shook my head from side to side and started to play as if I were to about to vomit. I gagged. “TMI!”

Hermione repeated, her nose scrunched up, “TMI. TMI.”

“All right, all right…,” Neville repeated, his hand finding the remote on the table. He put his finger on play and asked, “Are we ready to start this again?” The DVD had been on pause while the girl's went to “go make something” when they really went in the kitchen to talk about us.

“Go!” Ginny urged. She grabbed the remote from Neville's hand and clicked the play button. She set it down and snuggled into Neville.

Hermione did the same. She wiggled around and found her sweet spot. I found mine while the movie played on the screen. Batman was in a car chase with Two-Face. He latched onto the side of a wall and began driving vertical, letting Two-Face and his thug's crash into brick. I heard Ginny laugh from my left ear, but I heard Hermione make a small-pitched moan under her breath. In her feline position, she'd stretched herself out like a cat; her head near my own, lying on my shoulder. She faced the television like I did.

Her shirt lifted from the bottom edge near her waist. My roaming hands under the quilt explored much of her torso, lingering on the softness of her abdomen. I felt her belly button and circled it with my fingers. I found my touch arouse her, making her fidget just a little to let me know she liked my massage.

I couldn't focus on the television any longer. I made her jump, ticklish she was. She laughed some through her nose, but kept her eyes on the screen. My hormones kicked into drive. My hands went farther down, my fingers hooking into the rim of her pants. I heard her take a sharp, but near-silent inhale; my fingers finding her hips and wanting to push on farther. It really took all of me to figure out where my brain went, and Hermione didn't help me at all. She raised her right arm and bent it back behind her head. I felt her hand go to the back of my head and pull me to her waiting lips. I squeezed my thighs together, squeezing her body between them. I slipped my hands around the brim of her pants to touch the beginning slope down to her ass.

I think I jumped ten feet in the air and wet myself, gone completely unaware of my surroundings thanks to Hermione's warm tongue. Ginny startled me, saying really loud and really fast, “What are you guys doing over there?!?!!!”

My heart leapt from my chest and I jerked my head to see where the noise came from. I saw Ginny laughing her head off, and then saw a pillow being heaved over at us. Hermione yanked the quilt over her head and I went to bow down into it. The pillow sailed and hit the top of my head. I grabbed it and tossed it back over the table. Neville swatted it down whilst his girl continued to snicker.

“Those are brand new coverings, you know,” Neville winked. “I'd like to keep them that way for a week or two at least, if you know what I mean.”

I tilted my head back from the quilt and laughed. I slid my arms around Hermione's chest and tightly held her. Her arms mimicked mine around her as she laid them side-by-side above mine. The flat portion of my forearm poked against a few buttons along Hermione's tailored shirt; the matte, black coloured tie still loose around her neck. She relaxed her bare feet against mine, playing footsie in our passionate soiree under the sheet.

“We weren't doing anything,” I felt her hands begin to rub my arms. Two cylinder-shaped mounds moved horizontal, back and forth. Hermione leaned over and I heard her sift through her previous drink of cola to retrieve an ice cube. Maybe she was trying to cool off? I laughed. “Your sheet coverings are safe.”

“My ass you weren't doing anything.” Ginny snickered over at us. “Okay, if you were so involved in the movie, what just happened?”

“…Joker caught the girl?”

“Joker's not in this one…,” Hermione whispered quick and only to me.

Ginny made a laugh her mother could hear all the way over in Devon. She let slip another, “…my ass you weren't messing around,” before she said aloud, “And, you probably didn't hear what I was saying to Neville.”

Hermione made circles with her finger nail along my arm while she exclaimed, “Well, out with it, Gin.”

Ginny audibly sighed and cleared her throat, “…As I was saying…I was telling Neville how much you look like that Natalie Portman girl, `Mione. You know, from the new Star Wars movie that just came out—Queen Amidala.”

“I do not,” Hermione replied. She leaned over and grabbed a handful of M&M's. She placed some in her mouth and lifted her hand to me where I took half for my own taste-buds. “Natalie Portman is gorgeous.”

“You're gorgeous,” I poked Hermione's bare tummy with my free hand. Her shirt was still pulled up to her ribs beneath the quilt. “And, Ginny's right. Especially, the eyes and hair. Your whole face, really.”

“Ginny's always right,” proclaimed Ginny, giving herself a pat on the shoulder. “Aren't I, babe?”

“You do have a certain resemblance to her, Hermione,” Neville nodded along with his lover. “You'd have made a better Amidala, too.”

Hermione smirked and rolled her eyes. She motioned toward the television with her head, a few M&Ms in her mouth, “Well, I think you look like Nicole Kidman right there. With Val Kilmer and everything.”

Ginny's eyes widened and she busted out laughing. She kicked her feet beneath their quilt. “Yeah! Yeah—okay, right. I'm sure!”

“A younger Kidman, Gin, yeah,” Neville shook his head in agreement. “I can see it.”

“Psh. If we were all drunk, maybe. Nicole Kidman is a sex symbol,” Ginny shook her head opposite of Neville, and exaggerated it. “I am no sex symbol.”

“You're pretty damn sexy to me,” stated Neville looking Ginny right in the eyes.

“You're beautiful, Gin,” announced Hermione, wiping her hands together. She'd finished the seven or so M&Ms. “Get over it.”

“You're gorgeous, `Mione,” Ginny retorted. “Get over it.”

“Beautiful,” sang out Hermione, snuggling back into me.

“Gorgeous with a capital `G',” rang out Ginny, feeling for Neville's hand in the flashing lights. “So, shut it before I come over there and smack ya.”

Hermione placed her hand inside her soda cup and fished out another ice cube. Carefully watching Ginny from the corner of her eye, she slid right back to me and nonchalantly threw the frozen block over at Ginny. Ginny became wired, her hands and feet flying through the air, knocking her quilt and all off her. Apparently, Hermione's aim was perfect as Ginny stood up and started sifting through her shirt until the melting ice fell out the bottom. She glared up at Hermione, a flash of a smirk evident by the stroboscopic television light.

“You!” Ginny pointed at Hermione and leaped clear over to us.

Hermione screamed into a giggle and immediately dove into me, drawing the quilt over her fast. It wasn't but a second until I had Hermione and Ginny on me, Ginny trying to extract Hermione from her hiding spot. I looked over at Neville who roared with laughter as I fought to get away, stuck in-between. I eventually slid out from the cat-fight ball, the quilt getting a thrashing each time one of them would hit the other with it. Pillows got involved, and Ginny finally submitted after being bonked.

“White flag! White flag!” Ginny lay on her back where I used to be, waving her hands at Hermione who had raised her pillow for another onslaught.

Neville and I applauded from our perch on the other sofa. Who needed a movie? I laughed, Hermione bowing towards the two of us theatrically. She had settled herself on Ginny, sitting on her, when Ginny grabbed her around the neck and pulled her down. Hermione caught herself on the sofa whilst Ginny gave her a bear hug. She kept her eyes on me, and laughed through her nose. Her face scrunched up when Ginny gave her a long kiss on the cheek.

I ended back where I fled from, lying on the sofa to the right of the television with my personal feline creature draped across my figure. The night grew late, early morning it became. The movie was done and over with. Between the Late Show and the Late Late Show, Hermione turned over and snuggled into me, her head on my chest. I wrapped us back in the quilt, and didn't have to go far to feel the bare skin of her back. I'd been making her purr, stroking her tummy while she relaxed; a wanton need to unbutton the last few buttons of her shirt and find the softness beneath.

I lifted when she wanted to slip her hands around, her arms going between the pillow on the armrest and myself. She had her face, her brunette locks a darkened portiere above my heart, on my shoulder. Without opening her eyes, we caressed each other's lips. The pads of my fingers sunk into her back, and I responded to her kiss with a pleasurable noise of happiness. Thankfully, Ginny was out cold on Neville or I wouldn't have heard the last of it.

When I broke away from her, I left her in a smile. She had her head still, raised, and bit at her bottom lip. I couldn't stand it, needing to feel her lips once more, if only for a brief second. I then followed up by caressing the tip of her nose, between her closed eyelids, and her forehead. I heard her sigh, a prickly chill crawling up my spine by her revelry. She slipped right back against me with that grin. I watched my breathtaking beauty drift silently to sleep.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Most of the fic I had Bob Dylan on loop. Knocking on Heaven's Door became very influential. I think the song is rather sexy in its own right. For the skatepark scene, I went back to The Scientist by Coldplay}

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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: When I write, I let my characters breathe. Usually, I outline ideas vaguely and let the characters fill in to make the story whole. That's what happened with the beach scene. I'd written notes for it prior, but the plot evolved into the bonfire, and then into the conflict. The ending was written right when I thought of it. - Hermione will forever be Hermione Jane in my book. Hermione Jean is her evil twin that entered Books 6 and 7.

***

Chapter Six ~ Enkindle

Is that…? I picked through my hair, one strand at a time, to grasp the infamous…yeah, that's a white hair. I'm nineteen, and I'm getting white hairs—bloody fantastic. I could see it in the headlines, “The Chosen One becomes The Grey One”. Rita would love to get her hands all in that without a doubt. Smear me.

I was bent toward the mirror in the master bedroom lavatory. I'd just gotten out of the shower. Even though I dried off, the crimson towel wrapped around my lower body, the condensation of the steam from the heat of the water clung, creating droplets of water on my upper portions. The reddened hue of the towel really offset my skin tone. My skin wasn't tan—far beyond it, honestly. But, because of my past, I was more tan than any other British people I knew. Definitely darker skin than Hermione, Ginny, Neville, and the rest of the Weasley family. What else could be the consequence after frolicking around the countryside for a year or so?

Compared to the other males I knew, Neville and…Ron, I was also more muscular. Not that I had some sort of workout routine, besides my jogging. I didn't lift weights, nothing really strenuous. I did get in some push-ups and sit-ups, chin lifts here and there. Really I did these just to get stuff out of my system than to have an influence on my physique; but, even without it, without a shirt on I was rather firm. I ran my hand down the black hairs of my chest, and down my abdomen where faint lines of a six-pack revealed themselves. My arms weren't huge, either. I could see each set of muscle, like hills, sloping from my shoulder to the bicep, one after the other to my forearm. I was rather happy, and Hermione was thrilled whenever I had my shirt off.

Reaching over to leave the bathroom, I was half-expecting Hermione to have slipped under the covers. Eleven-ish, it was, not that we had a specific sleeping time. We just woke up earlier today. I was tired. When I treaded the floor of my room, I glanced over to see my bed still made perfectly by the hands of my lover; the same as it had been left when she made it this morning.

She has to be somewhere in the house. I shrugged the absence off and gripped the handles on my dresser drawer. The wood clanked against the frame as I sifted, pulling the drawer out to get a clean pair of boxers when I heard it: a scream. Or, what I thought was a scream from below. A female scream—Hermione screaming. That's all it took.

I don't think I breathed between my room and the stairs, taking one giant leap down three or four at a time. I heard her yelling. It came from the den within the living space. As I drew near, I caught words and the sound of something squeaking—springs. I heard what I thought was someone falling, a loud thump of weight hitting the wooden floor. I reached the corner at the base of the stairs, and all at once, the collection of sound hit me. The squeal of her guitar bounced off the wall and into my ear. She wasn't yelling to yell, but singing—quite loudly—lyrics.

“I don't give a damn `bout my reputation!” A vividly white body hopped up and down on the sofa, its springs just a squeaking with each landing of her slight mass. Her guitar strap held the black and white instrument against her form. Red stickers in the outline of hearts were plastered all over the edges at random.

Her brown, darkened locks flew upward when she'd jump vertical and fall along her back and shoulders in chaos. Strings connected to her ears from a CD player hooked to the base of the guitar strap. The lines of her earpieces shifted with her vertical height, landing against a red-and-black, thinly striped spaghetti-strap top. The pearl hue of her legs opposed the pitch-black cloth of her underwear secured to her hips. She had her eyes closed, her signature black eyeliner painted on the smooth skin surrounding the lids. “I've never been afraid of any deviation!”

Crossing my arms, I stood and watched my oblivious Hermione's intimate performance. She started hopping around in circles, in one spot, making the cushion buckle against the other. Her foot almost got caught between them, and she hopped over to the next, belting out her song.

“And, I don't really care if you think I'm strange!” Hermione's voice caught this sexy, rough tone. I smirked. Her voice drove me wild. I leaned against the side of the den's entrance and waited for her to notice me there. “I ain't gonna change!”

Her knees were bent inward as her bare feet tried to grip the soft sofa while she danced on them. She tilted her head back and forth real quick, her hair going all over the place, “I'm never gonna care about my bad reputation! Oh no, no, no…!”

“Not me, me, me…!” She screamed out, her hot, little body twisting on toward me. She blinked open her eyes for a second, and I knew she saw me. She was about to pick up on another verse when she stopped and put her hand over her chest, her eyes going wide. Startled, she hesitated and stumbled back in her footing. I laughed, watching her look down to flip the volume from her speakers down.

“You scared the Hell out of me!”

“Sorry,” I still laughed, shaking my head with the smirk. “I didn't want to stop you. I wanted to watch your little performance. Who was that?”

Her lips carved into a smug smirk, eyeing me. Her body stood head-and-shoulders above mine from her perch on the sofa. She put her hands on her guitar strap and began to alleviate the weight, “Joan Jett…say something next time!”

“And spoil it for me?” I smiled, still leaned into the archway with my arms crossed. “Mm…I quite like to watch you. Besides, I thought you were hurt or something and I came rushing down here.”

Hermione looked me over and grinned. I knew she was thinking something. It's not hard to see Hermione in the process of thought, especially having known her pretty much her entire life. Her nuances, how she tilted her head to the side and observed me like her specimen. I knew something was working in that beautiful mind.

She'd taken her guitar off and away from burdening her shoulder. She lay it down on the sofa and motioned me over to her with her finger, “Come here…”

She sat on the sofa and kept her eyes on me. My smile lingered, and I was happy I had a towel big enough to double-up around me as Hermione's sultry tone didn't help the situation calm. I began my saunter over to her; Hermione sitting in an Indian-style. “I'm quite indisposed at the moment as you can tell.”

Hermione's eyes wandered along my body, and when I'd gotten over to the sofa, I really saw her eyes flitting about. She smirked up at me and had me stay in front of her with a motion of her hand. I saw her hands, and then felt them on my hips where the towel bunched and made a line between my flesh and the cotton. I saw her lean forward, my breathing rapidly picking up in pace. I didn't know what to do, but my body did.

Her soft lips caressed the area directly below my navel. A small patch of hair traced down from the button, and she lowered for another kiss just below the one she did, following that line. She looked up at me and smirked, seeing the confounded expression on my face.

Good. Lord.

Hermione stretched her arms around my figured and placed her cool cheek against my stomach. I heard her snicker.

“You…,” I set my hands in her softened brunette hair and held her against me. “What about that conversation we had the other day about `waiting'?”

“Who said I was doing anything?” She glanced up at me and winked. She kissed the spot below my belly button once more and let her lips linger, her puckered mouth slipping into a smile as she kept those dilated pupils on me.

I'll get you…

A thought crept into my mind. I grinned down at her and patted the back of her head. I pulled away, leaving her watching me as I turned for the stairs.

Hermione made a pouty noise. Then, as I strutted away, she whistled and giggled.

I laughed as my foot came to the first stair and I began upward. I waved my hand back at her, “Two can play that game.”

“What game would that be?” she laughed.

I looked back at her around the corner to see Hermione's knees bent, her feet on the sofa cushions she sat on in front of her. She held her waist with her arms; her face light with laughter. She sat there and had a tremendous giggle-fit when she saw me peering. I just smiled, reached for the knot that held the two sides of my towel together taut on my figure and let it loose. The crimson material slowly slipped away and off me, and I set it up to where she got a nice, long shot of my bare ass before having it stripped away from her sight by the stairwell wall.

Hermione's eyes lit up and she fell into insanity. Her laughter rang out in every direction, and I hoped she hadn't hurt herself.

“Mm…,” I heard her make a mini-moan. “I'd hit that!” she called out after me in-between breathing before breaking into another fit of giggles. “I'd definitely, definitely hit that!”

Chuckling, I ascended the staircase, reuniting my naked body with the crimson bath towel.

***

An incessant, annoying racket broke my sleep. As if we were right near construction, what seemed like drilling burrowed its way into my brain. My mind escaped the loveliness of dreams. My eyes blinked into reality. I felt warmth more than what was beside me as Hermione and I spooned. The sun shined into the room and lit each nook and cranny, brightly. I squinted, the noise chipping away the rock that was my skull. I raised my head but an inch or two off the pillow and looked both ways until I realized, for I had found it foreign prior, the blasted sound came from the telephone.
Hermione shifted against me, so I knew she was awake like me. She didn't get up, though; moving about with her legs, her feet running against mine. I took my hand off from clutching her chest to balance myself. I heard her sigh and stretch, withdrawing back into the sheets soon after. I began to reach over to grab the damn phone when she said groggily, her eyes closed, “…Just let the machine get it. Come back to bed…”

Not a problem. Having sat up, the cold atmosphere perking my naked chest, I immediately slipped right back underneath with her. My arms went back around her. She took my hand and placed it along her breast as it had been, scooting back so her body fit against mine. I held her close when the answering machine finally kicked in, and the whine of Ginny come over the room:

“'Miiiiione…Harry!! Hey! Look outside you guys! It's absolutely gorgeous! Sunny, a tad cool, but warm enough for what we talked about yesterday. We're going to the beach today, right? Harry—you promised you'd grill those burgers and we'd go today if everything went right! And, look! It's perfect out there! So, move your tushes! Neville and I are packing the rest as I speak. Call me back before the rest of London wakes up!”

I had to have fallen back to sleep between Ginny's piercing voice railing the machine because I woke back up to the same, frustrating ring of the phone. I blinked my eyes open and buried my head into the back of Hermione. With my elbow near her tummy, I pulled her to me like my own, little teddy bear, wanting to hide from the boogeyman calling over and over, and over again.

“HARRY JAMES AND HERMIONE JANE, I SWEAR TO GOD—“

Hermione made a nose in her throat out of the sheer annoyance I felt, too. She moved in post-haste onto her bum, my hand sliding from her breast, down along her side, to have it rest in her lap. I felt cotton and skin at the same time; her red-and-black spaghetti strap top pulled up to her ribs. I slid my hand from her thigh to her stomach and back again. I received an eye-full of her back, and then her firm behind when she leaned over and caught the phone before Ginny could scream some more.

With her eyes closing from the sunlight gazing in, she put the phone up to her ear and tilted her to that side away from me. Her hair in a mess, fell over her left shoulder and down along the front of her body. Brunette strands breaking the horizontal stripes of her top in places.

She deeply inhaled first, and then began to speak to Ginny on the other side. Her voice fragmented in the beginning, and she had to clear her throat before starting in again, “Ginny—shh…drop it down a notch…no, you're just yelling into my ear…”

Hermione had to arch her back. I began peck-kissing up her back, following the indentation her spine made in the centre. I heard her stutter a breath and felt her abdomen rise and fall at my touch; my hand relaxed on her core, my palm above her button. I smiled and listened to her again:

“Hey, yeah—we're up…no, no that was just Harry…”

I heard her sigh contently, my caressing having led me to her neck. I sat up behind her and pulled away the curtain of her hair to access Hermione's beloved throat. She leaned further to give me more room along her neck.

“…no…no, we're not doing that…no, Gin, no…especially that…”

I heard Hermione gently laugh into the phone. I wrapped my arms around her figure, just below her chest. The sheets were haphazardly skewed across both of our figures, covering a leg here and a leg there, most of it still on her.

“Mm…sometimes I wish he were doing that, actually.”

I stopped my kisses and Hermione immediately felt it. She turned to me and smiled, the phone still stuck on her ear. I raised my eyebrows, and then pinched them together. I mouthed, “Doing what?” to her, and she just grinned on further and shook her head. Resuming, I caressed her shoulder closest to me.

“Haha…what did Neville just say? I heard him. That's funny…tell him you'd like that, too. Maybe he'd do it…Hey! Hey! You just asked if we were!” Hermione laughed through her nose.

I paused to smile, and continued down Hermione's arm.

“Oookay…whatever. Whatever…yes…yes, he grilled the meat yesterday…Gin, mind out of the gutter for a moment. I didn't touch the meat, he did.”

I snickered, having lifted Hermione's hand and caressed each individual finger, starting from palm to fingertip.

“Gin! Gin, quit talking about Harry's meat and whether I grilled it or not…Gracious…Hey, we're up. We're getting ready…yes…yes, well stop—yes, of course. What time? I don't think he'll want it…fine, I'll tell him Neville insists. All right…Gin! Can we get dressed? Goodness, yes, we have clothes on right now, but not—Gin, okay…okay, I love you too…hehe, right, okay, love you. Bye.”

Hermione leaned back over and set the phone on the receiver. I held her hand still, and she met me once more, coming back to sit in front of me. “Sometimes…I love the girl, but sometimes she's quite the handful.”

I smiled and watched Hermione lean back against me. I moved in, my arms back around her body tight, and ran the tip of my nose along hers, “Just `sometimes'?”

Hermione kissed my lips and whispered, “An itty-bit…”

“Mm…good morning…,” I tightened my embrace when she went to kiss me again.

“Good morning…,” she smiled, content. “We better get going before we get another welcome call.”

“…What was that `I wish he were doing that' thing you were talking about?” the curiosity leaked from my vocal chords.

Hermione laughed under her breath and motioned me to come closer. I moved my head forward, my ear to her, as she whispered, “…You'll just have to figure that one out later.”

Hermione's laughter rose and, in a second, she leapt from the mattress and crawled to her feet. She wasn't getting away with that. I wasn't going to have it. Through a chuckle, I grabbed her waist and yanked her back in bed with me. I instantly wrapped my arms around her and pinned her lightly to the bed. She just laughed, shaking and wriggling about beneath me, crying out in giggles.

“Tell me!” I snickered at the way she'd slip out from me, and I'd have to wrestle her back down on the bed.

“Hahahaa…no!”

“Tell me, or I'll—“

“Or you'll do what, exactly?” She asked, her sides aching with laughter.

I had her pinned lightly with my weight, her body facing into the bed. She spoke to me with her face to the side, her cheek against the bedding sheets. She writhed and fought. I noticed with each wiggle her panty-clad arse rise and fall onto the mattress, her legs and feet kicking up. A thought flashed in my mind which gave me a toothy grin.

“…or I'll spank that little ass.”

Hermione's eyes widened and bit her lip, and then she smirked, “You wouldn't!”

“I would,” I set my hand on her bum. I could feel how thin the material really was, each cheek clearly shown with the slight movement of my hand. I felt a rush of blood pulse through me, and I think I could have felt her firm behind all day long. I glanced from her ass and back to her eyes, “Are you going to tell me?”

“Never!” she screamed out, her head in the mattress. “Never!

“You give me no choice then…,” I smirked and lifted my hand. I swatted her ass a good three or four times. Not hard at all, playful, more an exploration than anything else. She had such a nice derriere…why hadn't I done this before?

Before I could come down with the fifth, she'd clawed her way out from beneath my body and pounced. I landed, backside first, into the bed with my small Hermione atop my waist. Abnormally giddy for a girl who was just spanked, she twisted on me, slithering up my bare chest and ground her lips into my own. I heard her moan when she kissed me, our noses meshing together.

My hands were on her lickety-split. Roaming, they did, from her upper back to the lower regions, and down to the slope of her rear. I ran my hand along one buttock, and then the other, grabbing her and pushing her into me. I felt her arch, her chest flattening on my own. I slid my hands up and back down, my fingers going underneath the edge of her panties where I felt of her firm, little rump.

We stopped mid-action, my head to one side and hers to the other. We laughed in tandem, and I saw her face pull away and look over. The noise began again. The phone rang off its hook. I was left stationary on the bed with my hands over my face while Hermione rolled away to catch it before it burrowed back into our heads.

***

“You called them three times, Gin,” exclaimed Neville, tumbling his way toward Harry's car. He carried an umbrella under one arm and a beach bag heavy with objects, some pending to fall out as he swung it in the other. I carried the large blue-and-white cooler, ice sloshing around inside after every heave I stepped. I didn't know what exactly the girl's had put in here, but it definitely wasn't the two six packs of soda we bought on the way over to their flat. The damn thing was bulky and my shoulders began to sore.

“I did not!” Ginny had her door open. She was sitting with Hermione in the back. I'd asked for Hermione to sit with my in the passenger side, but Ginny insisted on this way. If there was one thing Ginny was good at, she was incredibly good at getting her way.

Ginny climbed on in when Hermione, at the other side with her door open, said, “Yeah, Neville. She didn't call us three times.”

Hermione swung on inside and met Ginny, together. I glanced over at Neville who merely shrugged. He placed his handful of things inside the trunk and assisted in carrying the weight of the cooler from my other side. We picked it up and sat it down inside, the car bouncing on the back wheels. Hermione turned to see us at the back, her aviator sunglasses on and huge relative to her face. Her button-nose looked smaller compared.

“She called four times. I counted.”

“'Mione!” I saw Ginny push Hermione's side as I came up to the driver's seat, the keys jingling in my hand. I opened my door in tandem with Neville and slipped on in to hear Ginny prod Hermione again, “Solidarity!”

I glanced in the rearview mirror and adjusted it slightly. Mainly, I fixed my Ray Bans across the bridge of my nose even. I saw Hermione's reflection, her smug little smirk and saw her move up, the seat belt against her chest wanting to pull her back just as bad. She caught me around my neck, her arms about me. I turned to peer into her aviators only to find her kiss my cheek and the five o'clock shadow upon it. I rubbed the arms wrapped around my neck, satisfying her enough to have her sit back beside Ginny.

Sliding the key in the ignition, I glanced in the rearview mirror and bent my head down just low enough to peer over the top of my glasses at Ginny in the back, “And, thanks to you Gin, I'm ripping the phone out of the wall.”

“No!” Ginny cried out, pleading. Neville smirked and looked out his window. We were all wearing various sunglasses, the earth blindingly bright and sunny, and warmer than usual for the beginning of winter. “Then, all I'll have left to get in touch with is the fireplace!”

“That's the next to go,” I smiled, glancing in every direction as I backed the car out from its parked spot in front of their house. “Either that, or place a big bucket of water beside it in case a fire lights.”

Ginny crossed her arms tantrum-like, pouting out the window. She pressed down on the automatic window and let the breeze settle inside, brushing her Weasley-red hair back against the black leather. Hermione put her arms around Ginny, “Aww…”

I'd flicked the turn signal on at a stop sign and gazed into the rearview mirror to see Hermione looking at me with Ginny in her arms. “He doesn't mean it, Gin.” Hermione's words fell completely melodramatic.

I took off towards the left when my time had come. I went back to the mirror and grinned at Hermione who combed through Ginny's hair with her hands. Hermione continued to be over-dramatic whilst Ginny played crying into her shoulder. “Isn't that right, Harry?”

“…Fine…,” I answered Hermione after really thinking about it. “But Gin,” I held up three fingers. “Three times the limit.”

Neville turned away from his window and looked at me behind his sunglasses, “Don't they make those cellular phones?”

Ginny suddenly fell from her stupor. She expressed, excitedly, “That's right! I totally forgot about cell phones!”

“Great,” I murmured. “Thanks Neville. I appreciate it.”

The car roared with laughter as I merged onto the motorway and zoomed off in the direction of Blackpool Sands beach.

***

Four people. Four incredibly close people with one, of course, very near and dear to me had the time of our lives. It's not every day that four people could become so close in our relationships that, really, I don't ever think anything could come between us. And, if anything did, it would have to be something huge, monstrous, monumental—earth-shattering. Frankly, the earth shattering is probably the best bet to break us apart.

We laughed, telling stories of nostalgia from Hogwarts. Sometimes we had heard the stories millions of times before, sometimes we had not. Sometimes Ginny would make me incredibly awkward by bringing up something from our past; but, we all talked. About anything and everything, we just talked. The weather and how sunny it had been the past few weeks was one topic. The United Kingdom didn't see many sunny days stretched out consecutively. To top it off, we didn't have unseasonable weather like today to have us asking to go to the beach. People were on the motorways, too; lots, and lots, of people. All of them seemed to be heading with us and not against us.

We weren't beach-goers. Hermione and I at least. Yesterday, we had a tiny discussion about it, and we came down to the conclusion that it was something to do. Something to get us out of the house. We did something all the time together, as a couple, why not enjoy time together and with our friends? Like a double-date of sorts. Why not? But, like with most of our kind, we were ghosts. Hermione is a ghost, and I laughed when she poignantly pointed it out. She pointed right to her arm and asked me, “Does this look like something that gets much time in the sun?”

My eyes would wander off from the road and to the rearview mirror. Besides having to see the traffic behind me, I'd adjusted the mirror to catch my Hermione and all her actions. I could not keep my eyes off her. They might as well have been super-glued to her body, her face, her mouth, eyes, ears, nose, cheeks, hair—everything. She is better than anything. She is my life. She keeps my mind focused and my heart a-thumping, even though both change rapidly when we're fooling around.

Hermione had quickly removed her seat belt to slide in between Neville and me to get to the radio. She cranked the volume and as fast as she unbuckled, she was back in safety's hands. Songs, one after the other, rang out and we sang out. A song would catch us in the middle of something and we'd pick up the lines. Especially the girl's in the back who started us up front to join in. The B52's came on after Prince and we instantly carried the tune, divvying up the individual lines as we sang together.

“Hop in my Chrysler, it's as big as a whale, and it's about to set sail!” I tried to match the pitch in the male performer's voice, and I thought I got pretty close. My hands tapped the steering wheel to the background rhythm. I bobbed my head from side-to-side, continuing, “I got me a car, it seats about twenty, so come on and bring your juke box money!”

In unison, Hermione and Ginny took the female vocals and carried them from the backseat, “The love shack is a little ol' place where,” They turned towards each other the brief pause, “We can get together! Love shack, baby!”

The two girls shook their heads, red and brown hair a-flutter in the wind whistling in through the opened windows. The people we passed stared, and I laughed, bobbing to the addictive, up-beat music. We all turned to Neville, our actions stopping, when he rang out in a low baritone, “Love, baby, that's where it's at…”

In hysterics, after the silence we all had with Neville's abrupt lyric that sounded ripped from the pages of Barry White, we convulsed with laughter loud and hard enough to split sides. Hermione scooted up to the edge of the backseat and wrapped her arms slowly around my neck and put her lips to my ear, “Bang, bang, bang…on the door, baby…”

“Knock a little louder, sugar!” I cried out.

“Bang, bang, bang…on the door, baby…” she whispered once more.

“I can't hear you!”

With their aggregated voices, the girl's sung out, “Bang, bang!”

Neville took over the male vocal, singing, “On the door, baby!”

“Bang, bang!” the girl's repeated.

“On the door!”

“Bang, bang!”

“On the door, baby!”

“Bang, bang!”

I yelled the line, “You're what?!”

Hermione called out behind me, “Tin roof, rusted!”

Having such a great time, time does fly by pretty quick. One moment we were driving, the next I was pulling into a parking spot between two cars. We arrived at our destination. Bodies of all shapes and sizes ran around us, and all were in different forms of swimming suits. To bikinis to Speedos, to people wearing business attire and briefcases, everyone was here it seemed. Families were getting out of their vans with kids. Couples were hanging out, together, walking along the sands. People were playing various sports on-land and in the ocean.

I traveled to the back of the car and was leaning far into it when I felt a hand on my back. Neville had already taken care of the umbrella, and the other miscellaneous beach tokens, going ahead to scout for a good location to set camp. Ginny went with him, so that left Hermione. I pulled the cooler up and straddled it between my arms, holding it firmly against my abdomen. Hermione closed-shut the trunk.

I noticed her get in front of me, and I said, “Go on ahead, I've got this.”

“Harry,” Hermione said firmly. She grasped the sides of the cooler along with me. “I'm helping you this time. So shush.”

“All right,” I replied and we were off. I called out to her the direction as she walked backwards. Going from flaming concrete to searing sand, I was surely glad to be wearing flip-flops. The gentle breeze from the ocean, its salty breath upon me, pulled on my half-buttoned up white collared shirt. I'd tugged tight the sleeves to my elbows and, for the first time in a while, wore shorts—swim trunks, blue in colour. I think my white legs would have been an eye sore for some in places like Spain, but glancing around at the others, we were all just the same. One big cavalcade of pale bodies. The sand had more colour than us.

Neville had set up camp a bit off from the middle between the ocean and the vehicles. He placed us closer to the ocean's side. We were one of the few who brought umbrellas, so it was easy to point ours out. Hermione and I set the cooler down with a thump into the sand. Ginny had laid out the towels for us when we got there, counting them to make sure we had four separate ones beneath the shade of the multi-coloured parasol.

Ginny mouthed words only she could hear, motioning to the various objects in front of her with her finger, when she finally turned her head around to gaze at us. “Four towels, umbrella, sunscreen annnnnddd—“

Ginny fell down in the sand, her knees sinking into the unyielding surface. She cracked open the vault, the cooler head tossed to the side to reveal bottle after bottle of butterbeer. My eyes went wide and I shook my head, “Dear Lord, how many did you put in there?!”

Ginny looked back at me and placed her hands over her sunglasses to break off some of the light encroaching from the sides, “Enough.”

“She likes her butterbeer,” Neville nodded, sifting his hands through his hair.

I looked at him and said, agreeing, “That's for sure.”

Ginny stood in her spot and dusted away the sand from her legs, “Oh, and you guys like it to—guzzling it all up at the Three Broomsticks every single time we'd go to Hogsmeade. Not to mention, you—“ She pointed at Neville. “Taking a tab at the Leaky Cauldron. Yeah, I heard about that my fifth year.”

Neville grabbed Ginny by wrapping his arm around her neck and pulled her too him. She laughed and hugged her man. Neville had already undid his shirt and had it folded in the beach tote bag beside the umbrella. They applied sunscreen on themselves, both Ginny and Neville's bodies shining from the oil of the lotion.

“Let's do something…” Ginny hopped gleefully, her hand stretched in the direction in front of her. “Volleyball! Let's see if we can join!”

“I'm…,” Hermione was crouched at another tote, “our” tote bag. Her hands were inside, having unzipped it to retrieve something from the many objects. She glanced back at us, the sun glaring off her aviators. “I'm going to pass. For right now, at least. Just lay here and relax, read a book.” She held up a rather large novel.

“You've come all the way out here, on a rare, sunny, hot day to read a book?” Ginny placed her hands on her hips and sighed. “Girl, let's do something! Come on! Look at what we have!”

“I will be doing something.”

“What? Reading? When you can be doing that any blooming day of the year? How many times do we have sun and hot weather?”

“I'll be…,” I could tell Hermione was cooking up something in her head as she glanced around at the surroundings. She eyed a towel particularly close to her. She whipped her head back around to Ginny, her hair being picked up in a zephyr. “Sun-tanning. Right here, in the hot, sunny, cloudless day. Okay?”

I didn't have to see Ginny's eyes to know she rolled them, “Fine, `Mione.” She turned her focus on me. “Harry, let's go. I want to play with them over there.”

I already knew my reply. Wherever Hermione went, I went. So, I answered, “I'm going to stay with Hermione. Sun-tan, you know. Relaxation.”

Ginny sighed, flustered, and shook her head, “Fiiiiiine—Neville, you're coming with me no if, ands, or buts!” Ginny had her arm already hooked with Neville's and led him away one giant step at a time.

I saw Neville look back and shrug, “'Till death do us part?”

Hermione had sat down beneath the shade of the umbrella, and I sat down right alongside her. I called out after Neville, “Just remember you're only engaged!”

Hermione snickered, gazing at me beside her and then back at the novel in her lap. She sat with her legs crisscrossed, and she emanated the definition of “amazing”. I'd never seen Hermione in a bikini. In her bra, of course, but this was just a tad different. A tad. Exhibitionist. Reserved a bit too, she was, wearing the bikini top exposed under a sheer, transparent white covering in the shape of an unbuttoned shirt. Her bikini top also was of the white hue, making her skin and the beach garb she wore similar.

A pair of shorts white clung loosely to her hips. The leg sockets double in size like my swimming trunks. I guess to let the air in and to give comfy room. Stuck out directly above the brim of her shorts, I could see the threads of her bikini bottom shifted outside. Tied, the strings sat right on her hips.

I couldn't help but believe the unbelievable. Hermione, hot stuff, and never once had she ever paraded it around. It was like she was waiting to show off for a few people in particular; one, or maybe the only one, I assumed, was me. I went to unfasten my shirt. I didn't mean to ogle. I didn't mean to stare. Thankfully, my eyes were covered when I gazed upon how her body fit her beach wear. How her breasts filled out her bikini top. How her waist slipped inward and then back out slightly as her sides neared her hips.

Hermione went to give me a once-over, having unveiled my bare chest. She saw me staring, but I didn't turn away. She smirked, which in turn made me smile. What did I have to be ashamed of again? She was my woman. Besides…her stare lingered longer. Even after I folded my shirt and slipped it into our tote bag she continued to look at me. She dropped her head down and gazed over her aviators. I tilted my body toward her, placing my palm down in my turn against the towel beneath us, and kissed her. I felt her grin as she responded back, pressing into me with her lips.

Glancing down at the book in her lap, the colour of the cover, the binding, the stylized words reminded me of a piece of literature I had read before. I lay my head against her shoulder and asked curiously, looking at the spread novel, “I think I've read that—what's it called?”

Hermione leaned her head into mine and turned a page. She was a little more than a third of the way finished. “A little series called `Moonlight'…about a female vampire utterly infatuated by a male human. For over a century, she's never wanted to feast on a human's blood so much until she found this guy…and she's fascinated, wanting to know more, and ends up falling in love,” I felt her rub her cheek in my hair. “My best friend suggested the series a while back.”

I turned my head to meet her cheek and planted a caress. Hermione moved and met my lips, and I smiled. “That best friend must be pretty lucky to have you.”

“I'm pretty lucky to have him.”

I placed my palm gently against Hermione's semi-naked stomach and felt her quickly inhale as I kissed her once more on the lips. I whispered to her after, our noses nearly touching, “You're absolutely stunning.”

***

After applying a thin coat of sunscreen and relaxing with my lover, the waves of the ocean must have assisted my action, drifting me off to sleep. I remembered drowsily being disturbed by some kids cheerfully laughing around us. My head was in her lap and her hands were in my hair. Her light comb lulled me right back to my dreamscape. In my dream, I saw myself making love to Hermione. Right there on the beach, in the sand; the two of us in an intimate pairing of consummation. At dusk, with the sea and the sky combining as one single colour purple, making it difficult to catch where the horizon lay in the distance. I was wrapped around her, and she around me. I found her panting in my ear and I felt our release.

Another heavy dose of laughter riled me awake. My eyes fluttered, having taken off my Ray Bans. The ripe smell of salty, sea spray burst through my nostrils making my eyes water. Not exactly the ultimate process of being aroused; but in contrast, the soothing scent of vanilla helped vanquish the burn. I rolled my face into the tender thigh I lay on and felt the same hand in my messy hair. She had stopped for a moment, and tried to begin again, but the sound of her voice got me up.

“That's awful…,” she exclaimed above me. I rose from her lap and ran my hand across my face. I must have slept for quite a while as sleep was in my eye, and when I'd taken care of that, my focus went to the surrounding people around our beach camp. Three males, a female, Neville, and Ginny were all sitting in places in what could be considered circular. All of them had a bottle of butterbeer in their hands.

“Good morning, sleepy-head!” The squeak of Ginny made me look at her. She sat close to Neville, Indian-style on a towel, with a brown bottle between her legs.

I glanced at Hermione. Her aviators were still on, but I could tell she was looking at me. “What's up?” My voice came out lower than normal, and I cleared my throat to ask again. “What's going on?”

“Well, sleepy-head, these are some of the guys we were playing volleyball with,” Ginny pointed at the first guy, and moved to the next, and then the following. “Thomas, Monroe, Cassidy, and Kent. They're college students from the United States and are studying here for a few months.”

“Yeah,” said Kent with his tanned arm around Cassidy's bronzed shoulder. “And we had to get out here. We've been living in an apartment in London for the past few weeks and the weather finally cooperated.”

“We're tired of the dreary rain,” Cassidy spoke, nodding her head. “We get enough of that in Rhode Island.”

I looked around at the four of them. They were all rather dark for complaining about the weather. Between us four and them it was like night versus day. Monroe had the lightest of the coloured hair, blonde, which looked a bit odd against his complexion. Thomas stuck his hand out to me, “Sorry about disturbing you, bro.”

I took his hand in mine and shook, “It's no problem. Didn't mean to fall asleep, anyway. How was the game?”

“They beat the bloody snot out of us,” cried Neville, swirling his butterbeer bottle. He took a drink. “I don't think we ever scored.”

Monroe laughed and tilted his head up to Neville, “It's all in good fun, man. All in good fun. Didn't mean to spike the ball at your head like that. I still feel bad.” Monroe stuck his fist out and Neville second-glanced. Monroe motioned with a nod of his head.

“Still friends, bro?”

Neville balled his fist up and touched Monroe's, “Definitely. No bad blood.”

“Awesome.” Monroe let his head fall back as he drank from the nearly-blackened, brown bottle. When he came up, I saw his eyes roam toward Hermione on my right. His blue eyes sat on her for a second, and then had them switch over at me. “Harry, is it?”

How Monroe looked at Hermione felt…threatening. In retrospect, I believe I would have laughed at myself for thinking there would be a possibility of Hermione clamoring for the guy. But, I was nineteen and vulnerable in that area. My first great love. To tighten my security, I slipped my arm around Hermione without giving a thought about what I had done and felt her fall against my shoulder.

“Yeah,” was all I was able to get out. My body and mind went into alert-mode.

Monroe, his short blonde hair in spikes, held his hand out to me, “Names Monroe, glad to meet you.”

I could feel eyes on me when I hesitated the shake. From the corner of my vision, I caught Ginny slowly pulling the tip of the bottle down from her mouth. She knew what I was thinking. She probably had a hunch at Monroe's thoughts, too. Not to mention the sudden defensiveness I'd projected throughout the crowd. Hermione seemed rather unfazed, curled up beside me. I took that as a positive and let my hand out.

I shook Monroe's hand.

“Sorry we woke you…,” Hermione whispered into my ear. I shot her a glance from the corner of my eye. She smiled, “You looked so handsome in my lap, asleep.”

“That's all right,” I grinned at her. I went forward and caressed her waiting lips briefly. I left her in a smile.

“So…,” Cassidy spoke up after another drink. “We were casually talking with Ginny and Neville here, and wanted to know if you guys were down for a party tonight. Nothing major, just something on the beach.”

“It's going to be awesome, though,” continued Kent where Cassidy left off. “A bonfire and a few other buds from our apartment.”

“And alcohol!” shouted Thomas.

“To alcohol!” Monroe clinked his butterbeer bottle with Thomas.

“I…sorta…invited you guys already,” announced Ginny, her voice trailing off in the middle.

My eyes focused on Ginny, “Thanks, Gin. What if Hermione and I had plans tonight?”

“That's why I invited you!” Ginny rang out, putting her butterbeer on her thigh. “The only plans you had were to be with us! And, Neville and I are going to the bonfire!”

I glanced back over at Hermione who, in turn, said with a shrug, “It might be fun?”

“Are you sure?”

“Come on!” yelled Monroe. “A party! Alcohol! What isn't there to love?!”

He winked at me, and somewhere deep in my gut, I knew something bad was bound to happen.

***

“I'll help Harry take this back to the car, `Mione,” told Ginny, looking back at Hermione. I'd already taken up the cooler when Ginny came rushing to me. She grabbed the handles, her hands alongside mine, and pushed the weight up. Hermione stood, rooted in her spot. She looked dumbfounded, but shook her head. She started helping Neville with the rest of the stuff.

“Uhh…,” I began, unsure what to say. “Thanks?”

“What the bloody Hell was that all about?!” shouted Ginny under her breath. It's difficult to walk backwards, see where your going, and understand why someone is scolding you all at the same time.

“What are you talking about now?”

“Those guys were saints!” urged Ginny, moving along step-by-step at my pace. “And you had to go and cock some attitude! What's with you?”

“Gin, it's none of your business,” I sighed angrily. The sight of Monroe observing Hermione like a piece of meat wandered back into my head. I was trying to repress the memory, but Ginny re-invented the wheel. Lovely. “And, quit bumping the cooler into me. It's annoying.”

“I thought the whole idea for today was to `have fun'? Get out? Be with us?” Ginny had to step over the parking cement blocks after I did, and I waited for her to come over.

“We're going with you guys,” I expressed firmly. “Isn't that what you wanted?”

“See! Look!” We were nearing my car and I had to adjust the cooler to retrieve the keys in my swimming trunk pocket. I glanced down after lifting my knee to hold some of the weight, and heard Ginny say, “There's that attitude again!”

I popped open the back of the BMW. We stood parallel with each other and slid the cooler in easily. All the while, my mind was unraveling. The picture of Monroe and his “look” continued to push, and push, and push into my emotions until finally I slammed the trunk door down. I stepped right up to Ginny and put an arm on the car to lean.

I tore my Ray Bans off my nose and hung them from my other hand beside my hip. I glared at her, her eyes intent on mine, “Look, Gin, you didn't see him. You didn't see him staring at her like he was about to come over and shag her rotten. So butt out, okay?”

“That's the problem? That's the big deal here?” Ginny gazed up into the dulling sky and laughed. “Men are such children!”

“No, I am in love—that's my `big deal'.”

Ginny came back to my eyes. She poked my chest with her index finger, the wind she created after pulling her arm away blew open the unbutton part along the centre of my shirt. “Listen to me, Harry. When you and I were together at Hogwarts, guys would stare at me. They would stare, but they wouldn't act. There's a difference!”

“Yeah? Well, what if he acts? Hm? What if he touches her?”

“How's he going to do that by chance?”

“I don't suffocate Hermione. She's gone and done her thing away from me before,” I shrugged. “Who knows if he'll take that very opportunity to try something?”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “Harry, dear, mi amigo—Hermione's hot. You're going to have to deal with it sooner or later. Boys, men, whatever, are going to stare at her. Hell, sometimes I look at men, so what?”

I chuckled, “I bet Neville would croak if he heard that.”

“I've seen Neville glance at women who walk by, who cares?”

“What a relationship.”

Ginny put her hand to her forehead and held it, her other arm propping her elbow up, “We're sex-driven beings. If we look, it's natural. If we act, that's separate; that's when we've gone past being civilized and into animals.”

I leaned close to Ginny and really looked at her, my eyes wide, “That guy…he looked like an animal.”

Ginny got nose-to-nose with me, “Believe me, if that guy tries anything, or if any other guy tries anything, I'll be the first to kick his ass and then, maybe, if there's anything left I'll let you kick his ass, too. Hermione loves you, so drop it.”

The smack of metal-to-metal shook my awareness. Someone had opened and shut the car door. I stood back up, straight, and saw Hermione wiggling in the backseat and Neville stepping into the passenger's chair. I looked from Ginny, to them, and back to her. I just shook my head, sighed, and slipped my glasses on. I stepped beside Ginny and felt her hand go to my chest. She stopped me as she placed her sunglasses on as well, and said softly, “Trust me, everything will be good as gold.”

“Even `civilized' people enjoy stealing gold,” I replied in rebuttal.

***

“Having fun?” Hermione giggled into me. We were sitting together on a piece of driftwood a few feet away from the blazing bonfire. When the group from America said a “few of their buds,” what they actually meant were twenty, at least. That's not including them. Every one of them acted tipsy, and every hand had an alcoholic beverage of choice. Some were sitting close together, like us. Others were running around the beach screaming, playing, flirting, guys chasing girls. People were running into the water and shouting with laughter.

Neville and Ginny were discussing something on the other side of the fire. They had to have been talking about something extremely funny as they'd all get to howling like wolves. I glanced back at my dizzied girl, a bit sloshed from her third butterbeer. I set mine down in the sand, and tightened my grip around her. I felt a little drunk myself.

“I always have fun when I'm with you,” I smiled and kissed her. She pushed back on me rough and slithered her tongue inside my mouth. The tip of hers tapped on mine, electrifying spots and causing me to tug on her body with my hands. My fingers hooked into her belt loops. I pulled her into me and she fell away, and atop my lap.

Hermione started laughing hysterically, and I started too. I don't recall anything being relatively funny, but everything was funny just the same. It had to have been the drinks. I saw her take up my butterbeer and put it to her mouth. She bumped her shoulder against me, rising back to her rear, and drank a fair bit of it. When she came to, she eyed me, dazed. She hiccupped and started laughing again, her hand going to cover her mouth. I snickered.

“We should go take a dip in the ocean…,” she said, suppressing another hiccup.

“We didn't bring an extra set of clothes, though,” I said, pulling at my white t-shirt. We'd gone back to change and shower. Us four stopped on the way back to eat dinner, too. I stretched my legs out in front of me, my left hand in my dark blue jean pocket while my other held around Hermione.

Hermione curled around me, her arms tight. Her navy blue ruched halter top folded when she pressed into me. One strap held around her neck, her lovely shoulders and arms exposed, parts of her upper back as well. She laid her legs across mine, clad in ripped, bleached denim. Her feet were bare, her Converse shoes beside the driftwood.

Hermione ran the tip of her finger along my neck slowly. I purred into a growl, a tiger waiting to pounce. She whispered into my ear, “That's the whole idea…”

She blew her cool air gently into my ear causing every, single, solitary hair on my body—and other parts—to stand on end. I grabbed her, making her squeal with laughter, and snogged her hard. Her arms immediately wrapped around my neck. My hands immediately roamed along her waist and hiked up her shirt to get at her stomach. My hands were carving into her back, her body against mine, when I heard the uproar start and flourish around me:

“There's no more beer!”

“The booze is gone!”

“No more alcohol?! I'm gonna cry!”

“Chill out!” Ginny's piercing holler broke through the whines of the masses. I was caught up in Hermione, her hair, her neck, the hollow of her throat, when I heard my name get shout out. “Harry! We need you!!”

I moved so I could see Ginny through Hermione's strands of hair. Our arms and bodies still locked around each other. “Not right now, I'm busy.”

I went back to Hermione's lips when I felt someone tug on my shirt. I looked up to see Ginny right there between us. “It will only take a second—or give me your keys and I'll get the rest!”

“Ugh…Gin…sometimes…,” I reach into my pocket to get the keys when I stopped. I gave Hermione a quick kiss and stated gently, “Stay right here, baby…I'll be right back.”

“When you get back, we're going into the water…,” Hermione grinned, watching me get up and leave with Ginny. She winked at me and took up my butterbeer bottle to take another swig.

I slipped my hands in my pockets and pulled out the keys. My bare feet trudged through the thick, warmed sand. I eyed Ginny and shook my head, “Couldn't you see I was a little busy?”

“I told you to give me the keys. I know where the cooler is, I'm not a moron.”

“Knowing you, you'd take the car for a joyride,” I hit the button on my keys to undo the back. The door stalled, and then lifted into the air. We came around, and Ginny's hands went to the cooler first.

“Don't trust me now, Potter?” Ginny smirked, her body in the cooler. She mimicked Severus. I knew that cold tone well after all those years in Potions. I heard the sloshing of ice and the clink-clink of bottles being pushed around.

She handed me some butterbeer, and took the rest up by her chest. I shook my head in response, “Not when you're sloshed. You're even slurring you're so wasted.”

“Am no-hic!” She burped and went to cover her mouth, letting a bottle drop to the cement and bust open. “Whoops!”

“Aw…Ginny…,” I bent down to grab the larger pieces and threw them over the embankment. “So help me, if any of my tires pop I'm coming for you and the money.”

“That's what wands are for if you remember, Harry,” I closed-shut the trunk and waddled, like Ginny, carefully across the tiny shard of glass. That's one thing I didn't want: my feet to be all cut open and get who knows what from the beach. Ginny sung from in front of me, “Reeeeparo!”

She started laughing. I shook my head and sighed. A car full of drunks on the way home. Great. I wasn't really sure why I gazed back in the general direction of Hermione, other than the fact that I wanted to see her. But, it was as if Fate wanted me to at that very moment. As if someone beseeched me to do so, to witness what occurred right that very second.

Ginny was in a gallop far down the sandy hill. The reddish-orange fire made everything in its radius its colour. Shadows moved by the bodies that formed them. A separate shadow loomed in the distance where I once sat on the driftwood. Hermione hadn't moved like I asked her to, but…someone else did.

I knew from his stupid spiked hair it was Monroe. He'd come over probably when I left. I saw his arm behind her, his hand near her ass, holding the driftwood beneath them. He'd talk, or something, and Hermione would jerk her head away. He reached for her hair and got a strand, swinging a bottle of our butterbeer in his other hand. Something in me snapped. I went insane.

I didn't remember dropping all the bottles. But, as I made my way in a sprint down the hill toward the bonfire, my arms were suddenly free. I passed Ginny who glanced at me as if I were crazy—good choice. She said something to me that went in one ear and out the other. My eyes were on Monroe. My feet made a track right to him. My teeth were clinched, my body tense, and I could actually feel the acids in my arms begin to tingle my muscle.

I came around the driftwood and didn't catch sight of Hermione. My face contorted with fury, my intentions were on the scum beside her. I pushed him off the driftwood before he could respond. He fell back on his behind and glared at me, as if I were the one with the screws loose. I heard shouting from behind me, but my ears were perked up to his words.

“What the Hell is your problem, man?!” Monroe said, getting to his feet hastily.

“Who gave you permission to touch her?”

Monroe looked around at the people behind me. Everyone went silent and I could feel eyes settled on us. He smiled at me and tilted his chin up, “She seemed pretty free to me, if you know what I mean.”

“Harry,” Hermione pulled on my hand. She had slid near me on the driftwood, still seated. She was in whisper even though everyone could hear her. “Let's just get out of here.”

“The party's only begun, babe,” Monroe smiled, leaning toward Hermione. I could smell the rich alcohol permeate from him breath. I saw his hand reach out to her and never once thought about what to do next. My fist hit him. My fist hit his face. Again. And again. And again. I heard people scream, and probably Hermione too. I felt people grabbing me, trying to pull me off Monroe. I had him in the sand. He got some good shots on me, but my fist found better. His friends decided to join in, and that's when I saw Neville at my side. When Thomas struck my jaw from behind, Neville tackled him to the beach and punched his face. He might have broken his nose, blood splattering across his cheek.

Alcohol and violence: two of the most volatile catalysts to mix together. The combination will always lead to unfortunate consequences. We made it out of there at any rate. As a result, though, we were heavily battered. When I left Neville and Ginny, having taken them home after the fabulous evening, I shook Neville's hand carefully due to the bruises on both our hands. We gave each other a brotherly hug, again, carefully. His nose was swollen, and his right eye gained a charming purple colour.

Ginny stomped her way into the house and I heard her stomp her way up their stairs. She slammed a door, making Neville and I jump. He looked into the house after her, and then shrugged, shaking my hand a second time before I left their doorway. I maneuvered, slowly, to the car. I didn't feel bad for what I'd done. Actually, I felt pretty damn good…besides the fact that everything on me ached. I couldn't wait to strip down and see all the black spots on my body, especially the sucker punch Monroe gave me to the kidney.

I drove home in silence with Hermione next to me. She came up to the passenger seat when Neville got out. Not even the radio was on, clicked off by Ginny far prior to this point. The neon blue light from the panel in front of us was the only stimulation in the quiet atmosphere. I peered at Hermione when I came to a stop light and saw her erect, looking forward. I don't think she breathed, but I did see her blink.

I turned my head to face forward, and when the stop light flickered green I pushed on the gas pedal. I sighed and finally punctured the silence by saying unshakably, “I'm not going to apologize for what I did…”

I sighed again, “…but, I wish you would at least talk to me. Say something, anything—yell at me—you haven't said a word since we left Blackpool Sands.”

Hermione didn't flinch at all. She stared into the open blackness that was nightfall. The headlights of my BMW dollied across a stop sign. I followed instructions, glancing to the left, and then the right, before turning on a side-path home. The clock on the radio rolled over another minute and I glanced back at Hermione. I sighed, her hands in her lap, the seatbelt firm to her chest. I looked back at the road solemnly and flicked my head to watch a car pass us. I shook my head, not knowing what to say anymore, how to act…when I felt her: her lips on my cheek and the pull of the leather as she adjusted, twisting to me across the armrest in the centre of the vehicle.

She grazed her nose along that spot on my face, and kissed me there once more before moving back in the seat.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: The Scientist by Coldplay (which has become one of my favorite songs, a theme for the fic), a lot of Joan Jett (greatly inspired by the fruition of the biopic that recently debuted), and The B52s as some}

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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 wrote this in a few hours time directly after writing Chapter Six, and I wrote it a little differently. I went back and forth between Harry and Ron's POV, at least in my mind. I wanted to give depth into the problems Ron is having within himself after Hermione left him and how it's affecting him mentally. I wanted to express the pain someone might feel after realizing they had lost someone very special, having taken that special person for granted.

***

Chapter Seven ~ Tainted

“When were we supposed to be there again?”

“Three minutes ago…,” I glanced at my watch. I had my arm above my head and leaned into the lavatory. I pried off a piece of lint from my olive-green shirt and adjusted my starched collar before slipping my other hand in my black, pleated khakis.

I looked on at Hermione. Her long-sleeved boatneck t-shirt stretched across her arms, leaving her shoulders exposed. The ochre colour complemented her mahogany curls drifting down in places, one strand caught inside. I reached over, moving in the bathroom behind her and tugged on her shirt. My finger slid along the smooth skin of her back, making her stop applying the eyeliner and gaze at me in the mirror. I saw her bite down on her pink, bottom lip. Her white teeth gathered the fullness of her lip and when she let go, the lip retracted back, firm.

She grinned and bumped the front of me with her rear. I snickered at her smiling reflection, gripped her waist and lowered my hands to her hips where I held her against me taut. I laid my weight into her backside as she leaned closer to the mirror, the black pencil tracing her eyelid. Even though she looked back into the mirror, intent on having her liner perfect, she was very, very aware of my presence.

“It's not like we have to hurry or anything…,” I smirked, watching my hands slide easily from Hermione's hips, up her hourglass figure, and back down to her hips.

My God she's warm…

Hermione wiggled her body some in my grasp, and then halted suddenly, moving onto her other eye with the ebony liquid. “Did you get the potato salad from the fridge and lay it out so we can just grab it and go?”

“Of course…,” my fingers traced the stitching of her ripped-at-the-knee denim. The dark blue jeans held fairly tight against her legs. I tried to get my fingers under the leading edge, but at the bent angle she stood, I would have had to jostle her around to really get in there. Damn were they tight. How did she get in them?

My fingers made their way to her back pockets, following the lines the jeans made. From the stitching at the edge, I found my fingers moving along the centre of the pants, and down alongside the crack. Lightly they danced between her buttocks until I looped back around, each hand taking an opposite path on each individual pocket. Lifting my hands, I slipped them into her back pockets and held her. I'd like to point out how difficult it was not to have my hands on her. Not to mention the wait I endured, and my sexuality overloading to the brink of bursting.

I heard the sharp intake of breath, and then of the release. She redirected her focus on me, having to straighten her hand once more from her body's shivered reaction. She smiled at me and said, “Already to go again?” She laughed.

I smirked, feeling a dimple appear in the side of my cheek, “I'm always ready to go when you're around.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and chuckled. She bit down on her lip and circled back around the other side of her eye, “Are you guys ever satisfied? You're never-ending, like that rabbit on the Energizer commercial: just keep going, and going, and going.”

“Who do you think keeps my battery `energized'?” The smirked hadn't ceased and only grew bigger. Hermione shook her head, looking down at the sink for a moment, and then back into the mirror. She bumped me again with her rear and laughed. Hastily, I moved my hands out of her back pockets and into the front two. I pulled her body into my front and held her there. I kept my eyes on her as I watched hers open-and-close slowly. I could feel the gentle, sloping crease where her thighs and hips met under her jeans.

“I think we should get naked.”

Hermione's eyes opened wide. Her pearly whites dazzled as she smiled. The strict authority in my tone made her giggle, “And play…naked monopoly? Whoever gets Park Place first scores?”

“I was thinking more like…,” My thumbs pressed into her soft flesh outside the pockets; though, that wasn't the only object pressing against her. I leaned forward, my abdomen and chest lightly relaxed along her back so my chin became level, above her shoulder in the mirror. I kept watch of her nuances, the blink of her eye, the raise of her brow, how her lips curled in that beautiful smile. I lowered my voice, “…Hide-and-go-Peek.”

“Who's doing the hiding and who's doing the peeking?” Hermione lightly laughed into what I considered a subtle moan. I had my hands out of her pockets. Both went northward, the first, my left, settling under her shirt. I pulled her back with me when I lifted, standing up away from the countertop. Plucking the vial of black liquid from her hand, I set the eye make-up down carefully with my opposite.

Hermione turned her face towards me, our bodies aligned. Her hair draped beside my throat, tickling me into a frenzy. The hand I'd taken her make-up bottle with join its twin alongside her figure. My left arm tightened around her flat stomach, now lying bare for me to see in the mirror. My hand rubbed, stroking her soft abdomen while my other arm held against her cleavage, pushed into her chest, its respective hand clutching beneath her face.

Hermione's hands slipped against mine. Her left met my own on her stomach. Her right first grazed my hand upon her chin, but swiftly fell to my side. I felt her hand grip my waist, my hip, and slide around behind me to find my back pocket. She squeezed me, making my reflexive action in turn grind into her. I felt her heart pounding behind her ribcage. I felt her breath hot against my mouth, our lips intertwined. I forgot we needed to leave for Ginny's Christmas Eve party all together. Who wouldn't?

I couldn't stand it any longer. All of me wanted her, and by her responses, especially her nails digging into my arm, I knew she wanted me just as bad. With one, single motion, I swiftly picked Hermione up and tossed her over my shoulder. I heard her squeal with laughter. Her legs kicked around in front of me and I had a time holding them. Thankfully, the bed wasn't too far away, throwing her on it and watching her bounce with a sexy giggle. I crawled my way across the bed and gathered on top of her. She made a space for me, her legs spread and angled. She gripped me with them when I'd come in, like crab claws pinching into my torso—but a Hell of a lot better.

She wrapped around me and moaned, the thick of my tongue licking at the hollow of her throat.

***

I needed a cold shower. Hermione needed a cold shower. We would have showered together, but that would have gone against the grain of what we were trying to do: calm ourselves. We get to fooling around and it's hard to stop. She wanted to wait. Parts of me didn't. Those parts ached painfully for attention. One day I'm going to burst at the seams, I know it. Something is going to give at some point as much as I tried to contain the monster toiling inside me.

Ginny and Neville's house rocked to the pulsation of music. I'd parked between cars scattered around their front lawn. I helped Hermione out of the car, the bowl of potato salad in her arms. She cradled it, my arm looped around her torso, as we made our way up the stained woodened steps of their porch. We stood at their door. Hermione gave me a once-over, being particularly aware of anything off on my clothes. I did the same to her, assisting an adjustment in her shirt to make the elastic band evenly stretched across her arms and flicked away a leaf that had dropped from their trees surrounding the flat.

Everyone was supposed to be here. Considering the line of vehicles, they all were definitely here. We were late. I kidded to Hermione on the way here that we'd obviously have to make a special entrance. I was, after all, the “Boy Who Lived,” and she my partner in crime. Multi-coloured lights flashed our skin the spectrum of the rainbow, going from red to green, to purple to blue, to yellow to orange. Laughter overtook the music, and when I knocked on the door things quieted down. I heard footsteps coming up to the door and I noticed, from the corner of my eyes, Hermione getting ready for what was to come. She tilted her head up and faced forward. She became a little stiff, my arm still draped loose around her.

The door opened, the wreath jumping from the pull on the knob. Of course, who else were to see us first than Ginny? She delightfully screamed when she saw us, “You guys came!!”

Ginny half-hugged Hermione, having a time getting around the bowl between them. They took turns kissing each other's cheek. She looked over at me and pointed, “I didn't call a bajillion times. Happy?”

“Extremely,” I smiled, sarcastically. Ginny slipped from Hermione and hugged me tight.

“Merry Christmas!” Ginny peck-kissed my cheek. She wore a piece of garland around her neck. Silver, it was, with a jade green dress. If we were in Hogwarts, the Slytherin would be pleased to see her attire. Draco might have even hit on her. When she broke from me, she side-stepped back so she paralleled the door, “Come in! Come in! It's getting a bit cold out there, brr.”

Hermione moved in first, wiping her feet on the doormat as she entered. I followed suit, wiping mine and breached the entryway. Warm on the inside, the crackle of a fire came to my ear. The aromas of various foods wafted into me. Spices, like cinnamon and peppermint, surrounded me. Music, of course, pounded from the speakers farther into the house. We were in a hallway, stopped to let Ginny on through to make her grand announcement. We kept up with her pace, walking behind her.

“Guess who just had to make an entrance!” Ginny skipped into their living space. Hermione and I turned the corner and we were met by a dozen or more eyes upon us. I was instantly overcome by the people's stares that, when they first hit me, I became stunned. Slowly, I saw them in their suits, dresses, and other casual wear: Neville, of course, Luna, Seamus, Lavender, Dean, Lee, George, Parvati, Padma, Angelina, Katie, Oliver, and Cho. I hadn't seen most of these eyes since the Battle for Hogwarts.

All at once, we were taken aback by the mass of people. Seamus came to me at once and Lavender leapt on Hermione. Ginny took away the potato salad and galloped her way into the kitchen whilst each and every soul embraced or kissed us in greeting.

For most of the night, we talked amongst ourselves. Hermione was with me in the beginning, our hands held together. We told everyone about us, and how we'd been together for a little over a month now. Our fingers were laced limply. I stroked her hand, listening to her tell tales of our love. Nothing intimate, just stories with a smile. Hearing her affectionately overwhelmed, I got goosebumps. We really were in love and everybody in the room knew it; not only by how and what we spoke, but our body language, and how we kept looking over at each other constantly.

Seamus and Lavender were engaged like Ginny and Neville. Lavender held up her finger to show us the heavy diamond upon it. The rock's circumference could be compared to the size of a dime—it was huge. They were the only other couple besides us, Ginny and Neville, and George and Angelina. Socially, us couples sat together and gradually broke off into separate groups throughout the night.

Ginny took pictures of everyone together.

I had my hand around a mug of egg nog. I stood near the fireplace with Oliver and Seamus talking about the good ol' days of Quidditch. My eyes would linger over to Hermione. Her little group consisted of Luna and Lavender, their heads together, speaking softly to one another. The three sat on a sofa. Hermione had a piece of fruitcake Luna had brought to the party on a napkin. Lavender had a glass of egg nog in her hand, and Luna gnawed on a peppermint stick. Luna was going off on some topic about “Flizzing Whizcheese” or “Rizzling Crizfees” when I caught sight of Hermione's dark eyes wander toward me. I smiled, and so did she. It looked like she blushed, hard to see in the fiery, orange hue basked throughout Ginny and Neville's den.

The television was on and every-so-often a flicker of light would move across the room. On the tube played It's a Wonderful Life, watched by George and Angelina snuggled close together on another sofa as well as the Patil twins nearby.

The difference between Ginny and Neville's flat and ours came from the things, for instance, flying and twinkling over our heads. Angels and faerie-like ornamental pieces fluttered along the charmed ceiling, having been made to look like a wintery sky. A Santa Claus and full reindeer, with Rudolph, shot between pseudo-snowflakes falling and disappearing before hitting our heads. Stars shown against a deep blue sea mixed in with puffy clouds.

Ginny woke me out of a trance. She offered Oliver, Seamus, and I more egg nog from a pitcher. All three shook our heads. Ginny traipsed back into the kitchen with Katie and Cho at her heels. Seamus laughed at something Oliver said. Oliver lightly punched my shoulder and said aloud, “We should get you back out on the field. You know, the British Quidditch team is looking for a Seeker. Why don't you try out?”

“Nah,” I shook my head and looked into my mug. A swirl of cinnamon rotated amongst the milky liquid. “I have other priorities now.”

“I feel the same way,” Seamus replied in agreement. He had a plate of food in his hand. He took his fork and scooped up some of Hermione's potato salad and placed it in his mouth. “Priorities change. It's a whole different ball game outside Hogwarts, I can attest to that.”

“You guys are whipped,” laughed Oliver, biting down on a thick, fudge brownie. “I'm telling you, you guys are—“

“Pardon us, boys,” Hermione's voice startled me. Oliver looked as if he jumped clear out of his shoes. He choked on the bit of brownie in this mouth. Hermione snickered, having walked up to us with Lavender and Luna. Lavender was speaking silently to Seamus on her end on my left with Luna nearest to Oliver on my right. Hermione placed her hand on my stomach and kissed me quickly, “We're going into the kitchen, can I get you something? The fruitcake Luna made is rather delicious.”

Luna smiled dreamily after Hermione's compliment; though, her eyes sort of wandered off from us, following an ornamental faerie. I shook my head and kissed her lips, “I'm good, thank you.”

Hermione grinned, “I'll be right back.” She patted my stomach before going off. As she passed Luna, Luna immediately commenced the conversation as if she'd never stopped. Lavender was a little slow following, but quickly caught up with the two other girls in the kitchen after kissing Seamus.

A rowdy knock crashed through the chatter of everyone. I hesitated a second to see Ginny flitter from the kitchen and down the hallway before speaking up again with Oliver and Seamus. The party had been going for a few hours now, so in the back of my mind I wondered who had been later—way later—than us. I chuckled at the re-telling of the story of my bludger-incident and how “Professor” Lockhart implemented a dutiful charm to “amend” my broken arm. I had my mouth on the lip of the mug, drinking forth the spicy egg nog when my eyes glanced up. I should have known he'd come. George was here, and it is Ginny's brother. I'd asked her if he were invited, and she told me she had, but he hadn't accepted or declined the invitation. I guess he accepted after all, standing in the hallway and gazing around at all of us.

I put my glass down. The room fell into dead silence as Ron, his Weasley-red hair combed for a change, wearing a black blazer and khaki get-up, sauntered slowly forward from behind Ginny. Ginny's eyes went to me, and then to Neville who came out from the kitchen with a slice of cake on a plate. He walked up to Ron who stood still and offered him the plate. People gradually chatted into the atmosphere, the noise becoming normal again. Ron took up the plate and Ginny lightly embraced Neville, slipping passed him.

When Ginny got squared with me, turning back toward the kitchen, she mouthed the words, “It's Christmas” and disappeared. I glanced back over at Ron. He laid his eyes on me as they resumed their wandering over the crowd. Seamus waved at him, and Oliver waved too. Cho and Katie came out from the kitchen and gave him hugs. George tilted his head back and played cute, saying all dramatically, “It's Wonniekins!”

Ron made a face at his brother. He looked over at me and I nodded in greeting. I saw him approach. He put the plate of cake down on a stand beside the sofa George and Angelina sprawled across on and continued at me. I stood there, looking at both Seamus and Oliver who seemed fine. Of course they were. Hermione and I hadn't told them everything. Frankly, I didn't want to be reminded of it. Seeing Ron, though, for the first time since brought all those nightmares back again.

He put his hand out to me. He had turned beet-red, his freckles aflame and his ears flush. I stared at his hand, not knowing what to do. From my peripheral, I watched for Hermione. Ginny had to have told her by now who walked into the party. My focus reevaluated Ron's out-stretched hand, and I finally shook it. It's Christmas after all.

Ron shook my hand firm, and then brought me into the embrace I had known. I went to pat his back but stopped midway. I heard him say near my ear, “I missed my brother.” I shot a glance over at the entry of the kitchen to see Hermione standing in the middle between Lavender and Luna. Ron must have heard a noise, her footsteps, too. I felt him move, and then saw him step away from me. He had his head, his face, turned to her. Hermione just stared at us like a deer caught in headlights. My mind, body, and heart fought all at once. On one hand I wanted everything to stay as it were, peaceful, but on the other, my girl had been abused by this guy. I wanted to hit him again.

He shot away from me like a bullet. I couldn't react soon enough even if I wanted to. One moment he was here, in front of me, and the next he was in front of Hermione. I picked my feet up and began to move when I saw him embrace her, wrapping his arms around her arms. Hermione the statue; her eyes focused intently on me, her arms immobile. Ginny came up behind the three under the arch of the kitchen and nearly bumped into them, her hand on a Christmas-decorated cup. She gazed upon the scene, and then at me across the room. She closed her eyes, put the egg nog to her lips and chugged the full glass in its entirety.

***

The party was coming to an end. The night had turned to the early morning hours. The Patil twins had left. George and Angelina left, too. Cho, Dean, and Lee apparated back to their flats. Luna told us she had to go into work in the wee hours to make sure the Christmas edition came out on time. She also whispered into my ear that I'd been bitten by the, “Coopidalapamus”—an insect that infects people with love. I gave her a huge hug. Everyone had devoured her fruitcake. She promised to send Ginny and Neville more after she left work via Floo parcel.

I relaxed on the sofa George and Angelina had laid on. Sprawled on me lay Hermione in-between my legs. My left leg paralleled the back of the sofa cushion while my right foot sat on the floor. I had my back to the armrest, my hands enveloping Hermione's on her stomach. The black-and-white picture flickered on the television of what remained of It's a Wonderful Life. She had her head beside mine, our cheeks touching. I could smell of her vanilla scent, and the holiday spices she tasted throughout the night. The fire still crackled in the fireplace, giving off that gorgeous orange hue. Everything fit so right.

I glanced over from behind my glasses to see Seamus and Lavender curled up like us on the other sofa. Beyond them, a bar area between the den and the kitchen sat Ginny and Neville on stools talking with Katie. I couldn't hear them, but they were all smiling. Ron and Oliver had gone outside for fresh air. Unbelievably, the only thing Ron ever really did to us was hug us. He talked to me a few times, fleetingly, but that was it. No harm done. I made sure to come to Hermione and asked if she were okay several times. She said she was fine, but a little disturbed. Our emotions felt the same.

James Stewart's famous “Merry Christmas!” shouted from the talking box. I smiled, looked at Hermione who was glued to the television screen, and caressed her cheek. She smiled, the light of the fireplace dancing whites in her eyes.

“What time were we supposed to be over at your parent's tomorrow?” I asked softly, not to disturb the others watching the movie.

“Today,” she interjected with a smirk.

“Oh, right,” I kissed her cheek again. “Today.”

“It's after one,” Hermione turned to me and kissed my lips. I felt her fingers stroking my palms, her nails tickling me. She quietly said, “Merry Christmas.”

I grinned and caught her around the middle. Her hands instantly went to rub my arms. “Merry Christmas to you, too,” I replied just as quiet.

“Did you get everything you asked for this year?”

“And more,” I laughed through my nose and pressed my lips into hers. She responded back harder, the tips of our noses meshing together.

A blast of shattered glass shook the den. My first instinct was to shield Hermione, having been stunned for the briefest second, my heart leaping. I rolled my body around quickly so I covered her and shot my head up from the sofa. Seamus had taken Lavender, too, and held her protectively. I heard the ramblings of Ginny and Neville from around me. Ginny cursed and started toward the busted window behind me.

Another object flew through another pane in the window, shattering it completely. A rock almost hit my head.

“What the bloody Hell is going on?” inquired Seamus, moving Lavender away from their sofa.

“Who the fuck broke my fucking windows!?!” shouted Ginny, getting closer to the scene.

“Come on out here you mother fucker!!!”

Ron.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!” Ginny screamed across the yard from the newly “opened” panel in her home. She started up and ran through the den towards the hallway, mumbling as she went, “I'm going to rip him a fucking new one…so help me God…”

I looked at Hermione beneath me, “Stay inside.”

“Where are you going? Harry!” Hermione tried to grab me to pull me back, but I shook her off and went after Ginny. Neville ran on behind her, and I followed him outside. Behind me came footsteps. I glanced to see Seamus, and I hoped Hermione had stayed indoors.

The air outside had gotten chillier. If one would stand still long enough, he'd probably catch a cold. I could see my rapid breathing coming from my body in wisps of white smoke. I heard another object shatter against the house, having made it to their porch where I could see Ron in the middle of the front lawn. Oliver was nearby and immediately shot us all a look.

“Ron!” Oliver urged, grappling at Ron's arm. Ron pushed him away and pointed at him threateningly. Oliver shouted back at us, “I've tried to stop him! He's drunk!”

“Ronald!!” Ginny's shrill scream probably woke the neighbors a mile away. “What the fuck do you think you're doing?! You've gone too fucking far this time! You're going to pay for smashing my fucking windows!”

Ginny was in an all out sprint, followed by Neville who was just a bit faster than her. He grabbed her around the waist when Ron pulled out his wand and held it aimed at his sister.

“Back off, whore…,” Ron stumbled backward, but caught himself upright. “This isn't between you and me…”

“Ron,” Neville put up his hand, his other arm blocking Ginny. “Put the wand down and cool off, man. Everything is okay. We'll just go inside and get you some coffee.”

“Yeah, put the wand down, Ron,” I uttered, slowing down my pace. I'd gotten beside Neville at this point.

“Why, look! If it isn't the famous Harry Potter to fucking save the day! Everyone loves the famous Harry Potter! No one would ever think to compare the famous Harry Potter to a fucking two-timing mate!”

“Ron…,” He had the wand aimed at me now. I hadn't brought my wand. I never thought to need my wand. It was a Christmas Eve party for Christ's sake. The only things in my pockets were my keys and wallet. “Come on, man…everything's cool…”

“Everything is not COOL!” Ron screamed the last part, enraged. “I had HER! I loved HER!”

“Then why did you treat her so badly if you loved her?”

“NO!” Ron started to cry. “I was messed up, I'm screwed up. Stressed, a lot of shit is happening in my life right now! YOU!”

He thrust his wand at me, “YOU were the one I thought I could trust! You were my brother and you hurt me!”

“You hurt me Ron,” I tried to calm myself, my eyes flicking from the tip of his wand and back at him. “You hurt me, and you hurt Hermione, and right now you're hurting everyone. So just drop the wand and we can talk about this…”

“You—you what?” Ron spit at me. With a wide birth between us, his spit landed in the grass and never got close. “You want to talk to me…? FUCK YOU!!”

“Ron, I'm going to fucking call momma and get a fucking straight jacket on you! You've gone crazy, you loon!”

“Shut the fuck up!” he swished his wand at Ginny between Neville and I. Neville stepped directly in front of her, and I heard Neville say something, but it came out inaudible to me.

Ron turned the wand back at me, “I've thought about this so many times. So many nights I dreamed of getting you back the best way possible…”

Ron's eyes were black, and for a brief moment he remained still and silent.

“You took…everything…away from me…” Ron slowly lifted the wand and put it to his head. The tip of the wand pierced his temple.

Ron's eyes closed and re-opened after hearing a crunch beneath my feet. I'd stepped forward, “Ron, come on…just put the wand down…”

“I'm doing you a favor, man.”

“Why would you want to do that?” I didn't want to take another step in fear of pushing him into doing the unmentionable. “You hate me.”

I could see tears running down his freckled-cheeks.

“If you do this, you won't hurt me. You'll hurt your mom, your dad, your friends…they all care and love you…I know you don't want to do that…” I raised and lowered my hands slowly. “Ron, put the wand down man.”

Ron clinched his teeth together, his jaw setting, “I don't know what to do anymore.”

“Everyone gets a second chance, Ron…” I pleaded. “If you put the wand down, you'll get that second chance…”

Ron tilted his head back and screamed a hair-raising scream into the night. He fought with the tears, immersed and wrought with psychological turmoil. He shouted the word, “Why?!”, and I saw the wand drop out of his hand. Ron fell to, to his knees, and I saw a purple flash of light sail from behind me. Seamus chanted an expelliarmus spell the second Ron's wand hit the earth. The wand flew up into the air and landed a few feet away.

I watched, as if in slow motion, Neville fly in and tackle Ron to the ground. Ron's body thumped into the dirt. Neville bent Ron's arms back and kept him still. He looked back at the others, and at Ginny who began crying behind me. I think my life flashed before my eyes. I couldn't breathe, realizing as the scenario slapped my face what could have happened. I could have died. Ron could have easily killed me. Ron could have easily killed himself. People could have died.

Vanilla ruptured the stale air I heaved in. Hermione grasped me from behind. She had to have ran at me, her body smacking into my backside. I heard her sobbing, crying. I heard her saying my name repeatedly, her face in my back. I felt her hands, her fingertips pressing into me, gripping me, feeling me as if she were making sure I was actually there in the flesh.

A year ago this was my best friend. A year ago I would never have dreamed of something like this unfolding. Never would this happen. It would have been absurd, laughable, something of a joke. But here I stood, breathless, in a daze; looking on at Ron who convulsed in the dirt and the weapon that could have ultimately crushed what I had believed to be my perfect, untainted world.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Fix You by Coldplay, especially during Ron's attempted suicide, and Paint the Silence by South}

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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: All of this was waiting to get out after the last chapter ended. I actually got emotional writing some parts of this chapter, especially when Harry's reflecting with Hermione amongst one of the largest family-oriented holidays. I'm very pleased with the outcome, and I hope you enjoy chapter eight.

***

Chapter Eight ~ Family

Hermione's form fit to my jigsaw piece. She twisted on me, having picked her up out of the car. She fell asleep on the way home. I probably would have done the same; but alas, I drove. Not such a good combination. My knuckles were white, gripping the steering wheel. My head was motionless to the point where my neck began to sore. I was stiff, replaying what had happened over and over, and over again in my head.

The moment Ron stopped talking, his wand at the ready, I wish I knew what he was thinking. I could only guess the worst possible scenario. My scar itched, memories I could only remember because of my imagination rose from the murky depths of their repression. A wand directed at me when I was but an infant. The wand grew green at the tip, and then shielded by my mother who died saving me. I thought I saw faint green on Ron's wand; but, I hoped for the sake of him that that was just my vivid imagination. I couldn't think of Ron, my best mate for years, succumbing to commit homicide, to murder me.

Katie called what could be considered the magical world's police department. People in black-and-blue cloaks apparated to investigate what had happened from the Ministry's Improper Use of Magic division. The squad of men and women took each of us individually and asked questions. Very formal, they were, and very direct. I told them what went down, and when asked for more information regarding Ron's motivation, I told them about Hermione's past. Then, I told them about our relationship. The officer took down everything I said by hand, another separate notepad flopping in the air with a Quick-Note quill scratching away.

I looked over at Hermione. I'd taken her a blanket from Ginny's house and given it to her. The blanket wrapped around her shoulders and fell, brushing the ground. Her eyes were locked on the female Ministry officer buzzing her with questions. I'd catch Hermione nod, or shake her head, tears still evident on her stained cheeks. Ginny and Neville were asked if they wanted to press charges against Ron. I remember Ginny's face, liquid approaching the ducts to streak along her nose, gaze toward Neville and shake her head.

When appropriate, I rushed to Hermione's side and grabbed her, pulling her to me. I didn't want to leave her side and felt the need to run even as the Ministry officer interrogated me further. She slipped the blanket around me as much as she could, my arms wrapping around her torso. I embraced her, not wanting to give her up. She lightly kissed my chin, and then burrowed her face into my chest. Ron spewed tears, his emotions clear and audible. He kept repeating the word, “No,” and saying things like, “I wish I'd never done it!” Carried off by two officers, Ron was handcuffed, secured, had a binding enchantment put on him and disappeared with the rest of the investigation crew.

I didn't want to see him disappear with them, my face like Hermione's hidden. I smelled of her hair and heard the popping noise of the eight Ministry employees leave our environment. I kept her warm as it drew bitter cold, and finally lifted my head when I knew they had gone. I heard Ginny crying, drifting away from us. Neville took her into the house, leaving Hermione and me alone where it all began and ended.

I took one slow step at a time up the staircase. Hermione hadn't so much of budged other than her arms tightening around my neck. Her legs were around my waist and my hands carried her under them in support. I set my car keys down on my desk after entering our bedroom. To think, as I went to lay Hermione down, gazing at the ticking clock, only two more hours until the sun rose to start a brand new day. I wondered if we were going to make it to her folks for Christmas dinner…yeah, we had to, sleepy or not. Though, her parents would probably understand if we had not. They're sensible people.

I laid my beautiful woman down on the bed, taking the sheets and pulling at them to slip her in. I had to retract her arms, as they were really, really taut to my neck. I smiled when she didn't want to let go, her eyes opening and closing. She realized where we were and who was doing the tugging. She grinned at me and let go, shifting into the mattress.

I went to the other side of the bed after observing her get comfortable, taking up a pillow and wrapping her arms around it. I sat down on the edge, the bed springs squeaking under my weight. I crossed my legs and began untying my shoes, flipping to the other when I'd gotten one off. My mind and body was exhausted, not caring one way or the other about anything else. I didn't care if I had slacks on or my socks after my shoes. I took my glasses off and laid them on the nightstand which had the telephone. I leaned across Hermione to do so, and when I came back began untying her shoes as well. Gently, I slipped her right little foot out and then the next, glancing toward her every-so-often to make sure she was all right.

I removed her socks, shoving them inside her shoes and placing them beside mine on the floor. I crawled back over to her. My hand glided across her leg, upward, to her hip and waist. I bent down and kissed her cheek, nudging my nose against her to rouse her awake for just a second. She made a “Mmn…” noise, a cue for me to ask quietly:

“Do you want me to remove these?” I lightly patted her black leather belt. “Are you comfy?”

“Mmn…,” she breathed through her nose. Her eyes never opened, but she flipped over on her back and tried to yank down her jeans. She was having a hard time getting them off, her thumbs inside. Of course she would with her belt and all still on.

“Hold on…,” I smiled, whispering to her softly. I began undoing her leather belt, pulling the extra part of the clasp outward and sliding it from her hips. Her hands had stopped moving, her arms rising to the pillow where she laid them relaxed above her head. She turned her face into the cotton material, looking content as I pried the button on her jeans from its hole and let down her zipper.

I lightly tugged at her hips, and then slid under her rear with my hands. Her lithe body jostled some from my careful actions. I had to catch her yellow-and-navy striped underwear from coming down with her jeans, pulling them back up to her hips. Around her thighs I went until I had the jeans off her knees and shimmied from her feet. I sat back and folded them perfectly straight and set them aside. Hermione rolled over toward me on her side and clasped at the bed with her hand. She lay on her hair, her hair everywhere about her, and nuzzled into the pillow.

I lowered to her. I kissed her upper arm, her bare shoulder, her jaw line and then her forehead. She smiled and gripped lightly into the mattress with her nails, portions of the bed sheeting caught in her hand. I bent to her ear and asked, grazing my nose against her earlobe, “Anything else, my sweet?”

She grinned slightly, having heard me but succumbed to our exhaustion after saying in a whisper, “…just you.”

My heart grew three times. My smile quadrupled in size. I caressed her bare shoulder again, moved back into my sitting position and pulled my shirt off. I leaned over the bed to turn the lamp down and off. I rolled right back over, grasped the sheets, the quilt, the comforter in my fingers and wrapped around my tired out, treasured Hermione.

***

I don't think I made it a second into sleep. A piercing noise struck me and I all at once bolted up. The telephone shook with its ring. I didn't know what to expect, dreading the worse. I maneuvered myself over Hermione conscientiously, to not hit her in the blackness. The sun hadn't risen, so I knew I hadn't been under the sheets for long. I wished I could see the clock, my eyes fuzzy from lack of eyesight and sleep. I grabbed the phone before it could wake Hermione up more and placed the cold receiver to my ear.

I didn't hear anything on the other end the second I held it. I cleared my throat and said, “Hello?”

I heard breathing on the other end. I heard what I thought was crying. “…Harry?”

“Ginny?” It was Ginny. It hadn't been but an hour or so since we left her. My heart sank to my stomach. My mind and voice grew in haste. “What's wrong?”

“They—they—,” Ginny stuttered, trying to get the words out. She'd been crying.

“Ginny, calm down,” I insisted. “What's wrong?”

“The M—Ministry just called me to tell me they've,” Ginny heaved into the phone. I heard her begin to cry again. “They've put R—R—Ron in to be hospitalized! For ob—observation!”

I breathed in and let the air out slowly. I closed my eyes, “Gin, where are you?”

“I'm—I'm s—s—sitting on the f—fl—floor in our k—k—kitchen…,” I could barely make what she was saying out. “I—I don't know what to do, Harry!”

I sighed. It hurt me to hear her upset. It hurt me to hear Ron had to be hospitalized…even though it was probably for the best. “Where's Neville? Does he know where you are?”

“No…,” Ginny whispered into the phone. “He's sleeping…I couldn't wake him up…I'm sorry…”

I sighed again. I could feel the onset of tears in my eyes. She was torn to pieces. “Gin,” I said softly to her. “Gin, here's what I want you to do…okay?”

“Uh huh…,” she sniffled through the phone.

“Go back upstairs, get in bed with Neville, and go to sleep, hun…,” I lowered my head and felt of my temples. “Everything will be fine…Hermione and I are here, all the time, day or night…okay?”

Ginny sucked in miniature breaths. I could tell her chest was rising and falling at an abnormal rate. “Uh huh…okay…you guys are so good to me…you're so good to me, Harry…”

I felt Hermione lightly grip my wrist. She was awake and listening, or so I thought. Her grip lessened after every passing tick of the clock. I whispered back to Ginny, “All right…are you getting up now?”

I heard movement around the phone, her breathing getting far and near, “Yeah…I'm getting up off the f—floor…”

“Okay, hun…,” I glanced over at Hermione, her silhouette shown against me in the night. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was serene. She must have fallen back asleep with her hand around mine. I thought I heard Ginny about to hang up when I called out for her, “Gin.”

“Good night, Harry…,” she sniffled again. “…and, thank you…for everything…”

“I love you.”

I could hear her smile through her tears behind the phone, “I love you, too, Harry…Merry Christmas you guys…”

“Merry Christmas…,” I announced silently. “Get some sleep, and have fun tomorrow…today.”

“You, too,” Ginny's breathing had lightened since the beginning. “Have fun at the Granger's. Save some food for me…”

“Will do,” I smiled. “Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams, Harry…”

I rolled back over Hermione, vigilant to not wake her. When the phone set back on its base, I took my place back alongside my sleepy lover. I pulled the sheets to my neck and wrapped my figure around hers. I heard her sigh against me, her hands and arms feeling of me. She caressed my chin, and then my lips briefly before saying in her drowsy state, “…I love you so much.”

***

Hermione hit the snooze on the alarm when it went off. She hit again. And, again. And, again. Finally, her exhausted state-of-mind knocked the machine off the stand. The electronics came crashing to the floor—and that definitely woke us up. She lifted before I did. I squinted my eyes open in the shiny room, the sun having risen over the horizon. I shifted around her, as she sat stretching, to see the clock. Nine-ish…when we were supposed to be awake at least by eight. We received roughly five hours of sleep; though, not entirely complete. We moved a lot in the night, and at one point she kicked me unknowingly. She was sound asleep at the time. She must have been having nightmares…I know I did. Ron with his wand on loop in my brain. I don't think I'd ever lose that memory.

I lay back on the pillow. Hermione sat where she ended up after the alarm fell. She put her hands on her face and ran her fingers across her eyes. Her hands fastened together, her fingers interlocked. She raised her arms, the ochre shirt lifting to leave behind her bare sides. My fingers crept their way slowly towards her back. My fingers were cold, and she sucked in a breath. She flicked her head to the side and grinned at me, the indent along her back my road. The feel of her body, in just my minimal touch, already warmed my hand.

She picked the sheet up as she rolled over on me. Her figure formed against the left side of mine, our feet together beneath the sheets. She grazed the bottom of my foot with her toes, bringing a grin to my lips. Tucking loosening strands of hair behind her left ear, she leaned down and met me mouth-to-mouth. She kissed just below my bottom lip, to my chin, alongside my Adam's apple, and then rested at my clavicle. She tilted back up and set her gorgeous brown eyes upon me. My hands moved their way up her back, folding her shirt as they went. My thumbs getting to her backside, before the rest of my hands, made her shiver and she arched herself. She closed her eyes a moment as I wrapped myself around her warmth.

She took the front part of my hair and combed it back into the pillow, her nails lightly scratching at my head, “…You're so cold…”

“You left me…,” I watched her eyes wander away. She blinked upward, and I could feel her thumb grazing my lightning bolt scar. She only did that when something she was thinking became negative, a nightmare. She was probably thinking about last night, earlier this morning, and what came to fruition in that split second of time. I gripped into her softness and shook her against me. She finally looked back down at me after lingering her gaze on the infamous symbol, “Hey…”

I could tell her emotions were running wild. Her eyes became glossed over, but she smiled at me nonetheless. “Hey…”

“Merry Christmas…,” I said, briefly kissing her tender lips. “I think Santa Claus came last night. I think he may have left you some presents under the tree.”

“Really…,” she laughed a little, retreating from her depressing state. She caressed my mouth and whispered, “Even though I've been a naughty girl this year?”

“Well,” I whispered, too, her eyes on my mouth as I spoke. “I've been quite the naughty one, too…”

“Maybe Santa didn't get the memo?” she smiled and kissed me again.

“Hm…maybe…,” my hands explored her middle, moving north to her upper back, bumping over her brassiere strap. I smirked and stopped in my tracks. She was in the process of fidgeting from my feel when she halted, too. We both gave each other a look, a grin, when I said hastily, “I'll race you!”

“You're so going down!” Hermione leaped from the bed, two bounces at a time. I heard her feet hit the floor and step quickly to the dresser. My bare feet stuck to the wood as I picked one up and set one down, running helter-skelter out the entry, turning the knob and tossing the door aside.

“Hey!!” Hermione yelled back at me. I was already halfway down the hall when I came back to see her hopping on one foot. One of her legs had gone into a pair of striped silk pajama pants while the other tried to mimic but got stuck midway. I laughed at her jumping towards me, falling into the bed. “That's not fair! It's cold!”

“I'm cold, too!” I ran my hand along my naked chest. Goosebumps had formed, the chilly atmosphere perking me up.

Hermione's foot slid into the pant leg. She pointed beyond me, “Oh my God! It's Elvis! He's alive after all!”

“What?” Confused, I whipped around to hear, and then see Hermione rush on by me. I put my hand to my face and shut my eyes. Did I actually just fall for that bit? “I'm so going to get you…”

Hermione looked back at me coming, bumbling down the stairs on a mission. She was midway to the lower floor, past the second when she shrieked. Maniacal laughter throttled my voice, picking up my pace. If one were to have heard us, it would have sounded like many more feet trampling the stairs than four. I got to the ground level and snarled, my Hermione's eyes wide. She stepped backwards, giggling uncontrollably.

I didn't bother lighting the fire at that very moment. The Christmas tree could wait, too. My eyes never leaved her, approaching my prey. She wasn't watching where she was going, caught in the moment, and bumped into a recliner. When she glanced down, I pounced before she could comprehend. I grabbed her and picked her up, falling into the rug under the dim fireplace. She squealed and wiggled in my grasp. I held her against the floor and mangled her, my teeth gently gnawing at parts of her. I never left marks, though, playfully biting at her neck and shoulder, her arm, and then I lifted her shirt and blew lightly at her abdomen. That made her squirm the most, twisting and turning, but I had her quite firm to the floor.

I gradually loosened my grip as I kissed the part above her belly button. I slipped the tip of my tongue out and traced a line up one side of her navel and down the other. My hands held her sides, and I felt hers gripping at my hair. I glanced up to see her neck stretching, the hollow of her throat exposed, and her head tilted back. Her eyes were closed and she grinned happily, her hair in a mess all over the rug.

I heard her deeply inhale once more as I gave nice, long licks along her smooth stomach. I smashed my face into her unyielding tummy, my mouth at her navel where I caressed. Using my nose as a pencil of sorts, I drew a line from her belly button, hitting the ledge and rim of her shirt beneath her chest, between her breasts, and to her neck. Her eyes fluttered and she moaned at my light touches. I broke away from her, her eyes immediately blinking to life, and kissed her hard. She pushed my face into her, using the back of my head in response. Her tongue pierced the crease of my mouth to get at my own.

My lower body ground into her, her legs having wrapped my torso. Hermione released our kiss to catch her breath. Instantly, my mouth, my tongue, went to her slender neck. I needed her. Can you be more than aroused? I was more than aroused. She had to have known I was more than aroused. In any way, shape, or form, if I were to get off her and walk around normally, people would know how aroused I was. I grinded my hips into her once more, making her body shove into the carpet. She gasped, and I heard the inevitable:

“Wait, wait…,” She breathed heavily. Even she had a difficult time controlling. The problem with me, I surmised with a laugh, was the ability to want to procreate. As if it was scientific and not Hermione, her hot little body and mind always enticing me with every one of her lovable quirks. After a while, I think she could sneeze and I'd notice in that particular way. I loved her, and wanted—badly—to make love to her.

I immediately began the process of thinking about Dolores Umbridge in a thong. My nose was bent against her neck, my mouth halted on her throat. I felt my heart racing, my chest heaving. I felt her exposed tummy rise and fall at an incredible rate along my own. I felt her fingers untangle gradually from my hair, but still lay amongst the tufts. I opened my eyes to see Hermione's still closed. She was also in the process of controlling herself, her breathing slowing down.

“I'm sorry,” I said apologetically, grazing my nose on her cheek. I peck-kissed her cheek bone. “It's just very hard to not want to make love to you every bleeding second of the day.”

“You don't have anything to be sorry for,” she finally breathed, her eyes still closed. “I'm just strange, I guess. Any other girl out there would immediately shed their clothes and shag your brains out with the snap of your fingers.”

“I never wanted `any other girl',” I interjected, grinning against her cheek. “I want you. If you want to wait until you're ready, I'm more than willing to do so. I'll never make you feel like you need to do it just because I want to.”

I kissed her cheek once more, “The ball is in your court, baby.”

Hermione rolled her head to me and slowly opened those gorgeous, brown eyes, “I love you so much.” She tilted her head up to kiss me.

I responded to her lips, and then chased her throat to kiss her there again. I smiled when she did and lifted from the centre of her body. I held my hand to her, on my knees, and waited to lift her up from the floor, “Let's see what Santa got you.”

She giggled, grabbing my hand as I pulled her to her knees. I stood up and watched her stand right along with me, brushing her backside off with her hands. I started over towards the fireplace and got hold of a log. Hermione wandered over toward our Christmas tree. The white lights glittered the silver garland when she plugged the chord in. The tree we got was real, and lush with dark shades of green. We made popcorn garland as well, together, for an experience which hung in an on-off pattern with the purchased garland. An angel holding a candle lit the top of the triangular, seven feet tall holiday plant.

I'd gotten the wood burning when I turned back around to see her divvying the presents. She organized them on sides by which they were for, a line of four on my end and a line of five boxes on her end. She scratched the side of her head and glanced at me.

“I thought you said you were buying four!”

I smiled and plopped down on the rug. She'd gone to the sofa and sat. I leaned between her legs when I approached, opening them for me with my back against the edge of the furniture. My gifts were on the floor and hers were piled by her thigh. I tilted my head back in the niche her body created, “I found something else when you and Ginny went out to lunch that day.”

“But, you wrote on the note posted on the fridge that you went over to their house to play pool with Neville.” She looked down, our faces turned in opposites.

I laughed through my nose, “Where would the surprise be if I wrote in the note, `Went shopping for another Christmas present I think you might love, baby, be back later.'?”

Hermione made a pouty face, “But, now I feel bad…”

“Well,” my eyes wandered to her gifts. “You can always give me one and I'll put it up until your birthday next year.”

“No!” Her voice went high, and then she giggled.

I smirked, “That's what I thought. Besides, you said something the other day that made me think about you when I went to the store. One of those spur-of-the-moment deals.”

Her eyes lit up, “What did I say?!”

“Open the green-and-red striped box and you'll see.”

Hermione looked over, chose the very same box I spoke of, but stopped. She floated it over the rest and laid it down at the far end, “…I think I'll save that one for last.”

“Saving the best for last?” I chuckled, observing how excited she was at my surprise gift. She may even have gotten goosebumps.

Hermione nodded, “Exactly.”

Her warm hand rested on the side of my cheek, “Let's open them together—starting with the biggest of course!”

I snickered, dropping my head back down and hearing her from behind unwrap the crinkly Christmas paper. In my grip a square-like structure and heavy. I placed it on my lap and tore into the “Happy Holidays” wrapping. She started laughing, and I started laughing too. I held up the literature box-set of `Moonlight,' the series we've been reading together to see her hold up the box-set I bought for her.

She smirked at me and lowered to kiss the top of my head, “I love it.”

“Great minds think alike?”

“Sexy minds think alike,” she giggled.

“I love it too, baby,” I couldn't get to her face quick enough, Hermione lifting back erect. Instead, I caressed the inside of her right thigh nearby. “I can finally start on Breaking Dusk.”

“Don't you dare tell me what happens in Full Moon…,” I heard her hands going at another gift, the wrapping paper shredding. “I just finished Moonlight.”

“I won't, I won't,” I smiled, a gift in my grip. I tore the paper down one side to reveal a small grey box. I saw the word “Rolex” written in white cursive on the front and my eyes lit up. I popped open the hinge to see a silvery, male watch gleaming from our Christmas lights. The clock was set to our time already with tinier, individual clocks within the larger time piece. I laughed out loud, amazed. “Hermione…!”

“Do you like it?” Hermione had lowered to my shoulder and peeked to see me marvel at the Rolex. I took it from its sleeve and rotated the watch in my hand. “I hope it fits.”

“Where did you get the money for this, baby?” It's not like Hermione had an abundant cash flow like I did, having been given tons by my parents. Her bank account suffered far, far sooner than mine did which is why I fought to pay for everything when we would go out. She started musing over the idea of working, and I'd try and persuade her out of the thought—at least for now.

“Never you mind that…,” I felt her warm breath against my neck and then felt her lips upon the spot. She nuzzled into the curve made from my throat to my shoulder.

I reached around and ran my fingers through her hair, “It's absolutely gorgeous…” I set it back in its box and carefully laid it down. “I'll have it on when we go over to your folks. It's brilliant, thank you.”

She set her chin on my shoulder, “And, thank you for the vinyl record of The Beatles' White Album.” She smiled, “I can't even wonder how long it took you to find a copy. I've tried, you know.”

I shook my head, “Yeah, I know—I hunted that record down for weeks.”

“How much did you—“ She started to ask and I put my hand on her face. I laughed when I saw her scrunch her brow.

“Your happiness is all that matters to me.” I felt her back in the crook of my neck. She kissed me, bringing a chill to my spine. I felt her leave me, a cool draft puncturing the warm aura she left behind. She'd gone back up to retrieve another.

I unwrapped my third gift. I held in my hands a box of cologne, a special collection from Calvin Klein for the millennium. I smiled and patted the top of her foot to hear a squeal come out from her. “Oh my God!”

I twisted my waist to catch her holding up one of the six band-related tank tops I found whilst shopping. The one she held up pictured Joan Jett with fake, white and grey paint splatters with the words, “Misspent Youth” in red. The few more in her lap held statements and band member pictures of The Beatles, Sex Pistols, Foreigner, Twisted Sister, and Duran Duran.

My eyes went wide when I saw her grab the bottom edge of her ochre shirt and yank the apparel from her body. My focus went to her breasts, a yellow-and-navy striped strapless-bra exposed against her pale complexion. My concern for detail aimed right at the spot where both sides of her bra cups met. A navy blue bow the size of a knut was placed right in the centre. I couldn't help but notice, too, the round contour of the naked portion of her breasts above the brassiere cover. I'd seen Hermione in her bra before many times, but she never ceased to amaze me. I've held her while we slept tons, like little grapefruits they are, just large enough for my hands.

I couldn't help but my mesmerized by how her navel danced as she shimmied the Joan Jett's “Misspent Youth” black tank over her head. I heard her push her head through the hole, and her arms in through sockets, the fabric giving a little pull as it stretched. I couldn't resist, reaching in to poke her tummy. I gave her tummy a rub with my palm and absolutely loved how comfortable she was with me, allowing me full access of her body without ever flinching to see what I was up to. Trust.

I freed my hand when she tugged the tank down. I placed my chin on her knee and gazed up at her, and how the tank fit so very close to her form. I only wished she wasn't wearing that damn brassiere as I could see its shape underneath the top, the top being just that tight on her body.

Hermione adjusted herself and reached behind her back to flip the tag down inside her shirt. She grinned, taking trapped strands of hair and letting them fall amongst her brand new shirt, “How do I look? Good?”

“You're perfect,” I stated without a doubt. My eyes drew lines around her curves, doubling back up from her front and gently across the slim trim of her sides. I kissed her knee. “Absolutely perfect.”

“Thank you, love.” She leaned down and met me as I lifted my chin off her knee. She kissed me briefly through a smile. She nudged the tip of her nose against mine and giggled, bouncing back to the sofa in the midst of collecting another gift.

I turned my attention to the following gift in my lineup. I took the next, set it in my lap, and rummaged through the wrapper paper. I heard her gasp, and I grinned, waiting for the reaction.

“Oh my goodness!” she squeaked. I leaned my head against her leg and listened. “I've needed new guitar picks for the longest time! Oh, oh…Harry…and they're made of lignum vitae, oh, these must have been expensive!”

“You're so very welcome,” I ran my cheek along her thigh. This new gift wasn't so much an object; rather, I pulled a parchment from the cardboard box it was in. I slid my thumb through the lip to open it up and procured the contents. My eyes read the fanciful quill-written words:

Congratulations, and thank you for ordering the annual subscription for the Magical Sports Channel. We've tuned your television with our proper enchantments and on this day, December 25^th, 1999, until December 25^th, 2000, you will have all the benefits of our services including the Magical Sports Illustrated mailed to you every month. You will also be the first to see premiere games including the Quidditch World Cup preliminaries and the Official Quidditch World Cup Tournament.

“Hey,” I'd tilted my head back, smiling, my strewn, black locks all over her thighs. She was in the middle of opening a present when she gazed at me.

“I thought if we didn't go to the games this year that you'd like to watch it on TV,” she grinned, her cinnamon-brown irises on me.

“Come here,” with my head laid back she maneuvered down to me. I slipped my free hand inside her hair, my other still clasping the MSC letter. My lips did the talking, tasting her for the minute before breaking away. “You're absolutely wonderful, do you know that?”

“Anything,” I saw her, and then felt her hand roam over my chest. She lightly massaged my pectorals, and then patted the muscle. She nudged the bridge of her nose against me, kissing me once more. “Anything for my man.”

I twisted me body so I sat on my knees in front of her. Having gone through my pile of Christmas gifts, I wanted to watch her finish. Plus, as I smiled and she gave me a wondering look, I had one hidden, up my sleeve for the last. One, I would think, would make her so very happy. I'd been thinking about this a lot and finally went to the Ministry to straighten the red-tape out. I waited as she pried a large folder-type book from its wrappings.

Hermione opened it up slowly to see images, some moving and some not. Gently she felt the page she stopped on, having flipped through one after the other. She let her fingers, the pads of them, stroke the page. She looked at me after closing her eyes, and I could tell she could cry at any moment; but, they were tears of pleasure rather than sadness.

“It's a scrapbook…,” I noticed her hand on a picture of us from after the Yule Ball our fourth year. We'd taken a few without Ron. We were joyful, acting severely innocent. I had my arm around her waist looking a bit unaware, naive some could say, and bloody scared because Hermione…Hermione felt good that night. She smelled good, too. Hermione, on the other hand, her maturity times ten was greatly relaxed with her arms around me. We made a face to the camera and then laughed, turning to look at each other.

“Harry…”

“I hoped it wasn't too, you know…,” I motioned towards the scrapbook. “Self-indulgent. I found a few photos from our days together and cropped them in there. There are even blank pages at the end for more if you ever wanted.”

“I love it,” she exclaimed, a tear trickling down her cheek.

“Aww…,” I embraced her around the middle.

Hermione put her arms around me and hugged me tight, “I love it and I love you. The best present I've ever gotten—ever. I'll cherish this forever.”

“I didn't know how many more pictures the mirror in the room could take,” I laughed some, seeing her smile too. Any picture she'd taken with her digital camera she'd slide into the frame of any mirror she could find. The master bedroom mirror was crammed full of pictures of us, of her, of me that she'd captured. She even put a picture of us from our trip to the beach on the mirror in the bathroom. Every time I stepped out of the shower, I could see her smiling, beautiful face and her arms wrapped, pulling me to her in the shot. “Though…”

Hermione sniffled, wiping away some tears from underneath her eyes and smearing a little of her obsidian eyeliner in the process.

“I think I have one more present that could possibly trump that,” I smirked. “Or I hope, seeing as that's the best present you've ever gotten.”

Hermione glanced up at the ceiling and laughed, “I don't know how much larger my heart can grow for you without bursting out of my chest. I love you so much.”

I laughed, “Don't go bursting yet. I need you around for another hundred years or more.”

Hermione smirked, a blackish tear being pushed away with her fingers, “I'll be here. Right beside you, always, forever.”

I leaned in between her legs, my hands on her hips, and kissed her mouth. With our release I stayed in my spot, our lips near each other and said quietly to her, “Want to know what it is?”

“Of course,” she said back just as quiet.

“If my home were really normal, I'd have given you a key a long, long, long time ago,” I smiled hearing her still sniffling. “Two weeks ago I went to the Ministry's Security Division and asked them to make you my Secret Keeper. I want you to have complete access to everything. Anything and everything…I love you that much.”

I paused, and then began again, “So…here's my key.”

Hermione pushed everything aside. She grabbed me and kissed me hard. She led me by feel, lifting me as I stood. I dropped to one knee, and then to my other, on the sofa. I lay down on her, my hands going to her sides to hike her shirt up. I really should have gotten her those tummy shirts and save me some time getting to her lovely, smooth skin.

Her knees tightened around me, and she moaned into our kiss. I felt her hot tongue lick mine, my hands slipping up her abdomen, across the hills that were her chest, and moved my hands to cradle her head. She softly gyrated against me in our passion, and I smiled, my body grinding into every silken crevice.

***

“Do you think they'll like it?” I carried a vase of lilies and pink roses in one hand while opening the door for Hermione. We pulled up in front of her parent's house in south London, a rural area with lots of land. Because her mother and father were dentists, their home looked a little more than middle class. The grand entryway of their home had columns decorated with natural, green garland and red bows. White lights were strung along the wrap-around white porch connecting to a built-in garage.

Hermione's entire family was here. I parked behind a light blue Chevy Cobalt and next to a forest-green Kia. Around us were two other cars and a minivan I didn't recognize. Hermione stepped out of the car with her parent's gifts clutched to her chest. She flipped her hair to one side, the window blowing strands erratically into her face.

“They'll love it,” she smiled when I shut the door behind her. “And the tools you bought daddy he'll go crazy over.”

I watched my woman from behind as we made our way up the steps to the large stained-oak doors. Ovals were cut in their centre with broken panels of glass in a variety of colors. The glass was misty, murky for privacy. Hermione fixed her pink feminine blazer jacket, metal-studded wristbands on her wrists reflected the white home around us. A white-gold necklace hung loosely from her neck, jiggling alongside a black t-shirt she wore under the blazer. A gush of wind would pick the tail of the jacket up, revealing the lining and its velvety blackness. Dark, severely dark blue jeans clung to her hips. One would have to get extremely close to recognize their blue hue or else they'd think they were a black pair. A few holes were cut across the knees and her legs, tapering down to a pink-and-black version of Converse shoes.

She touched the doorbell and I heard movement from the inside. She glanced at me. I'd gone a little stiff, my muscles tense under a soft, black turtle neck. I couldn't slip my hands in my dark blue jeans or I would have, like a safety blanket. My hands held the Christmas-wrapped tool box and the vase of flora. The sky grew overcast, a spread of grey as if the earth were draped in one, big sheet of dull cloud. The world was just a tad warmer from last night, but I could still see my breath wispy white when I would breathe.

“I love you,” Hermione grinned, brushing her arm along mine. She probably would have held my arm if it wasn't for the presents in her arms. “Don't be so tense.”

“I've only met your parents a few times,” my mind, of course, thought of every bad possibility that could and probably would happen. I'm Harry Potter after all. “The last time I met them we were in Hogwarts, and now we're—“

“Together,” she stated with a smirk. “They know we are—relax.”

I paid attention to how bright her eyes were, especially against her black liner. I inhaled a deep breath, “All righty.”

I said it to comfort her, really. I tried to put on my best face and posture, but when the door opened and I saw her mother—Emilie Granger—my body became rigid again.

Emilie Granger looked strikingly identical to Hermione in practically every way possible. From her figure to how she smiled at us, to the way she moved to the certain spec of white shining in her eyes all reminded me of my girl. Though, Emilie was older with a bit of bag under her eye from age. Two distinct features offset her from the rest of the world, making her unique just as Hermione's brilliant mind did for her.

Even though Emilie had similar coloured hair as her daughter, the right side of her body was affected by albinism I believe it was. A streak of white hair, with no pigmentation at all, went from her front bangs all the way to the back. From the strip of discolored hair, if one would trace a line from the front of her hair downward, her right eye lay in the path. Her right eye wasn't brown like her left. Her right eye colour was cherry red. She'd been this way since she was born. Hermione had told me this years ago when I first met them in Diagon Alley during Lockhart's book signing. Like her daughter's amazing intelligence and sheer, natural beauty, that's what made Emilie her own being. Everything else about her resembled her daughter; and, if it's true the daughter turns into her mother, I'd be rightfully satisfied for years to come. Emilie was stunning.

Frederick Granger, her father, was also abnormally handsome. Intimidating, he was, in the category. With a chiseled jaw and a subtle five o'clock shadow, he looked as if he stepped right out of GQ magazine. He wore a jade-green vest over a white dress shirt with a crimson tie and a pair of black slacks. He had some sort of paste in his hair, leaving a posed curl to the front. He came up behind his wife at the door when Mrs. Granger's eyes fell on us. She laughed excitedly, her arms open to grab her daughter.

“It's my baby!” Emilie pulled Hermione to her in a big hug and kind of shook her from side-to-side in place. “Merry Christmas, Cupcake! You look so pretty!”

Emilie turned to Frederick behind her with Hermione still in her clutches, “I make one beautiful baby, don't I?”

Frederick grinned at his wife and looked at me next to Hermione. He set his hands out and asked, “Can I help you with those, Harry?”

“Yes, Mr. Granger,” I said politely. I handed him the vase of flowers first. “That's for Mrs. Granger for Christmas, sir.”

“They're simply gorgeous, Harry!” Emilie went from Hermione to me and gave me a big hug. Her violet cardigan sweater felt velvety against my neck. “And a Merry Christmas to you! How are you doing? Well?”

I squeezed her a little in response, “I'm doing very well. How are you and Mr. Granger?”

With her hands on my shoulders and a smile she said, “We're doing just fine. Just fine. Better now that you're both here with us for the holiday!”

Frederick was taking Hermione's gifts when he reached back to me and shook my hand, “Merry Christmas, son. Come on in out of this blistery weather. I hear it might snow tonight.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hermione grinned at me as she moved on into the foyer from the door, slipping passed me. I grinned in response and held up my present for Mr. Granger. Frederick glanced at it. “Where should I put this, sir?”

“Put it under the tree, Harry,” Frederick closed the door behind us. Emilie was off giggling with Hermione in front of us. I couldn't quite understand what they were saying, but they were talking loud. Their voice echoed in the hall that led to a staircase with two entrances to other rooms on either side.

I peered back at Mr. Granger and said with a grin, “I hope you like this, sir.”

He patted my back and loosely embraced my shoulder, “I'm sure I will, son.”

Hermione laughed and looked behind her to see me with her father. She looked ecstatic, her mother pulling her into the family room where I could hear the rest of the Granger's inside. When they both entered the den, I heard the gasp and scuffle of feet. Voices grew louder, and I could hear them all greeting Hermione in every sort of manner.

From my right side I heard Mr. Granger state with ease, “It seems by the look on my baby girl's face that you're treating her right, son.”

“She's my number one priority, sir,” I stated back, confident and content. “She's very special to me.”

“I appreciate that, Harry,” We were wandering together toward the same den entry as Emilie pulled Hermione into. I awaited, trying not to tense up under Frederick's arm, the inevitable gasp-and-greeting from all the Granger's. They loved me like a son, no doubt, but the stakes were heightened. They knew I now dated their daughter, their granddaughter, their niece, their friend and I hoped I came off for the better than the worse.

***

I relaxed over the course of dinner. I ate a magnificent meal, prepared just right. Stuffing and mashed potato with chicken-flavored gravy, glazed ham and turkey, dinner rolls the size of oranges with melted butter on the crisscrossed tops. Tea and wine were served for beverages. I took wine, like Hermione who sat on my right. I listened to them talk about their work, their life, stories from Christmas's past.

Frederick brought up a fascinating story about Hermione falling face-first into her mash potatoes when she was two. Embarrassing maybe to Hermione, who kept saying “Daddy…” the entire time, but I found it simple interesting. The conclusion ended up being she fell asleep, tired, and zonked out at the dinner table. The family all took turns laughing and Hermione looked over at me blushed with pink. I squeezed her hand, our hands interlocked under the table. She went to hold mine when dinner was finished and never let go.

I met her uncle Paris and aunt Ariel, the people who drove the minivan I'd never seen. Ariel was Emilie's sister. They had just married a year ago and had an infant daughter, Hope, who clung to Ariel. Hermione asked if she could hold Hope and Ariel smiled and said, “Of course, `Mione.”

Hermione cradled Hope in her arms. Hope, asleep, gently grabbed onto Hermione's shirt and held it taut. She looked up at everyone and grinned. People who watched sighed. Ariel, pleased, expressed an “Aww…” Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Seeing Hermione nestled with Hope…I felt pure joy on one end of my emotional scale, but fearful on the other end. The way Hermione looked at me was as if she wanted one of her own, and my eyes grew wide.

I actually wanted to kiss her at that very moment, but felt it strongly disapproving towards our surrounding environment. Giving Hermione a child of her own, our own…I hoped was later on down the road. For now, I thought, fooling around and exploring each other was quite enough—and fun, so fun. Oh, so fun indeed. I chuckled to myself. I could see myself as a father…when I was thirty, or older.

The Granger family began to leave the table when Hermione's father spoke up, “Harry.”

Hermione had me by the hand and was leading me somewhere. She stopped, I stopped, and I turned around to face Mr. Granger at the head of the table. Emilie took up his plate and kissed his cheek prior to him calling my name. “Yes sir?”

“Do you know what follows after getting me those tools?” We'd opened presents before dinner in case people needed to go home after eating. Mister and Misses Granger had gotten me some shirts. Hermione was in cahoots I later found out over the phone with her mom, telling her my size. I thought it was greatly endearing and thanked them both. Hermione got some books and CDs she wanted, a new sweater and some other apparel following the trend she wore.

“No sir,” I said. I felt Hermione's hand lightly lace between my fingers. She was also looking in her father's direction.

“Remember that old '64 Ford Mustang out in the garage I showed you a year ago?”

“Yes sir, it's very pretty.”

“Well, the girl needs to get running and I'm going to need some help one of these days,” Frederick grinned and started to get up from his seat. “Care to help me when the day comes? That is, if this silly Y2K doesn't happen.”

I laughed, “Yes sir. You give me a day and time, and I'll be there.”

“Thanks son,” he went to grab some food off the table to help the others in cleaning up. “You're a right good young man.”

His eyes went between Hermione and me, and flittered to her fingers within mine. He sighed, and said with that certain father-authority tone, “Baby girl.”

Hermione's clasp tightened, “Yes daddy?”

“You better keep that boy,” Frederick said whilst meandering into the kitchen with two platters of picked-away food in his hands. I heard him whistling as he went.

Hermione smiled and turned her head towards the direction her father went, “Will do, daddy.” She then looked at me when he vanished from the dining room and whispered, “Come on…”

Hermione led me outside through a backdoor exit. Her father had built, with his own two hands, a jungle-gym set just for her. As an only child, this was probably one of her parent's way of getting her active so she didn't feel lonely. She had friends growing up, but when she went to Hogwarts she all but lost them year after year as the magical world suffocated the real world. All her energy went to her magical studies when her friends were off in the nearby public school doing “Muggle things”. There wasn't much of a connection, and she surely didn't show off her abilities—that's against the rules of that universe.

Hermione sat in the seat of her old blue swing. She twisted around so the rusting chain links looped together and slowly let the tension release. She turned around and around, in a circle, the tips of her shoes digging into the earth below. I squatted in front of her, allowing the momentum of the swing twirl her gradually so she didn't get sick. We chatted small talk. She was ever so pleased of the reception her parent's had of our relationship. Not that she was afraid they'd not let her court me, but the product of having her stay with me and live with me was a whole other ballpark. That, I could tell, could be unnerving for parents, especially for a father and his daughter. Hermione's father would go to the extremes to protect his “baby girl,” and he told us today in so many words that he was proud she found someone like me; a gentleman so opposite to how Ron disrespected her.

We hadn't really had a second to ourselves while we were here, either. Not that we didn't want to come to her parent's, especially Hermione as they were her parents, but she wanted to spend some alone time with me. We always wanted our alone time. When the swing came back around straight, my hands still on the chains, she bent into me and kissed me. A loving, sweet kiss. Nothing entirely intimate we'd do behind closed doors. Very innocent and somewhat nostalgic from our first days.

When we pulled our lips away, she had her eyes closed and was left in a genuine smile. She made a “Mm…” noise from her throat and nuzzled against my face enough to send me into a shiver. She blinked open her eyes, “Daddy utterly adores you.”

“I love your parents,” I smiled and kissed her briefly again. “They're very open and optimistic. I don't think I could trust any guy around my daughter if I had one.”

“But you're not just `any guy',” she smirked, nudging the tip of her nose with mine. “You're completely special, and my family sees it. Everyone sees it. I know I saw it a long time ago.”

“I'm glad,” I moved my hands from the chains and wrapped my arms around her. I didn't put any weight, letting my squatting position gather all of it. I had my arms unconstrained alongside her trim figure. “I'm very glad they accept me.”

Hermione nodded at my words and slowly withdrew some. I realized her change in mood when she grew sober. She drew a circle with the toe of her shoe, glancing down at her work and then to me. She asked me, quietly, “…Would your parents have approved of me?”

My heart exploded against my chest. I thought of my mother and my father. Lily and James. They were smiling in my head and nodding as if they heard her and were right here, standing beside us. I gripped her body and embraced her tight. She hugged me tighter, her hands going to my back where she rubbed. I kissed her neck, and then her cheek as I pulled away, my lips in a grin.

“Yes,” I said very affirmably. I shook my head gently. “Yes, definitely. They would have, without question, loved you just as I love you. I'm sure if my mum and dad were here they'd give you the biggest, warmest hug.”

Hermione tightened back on me, hugging me with all her might. She whispered into my ear after kissing my cheek, “I wish I could have met them. I would have loved to have met them.”

“I wish you could have, too,” I smiled, my eyes closing to see my mom and dad as happy as happy could get. I saw them embracing Hermione, taking Hermione in like a daughter and accepting her like her parents did with me. They would have loved her unconditionally. “I wish I could show you more than graves…I wish I could see them, too.”

I felt the onset of tears. My throat clenched, suppressing my emotions. Hermione filled the holes in my heart and massaged the lacerated portions, the portions that could never really be fixed. Like never seeing my parents on Christmas, or on another holiday, or whenever I wanted to see them and talk to them, hug them and tell them, show them how much I loved them. I went to their gravesite in Godric's Hollow and would bring a fresh bouquet of flowers when the others I brought died. That's all I could do. Hermione went with me several times when I did this, and I told them about her, showed her to them, and I hoped they could see just how amazing she was from Heaven.

“Come on…,” I heard her say. She went to get up and I stood to help her out of the swing. She took my hand and walked me back toward the house.

“Where are we going?”

Hermione turned her head to see me as we traipsed up the stairs from the backyard, “Upstairs.”

***

If some random Joe were to walk into Hermione's bedroom, they'd immediately think she'd have a complex for three objects of obsession: books, music, and…teddy bears. Her room was littered with stuffed bears with one gigantic bear in the corner beside a desk piled high with literature, quills, and the like from past days of Hogwarts. I could faintly tell the titles of some, one being Hogwarts, A History.

I'd been in her room before and it hadn't really changed. I remembered the various band paraphernalia on the walls, CDs and cassettes scattered everywhere from her love of music. Her room smelled the same with that thick, lush vanilla I'd grown to admire. Her room reminded me of her, my heart, and the warmth wrapped around me on her bed. She took me upstairs to be with me intimately, to cuddle and to sleep. I dozed off a few times, but woke when I heard some strange noise. Hermione, on the other hand, was extremely relaxed. A simple pattern in her breathing, serene and innocent. She had her arms near her chest between her body and mine. I had my arms around her, and we lay on her bed without having turned down the sheets. She had her face positioned beside my neck with my chin propped lightly against her forehead.

I looked at the variety of picture frames and photos lining the mirror of her vanity. Tons of them focused on Ginny and herself from all the way back in our second and third years. It was funny seeing the growth between my beloved and Ginny throughout the years and how they changed from age. My girl had definitely grown from the youth I'd thought had cooties my first year. Now, I wanted those cooties all over me every second of every minute of every day. My eyes lingered on the mirror where Ginny had written in red lipstick in the corner, “Ginny waz here 1995.” I remembered that day and relative night as Hermione invited only Ginny to a slumber party the summer holiday between our fourth and fifth year. I played my violin, whining, wanting to see what was so special about a girls-only party. Now, I laughed to myself in thought, I'd probably get a special-special invite to Hermione's slumber party.

I had my hand in Hermione's hair, stroking her head when I heard a knock on the door. Hermione's breathing went from calm and picked up in pace, her figure rolling a bit from my arms. I lay my hand from her hair to her stomach as she stretched and yawned through the words, “It's open.”

Emilie's head poked into the room. She gazed between both of us and grinned at our loving scene. She whispered, even though she didn't have to, “Sorry to wake you guys…”

Hermione inhaled, and then sighed, “It's all right, mummy…what's up?”

“Your dad is downstairs with the guitar,” she opened the door further letting in light that really brightened the dimly lit room. “You know what that means.”

Hermione sighed, stretching again, “I'll be right down there in a minute. Tell daddy to wait before he makes a fool of himself in front of the family…”

Emilie laughed, “I'll be sure to tell him that, Cupcake. Want me to leave the door open?”

I watched Hermione lift from the bed. I followed suit. “Yeah,” she said. “We're coming.”

“All right, Cupcake, we'll be downstairs when you get there.”

Emilie left us. I heard her footsteps soften as she walked away. I could hear, from the newly exposed environment, Hermione's father singing Christmas carols and strumming his guitar. Hermione made a laugh, and turned to look at me behind her. I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed her neck, and then met her mouth with my lips. After a gentle kiss and release she said, contorting her face by her father's trial at singing, “I'd better get down there. He might make ears bleed if I don't.”

I snickered, nuzzling into her messy bed-hair, “I'm following you.”

Frederick gave up his guitar after a failed attempt at “Jingle Bell Rock”. Hermione had plopped down on the sofa beside her father when we'd gotten downstairs. I sat down beside her. The only other people left besides her mum were Paris and Ariel. Her grandparents had left for the night as well as her parent's friends and neighbors. Paris had Hope in his arms where he rocked her asleep. Ariel was curled up beside her husband.

Behind Hermione's father was their humongous fireplace with an orange flame ablaze, warming us from the wintery cold outside. It was snowing as I could tell from a window. The tree, with the colours of the rainbow, sat in the corner of the room. Another Christmas having come and gone in what seemed, in retrospect, like minutes. Frederick sat in an armchair, Emilie alongside him on the armrest. We all sat in a semi-circle around a coffee table with a candle, a platter of Christmas cookies, and a few magazines displayed across the glass top. The three-pronged candle was lit, its flames flickering with all our breaths.

Hermione had her hands around the guitar. She played with the tuning, twisting one dial and then another. “The guitar is way out of tune.” She'd strum the guitar, but go again re-tuning.

“You know I was never the artsy-fartsy type,” Frederick went from focusing on Hermione to Emilie beside him. “I mean, we went to college to become dentists. Unless someone wants a root canal in the shape of the Mona Lisa, I don't think…”

The room mumbled laughter, and I chuckled as well.

Hermione fingered the chords and nodded her head, satisfied by her workmanship, “There, good as new.”

“Sing a Christmas song, Cupcake!” Emilie said, leaning in her seat towards Hermione.

“Sing `White Christmas',” stated Paris from his seat on another sofa. He looked down at rocking little Hope fast asleep. Ariel took a clean rag and wiped around Hope's little mouth of drool. I smiled at the familial affection, and turned to see Hermione still gazing at the guitar.

“Let's not hear another Christmas song, baby girl,” Frederick laughed, his elbows on his knees. He was intently focused on his daughter's hands lightly strumming the strings of his guitar. “I've already bloodied enough of them tonight.”

“I don't know what to sing then,” she looked into her father's eyes.

“What's in your heart right now?” he asked her. “You've always played what's in your heart.”

Hermione pulled her legs onto the sofa and sat on them. She peered from the guitar, to me, and back at her father and the rest before returning to his guitar. “I think…,” she hit a chord with her thumb, the sound reverberating against the walls and smiled into the firelight. “Yeah…yeah, I think I have something.”

Her father sat back in his armchair and watched his daughter begin strumming up a rhythm. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes. Hermione began humming, her eyes closing as well. I observed my woman with all her magical prowess…without a wand. She flicked her head to the side, her hair falling off her shoulder. She was grinning when she opened her lips to sing, and her emotion poured forth from the lyrics of her heart. Nothing but the sound of her instrument and her lovely, angelic voice resounded throughout the den.

“Someone told me long ago, there's a calm before the storm… I know…,” I couldn't take my eyes off her. She was a goddess in her own right. My heart stopped beating and I think my breathing ceased. She had me completely hooked. I loved her. She paused at the beat, and then finished the lyric, “It's been coming for some time.”

Frederick was smiling through shut eyes. Emilie was locked on her Cupcake, bobbing her head gently to Hermione's acoustic, but silent beat. Paris and Ariel had their attention on Hermione as well. The light of the fire glinted off Hermione's metal-studded wrist cuffs as they would slide ever-so-gently along her arm when she'd strum the guitar.

“When it's over, so they say…It'll rain a sunny day, I know, shining down like water…,” I watched every curve of Hermione's mouth, every little perk of her lip, how she smiled a bit in her song. “I wanna know…have you ever seen the rain?”

I sighed, too fulfilled for words.

“I wanna know…have you ever seen the rain…,” Hermione paused to grin, her eyes opening to see her hands plucking the chords perfectly. “Coming down on a sunny day?”

***

Hermione bumped the back of her head on the cabinets. I went to say something, to see if she were okay, but when I left to speak she yanked me right back to her lips. She sat on the edge of the kitchen counter, her legs spread enough for my body to fit between them. I held her waist, her thighs, my fingers pressing hard into them as her tongue circled mine in my mouth. The hairs on my arms stood on end when she'd trace a line along the wall of my mouth with the tip of her tongue and flick at the roof. I groaned and pushed into her front.

Her nails were in my sides. I felt her dig in when I pushed, grinding myself into her. We'd been practically all over each other when we got home from our wonderful, Christmas day. One of those days that couldn't get any better.

I had my hands in her shirt. She tore off her pink blazer to give me better access to her upper body. My hands traced their way across each tiny niche of her ribs until I found the beginnings of her bra. Hermione's hands went from my sides and down to my rear. She grabbed my ass and pulled me into her roughly. I could feel every bit of her through her jeans, and I bet she could feel every bit of me through mine. She tightened her thighs, constricting me against her and the countertop. It's not like I was going anywhere anytime soon.

Hermione tugged at my shirt. I had to pull away from her lips, as much as I didn't want to, to let her unfasten the damn buttons of my dress shirt and undo it from my slacks. She tore it off my shoulders, leaving me bare before her. Her hands went to my chest where she held me, her nails gently clawing into my flesh.

My mouth was back on her, but only for an instant. I tore away her shirt too. I hated that damn thing, and any damn shirt she wore. Always, it got in my way. She raised her arms. I jerked it from her body and threw it back behind me as she did with mine, leaving her necklace to bounce and rest between her exposed cleavage.

My eyes went there, and then my face. My tongue lapped at her chest, my lips caressing the contours her breasts created. She held the back of my head, pulling at my hair. I threw my glasses aside, them getting in the way too. I gripped her firm little ass and drove her into me. She nearly fell off the counter by my strength, having to grab the ledge before she dropped to stay up there. My teeth found the clasp of her brassiere in the middle of her breasts. I bit down on it and pushed my face into her chest, wanting and needing to pull it away.

She began panting by my ear, and moaned, arching her back and pressing herself into me.

The fucking phone. I didn't have time for this. The phone started to ring, and continued to ring. We let it go as I drove Hermione back into me. She clenched her teeth and let out this moan that had me go insane. My hands went to the rim of her jeans and I slid down in them. She was very, very warm…so warm. I pulled her lithe body on me with a tug of her pants. Her hands, and then arms wrapped around my neck. I could feel the cold metal parts of her wristbands against my flushed neck.

I had undone the button of her jeans, and was about to unzip her zipper to tear those off too, when the phone began again. We halted our actions a second, our foreheads together, our noses together. I felt her hot breath against my face. She closed, opened, and then closed her eyes again. She made a noise in her throat out of the sheer annoyance of the bloody telephone and leaned over, stretching to grab it from the wall. The chord pulled as she sat back in front of me. My hands on her stomach, I heard and watched her speak.

She cleared her throat, and said with a bit of exasperation in her tone, “Hello?”

I went to caress her neck with my lips when I felt her hand on my chest. I looked back up at her to see her eyes wide, too wide. I tried to follow her eyes, but she turned some and ran her hand through her hair. She gripped a tuft of her locks and let them fall back on her shoulders.

“What?!” she said, breathlessly. She gazed back to me, and I made a face of curiosity. Then, I saw a tear sparkle in the fluorescent lights of the kitchen and fall to the countertop beneath her. She couldn't speak, and what did come out came out in a squeak, “…What?!”

“What's wrong?” I had to restrain to keep from yanking the phone from her. Why was she crying? What the Hell?!

Hermione dropped the phone, the phone crashing to the counter and off towards the floor. The sound it made, I'd bet a thousand Galleons the plastic shattered. I didn't care. My eyes were intent on her stunned, immobile face. She wrapped her arms back around my neck and cried, her chest heaving against mine. I had my arms around her to hold her and probably said a tad too loud for taste, “Tell me what's going on!”

“Seamus…,” she tearfully stuttered close to my ear. “He—He's dead!”

Life pointed at me and laughed. Irony slapped my face. My heart dropped to my feet like a ton of bricks.

Welcome back to reality.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap, especially during the wrap-up after Ron's attempted homicide/ suicide, Ordinary World by Duran Duran which became Ginny's theme during their telephone conversation, Been Waiting (For A Girl Like You) by Foreigner, and Joan Jett's cover of Ever Seen The Rain during Hermione's guitar scene and the discovering of Seamus's passing}

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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: This was written in one sitting this morning (I'd be interested in how you all like my `off-the-cuff' writing). I wrote this away from my notes as I saw potential for something better than what I had written down. I wasn't going to write a love scene until a chapter or two after nine; but again, the potential for a strong vision crawled out of the ashes after chapter eight. With the phrase “with every death comes life,” I nearly titled this chapter suitably, “Life from Death”.

***

Chapter Nine ~ Undone

Seamus became the innocent victim of a head-on collision. He was coming home quickly after working with his father at a construction site. It was his and Lavender's one month engagement anniversary. He carried with him a surprise gift: a necklace engraved with the date and time he proposed to her within the 24-carat gold. He turned onto a side-road and simply was in the wrong place at the wrong time, to put it mildly. The drunk driver swerved into his lane, and that was all it took.

Seamus died on impact.

The other driver? The other driver, completely intoxicated, walked away without a scratch. The two other people in his car also were left alive.

I thought about Life the days after receiving the phone call. I wondered, why him? Why Seamus? Why not the driver? Why not the rapist or the murderer on television? Where are those wonderful folks at? In a jail cell, living off our taxes, living off the wages of the innocence they screwed over. I remember just flopping on the couch and leaving Hermione crying in the kitchen. Seamus was my friend, a brother to me. I had been in touch with him and his family since leaving Hogwarts. He didn't live too far away from me. Now…now he was being lowered into his grave at the young age of nineteen. Just like me.

Snow drifted from the sky and landed on my black trench coat. Hermione stood beside me close with her leather-gloved hand tight with mine. We'd just heard the eulogy from the priest. We heard the tears of Seamus's mother, and the screams into the bitter cold. Seamus's mother fell into her husband's arms, swooning. Lavender ran towards Seamus's casket and held onto it, her arms trying to grasp whatever she could, her face in the bouquet of red roses in the centre. Seamus continued to lower into the ground, and I felt helpless, watching in tears while Lavender spoke to God and wondered the same questions I did.

His funeral was small, involving Hermione and I, Ginny and Neville, George and Angelina and Oliver and Dean. Before Lavender could fall into the hole Seamus lowered into, Ginny ran to her and pulled her back. Lavender fought Ginny, trying her best to get back to Seamus. I was rooted to my spot, and I felt Hermione's fingers press into my glove. The scene before us was horrendous and utterly heart-breaking.

The snow started to fall thickly. After a while, we could barely see around us as if our own little world mattered and everything else became nothingness. The Father said his last words and brought up a large cross on a chain around his neck. He put it to his lips and made the sign of the cross. He clutched the Bible against him and sauntered toward Mister and Misses Finnigan. Lavender let out a scream so powerful that she had to have busted her vocal chords, and all the while I stood still, looking on like a completely worthless fool. Lavender fell to her knees in the snow and Ginny fell right along with her, cradling her to her chest.

Lavender was taken home by Seamus's parents. She was going to stay with them until she felt like leaving, even if that stay lasted forever. Oliver and Dean gave us both embraces at the scene. They had to get to work, so they apparated out after telling Seamus they loved him and would miss him. George and Angelina stayed for a while longer, standing like the rest of us as if we were the graveyard's new shipment of statues. After what seemed like a lifetime of gazing toward the hole in the ground, George and Angelina left us before the chill became unbearable. The cold hurt me to my bone, but I didn't care. Maybe this was a punishment of some sort; so, I took what was given to me.

Hermione finally persuaded me to go back to Ginny and Neville's. I didn't want to move. I wanted to stay right there. I wanted to see Seamus crawl out of this and laugh like all the pranks and jokes he pulled while in Hogwarts. I wanted to call Lavender back and to have her happy again. I thought of me, or Hermione, in there. I saw Hermione in the casket, and I also saw me putting my wand to my skull and asking for an Avada Kedavra. That would be the end of Harry Potter. I couldn't, and wouldn't, think of what she'd do in my place. It was too much to even succumb to the thought of suicide myself. I didn't think I was crazy or a loon for thinking that way, or the possibility of going down that dreadful path of no return.

I ended up on one of Ginny and Neville's sofas. We apparated here after they had to pry me away from Seamus. Hermione could see my pain. I don't think I blinked at all. I don't think I breathed once before, during, and after the eulogy. On the sofa, Hermione curled up on me and wrapped her arms around me. She held her cheek to my heart and held my hand, our fingers intertwined together.

Ginny and Neville sat similar except Ginny was more upright. She stared into the corner at nothing. Lights from the television flickered across her face. No one paid attention to the talking box. The television had become white noise for me; something that tried to drown me of my depression. It hadn't worked for any of us as we all remained motionless with only our breaths audible at times.

Neville shook his head back and forth as if he were trying to shake from a horrific trance. He rubbed his eyes and saw his lover seated on the edge of the sofa. He placed his hands on her shoulders and lightly massaged, coming to remove her tension. Ginny sat there a moment. Her eyes were black. Her hands were in her lap and she was tilted forward. I didn't want to know what sort of thoughts were running through her mind. I had enough of them.

Suddenly, she moved. She stood up and we all followed her. Without a sound, no footsteps heard, she went right into the kitchen like a ghostly spirit. Neville turned around to see Ginny leave, but swerved back. He placed his hands on his temples and gently rubbed them. We all heard the clinking of glass, bottles I assumed and lots of them.

I saw Ginny come back to their den. She had in her arms clear bottles and dark bottles, large and small, some I recognized and others I'd never seen before in my life. She obviously raided their liquor cabinet. She sat right back down in the very spot she stood up from. She used whatever she could, her elbows, her legs, her feet, to kick off books and a flower vase to the floor. A bowl of potpourri shattered, sanguine rose petals spraying everywhere.

She dropped the bottles in front of her. She didn't do it carefully either, just allowing them to fall from her arms and her chest. One liquor bottle cracked open from the bottom and the rich smell of pungent alcohol consumed the air. She took up a circular, medium-sized bottle and uncorked the top. She put it to her lips and pounded away at the liquid inside.

I reached over and took a long, slender clear one and unscrewed the top. One-hundred percent vodka. The odor could have knocked a grown man off his feet. I put the tip to my mouth and felt the hot, burning alcohol scorch my throat. I made a face, but pressed on anyway. I didn't care—I wanted to get drunk. I needed to get drunk. I wanted and needed everything to go away…at least for right now. I'll think about it tomorrow.

Hermione took the bottle from my hand when I'd drunk a third. She lifted a bit from my body and tilted her head back. I peeked into the vodka bottle and saw the liquid meet her tongue and pour down her throat. I saw her little esophagus rise and lower in drink. She let it go, giving the alcohol back to me when she'd finished a third in one, continuous gulp. Hermione laid back on me, her head on my chest, and her hair in chaos along my body. She closed her eyes and let out a tiny hiccup.

I put a hand on her cheek and she gripped it lightly. I leaned my head backward and alleviated the rest of the contents. My brain started to shut off, and I grew happy.

***

Hermione gripped my silver tie. Winding it within her hand, she pulled me straight off the bed. She straddled my waist and kissed me hard. She slipped her hot tongue into my mouth, and I tasted the unmistakable flavor of the stark alcohol she drank. She started undoing the knot in my tie. When the knot unraveled, I fell back to the bed and she fell with me. Her mouth stayed on mine locked in place and turned with every move of her body.

She threw away my tie and began at the buttons of my black dress shirt. I heard a moan from her throat, expressed when she breathed a second away from my lips. She was back on me after the brevity of the second, and when her tongue matched mine, I groaned. My hands were holding her to me, roaming inside the back on her shirt. I felt her muscles tense and relax with every wriggle of her torso.

I rose from the bed to have her yank down my shirt from my shoulders and off my arms. I helped her remove it, which in turn allowed me to watch her grab at the bottom of hers and pull her shirt away. Off from her head it went and tossed in some corner, hitting the wall with a simple thud. She took up my hands and placed them on her breasts, slipping them over her soft core and upward. I felt of the black lacey material of her brassiere, and the smooth flesh underneath. She used my hands to unfasten the clasp in front and down it fell around her slender hips. She wrapped her arms around me, gyrating her front into my waist.

When I attacked her throat with caresses, she stretched her neck. She tilted her head back and let escape a moan. Her eyes closed and I heard her pant. I held her backside and flipped us over, shoving her little figure into the mattress. I fit between her legs and drove myself into her. Her head hit the pillows, pushing them to the headboard. I pushed into her again, her hand going out to catch herself on the metal-and-wood above her face. She turned her head to the side as I bit down on her shoulder, and I felt her buck into my hips in reflex.

I slid my hands from her breasts, down along the trim of her form, to her lower body. I maneuvered my fingers sneakily into the elastic band of her black skirt and undid the clasp holding the sides together. The rigid, secure band loosened around her waist. I skated the cotton material down her legs. I bit her neck lightly after biting down on her shoulder, moving up to meet her mouth where she moaned into me. Having alleviated the bottoms, I slid right back between her thighs. Her hands pushed me into her by my rear.

My eyes were closed. I used my other senses to feel the tenderness of Hermione, the sweet taste of Hermione, and the fragrant smell of vanilla all around her. My lips hadn't broken away, her hands crossing my abdomen muscles to take care of my belt. I heard the aluminum metal of the clasps hitting each other and the gradual relieving of my black slacks. She couldn't get my pants down all the way as much as she tried with difficulty, fidgeting. I held where her hands held, pushing them into my crotch and ground into the centre of her body. She broke away from our kiss to breathe a heavy sigh.

I buried my face into her throat and licked at the hollow. Fingers entangling in my messy hair, she pulled at me as I kicked off my slacks. Our eyes opened quickly at the same time to see each other before shutting once more, our nearly naked bodies moving back-and-forth in synchronized friction. I had my fingers at her hips, my nails digging into her soft thighs. I slid away her panties and the black hosiery from the funeral. I heard a tear in the hosiery as I fought with them and eventually found myself with pieces of the sheer fabric in my hands.

I think I went to apologize for ripping her clothes, pulling away from her mouth only to have her halt me in a hard kiss. She lifted and tugged at my boxers. I pushed her back into the bed with my weight and helped her move the rest of my clothes down my knees and off my feet. Her lips were wet when I kissed them, the region down below similar to what I felt above. We paused for an instant, just for a moment when I pushed into my love slowly. She tightened around me, her hands holding at my neck and her legs wrapped around me. She arched into me, her body slithering underneath, rolling against my bare chest and stomach. I heard her clench her teeth, a hand going back to the headboard. She went to move into me, but hesitated, pushing against the wood with a sharp, sudden gasp. Her eyes went wide, and then rolled back into her head.

I tasted the saline amongst her lips when I kissed her again. Tears had fallen upon her cheeks, drizzling down along the crevice beside her nose and dripping to her chin. The tip of my tongue followed one trail on her cheek, kissing the spots that leaked down her neck before pushing forth against her mouth. I rocked into her gently, finding a steady rhythm with her body.

***

We lay looking at each other, our bodies satisfied far beyond biological gratification. I stroked her hair, combing each individual lock and strand in-between my fingers. She had an arm around me. Our faces were close, nose-to-nose. She'd open-and-close her eyes, never really blinking. We were still smashed, buzzed, but aware enough to realize the passionate harmony we made as one body with two minds. We breathed life into each other. I felt her warmth push against my face lightly, her panting subsiding.

The sheets were sprawled partly on us. Across the middle of her stomach at an angle, folded abstractly along my back. Her eyes wandered on my intent focus. I saw them trace along the features she could see without having to move, staying stationary after our love-making. I ran the pad of my thumb alongside her forehead, making her shutter against the coolness of my hand. She came back to me and smiled, her little breaths becoming a bit erratic from my light touch, but eventually slowed down.

She lowered her forehead on my chin and sighed. I felt her hot breath on the scruff of my neck, “I wanted to give myself to you before life could take someone else I love away from me.”

A tear trickled down my cheek from her words. I pushed myself off the mattress and gently wrapped around her. I nuzzled my nose along hers and kissed her with intensity, my heart beating fast. She moved with me, bobbing her head to the side, our faces meshing together. I held the frame of her face with my hands, cradling her. I felt her toes curl around mine beneath the tepid sheets.

I said, “I love you,” before pressing back into her.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Come Undone by Duran Duran on loop; the psychological duality of music and lyric are so alike in the way our minds have evolved}

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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: You can get a lot done while you're sick at home! I've been sick all weekend, and still sick. If anything about the chapter seems iffy, blame it on my medication! Haha. Also, I have to do a shout-out to KateJ, an author on here, a friend of mine during the “HMS Pumpkin Pie” days of old, and the web-mistress of harryloveshermione.com. Her fic on Portkey, Taste, was the first fic I ever read six years ago. I wanted to pay homage to her fic, and to KateJ, and made my “bath tub” scene with HHr reflect her “Egg Nog” chapter with love. Thanks KateJ for the good times!

Disclaimer: There may or may not be “descriptive scenes of passion,” depending upon your point of view. I don't get super smutty (at least here, I don't think), but be forewarned if you don't enjoy reading that. I never really understood the difference between R and NC17 ratings, anyway. I've seen some pretty graphic scenes in R-rated films.

***

Chapter Ten ~ Heart

We spent the entire next day together in bed. We made love…too many times to count. We exhausted ourselves, sleeping mostly, and getting out of bed only if we needed something essential like food or the lavatory. Then, if we weren't together eating for instance, our soul reunited with the other perfectly matched soul beneath the sheets. We laughed a little, wondering through our intimacy if we should hurry to Diagon Alley and purchase the Kama Sutra at the bookstore. Looking back, we didn't need it after all.

Hermione found the liking of my past Quidditch garb, especially my faded crimson and gold jerseys. She didn't so much as put any underwear on, the weather-beaten jersey long enough to cover mid-thigh. Whenever I saw her leave the bed, or amidst a shagging session, I loved seeing my name, “Potter,” written in gold along her back. How tiny her figure was, I'd sometimes wrap my hand around the excess fabric and knot it up beside her tummy. She said it smelled of me, “manly”. I figured it should as to how many times I had to wear it throughout the years I played school Quidditch. The jersey was absolutely clean, but from all the hours I spent involved in the sport, I wouldn't have second-guessed my sweat collecting in its miniscule, cotton atoms.

I watched her sleep within our sporadic intervals. The sun was setting through the window panels, giving the room lines of orange and purple mixed as one singular colour across the floor and bed. The snowy sheets clung to my hips, leaving my upper body bare, connecting a line along under her arm. The sheet collected behind her, falling away into a silhouette of her form. I had my arm propping my head by my elbow, my body facing her. I didn't have my glasses on, close enough to see without them. I ran my hand along the contours her body made, going from her knee to her thigh. I crossed her hips, waist, and arm with my ever-so-light touch. I felt the bundled sheet under her arm and along her breast, moving up to her neck. I traced a line underneath her jaw, around the frame of her face, and flicked strands of after-sex hair away from blocking her gorgeous features.

I watched her breathe in and out slowly. If there were angels on earth, this was one of them. I leaned into Hermione and peck-kissed her mouth, bringing moisture to her slightly dry lips; then, her smooth cheek, the tip of her nose, and her brow. I pressed my lips lightly onto her forehead and lingered a kiss. She smelled of me, and I smelled of her vanilla. I looked at her face, her body, the underlining language that spoke to me as she tilted towards me and saw briefly Hermione in her youth. All the way she traveled with me, and all through those travels she stayed right there with me. I saw her with that annoyed look she used to give me when I went overboard on something, and how her eyebrows and nose scrunched up. I saw her bushy brown hair and jumper, the Hogwarts-uniform white shirt and black skirt; her hands clutching her school books, running the halls to get to class. I saw her protect me with all her possible means, by intelligence or wand, and in the final years with her very own life.

Now, we shared each other as man and woman. My woman. My brilliant, gorgeous, beautiful, caring, completely ravishing woman. She gave up something to me with trust and her love, and as long as my heart thumped, I'd give back to her a hundred fold. Hermione is my soul mate, and no language or words can express just how deeply I am in love with her. Right here beside me, sleeping with a little content grin.

I must have fallen asleep. I awoke to a sunrise, and to the intoxicating aroma and breath of my lover. I blinked, my pupils reevaluating from the light in the room. I felt her present, her own eyes upon me. I glanced to my left, having flipped onto my back during my sleep. She nuzzled against my face and smelled of me. She placed her hands, her fingers along my neck and under my jaw. She caressed my brow and gently snapped at my ear.

I went to move, to shift up and felt the hand on my throat push me back down by my chest. My body lightly bounced, the mattress springs squeaking. I heard her snarl, and then purr. She giggled and kissed my cheek, and then my mouth. She rubbed my pectoral muscles, teased my nipple with her nail, and when I went to feel of her hand she slipped away from me to cradle my head. She bit my bottom lip and let it go, it retracting back firm. My hands glided to her face when she allowed me, holding her taut and meshed nose-to-nose.

Her fingers crawled across my midsection, over my abdomen and down in the sheets. I gasped, her cool hand wrapping around my circumference. My hips indicatively responded to her grasp, rocking into her. Stronger, I willed her back at least to her side as much as she resisted, being the dominant one. I yanked up her shirt while slipping my hand underneath the jersey and cupped her breast. With each pump of her hand, I moaned into her heated mouth. I found myself trying to mount her, pushing into the centre of her body but finding her hand in the way.

A thin veil of sweat enveloped my skin, moistening her as I'd grind into her core. Hermione breathed heavily, her wild hair sticking to me. I came off her mouth to lick at her neck and playfully bite. Her nails dug into my back, and with everything she could, she pushed me back flat on the bed. She threw what sheets were attached to us away from my naked and her semi-nude bodies. She let go of my manhood as much as it yearned for her not to. In one hasty motion, she was on me, straddled. I watched myself go in, and felt her heat. I nearly came right then, having to grip the bed and order my body to hold off.

I pushed off the mattress so her bent knees were beside my hips. My lips locked back onto hers. An animalistic growl came out of her tiny figure, and fell from her lips into a moan. Her sticky hair jostled and flew from side-to-side. She gripped me, her arms tight on my neck. I drove into her hard and felt her let go. I grabbed her body as she shook on me. I watched her arch back. Her face made an expression of pure ecstasy. Her mouth shaped into an “O” for an instant, and then curled into a smile. Her eyes were shut tight in the beginning, but then fluttered as she came.

I loved how I could do that to her. I loved how my body could have her express such a desired emotion. There was something about observing her orgasm that gratified me more than having one myself. Give her everything.

I must have been ready even before I woke up. It didn't take me long after Hermione to feel the rush within me. Wave after wave, as if all of me pulsed right to my groin to relieve the pressure. I let go. I felt Hermione slow down on me, but I couldn't see her. I blacked out, my eyes closing and groaned through gritted teeth. With every wave, I thrust, until I emptied. I panted, my chest heaving against Hermione's. She still had her arms around me, and throughout my release, my face had found the crook of her neck. I bit her shoulder and pushed into her.

I began settling down, my body allowing me. When I glanced back at her, I saw Hermione giving me that sexy, smug smirk. She loved watching me go as much as I did with her. Some of her wet hair dropped in front of her right eye. She flicked her head backward to try and remove the strands only to find them fall right back. Her hunger sedated, she kissed my lips and purred, nudging her nose alongside mine. I held her at her hips and gently slid my hands onto her lower back.

We relaxed like this for a while. This position had to be “our” position. I absolutely loved seeing her this way, front-to-front. I wanted to see her eyes, her mouth, her breasts, and how her navel rolled against mine. I wanted to see her toss her hair around from side-to-side and watch the mixture of our sweat perspire down our chests and stomachs.

She grinned at me, and gradually laid her head on my shoulder. With her forehead on my neck, I heard her sigh and run the bridge of her nose against my Adam's apple. I shivered, massaging her back, feeling that string of pearls along the centre. She smelled of me, and caressed my throat.

“…I'm going to go take a shower,” she breathed, shifting to stare at me.

“Okay,” I whispered in reply. I lowered my hands to her hips and waited to help her lift from me. She didn't move whatsoever, keeping her eyes on me. My brain must have fried as I didn't understand her little bob of the head motion towards the master lavatory. She did it again, smirking, when I realized what she meant.

I held her body on mine as I scooted my bum across the bed and to the edge. My feet hit the floor and I eased her with me, Hermione's legs locking in place around my waist. She laughed when she did a bounce on me, making her moan and kiss me. I don't remember making it into the lavatory until I felt the squelching water run down my back. She had turned it on while my lips and hands traversed the curves and lines of her body.

***

The feel of the cotton fabric of my Gryffindor lounge pants was nothing compared to the feel of Hermione's slippery skin. That's for sure. I left her in the shower after wanting to get a fire going downstairs for when she came out. One of the annoying parts of Number Twelve was the lack of air conditioning because of the obvious. Any weather pattern that came in stayed in. With it snowing outside, the temperature in Number Twelve could be paralleled to the weather felt in Antarctica. That is, until I got a roaring fire going; then, Number Twelve heated up just fine throughout the hidden apartment.

I went from the den to the kitchen. I flipped the burner on medium and took out a skillet pan. I retrieved a few eggs and milk from the fridge, and grabbed a few pieces of bread from its box on the way. I lightly buttered the skillet and concocted a combination of egg batter, mixed with a little floor, and basted the slices of whole wheat before laying two down on the skillet. The heat immediately took over, the crackling pop of the hot metal frying the batter along the bread.

Amongst flipping two more pieces onto the skillet with a fork, I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I turned towards the noise and around from the stairwell wall came down the most beautiful creature ever to be born. I could tell from the split-second I saw Hermione that she'd gotten another one of my beaten-up jerseys and put it on. She really loved to wear them. In her arms a pile of clothes to her chin. I saw our funeral clothes and the bedding sheets along with our everyday attire. A sock fell on the floor and she quickly bent to retrieve it and backed into the laundry room.

I heard the door to the washer open and close. The water began to run and the unscrewing of a top echoed from the ajar door. I returned my focus to the fried bread to flip the two new slices over and shake them with black pepper. My ears perked up to the padding of feet and my eyes peered to the entry of the kitchen. Hermione stretched as she pranced into the smell of breakfast cooking. Her hands above her head, I saw little pink-and-black trimmed boyshorts secured to her privates. I smirked, and she saw me peeking. I turned back to the bread on the stove and heard her fly to me, her feet not touching the ground in her hasty step.

She smacked into my backside and wrapped her arms around my front. She put her chin on my shoulder and sniffed the clean scent upon the scruff of my neck. I heard her purr, and she kissed the portion of me she had sniffed. I switch the spatula from my right hand to my left and reached up to scratch the side of her head, my fingers in her softened, dry hair.

“Happy New Year's Eve, my love,” she said, staring beyond my shoulder. She smelled the air before her. “That smells so, so good. I'm so hungry…”

I smiled, my eyes on the toast, “Happy New Year's Eve, baby. And, as you should be…,” I laughed a little. “After all the energy you spent last night and this morning.”

“Keeping my ticker in check?” Hermione snickered and kissed my shoulder.

“Gotta keep that ticker a-working,” I took up her hand and pulled it around to my lips. I kissed the top of her hand. “Gotta feed my woman when she gets hungry.”

“Is that a double entendre?” she giggled, rubbing the muscles along my naked abdomen.

“You're a little horny devil now, aren't you?” I chuckled. I felt her fingers slip into my crimson and gold lounge pants. I smirked when I felt her feel of my derriere.

“Hehe…,” she slipped her fingers back out and let the elastic of the sweat pants snap. She pulled on the elastic again and let it go, popping at my skin.

I reached around and swatted her ass. She yelped and giggled. “I was thinking French toast this morning, is that all right with my baby?”

“Sounds wonderful,” Hermione exclaimed. She left me to wander over to a cupboard to grab syrup and a bag of powdered sugar. I moved to my right, cutting the burner off in the process, to get a few plates. She took them from me and set the table. I reached into the fridge and raised the orange and apple juice cartons. She took those from me too while I placed the French toast on a platter.

I cut some sausage off its links and fried that as well, plating them and taking them to the too-large table for just us. The table was meant for more, like the entire Order of the Phoenix. We sat on one end, in the corner of the table. Our privacy corner where we could get at each other fast, and of course, to play footsie as Hermione loved to do.

She grabbed me around my waist again. She latched on and held there, moving with me step-by-step as I went to get a plate of this and that and set it on the table. I laughed when I'd try and break from her, only to have her tighten around me and dig into my skin with her fingers. She snickered, and I put my fingers under her chin, her face above my shoulder. I held her there and twisted my body around to kiss her lips.

I stopped midway to the table when I asked, her arms about my form, releasing the kiss, “When I go to sit down, will I be sitting in your lap?”

“Mm…,” Hermione glanced at the ceiling in thought. If there was a way to make a light bulb appear above her head, this would have been the perfect time. She smirked, having thought of an action. She maneuvered around me so she was in front with her backside to me. She gripped my arms and put them about her waist. She swerved her head to look at me, tucking hair behind her ear, “This way is better.”

She bumped her tush against my front and giggled. I smirked at her bounce. I pulled her with me to the table. I took up a piece of the French toast, dabbed a corner of the wheat bread into the maple syrup and coated it with white, powered sugar. She glanced between my actions, eyeing me in wonderment until I shoved the toast in her mouth and swatted her ass. Her eyes went wide, and she took off towards her chair, laughing along the way with her mouth full.

Hermione grabbed at her chest a moment, stopping in her tracks for a second.

“Are you okay?” I stopped, worried.

“Yeah…heart just fluttered,” she mumbled. “That's all.”

“It's been doing that a lot recently…I must be really good?” I laughed a little.

I went to sit down, watching her rip the corner of the French toast and chew. Before I could slide my chair in, her lithe body got in-between and plopped right down on my lap. She wrapped her arms around my neck, and in doing so, shoved the rest of the French toast in my mouth. I squinted, taking the toast out from my mouth and placing it on my plate. A rumble happened in my throat. My lips pulled back and I snarled. Hermione went to run, hop off my lap. I grabbed her little body anywhere I could and threw her over my shoulder. I paddled her firm rear and felt her jostle and fidget, giggling and laughing.

I scooted the chair I sat in backward, it scraping across the floor, and started off toward the den. I threw her on the sofa, ricocheting on the springy cushions. I jumped on her and wrestled her to the furniture. My hands were already at the jersey, tugging the worn sleepwear to her chest. We left the breakfast to get cold; but, no bother. That's why they invented microwaves and ovens.

***

“Can I have everyone who is Flooing to New York City this evening's attention,” a female conductor, wearing strawberry-coloured robes and white-with-black trimmed gloves motioned us along with her hands. The crowd that merged from an even larger crowd tried to separate. Hermione held on tightly to my hand. She was in front of me where I could see her, and in front of her were Ginny and Neville. Ginny brought up the idea of leaving for New York City for the millennium bash over a half a year ago. We had to purchase tickets far in advance. If not, well, the thousands of people around us, bumping into us, touching us, proved why we took initiative. The conductor held her wand to her throat to make loud her voice to the bumbling, rambunctious mass. “The period of Floo is arriving on time. Please get into a single file line over here in front of fireplace ten. I repeat: the period of Floo is arriving on time. Please get into—“

“Oy! Why'd you hit me!”

“Because you just elbowed my boob, jerk!” Ginny yelled at a guy pushing through the line in canary robes. “How'd it feel if I put my knee into your groin?”

“You'd think there's something going on tonight!” Hermione screamed to Ginny. Screaming was the only way to communicate even if we were only a foot away.

I wrapped my arm around Hermione. People were pushing us forward and pushing us back. She grabbed onto the back of Neville's shirt and hung on. Like Muggle airports, this is the worst time to travel: on a holiday. The cheaper tickets were near or on the holiday for Floo with each day before the holiday, whichever it was, increasing in price. I opted to pay for all of us to go a week before New Year's Eve, but Ginny and Neville weren't hearing anything of it. Purchasing early tickets would cost them an arm and a leg, and having me purchase the bundle was out of the question. We'd make it…I hoped.

Someone touched my rear and I glanced behind me. No one recognized me in what I wore. Sunglasses over my eyes, a black leather jacket, some dark blue jeans, and Hermione had put paste in my hair to keep the scar from showing. On top of the chaos that was the Ministry Massive Floo Depot, we didn't need to have the chaos worsen by me being here. Mind you, I did get some awfully curious looks as it wasn't sunny outside, but rainy with a grey overcast. Hermione and I laughed at the thought of brewing up a Polyjuice potion…but, with the entertainment we've had with that little number in the past, we decided not to tonight. Just play everything by ear and wish for the best.

I held onto a small suitcase containing hers clothes and mine. Neville did the same for Ginny. After we'd gotten to New York City, we had a hotel room booked for the night. Ginny made arrangements with the Marriott close to Times Square. Someone pushed me again from behind, the whole line surging forward. Ginny swore whilst Neville and I turned to see the massive line sway like a long, swirling caterpillar. I turned to see Hermione holding her chest, her hand brushing mine in the process. A shoulder hit mine on my right, and then into Hermione. I pushed on the woman who hit us, and got close to Hermione's ear.

“Are you sure you're all right?” I held where her hand held over her heart. “We can go home and watch the same ball drop on television. Or, maybe the Big Ben festivities?”

“No!” shouted Ginny. How she heard me over the racket, she must have sonar hearing. “Think about what we'd miss! All eyes are on this very moment! And, if the world ends—“

“Ginny, enough of that talk,” Neville shushed her. Ginny stuck her tongue out at him. “The world's not ending tonight. It's hogwash and scatter-brained thinking.”

“I'm fine,” Hermione smiled at me. Something in me thought to not believe her. No one continues to grab their chest every other bloody day; and, she's been doing this off-and-on for weeks and hasn't gone to the doctor. “It's just indigestion from breakfast, or heart burn. Probably the orange juice.”

An overly-eccentric, antique clock swinging over our heads struck the crowd quiet. The clock chimed one, two…all the way to twelve, ringing to us the noon hour. Whistles started blowing, sirens screamed over the crowd. Graying smoke emitted from the lime-green and black brick, body-sized opening in front of us. Several of the conductors, both male and female in those strawberry robes and white gloves, ran to the front to proceed our line forward as unsteady as it was moving. We had to act quickly in the flashing moments of the whistles and sirens. Muggles would definitely notice a parade of bodies coming out of nowhere. A conductor on the other side of whatever destination we were headed to would start our portal and issue a green light for Floo clearance.

Other wizards and witches, some in robes and some like us in “Muggle clothes,” all watched as our line trudged onward. The line of people on our right had the destination “Paris, France,” and the one to my left had “Chicago, Illinois” funneling across words being written out of thin air in neon red. Each line had a separate, but similar, clock over their heads with their own whistles and sirens. Another Floo destination opened up while the New York City line pushed as I heard the blaring noise from afar.

The conductors more or less yanked us through at a speedy rate. They gripped Ginny's jacket, one conductor on each of her shoulders to hold her patiently to let the person in front of her submerge all the way through the magical portal. Then, they thrust her inside, Ginny's body rapidly disappearing. They did the same to Neville, then Hermione, and then when it came to me, they halted. One of them, the one on the left, peered at me curiously. I thought I set the security alarm off, or that they knew who I was under my masked appearance. I grinned at them sheepishly, and the conductor shrugged, throwing me on through. My body felt as it were being ripped apart slowly, but squeezed at the same time.

I always forget to hold my breath. I came out the other side coughing, having sucked in clouds of Floo debris. A conductor from the United States side of the world pushed on me to get through. This was protocol to get more people on through before others noticed. I felt someone's hand hold onto mine, a smooth, warm, soft one. My eyes watered from the smoke. I looked up, my eyes probably blood-shot. Hermione was brushing off some of the soot on my leather jacket. The hole on the other side of the world ended up putting us in the throng of New York City's main subway level. We were coming out of a “subway car,” magically enchanted of course to make it seem that we were just other passenger's coming off the subway line like everyone else—though, a little dirtier in my case.

Our first priority was to get into the hotel. We filed on upward, on one of the stairs leading to New York. The sun was just rising over here, breaking along the horizon when we stepped out into the streets of Times Square. Large, flashing billboards hit our eyes with the neon colours of the rainbow. People walked around us with food in their hands from carts, making their way to work before the nightly festivities. The rich odor of gasoline from the abundant line of taxis hit me all at once, making me cough again. Hermione patted my back as we all stood in shock, in awe, at the enormity of it all; the skyscrapers huge, thousands upon thousands of feet above our heads. We easily pointed out the Empire State building, the World Trade Centers, and the fluorescent ball sitting and waiting above the One Times Square building.

The air was chilly, and if it weren't for being born and brought up in and around London, I would have had a difficult time adjusting to the cold. We were all glad we brought our coats, though, in case the weather dropped more. Ginny exchanged our Euros for dollar bills via the Ministry Transportation division like I did when we purchased our Floo tickets. So, when we flagged down one of New York's famous yellow taxis, we hadn't to worry about the guy in the cab giving us grief for being tourists.

The Marriott hotel wasn't too far away from where the Floo left us. When we got out of the taxi, a doorman helped us with what limited baggage we had in the trunk and went to the counter inside. The woman behind the counter happily gave us our suite keys and we went on up. The elevator wasn't encased, being glass and open on one side. We all got a great view of the sun rising, and the Statue of Liberty far out in the water beyond Manhattan. I turned to Hermione, my hands full with our bags, and kissed her. She cradled my face in her hands and lightly licked at my tongue. Ginny made a gagging noise after she and Neville had their passionate kiss. I rolled my eyes and she just laughed.

I didn't have much time with Hermione when we finally made it into our adjoined rooms. The entire suite had an Art Deco feel with metal finishes like chrome with rigid, straight lines and marble countertops. The flooring was mostly white, plush carpeting with marble leading into a kitchen area—if we needed it. The wall in the living area facing out was one, giant window towards the sunrise. We all stood in a line and gazed down at the traffic and people beneath us, the sidewalks lined with planted trees manufactured into circular shapes.

The walls were mainly white with faintly black lines which mimicked the black leather furniture, such as the sofa and chairs, and the black-and-white beds. The rooms felt clean, too clean, and Ginny made a note to disturb a piece in every room starting with her and Neville's by jumping on the bed and giggling. Hermione stood and watched her from afar, laughing. Neville put clothes away, and Hermione came to me when she saw I was doing the same. Ginny rushed in and grabbed Hermione from me.

“We'll be back soon!” Ginny yanked on my Hermione towards the door. She held up her cell phone. “You all have my number?”

I pulled the cell phone from my leather jacket pocket. “Yeah, I have it stored,” I saw Hermione shrug and then snicker when Ginny whispered something in her ear. “Where are you all going without us? The city's sort of dangerous at times.”

Ginny let out a sigh and patted her jean-clad leg, “I'm packing heat, and no one will bother us, Harry darling.”

I noticed her stroke her hidden wand, the contour bulging from her skinny jeans. My eyes flicked to Hermione who came toward me. She put her lips to mine and ran her fingers down my cheek. When she released, she looked into my eyes and said, “Gin wants to go shopping. We thought you guys wouldn't want to be pulled around by us trying on clothes, or whatever else. You can come, though, if you want…”

Hermione glanced at my mouth, and then back into my eyes with a smirk, “We could even go to Victoria Secret, and I could try on some things for y—“

“NO!” Ginny stomped over to us and pried Hermione from my form. She embraced Hermione, waving back at me.

I took up a leather pillow from the sofa and threw it at Ginny, “Eavesdropper.”

“You better call us if anything happens, woman,” Neville pointed at her from the other side of the room. He was coming out of their bedroom. “And, you better stay safe. Be sure to be aware, you hear me?”

“Same to you,” I smiled at Hermione. I felt safer knowing Hermione also had her wand on hand, like a Muggle-version of pepper spray.

Hermione grinned at me from amongst Ginny's extremely-protective arms, “Always.”

I heard her tell Ginny, “I want to check out that bookstore, too…,” when I called out to them leaving the suite, “Hey!”

“What now?” Ginny eyed me, perturbed, with a hand on her hip.

“We're meeting for lunch at 11.”

“1!” exclaimed Ginny, pushing Hermione onward.

Hermione blew me a kiss and waved. I caught it and waved back.

“Noon,” proclaimed Neville firmly. “And not a penny less.”

“Fine, whatever.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “Call us at noon to get lunch.”

“Before noon!” I yelled at them shutting the door to the suite. “Lunch is at noon!”

“Whatever!” Ginny shouted through the door. I heard Hermione laugh, and then I heard Ginny squeal out, “'Mione! Let's go!”

I slipped my hands into my jean pockets and peered over at Neville. He shrugged and said casually, the morning sun pouring in from the window-wall, “Hit a museum or monument?”

“I've always wanted to see the Metropolitan.”

“Cool.”

***

We ate at a corner bistro: a small, intimate, family-run shop with soup and sandwiches. We sat underneath the shade of a parasol built into the table outside and people-watched. With such a wide array of people, the “Melting Pot of America,” we sure did get an eyeful. Everyone from homeless, to businessmen and women, to a guy playing a guitar in his briefs traveled the streets. I hadn't seen so many people in a rush to get somewhere every minute since the times in and around the Ministry, and even then this was far beyond it. Everyone seemed fast, quick responses with little to spare.

Hermione smiled at me from under aviator sunglasses. I had my Ray Bans on and kissed her gently while we waited on a taxi to get us to our next destination from the hotel. We went back to the room to lay down the fourteen kajillion bags that were bought between three measly hours. Crazy. Ginny tried to get Hermione to buy a Louis Vuitton purse like she bought, but Hermione exclaimed it wasn't of her taste. Plus, Hermione didn't really carry around a purse unless we were going long distance. Then, the bag she brought usually stayed somewhere else other than her arm.

Hermione whispered to me, as the taxi drove up to our curb, “I bought some things from Frederick's of Hollywood you might enjoy later.”

I grinned and embraced her around the middle before getting into the back of the taxi.

“Do you know where the World Trade Center's are?” Ginny asked, pushing herself up from the backseat and in-between the two front seats. She handed money to the taxi driver who nodded.

“You bet your sweet ass,” the driver said, turning his cap around. He grinned at the large tip Ginny gave him.

When Ginny sat back down, she purposely sat on Hermione's lap.

“Oh my! How clumsy!”

We all laughed. Ginny went in to play-snog Hermione, and the driver of the taxi chuckled while looking in the rearview mirror, “And for that show, I'll go more than fast.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around Ginny and snuggled into her as the taxi swerved in and out of traffic. I actually had to keep hold of the door to stop from sliding around in the seat. We weren't too far away to begin with, and ended up in front of the world's tallest buildings lickety-split. When the driver slammed on his brakes out in front, I went forward in my seatbelt and had to stop my momentum by putting my hand on the passenger seat.

The cabbie waved us off as he sped away for his next race. I took Hermione in hand and led her, behind Ginny and Neville, between the two Centers. We just sort of stared up into space at how high the buildings went. The windows looked like one blue sea of glass up each side of the square. The sun glinted off at odd angles, and you'd have to move or be blinded from directly looking into it. People would walk by us and look up every once in a while. Suits and people with mobile phones chatted away around us.

Ginny took off with Neville into one of the buildings, and I ran with Hermione right along with them. We made a scene we probably shouldn't have, laughing along the way like kids into an elevator with even more businessmen and women carrying briefcases. We pressed for the very top floor and waited. The elevator mostly cleared, leaving tourists like us for the summit. The wind ripped at us when the doors opened like a sneeze, the powerful burst of atmosphere expanding our lungs. Ginny ran right to the ledge, or as far as we could go with a barricade in the way. Hermione and I were a bit more careful, feeling the cement under our feet wobble.

Ginny yelled out, “I'm the queen of the world!”

I couldn't believe the sight before us. The world became scale models of the real thing. We were right down there, on the streets, and now those buildings we had thought were so far high in the air now became dwarfed. I couldn't see anything relatively human, just the manmade buildings and roads when the structures opened up. I saw the waters around Manhattan Island with Liberty still out there on her own island gazing out towards the horizon.

I slid my hand down Hermione's back and into the jean pocket beside along her rear farthest from me. She tilted into me, twisting her body to meet mine, her feminine peacoat pushing into my side. She put her hand on my leather-clad chest, hidden beneath the jacket, and I caressed her lips. My body tingled at her light kiss, and at the nuzzle and purr she made afterwards. She wrapped her arm around me and I hugged her to me tight. We stood there, together, peering off into the stretch of New York skyline.

***

Hermione lay in the garden tub within our private bathroom. I was in the kitchen pouring some complementary wine we received for purchasing the suite. In one glass, I poured the red wine two-thirds of the way up and did the same for the other. I pushed the cork back down into the neck of the bottle and set it back in the fridge. I think I heard Ginny and Neville fooling around behind closed doors, but I really didn't want to think about it. So, I made white noise up by humming to myself a tune, a lullaby, Claire de Lune, and trotted skillfully with both glasses in hand.

I shut our door behind me with an elbow and my foot. I waltzed passed our humongous king-sized bed, the presidential-ornate dresser and drawers, to the closed door that entered into the lush lavatory. I smelled her even from here, the ripe vanilla leaking out from the space under the door along with some steam. I gently knock on the white, wooden door with my knuckle, making sure not to spill any of the wine on the white carpeting. I could hear a radio on playing classical music in the era of Beethoven.

“It's open…,” spoke my angel, soothed and calm.

I somehow managed to grip both necks of the glasses within my finger tips and pried open the door. The steam hit me, making my shirt fasten to my body from the evaporating water and heat. I felt the humidity along my skin and could taste it in my mouth. I shut the door back behind me with the bottom of my shoe and traipsed on over to Hermione in the tub.

She had her head in a concaved section of the rim. Her body, completely covered with water and a layer of suds, remained still. I thought she might be asleep halfway to her until she blinked her eyes open and smiled, closing them again. I grinned at her and placed a glass on the edge. White and black candles were lit, and the scent of lavender and rose mixed in with Hermione's natural vanilla. Every breath of mine immediately aroused me. I'd have to remember this aroma for our own bathroom.

I kneeled down on the floor and took the glass I placed on the edge. I reached over, and when feeling my presence, Hermione blinked open her eyes once more. She smiled at me lazily and retrieved the wine from me. She lifted just enough so the tops of her breasts were exposed, the rest of her body under the water and the soapy suds. She let her head back, her hair one single, wet strand of curtain. She tilted her cup to her mouth and drank from the lip. She made a pleasurable, soft moan and slipped back into the water.

I'd sipped my wine as I watched her, the classical montage filling the room. I skimmed the top of the water with my hand and immediately felt the sweltering, hotness. I couldn't believe how hot she had it. I guessed, with a grin, the “H” on the faucet dial meant “Hell”.

I plunged my hand into the aqua, breaking away bubbles. She didn't so much as move when I felt of her slippery leg. I traced the outside contour, and when I got to her knee, moved inward. She went to take another sip and leaned her head towards me, her eyes still closed. I heard her take a breath and let it out slowly when I encroached onto her thigh, my finger tips pressed into her softness.

With my chest against the edge of the garden tub, I felt of her. There, at my fingers, was her tiny tuft of hair. I pushed into it and saw her arch into me, and then felt her rocking gently, so gently that the part of her body above the water I could see never really fidgeted. Her head remained still, but a smile creased her lips. I didn't enter all the way in her, just gradually feeling.

I stroked what I knew was her sweet spot, getting her attention in a gasp. Her smirk grew, and I could see her pearly whites between her lips. She bit her bottom lip and set aside her half-drank wine. Before I could respond, she slipped into the tub and all, water pushing over the side and getting me wet. I lifted my hand and laughed, a cascading waterfall of soap spilling to the floor. Thankfully, we did have wands and the ever-so-useful spongify charm.

The quickness of her plunge paralleled the quickness she came up. Her body splashed out of the water as she swirled to her knees. The water came to her hips, more of it running down the sides, my socks sopping what they could. She raked soap from her eyes to see me with a smirk. The lights of the lavatory shone off her shiny, wet skin. My sight went from her face, to her body. I couldn't help it, a reflex of the male organs. I watched a strip of suds slide between the curves of her breasts and down alongside her flat tummy where it gathered, like the rest, around her hips.

I couldn't stand it. My body needed her, and I was glad she replied just the same. She grabbed my neck and pulled me to her. My glass of wine fell somewhere, but I didn't care. I climbed in the tub with her, and nearly slipped and fell. Her eyes went wide with worry; though, they changed and she giggled when she knew I was okay. She could get my shirt off me, but my jeans were a whole other story. I tried to yank the damn things off, the water having the opposite thought and affect. Unbuttoning and unzipping them was all I could manage, and she didn't care either. She wrapped her legs around me, her arms holding me to her, and I pushed into her.

I don't know if we ever came up for air. All I remember from beginning to end was her tongue lashing around at mine eagerly as if I were some, newly discovered candy lollipop. I would thrust into her, smacking her lightly into the tub, and more water would splash over. I felt her thighs clench around my torso, and heard her whisper my name. I felt her shake and her head tilt away from my mouth and onto my shoulder. She dug her nails into wherever she could and bit down on me to suppress the urge to moan loudly.

I felt the onset of my release and pushed my face into her cheek. I clenched my teeth and drove into her hard until I groaned, an ecstasy of pure pleasure leaving my body. I fell into Hermione, catching myself on the edge of the tub with my hands at times. I caressed her chest, her throat, and then her mouth. I flipped over in the tub and put my back to her when we finished. I laid my head back against her shoulder and slipped down on her. She caught me around me chest and massaged me, running her hands along whatever she could feel.

I leaned my forehead into her, and she tilted her head upon mine. I fell asleep in her arms with a delightfully satisfied smile.

***

Eleven-thirty PM.

A copious ocean of people from all corners of the world sang along with the bands and performers set up along Times Square. A blanket of cold, the temperature dropping significantly when the sun died on the horizon, had us all bundled up together. You'd think with all the warm bodies there wouldn't be a problem getting warm, but the chill leaked in. We were given these “2000” neon green glasses with advertisements on them. The two zeros in the middle cut out for our eyes.

Lights on the ball above the One Times Square building pulsated and flipped, acting like a kaleidoscope of colours and movement. Flat screen televisions, which once were advertisements themselves, were now broadcasting various New Years Eve celebrations from around the world for the millennium. I had my arms around Hermione as we watched Big Ben strike midnight on one of the screens below a flashing Coke-Cola sign. Beside the screen, a template of an advert flittered in the wind for The Lion King on Broadway. The media ran rampant around us with cameras in people's faces. Reporters asked them questions I couldn't understand, and didn't really want to, with Hermione's lips on mine as midnight here in New York grew closer.

The crowd of millions cheered when the digital clock below the ball struck fifteen minutes and counting. I looked to my left to see Ginny, with Neville wrapped around her, jumping with the people at the clock. Her smiling face underneath the over-sized “2000” glasses. Neville gave her a kiss in the moment.

I reached over and smacked Neville on the shoulder, “Hey, shouldn't you guys wait until midnight for the likes of that?” I had my arms secure around Hermione's chest tight with her arms holding mine against her sanguine-coloured peacoat. She'd run her fingers along the black leather of my jacket.

Neville glanced up into the clear sky and chuckled, pushing me back, “Says you guys!”

“Maybe you all should invest in an oxygen machine one of these days?” Ginny laughed, leaning into Hermione. “Isn't this amazing!!!”

Hermione screamed over another uproar from the crowd, the clock going into ten minutes and counting, “This is unbelievable!!!”

I felt a tapping on my shoulder and turned around to get a face-full of camera. I had to back away from the man carrying it, turning Hermione as she wanted to see too. Talk about surprise, not to mention invasion of privacy.

“Hey guys!” the reporter in a trench coat said. “We're from MTV and just wanted to ask you a few questions before you all ring in the millennium with us here in the Big Apple!”

I bent toward the reporter and asked, my voice becoming a bit mute from the screams of the crowd, “Is this Live?”

“Yeah!” shouted the reporter in my ear. “Just a few questions, that's all!”

“Okay!” I sort of made a wave towards the camera and Hermione waved with a smile. Of course, Ginny bounded beside us and waved ecstatically with Neville behind her.

“So, where are you guys from?!” the reporter is going to lose his voice by the end of the night.

“London!!!” Ginny yelled into the camera. She came off a bit drunk, but hadn't a drink within her.

“London? Wow! Is the Big Apple treating you well while you're visiting here?!”

I nodded and heard Hermione say to the MTV reporter, “New York is incredible! I love it!”

“Can we ask you guys one more question before letting you all countdown to year 2000?!”

“Sure!” I had the biggest smile on my face. The people around us began waving into the camera when they realized it was pointing in our direction.

“How are you going to ring in the New Year with your girl? Can we see a kiss?!”

Hermione smirked her little smug smirk. She slid her hand along my neck and held me there, the slight chill of her finger tips charging the warmth of my neck and causing the hair on my neck to stand on end. I twisted around her body, squeezing her tight against me, my head lowering above her right shoulder. I found her lips and kissed her hard. The crowd behind us cheered.

“And there you have it folks!” stated the reporter happily into the camera. “That's quite a kiss to get you into the New Year! Back to you Carson!”

The reporter shook my hand when Hermione freed me of her lips. The cameraman took the machine from his shoulders and shook my hand, too. “Thanks,” he said. “And you kids have a good ringing into the New Year!”

“You too!” Hermione and I said in unison.

“Harry! Hermione!!” We caught back up in the moment after the MTV personnel left, our lips finding each other once more. Someone was pulling at my leather jacket, and I gazed the direction to see Ginny clamoring towards the ball behind us. Hermione and I turned together to see the clock hit one minute and counting.

We heard announcements from all over, around us, in tandem with each other say in so many words over intercoms, “All right, folks! Let's start this new millennium off right! Countdown with us!”

The people around us chanted, “Twenty, nineteen, eighteen…”

I squeezed Hermione when I felt her pull at me. She fidgeted, and my heart raced. Being right there with my true love, my forever, in the moment where everyone in our lifetime will remember this night was magical. Beyond words, exciting, exhilarating and a little scary at the same time. I glanced down at Hermione who looked at me. She bit her bottom lips, and then smirked. “Are you ready?” I asked, smiling as we all listened to the counting around us.

“Thirteen, twelve, eleven…”

“TEN!! NINE!!! EIGHT!!!!” screamed Ginny. She was leaping feet into the air, shaking Neville in her jumping. Her arms waved wildly in the air. Air horns and the like started up from the people surrounding.

“Five! Four! Three!” Hermione and I counted in tune with each other. As if in slow motion, Hermione flipped around in front of me. I let my arms loose, her arms sliding around my neck. She tightened her grip, standing straight with the clock between us. I glided my hand to cradle her head and I heard the masses shout—“TWO!!! ONE!!!”

Hermione, her soft hair in my fingers, her lips tasting my own, kissed me tenderly. Confetti rained upon us from above. I pressed her into me with intensity, our mouths together. I moved the hand I held her head with down to her shoulders. I ran my hand along her backside as I felt her hands tug at my jacket, trying their best to grip at my skin beneath.

The music of Frank Sinatra's New York, New York sang out throughout the city.

I felt her wobble, and I smiled. I'm a pretty good kisser. She slipped from me suddenly, and my smile faded instantly. I tried to hold her, collapsing backwards. I didn't have the support I thought, watching her in my arms drop to the road below us.

“HERMIONE!!!!” I screamed out. The crowd was so loud, my shout drowned in their superior voices. I fell to my knees, holding Hermione from the cold cement. People around us backed away, noticing her having passed out. I turned around and everything became a blur. I saw Ginny's eyes slowly focus on us from her kiss with Neville, and then her hands push Neville away. She ran to my side as I called for her. “GINNY!!!”

The people in our vicinity gasped as if they were all one body with one mouth. I looked on at Hermione, my life, her eyes closed in my arms and limp. I couldn't tell if she was breathing, and I started crying, tears streaming down my cheeks. I heard Ginny call out for help amongst the pandemonium of the cacophonous twilight. Her voice couldn't compete with the ear-piercing noise and tumultuous vocals of Sinatra.

***

They'd already shoved the IV in her arm before people in white coats swarmed her body on the stretcher. I ran with them through the hospital as fast as they were going. My mind buzzed, and I felt deathly alone. My emotions were gone but the negatives, flashes of Hermione when I could see her being prepped on the way towards more double-doors and more double-doors. People who were in the hallway, more white coats and visitors, I assumed, stepped towards the walls when the stretcher and the doctors on Hermione blared on by in posthaste.

To say I was sad would be an understatement. To say I was upset was an understatement. To say my life turned to ash before my very eyes was an understatement. Ginny and Neville had to take a cab. I was the only one allowed in the ambulance as Hermione was rushed to Bellevue. I heard the doctors about her body, but I couldn't make out their quick and precise conversations. All I could see was Hermione, her eyes closed, her mouth without her smile, stoic and ghostly pale.

The white of the hospital blinded me. The strung fluorescent lights on the ceiling had me to blink, squint, after each turn in the hallway towards the ER. That's the only part of the nurse's barrage of questioning I understood when we got through the front doors that we were heading to the ER. She kept on me asking questions, too, and all I could really say, or all I could say, was “I don't know.”

“Has she ever passed out like this before?”

“I don't know.”

“Does she have a history of heart problems?”

“I don't know.”

“Does her family have a history of heart attacks?”

“I don't know!”

A white coat stopped me before I could go any further. Hermione was wheeled into more double-doors and out of my sight. I fought to continue with her, but the white coat had me quite firm.

“You're not allowed any further than this, sir!”

“Hermione!!!” My throat burned along with my scream. I tried to pry his hands off me. “I need to be with her! Get off me!!”

“Security!” shouted the white coat. I felt more hands subdue me and the mumblings as my vision began to black out.

I felt myself falling. I heard my name and turned my head in the direction of the calling. I saw Ginny, with Neville behind her, running at me down the hallway. I heard Ginny scream at the people holding me, and I tried to catch myself with my hand on the wall, but collapsed. My knees hit the hard ground. I felt a twinge in my core, acid erupting from my throat, and I vomited. I was overcome with the blackness I fought so hard against. My head smacked into the wall, and my face landed in my own lukewarm sickness.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Duran Duran throughout the love scenes and Strawberry Fields Forever by the Beatles. I looped Strawberry Fields Forever over the majority of the fic, especially during the scenes around New York and during Hermione's collapse. The song became thematic}

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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 have to say that, first and foremost, the reviews really keep me going. I love having a chance to see everyone's insights and responses! I was going to wait for Thursday to release the chapter, but this chapter was a long time coming. I went rather OCD on this one, making sure and doubly sure I had wanted to express exactly what I wanted to express. You know, it's almost frightening how much I've become invested in this fic, the plot, and the characters. Still got a while to go, though; that is, if I don't get inspired in the middle of something like I did with Seamus or my Muse packs up and leaves for holiday on me. Also, I turned 23 yesterday—awesome.

***

Chapter Eleven ~ Beseech

Slowly, I trudged forward in my bereaved state. I felt like my feet stepped through mud, the mud hardening; or thick pudding, or far below the ocean currents. I couldn't breathe, and what I did take in felt like I digested pure, white-hot fire. The aftertaste of my vomit clung to my mouth, and I wrenched.

I didn't know where I was going. All I knew is that I had to get through those double-doors. I had to get to Hermione. The physicians that were around me, running with clipboards or nurses in tow, hadn't even stopped me. My hands were on the doors to the emergency room. I glanced from my right, and then to my left, looking behind me at the security guards who didn't seem to notice my blatant entering. I was in plain sight of them. Why weren't they coming? Who cares. I turned my face, my focus in front of me, and nearly busted the door down with my strength and fury.

I ran, the sticky, gluey feeling of my legs keeping me in an incessant wobble. Down one long stretch of white lights and floor, and down another. Another. Another. Another. I looked into each room through an adjacent window. Strangers. Everywhere. I couldn't find Hermione. I couldn't find where they took her, and fear crept further into my mind. I began to think she died. I saw her dying. I saw her death. Hermione, dead, in my arms. I saw her eyes, her body, and her soul leaving me in this utterly dark, dank, destructive world. The stains on my cheeks were wet again, my tears reapplying the water as I cried. I continued to run, and run, and run, passing more nurses, and doctors, more security that didn't stop my frantic flight.

Until I came to a sudden halt at a window far, far down one lengthy hallway. A bluish hue from all the hospital workers inside made the entire room the colour, seeping out from the pane of glass between me and them. I flew right to the window and I saw her, seeing first her hair, her gorgeous, beautiful mahogany and ginger locks draping from the stretcher dry and in thirst.

I put my face against the glass panel as if that got me closer to my girl lying lifeless. I placed my palms on the cold, clear wall and watched them try to resurrect her limp body. They took a machine, a defibrillator, and revved it up. I heard the machine scream. I couldn't see their mouths, each of them covered in blue masks and blue hats with blue coverings on their clothes. One doctor struck her with the machine, Hermione's little body leaping from the shock. I saw the same doctor try again when he wasn't satisfied, Hermione still not responding.

The heart monitor on the wall, they'd look at it each time to see if she reacted positively. The line would shake when they sent the electric volt, but would fall back straight. The doctor sent another shock to her, placing the pads on her chest and having her flaccid form jump on the table. I watched them repeat, and repeat, and repeat until the doctor became angry, his eyes tired, but wide. He thrust the damned machine into a nurse's hands and began working Hermione with his hands. He pumped her chest, always watching, always keeping an eye on the monitor, keeping her heart in-check.

The others in the room all stared at the doctor. He went crazy, insane, trying his best to get Hermione to survive—to live. The looks on their faces, their eyes, said it all. Hermione wasn't moving. Her heart beat null on the monitor, flat-lining constantly. A nurse came from the other side of the room and embraced the poor doctor. The male doctor wiped the sweat from his brow and shook his head. That was the end. I saw them file out, leaving Hermione alone.

The doctor laid a white sheet over her, from the beginnings of her little Converse shoes to the tops of her hair, and was helped out by the nurse who hugged him. They didn't look at me, or see me, standing there in utter and complete woe, devastation. I couldn't even frown anymore. I had no emotions but anger, resentment, and hate for life. I pounded my hands against the glass. I balled my fists up and struck the window. Water poured from my eyes, and I slid along the window lethargically, listless. There was no more meaning to my life. My soul died. I died. I died right there on the floor along with Hermione. My body lost itself, tumbling over, curling into a fetal position. My eyes closed, and that was it.

You took away the last part that kept me living…

Why…

I remember smiling in the last few moments of breath, thinking of my beloved, my girl, Hermione, wrapped in my arms in a meadow filled with vividly, violet flowers. A waft of flora essence washed over me in a soft breeze. We both wore white, and I could see her glorious ivory, angel wings along her back. The sun shone brightly against an even brighter, cloudless, cerulean sky. We stared at each other for the longest time, her cinnamon-coloured irises never ceasing from me, and she smiled. She lifted from the emerald-green, perfect grass we lay in and placed her warm, pink lips upon mine. Gently, she kissed me. Like a flame to paper, the image burned away from the outside-inward. Darkness approached the meadow, and I walked hand-in-hand with Hermione away from our mortal lives on earth to be with her forever in Heaven.

***

I gasped.

My mouth and nostrils took in a stale, sterile environment. My eyes hadn't open, feeling a hand stroke my face and hair. I thought my nightmare, of Hermione dying, was but a dream. Or, maybe, this was Heaven. Here I was with her, as she ran her fingers as she always had along my cheek and combed my messy hair. I smiled a little, allowing Hermione to continue and rubbed my face in her thigh. I smelled of her, wanting to catch her natural, vanilla scent but became aware of a rich floral aroma instead.

I bunched my face up, my eyebrows scrunched. I felt more aware of my body than ever before, my arm going pins and needles on me as it lay on my side on my weight. Heaven wasn't supposed to involve pain. Any pain. No pain. I moaned, turning my head over and feeling the hand leave me. My ears slowly adjusted to wherever I was, a constant droning noise becoming various call signs and murmurs for doctor this and doctor that:

“Paging Dr. Anderson. Paging Dr. Anderson, please contact the level four desk at extension 44313.”

I groaned. My head ached, especially the top near my forehead. How I moved, I faced something bright. I had my eyes closed still, but it shone right through my eyelids. I held my head in one hand, blinking my eyes open and pushed off where I lay with the other. I gazed around in a squint and realized…I was in some sort of waiting room. Chairs filled the little annexed area I was in with random spots filled with others sitting, reading magazines. A television was propped on the wall in a corner playing the New York local news station. A weather report was on showing clouds building throughout the week. Across the top of the screen, the news-people placed a ticker scrolling with the message, “January 1, 2000, 38 degrees Fahrenheit, Sunny”.

I went to move, the sound of pulling leather happening under me. I rubbed my head, feeling a bandage over a knot clearly evident by my touch. I glanced down at where I sat and turned my focus to where I lay. If it wasn't Hermione…then…

Ginny sort of smiled at me and did a little wave. Neville sat on a recliner facing us. He held a sports magazine in his hand and only peered from the pages when he saw me moving. He had his legs crossed, but immediately put the leg and foot flat on the floor. He closed the magazine and grinned.

“Good morning, Harry…,” Ginny softly said. She seemed tired by her voice, and looked it, dark circles under her eyes.

“Hey…,” I tried to smile, but as I did a flood of memories hit me all at once. I saw Hermione falling, I saw her being rushed into the hospital, and I saw her being taken away from me. I went to get up, but Ginny grabbed me and sat me down in the seat.

“Sit!” she ordered in a whisper.

“I have to see her!” I went to get up again, but was dragged backward by my shirt. Ginny was a tough girl, and strong when she needed to be. It didn't help that my knees buckled from exhaustion, and I fell right back on the couch. Some people took notice and stared.

The sun from the blinds behind me felt warm against my back. Ginny scooted over and leaned into me, catching the rectangular pattern of light across her face, making her hair even more of that flaming, Weasley-red. “You won't get anywhere running in there and screaming…”

“Have you seen her?!” My chest heaved. My eyes went from the door of the waiting and back to her several times. I began having a panic attack. I felt closed in, tight, like I had a million safety belts on my body holding me back. “Has the doctor come in?! Have they said anything about what happened?!”

“I'm sure she's fine, Harry…,” Neville said in his chair. He shifted to the edge and put the magazine on the table between us. He made an encouraging smile at me and flicked his eyes to Ginny.

Ginny grinned at Neville, and then returned her focus to me. She picked up a plastic cup from in front of her off the table and held it to me. “Here,” she urged, setting it in my hand. “It's apple juice. You'll get dehydrated if you don't drink something.”

My throat was dry, and so was my tongue. I looked from Ginny to Neville, and back to Ginny. I tilted my head back and drank it all, each sip of the contents, and even let a few dissolving ice chunks slide down my parched throat. I moved my sight down to see her place crackers in my hand, partially wrapped in a torn, plastic six-pack. The kind you'd find in a vending machine.

“Eat!” she demanded. “Before you go hungry, too. You'll get sick if you don't eat.”

“What about you guys?” My stomach grumbled on cue, just as I lifted a peanut butter cracker to my mouth. I crunched down on it, bits of the breading crumbling on my shirt.

I wiped the crumbs away to hear Neville say, “Cheese doodles and hot fries.”

I glanced up to see Neville pat his stomach, “Can't beat the power of a junk-food breakfast. Wise really knows how to fill a man's belly.”

Ginny smiled at her lover, but turned to me and dropped the emotion as she saw my seriousness come to fruition. I looked toward the door, wanting, needing to go to Hermione. I'd probably end up in a straight jacket like a loon, but the wait bordered on insanity. I loved her, damn it, and she's—she's—

“How long has she been in there?” my voice cracked and the end came out in a squeak.

She frowned, and I saw a tear trickle down her cheek. She crawled the small breadth between us on her knees and embraced me around my neck. “Everything's going to be fine…,” she tightened her hug. “Everything's going to be just fine, I know it.”

“We'll get through this,” stated Neville. He kept that encouraging grin of his on me. “Look at everything we've been through and gotten through. We'll get through this, too, man.”

He gave a nod, “We will.”

“I love you, Harry…,” Ginny whispered at the crook of my neck. “And Neville loves you, too. We'll get through it, one baby-step at a time.”

I put my arms around Ginny, and I heard her begin to break down near my ear. In her stubbornness, she prevented me from seeing her cry. She hid her face between me and the back of the couch. “Remember…,” her vocal stuttered, but she tried to remain firm and calm. “Hermione's a fighter. Remember that, you hear me?”

I just sat there, breathing in, living in Ginny and Neville's affection. Ginny removed from her hiding, and she sniffled, her forehead against my cheek. She rubbed my shoulder and squeezed it. Neville came over to me and sat on the arm rest opposite Ginny. He patted the shoulder she squeezed and gave it a squeeze of his own. I looked up at him, water present in my eyes, my vision blurry. He patted my shoulder again, and I saw a tear stain his cheek. He turned away quickly, not wanting me, a man, his best mate, to see his raw, real emotion.

What a `Happy New Year,' I thought.

I searched for a clock with my eyes and noticed one rotate in the corner of the news broadcast. I made out the time, blinking the fuzziness from my eyesight and realized I'd been out for a good, solid eight hours. I inhaled deep and closed my eyes. I had to take in and digest the fact that I had to wait for the call. I had to wait for the doctor. I had to wait for the green light to go, as much as it killed me. It killed my heart to not to be able to see her in her time of utmost need.

I pushed thoughts into my head to drown out my sadness. I thought of my priorities beside Hermione, who I couldn't get to, sitting at number one. I ran down the list, Ginny and Neville being priorities two and three. I glanced at Ginny, who had her eyes closed, her chin on my shoulder, and asked quietly, “What of the hotel? We only had it for last night…”

“Never you mind that…,” she whispered. She stuttered a breath, never opening her eyes. “I have it covered. All's well.”

I shuffled into my pocket. Ginny had to back away from me as I used my right arm to get to my wallet. She glanced at my actions, and put her hand on my arm when she saw what I was going after.

“Harry, no—“

I whipped out a few hundred dollar bills and shoved it in her hand, “Just shut up and take it.”

“Harry, I—“

Staring into her reddened eyes, I stated unwavering, “Do as I say just this once, please, Gin.” I flipped my billfold back together and slipped my wallet back into my jean pocket. I closed my eyes. I let the shine of the sun from the slightly open blinds run along my cheek, and then I slowly stood up.

“Where are you going?” I heard Neville ask, making my way toward the door.

I turned around and looked back, a hand in my jean pocket. The other sifted through the front of my hair and slid into the somewhat oily tufts. I didn't really gaze at them, my focus blurring once more, in-and-out of sight. I shook my head, trying to regain my vision. “I have to call her parents. I have to let them know what's going on. What's happened to her.”

Ginny went to get up, “Do you want me to come with you?”

I put my hand out to stop her, and she halted, eyeing me helplessly, “I got it… I think I need to be alone, anyhow. Just for a moment…”

Ginny stared at me as if she didn't believe a word I said.

“I promise,” I stated, looking into her brown eyes, golden in the sunlight. “I'll be right back.”

“You better, Harry James…,” she said meekly, lowering back down on the couch beside Neville.

I simply nodded and took off along the hallway straight ahead of me, my hands in my pockets. I slightly slouched in posture, the weight of the world upon my shoulders. I felt their eyes still watching me as I left them, and I twisted my head around before taking a right down another hallway to see their compassionate eyes locked on me, still watchful, still wondering if their best friend was going to make it all through this.

***

I politely asked a secretary at one of the desks where the closest pay phone was in the hospital. She pointed me down the hallway and told me to make a left at the second door. That'd take me to another waiting room area with a connecting hallway that had a phone. I thanked her and quietly meandered in thought towards the direction.

Actually, I didn't think much. Thinking caused me pain. Thinking wasn't good. Every time I'd begin to think, I began to think up the worst scenarios. My face was low like the slouching of my shoulders. My feet felt heavy each time they'd hit the floor. I tried to picture Hermione waiting for me when I got back to Ginny and Neville, but knew…that wasn't going to happen. I'd have better luck winning the lottery or finding sunken treasure. I knew exactly where she was, or at least my brain processed the possibilities, one of them being alive but worked on by specialists. The other…the other thought was not so good. Hermione in that one…she was…I couldn't bear to think of it, let alone let my mind wander that God-forsaken, dimmed path…

I kicked the back of my heel across the white, squared floor panels. I made a black mark as I came up to the blue-and-white pay phone nestled back in the corner of the hallway the secretary mentioned. I stepped up, and let out a sigh, fondling in my jeans for my wallet. I cracked open the seam and jiggled out what coin I had. I flipped the change in my palm and procured a few quarters for long-distance, really long-distance. I settled my wallet back in my pocket, picked up the black, plastic telephone from the hook and dialed zero.

“This is the operator. How may I direct your call?”

I mumbled off the Granger's phone number, and when asked if this was long-distance, I told the male voice, “Yes.”

“It'll be two dollars for the first five minutes, sir, and ten cents after that. Please insert the correct change.”

I did as was told, placing one quarter in after the next.

“Thank you,” said the operator robotically. “I'm directing your call now.”

I heard the dial tone, and then something that sounded like buttons on the other side being pushed. The line went silent, and what I thought was a receiver on the other end was picked up. I heard breathing, and then I heard a voice. I closed my eyes, trying to fight back my emotions and keep them level. I heard Emilie's sweet, Hermione-like voice on their end.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Granger?” I placed my arm on the wall in front of me and lowered my forehead on it. I kept my eyes closed.

“Harry?”

“Yeah… Yeah, it's me… Hey…”

“Where are you?” she asked, becoming concerned. My tone wasn't up-to-par as one would be in my position. “You sound like you're in a tunnel and our caller id has you marked as `unknown'.”

I couldn't say a word. If I did, I'd cry, and I wished that wouldn't happen. Not now, Harry, fight it!

“How was New York, hun?” she asked innocently, oblivious. “How'd my Cupcake like it? Was she surprised?”

I broke down. I couldn't keep up my fight. Not after she said “Cupcake,” and it didn't help hearing the Hermione-clone.

“Harry…,” her tone grew suspicious. I think her motherly-instinct fell into place. I think she knew something was wrong before I had a chance to say it. “What's wrong? Where's Hermione?”

I sucked in a breath, sniffing in my runny nose, “I don't know where she is!”

“What do you mean, `you don't know where she is'? You must know where she is. Tell me where she's at!”

I sucked in another breath, “She collapsed, Mrs. Granger. She just collapsed and she was taken to the hospital, and I can't see her! They won't let me see her!”

The phone dropped dead. Silence. Nothing. I thought I lost the line completely until I heard a rough tone. Normally, Mr. Granger wasn't this gruff, but his baby girl was in trouble. “Harry?”

“Mr. Granger, I—“

“What happened, son. Tell me everything.”

“I—I don't know what happened! We were cheering, the ball was dropping and she fell. Hermione just passed out, and we called for emergency and she was taken into the ER. They won't let me inside! I—I don't—!”

“Son,” Frederick, I could tell, was trying to keep his own feelings at bay. He cleared his throat and said firmly, “Where exactly are you in New York?”

“Bellevue Hospital.”

“Give me the address,” I heard him fumbling with something. “I have a pad and pen ready. Go ahead.”

I gave him the exact address, directions from where we were in Times Square, and what the outside of the building looked like.

“I've been to John F. Kennedy International on a business trip,” he stated, fumbling again with an object or two beside the phone. I heard him say something to Emilie, something along the lines of, “Call Susan and tell her we won't be in for a few days. Tell her it's Hermione, she doesn't need to know all the details.”

I heard him come back to the phone and I cried into it, “I'm sorry, sir. I'm so sorry… I love her, and I couldn't do anything to help her… I'm supposed to be protecting her…”

I breathed heavily with each pause.

“Harry, son,” he coughed into the phone and cleared his throat. “Mrs. Granger and I know how much you love our daughter, and I know if you could, you'd take a bullet for my baby girl. This was an unexpected circumstance… Things like this happen in life and surprise us. Believe me, I didn't wake up this morning and expect a phone call from you stating my daughter was in the hospital.”

“I'm so sorry, sir…” I whispered this into the phone, coughing.

“Calm down, son. Everything's going to be all right,” Frederick slipped away from the phone a moment, and then grew louder as he re-approached. “Emilie and I are making arrangements online to get the first flight we can to New York. Is there any way we can get a hold of you when we arrive?”

It dawned on me for the first time that I had a mobile phone in my jacket pocket. I fought the urge to scream at my blunder, having to put in coin after coin to keep the Granger's on the phone. I popped the cell out and flipped it open. “Yeah,” I coughed into my arm and rubbed my eyes of tears. “Yeah, I have a cell phone on me.”

“Give me the number and we'll call you the moment we get off the plane.”

I promptly gave him the phone number, and he thanked me as he wrote it down.

“And son,” he started.

“Yes, sir?” I sniffed, wiping a tear from my cheek.

“It's not your fault, son,” he stated sounding fatherly. “It's not your fault, son. Remember that… Emilie and I love you, and we appreciate what you've done for our daughter. You're a fine man. So, chip up and we'll be over there in no time.”

“I'll try, sir…,” I meant to smile, but it faded into a frown.

“All right,” Frederick said soundly against the receiver. “Emilie sends her love. We'll be there in a snap.”

“Thank you, sir. I'll be waiting for your phone call.”

“All right, son,” Frederick went to hang the phone up. “Take care.”

“You, too, sir.”

“Good bye.”

The phone quieted and the dial tone affixed itself. I slowly put it back on the handle and laid my forehead back on my arm, leaning into the wall. I gradually twisted in my stance, and slid down it with my back. I fell to my rear. I pulled my knees to my chest, my sneakers squeaking on the slick surface. I hid my face from the extremely bright lights of the hospital. In my hands I went, into the darkness I created with my body.

I sobbed right there on the floor beneath the pay phone.

***

Ginny and Neville weren't there when I got back. My eyes were sore from rubbing them, and I began to tear up at the sight of being left alone. Alone. I stood in the entryway of the waiting room. The people that were already there stared at me like I was a freak or something. Even their kids stared at me from amongst the toy chest box. I went to get away, just get away from the spot to anywhere, maybe outside for fresh air, when I heard my name.

Ginny was running full speed and fell into me. She clutched me and held me tight in an embrace. Behind her was Neville, and beside him, walking at a quicker-than-normal pace was a young female doctor, clipboard, stethoscope, and all. She had the signature blue mask pulled down around her throat, her blonde, straight hair swaying behind her. She set her clear blue eyes on me and smiled. I didn't know what to think. I didn't know if that was a good sign, and I didn't want to get my hopes up. I've done that before only to have it backfire in my face.

I held Ginny to me as she held onto me. She had her cheek to my shoulder, and she looked up at me with a grin. I raised a brow, wanting to be positive, wanting to have a hopeful outlook; but I choked, my heart retreating. After everything that has happened, my emotions fell on the bad side more often than not. Neville waved at me in greeting, and I lifted my head in a nod with a solemn expression.

“We've been trying to find you,” exclaimed Ginny. She was much more unruffled from the state I left her in. She swirled on her heel, her arm still around me in a half-hug. She pointed at the female physician only a few feet away now. “That's the doctor who saw over Hermione. She has some good news, Harry!”

I gulped, looking down at Ginny sternly, “Don't say that unless you're absolutely positive it's good.”

“Well,” Ginny sighed. Her arm around me tightened, and she glanced down at the floor away from my stern stare. “I think it's good, at least.”

“Hello,” the woman in white held out her hand to me. I just sort of looked at it for a second, not wanting to touch it. Like she was a disease I didn't want to catch. I felt sick. I closed my eyes and opened them slowly before shaking her hand. She still held that smile, her teeth extremely white. “I'm Dr. Rebecca Stone, you must be Harry?”

I nodded and said, probably, a bit cold, “I'm Harry.”

“May I call you `Harry'?”

“…Sure,” I shrugged.

“Well then, Harry,” she motioned me with her clipboard down the hallway. “Walk with me?”

“Ginny says you have good news,” my expression slipped into a poker face. I could have cried, wanting to have Ginny's assertion be right, but I think my tear-ducts dried up.

“I believe it's wonderful news, from a medical point of view,” she motioned again for me to follow. What the Hell did that mean, `from a medical point of view'? “Walk with me, Harry. I want to talk with you.”

I started to move, feeling my legs for the first time, when I stopped. Dr. Stone halted, too, and waited. I glanced at Ginny who had left me to stand with Neville. I looked back at Dr. Stone, “Can they come with me?”

Dr. Stone eyed the couple, and then smiled at me, “If that's what you'd like, of course, Harry.”

Ginny ran to my right side with Dr. Stone on my left. Neville stayed between Ginny and me, behind us as we wandered the hall. Ginny looped her arm around my arm closest to her and hung onto me. I held her arm, and she held over my hand. I kept my eye on Dr. Stone, her heels clipping the hospital floor, making a clopping noise when she walked. She smiled at me and brushed some of her hair from her eye.

“Has Ms. Granger told you her heart, or her chest, sometimes feels like it tickles?” asked Dr. Stone.

I squinted, and slowly I nodded my head, “Would holding her chest count?”

“That can be a reflex, yes,” Dr. Stone shook her head. “We've run some tests after she came into the emergency room to narrow the field. The problem is definitely within her chest region, her heart to be more precise. Her heart is exhausted.”

“Her heart is exhausted…?” The word exhausted fell out of my mouth long and exaggerated. “What the Hell does that mean, doc?”

“From our preliminary results from the tests we performed prior to the echocardiogram, our team suspected her heart was working harder than it should by the input-output we were receiving,” we all turned a corner in tandem. “We're to believe there's a small obstruction somewhere inside the heart itself making her heart do double-time; but without the echocardiogram, we won't know precisely where or what Ms. Granger's full diagnosis is. We can only…guesstimate, from the symptoms she's shown us to proceed in comparison to past patients. The results of the ECG are returning shortly.”

“Is `guesstimate' a medical term nowadays, doctor?”

“Will Hermione have to be operated on?” asked Ginny, rigid to my side.

Dr. Stone shook her head at Ginny, “I can't tell you that isn't a possibility. That's always a possibility. Her heart did respond to the drugs we gave her, so we're moving in the right direction for the diagnosis.”

She glanced back at me, “Harry, we're monitoring Ms. Granger around the clock. We have her stabilized.”

We stopped in front of an elevator. I hadn't known we even went to stop until I almost ran into the shiny, metallic elevator door. I saw my reflection in the metal material and I looked all kinds of disheveled, and worse. I lifted my glasses from the bridge of my nose and rub my eyes. I heard the doors open with a “Ding!” and Dr. Stone utter, “May we proceed?”

“Where exactly are we going?” I demanded through a tensed jaw. All I wanted to know was that Hermione was all right, and all I heard was medical mumbo-jumbo. I felt Ginny squeeze my arm.

“Ms. Granger has a private room on the Cardiac level,” My eyes lit up. Hermione! A rush of happiness filled my core. I sprinted into the elevator, dragging Ginny with me. Dr Stone followed with Neville and pressed the `3' on the number pad. The button lit up and the door closed. We stepped off the first floor, so the levels went by fast. I didn't even get to ask a question, or hear Dr. Stone talk, before the door slid back open with a “Ding!” I ran out ahead of the doctor with Ginny in tow. Dr. Stone was clutching her clipboard to her chest when I saw her beside me again. She nodded, greeting another doctor going into the elevator, and turned to me, “But, Harry, there are a few things I must make clear with you beforehand…”

There it was. There was the catch. The Catch-22. My heart fell right back from its cloud nine peak. I felt sick again, like I might vomit. The emotional rollercoaster pushed me into a migraine and I felt woozy. Ginny hugged me tighter and tighter as we pushed on, following Dr. Stone's direction.

“Even though Ms. Granger is stabilized,” I felt we already walked a mile, door after door going on by us. “She's currently being observed, as I've said. Just…”

We held on a door, stopped. Room 313 with the name, “Granger, Hermione,” written in black marker on a white board below the tag. Dr. Stone removed a clipboard from a holder on the wood and replaced it with the one she held. She made some marks on it hastily. She sighed and eyed me with her baby-blue eyes, “Just…from seeing loved ones in the same position as Ms. Granger, be prepared for anything. She's fine medically, but when you step into the room and see her…just be prepared, you may be overwhelmed.”

My eyes were wide with water. I went from Hermione's name on the door, to Dr. Stone, and then back at her name.

Dr. Stone patted my shoulder and turned on her heel, but not before saying to me, “Good luck, Harry. I'll be seeing you again, soon, with a better diagnosis than our preliminary. The door's unlocked. Go in whenever you want to.”

My hand went to the cold metal handle of Room 313. I breathed in, and wanted to be prepared. I didn't know what was behind the door. It's like…being in front of a cave and wanting to go on further, wanting to know what mysteries lay therein. The cave is dark and you're without a light. The more you press in, the more you anticipate something to come out of the pitch-black. Then, when you least expect it, surrounded and suffocated with the blackness that you can't even see your own body. Your mind floats away like a near-death experience, and that “something” waiting in the dark finally mauls you to pieces.

I was waiting to be mauled.

This was any loved one's nightmare. The onset of a point in your life where you knew, for better or worse, you will forever remember the very moment. You only hoped the pain, if it was pain, came fast and lasted only a little while. I took in another deep breath and felt Ginny by my neck. Neville put his hand on my left shoulder and squeezed it.

“We're right here…,” said Ginny softly.

“We're here,” Neville reassured with another squeeze. “All the way.”

I nodded and twisted the handle. I, all at once, heard the heart rate monitor beeping away. I stepped once into the room and immediately saw the end of a bed made up with feet tucked in under white sheets. White sheets. Death sheets. I took another step, my eyes seeing more of her legs, her knee, and then I fell into the room all the way. Tears dropped, and I nearly dropped. I propped myself on the wall. I hadn't even made it past the archway of the door. I held myself on the frame and looked in at Hermione.

I tried not to hyperventilate, my chest ferociously heaving an unsteady rate. The first thing I saw were the tubes all wrapped around her form. Some of the lines went under the blankets to her body, mostly directed toward her chest area. An oxygen mask held taut to her mouth and nose, a small bag inflating, pushing oxygen into her so she didn't have to work to breathe on her own. Tubes stuck in her nose from underneath the mask and went around the back of her head, and into her hair. Her eyes were closed, and that ghostly pale still lingered on her skin from the instant she collapsed.

Four other monitors, besides the heart rate monitor, twirled with numbers evaluating and reevaluating my little Hermione bundled in electronics. She looked utterly uncomfortable, and wrong, so very wrong in the environment. I coughed out a stutter, sucking in tears but more overcame me. I stumbled over to a chair as quickly as I could without falling down, my hands along the wall. I sat down right alongside her and looked at her body, her chest rising and falling with the breathing machine. I lifted my hand to my mouth, my lips trembling, my body trembling.

I heard Ginny gasp, and my focus went to her. Her hands were grasping her mouth. Tears streaked her cheeks, dripping along her tightened hands, along her tight fingers. She gasped again and shook her head. She couldn't make it passed the door, standing mostly in the hall we came from.

“I'm sorry!” she whispered hastily in one breath under her fingers. “I just—I just can't do this right now!”

She fled out of the room, her inflamed, red hair fluttering in the wind she created, and I heard her crying.

Neville stood in the door way. I saw his Adam's apple bob up-and-down. I stared at him a moment, my eyes like his wide and watery, and then looked back at my Hermione, deathly awe-struck.

“Harry…,” he said softly. My eyes, huge, went right back to him. He just stared on at me, speechless, until he said back just as soft. “I'm so sorry. I'm just so sorry…”

I turned back to Hermione. I gently lifted my hand and lightly touched her limp arm outside the sheets. She was so cold. She didn't feel like Hermione. She felt…I didn't want to say…

“I'm sorry…,” I heard Neville say again. “I have to go get Ginny…”

I just nodded my head and heard the door close behind him. Eyes locked on Hermione's lifeless form, I stared. That's all I could do. Water, pieces of me, drizzled like raindrops to my jeans. I moved my fingers down her arm, along her elbow. I watched her arm wiggle, and I hoped it was her moving, but realized it was only by my touch. I took up her hand, lacing my fingers between hers like we always did, and cried. I lay my head against the metal sides of the bed, and poured my water onto the floor. I coughed, and I wanted to throw up, but nothing came out but dry heaves.

“Why…” I asked thin air. “Why…”

I slipped my head up, my eyes over the railing to watch the air bag inflate and deflate, pulsing my Hermione's chest. I lightly raised her hand, conscientious to each individual movement to not hurt her in any way, and kissed the top of it. I ran my fingers in her cool palm and kept my stare on her face, her closed eyes.

“I love you…,” I said, choking up. My voice was quiet, the monitors beeping over me. “I love you…”

My focus went to the ceiling, and I swallowed hard, “Why are you doing this to me? Why?!”

I sniffed, “Are you punishing me because of something I did?! Why are you hurting her?! She's innocent, she didn't do anything… Wound me, if that's what you're doing! Hurt me! Scratch me! Stab me! Kill me! But, not her… She didn't do anything wrong… She couldn't do anything wrong…”

I coughed into my arm and glared at the ceiling, “Is this because I took her from Ron?! Is that it, huh?! Do you think she'd be happy with him?! Look at how he treated her! No…it has to be because of something I'd done…or maybe, you just hate me…”

My eyes traced Hermione's flaccid features, “Please, don't take her away from me… Please… I've only gotten to love her a second compared to a lifetime… Please, don't take her away from me now… Please…”

I let her hand hold mine as I stood up. I leaned across her and gently kissed the side of her head. I couldn't help but cry when she didn't respond as much as I wished for anything, any movement, just anything at all.

“I love you Hermione Granger…,” I whispered into her ear. I kissed her forehead tenderly. “I love you… Please don't leave me… Please don't leave me here alone without you…”

I inhaled a breath and hesitated, nuzzling her like all the times we had, “I've only just begun to love you… Please don't leave me, Hermione… Please… Don't leave me…”

“…I can't live without you…”

***

I fell asleep with her hand in mine, and my head alongside the metal barricade of her bed. What woke me up was the opening of the door, the brightness of the newly born light from the hallway, and the nurse that walked in whilst taking the clipboard from the door. She smiled at me. I blinked and gazed back at my Hermione still lying like I left her. I laid my forehead back on the metal and sighed.

The nurse needed to do some tests, one being the drawing of blood and an injection of anti-pain medication. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to see Hermione given pain, the needle sticking into her arm. I squeezed her hand in mine and leaned over to her. I nudged my little lioness with my nose on her cheek and kissed her forehead. I ran my hand through her hair, and left before I could see the nurse commence medical torture.

Night had fallen in New York City. I passed by windows in the hallway and saw the blinking bulbs, flashing advertisements far away and the lines of headlights on the roads. I wondered where Ginny and Neville had gone. I remembered, this time, I had a cellular phone. I wasn't used to it, this being my first and only. I flipped the phone out, the miniature screen coming to life. I was about to call Ginny, punching in her number, but stopped. I smelled the aroma of incense and I heard a piano playing a softened melody. I followed the scent and sound around the corner and came, face-to-face, with the hospital's chapel.

I gazed up at the cross in the centre, a red aisle separating pews in rows on the left and right. I shut my phone off and slipped it back in my jean pocket. I wasn't much of a religious person, sauntering down the aisle with my hands crossed on my chest. I kept my eye on the white cross with a beam of light shining upon it from the floor. I traipsed right up to the front and stopped at a raised ledge on the floor. A woman kneeled, and was in the middle of prayer, when she turned to look up at me. The elderly woman smiled with a piece of jewelry in her hand. I smiled too, and went to peer at the cross once more.

What had I to lose? Besides my Hermione…I had nothing else… She, my life…

I'd reach out to about anything to have her live, even if it was to reach out to something or someone I'd never really did before in my past. I didn't shake, confident, with my Hermione-memories flooding my mind of all our joyous, happy times. I grinned and closed my eyes, letting the tune of the piano play in time with my nostalgia. A wet drop slid along my cheek. I'll try anything, Hermione… Anything…

I got down on my knees, trying to mimic the position the elderly woman was in. I hadn't done this, and merely closed my eyes and hoped, wishing that my Hermione would pull through.

In the waves of my emotions I saw Hermione lying in my arms within the moving-pictures of my mind, happy, healthy, and alive.

I wept.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: From the beginning to end, Running Up That Hill by Placebo, Bad Dream by Keane, and Possibility by Lykke Li. The lyrics and music is spot on. I only wish there was a way you could embed a song in a story right at that very moment of emotion}

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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: After writing forty pages nearly straight through, I decided to break what would have been one full forty-page chapter into two. So, instead of uploading one for the weekend, now you all will get two updates! Some of my reviewers have hit the foreshadowing dead-on, and the stuff that is to come for the future. You guys amaze me. I hope you all keep reading and giving me these excellent reviews! You guys keep me going!

***

Chapter Twelve ~ Options

The creak of the door inching into the room brought life to my sight. Before, I had been asleep on an Easter-green couch. My head lay on a beige pillow. The couch was not long enough for my entire length, so I had to bend my knees and curl myself around the pillow. A nurse came in during the night and asked me, while she changed Hermione's IV bag and took her temperature, if I wanted a bed. They'd bring the bed right into the room with Hermione. At the moment, I couldn't care less. Being beside Hermione was all that was important to me. All I wanted was to be by my girl.

Now, the same night-shift nurse walked back in. She smiled at me, her hands clasping the usual clipboard of coloured paper. Each colour represented a certain task that needed to be checked on or done. I'd watch the nurse go about the monitors and scratch down the numbers. Maybe she would press on a button, maybe she wouldn't, her fingers constantly writing away on the clipboard.

The nurse eyed me through neon pink hair, straight down her back. An interesting, original colour that made sure I knew she'd been the one coming in-and-out throughout the night. She was pretty, too, but nothing compared to Hermione. Fail in comparison, utterly and completely. She was young, and very cautious around the equipment. I didn't ask, but if I did ask if she was new, my hunch probably would have been right. She looked younger than me, and that's a statement, being only nineteen years on this earth.

Her yellow-green irises read the numbers popping and twirling on the monitor calculating the palpitations of Hermione's heart. Down below, a blue number would rise and fall, observing her oxygen input and output. The nurse, Valerie, checked Hermione's pulse by holding her wrist and looked at her watch. She then scratched something down, I assumed, was yet another number.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” exclaimed Valerie in a casual-but-business-like tone. Her right eye was covered by her neon pink hair; her other eye was severely black around the edges of the yellow-green. “Can I get you anything?”

I made a sort of wave, coughing into a fist. I scooted to my backside and stretched as much as I could on the too-tiny couch. I heard the sounds of the hospital: the paging for this doctor, the code yellow for the sixth floor, and the shuffling forever of feet and shadow.

I was alone, in a sense, besides Hermione. I sent Ginny and Neville back. Ginny, of course, protested my wish for her to go back to the hotel. Neville's future career could be a negotiator. He is practically the only one who can persuade Ginny, the ever-stubborn and hard-headed. He told her about the situation. He told her nothing could be done except waiting. Waiting, the waiting game, in the waiting room. I had my cell phone with me, and I promised her whole-heartily that if anything changed—even the most miniscule of change—I'd call her. She prodded my chest and said, “I don't give a damn what time of the night it is, you better call me!” Then, they left for the Marriott and the Art Deco, lush suite.

“No thank you, I'm fine,” I replied to Valerie. My eyes were on Hermione and how the breathing machine would slightly push her chest out, making it rise. I brushed her hair and cleaned her face with a wash cloth gently before I had lain down. I needed to do something, anything; I hated the fact that my only true option was to wait around. Dr. Stone had come in before she left to go home and said the echocardiogram hadn't come back from the laboratory and that she'd get it first thing in the morning when she came back in.

That was unfortunate.

“How is she doing?” my vocal chords were raspy. I sounded as if I'd been smoking for years.

“She looks positively wonderful,” smiled Valerie, her lips black with lipstick. The pen scuffed the wood of the clipboard as she continued making marks. She had her eyes on another monitor, this one the most vital of them all: the heart monitor. “Her figures are great. Her heart rate is a bit below par, but that's mainly because she's sleeping. Her blood came back fine with no irregularities and her body is getting enough oxygen.”

“Then why is she still in here?”

“Because Dr. Stone's team wants to make one hundred percent sure Ms. Granger is doing well before discharging her. Makes sense, too, as people just don't drop to the ground,” Valerie put her clipboard under her arm and the pen she wrote with in her pocket. She glanced at me and said, “All right, I have to take blood again. Just a fair warning.”

I swallowed hard and felt nauseous. Two things—one, needles. Needles bugged me, gave me the creeps. Seeing one, as Valerie pulled a clean syringe out and took off the safety plastic, had me to turn away. They'd have to knock me out almost for someone to shove a needle in my arm. You'd think after all the years I was locked up with Madam Pomfrey I'd get used to it. But, nope, still made me sick at the sight. Secondly, that was a part of my baby leaving her. As I peeked to see Valerie fill the tube, the crimson colour gushing in gradually, something about the essence of my angel being taken away disturbed me, too. I didn't want anyone to take that life from her…though, I realized it was for the best as much as I chafed.

“Actually,” Valerie started, having cleaned the pivot of Hermione's arm again and put a band-aid on it. “I don't know why Ms. Granger even has the oxygen mask on anymore. She's giving me really positive reads, better than positive, and her blood is rich with oxygen. I wouldn't be surprised if the mask comes off in the morning.”

“That's great,” I tried to grin, but it subsided before it took off. I didn't want to get my hopes up to have the crash-and-burn once more. No more Catch-22's. But, a part of me did cheer deep inside my soul. Cheering on my Hermione as if I was along the sidelines and she caught the snitch to win the big Quidditch match. “That's good.”

“That's extremely good,” smiled Valerie, shifting over with her feet in blue booties. She crumpled up a wrapper and tossed it in the rubbish bin by the door. She took hold of the door handle and slipped her way out silently, “Sleep tight, Mr. Potter.”

“Valerie!” I shot up, my hand out to her.

Valerie flipped around, her head moving inside the room, her body behind the door and outside the hallway. “Yes?”

I began to step towards Hermione softly as if I didn't want to wake her up. Nothing was waking her up with the anti-pain medicine they gave her. I looked at Valerie who pushed open the door so I could see more of her in the brightly lit hallway, “When does Dr. Stone usually come in?”

Valerie glanced at the watch on her wrist, “It's a little past 1:30 now… So, roughly, eight more hours, give or take.”

“All right,” I'd gone to the side of Hermione's bed, my hands around the metal rims. My eyes set and wouldn't budge from Hermione, relaxed and a bit more comfortable-looking after my hygiene handiwork. Sliding my fingers underneath her palm, I laced them with hers, just holding her hand.

“Give Dr. Stone some time for coffee and the like,” I heard Valerie say before closing the door. “Good morning, or, good night.”

She made a stifled laugh and waved at me. She was ever-so-nice to Hermione, and to me, a sweet girl. Caring for my Hermione gave her mega-points. She could spit on me, and I'd still give her points for being gentle and genuine when she spoke and touched my baby. She even winced when she'd poke Hermione with the needle, knowing it hurt me too.

I leaned down alongside Hermione and ran my fingers through her hair. I smiled at her and lightly pressed my lips against her cheek. I whispered in her ear, “Did you hear that, my love? You're such a fighter… You're so amazing… Do you know that?”

I lightly caressed her forehead, and then went back to her ear, “You're simply the most amazing woman I have ever seen, and I love you with all of my heart… Every bit of it, all of it…”

I kissed her shoulder lightly as well, “I love you, Hermione Granger… I will always love you…”

***

The only time I ever left Hermione's side was to forage for food. Hermione would have a fit if I didn't eat; in a way, much harsher than Ginny. She'd scold me, and I smiled at the thought. I was in the elevator with a few people from the ground floor. I didn't have to press the third floor button, having stepped on to see it already lit. The sun hadn't rose, but it was about to, the sky churning from black to purple. I'd asked Valerie where a cafeteria was located for breakfast, and I was coming back from there. Eggs and toast, something to eat that wasn't heavy but would get me through the day until lunchtime.

I passed by the window holding the New York skyline. I felt lighter, an emotional high being given off by the sunlight gently rising through the square panes and by all the positive feedback Hermione had given Nurse Valerie. My hands in my pockets, I turned the corner and noticed Valerie chatting away on a telephone behind the third floor desk. She smiled at me as I passed, and I half-grinned back, something that had been rarely seen the past two days of my dreary life.

My hand reached for the handle of the door. I gently pushed into the room, slid in, and shut it quietly. The heart monitors met me, and I'd grown fond of hearing the steady rhythm. I knew, with each matching beep of the machine, Hermione lived—and that's all that mattered. Her life was more important than anyone's from my perspective of the world. I'd gladly give my own to save hers, and had in my short lifespan of nineteen years.

In near-tip toe, I made a path to the window that had been behind me on the couch. As I went, I watched Hermione sleep. Her little body had been through so much; she needed all she could get. As much as I wanted her to get up, I knew the more she lay there in relaxation, the more her insides recuperated from the trauma. I also knew, pulling on the chord to make the blinds open slightly, that she'd want some natural light in her room. If the day were sunny, she didn't like to be in the dark. Light made her lively, and lively made her happy.

I pushed off the couch with my knees. The cushions flipped from my weight. I bent down into a squat and fixed them before standing back up and slipping my hands in my pockets. I sat on the couch, taking my cell phone out of my pocket to see if I had any missed calls. Not that I would not have heard the phone go off. I did it to do something, to get my mind off from waiting, to have my mind go somewhere else for a second. No missed calls. I placed the phone back in my jeans, having to stretch my leg out to slide it back in, when I saw Hermione.

A hallucination… No…

She moved!

No…!

She moved again!

Ha!

Hermione tried to adjust herself, but couldn't quite do it. How could she with all the equipment around her. I saw her eyes blink open, and her head tilt back. I popped right from my seat and was at her side in a snap. She didn't see me at first, but then her eyes drowsily peered over at me as I bent down to really make sure what I saw was the real deal. That she was actually, really, and truly moving. And…she was! For a moment, I didn't know what to do. I thought about running out the door and getting Valerie, anyone, when I saw her try to move her arm from the bed. She couldn't lift it all the way, and I caught it before she could have it fall.

She smiled at me under her mask, and I began to cry. I broke down. I lowered right down level with her and gently wrapped my arm across her chest. I could feel the lines attached beneath the sheets; chords going right to her heart area. I felt Hermione lightly gripping at me. She hadn't the strength with all the medication in her. She rubbed my arm, and I went into the crook of her neck to kiss her. Hoisting myself higher, I purred alongside her cheek and kissed as close to her mouth as I could with the mask in the way.

Her eyes would close sleepily, but she smiled. I saw a tear leak from the corner of her eye, and that made me begin again. I laughed a little in my cry and kissed away her tear on her cheek. I caressed her throat and under her jaw. I ran my hand against her soft tummy, her soft fingers gripped into me with an ounce of strength. I wrapped my arm back around her chest and laid my eyes on her. She turned her head back towards me, having straightened it when I caressed her neck. She gazed at me with her cinnamon eyes, and I grinned.

I lowered to her ear and whispered, “I love you…”

The heart monitor leapt at my words.

I smiled and kissed, again, as close as I could to her mouth.

She tried to say something, but came out silent. I got close, my ear to her, to hear her say quietly in a strain, “…I'm sorry…”

I sobbed beside her, my nose to her cheek. I embraced her loosely, feeling her hand inside my hair, “There's nothing to be sorry for… I'm so happy to see you awake, you're doing really good…”

Hermione closed her eyes slowly, more tears flowing alongside her nose and cheek. I smiled and licked the soft of her face and caressed away those tears. I scratched the top of her head gently and combed her unyielding, silk-like hair with my fingers. She tried to make out something to me and I drew in close.

“…I love you…” her voice struggled with the medication.

My heart, heavy with love, fluttered in my chest. I kissed her all over—anywhere and everywhere—along her neck once more, and shoulder, down and up her arm, to her palm and fingertips. Alongside her clavicle, her chest, the curve of her breast and stomach; my hand by those parts of my beloved where I'd massage her, loving her as much as I could in our current state of being. I moved back up and kissed her chin, and then the side of her mask.

She raised her arm and touched her mask. She tried to get under the secured, clear plastic face-piece with her nail. I held her hand, not quite knowing if taking the mask away was a good idea. She tried to, anyway, and finally my will weakened. I wanted to kiss her lips, and she wanted me to. I tenderly lifted the mask and pulled it down under her chin quickly and cautiously. She tilted her head back and rose to get to me an inch off the bed. I met her all the way, all ninety percent. I kissed her lips and brought my moisture to them.

I heard the heart rate monitor beeping frantically. I smiled, and I felt her grin under my ever-so-gentle kiss. She lay back, smirking through her sluggishness. She was feeling better, the smirk proving against my greatest fears. She nodded some when I pointed at the mask, telling her in body language I was putting it back on. I let it slip softly to her mouth and nose from my finger tips. She blinked at me, her smile still evident under the mask.

The monitor beep calmed as I stroked the side of her face. She nudged her head into my hand as I did, getting soothed, and every-so-often closing her eyes even though she willed them to stay open. I smiled as she fought herself to keep her eyes on me, and then motioned me to come down to her. I followed her instruction, and put my ear so I could hear.

“…I'm thirsty…”

“Okay…,” I grinned and peck-kissed her forehead. I looked at her, and she smiled at me, closing her eyes. I whispered, “I'll be right back. I need to go get the lovely nurse that's been overseeing my baby… I'm sure she'll bring you some water.”

Hermione mouthed, “Thank you.”

“You're more than welcome…,” I peck-kissed her forehead once more. “You're absolutely amazing… I'll be right back.”

My hand didn't want to leave hers. As I stepped, my palm felt cold, my fingers chilled, leaving the warmth of Hermione's touch. She followed me, twisting her head in the direction I went. I kept my eye on her, grinning, smiling from ear-to-ear. I gently pulled the door open and put my index finger up to state, “Just one second.”

I saw her smile at me, having rotated her head a full one hundred eighty degrees from where it was to the door. I left the door open, blowing her a kiss, and high-tailed it over to the desk and asked for Valerie.

***

Did I mention how unbelievable this Valerie woman is? The moment I asked for her, as she was in the back room behind the desk filing paperwork the instant I came up, to the moment she went with me into the Hermione's room she was golden. Immediately, she laughed out loud in surprise, seeing Hermione fidgeting most uncomfortably. She went over and asked Hermione if she wanted to be raised, if she needed her pillows fluffed, or anything else. I told her about Hermione's throat being dry, and she asked her, bending down, what she'd like.

“…Cranberry, please…,” Hermione was propped midway from being seated erect which was a large improvement. Her voice was a little raspy, from lack of liquid substance, but other than that she was rather responsive in-between her exhaustiveness.

“I'll get right on it!” smiled Valerie, glancing up at me with a grin from Hermione. “And, I'll call Dr. Stone right away with the update so we can get that darn mask off your face!”

Hermione smiled at her, and then turned her head to look at me. I gripped her hand, my fingers mingling with hers, having missed them dearly. She did her smirk, her eyes closing and re-opening. The medication was still within her, but she looked ravishing nonetheless.

That's my girl.

I leaned in and smelled of her vanilla on her neck. I licked her when we were alone, on the side of her throat, and purred. I nuzzled my lioness, her cheek rubbing into my hair. “You're so amazing…,” I whispered into her ear after caressing the earlobe.

“…I probably smell…,” she smiled at me, her eyes closed.

I took loose strands of hair and tucked them behind her ear, shaking my head from side-to-side, “You smell wonderfully brilliant… My vanilla baby…”

Frederick Granger called amidst our love-making, as much as we could, re-connecting like long-lost puppy dogs. She listened to me with her eyes still shut. She may have drifted off to sleep, stroking her hair, her head, and her face gently with my fingers. But, she moved and opened her eyes, blinking them to stay awake against her medical obstacle. They'd just landed at JFK and were on their way in a cab and would get there shortly. When I told them of Hermione's responsiveness, and how she was awake, I heard Mr. Granger announce to the cabbie, “There's an extra fifty in it for you if you speed it up!”

I flipped the phone back when the call ended. Hermione kind of shook her head, as much as she could, and kept her pink smile, “…you called daddy and mum?”

I lowered to her and kissed her mask. I nodded, slipping the phone in my jean pocket, “I did. I thought they should know.”

Hermione lifted her head from me and stretched. Her smile never ceased, and when she stopped her action, her eyes came back to mine. She looked at me, those big, brown doe-eyes coming to tears. I instantaneously moved in and kissed those eyes, her eyelids when she closed them. I kissed her cheek and nudged the tip of my nose along the spot. I asked, seeing a tear trickle down the crevice alongside her nose in whisper, “…Why are you crying?”

Hermione sniffled and tried to nudge me right back, her nose hitting the inside of her oxygen mask. I heard the heart rate monitor flutter in beeps. I looked up at it, and then down to her, thinking something was wrong. That's when she said, “…Because…I'm so in love…”

She breathed in her pause, “…with you…”

She reached up to touch my cheek. I took her hand after she felt me, stroking me lightly, and turned her hand so the inside of her palm faced me. I gently caressed the softness of her palm, seeing her fingers slightly fidget in my kiss. I placed her hand back along my cheek and leaned in, her hand moving with me, to peck-kiss her wherever I could all over her face. The monitor was going ballistic, her pulse rising and falling erratically. I heard the door open, my lips on her forehead. Dr. Stone traipsed right on in, stopping a little to hear the monitor jumping. She had her clipboard in hand, and smiled when she saw me lift from Hermione with Hermione's hand still on my cheek.

“That's one way to keep that heart pumping,” she laughed, her heels tapping the floor. She traipsed up to the side of Hermione's bed and held onto the metal. I got a good look at her white nail polish contrasting against the chrome-like polish of the barriers. She was grinning at Hermione, “Good morning, Ms. Granger. My name is Rebecca Stone and I'm your cardiologist. My team put you in this contraption.

Dr. Stone gestured to the machines, “I hope we haven't caused too much discomfort.”

Hermione shook her head and said softly, “…Good morning.”

“When will these drugs, that are making her sleepy like this, be out of her body?” I asked, Hermione's hand finding mine on the metal barriers opposite Dr. Stone's.

Dr. Stone was flipping through her charts and examining the monitors. She said whilst gazing at the oxygen in-take, “The pain medication we've given her should be out of her system by this evening at the very latest.”

Dr. Stone bent down to Hermione and whispered to her, still audible to me, “How's your chest feel this morning? Good? Bad? Mediocre?”

“…Feels good,” Hermione managed to say, closing her eyes.

Dr. Stone glanced up at me and smiled, “I bet you're feeling a lot better with Harry here, hm?”

Hermione smiled, her fingers sliding and lacing with mine. I put my other hand over the top of hers.

Dr. Stone returned her focus to Hermione, “Are you breathing well enough alone?”

Hermione nodded her head, her eyes still closed. Dr. Stone's sight went back to mine. Valerie was behind her scratching away at the clipboard she handed her. Valerie also had a bottle of Ocean Spray cranberry juice in her white coat pocket. The bottle tilted out from its small confines with a paper-covered straw beside it.

“Val?”

“Yes, Dr. Stone?” Valerie gazed up from her scratching pen.

“Could you go over and turn off the breathing apparatus?” Dr. Stone's eyes were fixed on Hermione's chest, and would flick to the input-output of her oxygen via the machine. “I want to be sure Ms. Granger can receive oxygen on her own before taking leave for Mr. Ramirez.”

“You're doing extremely well, Ms. Granger,” Dr. Stone's red lipstick-grin curled. “We may even have you out and home in a couple days.”

“Does that mean the test results came back good?” My hopes were on high. I stepped forward and allowed Valerie to go around me. I heard her pressing the controls on the monitor itself and I saw Dr. Stone removing the mask. Dr. Stone paid close attention to Hermione after she'd taken it away from her face and gave it to Valerie across the bed.

She put her stethoscope in her ears and felt of Hermione's chest with the pad. She gazed at me as she listened beneath Hermione's ribs, “I do have the ECG report, but Val here told me Ms. Granger's parents were on their way. I didn't know if you wanted to wait, or not.”

I can't wait.

I bowed to Hermione and whispered to her, “What do you think, love?”

“Ms. Granger seems to be receiving enough oxygen on her own power,” I heard Dr. Stone state, looking at Valerie beside me. Valerie's pen went to writing once more, Dr. Stone singing off one number and the next, then ending in, “Make note of the time and I'll be coming back to check on her progress in six hours if nothing happens between then and now.”

“…I want to know…”

That was all I needed to know. I lifted, seeing Dr. Stone's eyes on me as I did, “What's the verdict, doc?”

Dr. Stone put her hands in her white coat after hanging her stethoscope around her neck. Her blue scrubs became pronounced against the ivory colour, the coat not buttoned in anyway, allowing it to shift outward by her hands. She looked between Hermione and me, and then said with a sigh, “I have good news…and I have bad news.”

“Good news first, please,” I closed my eyes and told my mind to settle; my mind erupted when the phrase “bad news” was said. I felt Hermione tighten her grip on my hand.

“Well, the good news is I can see Ms. Granger leaving the hospital in a few short days, a week by the latest.” Dr. Stone motioned with her hands for her clipboard. Valerie handed it back to her, and she took off a manila folder. “The bad news, however…”

“…however…?” I stated just as straight as she did.

Dr. Stone slipped a sheet of white paper with black computer print out of the folder, “…The `however' depends on Ms. Granger's decision on how to proceed.”

“I don't understand…,” Hermione sounded much better, much more vocal, without the damn machine on her face. She sounded just as sweet and angelic, though, a bit low in tone than normal. “…What decision will I have to make?”

“We found a tiny obstruction as we thought within Ms. Granger's heart.”

“What's going to happen now, then?” My tone raised, I felt like screaming. I felt that wave of sickness again hit my stomach. “Are you going to have to operate on her heart?”

Dr. Stone shook her head, “Not at all, actually.”

I wish whoever was playing this game would stop. If someone was writing my life, please, I beg of you, write it happier! I felt like I was on a teeter-totter, and couldn't get off. One minute I was high, ecstatic, and the following minute I was dirt, scum, the bottom of the barrel. I gulped, swallowing hard. My heart raced, and I was glad mine wasn't being monitored or I'd be on the bed being observed.

“You see, what has happened to Ms. Granger's heart is,” Dr. Stone held up a black-and-white photograph. I couldn't make heads-nor-tails of it until she said “heart” amongst her discussion. What I viewed, the light portions and the dark portions, was the very essence of my girl. I got goosebumps, seeing the exposed lifeline. I think I wanted to smile. There was something about getting a look at Hermione's heart that felt thrilling. That this organ, right there, painted for us by computer image, was the piece of her that I loved to listen to when I lay my ear to her chest—that kept her alive, breathing.

“…We don't fully understand why this bit right here,” Dr. Stone pointed at a little, mini-bulge in what she called the “wall”. “Why the cells have created that thickening of the wall. Has Ms. Granger had any heart history or heart surgery to cause a lining like this?”

“Not that I can think of,” I shook my head and looked down at Hermione shaking hers as well.

“I've seen odder things in my short time at Bellevue, but what this is right here is sort of like a scab. The cells have built upon an abrasion in her heart like our skin cells do to re-create that shelf of epidermis. The muscle here has collected, unfortunately, giving the blood flow of the valve a bit more of a struggle to pump the blood.”

“I won't have to have surgery, though…?” Hermione exclaimed while I slipped my arms around her in a loose embrace. I had my nose to her cheek.

I heard a piece of paper crinkle and a rubbish bin open-and-close. I glanced to my right to see Valerie coming back towards us with a red-striped straw inside the cranberry juice bottle. She held the bottle out of Hermione, “Here you are, cutie.”

Hermione took it up in her hands. I cradled the base just in case she dropped it and led the straw over to her mouth. I watched her lips slip around the top and the reddish-purple liquid shoot up from inside the clear plastic.

“Therein lays your decision, Ms. Granger.”

Hermione's eyes focused on Dr. Stone to her left, mine doing the same. I wandered away, for a moment, my eyes seeing her throat bob a tad in her drink. I smiled, loving how each second brought my Hermione right back. Just a little while longer, and she'd be home with me, wrapped up in my arms. My eyesight blinked back to Dr. Stone.

“There are three ways to progress with what my team has categorized this as a pulmonary infarction, but a mild case. To put it simply, there is a slight abnormality of the heart and can proceed thusly…”

I grazed my nose along Hermione's cheek and kissed her. I didn't care that Dr. Stone, nor Valerie, watched me. This was my baby, and she is my love. She's better and getting better, and that's all that mattered. They'd found a diagnosis, so now, they could treat her…without surgery.

“First, and what I'm going to suggest to you Ms. Granger, is a pill. It's small, it's effective, but you have to keep on top of it or else you'll get tired because your heart is tiring. This is an everyday pill.”

“…'Everyday' for how long?” I asked, my eyes looking back to Dr. Stone from Hermione's drink.

“Everyday,” Dr. Stone simply stated. “There's a chance that the heart will heal itself, but for recorded history of this ailment, it may possibly be for the rest of Missus Granger's life.”

Hermione paused her sipping. Her eyes searched for Dr. Stone and found the doctor looking at her encouragingly. Dr. Stone nodded, “It's really the best deal, believe me. The pill sort of like…boosts the heart, assists the muscle in palpitations. Like a steroid, but without any side effects of a steroid except for, of course, if you don't take it one, two, three days, you will see a regressive result. You can end up right back in the hospital and the other procedures will have to be done.”

Dr. Stone glanced from our motionless faces and eyes. Hermione set the cranberry juice in her lap and lay her head against mine. She closed her eyes while Dr. Stone began again, “The next would be to have a shock given to your heart every month. An electrical shock that past patients found very intrusive. The shock has an after effect, leaving the patient feeling tired for a few days, possibly up to a whole week or more. That's why many other patients with the same problem take the pill.”

“Then, you have the third and final procedure that will potentially eliminate the problem…but will be extremely intrusive and discomforting,” Dr. Stone shook her head, looking at Valerie who came around to her side. “Surgery to shave the wall of the heart to its original thickness; but, in Missus Granger's condition I just don't see the need to go that route. Her heart is strong, as you can tell by her response to our medication, but it still needs a little giddy-up after she is discharged home.”

Hermione gazed at me as if to want my opinion. I knew what I wanted to say, but this was her body. I lightly kissed the tip of her nose and smiled at her, “It's up to you. I'm right alongside you one hundred percent. Whatever you believe.”

Hermione swiveled her head around when Dr. Stone added, “I can begin the receipt for the pill or the treatment today. We'd still need to keep you for a few nights, though, for complete observation. We want you right as rain for when you leave here.”

“How many more days would that be?” I proclaimed, questioning.

Dr. Stone looked up at the ceiling and bobbed her head from side-to-side in thought and calculation, “I'd say…two, maybe three days tops at the rate we see Ms. Granger healing.”

“The pill…,” stated Hermione in the silence Dr. Stone left.

“Just realize that you must keep track, and it will get habitual.”

I kissed her cheek, and then her jaw line. That was the route I wanted my girl to take.

Dr. Stone nodded to Hermione in a white-toothed grin, and then motioned for Valerie, “Begin that for me please, Val.”

“Right away, Dr. Stone,” exclaimed Valerie in reply. Her neon pink hair and sky-blue scrubs shot out the door at once. I didn't even see her open the door before I saw the door ajar, the hospital hallway teaming with other doctors and other patients moving throughout the building.

Hermione turned to me and smirked. I leaned over her and kissed her mouth tenderly. I felt her hands grip my arm, my nose lightly poking into her own.

“…I'll leave you two alone,” Dr. Stone snickered, twisting on her heel to step outside. I heard her hand on the metal door handle and she peeked inside to say, “A good choice, Ms. Granger.”

She winked and closed the door behind her.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: My brilliant mind? Haha - seriously, I didn't really listen to anything while writing this time. Scary, eh? If anything, it was the same type of music and songs I've listened to up until now}

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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: Here is the second half of the forty pages I worked on these past few nights. I hope to have answered some of your questions or concerns via the review section. I'm quite satisfied with what I've done up until now and can't wait to move onto fourteen! I was brilliantly inspired as I wrote this chapter, but I have a boatload of things to do so it will take me a few days. Thanks again for the reviews!

***

Chapter Thirteen ~ Fragile

Beepbeepbeep-beep-be-ee-eep-be-be-beep-be-beepbeepbeep.

And, we were just kissing.

When I stroked her tummy…sheesh, that was a whole other beeping story.

Hermione slept. Our lips were locked so much I hoped I hadn't stopped her oxygen flow. She smiled before closing her eyes and shook her head. She tired out. I would be, too, after everything she'd been through these few days.

Sitting in the chair I pulled up beside her bed, I watched her sleep. I helped her adjust the bed back horizontal with a little height left over for comfort. It was hard enough laying flat on her back with things going off in intervals around you. I had my right hand in her right hand, laced as one, and my left arm across the top of the metal siding. My chin rested on my arm and I looked on at my beauty. Colour had returned to her skin. I watched her breathe, paying close attention to her chest fluctuating.

I couldn't keep my lips from her. They felt alone, and I'd had enough of feeling alone. I lifted her hand in mine and kissed the top. I moved up as time passed on and kissed her cheek, her shoulder, and caressed the breast above her heart. I knew her heart was trying its best, pounding away, keeping my Hermione alive. I thanked her heart with another kiss and the heart machine stuttered a beep. I smiled. I loved how I could make her do that even when she slept.

The Granger's came in moments after Dr. Stone left and after Hermione and I had our “private time”. First came a knock, and then I opened the door to see Emilie standing there. She hugged me tight and cried when she saw Hermione lying in the bed. Frederick smiled at me. He went to shake my hand, but stopped. He grasped me and pulled me to him in an embrace. I felt warm, squeezing him around the shoulder. He patted my back, and I sighed, watching him enter and stand beside Emilie.

Emilie traced her fingers along Hermione's chin. This having been the first time she'd seen her, the initial shock overcame in a flood of emotion. I saw her, like me, sit down in the chair I had and weep. She put her hand over her mouth and Frederick squatted to her level, hugging her tight. Mr. Granger moved, placing his hand on the other side of Hermione, and kissed his daughter's forehead. I heard Hermione breathe in deep and let it out slowly, turning towards Frederick after he kissed her. Still drowsy, she blinked to focus and smiled at her mother, and then at her father.

“Hey, daddy…” Hermione whispered.

Frederick wiped under his eyes. This was the first time I'd seen Hermione's father cry. He wasn't big and burly. He wasn't the stereotypical “man's man,” the kind that just couldn't cry because it wasn't “male” enough. He didn't go around projecting his testosterone. But, he'd never cried around me. With his daughter lying there, he couldn't help but become overwhelmed with his vulnerable emotions. She grinned at him, a slight dimple coming to her cheek. Mr. Granger slipped in around his daughter and kissed her again on the forehead.

He brushed away some of those mahogany and ginger stray locks that fell at his slight weight and said close to her, “I love you, baby girl…”

“…I love you too, daddy.”

He wondered away from her to allow Emilie access. I caught his hands go to his eyes and wipe them once more. I backed up near the wall to let him through. Meandering toward the door, he patted my shoulder. He squeezed it, and said to me, “Thank you…for looking over my daughter as you've always have…”

“I always will,” I smiled at him, my eyes watery behind my glasses.

“Em,” stated Frederick, clearing his throat against his dark blue dress sleeve.

Emilie Granger turned to look at her husband through puffy, red eyes. She surrounded Hermione in a tight hug, nearly climbing into bed with her daughter as far in as she leaned. She had kissed Hermione's cheek when she turned to see her husband.

Frederick tilted his head toward the door, “I need to step outside for a mo'… I'll be right back in a few.”

“Okay, honey…,” Emilie's focus went back to Hermione immediately. She whispered something in Hermione's ear, and sleepy Hermione with her eyes closed, nodded in response. Hermione smiled.

I was smiling, too. I heard Frederick on my left again in my ear and turned to see him as he asked, “Walk with an old man?”

I turned back to see Hermione with her mother, both of them grinning through shed tears. Hermione was in perfect hands. Emilie stroked her daughter's hair and laughed at something Hermione said to her. Twisting back to Mr. Granger, I shook my head and said to his previous statement on age, “You're not old, sir, and of course.”

Frederick made a laugh and put his arm around my shoulder as we walked out the door, “Compared to you, young man, I feel like I am sometimes.”

We talked about Hermione. She never left our discussion once. I told him about her status, the name of her doctor, and what Dr. Stone had told us prior to them getting to the hospital. We both had our hands in our pockets, his in his black dress slacks and mine in my dark blue jeans with holes torn in them at random. I expressed the three alternatives Hermione had to choose from, and what she ultimately ended up choosing as much as any of the three decisions had me scared. I loved Hermione—she shouldn't have to be in this position—making decisions that can alter her entire life. He wanted to talk with Dr. Stone when we got back up to the Cardiac level, chat about the medication Hermione would be taking, though saying the choice was, “Definitely the right one” through a terrified, fatherly expression.

But for now, Frederick and I marched into the gift shop on the ground level. Sifting through dozens upon dozens of flowers to choose from, he decided on pink roses for his daughter. I agreed, loving his choice. I would have chosen them, too. We went up to the counter and paid the employee and left with a vase of two dozen.

“Has she eaten yet?” He asked as we passed by the cafeteria on our way back. “I saw the juice bottle on the nightstand. Can she eat?”

I shrugged, honestly not knowing, “I'm not entirely sure. She did drink all the cranberry juice, though.”

“My baby girl must be starving…”

He and I took a detour through the cafeteria. Lunch time had began, the tick of the clock after the twelfth hour. I held onto the vase of flora while Frederick slid a tray through a line, asking for turkey and mashed potato, stuffing, biscuits, and some chocolate pudding. He paid for it all promptly, the steaming, white turkey breast wrapped in the vegetable stuffing and the creamy potatoes oozing butter and brown gravy. Only the best for his daughter. He placed a cover over it and up we went to the third floor.

Hermione's father made a joke that stunned me in the elevator. We were alone, and laughing about some poster we saw on the wall, something frivolous to take our minds off all the seriousness, when he all at once threw in a joke about a “wedding”. My heart went a-flutter. Gaining acceptance by Hermione's family…by her father…and him asking, “Any chance Em and me will get the first invitations to the wedding,” had me beyond ecstatic. I don't even think there is a word for the feeling that arose within me. All I could do was smile and say back, “You guys will definitely be the first on our list.”

Ginny called me on the way out of the elevator. She scolded and screamed at me, of course, because I hadn't called her with the good news. Her voice could be heard without holding the receiver to my ear. Hermione was awake, and it was already noon. I apologized to her, telling her everything had gone by so quickly and her parents had arrived. Mr. Granger rolled his eyes at me and stated in a low voice only I could hear, “Girls, eh?”

I laughed, “Yeah.”

Frederick and I entered Hermione's room again after a knock. More alert and talking to Emilie, Hermione's eyes widened at the sight of food and sniffed the air of real rations not of the liquid-kind. We didn't know if this had been allowed, but Frederick shrugged and helped his baby girl get situated with the food. He placed the tray in her lap after I helped her up by the controls of the bed, and she dove right in as if she hadn't eaten ever in her entire life.

Hermione gave her father a hug for the roses, too, before he left to hunt down Dr. Stone. Emilie went with him, and gave me another tight embrace.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Harry,” she jostled me in her arms at each `thank you'. “You're a God-send.”

Emilie kissed my cheek, as any mother would do, and waved at Hermione on her way out. “We'll be back, Cupcake.”

I turned to her with the biggest grin. She had her fork in her mouth, chomping away at the turkey and not really caring if she had her mouth closed or not. She blushed and swallowed, a bit embarrassed by how quickly she was eating. There wasn't anything to be embarrassed about. Having her eating, seeing her eating, that was a blessing in itself. She didn't need the damn IV in her arm, and I'd be the first to point that out the next time someone came in that could relieve her of it. That would be one less plug scarring her beautiful body.

I walked right over to her and planted my lips atop her head. I smelled of her vanilla scent, letting my nose linger in her hair. I loved this woman. I loved Hermione. I love Hermione. I bent to her, and in response as if she knew what I was after, she kissed my mouth softly, innocently. She still had that cloud of medication within her mind, her pupils dilated and she swayed a bit against me.

I pulled the chair closer to the bed and watched her move the fork from her plate to her mouth, and kept watching her repeat it as if this motion was the answer to the meaning of life.

I sighed with a smile. My arms were together on the barricades on the side of the bed, my chin resting on them. I asked with a casual, sauntering tone, “Have I ever told you how much I love you?

I reached across the bed and felt of her tummy. I scratched it lightly, and she giggled. I loved how flat her abdomen was, and how my touch drew her to laughter with a tickle. She peered at me, looking at me in the corner of her eyes, and bit her bottom lip. She leaned over, careful not to tip the tray over, and I met her more than halfway in a subtle, slight caress.

***

Sixteen trillion bags bumbled into the room. I was amidst helping Hermione from the lavatory back to her bed when Weasley-red hair with pinks and blues, beige and brown shopping totes hastily flew from the hallway to the door. The bags dropped, revealing Ginny who squealed shrilly at the sight of Hermione standing. Hermione's arm was around my shoulder and my arm around her shoulder, walking across the small distance to her bed. She hastily stepped right up to Hermione and embraced her tightly. She nearly toppled Hermione over, tackle-hugging like that. Hermione laughed, and I was left holding both girls' weights. Neville, peering in from the newly open door, held two McDonald's sacks in his hands. He waved at me and snickered at the scene.

“She can tire out easily, Gin,” I coerced her away, but failed, Ginny planting kisses on Hermione's cheek and hugging her bestie secure. Hermione had an arm loosely around Ginny.

“Ginny,” stated Neville from behind her. “Dear, you can talk with her without trying to mount her.”

“And what if I do want to mount her?” Ginny seethed playfully, whipping around at Neville.

We all chuckled.

Hermione leaned her head into me after Ginny backed away. Ginny immediately slipped under Hermione's free arm and assisted me in taking her back to bed. When Hermione was tucked in and comfortable, Neville handed Ginny one of the two McDonald's bags. She sat down in a chair, putting her feet up on the cushion so she sat on them and scooted close to Hermione's side.

“I hope you've eaten, `Mione…,” Ginny pulled out this monstrous sandwich wrapped in the McDonald's arches. She stuck a fry in her mouth, one of those that get to the bottom of the bag. “Because Neville and I haven't. We'll go down to the cafeteria if—“

“No… No, I have…,” Hermione smiled and nodded. I found her hand with mine, and I felt her grasp at me as she looked on at Ginny.

“Goodness Ginny…,” I smelled the fumes of meat and hot onion. She unwrapped the packaging and a piece of lettuce fell on her lap. The burger was the size of her head.

“I'm hungry! Shut up!” Ginny stuck her tongue out at me.

“Didn't you read in the Daily Prophet about how many witches are getting over-weight?” I grinned wryly and knew I'd gotten Ginny's attention.

Ginny squinted her eyes, “All one hundred eight pounds of me says different.”

“I dunno…,” I snickered, watching her mouth have to grow doubly to get around the burger. “That's at least a thousand calories right there… Another, what? Two pounds? It adds up!”

“Harry James!” She threw a French fry at me, the hot, salty potato smacking into my hand as I caught it. Thanks to Quidditch and being a Seeker, my reflexes were like a cat. I put it in my mouth. She pointed at me, “…You better be glad my girl's in here because so help me… If we weren't…”

I leaned over and Hermione smiled as I kissed her. I whispered in question, seeing Hermione close her eyes, “Are you tired? We can go…”

“Uh uh…,” Hermione lightly shook her head. “Don't go… I'm fine.” She clasped at my face and I sat there, letting her stroke my cheek.

“She told our cab driver to go through the drive-thru. He was rather hostile, too,” said Neville, his mouth full of chicken sandwich. “You should have seen it.”

I looked away from Hermione, snuggling against me, to Ginny smirking with a French fry hanging from her lip. “You told an angry New York cabbie to go through the drive-thru?” I laughed.

Hermione nudged my cheek with the tip of her nose. Her hand went to my hair. She used me as a foundation, her warm forehead tilting and staying along the side of mine. She kissed my jaw as I glanced at Neville, my fingers massaging underneath Hermione's neck, “Only Gin can make an angry New York cabbie go through a drive-thru.”

Neville smiled and patted the top of Ginny's head.

“The extra twenty and the bit of flirting helped,” she bit off another chunk of the burger and wiped her mouth on a napkin. “Oh, and `Mi-`Mi…”

Hermione swiveled her head against mine to peer at Ginny. I kissed her cheek and nuzzled my nose against her.

Ginny motioned over at the mountain of shopping bags on the floor, “I didn't know what you felt like wearing, so I brought them all.”

“Thanks, Ginny…,” Hermione said into a smile. I kissed the side of her temple as she spoke.

Ginny flicked her eyes between us and grinned into another bite, “So, tell us everything—and don't leave out any detail. What's going on with my girl and why isn't she out of this fucking place?”

After a slight pause for chewing, she ended with, “She looks fine to me!”

“It's…,” I heard Hermione say against me. “…complicated.”

Ginny's eyes widened, her golden-brown eyes becoming large, and stated contiguously, “I'm an excellent listener.”

***

Dr. Stone came in the following day to check up on Hermione's condition. Her nursing, dayshift assistant Morgan had come in later in the day to give Hermione her first HCM dosage.

Morning arrived, the curtains pulled back in the room to allow the orange-crimson colour splash against the walls and floor, turning everything similarly. I had my back to the window, talking quietly with my lover. Frederick and Emilie were amongst themselves and the television that was on low volume. Frederick watched the news broadcast, a cold front moving through New York City later on today, bringing with it chillier weather far below what the temperature sat at currently: 24 degrees.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger took to a hotel nearby, a few blocks down from the hospital, and had arrived this morning to catch Dr. Stone doing her rounds. Ginny and Neville were still asleep at the Marriott. Ginny would usher out quietly, anyway, when anything important came to be. She thought it unkind to be present while the doctor was in with Hermione, me, and the family even though no one took it that way and had encouraged her to stay as she and Neville were a part of our extended unit.

Hermione's parents were awfully glad to see Ginny, a second daughter to them. They'd seen her many times with Hermione, from sleep-overs to parties, and the like for years. Emilie gave Ginny a huge hug when they first met in the room yesterday. Frederick shook Neville's hand in greeting.

Dr. Stone, in her usual cheerful self, waltzed on in with Valerie at her heels. Valerie waved at the Granger's. The Granger's had taken the liking of Valerie as much as I did for treating Hermione so rightfully when they weren't at the hospital at night.

“Good morning, Ms. Granger!” Dr. Stone shook Hermione's hand. Then, she went around and shook her parent's hands. “My, my, you're looking better every time I come in here!”

Dr. Stone set out her hand and Valerie placed a piece of yellow-coloured paper within it. Dr. Stone brushed some hair out of her eyes and examined the paper with scrutiny, “And, the pills seem to be doing their job excellently! Fabulous.”

Dr. Stone glanced at Hermione, “How are you feeling, darling?”

“I wish I could get out of here,” replied Hermione, smirking.

“That's the spirit, baby girl,” chuckled Frederick from his chair opposite me. He had an arm around his wife.

Dr. Stone nodded, “I don't see why you should be here any longer than one more day, just to make sure everything is running smoothly. I really don't want to send you back out, to have you come back.”

Hermione wasn't being monitored by all the machines she had been before when I'd seen her the first time. Only one monitor connected to her body, the heart monitor, and even that constant beeping seemed regulatory, background noise. It was fun, though, to make it jump when I'd kiss her or stroke her hand in that certain way. I nearly made a joke about keeping it around just to hear it stutter; but, I wanted everything gone. The IV was out of her arm. Valerie and the other nurses checked on her only when needed every eight to ten hours, and that was pretty much it. We'd just wait and watch television, or her parents would tell stories that made Hermione embarrassed.

Hermione told her mom yesterday before they left for their hotel, “You might as well show him the picture of me naked in the tub!”

“You know,” Emilie said, her finger to her chin in thought. “I just might show, Harry! Thanks Cupcake for the advice!”

“Aww… Mom…”

I laughed in my hand, picturing the aged photograph somewhere in one of the Granger's family albums of Hermione, in her birthday suit, playing in a bath as a toddler.

Coming back to the present, Emilie asked Dr. Stone, standing and reading the worksheet of Hermione's nightly results, “So, she'll be discharged tomorrow?”

Dr. Stone nodded in confirmation, “Today, I'll file the paperwork and,” Dr. Stone smiled at Hermione. “You'll be in the clear. Go, go, go.”

“Awesome,” I smiled, lifting Hermione's hand in mine and kissing it. I glanced at her and Hermione grinned at me. “Beautiful.”

“Any other questions?” asked Dr. Stone, handing the profile back to Valerie at her side. She slipped her hands in her lab coat.

“I'm just glad to hear my baby girl will be able to go back home,” Frederick patted his daughter's arm closest to him.

We all agreed in tandem, including Dr. Stone and Valerie who shook their heads.

“Well, if that's all,” started Dr. Stone. Valerie opened the door and went out into the hallway with the manila folder profile. “There are just a few other tid-bits I need to explain and then we're good to go.”

We all turned and focused intently on Dr. Stone.

More…?

“As standard procedure for this situation, I must make aware a few things. One,” Dr. Stone breathed. “Ms. Granger, if you haven't exercised normally daily, try and work in a day-to-day workout routine. Nothing major, nothing that could over-exhaust the heart and we're talking like running a marathon here. So, no marathons young lady!” Dr. Stone wagged her finger.

Hermione grinned and nodded, “Note to self: no marathons.”

“Secondly,” Dr. Stone began again after a light laugh. “You have to be careful. This falls back on the first one. Only you know when you need to stop. No one else can feel what you feel inside your chest. So, when you need to stop what you're doing—do it. Stop right then and there.”

“Careful,” Dr. Stone looked at the Granger's, and they nodded. She turned to me and her words echoed into my brain. “Being careful is key.”

Careful… Careful… Careful… Careful…

The words put me in a trance. I looked at Hermione who stared at Dr. Stone. Drowning out the remaining words the doctor spoke, I became fearful. Hermione… Careful… Like a porcelain doll… I needed to protect her… Be cautious of her… My life, my heart, my soul… My breathing picked up in pace and my heart beat hard against my chest. My fingers went limp in Hermione's hands, and when they did, Hermione turned to me vigilant of my reaction.

My facial expression went somber even after Hermione gripped my hand. Her fingers were intertwined with mine, and she tried to wake me from my trance by tickling the palm of my hand with a finger. I didn't budge, and I suddenly felt that enormity of sickness in my stomach once more.

***

“I got her, Gin!”

“I'm going to help you with her, Harry! Damn!”

Hermione laughed in-between us both, me on her right side and Ginny on her left side, fighting as to who was carrying her into the apartment. I had an arm around Hermione, taking one step at a time in case she fell. Hermione told me she was all right to walk and cursed the doctors for making her have to be taken out of the hospital in a wheel chair. That she, “Wasn't a vegetable.”

“I can walk, you know,” Hermione smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

I felt the soft cotton of her white v-neck t-shirt against the bare, exposed part of my arm. Ginny and I pulled at her and up into Number Twelve. Her shirt was a bit short, and Hermione's flat tummy would peek out about an inch above her black, ripped jeans. Neville was behind us with the excess luggage me or Ginny couldn't grab in her hands. I helped Hermione move up the stairs to the front door and we all magically disappeared from mortal view, breaking through to my hidden flat. We had apparated into my BMW from the Floo Transportation Network.

Even though the sun was clearly high in the sky in New York City, six hours pushed the time in London with its sun laying on the horizon for nightfall to reign. The lush smell of rain wafted in the cool zephyrs of the breeze, and when Neville shut the door behind us, the remainder of the cool weather shot at us from within my flat.

“Why's it always so damn cold in your house, Harry?” exclaimed an annoyed Ginny.

“I'll be sure to call the electrician tomorrow in London and have him put in an AC unit,” I barked back between Hermione at Ginny. “You know I can't very well do that.”

“Guys, guys…,” sighed Hermione. She slipped from Ginny, and then from me. I put my hand immediately on her lower back. Hermione grinned at me in response. Softly, she said to me, “I can walk… I'm not an invalid.”

She went to hug me and I winced. I placed my arms around her loosely. My porcelain doll… I couldn't… Wouldn't hurt her anymore. Hermione felt my change and glanced up at me with a concerned look on her face. She turned to Ginny who spoke up, “Where do you want me and Neville to put your things, `Mi-`Mi?”

Hermione tightened her arms around me, but mine didn't respond, laying loose still. I felt her sigh against me and she grinned at Ginny, “Upstairs, our bedroom.”

Ginny began trudging along the hallway, giggling. She mimicked Hermione with a melodramatic, “Ooo… Our bedroom… Hehe…”

Neville shuffled around us with bags and boxes under his arms. He gave me a wink and followed Ginny upstairs. I heard their footsteps hit the first stair when Hermione said to me, taking more hair from her face away with her fingers, “I'm going to be glad to sleep in my own, comfortable bed tonight.”

She grinned and rubbed her nose into my shoulder. I just looked at her, not knowing how to touch her anymore. She, my love… Anything I felt I'd do would end in hurting her more. I didn't move to her touches, and she gazed back at me, lifting from my shoulder. She kissed my mouth gently and said, “And, to be in bed with you. I love you.”

I felt her release and replied softly, “…I love you, too.”

She felt me immobile, my face solemn, my arms without strength in them, “Is something wrong…?”

I stared into her big brown eyes. What was I to say? `Love, I can't touch you anymore for fear of causing you pain?' Instead, I just remained silent until she looked away from me. I then said softer in question, making her glance right back at me as if I scared her, “…Did you remember to take your pill today?”

“You saw me take it, love…” Hermione never blinked, never ceased her sight from me. I listened to her breathe, felt her chest on me, and stared right back into her. “…What's wrong, Harry?”

“Neville Xavier!!” Ginny's booming voice shook me and Hermione from our stares. I was glad as my heart sunk, being…careful…with her, around her, beside her.

“I'm sorry!” shouted Neville back. “I'm sorry, Hermione!”

“What's going on up there?” I yelled back at them, hearing the shuffling of feet and a slap. I assisted Hermione onto the first step on the staircase.

“Oh, Neville decided to take a peek at Hermione's pretty bloomers,” yelled Ginny back. “As if he doesn't get to see enough of mine…” She giggled at the end.

“I didn't know that's what was in there!” I heard Neville's audible sigh. “Ginny was the one that up-and-thought that we should put away your things! Blame her!!”

Hermione snickered, “Neville, dear, they're just panties…”

“But, they're smaller than Ginny's.” He sounded in shock. “I didn't know what they were until I had them in my hands. I apologize, Hermione.”

My eyes went wide at his comment and I laughed out loud, my laughter bouncing off the stairwell and on northward to my room. I heard more shuffling, and another slap much harder than before. Ginny screamed at the top of her lungs, annunciating every syllable, “My fiance just said I had a fat ass!”

“Well, with all those burgers, pizzas, and corn dogs you ate in New York, I wouldn't be surprised if…” I chuckled, and I heard Ginny fly out from the bedroom and scream from the banister a floor from us.

“Again! Be glad `Mione's in the shape she's in or I'd castrate both you and Neville's asses!”

All of Number Twelve shook with laughter.

***

I came from the humid master lavatory, drying my hair with a plush crimson towel. I had put on sleepwear, lounge pants, salt-and-pepper in colour. I stopped at the door and gazed out at Hermione slipped in the sheets. The silky, snowy sheets fell on her like a curtain, molding to her lithe silhouette on the mattress. Her lithe, fragile silhouette…that is. I hesitated moving forward. I didn't want to approach, for if I did, she'd want me. Of course she did. I wanted her, too, but now… In the state of everything that happened… If she ended up back in the hospital…

I tossed the clothes I bundled underneath my arm from the shower into the hamper near to the door. The softened noise of cloth hitting cloth roused her, the hamper tapping the wall in the corner. She rose from the mattress. She still had on her white v-neck shirt, cut low on her chest enough to see the starting of her cleavage. She sat, twisted on her side and smiled at me before she slid back down on the bed.

This was it. I couldn't just walk away, could I? Walk away, right out of the room, down the stairs and not look back. Her little body yearned for me to come to the bed, shifting around with her hand on my pillow as if searching for me. She glanced at me standing there, and I began to step, my mind abuzz with thoughts of caution… Careful… Don't hurt my beloved, my girl…

I turned down the lamp, and then off. My finger tips found the cool of the sheets and I glided in behind Hermione, her body extremely warm. She made the bed smell of vanilla, always, my pillow case caressed with her scent as my head found the rounded contour. I lay back behind her not touching. I could feel the heat of her body radiating, but I halted the wrap-around I loved to do so much. I couldn't wrap myself around her body. Her fragile, breakable body…

In the semi-darkness, the moonlight creeping into the bed and bathing parts of it in white light, she pushed her back against me. She wanted to be felt, touched, rubbed—anything. I heard her breathing, and listened to her squirm in the sheets. She took my arm from between her backside and my chest and put it around her. My elbow hit the mattress in front of her, pushed into her stomach with my hand along her chest. She held me there with her hands and settled.

My chest heaved and my heart rapidly paced. I couldn't breathe and I, at once, shot up from the bed and grabbed the first shirt hanging on my desk chair. I slipped it on as I pulled at the knob and closed the bedroom door behind me, walking fast down the stairs. I tried to catch my breath, but my mind wound over and over, and over the same picture of Hermione falling, falling in my hands to the ground and never waking. I saw her dying in my mind by my touch, and I couldn't…ever…have that happen. A reminder of my past years…

I'd rather her away from me, safe, than to scar her some more. I'd already done her bad for years, and my presence now didn't help the cause anymore.

I took a turn when I hit the bottom of the stairs and flopped on the sofa in the den. A small fire still remained from when Ginny and Neville were here a few hours ago, giving the room a bit of heat from the hearth. My hand found the remote control to the television in front of me and I pressed the `On' button, making the television come to life—like magic. The tube had on the Magical Sports Channel, just like I left it before going to New York City, and before Hermione ended in the hospital.

Reruns of the Quidditch World Cup preliminaries played from years past. I stretched my body on the sofa and sighed, the picture box pulsing images onto my figure in the subtle blackness.

“Harry…?”

I heard the angelic voice from behind me. I closed my eyes and breathed in, inhaling deeply before twisting my head to see Hermione at the base of the staircase. Her hand was on the frame of the den just before she had to step down to enter.

I turned around. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't. I just couldn't and let the droll of the television push into my brain, trying to escape from reality a little longer until she found me. I heard the padding of her feet on the hard wood floor walk behind the sofa, and then her form appear near the other end at the armrest. Her hand slid to the armrest, watching me in the orange light of the fire stare at the television, trying my best not to look at her.

She slipped to the sofa, I had to move away, the cushions squeaking with her slight bounce. She scooted right to me, crawling on her knees, and put her head at my level. I swallowed hard and continued to stare at the television, at the man doing tricks as he fought with another for the snitch.

“Why won't you look at me…?” she whispered in my ear. I closed my eyes, a chill running the route of my spine. I breathed and turned my head slowly to hers. I could see water building in her lingering gaze.

“Why won't you touch me…?” she looked as if to cry. “What's wrong…? What have I done to deserve this…?”

I turned my sight from her and looked back in the tube. I fought with my insides, my heart and my mind, battling over the words I should and shouldn't say. I gulped and my throat tightened; the onset of my own tears and the words of Dr. Stone echoing in my mind.

“Please…,” she begged, sitting on her knees before me on the sofa. “…talk to me… I'm scared, Harry… I'm scared and I need you more than ever…”

She laid her forehead on my shoulder.

I turned my eyes back to her and said, holding my emotions down from softening and breaking down, “I… I don't want to hurt you anymore… I love you too much to hurt you anymore…”

Hermione put her hands on me and, with one knee over the other, sat on my lap. She reached over and took the remote in my hand and clicked the television off. She tossed it to the sofa when the sound went away, in silence with only the rummaging of her light mass on the cushions. She straddled me, hip-to-hip, and put her fingers to frame my face. I didn't touch her as she leaned in and kissed me. I didn't react at first, something in me, my thoughts, keeping me at bay and away from her. But then my heart opened the floodgates, and my mouth responded to the plead of her lips, urging me so to kiss her back. I did, responding lightly with the image of her falling in my arms still in charge.

She released from me and put her hands near the edge of her black, satin panties. She took the rim of her shirt in her fingers and pulled the fit tee from her body and off her head and arms. Her hair went awry, everywhere about her body, her shoulders, and down her back in chaos. She lifted my hands in her grip and put them on the front of her brassiere. She made me squeeze her, her black eyes never leaving mine as I watched them stare into me. The whites danced in the corners as she looked at me, her fingers leading my own behind to find the clasp and work the fasten. I felt her bra loosen and it fell to our laps.

Her bare breasts, just large enough for my hands, became exposed to me. My eyes went to the tiny circumference of the pink areola, to her hard little nubs. My hands were picked up once more and she placed them on each of her breasts, making me feel them, push on them, embrace the rounded shape of her smooth flesh.

She bent to me and kissed me, hard, hearing her moan. I hesitated until she broke me, her tongue sliding into the crease of my mouth to persuade, to love me, to love her. I kissed her back just as hard, my isolated presence hugged by her soul, shattering what glass that surrounded me from the hospital. A groan escaped from my lips, and I at once felt her leave me.

I opened my eyes in a pant. She shimmied on her knees away from me and down to the floor. I felt her hands, her fingers digging into my hips underneath my shirt near my rear. She grabbed the elastic of my sleep pants and pulled them away, leading the boxers to my thighs, and then to my knees. When she had them to my feet and off, she smiled from below on the floor. She flicked hair away from her sight, her head twitching to the side and the darkened brunette strands falling with the rest along her shoulder.

She scooped all of me up in her hand gently, taking me in a firm yet soft grip. She slid me down with her fingers and I felt her lips, her head moving on me, her warmth covering me whole. I lay back against the sofa and watched her bob her head, watched her little actions, watched how her lips would pull up and push down on me. I felt her cool breath on my bare skin from her nose which made me throb in her mouth by its pattern. She smiled at me, her eyes going to mine as she moved upward, and then closed when she went back down.

I lifted to my seat, making sure not to bother her, and removed my t-shirt. I lowered back, completely naked, and took the hair she fought with so much in my hands. I rubbed the top of her head and closed my eyes, straining one groan and then another from my throat and allowing it to free from my lips. I felt her slip from me, my manhood chilling in the air. I looked down, my eyes opening, to see her pink tongue lick a path from the base to the tip in one, slow, lapping.

She giggled at me when I flinched, the muscles in my abdomen clenching to her touch. She fell back around me, her tongue…her tongue finding ways to make me squirm, to fidget, to moan. I growled when I couldn't stand it any longer, and she heard me, perking up to see me. Her black eyelashes batted at me. She pulled her lips from my girth when I sat erect, my hands going underneath her arms. I grabbed her, swiftly holding my Hermione, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist.

I fell with her to the floor, to the rug beside the firelight and flame of the warming hearth. The white, plush rug caught my tender fall, her body meshing with it when they met. She moaned when I ground into her; my mouth, my tongue lashing at her as if this was our first intimate moment.

I gripped her panties, her breasts pushed into my chest as my weight held her to the floor, and yanked them clear from her legs. I slipped from her to my knees and held her legs spread. I bowed my head. She gasped when I touched her there, my tongue finding her spot. She gasped again, whining, murmuring my name softly. She arched her back and felt inside my hair, pulling at tufts of my messy, black crow's nest.

My entire Hermione smelled, and tasted, of that rich vanilla flavor.

***

When we met again, the meeting was highly greater, highly better in every way imaginable.

I love her, and I have no idea what was going through my mind. I guess it was because I loved her that that was why I'd thought those crazy things. If I'd hurt her, she'd tell me. Not that I'd hurt her, not in my wildest thoughts; but if something occurred, I'd act accordingly to my best effort to keep her safe, happy, and secure.

Hermione, her body stretched out under me like a lazy feline, had her arms sprawled above her head and bent at her elbows. Her back was arched and slowly drifted to the rug. I watched her navel as it rolled, coming down from her cloud nine peak, settling from a tremendous, exhilarating second climax.

I sat on my knees between her. I had her legs spread, my hands on her thighs just below the pivot of her knees. I felt her feet bump into my naked torso every now and then, especially during our intimate romp on the floor. I'd just climaxed as well, my breath being taken away and having to find it again in a pant. She smirked up at me. That sexy, seductive, all around makes-me-utterly-crazy-about-her smirk of hers.

She took her arms and held them out to me, her hands finding my abdomen, pulling at me to lower with her fingertips. She wanted me to come down and meet her. I let her feet flat on the floor as she led me down to her, her fingers leading the way. They slid to my back when she could reach my backside, running and roaming the muscles that twitched with each action. I went to my elbows right beside her, my face to hers. I lightly thrust into her, just to play and fool around, and to make her smile before I kissed her.

My lips moved from her as I lowered farther to her right, hard, pink nipple. I nibbled on its hardness with my lips and gently gave it a tug. She giggled and bit her bottom lip, watching me move to her left side and lay my head upon her breast. I closed my eyes and listened to the drumming of her heart behind her ribs. Her hands went to my head, her fingers sifting through my disheveled locks.

I heard her sigh and the fire crackle behind us. A piece of the log fell to the tray and sizzled with the gray matter below.

“…How are you feeling?” I asked quietly as if not to disturb the loved, silent atmosphere surrounding us.

“Enormously satisfied,” she exclaimed. I knew she smiled through my shut sight. She breathed, “More than satisfied… Completely… Completely in love.”

I lifted my head from her left breast and gently caressed the nipple before laying my chin between them to look up at her gaze, “…I'm sorry—“

Hermione put her hand against my mouth, “Shh… You'll never hurt me…”

I grinned and caressed the soft of her palm. She grinned, too, and laid her head back. I caressed between her breasts, making love to the spot I lay on with my tongue. I smelled of her vanilla, heightened from our sexual intercourse. Her nude flesh smelled so, so good… I traced the tip of my nose along the circular edge of her breast. I heard her sharply inhale and smiled, kissing the contour with peck-kisses.

“…Are you ready to go to bed, my love?” I asked, snuggling into her bosom lightly.

She gripped and pulled at a tuft of my hair when I swirled my tongue back around her nipple. She rolled underneath me. I stopped as she couldn't reply, trying as she may under my affectionate lick.

“Mm…,” she settled down, relaxing to the white rug. “…Only if you're coming on up with me…”

I slipped from her and caressed her flat tummy as I did so, making it retract in reflex. I laughed gently, sliding my arms under her form and lifting her from the floor. I picked Hermione up, her arms retreating to my neck, her legs circling me tight. I held under her ass for support, a free hand and arm looping her form in an embrace.

With my flush skin and slight veil of sweat upon my body, the environment in Number Twelve gave me goosebumps as I bounded my way stair-by-stair to our bedroom. She caressed and lapped at my neck as I went, having me aroused once I shut the door behind me. She bit my neck and giggled. I tossed her lightly onto the bed and pounced on my wiggling lioness.

The bedroom upstairs grew in temperature faster than any other room in the flat. The room quickly became the hottest in the house.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Classic Rock love songs from I've Been Waiting (For A Girl Like You) by Foreigner to Love Bites by Def Leppard, especially near the end with Harry's neurotic turmoil about Hermione—“I don't want to touch you too much, baby”—for instance, and OMG by Usher because I watch Idol and had it stuck in my head}

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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: R? NC-17? Ratings? Fun? What's not fun about sex? Thought I'd write something “recreational” like this before diving into something else. I also find it funny that one of the definitions of recreation is - `an agreeable exercise'. Haha! Plus, I'll be on a bit of a hiatus and thought I'd release this beforehand. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The first sentence should have your decision.

***

Chapter Fourteen ~ Recreation

I didn't mean to pull her hair. My fist wound in those dark mahogany locks, wild and free from her abrupt movements of forward and back. She lay between my legs, my legs spread on our bed. She woke me from my light sleep with a kiss to my lips, and then a grab and fondle of me beneath the sheets. I think she began to love the playful tease of the actions, and how I couldn't quite get to every part of her body. Sometimes she'd swat my hand away. I followed instructions most of the time, but this morning we were as one.

Our breaths were together. Our pantings were synchronized. If she moaned, I would moan right back in reply. Her soft hair was slightly wet from our prior tussle, leaving us exhausted. I was woken from where we had fallen asleep. She hadn't looked up at me in the past few minutes, completely attentive on her stroking and how I would push up into her. I felt my body out of control at times, and would thrust periodically in her mouth as reflexive twitch. I couldn't hold back, my body urging her to pump. She was great at pumping me.

I tugged on her hair the second I felt my muscles tense. I felt the graze of her teeth against my foreskin, but from all the blood rushing to my erection, I found a liking to the wince of pain. As if pain had become a tool for my arousal. Hermione stayed on me, working me over with one hand while her head bobbed. She had to have felt me release, and then I knew she had. I startled her at first, her head flinching from the gush in her mouth. She remained stationary for a moment as another long spurt relieved from me, and slowly she began once more.

My eyes crisscrossed and my face scrunched. I groaned, the pressure drifting out of me. Hermione growled hungrily, animalistic from her throat. She eyed me from her position, her cinnamon irises large and her black pupils dilated. She swallowed what she contained and smirked that sexy, little smirk.

I tried to smile, but she had me stop. She licked a line from the bottom and traced along the backside of my member to the top. I let my head fall back on the bed, my hands rummaging around her chaotic hair. I felt her pull me back and caress the tip, and then lay me gently down on my lower abdomen. I glanced towards her, my fully naked Hermione crawling on her hands and knees above me.

I managed to smile this time, though my grin probably came out wonky. I felt a little on the dumb side. Hermione had shut off and started my mind to the point where I didn't know if I was coming or going. We hadn't been doing this for a long time, having been virgins a week back, but boy, was she beautiful at it. She was rather pleased on her end as well. I thought I delivered nicely, and when I'd make her shake as much as I wanted her to shake each and every time, I'd give myself a high-five.

Hermione's pink tongue licked at my smiling mouth. Something told me she wanted inside, and I laughed a little. “Open sesame!” She raised her brow. I lifted to kiss her. We slipped to the side, our noses meshing, or tongues meeting each other. I loved tasting her vanilla. She told me I tasted of warm apple strudel, or sometimes whipped cream, or milk chocolate, or cherries—everywhere. She said I was like Bertie Botts Every Flavor Jelly Beans, never really knowing what I'd taste like next with each new flavor more appetizing than its previous. She especially loved when my flavor was pumpkin pie.

She slipped her fingers into my untidy strands and pried me from her. She tugged at those strands, the fat of her tongue gliding across my cheek as she turned me to the side. She pulled me the other way and did just the same, lapping my other cheek with her taste buds. I felt her saliva on my face, the cool air soothing me when she'd leave the spot. She licked the tip of my nose, and then down to my chin. Hermione pulled my hair into the pillow I lay on, making my chin rise so she could attack my throat with her tongue.

My hands were everywhere they could be. Her smooth skin my roads, my fingers the vehicles. I drove them along her back, along the twitching muscles of her upper back and down along the indent in its centre. I slipped around and felt of her frame, moving my palms against the sides of her breasts, to her ribs, and then to her hips. I felt of her ass and how she straddled me. My fingers gripped into the soft flesh and I rocked her little body against my torso roughly, her body paralleling my north-and-south motion as it wiggled.

She was wet against me and gradually grew more moisture by my play. She arched her back and tilted her head backward. She rolled a moan from off her tongue and smiled whilst breathing in a deep inhale. I found her shoulder with my teeth and bit down. She gasped. I left her quickly to bite her neck. She leaned away to give me access, her damp curtain falling off her right shoulder. I lapped at the crook of her neck where I'd bitten, consoling the teeth marks that dwelled.

I swatted a buttock when she bucked into me. I heard her sharply gasp and giggle from above. She lowered her face down to me and smashed her nose into my cheek as I caressed the hollow of her throat. Tenderly, I grazed the tip of my finger amongst her neck. She fidgeted under my tickle and kissed a line from my jaw to my ear.

I slipped my hands to her ribs once more and led her up on me. She moved away from me with a frown, unbeknownst to what I had in store. I adjusted how I lay with the back of my head fully on the pillow and motioned with my hands for her to slide towards the headboard. She did her smirk, her rose-coloured lips curling. She slid on me with a little bounce at the end, just before she climbed to her knees to move. I watched her perky breasts jiggle and wanted to feel them, but found it difficult as Hermione scooted towards me, that strip of lovable brunette hair closing in.

My hands went to her derriere and squeezed her, feeling the round shape of her buttocks while she stood on her knees.

“Come here…,” I said quietly. I led her forward until she hovered over me. Hermione peered at me from her height, her hands going to her hair where she gathered the bunch of strewn locks and bundled them, draping them all along her right shoulder. Detecting her luscious, hot scent against my face, I ran the tip of my tongue across her pink. Hermione sharply drew a breath. Gently, I had her lower a teensy bit further and pushed my face into her. I smiled and murmured into Hermione gently as she adhered to my command, “…Good girl.”

Her fingers made love to my hair. She'd stroke my curls, her nails scratching my head. Tenderly, she'd tug when I'd hit a spot and arch her back some. She had her eyes affixed to me for a while until her moans persisted to close them. She laid her forehead on the cool wall behind the headboard, beneath a painting of a hippogriff in flight at star-sparkling twilight, and slid her hand up to feel the top ledge of the stained wood. Her right hand remained within my hair. I heard her grip the headboard and jerk a little when my tongue flicked across her.

Her body kept still, erect on her knees. A pant would release from her and she'd rub her head against the wall. I squeezed her firm rear and gave it a tiny pat before sliding my hand against her hip and on upward across her stomach. She moved her elbow, her arm gliding the wall at my touch to allow me at her breast. I cupped her breast, felt of its slight mass in my hands and kneaded its softness against my palm. My hand went back to her abdomen and felt how it stretched her length, and then swiftly rose back to her breast.

I pressed her further upon me by her rear. Her knees adjusted, sliding down farther in her straddle. Her hand left my hair and gripped the ledge of the headboard as her other one had done. I nudged my nose into her mound and grinned when I heard her whine my name. I gave her breast a light squeeze and fell back to her buttocks. The arm that held her to the wall lowered as well, touching beside her face against the wall.

I heard her gasp into a squirm. I held her still and firm to the mattress as much as she wanted to shake on me. My ears perked up the sound of her moan before feeling her let go. Her knees began to buckle, but I tightened my clasp, my strength her base. I kept her on me, lapping and feeling like a kid at Christmas. I heard a pop of her joint and saw her arm fall to meet the other on the ledge of the headboard. Her forehead hit the wall and she cried my name in a pant. She bucked into my face and gradually the orgasm lessened.

She elongated a moan of pleasure from her perch. She backed into my hands, using them like a chair. My licking ceased when I felt her finish and sigh contently. I slid my arms to her ribs and lifted her from me, tossing her to the bed with a bounce. She gazed at me with grin and laughed a sexy little laugh.

She looked satisfied.

I ran my nose along her naked, prime-vanilla sweating body.

She smelled satisfied.

I found her mouth and licked it quick before plunging my tongue inside with hers.

She tasted satisfied.

I released from her mouth in a moan and nudged her nose in an Eskimo kiss. She purred, and we both said in our raspy, rough post-sex voices, “Thanks for breakfast.”

I turned my head and laughed.

She giggled beneath me.

My tongue found hers once more, her body intermingling with mine again.

***

Leisurely, I placed one foot in front of the other, moving northward on the stairwell. I fixed me and Hermione a late lunch of ham sandwiches and a toss salad. We ate at our corner of the dining room. Close we sat. When she crossed her legs near the beginning, almost after setting her plate and then mine down on the table, she hooked her leg around my leg underneath. I scooted my chair towards her until they touched, and then, scooted myself so we felt each other thigh-to-thigh. Intermixed within our eating, we caught up in kisses. The ham sandwich tasted so much better on her lips.

Afterward, I cleaned and shooed her away. Of course, I had to protest against her wanting to stand there with me and do either of the washing or the drying. I told her to go relax. She just got home less than twenty-four hours ago, and I wanted that pill she took with the meal to process and digest. I asked her how she felt when we she started up the stairs and she smiled at me, replying with, “Absolutely fantastic.”

I had tossed the rag over my shoulder after I finished with our dishes. The cloth's salmon hue pronounced loudly against my tan-like skin tone. I slipped my right hand in my dark blue jean pocket, my left sliding up the antique, wooden railing resembling the Victorian era. My ears had perked to the sound of music from the ground level and I went to go investigate Hermione. I found her extremely fascinating, my lovely specimen and beautiful multicellular-organism.

During the time between when she came into Number Twelve and now with me, we changed one of the many odd, unused rooms of the flat into her own, little studio. Whatever she wanted to do she could very well do in there, especially after her intense interest in all her artsy materials like music and creative crafts. She set up her guitar and its electronics within the three-dimensional space. She painted on the walls after we ran out specifically for acrylic and oil, watercolor and anything else she found worthwhile in strengthening the right hemisphere of her brain.

The song “Iris” by the Goo Goo dolls poured forth from the open door of her private studio. She had her back to me when I lounged on the frame of her door. She wore a shirt mimicking an off-white curtain, in such because of the way the shirt fit her. The top was rather stretched in places with her left shoulder and neck exposed as it hung on her arm. The cloth slid across her skin and merely created a loose representation of the curves of her body. Any and every curve, all of them draped in a limp cotton fixture.

She hadn't worn anything underneath after her shower before lunch. With just us two here, we didn't have to worry about others, being completely within our intimate element. She bent down to tap her brush on a palate, touching the olive acrylic with its tip. Her shirt went to her upper thigh, the rim caressing the thigh with every beat of her action's rhythm. I could see the silhouette of her breast, the shape of her ass, and the trim of her sides and hips when she moved.

I smiled at her. Hermione being so wound in her artwork, stroking a partially-white canvas on a tripod stand in front of her, she hadn't noticed me. She hummed the chorus when the band went into crescendo and sang angelically, “You're the closest to Heaven that I'll ever be, and I don't want to go home right now…”

Gazing around the room as I sneaked behind her, I saw our handprints all over the walls in multicolour. She had me play with her paints, drawing a half of a heart she finished in the centre of one wall. In the middle, I wrote “H” and she wrote “Hr”. Beside and throughout the surface on the rest of the four walls she'd written from fingertips words of encouragement and words of love like hope, dream, live, cherish, smitten, embrace, and sex. The background of all of them lay in black, so the words written in white stood out bold. She even started writing dates on the walls of her most personal stories. One of them was the date we made love for the first time. Another, and I grin every time, wrote the day we kissed under the mistletoe at Hogwarts—our first kiss even if we were both innocent—she remembered.

I tiptoed right up behind her and caught her around the middle. She made a gasp in surprise and made a jump in my arms. She smiled when she knew it had been me. I could feel every bit of her beneath the sheer material. She lay back into me, standing flat near my feet, and continued her brush strokes. When I scared her, she'd made a mistake, making a streak along the white she hadn't painted.

I caressed her bare shoulder with my lips, “I'm sorry.”

“It's all right,” she grinned. She turned to me and softly kissed my lips before resuming another stroke.

The CD player on the floor switched to the next track in her mixed music. The Righteous Brother's “Unchained Melody” massaged the room with its tender, loving lyrics. I tightened my arms around my Hermione and caressed the crook of her bare neck.

“I hope it isn't messed up now.”

Hermione shook her head from side-to-side, her hair tickling my nude skin, “I can fix it. Not a problem.”

“I came up here because I grew lonely,” I kissed alongside her ear, nudging my nose in her wonderfully soft hair. I flicked my sight to her work and asked, the sound of the drizzling rain outside hitting the window panes, “What are you painting this time?”

“What I remember of the sunset in New York…,” she fidgeted in my grasp when I danced my fingers across her back. She lightly giggled, “I did love the vacation we had together… At least, when I wasn't in the hospital… And even, sometimes then…”

I snickered beside her ear and licked the lobe quickly in haste. My hands sliding to her hips from her stomach, I whispered, “It was magical before it got crazy, wasn't it?”

My hand glided up her right side, feeling the curve of her side, and along her arm she painted with. I watched her turn the plain, ordinary colours into dusk, with starlight amongst a cityscape shrouded and bathed in oranges and purples. She was painting one of many trees off in a corner when my hand held the top of hers, feeling it gently swish from left to right, and up and down. She bowed to wash her brush out, my hand following upon hers. She picked up more of that dangerously dark blue and started again on the twilight above New York.

“May I help you?” I questioned quietly. I kept my eyes on her hand illustrating our happier rendezvous.

“Yeah…,” I heard her laugh through her nose in a smile. “Just let the brush sort of move on its own.”

I led her hand around like she had gently. I tried to do as she done, smiling when my trial didn't go as expected. My brush stroke covered a tiny, shining dot of a star. She laughed a little and I felt her hand take light charge as I kept my hand to her. I felt of her hand as she created a piece of our life in pigment. Her slender, smooth hand…and then her arm. My other hand roamed along the centre of her back, feeling the bumps within the slight crevice of her spine.

She twisted her head to the side, her hair falling off that shoulder as I kissed her neck again. My hand slid between her fingers and around the brush. I felt her wriggle. The hand on her back moved gradually to her front, to her flat stomach where I rubbed. Her hand without a brush slipped up on mine as I grazed each of my fingertips down her abdomen. I heard her gasp as I kissed in lines on her neck.

Her brush dropped from her hand to the floor. She intertwined my fingers as she grasped at my hand, her other doing the same amongst her middle. Slowly, she pivoted on her heel to meet me as I leaned in to kiss her lips. Her nose held with mine, she kissed me, her eyes closing. Her nails slid ever-so-carefully over my bare chest from the lower portions of my stomach. I smiled, her hands going around to my back, her fingertips gliding across the length.

My hands moved underneath the edge of her shirt, coming up from her legs. I felt the fabric fold, pushing to her midsection. My hands rubbed her buttocks, unyielding to my touch and velvety smooth. Her leg instinctively raised, her knee bending beside my hip as my hand ran along the underside of her thigh. My hand slipped back to her rear where I gently squeezed. She kissed me and released, smiling. She rubbed noses with me in an Eskimo kiss and bit at her bottom, moist pink lip. She looked me directly in the eye and nuzzled me again with her nose, purring like a kitten.

I picked Hermione off the floor, taking her with intensity in a flourish. She grinned, her legs wrapping around my bare waist instantly. I felt her nakedness when her shirt lifted from my swift grasp of her body. I felt the heat between her legs on my core just below my belly button. I turned her from the canvas and lay her down on the floor without a sound but the CD player. She cradled me against her shoulder as I lapped at her throat, rubbing her face into my shoulder. Her hair skewed all over my body, the aroma of her vanilla bathing upon me.

She tightened the grip of her thighs on my sides as I took her face in my hands and kissed her hard.

***

Our clothes were in a pile behind me. Raindrops splattered against two foggy windows, causing the pitter-patter padding throughout the silence that was left behind her mixed-CD finale. I lay on my back and had my eyes closed. I felt a chilly, wet stroke along my abdomen, and then I felt the cool of sticky liquid on my pectoral muscle. The slight stroke tickled me lightly, and I smiled. I peeked open an eye to see her brush strands of her brunette hair away and hold them on her shoulder. Her right hand divvied more hue on the paintbrush and applied it to my naked figure.

She grinned at me as she worked her masterpiece on my body. She'd drawn vividly green vines, and red roses attached to the vines. She had painted, filling in gray pigment, Hogwarts castle. A smaller version which sat on the hill much to the like of what we saw coming off from Hogsmeade Station. I must have dozed because her attention to detail came to fruition far beyond what I saw before.

She was amidst painting ourselves, a quick sketch of our features holding hands. She painted a heart above my own, large and proud, the point perspective of the piece. I hadn't known when she asked if she could paint on me that this was going to be the next Rembrandt. I thought she was just going to doodle. I should have known better as this was written Hermione all over. She didn't just take things to the surface; she went farther than the surface. Another reason why I loved her. She wasn't satisfied with the basics and would over-achieve in whatever she was doing, albeit the most miniscule of workmanship to her entire lifetime.

I remember S.P.E.W. and her consistency with the DA those years back. She didn't just want to affiliate. No, Hermione wanted to be a part of the situation to the best of her ability, going so far as to work her charms to deliver coded messages under Dolores's nose. Only she would study and practice to the point of nailing down that Protean charm. None of us had the strength of character she had, and that in itself made her completely special. I cherished that portion of Hermione, and everything else about her.

She blew on my chest and dabbed the brush in a plastic cup. The off-colour water swirled around with her circular motion. I smiled up at her and closed my eyes to feel her bend back down and blow again, her cool wisps of air producing goosebumps on my bare body.

“Will this come off?” My hand was along her back, scratching it lazily as she lay as if she were in side-straddle, her legs a bit underneath her.

Hermione playfully gasped, “You don't love it?”

“I do,” I grinned, my hand feeling of her hip and then resuming its scratch of her bare backside. “That's why I don't want it to come off, ever.”

She laughed and bent down to kiss me, “It's acrylic…washes right off with water.”

“Then I'll need a shower?”

Hermione nodded her head and bit at her lip, our noses touching. She lowered her lips to mine once more and kissed me again.

“Will I get a chance to paint on you?” a smirk lingered from her release.

“If you like…”

“I would like,” I gradually rose to my elbows, and then off my hip. Hermione slid her naked body from her side to her bum, taking her elbows like I had and lowered herself to the floor. I picked up the black-handled paintbrush lying in the water and thought about what I was to paint. I looked Hermione over, swishing the water around in the cup, and admired her natural beauty. How her body was perfect in my eyes, and sexy, and utterly astonishing. Her hair sprawled across the wooden floor with most of it framing her face and some of it still attached to her shoulders. Her hands were at her sides, near her hips, and she breathed slowly in-and-out.

I bent down and kissed her thigh, her hip, her lower abdomen making it retract. I caressed her navel, each individual rib on her right side, and to her breast. Her fingers felt of the floor, and then felt of my knee, the closest object to her hand when I ran the tip of my nose across her breast. She sighed contently with her eyes closed, smiling.

I lowered to her ear and whispered, “I'm no great painter.”

Hermione turned when she felt of my warm aura and kissed me with her eyes shut. She shook her head, “Do whatever you feel.”

“Whatever I feel, hm?”

I grinned.

She nodded and softly replied, “Whatever you want.”

I took the paintbrush from the water and slid it through the green, oily paint on the palate. She inspired me, copying her vines as I drew by a light touch from her mound towards her breast. Along her tummy, I'd have to stifle my chuckle when her stomach would wiggle. I started off straight with a vine and would loop around her navel. My fingers curved lines across her side and back up, following the shape of her breast, her cleavage, and rounding to her nipple.

I tried to stay as symmetrical as I could on her other side, tracing a forest green line from her strip of darkened brown pubic hair to her opposite pink nipple, making doubly sure to have her tummy retreat against the hair of the brush. I smiled when she let escape a subtle moan.

I put the paintbrush down and used my hands for the rest. The pad of my index finger led into the cool, gooey substance of the green. Leaves appeared when I twisted the tip of my finger and let go. Gently into her stomach, and within the slim breadth of her torso, following the vines I made. I dipped my finger into a dark red colour and slipped up to her breast where the vine circled her nipple. I lowered and caressed her there, my hand stroking outward from the ripened section, making petals. I got more of the reddened pigment in my hand and created the area of her breast into a rose.

Hermione would inhale at my touch. Her hand would squeeze my knee in reflex. I bowed to her exposed neck, her head tilted toward me, and licked with my tongue. I nudged under her chin with my nose as I felt of her softness. I took my face away and blew on her other nipple, having smeared red in the shape of a spread rose along the breast. Hermione whined, stretching as she gripped my knee. She fidgeted in my grasp when I went to put the finishing spots of red hue on her sensitive areola. Her breast jiggled in my hand, smudging some of the petal.

I came into her lips and kissed her hard. She fed on my tongue hungrily, pressing against my lips just as hard. I pried away from her in a tease, leaving her mouth wanting more was it was left in the air. I briefly kissed her lips to leave her in a smile.

“My canvas is moving…,” I laughed some through my nose. I gazed at the smudged part of the rose on the contour of her breast jiggle in her shifts beside me.

“I'm sorry…,” she whispered. “But you don't paint fair!”

I snickered and slid my fingers through the red paint. I laid my hand on her stomach and heard her sigh. I felt of the muscle behind her abdomen. My touch was swift, between the vines I produced on her smooth skin. I tried my best to write in cursive, looping one end to the other, until I had written exactly what I thought. I smiled as I took my hand away to see, “I love you” across her tummy.

She felt me remove myself clear of her body and turned to look up at me. She rose to her elbows and studied the portrait I had made in picture, and then at the message I had written on her stomach.

“It's true,” I said with vigor and confidence. Her eyes lingered on me after reading “I love you” scribbled on her abdomen once more. I saw her sit up and find spots on me she hadn't painted on. She was careful, pushing me back on the floor.

I fell on the wooden floor and felt her hand wrap around me. She lifted my erection off my lower stomach and held it tight. Her silky, warm grasp led me to throb in her hand. She pulled on her hair to gather it all to one shoulder and raised one leg, floating it over my waist and letting it fall to my other side. She scooted her bent knees towards me and flicked her hair back.

I felt my member hide amongst her heat, her tummy rolling as she sat down. I held my breath as she tightened around me, and let it out only to hear her exasperate a breathless moan, coming to the hilt. She stopped a moment, allowing her body to form to my circumference. She flicked her hair back again, having it tilted forward when she came down on me. Her hair, every single strand, whipped back behind her and she smiled. She found portions of my torso and held on. I watched between us, at the green vines I painted on her mound, smack into me. I watched her pink sex pull when she lifted and slide back easily when she sat back down.

My eyes went to the “I love you”. She'd rock into me, her body relaying my message with each individual repeats by her rhythm and pattern. Her abdomen would gyrate and I'd survey the in-and-out motion of her withdrawing muscles. I bounced her roses when I'd thrust and progressively Hermione would lower, finding patches of bare skin without paint so she didn't defile our work. I smiled at how absolutely cautious and judicious she went about lowering, juxtapositioned by her body being jostled and jerked in our intimacy.

My hands went from her legs, sprinkled with reds and greens from my tight grip, to her breast. I felt of her rounded, slight weight, and the acrylic paint plastering together. Finally, she stopped caring and slipped to me. Everything on us smeared as one colour. My hands covered her body with the paint, her back getting the most as I held her to me, rubbing along her spine or down the slope that led to her ass. She giggled in our kiss, the line of my jaw and neck submerged with colour we couldn't quite make out, all combined together.

Not one bit of us remained exposed by the time we were finished. Only a good shower or two could get the oily clumps out of our hair.

***

Within the hearth and beneath the mantle, a flame rose and kept us cozy. Hermione had taken medical literature and constructed a pyramid of tomes on the floor beside the sofa. Page after page she read, devouring any and all of the texts in hopes of better understand the wizarding world's view on her heart condition. Not that she wasn't feeling better, as she did, but just to have a broaden knowledge of her problem within our other universe.

I'd glance at her with my own piece of medical literature, her books she finished in my hand. She exhausted herself late into the night, sitting Indian-style right alongside me for hours in relative silence. The silence would only be broken by our voice, sharing pieces we found interesting or revealing, or by a book being sat down and another one being retrieved.

She settled her eyes and closed them around the time the clock on the mantle struck one in the morning. She hugged a thick novel in her arms, Medical Maladies: Witches and Wizards 3^rd Ed., and shuffled down on the sofa. She relaxed in yet another find in my closet, this time a hoodie sweater. I hadn't worn the hoodie sweater in a while, its darkened blue fabric in contrast to a white lining about the stitching. She hadn't placed anything else on besides the sweater after our shower, my naked Hermione resting underneath. I loved watching her legs slip down the sofa, her skin tone different within her extremely white complexion compared to the sofa colour and sweater.

The rim at the bottom just covered her derriere to my sadness as I observed her stretching out, her head ending up in my lap. She snuggled into the warmth of my gray lounge pants, her hair everywhere about my waist. She leaned quickly across the top of the sofa and grabbed the Gryffindor quilt she laid there after washing our clothes. The crimson material and the inescapable roar of the golden lion present within the threads. She held the quilt to her waist, covering from toe to sweater, her exposed parts shielded from the environment.

The fire crackled. My eyes peered to the page describing the procedures of the heart transcribed by a Cardio-Healer named Helena Boggs. Unfortunately, when “surgical methods” come to play in that world, Helena Boggs places the heart as “too vulnerable and too susceptible to the linkage of life”. Magic can be performed to mend broken noses or a potion brewed for the common cold. Other than that, like Amortentia, the other performances merely imitate or manipulate the wants and needs of the patient.

If there was a cure-all for everything, life would be simple. And, life isn't simple. Life will never be perfect. Our bodies are too fragile to be taking a chance upon; we're stuck living mortal, unperfected lives. Consequences lie within our transgression if we stray beyond the boundary of human frailty.

I went to pet Hermione on my lap. My hand touched her hair. The moment I felt of her silky strands, she took me from them and wrapped my arm around her front. She sighed when she had me cup her breast through my sweater. She held me there for a minute, in case I would leave her, and smiled when I stayed in formation. I gave her a light squeeze to let her know she had my full attention, forever and always, and she rubbed her nose into my thigh.

I reminisced on our recreational day of happiness and fun, of the sexy and the erotic, and grinned from ear-to-ear.

I took a breath and let it out slowly.

She silently fell asleep in my lap.

I love you, Hermione.

I put the book I held down to free my hand and rested it atop her warm, bushy hair.

Forever and always.

End of Season One - Harry's Journey

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Ghost. If you haven't seen it before—where have you been?! Haha. Rent it! You will not be left unhappy}

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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: Haven't you wondered in stories (and even in real life) what another character is thinking? I decided to take a different direction, to take a different point of view to settle some things from the other side of the fence. Hermione's my favorite character, anyway; so, I wanted to go through her perspective at least one time in the fic. Hope you enjoy seeing the world through Hermione's eyes for a change!

***

Season Two - Hermione's Journey

Chapter Fifteen ~ Jane

***

He woke from a nightmare last night…

I felt him kick me. He did it unknowingly, and then I heard him scream. This wasn't the first time he'd done this. He didn't do it on purpose, within whatever horrific plane of being in his mind. He shouted things I couldn't make out or understand, my eyes blinking open and my ears perking up. I lifted from the mattress, the sheets slipping off and away. His arm tightened around me, but I don't think he had wakened at all. His action was more jostling than an embrace.

He had me around my waist and close to him. I felt a glaze of sweat on his bare body, the layer he gave off cooling me in the places he touched. I slipped my hands in his hair and stroked, trying to coax him out of his terrifying moans of despair. He jerked and kicked me again with his knee. I started to say his name, but he stopped me in a yell:

“No! No! NO!!”

His legs shifted as if he were trying to run.

“God! Please!! NO!!!”

I felt his muscles tense and relax, tense and relax, and then remain tight. He let out this groan of agony, and my heart hurt, seeing him in his psychological torment. I had to wake him.

He started panting when I called out his name, lowering to his ear, “Harry…”

I ran my cool hand along his forehead, feeling of his scar and how his eyebrows scrunched together above his nose.

“Why did you kill them?!” He shouted into the quiet atmosphere. “Why did you have to murder my parents!!”

“Harry…,” I caressed his forehead gently. My lips stayed near his hair, “Harry…it'll be okay…”

I shook his shoulder to rouse him and he shuffled quickly, rapidly coming to. He breathed heavily and moaned the question, “Why?”

“It'll be okay…” I heard him crying. Pieces of me shattered by his enormously painful reliving of his past. I slid back down on the mattress and persuaded him to me with my light embrace. He slowly slid to me, his head going to my chest. He lay there and quietly sobbed on me, asking questions I didn't have the answer for as much as I wanted to help him. I didn't understand why he had had such a life. Why he had been thrust into something so hate-driven with death and destruction around every corner.

His hair was wet with sweat. His face was moist and his chest was slick with his perspiration. I combed through his hair with my fingers softly and held him, pausing to say the only thing I could, “Shh…it was just a dream…it was just a dream…”

“Why did he have to kill my parents?” Harry gripped my body and buried his face into my breast. He kept asking questions breathlessly, his voice in a murmur at my skin, “Why me? Why did he have to destroy my life?”

I couldn't reply. Hermione Granger, the know-it-all, didn't have the solution to this. Anything I would have come up with would have been fruitless and unfair. I couldn't feel what he felt and only knew how to soothe. I couldn't handle the thought of life without my parents. I couldn't empathize because I never was in his shoes. I only wished I could take his pain away somehow. Take it all away and toss it all in some black hole to have it forever be diminished from sight and sound. He didn't deserve how life treated him at all.

I kept telling him that it would be all right. I tried to take the nightmare away from him by carefully directing his thoughts elsewhere. I told him that I loved him and I wished nothing like this every happened to him. He shook on me as he settled, my fingers continuing to sift through his soaked, messy curls. I felt him breathe in and let the pent air subside across me. He kissed me where he lay and I found him asleep in my arms.

I cried whenever he did this. I cried because I couldn't help him. There wasn't a book that could fix this. There wasn't a way to wave my wand and make everything disappear. I couldn't re-write history as much as I wanted to, just to have him happy and carefree. Life isn't meant to be this way, or at least I didn't think so. Harry carried such a heavy burden throughout his life. That wasn't fair to him. His friends and loved ones died around him. He faced true terror that none of us had ever seen. We witnessed Voldemort, but Harry witnessed death itself. I shivered at the thought of him dying and Hagrid carrying him back to Hogwarts in his arms.

Want to talk about feeling swept off my feet? I fell to my knees the moment I saw him dead. Everything in my life that exact moment became lost. I lost myself. I lost it all. I remember my wand dropping and the very breath I breathed cease to exist. If I could have died, I would have, and I don't know why I didn't. That feeling of loss and helplessness was Harry's life for nearly a full decade. I don't know how he survived, but as I watched him sleep soundlessly on me, I thanked whomever for giving me a chance to love him. I was beyond thankful to love him and cherished every moment I had with him like it was my last.

I took up some of the loose sheet and wiped the sweat off his face. I heard him snoring and I smiled.

I had nightmares of my own, too, and Harry would comfort and hold me as I did with him. I'd curl in his arms as I cried, my past coming to haunt me. I watched myself again and again in the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. The Cruciatus curse was something one would never forget. The gut-wrenching pain coursing through your body is a feeling that will never leave you. How your body shook inside flashes of white-hot flames. I was tortured by her, nearly to death. I wanted to die in my dreams. I couldn't take it. I heard her shrill laugh, her wand pulsing blue streaks right into my chest. My body would react without my will, contorting to the suffering she gave me with glee.

My mind would allow Harry to save me sometimes. Sometimes, my mind wouldn't, and those would be…awful. I'd scream out and Harry would pull me to him and hug me tight. He'd scratch my head, run his hands down my back, and kiss wherever he could. I'd eventually settle, like he had on me, and fall asleep. I guess, in a twisted sense of connection, we had this layer of similarity in our relationship. We definitely shared heart-ache.

Other nightmares involved Ronald. Looking back, I don't really understand myself for staying with him as long as I did. Actually, I don't remember loving him compared to the strength in bond I have with Harry.

Ronald, one time, raised his hand to me. It was one time, but one time too many. I never really understood why he was so angry all the time and why he took it out on me. I thought he was jealous. Jealous of me or jealous of Harry. He'd make outrageous claims as he did the night I ran out into the rain and he'd scold me for opening my mouth whenever I'd contradict his view. I think there was a time when I thought this “bantering” was cute. But, after a while, the “bantering” became downright offensive and violent. Even I fell into the verbal conflict, cursing him back which was very unlike my character. He raised his hand to me and went to hit me, but he didn't. He didn't hit me, but the fact that he thought about it…

I remember lying there that night with him behind me. We spooned and I cried silently, thinking about everything that could have been. Secretly, or maybe it wasn't that much of a secret, and maybe that's why Ronald hated me so, I fell in love with Harry a long time ago. In the beginning, I thought they were both out of control little boys. I'd get so angry with them and be done with them in mere seconds. I couldn't tolerate them at all. I remember screaming at how absurd they were in the Gryffindor Commons, especially Harry. But, I didn't understand Harry until my life intertwined with his and his life opened intimately in front of me. That's when my eyes widened farther and I could see what he had to trudge through, and it wasn't easy nor was it blessed in any sense of the word.

The first moment I remember setting my eyes on him in a different, caring way was in our second year. I'd become a statue, to say the least, thanks to the basilisk roaming freely without consequence from the faculty. While in the hospital wing, I couldn't see or move, but I could feel. I could feel the presence of people. My mind still ran and my sense of touch still worked. I could feel Harry there with me. He'd show up in the morning before breakfast, around lunch, after Quidditch practice, and before he went to bed. He'd tell me stories about his day hoping I would reply. He'd try to make me laugh and smile. I wanted to tell him I could hear him in any way.

He held my hand. He fixed parts of my clothing. He brushed my hair. He would come every day with a fresh bouquet of flowers and set it on my nightstand. The very moment I stepped into the Great Hall after being turned back to normal, thanks to the mandragora root serum, and saw Harry's shining, bright face, I felt my knobby little knees wobble for the first time ever. My youthful heart beat for my first crush. I ran to him as if my very life depended on it and leapt into his arms. I hugged him so tight that he couldn't breathe for a moment. I didn't care if everyone saw me. I didn't care if the Slytherins mocked me from afar. All I wanted to do was to show him the emotion he so willingly gave to me.

I had a dream while I was with Ronald one night at the Burrow a few months into our relationship after Hogwarts. I couldn't stop thinking about Harry. It drove me insane that I couldn't see him all the time like I had in Hogwarts, or sometimes in our summer holiday if the Dursley's let him off his leash. The letters we wrote back and forth didn't help either. I don't know how many ways I dropped hints expressing my feelings toward him. I felt his fearful exterior through the stationary. He had feelings for me but didn't know how to rightfully show them with the looming fact I was “with Ron”. He was sincere and would backtrack whenever he became too open to me, truly hoping me and Ronald's relationship cultivated and bloomed.

The dream began innocently. I was walking one of the various halls of Hogwarts in my uniform with a book in my nose. Suddenly, from behind me, I felt an arm go around me. It startled me and frightened me. I jumped clear out of my buckled shoes. When I went to look to see who had wrapped an arm around me I noticed the Weasley-red hair and freckles. Ron. He tightened around me, nearly suffocating me. He had a goofy grin on his face which…disturbed me. But, for some reason, I wouldn't run away. As much as the scene scared me, not once did I get away from him. I actually leaned into his body until…until I felt warmth in my hand.

The warmth shot right up my arm, bleeding into my skin. Right to my heart the warm rollercoaster went, colliding with my heart at the finish line. I turned away from Ronald's silly face and saw Harry holding my hand. He was at a distance, but he remained clasped around my fingers firm. I squeezed his hand and he smiled. Then, I woke up.

I wanted him. I wanted Harry. I'm forever glad I waited for Harry. If I lost my virginity to Ron…I'm just happy I hadn't. My virginity was too special for me to waste. The more I felt our relationship grow, the more I realized how much I settled for with my ex-boyfriend. Even before Harry came when he did that night in the rain, we talked through the Owl Network and…yeah, I found out then how much I cared for Harry Potter. The words I wrote expressed how I longed for him, and he responded back just the same. Thinking about the flirtatious, sweet messages even now gives me butterflies, as if my body told me: “That's the one”.

I fell for him year after year. Why did I settle? That's a complex question. Ironically, a part of why I did was because of my best girlfriend, Ginerva Weasley. She absolutely chased Harry whenever possible at the end of our fifth year to our seventh. They broke up shortly after the War and during all the prodding media and paparazzi. She wanted him, and I fell into the shadows. I thought compared to Ginny I was a nobody and that's how it was going to be for the rest of my life. My books were the only thing that kept me company as stale and dusty as they were. I became…envious of her? Possibly…I mean, no guy really paid attention to me. The first guy that ever paid attention to me as a “girl” was Viktor Krum, and he's still a sweetheart to me even after I let him down. He writes me nearly every week. The thing is, though, I don't believe I would have been stimulated…intellectually. Sure, Viktor had the muscle mass and he was fun to look at, but when it came down to it, I'd rather have a guy who can test my knowledge than a guy who can toss me around in bed.

Does that sound weird?

I'm weird.

Fortunately, Harry had both qualities. Harry's…fun in so many ways. He keeps my brain working and challenges me intellectually. He did that back at Hogwarts, and that actually got me hotter under the collar than watching him from afar. Then when that piece of him fell into place, the biological parts of me, my hormones, kicked on when he'd take off his shirt. He wasn't sporting a six-pack like Viktor, but Merlin, I swear the first time he took his shirt off after a Quidditch game when I became infatuated my jaw fell to the floor. I nurtured the lassoing of my emotions and hid them well. Ginerva was the one who took the chance that I was…afraid…of doing. I don't know why, but if Harry rejected me…that would have hurt more than any other guy.

Ginerva is universally attractive and so many guys wanted her. She played with them, too, knowing confidently how hot she was. I guess I didn't know, or maybe I didn't like to look at myself naked in the mirror. I was a rather late bloomer. Ginny had boobs before I did! I was just “another guy” in Hogwarts. Not even Harry, nor Ron, thought of taking me to the Yule Ball. Parts of me believed Harry as superficial; that, Harry Potter was just like every other guy who wanked off to Witch Parfait because the nude girls in the magazine had humongous breasts. I kept to the shadows, keeping a jumper on and never really exposing my skin to the world. I didn't think I was good enough for any guy.

Harry isn't superficial, by the way. He proved it when he discussed with me about his break up voluntarily one afternoon. He didn't feel the chemical spark because Ginny didn't get him. He thought there was a possibility that she wanted him because of his “status” in the wizarding world. I made a joke about Gin being “well-endowed” and he rolled his eyes at me.

“I want a girl who can get me here,” he patted his chest.

“And here,” he pointed to his noggin.

His words were genuine and heart-felt…and he had me in the palm of his hand. I remember sitting in the Three Broomsticks and listening to him go on about what made him tick, and I ate every, single word. I wanted him, and I wanted him to want me. Serendipity? He smiled at me a lot that day. My cheeks hurt from smiling back. I remember I couldn't sit still for a second and would twist on my bum or wiggle my torso and giggle stupidly at any and every joke he made. When I couldn't see him anymore clinched my feelings, and by mail, I found my lover. He wanted me and my smaller breasts and how they are. He wanted me for my smarts and outsider-style. He didn't want me to force a laugh at his corny jokes, but he did want me to laugh and he wanted me to laugh forever. Harry had fallen in love with me as much as I did for him.

Harry calls me perfect—no, the person who is perfect is Harry. He's sensitive to my wants and needs, he listens, he acts, and he's passive and aggressive when he should be. He's not over-protective, but when I seek his arms he's right there waiting. I do seek his arms more often than not. His arms feel so, so good. I want to be within them every second of every day.

Harry's strong, too. I love seeing those lean muscles appear when he flexes or after a bit of exercise, or even when he's just wandering the flat. I especially love to see the muscles pop out during and after sex. I've been caught mesmerized, tracing my finger along a vein in his arm with my fingernail or a vein in his neck with my tongue. There's just something sexy about seeing that result from the passion he puts out toward me; that Hermione, the know-it-all, the book worm, the loner girl, the late bloomer, can make his body change.

I love Harry Potter so much.

I love everything he does to me and how he makes me feel.

I love when he cuddles with me anywhere and everywhere.

I love when he slaps my ass when we're intimately alone.

I love when he kisses me for the sake of kissing me.

I love when he throws me on the bed with a bounce before a fuck.

I love how we can make the simplest of eye contact or make a certain language with our body and we instantly know what each other is thinking without words.

I am one happy, lucky young woman, and I'm glad that I was given a chance to love and be loved by such a wonderful young man.

***

My man lay on my body.

I could be his own personal mattress, and I wanted to be his own personal mattress. The rain splattered the window panes outside. The storms hadn't died down for a couple weeks with one shower beginning when the other left. The environment was dismal. Only inside Number Twelve felt of comfort and safety from the world splashing behind the glass panels. The raindrops pounded so hard on the ceiling that the sound it made became one single rushing noise. Not one individual drop was ever heard.

Harry made me breakfast. I wanted to make breakfast this morning, but he once again pushed me away. I wish he allowed me to do more things around the house. I gave in a little easier than the first few times, that's for sure, and I'd sigh when I knew he'd tell me to leave for a task simpler than this or that. He loves me, and I feel his love and will never toss any of it in the rubbish bin—ever—but, I just wish he'd allow me to give more. It's not like he treated me like a child, he just didn't want me baking over a hot stove or doing something “menial” as he'd call it, mundane.

I'm quite the strong female and would do things anyway. I started dinner one night while he was in the shower upstairs. He came down and kissed me, getting my way on both ends. I love that Harry would go far and beyond to treat me well. I'm so used to having to do everything that I sometimes forget that people give and not just take.

He fixed pancakes and bacon this morning. I helped him set the table and get the glasses. I asked him what he wanted to drink as he stood there looking so exhausted. He hadn't gotten much sleep which made me feel worse as he stared sleepily at the range with a spatula. He had bags under his pretty green eyes. I finally pushed him away. I plated the food and carefully put one stack of pancakes and crispy bacon in front of him, and then sat down with the other. He leaned a few inches to kiss me. I tilted into him and relaxed the entire time on his shoulder with his arm wrapped around me.

Now Harry, succumbing to tiredness, drifted to dreamland. His body paralleled mine horizontally between my legs. His head rested upon my chest. His arms circled my slender waist. I smiled as he slept with my hand in his hair. His hair was so soft, so clean, and so messy. I loved the messiness. God, I loved his messiness. It was so incredibly sexy, and this was normal. He didn't need to put on some act or bunch up his hair with gel—this was naturally handsome—like the rest of his beautiful body.

I watched him breathe. I was fixated on his breathing. I'd watch him breathe just to know he was alive and with me. Something so simple and yet his breathing satisfied something within me. As if there was a hole in my heart and his breathing massaged that hole. I was more than glad, joyful, ecstatic that Harry was alive and that I was alive with him as well. My heart scared me. The times when I'd feel my chest tickle, I knew there was a bit of me wrong inside, but I didn't want to express my pain. I didn't want to worry Harry. He'd been through enough already.

Then, the tickling caught up and I passed out. I was in horrific blackness, the kind described as Purgatory. But, I heard Harry. I heard his voice, and then I began to feel his warmth. He led me out of the blackness and I called for him. I felt myself draw nearer and nearer until his voice cleared. Even though I was drugged, I heard him when I became aware and I saw him when the blurring lessened.

A tear trickled down my cheek.

I could have lost everything.

Harry calls me his angel. Indeed, it's the other way around. He's my guardian angel. He heard me sniffle and he kissed me through my black-and-gray, wide-striped t-shirt. The long sleeves stretched when I rubbed down his neck, my fingers gradually moving back into his hair. I don't think he woke up, and I didn't want to wake him up. In sleep he was affectionate. I think he could read my mind at times without even having to look at me.

I wiped my tears off on my sleeve. My right hand carefully felt of his cheek through a light stroke. My left hand followed a line in his muscle alongside his upper back from his hair. I felt of his smooth skin and the fibrous strands underneath. I slid my knee up, rubbing my leg, my thigh, against the side of his body. I watched my knee peek out from a cut slit in my dark blue jeans when I reached the peak and slowly let my leg fall back out-stretched, making sure to slide against him.

I don't think this will ever be said aloud—ever—but in the summer holiday of our third year, I wrote my name with the surnames of the guys I knew.

Hermione Jane Finnigan?

No…not quite. Though, I miss him dearly.

Hermione Jane Thomas?

Not at all.

Hermione Jane Longbottom?

Next. Though, Gin would get a kick out of that nowadays.

Hermione Jane Weasley.

I think I thought that fit at the time.

Then I wrote: Hermione Jane Potter.

I melted in my seat. I saw myself, dreamed of walking an aisle like the girls I saw on TV. In a gorgeous, trim wedding gown and a long tail, with my daddy walking arm-and-arm with me. He gave me away to the grinning, messy locks squirming at the front of the church with excitement. I saw myself saying, “I do” and Harry taking me and kissing me. He whisked me away to some secluded countryside or maybe a private island for just the two of us. I saw our little boy or little girl running around at our feet and the white-picket fence. We lived happily, ever after.

I'd become a giddy school girl when he'd look at me that way. He'd look at me as if to say, “You're special and I'm going to treat you special”. He'd look at me as if to say, “You're in my heart always”. He'd look at me as if to say, “You're mine, and someday, you'll be my wife”. A young girl's dreams coming to life. Sometimes I'd think about just going ahead and asking him to marry me. But, I wanted to be knelt in front of in some special moment in time. That was part of my dream: Harry, getting down on one knee, and asking me for my hand.

I'd be his bride.

I'd be Hermione Jane Potter.

The rain pounded harder against the roof of Number Twelve, shaking me from my hypnotic state. I didn't know how long I zoned out, but I noticed Harry and had switched positions with his head turned towards the sofa rather than towards the fireplace. He had nuzzled into the cotton of my t-shirt, his hand slightly under the edge to feel of my stomach and my side. My hand followed his arm, gently squeezing the slight hill of every muscle before his shoulder. I squeezed his shoulder, and then pet the top of his head.

I grinned, a thought flooding my mind. I'd grown a little tired, too, and knew what would happen next. I wanted to go upstairs. I prodded his exposed upper body, nudging tenderly with my hand. He didn't wake at the first few pokes, but lifted when I paired a small shake with his name.

“Harry…,” I whispered. I didn't think he heard me because of the rain, but he lifted nonetheless.

His cheek was pink from his relaxation and an indent was evident after laying on a part of my bunched up shirt. He blinked his eyes at me and smiled when I smiled, “…Hm?”

“I think it would be more comfortable to go upstairs, don't you?”

Harry lowered his face down to my chest and kissed me there. His voice was a little raspy when he replied, “Let's go.”

He scooted to his knees and helped me off the sofa. He got around back of me and didn't take his hands off my hips the entire way. Stair after stair, I felt of his grip. I loved how he wanted me. I also loved how we'd take naps together in the afternoon. There was something so innocent about it that made my heart leap. Putting it into a mathematical equation: naps plus Harry equaled sublimity. We'd slip in the sheets, clothed or not, and just lay with each other. Just being with each other in the silence. He'd put his arms around me and hold me. I'd move right to his body and let him do his wrap-around. I felt his affectionate aura, the bond of our love, and would stroll blissfully to sleep.

I kicked off my Converse shoes at the door. He waited for me and watched my movements. He stuck his hand in my back pocket when I couldn't quite get my left foot out. There was something sexy behind our comfort level. How he'd touch me made me feel wonderful, like a woman. He slid his hand out when I planted my sock-clad foot down on the floor. I kissed him softly and he followed me to the bed.

I began to crawl to my side and I felt his hands. He pulled me into him and I smiled. He automatically wrapped himself around me and took up the sheets. He put his leg around both of mine and I sighed. I picked up the hand from the arm he slipped across my midsection and used it as my pillow, my head in the mold of his soft palm. His other arm slid underneath me and I fit into the niche his body created perfectly. I smelled of his pumpkin spice scent, the soothing aroma and the stroking of his hand on my cheek making it difficult to not fall asleep. I wanted to bask in our moment, but my eyes settled and closed.

I sighed into a smile and wandered easily into sleep.

***

Crookshanks dodged away from me. He leapt right from the rounded shape of the end of the staircase banister at the bottom level. I chased him with my eye secured to a handheld camera. Crookshanks would stop and stretch. I'd get on my knees and would play with the buttons, getting a close-up of his face and then an extreme wide shot of the room with my furry feline in the centre. He'd just look at me like I was a moron and I'd giggle; then, he'd take off again around Number Twelve, hiding from my chase.

The orange-and-brown fur ball jumped straight on the sofa and curled up in the corner. I slid over the armrest and bounced on the cushions. My tummy glided skillfully on the plush of the den's furniture. The purple-and-black plaid scarf along my neck tightened and I had to adjust or become choked, the cloth catching between the cushions. The camera shook in my hands in that instance, but I settled the shakiness and pressed the button to zoom into my Kneazle.

“Crookshaaaaanks…” I giggled when Crookshanks tilted his head at me when I elongated the vowel in his name, my voice singing in a high pitch.

Crookshanks looked on at me with beady little black eyes and yawned.

“Where is Harry at?”

I shifted my focus closer into Crookshanks's face, his head tilting to the other side. He licked his paw and fought with something on his ear before glancing around him at the noise that happened. Harry had come down the stairs and his feet padding the floor made my Kneazle's attention go to him. I heard Harry flip on the water faucet in the kitchen and a plate submerge. We'd just got done eating and were about to leave for my date with Ginny.

Crookshanks gazed back at me and blinked, yawning again.

“Is he in the kitchen?” Crookshanks's sight shifted back in Harry's direction behind the sofa. Harry had set the plate to dry on a rack, the ceramic hitting against another ceramic plate causing it to make a hard tapping noise. Crookshanks glanced back at me when I said in a cutesy voice, “He's too busy for us, isn't he? Just so wrapped up in those darn dishes to be with us, hm?”

I heard Harry in the kitchen laugh. He could hear me. I smiled, the camera continuing to film Crookshanks's every move. I went to take strands of my dark brunette hair from my face only to have them fall perfectly poised to hide my left eye. “You'll hang out with me, won't you?”

Crookshanks stared at me and looked bored. He yawned.

“I mean, I have some downtime,” I talked as if I had a riveting conversation going with my cat. Crookshanks looked away from me and off to the side. Yeah… “So, I thought we could hang out. Maybe catch a movie? Eat some popcorn?”

Crookshanks licked his paw and swished his tail.

“I don't really have anything to do at the moment and thought we could maybe…go to the mall? Drive around or something? Dinner?”

Crookshanks looked at me and meowed.

“Yeah, I really like hanging out with you because you're such a good listener,” Crookshanks turned away from the camera and meowed, his eyes going towards something in the window. “A really good listener.”

Crookshanks rolled over on his back and stared up at me, purring. He scratched his backside on the armrest.

“You're lovable…,” I paused and flicked my eyes around the room, relieving myself a bit from the camera in thought. “Um…and you have a nice furry coat…?”

Crookshanks flipped over completely and landed on his feet, startled by himself. He meowed at me.

“Umm…and,” My eyes were back on the fur ball staring back at me. I gulped, not really knowing what else to say. “…Yeah…”

I sighed, and then jumped when I felt something tug on my dark gray skirt from behind. The something flipped me over, and I watched in brief my Kneazle leap from the sofa and take off. Completely turned over with my back on the sofa cushions, I gazed in my handheld to see Harry on the other side. He placed his hand on the soft of my tummy, through my plunged, obsidian crew-neck shirt. He pulled the purple-and-black plaid scarf from between me and the sofa.

I smiled at him as I filmed his expressions, trying to capture his smirk. He'd look away from the lens and finally, he pushed the camera away to get at my lips. I felt their warmth, Harry having to lower across the back of the sofa to get to me. I peered up at him through my right, exposed eye. My pink lips curled into a smirk when he released from them, my black eyelashes batting at him. I bit my bottom lip and turned the camera back on him, making sure not to ruin my eyeliner in my haste.

“Is that your new toy of choice?” he laughed. “You've been carrying that thing around since you bought it.”

“I want to record all of my life,” I sighed when he gazed at me with those jade green, smoldering eyes. “Starting with the most important part.”

I felt him stroke my tummy softly as he asked, “Are you ready to head on over?”

I nodded my head, my camera shaking in the process, “Mhmm…”

He went to move from the back of the sofa, his elbows shifting from pushed into the plush, when I stopped him in question, “What about that little, teensy, itty-bitty thing we talked about at lunch?”

He turned back into my camera focus and I stayed on him, “I'll miss you. I want you around me always.”

I panned the camera across the fit of his salt-and-pepper turtle-neck sweater. Right to his muscle, the sweater was snug on him. Some of the chaos of his hair moved as he'd try and break from my view in play. I tried to stay on him as he moved in-and-out of frame.

“Maybe not right away,” I stated gently. “But, sometime, I'll need to work.”

“But, a waitress?” he asked me, raising his brow.

“That was one suggestion,” I exclaimed. “I could be a library assistant, or a tutor; I could always ask Professor McGonagall about getting a part-time job at Hogwarts.”

Harry bowed to me. I had to pull back the lens when he blurred to re-focus. “I have us both covered financially for years, Hermione,” he said very coaxingly, trying to persuade me out of my thoughts.

“I'm going to pull half my weight here. It's a two-way street,” I kept still on him to see him puff out his chest and sigh in a pout. He raked his fingers through his hair as he looked on at me. “Besides, you'll eventually get tired of me.”

Harry laughed loudly, “You'll tire of me before that happens.”

“Ha!” I smiled. “Liar.”

Harry lowered again and pushed the camera from my sight. He kissed me hard and patted my tummy, “Let's go before the snow gets heavier.”

He took me by the hand and helped me off the sofa. As I walked around him, turning the camera off as I went, I patted his rear. He gasped, and I gasped, pivoting on my heel to hear him growl. He chased me as I giggled, high-tailing it out the front door.

***

“Muggle-stores are so boring…” Ginny fidgeted uncomfortably in her stance. We had stopped in front of the rice section in the local grocery market. Neville reached for a box on the top shelf and threw it in his buggy. Ginny made a sigh of annoyance, letting out this big breath of air and filed on ahead as if she were pissed.

The grocery market played elevator music amongst the atmosphere. Other shoppers dragged their buggies between us, pulling and pushing boxes and bags from the shelves. They'd examine some, put some back, and sometimes toss whatever contents they had into their buggy and move on. Shopping for food wasn't supposed to be fun. I mean, it was a purpose, not really a luxury. Grocery shopping wasn't recess.

“Ugh!” Ginny sifted her hands through her flaming hair. She shot around at us and began stepping backward. “Why couldn't we have gone to Hogsmeade and shopped?”

I had my arms folded in front of my chest and stopped when Harry did. Harry was checking out something he found interesting; some juice product with the fruits of kiwi and dragonfruit combined together. I didn't even know there was such a thing as dragonfruit, so it was news to me too.

“Gin,” Harry's voice was subtle, his eyes on the product in his hands. He read the back where the nutrition facts were printed. “Chill out.”

“This was the closest to your house,” I stated, trying to get my face around to read with Harry the nutrition facts. “It's time-efficient.”

“It's boring is what it is,” Ginny sighed and skipped around the corner to the next aisle. She dashed right to the chocolate chip cookies and chips and began throwing one after the other in the cart Neville pushed along.

Ginny's tie-dyed t-shirt flittered at its edges as she turned quickly toward me. She held up two jars and asked, “Onion or jalapeno for tonight?”

“I didn't think Katie liked onions?”

Ginny exaggerated a nod and swiftly shot around to put the onion dip back, “Right.”

Ginny planned this girls-night at their house a few days ago. We hadn't really done anything together since the time I spent in the hospital. Other than phone call after phone call, we hadn't been paired. She felt lonely without me, she said over the phone, and wanted us to do something. I suggested in brief a get-together and she took off with the idea which led to a slumber party.

We were food shopping for two reasons: Neville wanted to make us dinner and for the party. So, when Ginny shuffled over to the buggy with an arm full of Hershey and Kit-Kat bars, no one was surprised. She pried about six two-liter bottles of soda from the shelves and when we got to the alcohol section, she went crazy. Nothing in the shopping cart, except for the food Neville had specifically chosen for his meal, was healthy and I snickered at the dozen or so bags of chips piled high.

Suddenly, between the meat and the cheese section, Ginny tumbled over in the shopping cart. We all sort of just stood there for a moment, her weight making Neville's arms move around without their will.

“Um,” Neville started, looking at Ginny as if she lost her mind. “Gin?”

Ginny slipped around on her feet. She had to squat in the front of the buggy due to the packages around her figure, “Hermione, get in Harry's!”

“Ginny!” I whispered to her. I glanced around at people starting to stare and smiled at them a bit embarrassed. “What are you doing?”

“Has she been drinking, Neville?” Harry asked casual, sarcastically.

Ginny threw a bag of Doritos at Harry, “We're going to the check-out, right? Well, let's do it in style!”

“Get in!” she shouted at me.

I shot glances between Harry, Neville, and Ginny. Then, I lowered to her level, “People are staring! Come on, Gin!”

“So what?” Ginny shuffled in her spot, her back relaxing on one of the wall of the buggy. “We're only young once in our life. Let's have a little fun before we get old!”

I hesitated. Thoughts ran through my mind and the eyes of the stares hit me. I felt my heart flutter, and before I could even think my black Ugg boots started to move under me. I fell into the buggy Harry pushed and held on to the front of the metal cage, my skirt covering nearly all of my legs and feet.

Ginny squealed and said loudly, “And we're off!”

She pointed off towards the other side of the store where the check-out lines were sitting and waiting for us. Harry and Neville exchanged glances and shrugged. I felt Harry push the buggy, and before long, we were racing Ginny and Neville through the aisles. We lost them when Harry took a turn down an opposite aisle, sliding in-and-out of other people who stared at us as we flashed on by. I could hear Ginny's squeaky laughter on the aisle beyond the shelves to my left, and I laughed right along with her, my hands gripping the cart with strands of my hair flittering behind me.

“Faster, Neville! Faster!” screamed Ginny.

When we broke from the aisle Ginny and I saw each other. Harry had gotten the best of Neville, a full cart length in front of him. I waved at Ginny from behind and, as I turned back around saw a stock boy drop the merchandise he held onto the floor. He twisted his head one hundred eighty degrees to follow us in sight, flying by as I let out a giggle.

Ginny had her arms out like a bird in flight. She had her eyes closed and her head tilted back as the wind they created tossed her hair around. I started dancing while I squatted in the buggy to the pattern the wheels squeaked out in protest to Harry's flowing push. I heard Harry laugh behind me and say something to Neville. Neville screamed out something back and we were all laughing. I wasn't entirely sure what we were laughing at, but we were laughing nevertheless.

By the time we made it to the check-out we had the entire grocery store flipped around. Every head in building watched us being kids. The young girl at the cash register, as well as the families in front of us, stood wide-eyed. I felt springy, and when I leapt from the buggy, I did a little bounce on the soles of my feet.

I turned amidst a snicker, finding it hard to breathe and watching Ginny almost fall out of her cart didn't help. As I turned, I saw what I thought was the manager with his hands on his hips. I flipped back around, my hair lifting in the sharp twist.

I didn't care.

We were having fun.

We're only young once in our lifetime.

***

Neville stood out by the grill for the longest time talking over a bottle of butterbeer with Harry. He fixed us trout filets that had this beautiful, black-line texture on top the slight pink of the meat from the grill tray. He boiled brown rice and added a mixture of virgin olive oil and spices for a gravy-like composition. Ginny had quite a time playing with the small corn and carrots. The corn cob was finger-length and absolutely adorable. I had a tough time wanting to eat them cause they were just so gosh darn cute.

When we were finished, Ginny and I cleared the table set for four and took the plates and silverware to the men. I blew out the candlesticks atop the black satiny table covering, smoke curving in a line from the unlit wicks. I passed by various moving photographs of Neville and Ginny framed on their walls leading into the kitchen. All of them looped continually with something intimate like an embrace or a kiss. The scenery of Hogsmeade displayed in the background of one. They took a picture of them together during our beach trip with one of their enchanted cameras, making the wind sway the umbrella and the waves wash ashore behind them.

I handed Neville the dish that the cooked trout sat on and patted his shoulder, “Thank you, Neville. That was a lovely meal.”

“You're more than welcome, Hermione,” smiled Neville. He was looking down at the dish that just went into the water. His other hand scrubbed away at its surface.

Harry was on Neville's right side. Neville would wash, hand him the dish, and Harry would dry and place the dish in its proper spot in the cabinet. Usually, all of this was done with a wave of the wand, but I guess Harry and I began rubbing off on Ginny and Neville. There was a loss of intimacy when things were done with magic.

When I passed behind Harry, he bumped me with his hip. I smirked and pushed back on him with my shoulder, making him nudge Neville. I laughed when they both grinned, and I leaned in to snatch a quick kiss from Harry. He much obliged my forward, hasty kiss, grabbing me back around the waist when I began to walk from him to snatch another.

With the dishes done, Neville wiped his hands off on a paper towel. We were all mingling in the kitchen with Ginny and Neville on one side and me and Harry on the other. I held my glass of wine in my hand with an arm under my elbow. Ginny got done discussing their introductory wedding plans, having only begun their initial planning, when she pushed on Neville.

“Okay, enough chit-chat!”

Neville grabbed her by wrapping an arm around her neck and pulling her to him, “I'm glad I like the violent-type.”

Harry laughed a little and I smiled, taking a sip as I watched Ginny struggle out of Neville's grasp.

Ginny blew some of her Weasley-red hair out of her face from the struggle and eyed Neville with her intense golden brown irises, “It's almost girl-time! No boys allowed on the premise!”

Harry rolled his eyes and turned to me after setting his own glass of wine down on the counter. He placed his hand gently to cradle the back of my head and kissed my lips. He rubbed the back of my head as he released and I purred by his touch.

“We're going into the parlor to play pool,” I lingered on his gaze. “I'll be in there if you need me, and then we'll get out of your hair for the night.”

I smirked and leaned closer to whisper in his ear. He turned so I could and said, “I love you.”

He leaned back erect and smiled. He kissed me once more and took up his glass of wine in hand, petting my head before leaving towards their parlor and game area.

I heard a smacking noise and swiveled my head to see Neville laughing and Ginny rubbing her butt. “We'll just see about that…,” she said, her eyes narrowed toward Neville as he left behind Harry.

“Show Hermione our new snake, Gin,” Neville added as he waltzed from the kitchen.

“That's vulgar!” Ginny shouted at him. “No one wants to see that!”

Harry, from the other room, called aloud, “Ha—Ha—Ha” after Ginny's yell.

I placed my hand over my mouth to stifle a snicker. Ginny flicked her gaze at me and kept her eyes narrowed. I couldn't help but burst with laughter, doubling over as I held my stomach.

“Okay,” she said flatly. “It wasn't that funny.”

“No, no,” I said, trying to breathe. “It was your face. How you looked!”

“There's nothing wrong with my face!” she stuck her tongue out at me and skipped out of the room.

I watched Ginny through the opening along their bar area go back around to a glass container and reach inside. She said something inaudible to my ears, and traipsed on back into the kitchen with this tiny boa constrictor wrapped the width of her wrist. The snake intertwined with her fingers and sort of bobbed its head as she walked in with it. My brow rose, and the hair on me did as well.

“Isn't she just the cutest thing?”

“Um…,” I wasn't exactly afraid of it, as it wasn't anything compared to what I've seen before in snakes, but the thing could still bite. “Sure?”

Ginny came right up to me and held out her hand. She rotated her wrist, the boa maybe a foot in length at the most. “Her name is Isabelle. We just got her a few days ago.”

“She's pretty in a…snakey…sort of way.”

Ginny looked at my body language and how I withdrew from her, my arm hugging tighter against my chest after she came in with it, “Mi-Mi, it's not like it's going to bite!”

“Can you read its mind?”

“No, but Harry can,” she grinned a bit evilly. “Should I bring him in here so we can get an update?”

“Of course not,” I sighed.

“Here!” she prodded Isabelle at me. “Take her!”

“I don't really want to touch her, Gin.”

“Mi-Mi…” Ginny pried my arm away from my chest and had me set my glass down. “When haven't you been able to trust me?”

“Do you have a pencil and paper?”

“Yeah…,” She held out my hand and gently pulled the snake from her wrist and had it wrap around mine. The boa slithered along my hand, its tongue flicking out every now and then to taste me, I supposed. I wasn't researched on the fundamentals of amphibians and reptiles to know what exactly it was doing, but it was creepy…and sort of cute. “Don't answer that question. It'll probably bite my ass.”

“This will probably bite you, too,” I pointed at the snake, its cold scales rubbing against my skin.

“You're a funny one, Granger,” Ginny mimicked her best Severus Snape. “Thirty points from Gryffindor for insolence.”

My eyes rolled and I smirked. I gently ran my finger along the side of Isabelle to have her move between my spread index and middle fingers, “So, how big is she supposed to get?”

“Around five or six feet.”

“Six feet?!” I exclaimed. “Holy—“

“I know, right?” Ginny suddenly found herself giddy. “Six feet of love, hm?”

“I guess so,” I simply gazed at this snake that didn't look harmful at all once you got to know it. But, seeing it grow six feet in length…now the picture became morbid in my mind. “If you like that sort of thing.”

“Who doesn't like six feet of fun?”

I sighed and glanced up at Ginny, my left eye covered completely with my brunette hair, “You haven't even drank yet and your mind's already in the gutter.”

“My mind's always in the gutter,” smiled Ginny. She looked so innocent, so sweet, but she…wasn't, and I laughed. Ginny leaned back on the countertop and pulled herself up to sit on it. She watched me pet Isabelle. “So, Granger, tell me what you've been up to since we haven't been together in weeks.”

I adjusted the scarf around my neck and glanced at her from Isabelle, “Artsy stuff, eating, sleeping, my guitar…”

“Boring!” Ginny slapped the countertop. She scooted into me and wiggled her eyebrows. “How is it?”

I knew exactly what she was talking about, but I roped her away from my personal, intimate life. She already knew a bunch of it already, anyway. “What do you mean, `how is it'? I'm happy to be out of the hospital, but you knew that already.”

“I know he's shagged you rotten at least once since you guys started living together,” Ginny winked and I just rolled my eyes. My attention went back to Isabelle. “So, how is it? Six inches?”

“What?” I glanced back to her. She just smiled.

“Seven?”

“Gin…,” I shook my head and relaxed against the ledge of the countertop.

Ginny slapped the countertop again, “I knew it! From Harry's Quidditch uniform, I knew he was at least ei—!”

My eyesight flicked instantly to her, interrupting her before she could continue on more, “Ginerva! Do you know how extremely awkward I am right now?”

Ginny rolled her eyes and hopped from the countertop, “Past is past,” she waved me off and took up her glass of wine. “The only thing I care about is if he's treating you right, what with the hospital and all done.”

“We're more in love now then we've ever been,” I watched Ginny move about her kitchen wiping down things with the cloth rag. “You've always been perceptive, shouldn't you have know that by our kiss?”

Ginny pivoted on her heel and slipped back against their stove, “I like seeing and hearing you at the same time. Don't want another Ronald debacle on my hands.”

I peeked back down when I felt Isabelle graze the skin between my middle and ring finger. She had climbed up the middle finger completely with her head in the air.

“Hoes over bros!” shouted Ginny, the sound of her voice shaking their flat. Neville must have heard it, and Harry too. I lightly laughed through my nose and kept my eyes on Isabelle.

“And besides…,” Ginny whispered, talking to me from across the kitchen. “He's good, right?”

I think I flushed. I knew I grew a little hot, tilting my head from side-to-side with my hair falling to and fro. I finally just nodded to shut her up and Ginny giggled, her hand clapping over her mouth. She said through her palm, “I knew it!”

Pirouetting on her toes, Ginny pounced in front of me and laid out her arm beside Isabelle. She snuck her finger in-between the snake and my wrist and gently pried the creature off, Isabelle slipping to her own wrist. My eyes blinked between the reptile and its master when I heard Gin, still in whisper, “On a serious note, have you talked to him about…you know?”

“Oxford?” I held onto the edge of the countertop with both my hands after Isabelle wound around Ginny. I shook my head in response, “Anytime I bring up leaving his side he becomes distraught. I told him about the possibility of working and he told me he had enough money to satisfy us both.”

“He needs to get it through his mind that you're a strong, independent woman first, and then his toy second,” Ginny went from Isabelle as she stroked her pet and back to me. “I mean, you still want to go, right?”

I nodded, adding, “Yeah, but—“

The doorbell rang out, making both our heads turn towards the hallway where the front entrance lay. Ginny skipped through the kitchen and turned back quick, her hand catching the frame of the archway with a smile as she leaned into the kitchen, “That must be Katie! So excited!”

I stayed where my feet were planted for a moment. I thought about Harry and I thought about how he wanted me by his side, forever. I smiled at the thought, but I wanted to do something, anything. Having been made aware of my time in the hospital, I felt I needed to expand, go to my horizon where my goals were and grab them. Not that I didn't want to lay with Harry, or eat with Harry, or go out wherever with Harry, but there were needs deep down that didn't involve him one-on-one. I wanted to take my dreams and make them live, and there's only one way—

My train of thought broke when I heard Katie squeak and Ginny squeal from the hallway.

“Oh my goodness!!! The Katester!” Ginny's shriek muffled.

Katie let out in a scream, “This is going to be the best night ever!”

***

“Turn it back! Turn it back!” Katie was jumping in her seat on the floor. Within her lap a bowl overflowed with buttery popcorn, some of the popped kernels falling on her legs. She was beside me and Ginny on the sofa, my knees to my chest, having changed into a gray pajama set. Dark and light graying striped across my chest while gray lounge pants tied to my waist.

Ginny crawled over and fell on the armrest to grab the remote. Like me, Ginny changed into a navy blue pajama slip with pink frills. We'd been watching Grease until our feature presentation came on. “I'm hurrying!” Ginny pounded the buttons, the television flipping channels hastily.

“We're going to miss the beginning of Shade's concert thanks to you, Gin!” shouted Cho from the other sofa. She held an entire bag of Snickers miniatures in her arms, stuffing one after another in her mouth. She slipped to her side, the button-up, crimson and gold pajama top shifting from her movement.

“That's not unlike, Ginerva,” laughed Katie, reaching on her knees in a white pajama slip like Ginny for a butterbeer on the table.

“You all need to SHUT UP…,” we all chuckled when Ginny whipped around and hissed.

“There it is, Gin!” I got to my knees on the sofa and pointed when I said the statement. Shade Epsilon was the new rising pop star in the wizarding world. She was only our age, twenty, with two albums already at gold status. She would wear what the Daily Prophet considered “depressingly lethargic clothes” of black, and black, and black with black hair and black lipstick and black everything. Her songs, however, were upbeat and, well, popish. She was having a special concert to raise funds for her breast cancer prevention charity.

Ginny flipped around off her stomach when Epsilon's voice trembled the walls and windows of their flat, shaking the pictures with the music's base. The singer was jumping up and down on stage, mingling with the crowd on the edge of the platform. The fans in the audience, mostly girls, leaped and outstretched to grab at her hand, her other holding the silver microphone. Her number one hit, “Hot and Cold” rang out with all us girls beginning to dance and wiggle in our spot.

That's what I wanted to do, right there on television, but preferably a different style of music. Not that I didn't look up to Shade Epsilon as a mentor of sorts as I thought her performances were spot on, and she was our age and had done what others couldn't. She also crossed over, like many new artists in the wizarding world, into the Muggle world to reach out to more demographic. The lit lights of Big Ben sparkled behind her manmade ground and across the waterfront where the stage sat on its own peninsula-like inlet. She couldn't do heavy magic, like the times she'd performed in Violet Hill Landing and Silverpond Crossing, or her first performance at Hogsmeade's Central Plaza out in front of Gringotts this past Christmas. But, she'd slip magic in her performances anyway with the Muggles believing the acts were really, really good special effects.

“Get your camera, Mi-Mi!” Ginny yelled over the pulsating beat of the tube. She rolled on over to me, hopping to my side as I found my handheld on the coffee table. We'd been documenting our night, singing-along and having a brilliant time to Grease. We probably had some blackmail material on here, especially when Ginny and Cho completely mucked up Sandy's “Hopelessly Devoted to You” by sounding nowhere near Olivia Newton John, and more like dying cats.

I hit the `On' button with the lens wide. By the time I'd turned my camera on, all the girls were around me. Ginny sat on my right and Katie hopped to my left. Cho gather on behind us and leaned her head down between the pocket created by me and Ginny's shoulders.

“Even though she's almost done with the song!” huffed Katie.

Ginny pushed Katie face and we all giggled, seeing Katie scrunch up and try and knock Ginny back. She fell over my lap when Ginny skillfully dodged the in-coming attack.

“Everyone shh!” Cho covered Ginny's mouth when Ginny went to say something. Cho started us off, epsilon's pause in song happening. She mouthed as Epsilon began without the band, getting close to the camera. “We used to be just like twins, so in-sync!”

Katie tilted up from my lap and placed her head beside my smiling face, “The same energy now's a dead battery!”

“Used to laugh,” Ginny got on the other side of my face and I felt Cho's chin atop my head. “About nothing, and now you're plain boring!”

“I should know,” I clenched my fist and closed my eyes, being well-overdramatic. “That you're not gonna chaa-aa-aange!”

“'Cause you're hot, then you're cold!” Katie pushed on me and I fell into a giggling Ginny.

“You're yes, then you're no!” I heard Cho from above me sing out. “You're in and you're out!”

“You're up and you're down!” Katie bobbed her head from side-to-side to the rhythm, her dark curls jerking to each shake.

“You're wrong when it's right!” Ginny's hair tickled the side of my cheek as she fought to get in the entire camera lens. “It's black when it's white!”

“We fight, we break up!” I clinched my jaw and made it seem like I was angry and waiting to pounce towards the camera when I sang the lyric. “We kiss, we make up!”

I saw Harry come out with Neville from the parlor. It was late in the night, and he was going to go home to leave us to our little party. He walked right behind the sofa Cho had sat on and made a wave to me, and then slipped his hand back in his black khaki pants. He didn't want to interrupt and merely was slipping out the door quietly. Neville rolled his eyes at us; he, of course, was staying. But, he was going to bed after Harry left.

I motioned to Harry as he took his beautiful jade irises from me to laugh at something Neville said to him. I couldn't hear from the blaring music from the booming speakers. Harry caught my hand signals and stopped. He glanced from Neville, to me and back at something Neville had stated again. He was probably warning Harry to watch his back when he came over to us.

Harry had almost made it to the hallway, and out the door, when he stepped down into the living area with us and shot around to the back of the sofa. He stood beside Cho and leaned down to me. I pulled at his turtle neck, making him get into the camera he tried to stay out of while the other girls copied Epsilon's chorus. He knew who Shade Epsilon was and knew the song, whether he wanted to admit that or not.

I yanked on him and said into his ear, “Sing with us!”

Harry laughed and scratched the back of his head. He shook his head quickly and I pulled him back down with us when he tried to get away. Ginny helped in holding him down, and then Cho and Katie held him down too.

“Someone call the doctor!” Katie belted the lyrics. “Got a case of a love bipolar!”

“Stuck on a rollercoaster!” sang Cho right alongside Shade.

Katie pushed up against Harry who now had his face between her and me, “Can't get off this riiiiide!”

“You, change your mind,” we all turned our focus to Harry, and he looked as if he were a scared woodland creature caught in the bright headlights of a car.

Harry mouthed Epsilon as she sang, “…Like a girl changes clothes?” but added the question mark.

I heard Neville roar with laughter from the other side of the opposite sofa. Harry glared at him from his trapped containment in a sea of estrogen. “The Boy Who Sang?! Hahahaha…!!”

Ginny threw a pillow at Neville and screamed over the chorus again, “You're just jealous!”

“You're hot then you're cold!” Cho pulled on my hand to get the camera to her level.

“You're yes then you're no!” Katie yanked on my arm to have the camera go her way. “You're in and you're out!”

“You're up and you're down!” Ginny's whole body jostled against me as she wriggled on her bum to the music. “You're wrong when it's right!”

I held the camera on Harry and he turned red, “It's black and it's white?”

I smiled and sang with that overdramatic tone, “We fight, we break up!” I poked his lovable cheek. He looked at me with an eyebrow raised. “We kiss, we make up!”

I gave him a kiss on the cheek. He smiled. We broke him in, his head nodding to the lyric.

“You!” Ginny pointed at me.

“You don't really want to stay, no!” I sang with enthusiasm.

“You!” Ginny pointed at Harry.

“You don't really want to go-ooo!” Harry sang with sarcastic passion, making us all double over with laughter when his eyes closed like he really felt the words.

“You're hot, then you're cold!” Katie hopped on her feet.

Cho slid down between us, her hands on me and Ginny's legs, “You're yes, then you're no!”

“You're in and you're out!” Ginny pointed over at Neville as Neville made funny faces at us all.

“You're up and you're doooowwwnnn…” I followed Epsilon's tone as it dragged at the end, the band behind her slowing down the beat until it dropped off all together.

Harry chuckled and took off after we let him go. He high-tailed it, not looking back, towards the hallway with Neville right behind him. We scared Neville when all our eyes went to him. All four of us laughed as we watched my man and Ginny's rush for the door. I leapt off the sofa while Ginny bent to grab her butterbeer from the coffee table. Cho ran back to her Snickers bag and Katie picked up her popcorn bowl and sat back against the armrest.

I shot down the hallway, seeing Harry over Neville's shoulder. Neville glanced back at me as I raced to catch Harry before he left. He stood back along the wall and shuffled when I came on by him. Harry just looked at me and smirked, saying firmly, “You're not making me go back in there for a billion Galleons.”

I giggled, sliding my fingers in his front pockets, “Are you going now?”

“Yeah,” he nodded at something behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see Neville wave at him and waltz on back through the hallway from us. I flipped back around and slid my hands further into Harry's khaki pants. He kept his smirk, placing his hand to cradle the side of my head and kissed my forehead, “Yeah, thought I'd get out of your girl's hair.”

“This is like,” I stared down at his chest in thought, and then moved back to his vision. “The first time we won't sleep together. I'll miss you…”

“Aww…,” Harry leaned in again and kissed my mouth. He stroked the side of my face with his thumb, “I'll certainly miss your warmth tonight, but you're going to have fun, remember?”

After a pause of just staring into his green eyes, he said, “You deserve to get out and have a little fun once in a while with your girlfriends.”

My smile went goofy as I slipped from his pockets and wrapped my arms around his neck. I kissed him hard, his hands going and holding onto my hips. I felt him squeeze me and I made a gasp, relieving of his mouth a bit to see his eyes set on mine. He smiled, and I grinned, lowering my lips back onto his.

“Get a room!”

Our focus changed from each other and back down the hallway. I still had my arms around his neck and he still had his hands on my waist when we saw Ginny, Katie, and Cho staring at us around the corner. They all laughed, giggled, and Ginny heaved a pillow that didn't quite make it to us at the door. I tilted my head back and laughed, and Harry said clearly, “I can take her back to our room, if that's what you want?”

He pulled me closer to him. Our fronts touched when I stepped to meet him.

Ginny huffed and ran right down the stairs. She got up behind me and pried me off Harry, wrapping her arms above Harry's grip and pulling me backward with her. “Noooo… MINE! She's mine for the night!”

Harry laughed and waved at me being yanked back through the hallway. I tickled Ginny, having her let me go, and I went right back to Harry. He had his hand on the doorknob when he turned around and I kissed him.

“I love you,” I gazed into his emeralds. I smirked, “I'll make up for my absence…later…”

Ginny had gone back around me by this time.

Harry quickly kissed my mouth, “I love you.”

He tapped the tip of my nose as I was being dragged by Ginny again, “Have fun.”

He waved at me and exited with his smile. I heard his popping noise. He'd apparated back to Number Twelve as we had apparated here. My heart broke some, what with this truly being the first night I wouldn't have his arms around me when I slept. I frowned a little, and sighed; Ginny grabbed my hand and led me back into the living room. I smiled in response to their grinning faces when I plopped down on the sofa with Ginny. She held me in an embrace as we watched and sang along to Shade Epsilon on the television. I told myself positive things in the beginning:

It'll be fun!

You're going to have a wonderful time with the girls!

You're smiling, come on!

I did have fun.

We danced on the sofas to Shade Epsilon's concert, sang along to her other hits like “Self Inflicted” and “I Kissed a Girl” where Ginny decided to plant a big one on me, paraded for my camera that was shared between all our hands which probably resembled drunken morons in retrospect, ate too much candy and junk, and did our thing all the way until the sun rose. Ginny became fixated with my hair and brushed it constantly while we all talked about our lives. We discussed Ginny's wedding plans. We discussed Katie's interview with the British Quidditch Team. We gave occupational advice to Cho, who was thinking about applying to the Ministry's International Board of Trustees, and I told them about my plans for Oxford and how Harry may or may not feel about it. We played a silly game of Truth or Dare that reminded me of the days at Hogwarts when we'd sit up late during the weekends talking about the boys in the other room.

Let's just say, too, that Neville wasn't happy when we sprayed shaving cream in his hand and tickled him. We ran out of their bedroom when we heard him grunt to life, the shaving cream smeared all over his face.

But, when I went to sleep that night curled up with Ginny on an inflatable mattress on the floor, a large part of me missed the scent and aura of my man, and how he held me in his arms and caressed my lips gently before he told me, “Sweet dreams.”

{Inspirations for the Chapter: I thought about it, and thought about it, trying to find a singer who embodied the modern teenage/ young women demographic. I drove one morning and Katy Perry came on the radio. I knew immediately that she was who I was looking for. She has a bit of an edge and sexuality, but she's playful, and that's what I wanted. Also, I found this Taylor Swift video on YouTube while listening to Perry that became an inspiration for Hermione's handheld scenes}

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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: I don't really know how I pulled out twenty-five pages! Between three film projects, my first directorial shoot, and marketing for another on the side, I was torn to shreds this entire week with time. Because of the busy schedule, I nearly put this on hiatus for a long time. But, I got re-inspired during the week with even more music, so I'm hoping I won't have a breakdown. I'm also wondering how far I can push the boundary until people jump up and down and my fic gets pulled! I've subtly hinted at some stuff in previous chapters and in this one, but I'm not sure how much leeway I'll have for the future. If I pursue that route, there's no going back. I'll probably just do it and hope for the best.

***

Chapter Sixteen - Valentine

***

Fluffy, feathery pillows elevated under my head, my arms fit snug around them. Ginny fit even more snug around me. She latched herself against me and held on for dear life. Blinking, I found myself encased in her hair, the Weasley-red all over my face. The rays of sunlight already fully inside their flat made the hue of Ginny's hair enflamed. It was as if I were on fire and lots of it.

I fought with her arms. She didn't want to let me go. She made a grunting noise and pushed her face against my side underneath my arm. I sighed and laid there a while, thinking of a way to not disturb her, but slide out at the same time. A light bulb went off in my head. Lightly, I blew on her nose, mimicking what I hoped felt similar to the wings of a fly. Ginny fell for my scheme. Her arm rose on cue and I rolled right off the side of the inflatable mattress.

After scratching her nose, she grabbed my pillow and pushed her face in it. I guess I must smell that good. She even smiled whilst her eyes were shut. I gazed around the room with narrowed eyes, the sun bright. Katie was bunched up in a sleeping bag above my head. She looked rather uncomfortable with one arm bent oddly behind her head while her other lay outstretched across the floor. Cho lay on the sofa beyond Katie and beyond the coffee table. She had her back to me and snored rather loud.

I got on my knees and proceeded to yawn into elongating my figure, stretching, even tilting my head back while my arms were in the air. I heard the clink-clink of silverware to a plate in the dining room, and of course, my stomach growled at the thought of food. Don't ask me how on account that I practically ate the entire factory of Hershey's chocolate with the girls. I'm surprised I didn't wake up sick. Actually, I'm glad I didn't wake up sick as today was fairly important. Important for me and important for me and Harry.

I untied and re-tied the knot in the front of my gray lounge pants as I lifted from the floor. I slid my hands into the back of my hair and gave my strands a sifting and a bounce, trying to make it appear not as flat. I yawned and my ankle joint popped when I took my first step towards the kitchen. The only other person that could have been up is Neville, and sure enough, rounding the corner of the kitchen there he was. Neville sat at the far end of the table and glanced up at me when I entered. He had a piece of hot dog on a fork and was amidst chewing on the processed meat product.

The Quibbler, its red and black print standing out against the white of the paper held in his hand. Neville gave me a smile and set the newspaper down. After he swallowed, he said in greeting, “Good morning, `Mione. Happy Valentine's Day.”

“Mmm…,” I made a groan as the room suddenly became brighter the closer I got to Neville. Four windows, two on the left side of the wall and two behind Neville all poured forth the sun. I slid the chair out opposite of him and plopped down. I held my hands over my eyes to see him in squint, “Happy Valentine's Day.”

“Can I get you something?”

“Yeah…,” I nodded and closed my eyes. “I need my Time-Turner so I can go back and slap myself for staying up so late when I knew I had to get up this early.”

Neville laughed, “Your wish is my command, milady.”

Neville stood from his seat and folded the paper. He took up his coffee mug and took a sip. I read the words `Got Me?' on his black t-shirt and grinned. That had to have been a gift from Ginny. Neville pulled his sweat pants up and came around to me, “It's not the healthiest thing in the world, but I fried some hot dogs for breakfast. I can make eggs. We have bagels.”

I turned my head to watch him go passed me and into the adjoined kitchen. I twisted in my seat and put my arm on the back of my chair. I leaned my chin down on it and said, my eyes closing, “I'll have one of those bagels and coffee, please.”

“We only have wheat bagels.” I heard him open something and shift his hands around plastic. “That okay?”

I nodded, “It's fine.”

“Toasted or not?”

“Doesn't matter.”

My ears perked to the sound of their toaster click on and I opened my eyes to see Neville bending over in their refrigerator. He pulled out a small, circular dish and kicked the door closed with his bare foot. I flipped back around to the table and let my arms go to its surface, and then my head hide in them. It was darker in here. It felt better than all the light. I kept my ears on the noises: the leap of the bread in the toaster, the prying of plastic on plastic, the spread of a knife against the grain of the wheat, and finally, the pour of liquid.

I felt Neville's hand in my hair and glanced up to see a plated bagel with cream cheese and a cup of coffee. Beside the cup were canisters of milk and sugar. I smiled at Neville as he made his way back over to his chair, “Thank you.”

He scooted the chair against the floor as he came up to the table. He grinned, “Always a pleasure.”

I lifted my head further and gathered the bagel in front of me. I took up the coffee and poured some milk in its blackness. I shook just a little sugar in the steaming liquid and put the lip of the mug to my mouth. Perfect. I smiled, the warmth rousing me awake. I went in for another sip, and then bit down on the cream cheese bagel.

I glanced at Neville when I heard him turn a page, going onto the third page of The Quibbler. Facing out to me read the words highlighted in bold:

CAUTION: FLURGALUMUMPS ON THE LOOSE! CITIZENS OF PET GERBALS BEWARE!

Luna.

I crunched down with another bite and heard Neville ask from afar, “Any special plans today? I know Harry must have something up his sleeve for you.”

I shook my head, my lips on the mug of coffee, “He won't tell me. I have that appointment today, and then he's going to whisk me off somewhere.”

“Any ideas?”

“I could guess, but I'd probably be wrong,” I laughed in the mug. “He likes surprising me.”

“I bet he does,” Neville stifled a laugh and took up his own mug.

He winked at me.

I smiled and thought of the many places Harry could take me. There were too many to count. I mean, we could always go back to our first official date at the restaurant, Mi Amor. We could walk down the beach, but it's snowing. Maybe he planned something special at the house? Maybe…yeah, I don't know. Whatever he had locked in his head was bound in chains and bolted shut. He wouldn't unzip his lips for anything. A part of me wanted to be surprised, so I only pushed it so far until I gave up.

A knock on the door startled me. I didn't know why someone would knock when they could ring the doorbell until I realized…

I shot back around at Neville. He was beginning to get up, “What time is it?”

“Eleven,” he pushed his chair in and took his mug with him into the kitchen.

I groaned.

Harry had come to pick me up and I wasn't any close to being ready. I peered at my pajamas, took a long sip of the coffee and stood up in my spot. I heard the front door open and Neville exchange a “Good morning” to the voice I loved to hear. Gradually, I walked the hallway towards the door. Neville slipped back and closed the door behind him. Standing before me was my shaggy-haired blonde. I grinned at him and he smiled.

“Happy Valentine's Day,” Harry had his hands in his jean pockets. “Ready?”

When I got to him, I pulled one of his hands out and interlaced my fingers within his. I tippy-toed and planted a kiss on his lips, “I just woke up… I'll be ready in two shakes.”

“Yeah,” Neville yawned into a fist and pushed on around me and Harry. “They were up for a while. If I didn't have that muffle charm handy, I think I would have gone insane from lack of sleep.”

Harry chuckled, “Loud was it?”

I wrapped my arms around Harry's neck and laid my face in the crook. I smelled of his sweet pumpkin scent and closed my eyes. I think I fell asleep, or dozed, having to be wiggled back to a conscious state of mind. He was so warm and I…was so tired.

“Go get dressed,” he whispered to me. “You know how those people are at St. Mungo's if you're just the teensiest bit late.”

***

There really was only one thing different from a Muggle hospital than in the confines of St. Mungo's and that was the smell. Whereas most Muggle hospitals had no smell, or the smell of ammonia chemicals to know that they were clean, St. Mungo's smelled of sweets. If one didn't know this was a hospital when they took a step inside, one might think they were stepping into a lively bakery. Sometimes the smell was rather off-putting. I guess they wanted to comfort the patients by all their senses, but I'd think going into any form of surgery with the smell of a strong grape jelly doughnut wouldn't be too pleasurable.

I sat in one of the rooms awaiting my doctor. I knew he was going to ask me to sit up on the table, and did it before he asked me. Harry wasn't with me. I'd asked him stay put. The last time he nearly had a heart attack over some of the things that were said aloud about my condition. He was protective, and he thought he hadn't protected me in my time of need enough. He thought he let me down and beat himself up over it. I didn't want him to inflict a suffering upon himself when we both knew what he feared and what he believed wasn't true.

I would play with my cropped white shirt and pull at it around my thighs to straighten the fabric. Clad in black leather, my legs shone in random places every so often against the lights. I adjusted the four large, round buttons on my black vest so that only the two middle buttons fastened together, allowing the top and bottom to fight to pull away. My hands were busy with the bracelets along my wrist when I glanced at the door through one eye, my brunette hair having fallen over my left of course. Someone had knocked and I knew who that someone was.

A tall, dark-haired, handsome older man stepped into the room with a pearly-white smile on his face. He was tanned, and it stood out amongst his blue robes. He had his hand around both a clipboard and wand when he closed the door behind him with the other.

“Miss Granger!” I took hold of a chair with wheels and pulled it up toward me. He sat down in it and put his hand out to me.

“Good afternoon, Doctor Stevens,” I shook his hand. Doctor Stevens took over where Doctor Stone left off. Rightfully so, too, as St. Mungo's was closer than New York City. He is a Cardio-Healer, the wizarding world's version of a cardiologist. He spent years, like Muggles, practicing methods and presenting ideologies to his school. He'd transferred to St. Mungo's from San Francisco, so he had that American twang in his accent. He was like one of the “boy toys” of the hospital. Every female doctor and nurse knew who Doctor Alexander Stevens was. For forty-one year old man, he was very attractive.

“Just in for a check-up, yes,” he nodded as he flipped sheet after sheet on his clipboard. He peered up at me, “So, how's the ol' ticker doing today?”

I placed my hand above my heart, “Pumping away as it should be.”

“Good, good…,” Dr. Stevens rolled over to a countertop full of medicinal potions, cotton balls, tongue depressors, and the like. He went to grab a quill and make a few marks on the sheets of paper. “Any shortness of breath? Any tickling feelings?”

I shook my head, my legs swinging off the side of the patient bed, “Uh uh… Nope.”

“Excellent,” he grinned as he scratched his last word and dipped the quill back into an ink vial. He rolled right back over to me. He laid out his hand, and because we've done this prior, I knew what he wanted me to do. I held out my hand, forearm turned, and he loosely gripped my wrist. He checked the time on his watch and held me still a moment. “According to the tests we ran, the Muggle medication seems to be doing its job perfectly. Any side-effect symptoms at all? Nauseous? Lack of sleep?”

“Not at all. Everything seems to be fine,” his hand was cold on the warmth of my wrist.

“Excellent, very good,” He slipped his stethoscope pieces in his ears and went to stand up. “Then, this is going to be a quick check-up then.”

I straightened my posture and Dr. Stevens slipped the pad of the stethoscope on my chest after warming it with his breath, “Which is probably well and all. Who'd want to be here on Valentine's Day, eh? Deep breath, Miss Granger, please.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly.

“Once more, please,” he asked, shifting the placement of the pad around in a circular motion.

I did as instructed, an inhale and then a soft exhale.

“Wonderful,” He slid the pad to my back and listened. “A pretty girl like you must have plans for today other than keeping me company?”

He laughed and I smiled up at him.

“Another breath, please.”

I breathed in, and when I did, I felt that light-headedness I've grown used to within these appointments. I felt the room sway in my eyes, a wave of pressure in my head subsiding into a high sensation. I had to blink my eyes to gather myself back and twist in my seat to relieve me from feeling in the clouds; get my blood flowing again.

I nodded my head as he slid the pad down my back, “I do, but he won't tell me where exactly. He wants to surprise me.”

“What a lucky fellow,” Dr. Stevens unattached himself from my back and removed the stethoscope from his ears. He pulled it from him and laid it about his neck. He sat down and rolled back over to the counter to scribble and jot more notes. He questioned while writing, “James, right?”

“Excuse me?”

“James?” He turned to examine my curious eyes. “Isn't the name of the man you've been bringing in named James? He's you're boyfriend, right?”

Everything dawned on me. Duh. Wake up Hermione, dear. I nodded quickly, “Yes, James. Yeah, he likes to keep me in the dark. I think he likes watching me squirm when I don't know what he's up to.”

Dr. Stevens rotated back in front of the counter and smiled. I could hear the scratch of the quill as he wrote, “Sometimes I wish we could concoct a potion or a spell and rid sweet people like you from these damn illnesses.”

“Wouldn't that be helpful,” I snickered. “But, I am feeling great. No more tickling feelings, no more fluttering.”

“But the fact that you have to take a darn pill every day…,” he sighed and tapped the point of the quill to make his last period. He dropped the feather back in the vial and turned to me. “Ready to check out that heart of yours?”

“It's already that time?”

“I told you that I wouldn't keep you waiting. Besides, your figures look spot on. No sense in keeping you and your boyfriend away from this day of love.”

“I only wish I knew where I was going a half hour from now,” I laughed through my nose and scooted farther onto the bed. I adjusted my attire, pulling at the line of my shirt and the black leather pants beneath. I glanced down and saw the rounded point of my Converses and lay back against the cold, thin mattress. A brow rose, and I thought… I really need to wash my shoes. They were getting a little filthy.

“I'm sure it'll be fantastic,” Dr. Stevens rose from the seat and took out his wand. I glanced over at him when he asked, “Would you like for me to call James in so he can see what's going on, too?”

“Yes, please,” I tried to pull the strands of hair away from my left eye only to have them fall back. “He'd like to know, too.”

I watched as Dr. Stevens placed his willow wood wand against his throat. He smiled at me before reciting in the air, “Advoco Khloe.”

The room suddenly grew a female voice, “This is Khloe.”

Dr. Stevens kept the wand prodded into his neck, “Khloe, this is Dr. Stevens in room 717 with patient Miss Hermione Jane Granger.”

“Ah, yes, I see that Dr. Stevens,” the room replied back. “Do you need assistance?”

“Not assistance, but I need for someone to go down to the waiting area and call for James—“ Dr. Stevens glanced at me.

I promptly said, “Evans.”

“James Evans, please. Tell him that Miss Granger and I need to see him, but tell him not to worry. Nothing's wrong. He's quite the worry-wart, don't spook him.”

I smirked and lay there patiently, staring up at the ceiling which had been enchanted to resemble dawn.

“Right away, sir.” I heard a clicking noise, and then the room went silent.

Dr. Stevens lowered his wand from his throat and put it atop his paperwork. He wrapped his arms alongside his chest and crossed his legs while standing against the counter, “He'll be in here shortly.”

Dr. Stevens liked to discuss with me about Hogwarts. He'd heard wonderful things about the institution from all the way back in the States. He never got a chance to go and would ask me about classes, my time there, what the activities were. I told him Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, the four houses—which he exclaimed reminded him of the fraternities and sororities in the school he went to—and Quidditch. He was a huge Quidditch fan, and I'd try to give him details as I knew very little compared to people like Harry who lived the sport.

“The US Quidditch team gets their behinds handed to them every Tournament,” Dr. Stevens laughed. Someone knocked on the door and he turned his head from me. As he walked over to open it up, he laughed again and said, “I wonder what they're feeding you guys over here to kick our butts two hundred twenty to seventy in the last exhibition game.”

I shrugged and went to move up to get a better look at who was coming in the door. I saw a thin redhead with a white robe draped on her body. She smiled, and lingered on Dr. Stevens every word when he approached her. She widened the door and I could see the face I always longed to see. Shaggy blonde curls and blue eyes, he stood behind the redhead and peeked over her shoulder to grin at me. I waved at him, lifting from the bed. Finally, the redhead and Dr. Stevens having blocked the blonde from my sight let him in and at once he went right to my side.

I smirked as I lay back down on the bed. My stare remained on his darkened cerulean irises. He felt of my stomach, examining me as if I really had gotten hurt, and then slipped along my side. He bent down, his hand stroking across my cheek, and kissed me gently. When he left me, he stayed less than an inch above me and grinned. I couldn't help but be addicted, grinning back. He felt of the strands of brown covering my left eye carefully.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

I sighed and nodded. He had left my heart pitter-pattering.

He gazed at the features of my face, and then smiled into my eyes. He moved up and across me, planting a caress on my forehead. I shivered. He could do that to me.

“Mr. Evans?”

Harry shot around and glanced at Dr. Stevens. Dr Stevens had his hand out and Harry caught it within his, shaking, “Hello again, Dr. Stevens. How's my girl doing?”

“Splendid,” he shook Harry firm and I watched them let go. “We're actually almost done for the day. Don't want to keep you love-rascals from the holiday.”

“Now that was quick,” he looked at me and I nodded in agreement. He flicked his head around to Dr. Stevens. “What's next then?”

Dr. Stevens went around the room tapping here and tapping there by the tip of his wand. Several individual spotlights turned on and the room began to dim, “I thought you would like to be present when I examine her heart.”

Dr. Stevens strolled behind Harry. The doctor went to move around him and Harry stepped back to give him more room. My eyes flickered from the swiftness of his wand. The tip gradually came full circle, a white trail of light appearing above my chest. The light pulsated for a moment, beating with the drum of my heart. This became the most interesting part as suddenly, from amongst the rotating circle the doctor created came forth a tiny bluish object from the centre.

Dr. Stevens gave it a poke with the wand, and then slid the wand behind his ear. The blue object emitted a strobe of its own colour, giving off its crystal blue streaks along the walls and along our clothes. The light shined off from Harry's eyes when I looked at him. He smiled at me, and I grinned back as Dr. Steven's took the blue object between his both thumbs and both index fingers. He pinched, holding it tight and persuaded the blue object further out. The object grew before our eyes until I saw, before me, my heart in a three-dimensional space.

The muscle beat in real-time. The blood pumped in real-time. You could see every artery, every vein, and every valve that opened and closed. Dr. Stevens slipped his hands above and below the holographic image and turned it slightly, removing the wand from his ear.

“This right here,” he held out his wand and traced a line through my heart. “That's where the curse went through her like a bullet.”

A darkened line from one end of the muscle to the next drove right through the upper left portion of my heart. The line, against the rest of the image, stood out. The line shouldn't be there. The line was considered “abnormal,” the reason behind my passing out. Dolohov did a number on me back at the Department of Mysteries.

“I've said this before to both of you,” I watched my heart revolve above my chest. “It's a miracle that she's even alive. We know only a few cases where people have escaped a curse like this.”

Dr. Stevens glanced at me while marveling over the image, his dark eyes sparkling blue, “You must really had had a will to live, Miss Granger. The last case I came across similar to this was with a woman who had six children and she was determined to stay alive for their sake.”

I looked between the magical hologram and Harry. I flashed him a smile and he grinned. Slowly, Harry leaned in and acted as if he were stroking my heart, touching the side of the hologram. My heart throbbed a beat when I saw how careful, caring he was when he touched that piece of me. Harry smirked at me, and I felt a little embarrassed, feeling warm at the cheeks.

See what you do to me, Harry?

***

Claire, our waitress, meandered through the maze of chairs and tables. She had her hand above her head with a tray on the pads of her fingers. Harry and I sat in a tiny, intimate table away from the throng of people beside a window in the corner of Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop. Harry still had a little pink confetti in his blonde locks from when we entered and golden cherubs sprinkled us profusely with the colour. I was leaned gently against the edge of the table, sifting through his hair of the confetti, when Claire startled me by saying:

“Worst holiday ever!”

“Busy?” Harry asked sarcastically.

Claire bunched her face up. She tossed her brown hair back, the strands in a ponytail and said in a whine, “Just a little…”

“Sorry for being just one more customer,” I exclaimed, feeling bad as Claire looked exhausted. As she should, what with couple after couple coming in from the snow asking to be seated. I didn't know when they'd stop coming, really; every time the bell rang and the cherubs threw confetti, another couple would emerge from the entrance. The tables were stocked.

Claire sighed, “At least I can actually talk to you guys. Mr. and Ms. Lip-Locker over there haven't come up for air and its bordering on disgusting.”

She motioned over at a young couple, probably from Hogwarts, wrapped together quite close with their mouths pressed together. I thought they were cute, innocent, and I wished that I'd been that way back when I was their age. When I turned around and was greeted back with Harry's smile, I thought, well, at least I'm making up for lost time. I smirked when Harry winked at me.

Claire set down a large milk chocolate and peanut butter shake for one with two straws. She then set down a pizza pie. The aroma immediately brought saliva to my mouth. Melted white chocolate that resembled a cheese coating on the bread with a dark chocolate drizzle upon freshly cut sliced strawberries. The pizza was just enough for the two of us, divided into four equal triangles.

“Do you guys need anything else?” Claire asked, dropping the tray to her side when it was empty.

Both Harry and I shook our heads.

Claire winked at us, “Enjoy.”

I felt my left hand, which lay on the table, being held. His warmth gradually pulled me back in focus with him and I stared into his blue, twinkling eyes. I smirked, allowing the tip-toe of my boots to make a trail down one of his legs below the table top. He smirked at me and interlaced his fingers softly with mine. I grasped his hand loosely and took up my fork. I cut into the pizza, making sure to get a large, sweet chunk of a strawberry and glided the utensil to my mouth. I bit the part of the pie and let the mixture dissolve. I closed my eyes, loving the essence of the chocolate with the natural taste of the sugary fruit before swallowing. I re-opened them to see Harry tilted forward.

“Was it good?”

I nodded, the curls around my face bouncing freely, “Words cannot describe the taste… Merlin…”

Harry smiled, “Happy Valentine's, Hermione.”

We didn't have to lean too far to get at each other, the table tiny in length, so when I did lean I could catch his lips without much effort. I kissed him briefly and smiled, retreating back coyly. For a moment, I felt as if I was in Hogwarts and Harry—Harry was my first love. I could feel him lacing and re-lacing his fingers amongst mine, tickling me just enough to keep me roused.

“I'm surprised we're even here…,” I said in a whisper. We were always in whisper when it came to times like these. “Is this the `big reveal'?”

Harry shook his head, “Not quite… I just needed to feed you and what better place to know than Puddifoot?”

I grinned and asked slyly, my fork cutting into more of the white and dark chocolate strawberry pizza, “Do you take all your girlfriends here, James?”

“Nope…,” he answered, watching me poke the prongs of the fork into the pie. “Only the one I love gets this treatment.”

I moved the piece to his mouth and fed him the bite. I smiled, observing him chew through the one eye I could see from, “…I have study hall between Potions and Charms. I was thinking we could hang out on the lawn after? Maybe do a walk around the lake?”

Harry grinned and I could see his pearly whites dazzle in the subtle candlelight, “…I'd really enjoy that. But what about the Defense essay?”

Harry took up my hand and caressed the top. I blushed, my hand lightly over my mouth to keep my grin suppressed. I batted my eyelashes playfully and he snickered. I leaned in and met him halfway. Our lips touched, our wetness mingling across the middle of the table. A slight smacking sound came from us when he pressed into me and then released. When he relaxed back in his seat, he asked, “Would you like to go to the Quidditch game with me on Friday?”

“I absolutely would love to!” I could feel my dimples in the sides of my cheeks and laughed when he turned a little red. I bit my bottom lip. Harry looked utterly adorable when he'd shy away from me. He was wearing this sweater-khaki ensemble that fit trim to his figure. Even though we were going on like we were students in puppy love, I felt the twinge and excitement each and every time we met with eye contact as if we really were like the students around us. “…Though, we're studying for the Potions exam in the Commons after.”

“'Studying', hm?” Harry lifted an eyebrow and winked.

“Mhmm…,” I gently giggled. “All alone…in the Commons…beside the fireplace…”

Harry leaned in again, and I fell along with him. I felt his hand cradle the side of my face and I lay into his palm. Our kiss was tender, affectionate. Our lips stayed on one another, lightly tasting, lightly pushing into the pink softness. When we released, I nudged my nose alongside his. He smiled, our faces floating together, until I kissed him briefly, making him push back into my lips when mine came away.

We were smiling when we finally became aware again. Caught up in the moment I laughed and caressed his cheek. I let my hand comb through his messy blonde hair and kissed him once more.

***

We took a stroll through Hogsmeade after our romantic late lunch at Madam Puddifoot's. Harry had his hand secured on mine. Our leather gloves fit perfectly together. I'd gaze down at them clasping together and grin. Did I mention how giddy I was? A tint of red plastered every niche and crevice of the busy town, and on the even more busy streets budding with loving couples. Paper hearts were strung across the brick buildings, draping down among the guests. From everywhere a romantic tune played constantly. Performers were stopping people to pull a rose out of someone's ear or to produce candy hearts from people's coat pockets from thin air.

Underneath my history, what I've been through, the untainted girl from my youth remained. I unlocked the cage; rather, Harry assisted in unlocking the cage that life had chained and set aside. Snow lightly fell onto the streets, children ran around us laughing, people sang in chorus—and here I was with Harry simply enjoying the beautiful day. I tightened the grip of Harry's hand and looked over at him. He smiled at me, and then quickly yanked me into an alleyway away from the masses.

We didn't move far in. He stopped. I stopped. He turned to me with that smirk and pushed me against the brick wall beside me. He kissed me, his hands going to my hips beneath my white woolen trench coat. I grinned and nipped at his bottom lip. I held onto his chest gently, his chest covered by his own black trench coat. He blinked at me as he pulled away and I fought to see his eyes. I bit at my lip and relaxed against the wall he had me on, my boot digging into the foot of snow on the ground.

“Ready?”

“For…?” I cocked an eyebrow, but when he smirked at me it began to make sense. “Ohh… The surprise!”

He shook his head and stepped to me until we touched. I felt his fingers sink into my waist. My mind instantly went into the gutter—thanks Gin. For a second, I thought…sex? Here? Public? That's not Harry… He didn't move at all after stepping to me, our eyes locked as one, single link. I'm glad I didn't ask him through what I thought…don't ask me why I even thought of it…because he said, finally, breaking the silence that had me on pins and needles, “I'm taking you somewhere.”

“Somewhere?” my voice fell out in a gasp. I hadn't known I held my breath. Then, I felt the flush of my cheeks and had to look away.

I felt his leathery glove on my chin as he slowly pulled me back to him. He grinned, his cerulean eyes trained on me, “Yes, somewhere quite special…to us.”

I nodded. Of course I was. I'd follow him anywhere. “I'm ready,” I breathed.

“We're apparating,” he announced, really holding onto my hips. “Hang on.”

I grasped the front of his trench coat firm and felt the falling sensation. The ground below us slipped away and suddenly, we were sucked from our alleyway into ripples of colour. I tried to find Harry amongst the flash of the rainbow, but the current of the transportation held me to my spot. I could only lower my head to his body, feeling a little sick after I conflicted with the departure to see him. I heard his and my pop, and then the ground come back under our feet.

I sighed in relief, blinking twice. I looked up from Harry's chest and glanced to the right, and then to the left. I heard people all around us. We'd landed in another alleyway, dirtier with a yellow rubbish bin that smelled awful nearby. I felt Harry move which made me come to him. He grabbed my hand and winked at me, pulling me with him onto the sidewalk and street.

I knew exactly where we were the second I took a step from the alley.

“King's Cross?”

“King's Cross,” he gestured with the incline of his head.

Harry kept pulling me through the lines of people. We'd gone into the building in haste, too much haste; something was up. Harry had something obviously on his mind. I didn't even remember running this fast to catch the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of the school year as much as I loved the train trip. Line after line we went through, civilians awaiting to board their trains and the sounds of whistles for when one came in and another went out. People started to stare when our feet picked up the pace.

“Why are we in such a hurry?” I was glancing around at the bystanders when I plowed right into the back of him. “Oww…”

Harry flipped around after stumbling. I was rubbing my nose, the brunt of where I hit him. He immediately began examining me, running his hand alongside my face, “Are you okay?”

I shook my head, “Yeah…,” I sneezed in reflex of smashing my nose.

“Bless you,” he replied, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing under my nose.

I smiled at him and shot a glimpse at the sign to our left. The sign read, “Platform Nine”. My eyes went to the right where another sign read, “Platform Ten”. My heart began to flutter. All of a sudden a rush of memories flooded my mind. I saw pictures, quick, fast, photographs of me with my family running straight on through to catch the train to Hogwarts. I skipped around the platform beyond Muggle view with the fresh scent of new books and parchment bundled in my arms. I was carefree, unblemished and basking in the thrill ride of going into the education I excitedly wanted to be a part of. Back then, Hogwarts was a haven in which I thrived. I was saddened when it was all over.

“Come on,” Harry said, taking my hand again after fixing me back up.

We headed a bit off-kilter from the centre. We were going to slam face-first into the brick if we were normal. But, when our bodies should have hit, a new, opened platform came into view. People in cloaks, people in robes, people in everyday-wear walked the lines and—I couldn't believe it when I saw it, stunned—the fire-engine red and black striped Hogwarts Express bellowing white smoke from its exhaust pipe with a toot-toot.

“Harry…,” my mind swirled with endless possibilities. Why was Hogwarts Express here when the students were at Hogwarts? Why did we come to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters anyway? Why were we in such a rush? Were we…but, we could have done this without having to apparate. If we were going to Hogwarts by train… “…Are we going to Hogwarts?

I heard Harry chuckle in front of me, “Not quite.”

He stopped, and this time I was vigilant to his halt. I peeked around him at the tooting Hogwarts Express, shining brilliantly its coat of glossy, red paint to the world. We'd didn't move for a moment. My head swished from the left, and then to the right. I realized we were in the middle of the platform…and butterflies quickly appeared in my stomach. My breathing pace increased when I felt the tight clasp of Harry's hand before he swirled around to smile at me.

I just looked up at him, speechless. Is this? Is…

Harry slipped his hand away from mine and shoved it into the pocket of his coat. I watched him, following him, gathering as much data of his movements as I could as if I calculated him like a mathematical equation.

I felt the body heat rise under my coat.

Harry got down on one knee.

My eyes widened.

His blue eyes never left mine the slightest.

My knees shook.

In his hand he held a small, velvet box in his palm.

The world became blurry. My head felt light. If I didn't know what was going on, I'd think someone had slipped something into our milkshake at Madam Puddifoot's.

“Hermione Jane Granger…,” Harry began.

I gulped. My throat had gone dry.

I think I'm going to be sick.

People started to stop and stare.

“From the moment I first met you in Hogwarts, I thought you were special. You had this…you had this ability to keep my head straight and not let me over-inflate. You kept me safe and secure, at ease, with your intelligence, your brilliance, and your beauty. These past four months of my life have been the best four months of my entire life. I've grown leaps and bounds in loving you, and now, more than ever, I love you with all my heart.”

I kind of swayed.

I couldn't feel my fingers, my toes, I couldn't feel anything—gone numb from head to feet.

In that instance, right there in the middle of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, I saw us—me and Harry—as our eleven year old selves once again. I started to cry and I tried to fight my tears back, my hand over my mouth as I watched Harry pull back the velvet lid to show me the three-studded diamond, platinum engagement ring in the centre.

He had a smile on his face.

“I love you. I'll always love you. I want to love you, forever.”

I stuttered a breath, my stutter echoing off the walls of the platform. I could barely see Harry through the water in my sight.

“Hermione Jane Granger…,” Harry, with twinkles in his eyes, kept his wonderfully beautiful smile confidently. “Will you marry me?”

I closed my eyes. I couldn't, wouldn't fight my emotions anymore and let tear after tear trickle down my cheek. I opened my eyes and wiped them of my water, to get the view of my beloved Harry on his knee with the ring. I shook my head, and kept shaking it, my dark brown curls going awry along the frame of my face.

“Yes,” I removed my hand from my lips to speak, my words coming out in a whisper. “Yes, Harry—I'll marry you…!”

He grinned and took my hand tenderly in his own. I stopped any action, any movement, no blinks, no breathing—nothing—to watch him carefully slide the diamond onto my ring finger. He glanced up at me as he did and sighed, his chest heaving. He stood up and an uproar of applause occurred surrounding us. Everyone in attendance around us, who observed the proposal, clapped and cheered.

Harry got off the floor and wrapped his arms around me in a tight embrace. He lifted me right off the platform, my arms going around his neck, and he kissed me. My hands went into his black crow's nest where I held him to me, kissing him as hard as he kissed me.

It hit me while I kissed him. Something in my brain switched `On'.

Wait!

“Harry!” I shouted in whisper when he put me down gently on the floor. “You're hair!”

His smile faded, “My hair?”

He slid his hand through his hair. He looked at the hand, loose, raven colour having come off and his eyes widened.

Both our heads turned when we heard people hollering:

“It's Harry Potter!!!”

“It's the One!!”

“The Boy Who Lived!! He's here!!!”

Cameras began flickering on us. I had to shield my eyes against the rapid, flashing white light bulbs going off. I buried my face into Harry's chest and he held onto me, placing a hand to cover me away from the media encroaching in on us. With instantaneous movement, what with apparating and other fast forms of travel, word spread quickly and suddenly we were swarmed with blood-sucking locust: the wizarding paparazzi.

The paparazzi enclosed around us, barring the door, the exit out off the platform. I felt Harry push me, walking quick as he pried our way through people tugging at us and asking personal, rude questions:

“Hey! Hey!! Potter! Is this your new Bon-Bon?!”

“Chosen Boy! How's it feel to finally be a real wizard?!”

“Harry! For the Daily Prophet, how's life after Voldemort?! How're those nightmares about your parents?!”

“Where have you been hiding, The Boy Who Lived?! Scared ol' Voldie will be back?!”

“Whatever happened to that redheaded arm candy you left Hogwarts with?!”

Someone tried to grab my arm and pull me away from Harry like a ragdoll. I couldn't see at all, huddled along Harry who wrapped tighter around me when the person decided to take it upon himself to invade our bubble. He jolted, and I heard scuffling of feet and a camera break against the cement. He must have pushed whoever tried to grab me, the crowd around us drawing breaths and retreating to the fallen media.

“Back off her!!” Harry barked. “I swear, if you fucking touch her again…”

“Take that down, Margerie! `Potter, the Violent'! Guess ol' Voldie's nemesis has gone onto the Dark Side!”

“Maybe he's not so special after all!”

I went to turn my face away for a split second only to be shot, blinded by a white flash and smoke in my eyes. I jumped at the sound of the camera-click. The foul odor of an impoverished heave, a chuckle, someone's revolting breath hit my face like the weight of a thousand Galleons. Red and purple splotches lingered in my sight and I couldn't see, the snapshot taking over my sight. I put my hands over my face and withdrew back into Harry's chest. He tried to bulldoze our way through, to the exit, but was stopped by bodies shouting more meaningless, cheeky “questions” over the soiree of tumultuous voices calling us to answer. Eventually my ears perked to the sound of louder voices from afar. The platform security sure did take their time getting around to helping us. I guess our intimate life could wait on account of their busy schedule of standing around.

The second I knew we breeched back into the Muggle world of King's Cross, Harry embraced me with all his might. I felt us dropping, the terra sliding out from under us once more. Shifts in momentum, an acceleration of speed, the wind blew in my hair until the finale of it all when everything died down. I felt a wet spot on the top of my head. Harry's arms were still hugging me tight when I pulled from him and saw a snowflake drifting lazily down to me.

I gazed around us and knew by the lamplights, the manufactured hedges, the crosswalks that we were in front of Number Twelve: our only safe haven. My eyes went to Harry, his black hair blowing and his jade-green eyes gazing back at me. His scar had re-appeared from the cosmetic potion I had brewed for him before going to Ginny's. We hadn't wanted him to be noticed in St. Mungo's.

I smiled at his frown. He looked as if to cry. I stood erect, on my tip-toes and kissed him.

“I love you,” I grazed the point of my nose along his.

He just continued to stare at me with lifeless eyes. I sighed. I knew what he was thinking… An invasion on our most private of our private times together. I glanced at my hands on his chest, the engagement ring on my finger, and smiled back up at him. His demeanor hadn't changed. I wrapped around him, my arms along his waist and rubbed my cheek against his chest.

I closed my eyes.

I couldn't be happier right now. Even after the damn paparazzi.

Harry… Harry had asked me to marry him.

I sighed contently… I felt… More than words.

“Sorry…,” his voice trailed off melancholy. He placed his hands on my back and massaged, rubbing the length up and down. “I'm sorry they swarmed us right when they did. Damn it…”

Part of his lip curled and he looked as if he were about to bite, becoming a rabid dog from the visuals of the offensive press awash in his mind.

I shook my head against him and kissed his chest. I held him on me, pressed against him, my fingers interlocking together beside his back. Only when I took him by the hand and pulled him forward down the walkway to Number Twelve, our masses magically disappearing, did he uproot from his rigid, murderous stance.

***

“Hey…,” I called out to Harry while pulling my hair back into a bun. I wrapped a gray scrunchie around the dampened ball and kind of frayed the tassels outward, making it full. The usual strands of hair fell over my left eye right when I nearly ran into Harry. I was coming from upstairs, having showered and relaxed, and he had just come back from getting dinner.

Harry looked at me with his shoulders slumped. In his hands held two white plastic bags with the words, “Thank You” written in red. “…Yeah?”

My midnight blue shirt to my knees lightly tapped against a pair of black spandex pants. “Don't allow them to get to you.”

Harry sighed, glancing from me. He went on ahead into the living area and sank into the sofa. The ruffling of the plastic reverberated off the walls as he set the two bags on a side table. “…But, of all the times it could have happened, it had to happen right then. And, our private life is going to be smeared in the Daily Prophet tomorrow. Rita's really going to do a number on us.”

I saw him yank down the sides of the bags. Two large, squared styrofoam dishes appeared. Four smaller styrofoam containers sat atop them, round in shape. The aroma of sweet and spicy immediately filled the room. I stood a moment and watched him angrily pry the meal from the plastic and bunch up the bags and toss them aside. I plopped right down beside him, scooting so we touched.

“Hey,” I said again.

He stopped and turned, staring. His eyes had life in them, but the life expressed animosity, resentment, a gloss covering the twinkles I loved to see dance within them.

I leaned in and kissed him, and told him after, keeping my eyes settled intently on his, “I'm serious… Don't let that ruin your day. It hasn't ruined mine. Rita's an old coot. I say let her ramble. She has nothing else better to do in her pathetic life, anyway.”

I felt of the engagement ring on my finger with my thumb and grinned at him.

He couldn't resist my smile and smiled back as much as I knew he hadn't wanted to. The twinkles materialized, and I knew I'd struck some sense back into him. I didn't enjoy seeing Harry lament because of his history. He didn't ask to be born in a world where people would kill to sell his actual arm on eBay. He peered back at the containers and popped the latches open, “You wanted shrimp stir fry, right?”

I tilted over his hands, unwrapping black plastic utensils and handing them over to me. I took them and said, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, “Mhmm… Did you get the soy sauce?”

He lifted ketchup-looking packets of brownish-black liquid.

“I also ordered orange chicken, bourbon chicken, vegan egg rolls and an extra side of white rice.”

“And rented…?”

Harry held up the DVD case while ripping away a corner of a soy sauce packet with his teeth. He poured it over his own beef stir fry as I did with mine, “Braveheart.”

I smirked, “Ooo… Nice—Mel Gibson. I like.”

Harry went to get up, but halted. I gazed at him with my smirk still on. “…Should I turn it back in? I can get my money back if we didn't like it before midnight.”

I laughed, examining the motions of his body while he went ahead and placed the DVD in its player, “Aww… I'll be completely enraptured by you…”

Harry turned around and came back toward me and the sofa. He fell back with the remote in his hand and took up his stir fry. He'd scooped out some orange chicken and bourbon chicken, placing the meat in one tidy corner of the styrofoam. He grinned and watched me from the side. I took up the circular styrofoam can of egg rolls and placed it in-between my legs, scooting my bum towards him so my backside rested between his legs.

I reached back and grabbed the handheld from the table and gathered it as I got my larger box of fried rice and seafood. “That is…” I resumed from before. “Whenever Mel isn't on the screen…”

“That's it!” Harry gently, playfully pushed on me as if to get up.

I yanked him back down, “Sit!” I giggled.

Harry hit the `Play' button on the remote and set it aside. He curled himself around me in his lap and had a forkful of his stir fry in his mouth when I turned the camera on to record. He mumbled, looking away to swallow. I chuckled, falling back to relax against my lover.

“The camera.” He stated.

“The camera,” I proclaimed. “Dun dun dun…”

“What are we taping today?”

I had the lens at arm's length to capture us both in the frame, “A handsome man and his new fiance.” I smiled into the camera.

“Isn't it more like, `Beauty and the Beast'?”

I bumped him with my elbow on purpose, “My `Prince Charming'.”

“Okay, okay…” Harry put his chin on my shoulder and gazed into the camera with me.

“Today was amazing…,” I said to the device. “Dr. Stevens reiterated the same brilliant results of my heart test. He doesn't see anything for me in the future. No more problems, no more tickles, no more flutters… But, more importantly, today was Valentine's Day, 2000…and…”

I felt Harry tighten his grip around me in response to what he knew was coming.

I held up my hand, the three-studded diamond ring glittering amongst the fire in the hearth. An enormous smile crept onto my face, “I was proposed to… I'm engaged to a wonderful man.”

Harry kissed my neck and I could feel his nose graze the tender, sensitive skin.

Twisting my head towards him, I looked on with a smirk, “You know you're going to have to top this next year.”

For a minute, Harry stared forward. Then, a wickedly evil smirk crossed his face. He gazed back at me and said, “Well… I've gotten an idea already…”

“Oh really?” I held the camera steady on us.

“Most definitely…,” He had set his box down on the side table and reached to me. Placing his hand carefully on my cheek, he drew me to him. He kissed me hard, passionately; I could feel the heat resonating from his mouth between my lips. He nearly took the breath straight from me.

I wobbled, swayed when we removed ourselves. Dazed, I closed my eyes and smirked. Pushing up farther in his lap, his arms wrapping around my waist, I smiled into the electronics aimed perfectly to seize from hips northward and announced breathlessly, “I'm one very, very happy fiance…”

I held the hand that the ring was slipped onto at the camera. Harry grabbed me again as I lifted the hand. I put my palm on the hand he drew me to him once more and he kissed me, gathering all of me within the strength of his arms and didn't let me go.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Hello Sunshine by Super Furry Animals, More Than Words by Extreme, and Send Me an Angel by Real Life}

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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: I've decided to treat these “chapters” like “episodes”. What I mean is: The first fifteen or so chapters were centered on Harry to a certain stage (my `First Season') and now we're currently in Hermione's part of the story (my `Second Season'). Makes it easier to write, visualizing like so. This chapter is 1. In response to the proposal and what unfolded after, 2. Hermione's direction, and 3. a bridge into the next. Also - wow - almost 30,000 hits total for my fic! That's rather cool, especially for this being my first public endeavor.

***

Chapter Seventeen - Ambition

***

Emilie Granger, bubbles up to her forearms, splashed a bit of the water on the surrounding counter as she picked a plate out of the sink and rinsed off the suds. She handed the plate to me, wiping her cheek along her plum shirt clad on her shoulder. She had rolled up her sleeves, like I did, to her elbows in earnest not to completely soak herself while washing after dinner. The two-panel window in front of us fed off the misty, cool air. The day grew warmer than the past few, the snow melting from the increase in temperature.

With a brand new ivory dish rag, I left the plate spotless in my fingertips and set the ceramic in the cupboard. Traipsing on back to my mummy as if I were twelve again, I shuffled right back against her and took yet another plate in my hands.

“That was an excellent ham and spinach casserole, mum,” a grin creased my lips as I mimicked the one across my mother's. “I wish I could showcase the brilliant cooking you've taught me to Harry, but he runs me off whenever I get close to the stove.”

Emilie chuckled, “It's nice to hear he takes care of you as always. But, he seemed a little tense tonight…”

Mum took another plate and submerged its essence within the cooling aqua.

She narrowed her eyes when she glanced at me from the side, “Both of you did.”

My eyes went wide at her statement. I had to look away. I knew exactly why Harry acted tense. Why I acted withdrawn. Harry had asked to come over to my parent's to ask them, especially daddy as to how forthcoming he is about me, for a blessing. He expressed to me how he wished he'd done it prior to asking me for my hand; but, he couldn't get the Hogwarts Express to come any later. They needed the train back at Hogwarts the sooner the better for maintenance purposes.

I hid the ring from sight in my pocket. Not that I did not think daddy or mum would approve of Harry, for he was already like their “son” and they treated him so, but I did not want to give my parents a heart attack if for some wild reason they did not approve. I could feel the ring whenever I moved; the hard platinum fighting against the tight attire. I'd even brush my hand against it, like I'd done throughout dinner under the table. I smiled when I felt of it and would grin at Harry.

He knew what I was doing, his hand holding the immobile twin. He wouldn't respond, though; completely caught up in my father's story of how he conceived the Ford mustang out in the garage. The mustang had a past. My daddy took mum on their first date back in secondary school. She was sixteen and he was eighteen. They met during study hall in the library. He fancied her—a lot—thought she was the “bee's knees” or whatever out-dated euphemism my father said which would make me laugh. My mother was terribly shy and would run away from my father any chance he took. She didn't think she was good enough for a…”stud-muffin” like him. Haha… One day my father got the gusto and pretty much cornered mum on a rainy Thursday to ask for her name. Scared the living daylights out of her, but she wouldn't have had the ending any other way. The time wasn't fun for my father, what with having to deal with Emilie and her group of girlfriends gathered around to protect her.

Harry laughed at that part. He recollected experiences with the Yule Ball and how “every girl had their own knit group waiting to pounce on any guy who came close” and it was like “going out of the trenches and into the War”. He squeezed my hand when he spoke about the Yule Ball. He did not like how he treated me that night. I'd told him lots of times to let it go, but he still felt ashamed after leaving me to cry after Ron spat at me on the stairs.

Daddy took Harry out to the garage after dinner. They were discussing cylinders, and fuel gages, the speed and whatever else the innards of the car had to offer. I waved at him as he followed my father outside, grinning, as I helped my mom remove the excess from the table. He was rigid, like my mother had noticed, and I think he tried to smile, but his mind multitasked. He had to have been going over the idea of giving the news to my family. I wished he wouldn't worry so much…but, it's natural. I mean, if I was in his shoes, I'd probably have gotten sick with worry. I knew my parents, and I just knew they would not disallow Harry to marry me.

“Is Harry all right, Cupcake?”

“What?” Putting plate-on-plate in the cupboard, a clank echoed from the wooden, antique-looking walls. Coming back over, I raised an eyebrow at mum. Okay, maybe I did have more thoughts running through my mind about the delivery. “Oh… Oh, yeah. Yeah, he's just been under the weather.”

“Aw…,” Emilie flipped the faucet off and retrieved a paper towel from the roll adjoined to the wall. She dried her hands off after handing me the last of the utensils in the sink and unplugged the stopper to let the water out. I was placing the utensils in the tray to set when I glanced over at my mother who moved to the refrigerator.

She opened the door and leaned in. I heard her rummaging around in the door itself. When she came up, she held a greenish-coloured bottle up with a blue label. “Here, tell him to take this before bed. Clears your father quick when he has a cold.”

I smiled at mummy's gesture and took the chilled bottle in my hand when she gave it to me. “Aw… Thanks mummy…”

I wrapped around and gave her the biggest hug.

She ran her hand down my back gently, her head above my shoulder and spoke into my ear, “I'm so glad to see you doing so much better than you were a few months ago. I love you, my Cupcake.”

I sniffed. My mum and dad knew how to pull at my heart strings, “Mom… Don't let me cry!”

She patted my back, “I'm just so proud of you!” I felt her stroke my hair as we released our embrace.

“Oh,” exclaimed Emilie, slipping around me to get at a silver tray with similar silver saucers and cups. “Here comes your father and Harry from the garage. Be a dear and grab the buttered bread?”

“Yes, mummy,” Emilie had cut a fresh loaf of bread into slices and had smoothed a pad of yellow butter on the brown of the wheat. Mummy enjoyed baking her own bread. She thought it tasted better than the store-bought kind. She arranged the slices so one fell onto the next, fallen domino-style, in the middle of a small, white platter with painted flowers decorating the edges.

Before I followed her into the den, I took a look outside to see Harry and my father talking together. Harry had his hands in his jean pockets and was smiling at something daddy was going over with enthusiasm. Frederick used his hands a lot when getting excited about a subject he enjoyed, and daddy was really using his body language today. They didn't see me, but peeking into the bond my daddy and Harry created made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I felt the coming together of my intimate family.

I walked into the foyer just as Harry and Frederick entered. Daddy shut the door to keep the cool breeze from getting into the house.

“That there is one of the first models they made with a V8 engine,” Frederick stated with a smile and fervor, proud of his “second baby”. “The newer models don't even compete with that one.”

Daddy saw me standing at the entrance of the den, “Baby girl.”

I smiled at him, and then at Harry, “How was it you two? Get your testosterone out?”

Daddy laughed and messed up my hair when he passed on by. I gave a huff as I'd tried to get that strand out of my eyes only to have it fall back over my left. Frederick met Emilie, coming back towards me in the arch. He kissed my mother, their hands folding as one. My parents were very close as a married couple. I mean, extremely close. Their friends were jealous-close. They always held hands, or wrapped around each other while they sat or stood, always having to touch and connect on a sensatory level. I always wanted a man like that, to be in a relationship so overwhelmingly in love that we could not resist touching…and, I'm oh-so-glad to have found Harry who wanted the same.

Harry felt of me, placing his hand on my lower back and took the platter of bread. He snuck in a kiss, dropping down a wooden step into the den. When we released, I could see just how distraught he'd become. I could even see tiny beads of sweat on his brow even though the environment was coat-weather. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple prodding with stress, and I poked him.

He became alarmed and I apologized for spooking him, “Sorry… But relax!”

“I've never done this before!” he said back at me in whisper.

“I'd hope not…,” I smirked, making him grin.

“What if they don't want you to be engaged to me? What if I screw up with your folks, `Mione? I really like them!”

I embraced him along the middle as we made our way around the sofa. Harry sat down the platter of bread on the coffee table beside the silver tea-tray, and then he sat down. I fell with him on the sofa cushions and pulled my torn jean leggings up with me, side-sitting whilst lying on his side. I glanced over and saw mummy having sat similarly, but switched on the opposite sofa.

Coincidence?

I smiled and felt Harry's arm wrap around me. He pulled me closer to him, my right arm going behind him and my left hand held at his midsection. The sound of us lifting and sitting on the cushions, amongst the crackle of the fire, was all that was heard for the first few minutes. We poured our tea, took up Emilie's wonderful butter bread on napkins, and ate together. Mum broke the silence with small talk, asking us about Molly and Arthur Weasley of all people. Not that we had anything against them, it's just we hadn't really spoke since I broke from Ron.

Maybe they didn't like me anymore? I knew they loved Harry, but maybe I “tainted” him in their eyes. My parents adored the Weasley's; except Ron, of course. My father would have liked to have had a little man-to-man chat with him. But, he was still being observed the last Ginny let out awkwardly one day. The Weasley chatter ended when my father finally spoke out:

“Okay, okay, something's up you two. Spit it out.”

“What do you mean, daddy?” I knew what he meant, but played innocent. My parents were utterly perceptive of people's behaviors and me and Harry's weren't acting normal.

“Harry here looks like he's about to throw up,” Frederick motioned with his hand in the direction of Harry. I glanced at Harry who gulped and half-grinned when being pointed out. Daddy then pointed at me, “And you, baby girl, have been too quiet to your old people. So, something's on your minds. Come with it. We're all family here.”

“Just no stories of babies!” Emilie wagged her finger at both of us.

Harry lightly chuckled, and I said in strain, rolling my eyes, “Moooom…”

“Oh, wait! Speaking of babies…,” Emilie played as if she were to get up. “Your baby book! I forgot to show Harry the picture of you in the tub!”

“Mother!”

Emilie doubled over into Frederick, “Haha… One day, Cupcake…”

“No wonder why I'm so twisted…”

Daddy smirked at me, “Okay, so now let's let the elephant out of the room, shall we? Tell us what's up.”

I felt and heard Harry swallow, and I bet my folks heard him too. “Well…”

“Come on, Harry love. We won't bite you,” Emilie shifted sideways to get comfortable.

Harry suddenly sat up, his back straight and more formal than he'd ever been. Even the way he spoke sounded more businesslike than ever before. I felt his breathing increase in pacing. I thought he might pass out before he got his words together and began rubbing his back. I looked over at my parent's to see them eye each other, and then me.

“Maybe you should drink some of your tea, Harry?” urged my mother.

Harry sighed into a laugh, “You know, it's funny how I can speak to a crowd of people, but in front of you two it's different, especially with what I'm going to say.”

“Out with it, boy,” I could tell my father worried. I think he began to think Harry really had impregnated me. Not that that could happen because of my birth control pills, but I didn't voluntarily discuss our sex life with my folks. So, they weren't in the know, making the scene that more intense. I pushed on Harry to make him say it before my father exploded in outrage.

“Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” Harry cleared his throat. I continued to give my support with the affectionate stroking of his back. “…I've asked your daughter for her hand in marriage.”

Silence filled the room.

If the silence were water, we'd all have drowned.

I fidgeted and watched the eyes of my parent's fixate on Harry. I think they stopped breathing. They didn't blink. Like two statues, both sat completely still as stone.

“…And, what did my daughter say in return?” asked Frederick, becoming businesslike as Harry had done.

I fought with my jeans. My hand struggled with intensity into the pocket. Of all the times, I wish I hadn't put on one of my skinny pairs. I had to sit up on my feet and wiggle inside, making a scene that caught the attention of both my mother and father. I let out a sigh when my nails grasped the circular object of desire and carefully pulled it from the bleached denim. The platinum glittered off the flames in the fireplace, the diamonds shining with purples and blues from the flickering light.

I slipped the ring on my finger and looked on at the stares of my folks from across the coffee table. I held out my hand and smiled, saying breathlessly, “I happily accepted Harry's proposal.”

I felt the cushions on my right adjust to a weight and saw, peering beside me, Harry move over and wrap an arm around me. We smiled at each other, and then the smiles faded as we gazed on at the still-stoic figures of my parents.

Silence filled the room once more. Suffocating, it was. Harry tightened his grip of me. I didn't know what the problem was—they knew how much I loved him! Why are you staring at us like this is such a foreign subject?! Mum! Daddy! Come on! All of a sudden it's like this now?! Even if you don't allow Harry, I'm going to any—

My father, at once, stood up from the sofa. He set his tea down, and Emilie, from below, gazed up at him and his shift in action.

“Son,” my father said with a stern expression. He called on Harry like a drill sergeant would do to a new marine. “Stand up.”

Oh dear God, are you serious?

Harry quickly got to his feet. He didn't put his hands in his pockets as much as I knew he wanted to. He fell out a stutter. My father could turn, well, fatherly in a split second if he needed to and my daddy had switched into protective mode.

“Yes, sir…?”

Frederick went around the table and stopped to face Harry. They both stood directly in front of me with a space between them just enough to witness my mother watching them, wide-eyed, too.

“Son, my daughter is a smart, intelligent young woman who knows what's good for her and I've never once questioned her judgment but one time in my life…”

Harry's fingers crawled into fists. He wasn't going to hit my father, but needed to do something with his hands, struck with nervous anxiety in front of my towering father.

I was paranoid.

“…And son,” Frederick began again. “You've proven, time and time again to me how much you sincerely love my daughter.”

Daddy put his hand out to Harry after a pause.

Harry just glanced down at it, not really knowing how to respond after the daddy's aggressive reaction to the proposal. I thought he was going to hit Harry for a minute there, but he had his palm out.

“…Harry,” Frederick grinned. “I'd be more than happy to give you my blessing and call you my future son-in-law.”

I gasped and clapped my hands over my mouth. Emilie laughed and I could see her smiling, dimples rising in her cheeks. She got up, as I had, and came around to her husband. Harry's eyes twinkled. He set his hand to my father's and daddy shook it firm. He enclosed on Harry and gave him a rousing, big bear hug. I started to cry. I didn't move after I stood, thinking if I did I'd break the moment; shatter it all like inescapably, fragile glass.

This wasn't real… But, it was real. I couldn't describe the feelings that erupted within me. I squealed on the inside and wanted to jump up and down. I wanted to scream. I wanted to scream out how much I'd waited for this. How long and how hopeful I was that, someday, everything would fit perfectly into place.

Mummy came around and pushed her way in-between daddy and Harry and gave Harry a long squeeze. “Welcome to the family, dear!” Mum shook him all over the place.

“Keep protecting and loving my baby girl,” Frederick went across Emilie to pat Harry on the shoulder. “Don't let me down.”

“Will do, sir,” Harry nodded. He turned his head towards me, with Emilie still wrapped around him, and grinned from ear-to-ear. “Will do.”

***

Because Headmaster Dumbledore had taken Hogwarts Castle away from the jurisdiction of the Ministry after Dolores's lovely escapade, I didn't have to speak to a third party in order to gain transportation rights. I went directly to the Headmistress, now, who I still called “Professor”. Minerva gave me special access to the Floo Network inside the castle. I didn't have to Floo or apparate into Hogsmeade and wait for any order to continue onward. Professor McGonagall allowed me to go from Number Twelve directly into the Defense Against the Dark Arts office.

Prefects of Gryffindor, two kids named William and Ilene, would assist me to her office. Even though I'd written the Professor back, telling her I remembered where the office was, she thought it more professional to send people to come get me. So, when I came out of the fireplace, I saw the bright faces of the two blonde children. Well, I couldn't really say they were children, knowing they were probably two or three years younger than me.

Dressed in the colours crimson and gold, their robes hung low to the ground and brushed the floor when they walked. They greeted both me, and then Harry, with much affection. Harry, of course, caused much more of a stir within their welcoming.

“Harry Potter!” William reached out with both of his and shook Harry's. “It's an honor, sir. It's truly an honor to meet the Gryffindor hero himself!”

Harry waved his hand, “Please, just treat me like one of the guys. Don't be so formal.”

Ilene gazed, star-struck with a goofy grin, “You're so handsome… The Daily Prophet doesn't do you justice!”

“Isn't that the truth,” I added.

“Please,” William flourished his hand toward the exit. “We mustn't keep the Headmistress waiting.”

Harry bowed and motioned with his hand, “By all means, we'll follow.” He took my hand in his.

“…I just can't believe I'm actually breathing the same air as Harry Potter!” exclaimed Will with absolute cheer.

Ilene stuck beside Harry like a puppy dog. I found it cute how she'd sneak in a flirt or two when I'd look around the halls. Since the War, Hogwarts had been rebuilt; though, the castle was rebuilt to keep the aesthetics of its predecessor. Magical artisans worked by wand to patch up the holes in the roof and walls. Personnel from the Ministry came in to dispose of what matter left from the conflict, whether it be debris of nature or rotting organism. More rooms were added for lectures to fit the influx of students who wanted to experience the school that the “famous Harry Potter went to”. They even added auditoriums for colloquiums much to my dismay. Why couldn't they have had those when I went here?

The Daily Prophet said that there were still infestations of gigantic spiders in the attic space and an ogre in the basements—more Prophet rubbish to detour the gaining interest in Hogwarts.

The day transformed into night and all the paintings were asleep. We spoke in whispers, William leading the way with his wand and a Lumos.

Professor McGonagall thought it best not to disrupt the flow, so she suggested we come in the night. I agreed, and Harry too. What we've been through, what he's been through with the paparazzi and the fans that treated him as a god, would definitely cause mass chaos. Every single student, all thousand or so, would want his autograph or some part of him. The faculty would have loved to corral that lot back into the rooms. They already had enough dealing with delinquents outside of Harry disturbing the curriculum and the fresh rule-breakers of this millennium.

“Ickle, ickle, Potter!” Peeves shot over the top of our heads. He wagged his finger at Harry and shouted down the hallway, “Myrtle's been dying to see you…”

“Thanks for the heads up, Peeves.”

“Little nuisance!” Ilene flicked her wand and a spot of light flew out towards Peeves. The magic was like a rubber bullet, to scare the victim off. “Do you know who you're speaking to?! Show some respect you pest!”

Peeves flew around the corner, but his laughter echoed off the halls, “I told her you died! Now she wants to know if you'll go on a date with her!! Ehehehee!”

“Remember running down this hallway?” I said over my shoulder to Harry who still had his hand in mine. I looked from the left, to the right, visualizing me much younger with books tumbling out of my hands. I ran from class right down to the portrait with stairs behind it, leading to the library. The Hogwarts library: my anesthesia from life.

Harry gripped my hand and put an arm around my middle. “I sure do,” he whispered into my ear. “And, right down there through that portrait hole leads to the girl's lavatory…where we dueled that troll.”

I sighed, finding myself the twelve year old once more. The twisting mechanism of the owl statue behind us, the screech of the dial, made me revert back to being twenty. William and Ilene had gone up to check on Minerva and were coming back down. When the owl turned back to face us, going completely three hundred sixty degrees, William's smile approached from the annex with Ilene in chase.

“All's clear, “William leapt his last step, filing beside Harry. “The Headmistress will see you whenever.”

Ilene blushed and kept her eyes on Harry who sifted a hand through his hair, peering at me from the side, “Going up?”

“The nostalgia…,” I kept my eyes on the owl, and the stairs that wound to the top. “I feel like I'm in a time-warp… We shouldn't be out of bed, Harry!”

“Shh…,” Harry grinned, following in sneak. “Not so loud, Hermione! Someone might hear us!”

“Hurry!” I whispered in giggle. “The kitchens are this way!”

William and Ilene came running to us after we stepped on the stone stair and awaited the statue to revolve, “Wait! Please!”

About to say tonight's password, “Cockroach Clusters,” I glanced at the Gryffindor's flight, the hair upon their heads bouncing by their speed.

Both kids became terribly shy and spoke in a low, unconfident voice, “May… May we have your autograph, sir?”

Harry made quick eye contact with me and turned back, smiling at the youths, “Sure, sure. Do you have a pen?”

Ilene hastily fed into her cloak and dug out a pen. She bounded, pushing William to the side, and gave Harry the tool. “Here you are, Harry!”

Harry chuckled, “Thank you. I don't see any books you're carrying with parchment, so what will I—“

Ilene promptly undid her robe and pointed at a bit of her pajama top, “Sign right here!”

I gaped. I utterly laughed and went to catch myself, my hands going over my mouth. This girl had spunk which reminded me so much of Ginny. I saw Harry turn his head around toward me and I shrugged, finding it difficult not to laugh and laugh loudly. Harry rolled his eyes at me and went forward, signing his name just below Ilene's neck, underneath her left shoulder.

“Eee!” squeaked Ilene. She quickly blew at the ink that remained, making doubly sure to have it permanent and not smudge. “The girl's won't know what hit them in the morning!”

Harry's chuckle came out again, and he pivoted to William who held out his wand, “Sir, my wand please?”

“Wow,” Harry studied the William's wand which was given to him. “This is an honor. I've never signed a wand before.”

“No, no,” William fidgeted, watching his idol marvel over his wand. “The honor is all mine.”

Harry squatted down and placed the wand on his knee. Carefully, he drew his signature in black near the centre. He lightly blew on the wand and handed the piece of birch wood back to William. William accepted it back, staring, as if he had just received the coveted Holy Grail. “Thank you… Thank you, sir!”

“Not a problem, Harry handed the pen back to Ilene who took it up to her face. I think she would have smelled of it if we weren't standing there. She dropped the pen in the pocket of her cloak and grinned on dreamily at Harry.

Harry stepped back with me and immediately found my hand, lacing his fingers to the slight webbing. I held onto him loosely, and announced the password. He waved at the two teenagers lingering as we curled northward. I snickered through the twisting staircase and Harry glanced at me from the side.

“What?” he asked

I eyed him from the corner of my eye, “I think she fancied you just a little.”

“You think?” Harry laughed. “It's scary. I don't know these people and they come at me. I thought she was going to ask me to sign her knickers.”

I put my hand over my lips and looked at Harry. I smiled, “Well, I think you made their day. It was sweet.”

I swung our arms, our hands together.

“You think so?”

I nodded, “I know so.” I tippy-toed and kissed him gently.

***

“Why, Albus!” The wise woman announced over her crystal-clear spectacles. “You're quite the lively one tonight!”

Swirling in my seat, I saw Harry standing underneath the portrait of Headmaster Dumbledore. They'd been talking, laughing, going on about me and how he proposed, and what he'd been up to since he left Hogwarts. It's not like you can send a portrait a letter—well, you can—but, Harry brought him to speed with the current events. Dumbledore thought it was the best thing that could have ever happened to Harry. He winked at me when I strolled by after entering, and I waved at him with a smirk.

He was perceptive to the atmosphere. No one needed to tell Dumbledore that I was Harry's or Harry was mine.

The Professor leaned in close to me from across the table, “I'll cut from the business part of our discussion and move on because, as you should already know, you've already got the position, Miss Granger…” She smiled, the wrinkles in her cheeks showing her age.

I grinned and lowered my voice, “Yes, but what about the `other thing', Professor?”

“Whatever you need, my dear, I'll have it arranged for you,” Minerva took up a goblet of pumpkin juice and held it to her lips. “Though, I still press the subject of you teaching here at Hogwarts. We'd be more than happy to have you. I'd be happy to have you. The Defense professor has to leave next year to go on a…traveling trip and that spot will be open.”

I shook my head, “Not that I don't appreciate the gesture, Professor. But, I'd rather…you know…” I couldn't tell her “No”.

Minerva nodded and set her goblet down. Fawkes, from within his bronze cage, nipped at the bars and stretched its wings. “We all have the paths in which we take. I only give you an alternative if you ever feel the need or want to teach here. By all means, please, seek me if I'm still around.”

“Professor,” I grew solemn. “Don't speak of the sort! You'll be around!”

“I can't promise anything,” the elder Headmistress sat back in her plush, ornate chair. “Every day is an adventure, is it not?”

“I guess so…”

“Speaking of adventures…” Minerva held up the Daily Prophet. I covered my eyes. The Professor laughed, disturbing a painting close to her chair, “I see Rita's at it again.”

I peeked through my fingers to see the looping photograph of me, clutching Harry for dear life, while he grabbed and threw a reporter onto the floor. Then another, smaller, photograph had a close-up of me as I looked and then retreated from the flash of light. The headline above the larger photograph read:

POTTER: ALL HE'S CRACKED UP TO BE OR JUST CRACKED?

The headline below my lovely photo read:

GRANGER VERSUS WEASLEY - WHO'S HOTTER, POTTER?

“Ohh…,” I hid my eyes again and groaned. “Don't remind me.”

I heard the paper rattle and Minerva open it to the second page, “She even describes you girls looking like a `warty, horned toad' and Ginevra resembling a…'disheveled, run-of-the-lot donkey'. Such a wonderful woman…”

Minerva chuckled to herself, closing the paper and folding it in two, “Might I add, Miss Granger, that if this is true then you and Miss Weasley are a beautiful toad and a beautiful donkey.”

I smirked and pulled a leg up to my chest, my Converse shoe revealed against the black, ripped-denim of my knee. “Well, I always thought I'd be kissed by Prince Charming.” I pointed to Harry behind me, still talking away with Dumbledore, with my thumb.

Minerva smiled and gave me a look-over. I gazed at her across the table with the one-eye exposure. She stated simply, “And another addition, I think your outfit is adorable. Definitely a change from the old Hogwarts skirt and tights.”

I glanced down at the black silk tie around my neck, the fat of the tie draped around my waist. I pulled it out and lay it straight down the centre of my body, the thread by my throat loose, the knot near my chest. The tie contrasted against my white collared shirt, unbuttoned a few buttons at the top and my ever-so-pale skin paralleling the hue of the upper apparel.

“Thank you,” I said, glancing back at Minerva who still looked me over. “I like my style… Not that I didn't like the skirt and tights.”

The Headmistress set her hands together on her lap, “So, tell me, why Oxford? What's there that's gotten your fancy?”

I was thankful the Professor played it cool and soft… Harry hadn't known my thoughts yet, and he was ranting on with Dumbledore oblivious to our discussion at the table. “Well… I'd like to pursue music. They have an excellent musical academy there.”

“Ah,” Minerva peered at me curiously and a mischievous grin crept on her lips. “You know, Miss Granger, that Hogwarts has a superb chorus?”

“Professor… You're going to have me feel guilty!”

Minerva chuckled into a cough and quickly covered her mouth with her fist, “I'm sorry dear, but I like to keep the flock near me. Call it…a security blanket. You just have so much potential that—“

I blinked. I hoped she wasn't about to say what I thought she was, and when she knew or read my mind, the Professor quickly averted her sentence into, “The potential to do anything your little heart desires. You've always had a will to surpass others, Hermione, and I know whatever you do in life you'll do your very best and own your outcome, the reward for being persistent. I only hope that I'll be the first to have a signed copy of your album.”

I crossed my fingers, “Knock on wood.” I tapped the desk with my knuckle.

“I'm still going to send you invite after invite on joining us at Hogwarts every brand new year,” she flattened out a crease in her blue robes with glittering, silver stars.

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” I replied, giving her a wink.

“And, Harry,” Minerva shouted over Dumbledore's laughter and Harry's snickering. “Professor Hooch will be retiring from Hogwarts and I'm sure she'll need an apprentice to fill her place in a few years. You seem to be quite capable with a broom if I remember correctly.”

I turned around, my arm and hand on the top of the chair to see Harry comb through his hair and sigh at the Professor's constant questioning, “I'll think about it, Professor. Can't promise you anything.”

“Think about it, Harry,” Minerva's eyes shined in the torchlight when I went back to meet her gaze. She grinned at me and took up the goblet of pumpkin juice. She asked, her free hand lying palm up, “I've wanted a closer look at the infamous ring since you came in, Hermione. May I?”

“Of course, Professor,” I straightened up and lay my left hand on hers, the three-studded diamond and platinum band glowing much like the Professor's eyes. She gently took my hand and rotated my fingers, examining the ring. She beamed at me with utmost delight.

“I just knew that, one of these days, he was going to pop the question. You two were like those rare stuck-together chocolate frogs, you were,” I laughed at her analogy. “A surprise every time I'd catch you two doing something you weren't supposed to!”

***

“Three cheers for `Mione and Harry!”

“Is she drunk already?” Harry was on my right and he leaned in beside me to yell over the volume of sports goers in the pub. Ginny had wanted to go the Three Broomsticks to celebrate, but I coaxed the negative. After what had happened during my proposal, we weren't going through something like that again.

“Dear, maybe you've had—“ Neville, who was on the left of Ginny, went to take the pint of beer away from her, but Ginny quickly moved it from reach. The beer and its foam sloshed from the mug, spilling some on me and Harry, but most of it got on the bar.

“NO!” Ginny smacked Neville's arm. “No! No! NO!”

“All right, kids,” the bartender came over with a rag and wiped the liquid and smell of alcohol from the countertop. I found a napkin and was dabbing the spots on my shirt while Harry did the same. “That's the second time.”

“We apologize, sir,” I stated, concerned that we'd be kicked out the next time. Three strikes and you're out. Though, maybe it wouldn't be so bad with Ginny completely smashed. “It won't happen again.”

“God! Neville!” Ginny smacked him again. Then, she took up my hand and examined the engagement ring for the fiftieth time tonight. “Why couldn't you have splurged a little more?! This is like a fucking island!”

“Congratulations on your new job, Hermione,” smiled Neville warmly. “And congrats again guys for getting engaged. It was just a matter of time, eh, man?”

Neville slipped around me and Gin to shake Harry's shoulder roughly. Harry made a laugh, “Yeah, well… You'd know, wouldn't you?”

“What? Was there some sort of secret man-meeting about the proposal?”

Neville studied me and winked, sipping his beer, “Harry, the ol' chap, thought it was too corny to propose in front of the Hogwarts Express.”

“It was either there or… Hm, the Malfoy manor?”

Snickering, I gave Harry a bump with my hip, “I'm glad you decided the other.”

“What? No Happy Christmas cards for the Malfoy's this year, Hermione?” Neville patted my shoulder and swirled on his barstool.

“Yeah… No.” I could just see the front of the envelope. Instead of `Return to Sender,' it would read, `Return to Mudblood'. I shook my head. “I don't think so. I'll pass on the ridicule.”

Ginny hiccupped and became rather flush in the cheeks. I found her arms wrapped around me with her head on my shoulder. She sighed and said dizzily, “Mi-Miiiii… I love you…”

I put my hand atop her head and gently gave her a pat, “And, I love you too, Gin.”

“Screw these guys! Let's go have some fun on our own!”

“Okay, enough is enough Gin,” Neville had glanced between Harry and me, and then went to grab her pint. Ginny pushed Neville away and came back around me.

“Have you told Harry about Oxford?!”

“Ginny!!”

“Oxford?” Harry slowly set his mug of beer down to the countertop. He surveyed me curiously, and all I could do was sheepishly smile. I scolded Ginny, “Ginny! You—“

“Ohh…,” Ginny retreated from me, her arms and hands on her stomach. She clenched her teeth and let out a seethe of pain. “Ohh… I think I'm going to be sick…”

Immediately, she put her hand over her mouth, her cheeks bloating and ran for the girl's lavatory.

“Damn it! I told her to slow down!” Tossing his frothy mug of beer down, Neville shot out after her, leaving me alone with Harry.

After watching our friends jolt to the bathroom, Harry turned back to me and cocked a brow, “Oxford? …Want to explain what she meant?”

“Look,” we were back in Number Twelve. We took Ginny and Neville home, Ginny ferociously ill from her four beers. All the way home, I tried to explain myself. Harry didn't yell or scream; he really didn't form any sort of emotion, just calmly asking questions which infuriated me. I was ready for him, for some reason, to start attacking me—and he didn't! Rah! I don't know why, but I had put up a defense barrier and waited for him to denounce my dream.

“I just didn't want to pile everything on you at once,” I sat on the edge of the bed and unlaced one shoe and then the next. The rationalization of Harry being a gentleman and my awkward, emotional rollercoaster left me annoyed. Why couldn't you just yell at me for thinking nonsense and get it over with? “I just got out of the hospital, you nearly got sick after our trips to St. Mungo's, I got a job tutoring at Hogwarts—and all the while you made claims about how you wanted me around more!”

Harry came from the master lavatory and stayed near the door. He pulled his jumper off, exposing bare skin and hair underneath. He shifted his hands through his messy hair, to make the chaos even more of a mess and fixed his glasses.

“One thing is for sure,” he tossed his sweater in the hamper as he walked towards me. “I do want you near me as much as possible. But, I want to make it clear, Hermione—“

He made it to the edge of the bed and began taking his own shoes off. I knew it. Here we go—finally! Scream at me! Come on, let it out! Switching positions, I elevated and went over to the mirror and began pulling away my clothes, starting with the buttons on my shirt. My expression went poker face and I stiffened, readying to pounce back when he inflamed.

“I will never not allow you to do something,” I heard one shoe drop to the floor and then the next. He spoke with care. “If you wanted to go to Oxford, or wanted to teach at Hogwarts, or wanted to do this or that, I'd support you one hundred percent. I'd had hoped you knew that much about me by now.”

“I know… I just…,” I became dumbfounded. I couldn't make heads nor tails, neither up nor down seemed right. I was confused. I pulled the shirt angrily off my shoulders and slipped a wire hanger through the sleeves. I stomped over to the hamper and put it on a hook. Combing through my hair and letting it fall in disarray, I glanced over at Harry who stared at me bedside. He remained sincere…and, I couldn't look at him and merely went back over to the mirror in haste. “I'm just stupid. I'm sorry! I'm moronic, an imbecile, a nutter. I'm sorry!”

I sniffled, a blackened tear trickling down my cheek from my mascara. Conflicting terms and rules from my past came into conflict, slamming head-on like trains without the ability to break. I felt agoraphobia set in as if I needed Harry to tell me “No,” that I “Couldn't do it”. Like he needed to set down his masculinity as law. This was something I wanted to do that didn't necessarily benefit him whatsoever. A thought like that with Ron… I'd just never had an open expanse like Harry gave me. I didn't know what to do with it, and the more I thought about it, the more of a headache and heartache was created.

I made myself look busy in the mirror, pulling at the same strand of hair over and over again.

“Hermione.”

I stopped a moment. I couldn't. I restrained from seeing him see me like this; but, I wanted to—badly. I needed him. I felt…violated. Violated from my past.

Gradually, I turned my head to see Harry's kind face give me a smile. He motioned me over with his finger. I stayed stationary, studying him for a moment until leaving the proximity of my psychological prison cell. Pivoting on my heel, I went to him, the soles of my naked feet padding softly on the wooden floor.

Harry opened his body for me, spreading his knees while he sat on the ledge, and took my waist and glided me into him. I stood there and watched him run his hands down my sides, over the fabric of denim on my hips and further to my thighs. His light touch over my abdomen made me retract. He tickled me slightly. Goosebumps formed. I breathed in and closed my eyes, feeling his warmth. He lowered his head and kissed the centre of my stomach. He lifted me off the floor an inch and set me closer to him, caressing each individual portion of my flat tummy.

I set my hands in his hair and merely stroked, brushing him as he made love to my tummy with his lips. He held my lower back and gently kneaded the pads of his fingertips into the muscle and bone. My fingers slipped into the niches above his ears, tracing the contours of my beloved. I felt of his neck and where the hair stopped on his head, and down to his shoulder blades. I gripped him lightly at first, and then a bit harder when he teased my navel with the tip of his tongue.

I felt Harry lay his forehead on my stomach and become still. My hands halted from their shoulder massage as I peered down at him.

He didn't look up at me when he said, burrowed into the softness of the flesh, “I love you so damn much, Hermione. I'll always be behind you, supporting you with everything I have: my body, my mind, my heart… I'll always be your number one fan.”

He looked up at me from below, “That is, if you allow me to be.”

In the dimly lit room of Number Twelve, with only a lamp turned low to guide me, I pushed Harry back on the bed and crawled up onto his torso. He… He made me feel… My lips were on him instantaneously, and hard. I didn't breathe, and when I did breathe, the breaths came out in moans escaping when our mouths unattached. Harry had his hands all over me, digging themselves into the back of my denim jeans to feel of me. My hands were on his chest, feeling the curve, the indent of his pectoral muscles.

My hair fell all around him. My tie got in the way and I went to remove it, sitting up, when Harry came off the bed to stop me. He held the tie anchored between my breasts and smirked. I smiled and rolled my eyes, sliding to his hips in straddle. I slipped my hands around to my backside and fiddled with the clasp. The brassiere fell to the mattress. Harry stopped, motionless as he took in my nudity.

He grinned after a while, causing a chain reaction in me to smile as well. Harry picked me up, holding me tightly to him and slid to revolve our positions. He rotated me until we flipped. My back hit the cool top of the sheets; my head hit the cool covering case of the pillow. My hand went to the headboard when he drove into me through his khaki dress pants, gasping a breath that so readily wanted out from our intermingling lips.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Didn't listen to anything at all, really; but, if you like the Beatles, they're heavily alluded to soon!}

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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: Another music-filled chapter! Lots of sexy fluff, too. I really wanted to get this out because it quickly became one of my favorite chapters to write. I wanted to go on, but the next bit doesn't coincide with the studio scenes, so I decided to keep that part for the next. It'll make more sense that way. On a side-note, I can't wait for “Season Three”! Hope I can hold out writing until then.

***

Chapter Eighteen - Devotion

***

“Hey…”

“Mm…?”

“Wake up my beautiful sleepy head…”

Squinting, I sluggishly drew my eyes open in a blink. I fluttered my eyelashes, the brand new day and its shine coaxing my face back into the pillow where it was dark. I had my arms underneath and around the softness, the cool environment on my backside as it lay exposed. I could feel the tepid sheets across my midsection, falling off to the one side. I felt his hand on my back at first, and then gradually pet my head as I settled.

Today was a big, huge, enormous step in my life. Parts of me wanted to stay wrapped up in bed all day. Actually, a large part of me wanted to stay in bed all day. I hadn't much sleep… We fooled around for much of the night and into the early morning hours. I would have suggested putting on clothes from now on as sleeping without them caused tension to rise in our hormones—especially Harry. I'd follow close behind him. He knew how to get me going, rev my engine. But, really, I didn't want the clothes. Burn the damn clothes! I wanted to feel his naked body on mine, and I'm definitely not ashamed of it.

The consequence?

Three or four hours of complete sleep.

It's well worth it.

“You slept right through the alarm.”

An aroma of a warm, sugary substance wafted into me. It smelled of coffee, too, making my mouth water. I rubbed my face into the pillow, trying to arouse my other senses, while Harry rubbed the back of my head. He pulled at my hair lightly, taking bundles of strands and stroking them from around the frame of my face.

“Mm…,” I found his eyes as he lay on the pillow beside me.

He smiled just as warm as the breakfast smells, and said softly, “Good morning.”

He reached for those curls which always ended up over my eye and tried to get them away, but when he left me they fell right back into place. We laughed together, and I had to hold my hairs taut and make them swirl behind my ear. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep before exhaling and smiling into him at my bed level, “…Morning, love.”

“I must have did a number on you last night,” he began massaging, feeling of my spine and how each circular piece of bone would protrude just above the flat of my back. “Usually, you're the one knocking the alarm over.”

I snickered and ran the bridge of my nose against the pillow case, affixed to his vision of me, “…You could say that.”

I shut my eyes and made a moan of satisfaction. He'd hit one of those sweet spots in my lower back. He knew exactly where it was and purposely teased the section with his fingertips: Harry, the masseuse. “What time is it, anyway?” I asked with my eyes still shut.

“A quarter past nine…” My appointment wasn't until noon, so we had time. Besides, the food from wherever it was coming from continued to have my tummy rumble. It stopped, however, when Harry slipped his hands under the sheet and across the ledge to my derriere.

I had the eye, most elevated from the pillow, slightly open. I watched him, his eyes going to where he felt, and then back at me. I closed the eye when I felt him squeeze, and then rub me down. He took his middle finger and traced the crease, sliding the tip down into the crevice. He made me wiggle. The touch tickled me, but I also began to feel that certain heat build—and I tried to suppress the want. The appointment was too important to miss out. Everything teetered on that moment in time.

“Naughty…,” I smirked at him as I spoke. I shook my ass to make him quit.

He laughed and gave my rear a firm pat before rolling on his back and off the bedside. I lifted on my elbows from the pillow case and noticed Harry go to a tray on his desk. The aroma of deliciousness exploded in its sense as Harry crept on over smoothly, balancing the tray in his hands. I watched how his legs moved under his Gryffindor lounge pants. I smiled at his bare chest and that black hair between his pectorals, coming down into a line leading from his navel southward.

A pink carnation and its stem shook from the mouth of a tiny vase upon the platter Harry held. I made a face—Harry always thought of me. Those little additions to everything he did made them all worthwhile. I could see a short-stack of pancakes, a pad of butter and syrup already drizzled on top with coffee and a bowl of assorted, chopped fruit. I think I could have cried. He'd made me breakfast in bed, a surprise that definitely would put a hop in my nervous step.

“Harry…,” I shifted from my elbows around to my bum. I pushed myself up as he went to lean down and halted. I was amidst pulling the sheet along my hips when I glanced to see him staring at me. Puzzled, I gazed back until I smirked. More than comfortable, I'd forgotten how exposed I really was—in my birthday suit. I didn't move and merely stared straight back in those beautiful jade-green eyes, my hands on the bed near my rear.

He grinned at me. I loved when he'd become befuddled. Made me feel…outstanding; that little ol' me can make something as handsome as Harry stop in his tracks. Mind you, I'd grown since the days of Hogwarts, but still… It felt good when he looked at me in amazement. “Beautiful,” he said, setting the tray down on my lap. “Stunning—I should just throw this flower out compared to you.”

He went to dispose of the carnation, slipping his fingers beneath the head of the flower. Quickly, I placed my hand atop his and shook my head, “Don't you even dare… I love it—everything.”

Peering down, I looked at how Harry sliced a half a strawberry in the centre of the top pancake, how he carefully wrapped a napkin exquisitely around the fork and knife, and had already placed the amount of sugar and milk I liked in the coffee. He gave me flutters even without touching. He was…amazing. An amazingly wonderful man. He bowed to me when I glanced back up at him and found his lips upon mine swiftly with vigor. My body went backward at how he caressed me, my lips curving to a grin.

The first feel from his absence made me jolt. My laughter muffled against his mouth, I wriggled when his hand went from holding my breast to holding my stomach. I wanted to jump him, right then and there. I clinched my nails into the mattress. There were just so many things to do at once, and our love making never lasted a few minutes. That's all the leeway I had for today. If I would have jumped him, it would have lasted far beyond the noon hour. Our chemistry helped our stamina. We'd make love until exhaustion as if our bodies, our minds, couldn't help but need the other to be gratified—like a drug addiction.

Harry could feel and see how sensitive I was: the perk of my nipple, the flush of my skin, how I'd tense an inch before he'd actually touch me. Everything I exuded gave what I wanted away. He left me, releasing from our caress at the boundary the chemistry could take. Any longer and I'd have pulled him back into bed.

He smiled as he stood up. He lingered on me, my figure, its nakedness. I think he could have attacked my breast with his mouth any other day. Harry shook his head from his trance and resumed his smile. He spoke softly, looking me square in my eyesight, “…I think we should find you something warm before you catch a cold.” He pivoted, switching direction to head towards our closet.

“I'm not cold…,” I called out after him.

Harry had opened the closet doors when he turned his head to smirk at me, “Well…,” he began. “Then, I don't want that perfect skin scalded in case you drop some of that hot liquid.”

“You wouldn't want me eating starkers?” I didn't catch myself quick enough, realizing the heavy signal.

My body wanted him.

I wanted him.

Harry cleared his throat. In his hands, he held one of my favorite of his Quidditch jerseys in his grasp. I sat passively, trying to be “alluring”. His lioness, my body language screamed sex as I arched a little, balancing in my seat by my arms. I shook my head to engage the strands of my hair, to make them fuller. I kept my eyes on him all the way back to the bed where he crawled on his knees to sit beside me.

“You're so devilishly sexy…,” he said, having to clear his throat again. He was having a hard time resisting, and I smirked all the while. He bunched and wrapped the shirt in a way to begin wearing it and held it over my head. “Arms up.”

I sighed in my smile and raised my arms. Gently, he shimmied the crimson and gold Gryffindor jersey down to my waist. I took up my hair when he'd tugged the cloth down on me and pried all the curls loose from its containment within the neck. I gazed at him, playing with my hair until I was satisfied. He wouldn't look away from my movements, and when I finished, his eyes roamed my body once more. I knew one of the obvious factors he grazed over with his eyes, my two hardened nipples poking from the limp fabric which fit more like an oversized sheet over my form due to Harry being twice my size.

“Anything look appetizing?”

Harry flicked from below back to my eyes. He grunted, groaning and lightly pushed on my shoulder, “You are one evil woman.”

I mocked horns, putting my fingers behind my head and snapped at him with my teeth. I grinned and he grinned. Hastily, he came into me and took up my lips with his. I moaned when we met, his tongue meeting mine forcibly, prying my lips apart. I felt his hand go to my breast and cup, again, its roundness. His thumb glided across my nipple, and he had to tear away before we went too far. I stifled a giggle when he demanded, pointing at the breakfast he made, “You need to eat.”

“Yes sir!” I saluted. I all-out giggled when he winked at me and slid his arm around my backside. I took up my fork and stabbed a piece of honeydew from the bowl and moved it to my mouth. Inside, the melon dissolved, its grainy texture retreating upon my tongue. Picking up the oh-so—fantastic smelling coffee in one hand and my heart medication in the other, I popped the pill in my mouth and sipped the rich, sweet blackness.

When I went to cut into the pancakes, I hadn't noticed the white envelope stuck under the plate. I went to take it from its confines and Harry put his hand on my wrist. I looked to my right to see him as he said, “Promise me you'll read that after your audition.”

Sifting it from underneath the plate, I removed the envelope from the tray and read the front. Written in Harry's signature cursive, black ink from a quill, he wrote:

For You

I swiveled my head to him and smiled, scrunching my nose and brow up, “You and your surprises…”

“I never let you down, do I?”

I shook my head and bent to kiss him, “Never.”

He briefly kissed me back, urging me on to eat with a motion, “You're going to be hungry later, and that'll make me sad. I hate hearing your tummy grumble.”

“Have you eaten?”

“I rolled a pancake up in some bacon and dabbled on a little syrup,” he shrugged. “By the looks of it, I'm more anxious than you are and I'm not even the one auditioning!”

“Well,” I chuckled, floating my fork prongs away from the pancake back to the bowl of fruit. I watched my fork in hand, my eyes on the tray. “If I can't go hungry, you can't either.”

“I'm fine, honestly.”

“Lies,” I smirked, piercing a vividly red, ripened cherry with the silver utensil. A thought ran through my head; an action. I tucked curls falling back over my eye as I slipped the cherry in my mouth and rolled the spherical, polished fruit on my tongue. From the corner of my eye, I saw Harry observing me curiously. He knew I was up to no good—his clever witch. I turned in flourish, laying into him as I lowered my mouth to his. I coaxed his lips open, skilled at teasing with the tip of my tongue. Persuasion working, I gently glided, tongue-from-tongue, the cherry into his mouth.

I fed him my own way.

He knew it was coming and happily accepted it. When we broke off he chewed and swallowed, coming back in to wrap around me. He pushed into my body, pressed his weight and kissed me hard. My knee jerked up in reaction to his intensity, the ceramics on the tray jumping to come down on the metal.

***

I absolutely love my parents.

A long-time patient of theirs works for a recording studio in downtown London. I told my folks a few days after Harry expressed his feelings for me to them, and daddy and mum gave him their blessing, how I needed to attach an audition tape to my application to the musical arts college for Oxford. Daddy immediately said that it wasn't a problem and knew how I could get one professionally done. They were friends with one Lucas Avery, a veteran employer and recording artist at Virgin Records. Lucas could assist me, without cost, in applying to Oxford.

Sure enough, Mister Avery called daddy some days later to give the green light for me on a Wednesday.

Today.

Am I nervous?

Of course I am.

I hadn't stopped fidgeting with my crinkled bow and multi-ruffled skirt. The lacey material struck utter contrast with what white legs which could be seen as the length covered only to my knees. I'd worn leather boots with a corset for a top, an entire black ensemble. I thought to show the studio my personality and not try to hide it by “looking professional”—with a pencil skirt or whatever pseudo-self prophecy. That wasn't me at all. If I was walking into a place so accredited to the Rolling Stone's history, I wasn't about to put on a front what wasn't my own persona.

The rain going into London had picked up considerably from the suburban outskirts Harry and I lived in. I hoped this wasn't a telling sign for things to come, the slightly bluish aqua splattering Harry's windshield. The windshield wipers were on full-blast, struggling to fight against the water that clouded his sight. Everyone drove particularly slow which, in retrospect, I was glad we left the flat earlier than I had intended.

Harry parallel parked against the curb and shut down the engine. I glanced up from the passenger window at the bright red sign of Virgin flashing its neon light amongst the dull, gray Britain outside. I'd gone over and over in my head, practiced my heart out in my `studio' in Number Twelve, so I felt a bit confident. But, the looming history of the actual studio…that's what got to me. I mean… The Sex Pistols… Culture Club… Smashing Pumpkins… These weren't amateurs. I was an amateur invading.

Harry placed his hand on my arm, oblivious as I'd continued to watch the neon sign flash, and I nearly jumped clear out of my seat.

“Don't do that!”

“Sorry,” he tried to smile, but observed the friction in my expression. “You're going to do amazing. I'll be right there beside you all the way.”

“I know… I just…”

“Confidence, baby,” Harry smiled and rubbed my arm in comfort. He lowered his head when I looked away from him at a car leaving in front of us. My eyes flicked to him and I watched him trying to initiate a grin on my face. I finally couldn't keep a front when he made a goofy face and grinned at his addicting smile. He said after the smile, “That's the Hermione I enjoy seeing.”

Harry left me to push into the middle of the seats, hovering over the armrest in the center to procure something in the back. He sat down again with a black umbrella in his hand and ushered in another smile as he unwrapped the Velcro surrounding the textured material.

“Ready?” He said, eyeing me from the side. He took the door handle in his hand.

I gulped, and I knew he had to have heard me. I nodded, closing my eyes, “Ready as I'll ever be…”

Harry quickly opened the driver side and shut it back, rain getting inside the car the brief moment he stepped out. Water dripped in-between the crevices of the leather seat and fell from gravity to the gray carpeting. I watched my man pop the umbrella out and hold it over his head, running over to my side of the car. I felt of my engagement ring with my thumb, my one exposed eye keeping up with him as he hopped the curb and pulled the door open for me. Holding the umbrella over my head, Harry offered his hand and I embraced it within my own. He lifted me out, always vigilant in making sure I wasn't getting wet even though he got hit by the torrential sheets of rain.

“You're getting soaked!” I grabbed above his hand on the plastic handle of the umbrella and tried to get us both underneath.

“Doesn't matter,” Harry shut my door and hit the button on his keys to lock the rest. He looked at me as we went up on the sidewalk with other people dodging the rain under umbrellas, “You're the only one that matters.”

With my hands playing with the wristbands and bracelets on my arms, I snuck in a kiss while a doorman at the entrance to Virgin Records held open the door for us. We thanked him, Harry flicking the umbrella dry before we entered the air-conditioned environment.

Right away, the left and right walls of the interior leading to a large, white desk in front of us were covered with vinyl records. Each record shined off the fluorescent lights, giving off a different sheen for each individual record as if each record in itself produced a metaphor for its different singer or band. Band posters, Mariah Carey, the Spice Girls, Daft Punk, and the Rolling Stones, all gave me the jitters. Each of these reminded me of where I was, to where I wanted to be, and the butterflies in my stomach rioted. I held my tummy through the black corset and immediately Harry took notice, having wrapped an arm around my middle.

“Are you doing all right?” his eyes went to me holding my tummy, and then withdrew back to my sight.

“Yeah, it's just… It's all a little overwhelming…”

“Hey,” We had to stop in order to let this guy in casual wear run past us and out the door. He was obviously in a hurry, hailing down a cab. In the second we stopped, I turned to meet Harry who kissed me. He brushed his hand along my cheek, “You're brilliant, just remember that.”

“What if I screw up?” I whispered in haste. We were nearly to the receptionist at the desk.

“You're not going to screw up,” he smiled at me. “You're going to be perfect. `Screwing up' isn't in your dictionary.”

“Hello and welcome to Virgin Records,” the brunette said behind the desk. She was wearing the Virgin-red in her business attire. “How may I assist you two?”

She couldn't see me, but I continued to nervously finger the bracelets on my wrists from my side of the counter. I stuttered a bit and halted, taking a deep breath before saying fluidly, “I have a noon appointment with Mister Avery for a recording session.”

People, including the receptionist, were sizing me up. I definitely looked different than probably anything they've seen. I began to get a little light-headed, and Harry could feel it come off me thick when I swayed. He shook me in his arm gently to have me come back down to earth. The secretary went over to a phone close by and pressed number five on the dial, and then another button clear of a numeric.

A male voice came over the receiver in speaker-phone. Anybody in the vicinity could hear the conversation.

“Yes Pen?”

“Magnus,” Pen spoke into the air above the speaker. “We have someone at the desk who says she has a recording with you at noon?”

The sound of something scraping the receiver on the other end shrilly embedded itself in the environment. I looked at Harry with worry. He looked back at me with his grin and brushed up against me, leaning in to give me a light kiss.

“Do you have that letter I wrote you from this morning?” Harry asked me in whisper.

I nodded, “It's in my pocket.” I went to get it out of the aforementioned pocket to be stopped once more by Harry.

“Not yet, love. At the end,” he patted me. “At the end, okay?”

I grinned at him and my ears perked back up to hear this “Magnus” on the end of the speaker-phone.

“Ah, yes, that would be Frederick Granger's girl. I'll be right there to escort them to the studio, Pen.”

“All righty, sir.” Pen lifted the phone from its hook and set it back down to end the call.

Pen's focus resumed back on Harry and I when she spoke, offering her hand to point towards an adjoined room, “Magnus will be here shortly. If you two would like to wait in that room over there?”

We both shook our heads and went to move when Pen called out after us, “There's coffee and refreshments. Feel free to take some.”

I couldn't even get a cup of coffee in the short time-span before a man in his early thirties, sporting a scruffy beard a bit longer in length than Harry's stubble-look, waltzed in. Clad in red-and-white checkered plaid and blue jeans, he stood right at the door and became over-joyous when he saw me walking back over to Harry and my seat in the waiting room. He rushed right over and offered me his hand, “Misses Granger, I presume?”

I took his hand in the free hand I had, the coffee in the other, and shook it. From my peripheral, I saw Harry get up and come on over. The charms on my wrists knocked around with the firm handshake the man gave me, his other hand atop mine.

“Hermione, yes, and you're…Mister Avery?”

“People here call me Magnus, if you'd like to also,” I nodded and Magnus, catching Harry in his sight, smiled at him. “And who is this fine young fellow?”

Magnus let me go to offer his hand to Harry. I said with a smile much like the one upon Harry's face, “This is my fiance, Harry.”

“Ah, good to meet you, Harry,” He shook Harry just as firm in shake as he did to me. “Or is it Harold?”

“Harry's preferable.”

“Gotcha,” Magnus's eyes wandered back onto me. “You know, Misses Granger, I immediately knew who you were because you look surprisingly like your mother, Emilie.”

“I get that a lot,” I smirked, watching his excited expression from the single, exposed eye.

Magnus looked me over and winked, “And you certainly convey this fabulous personality. I haven't seen a personality such as yourself in a while!”

“I hope that's a good thing?”

“Oh, yes, Hermione—may I call you Hermione?”

“Of course.”

“Well then, Hermione. I believe I'm going to get to hear something incredibly wonderful from you today?”

I smiled.

Hearing this from a professional was just the extra boost I needed. I'd only sung for my family, friends—Harry—and as much as I garnered compliments from them, and tons, a professional helped secure the thought. I just hope I gave him what he wanted to hear.

“And this is for your application for Oxford's Arts College, Hermione?” Magnus motioned with his hand to follow him. I set the unused coffee down on the table nearest to me and found Harry's hand. He interlaced his fingers with mine and walked aside Magnus out of the waiting room and down the rightside hallway.

I nodded to Magnus's question.

“Well, I just have this feeling about you,” He said, pointing his finger at me.

***

“I can't thank you enough, again, Magnus.” I spoke to the glass window between me, the microphone hanging from the ceiling, and Harry and Magnus behind the pane. They could hear me and Harry gave me a thumbs-up in response from beside Magnus. “I bet you could be doing other relevant things other than this.”

Magnus sat in a leather rolling chair behind all the gadgets and gismos, computer screens and speakers. He shook his head and leaned into a microphone, his voice coming to life in my room, “It's not a problem, Hermione. Your father is a friend of mine, and actually, I'm quite excited to hear what you have for me—for Oxford.”

“So, this is how it's going to go down,” Magnus pointed at me. “Make love to microphone. That's the most important factor. Because you're doing this acoustically, your tonality and how your voice sounds must be rich and full of life. You really want to catch the ears of those at Oxford, so make them want to listen.”

I nodded, my hands on my hips. Harry gave me another thumbs-up and I smiled. I gazed around the room, Virgin's red hue painted on the walls with more platinum vinyl's strung on the walls behind frames. I couldn't believe I was actually here—this had to be a dream.

“Another thing I must stress, Hermione,” Magnus's voice boomed from the hidden speakers in the wall. “Is to relax. Shake off your nerves. Throw the nerves away in a rubbish bin—you don't need them. I'll hear everything and I'll stop you if I sense you in distress. I want this to be as perfect for you as you want it to be for those over in Oxford. Okay?”

I nodded, my hands leaving the wrinkles of my skirt fabric as much as I wanted to keep playing with them. I breathed, trying to find a normal pace. Relax—come on, Hermione! Relax! I closed and re-opened my eyes, nodding again at Magnus and grinned and Harry's ever-smiling face.

“Good,” grinned Magnus, his mouth near the microphone on the sound-mixing table. Magnus pointed above my head, “You'll see the `Recording' light come on after about five seconds from when I point at you to go. That's when it's all yours, babe.”

“Got it,” I said, speaking into the microphone.

“So,” Magnus poked something on the mixing table, and then looked back at me. “What will I be hearing today?”

“I've been practicing a Beatles song,” I spoke quickly into the microphone. Then, slowed down my pace when I found myself going back to being nervous. “'Hey Jude'?”

“Ah, now you know, Hermione, that the Beatles are one of my favorite bands?”

I swallowed hard and put on a fake smile.

Great.

“So, realize, I'll be wanting something phenomenal from you.” Magnus laughed into the microphone. He could see me tense and waved me off, “I'm teasing you. I apologize. But, the Beatles are one of my favorite bands of all time. So, I'm really excited to hear from you.”

I saw Harry lean down to Magnus and say something to him. Magnus had turned the mic off and nodded at whatever was said. He flipped the mic back on, “Ready Hermione?”

“Yes.” The butterflies had reached their climax. There was no going back from this point.

“Hermione,” Magnus tilted back in his chair to allow Harry access to the microphone. I didn't know why I did it, but I waved at him through the glass. He waved in reply and smiled warmly, “I love you.”

Aw…

Approaching the microphone, I spoke softly, “I love you, too, Love.”

Magnus re-approached the head of the mic, “Okay, you're on in five.” He held up his five fingers. He began pressing buttons on the sound machine.

I watched Magnus hold up three fingers.

Then two.

One.

He pointed at me and the red light behind the “Recording” sign lit up. My hands immediately went to the headset where I held on for my life. Habitually, or due to my anxiety, I closed my eyes. I allowed the beat, the rhythm, to pour from my head to catch the words in smooth lyric.

“Hey Jude, don't make it bad… Take a sad song and make it better,” My head inclined with each beat in the silence. I could hear McCartney in my mind singing. I only wanted to make the song my own—perform riffs in my voice, but keep the truth of the song within the realm of melody. “Remember, to let her into your heart… Then you can start…to make it bet-ter.”

“Hey Jude, don't be afraid… You were made to go out and get her,” I kept my voice solemn for the beginning, truly feeling the words as if speaking poetry for a crowd. “The minute you let her under your skin… Then, you begin, to make it bet-ter.”

The tone in my vocals increased as I lightly bobbed my head to the invisible orchestrated background track, “And anytime you feel the pain—Hey Jude, refrain!... Don't carry the world upon your shoulder… For well you know that it's a fool, who plays it cool…”

I peeked open my eyes to see Harry with his hands in his pockets, nodding his head to my song. Magnus was all in smiles as he watched on. I could even see him mouthing the words along with me. “By making his world a little colder… Nah, nah, nah…”

“Hey Jude, don't let me down,” I shook my head as if speaking to Jude, my eyes set on my lover smiling at me as I sung. “You have found her! Now go and get her! Remember, to let her into your heart… Then, you can start to make it better…”

“So, let it out and let it in,” I closed my eyes. I could feel the cool of the metal microphone head by my warm lips, my hands still holding the headset on my ears. “Hey Jude, begin, you're wait-ting for someone to perform with…”

“And, don't you know that it's just you!” I smiled, feeling myself get into the performance. The butterflies settled in the pit of my stomach. “Hey Jude, you'll do, the movement you'll need is on your shoulder… Nah, nah, nah…”

My whole body began to find the bob of my head. The leather sole of my boot tapped the floor lightly as I rose and fell to the melody within my mind, “Hey Jude, don't make it bad… Take a sad song, and make it bet-ter. Remember! To let her under your skin! Oh! Then you'll begin…to make it better…”

A rush of heat, warmth from toe to head, ran up my spine. My favorite part, the part that made me smile the most, belted from my tiny body. “Better! Better! Better! Better! Better! Oh!”

With each “Better,” my voice grew louder, prouder—believing in myself, seeing myself do this in front of a crowd, and loving it.

“NAH! Nah, nah, nah, nahnahnah! Hey Jude!”

***

Magnus gave me a standing ovation after my version of “Hey Jude”. He thought it was brilliant. He even made reference to the fact that I had such an “original voice and look,” and that “he knew I'd go far with just a touch more formal direction.” That was a large compliment from someone who worked side-by-side with the best and brightest in the music industry.

I sang the song a few times. Magnus wanted a few takes of my voice. He said, “It's not really professional to take the first take of any recording,” and that, “Many singers go through multiple takes until they find the best vocal.” He wanted to set me off on the most positive path he could give me as if I were one of his clients. He even told me, in the future if I ever needed an agent, he'd be happy to take me on after I'd gotten some experience under my belt.

But, he wanted one other song—different from the upbeat of “Hey Jude”. He asked me if I knew “Imagine” by John Lennon, and of course, I knew it by heart. I told him I hadn't practiced and he told me to treat it as an impromptu performance.

“Don't worry about it,” Magnus had waved my jitters off. “With the emotion you put into `Hey Jude', and how you made it your own style, I can't wait to hear `Imagine'.”

I tried to smile, but trump Lennon? I didn't even think I'd done that good of a job with the Beatles even after he gave me a rousing applause. But, he urged me to get the ball rolling, and before I knew it, I was singing acoustically one of the best songs of all time to the upper hierarchy of Virgin Records.

“…Imagine all the people…living life in peace, you—You may say I'm a dreamer,” I had my eyes closed as I `made love' to the microphone, my mouth a centimeter away. “But, I'm not the only one… I hope someday you will join us, and the world will be as one.”

“Imagine no possessions… I wonder if you can… No need for greed or hunger; a brotherhood of man…,” The lyrics erupted emotions from my soul, and I could hear myself begin to breakdown whilst singing. Just one of those songs… “Imagine all the people…sharing all the world, you—You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one…”

“I hope someday you will join us,” I had to break away from the microphone to get my act together, and immediately finished the song, coming back to the mic. “And the world will live as one…”

When the recording light went off, I instantly spoke into the microphone, clearing my throat, “I apologize for that emotional outburst.”

“That's what I wanted from you,” Magnus smiled and nodded. “I knew you had that in you, and wanted to dig that out of your soul. I could see you doing something like that for a record. This is your niche.”

“And honestly, Hermione,” I heard Magnus clear his own throat and looked between him and Harry. Harry gave me a thumbs-up with a wide, loving grin on his face. Magnus came back to his microphone, “You got me a little teary-eyed there. What a great job—I'm taking that on its first take. I don't think I'll be able to get that rawness in multiples.”

“Really brilliant stuff,” Magnus coughed into his fist, still a bit sentimental over my performance. “Give yourself a pat on the back, truly.”

Harry got my attention by waving at me. I smiled at him, and saw his motion as he directed with a point of his finger at my pockets within my skirt. I quickly felt of my ruffles. He was telling me to—finally—open the mysterious letter he'd written to me this morning as he made me breakfast in bed.

Gently I slipped the white envelope with the words, For You, written in his cursive out. I glanced up at him, to make sure that's really what he had wanted. He nodded. I told you he could read my mind. I grinned and tucked some hair back from under the headset. Slowly, I slid my finger into the fold of the envelope and divided the two pieces of paper. I pulled from the insert one, single white card with these words written in the similar style and black ink from the front:

I'm so proud of you, my fiance, my future wife, my love.

I love you more than life itself.

~ H

I read his words again, and again, and again.

I couldn't stop reading his handwriting, his words, his love on paper.

Tears welled up in my eyes.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Much of what you read in the chapter - Lennon and the Beatles, besides the obvious “Hey Jude” and “Imagine” lyrics}

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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: Wanted to get this out before Finals started. The chapter plays more on the dynamic character of Hermione outside the world of just Harry (not saying that Harry isn't the center of her world as he is) and more of how she thinks and reacts to the world around her. Thank you to all who have continued to read and review. I very much appreciate it! Keeps me going, especially when writing gets tough.

***

Chapter Nineteen - Nurture

***

“Oh shit!”

“What did you do now, Granger?” `Severus' was speaking again to me.

Hurriedly, I flipped the knob to turn the burner low in heat. I nuzzled the telephone between my shoulder and chin, going about the kitchen with the chord stretching its length. I grabbed several paper towels off the roll, breaking each of them down the integrated line, and began wiping up the messy, hot grease I spilt whilst maneuvering a pan of bacon onto a plate. I acted fast, not wanting Harry's—our—kitchen counter top to be scorched. I ran the faucet on cold and pulled up the dish rag to wipe the remaining essence and, thankfully, no scars seemed to have been made.

“Rah!” I picked up the pan I'd dropped and put it back on one of the eyes of the stove. “I dropped his bacon all over the floor.”

“Granger,” `Severus' was back on the phone. “Thirty points for sheer clumsiness. I'd expect better from a know-it-all.”

“Gin,” I sighed into the receiver. “Shut up.”

Ginny laughed, “Did you burn the bacon this time, too?”

I scoffed, plucking a bowl from the cupboard to pour oatmeal into, “No! Do you remember every one of my blunders?”

“I write them all down and categorize for organization,” Ginny was having a fit on her end. “You know, in case I need to blackmail you in the future. Maybe I should document some of this on camera, too.”

“I really hate you,” I said, my hand slightly dipping the pot of steaming oatmeal to the side while my other scooped the gooey warmth from its confines with a spoon. “I hope you know that.”

“I hate you too!” Ginny scoffed, offended. “Witch.”

I smirked and set the empty pot down. Sliding the tray across the counter, I arranged the bowl of oatmeal beside the plate of bacon. Using a fork, I struck a sausage link I'd made and bit into the tip, all while going to where we kept the spices to retrieve cinnamon and sugar shakers.

“Actually,” I could tell Ginny was smirking as well. She sounded evil whenever she'd smirk and talk. “I'd `wand' that ass. You know I would.”

Ginny always made these little sex jokes. I'd heard it from her pretty much since I met her. I'd roll my eyes, like I did this time, and continue on with whatever I was doing. I'd smile, of course.

“Mhmm…,” Unscrewing the lids to the cinnamon and sugar, I tapped a few sifts of the sweet to make the oatmeal more edible, tasty. “Okay, Gin.”

“I'm serious, if I were a guy, I'd take that wand and—“

“God! Gin…,” Suddenly, the sausage link I'd been eating didn't look so…appetizing. I set it aside. I couldn't look at it any longer. Okay, so maybe I wasn't as immune to my bestie as I thought I was.

Ginny absolutely had a riot, “Hahaha! How's that breakfast coming?”

“It's going,” I made a face and dumped the sausage in the trash. “I was eating a sausage link, and the image—“

“Bahahaa!” Ginny's voice became distant and close as she laughed. She slapped something, probably the wall, and said aloud, “That's priceless. Just priceless!”

“Merlin, go find Neville! Sheesh… Get a room for Christ's sake. Shag it out or put it back in your pants.”

Taking the polished handle of another metal pan, I found the spatula I'd been stirring the scrambled eggs with and lifted both to begin to process of scraping the yellow from the black. I'd put a dash of pepper while mixing the yolk with the white, giving a variety of sparse color throughout the eggs.

“Speaking of shagging it out,” exclaimed Ginny. “Found any cute guys at Hogwarts?”

I grinned, having to lean further into the phone to catch it from slipping. My arm had gone up, moving my shoulder, to push the scrambled eggs from the pan. I plated the yellowing-white alongside the rich, reddened bacon. “Yeah, actually,” My grin crept further as I thought about my words. “I did find a stud.”

Ginny grew closer to the phone; so close I could hear every single breath she took, “Holy shit—tell me! Everything!”

“Broad shoulders, little scruffy with a five o'clock shadow, a bit tanned, smart…,” I stifled a giggle. “Messy black hair, green eyes…nice butt…”

Ginny resounded depressed, “…That's Harry.”

“Didn't you ask if I found someone at Hogwarts?”

“Little witch…”

Now, it was my turn to laugh.

“Gin,” I switched the burner from `Low' to `Off,' mimicking the rest of the switches all gone to `Off'. “I'm not perusing the market anymore. I've found my perfect man, and he's upstairs sick.”

“Though, he did fancy this chit. A redhead, loud and obnoxious little annoyance,” I added with blown sarcasm.

“HA!” Gin's laugh muffled. “You're such a witch.”

“AND! You can still look, Mi-Mi. It's not a sin to look at the packages out there,” Ginny yawned. It was early morning, and I was surprised to even get a phone call at eight from Ginny. She usually slept in—I know I'd like to right about now, too. “On a more serious subject…how's Harry doing? Any better or is he still running that fever?”

I shook my head as if Gin could see me. I stretched the chord on the phone its entire length as I opened the fridge to grab the orange juice. “No. My poor love's up there still feeling yucky. The poor thing kept coughing all night.”

“Did you go to that pharmacy in Hogsmeade I told you about? The new one I saw near the robe shop?”

“Yes, I did. But, the virus or whatever's in him isn't budging,” I frowned when I stood up and hit the edge of the fridge door to close it back. “He's been coughing and sneezing for the past two days and he doesn't want to go see a doctor at all.”

“Men,” Ginny jeered. “If they didn't make us feel so good down yonder, they'd just be a bunch of whiney babies.”

“Say that to Neville recently?”

Ginny chuckled into a breath, “You know I'm kidding…except for the `feeling good' part.” She said the last portion of the sentence quickly.

I smiled, pouring the juice as I watched the essence of the fruit fill a clear glass full, “By the way,” I halted the pour, plugging the carton of orange juice with its white plastic stopper.

“You know I won't be able to come over tomorrow if Harry's still in bad shape. I feel awful as it is leaving him here today for work.”

“You're so whipped,” Ginny snorted.

“He's done so much for me,” I sighed, dropping the carton back in the fridge and closing the door once again with my hip. “I'm not going to abandon him by himself. Not going to happen, just a fact.”

“But, I need us to go over the bridesmaid gown and such! It's only a few months away now!”

“It'll have to be a rain check if he wakes up tomorrow with a fever again.”

I could tell, even through the phone, that she'd crossed an arm around her chest as she spoke with a tantrum, “Oh, I see how it is. Can't abandon him, but you can abandon me? Your girl?”

“I'm sorry? He's my fiance? The love of my life?”

“I see how it is, Granger.”

Ginny went silent as I dug around in the silverware drawer for a fork, spoon, and knife. “Gin?” I asked through the deafening quiet.

“What?” She paused a beat, and then whispered the word, “Traitor” at the end.

“I love you.”

“No you don't—traitor.”

“Aw…,” I tried wrapping a napkin as exquisite as Harry had the morning of my studio appointment, but couldn't quite get the sides to fold the way he had. Finally, I just gave up after four attempts only to have it unravel. I rolled the silverware together in the napkin and set it beside the plate. “What will I have to do to make up for being a `traitor'?”

“Hm…,” Ginny pondered a moment, and then came back to the telephone. “Oh, I'll think of something…”

“Whatever your first gutter-thought is, toss it out. I'm not doing whatever it is.”

Ginny laughed, “Damn, and here I thought I'd get you in garter belts and leather!”

“Exactly.”

“Well,” Ginny sighed. “I better let you get to work and be with your MAN… Tell Harry that I said, `Get better,' Brownie.”

“Will do, Weasel,” With Harry's breakfast ready, I'd taken the phone back up in my hand and glided over to the hook on the wall. “And, I promise you. I'll meet with you soon about the wedding—“

“You better!” Ginny interjected mid-sentence. “Don't give me a heart attack here… You're my Maid of Honor, after all.”

“And who procrastinated, letting their own wedding plans wait until the last minute…? Hm? Who was it again…”

“…Witch.”

My lips curled into a grin as I lay gently against the wall beside the hook, “I'll talk to you soon. Let me get Harry well, first. I'll be there.”

“A nice, good shag would get him feeling well.”

I giggled into my hand, “Probably… Probably…”

“Ask Neville, he knows.”

“TMI.”

Laughing, Gin sighed against the receiver, “Love ya, see ya lata'”

“Love you too,” I went to hang up the phone. “Have a great day, Gin.”

“You too, Mi-Mi. Bye-bye.”

“Bye.” I took the phone from my ear and set it back on its hook. I scratched the front part of my head, combing my fingers back into my hair and let the strands fall awry. They already needed a good brushing, dry and stringy from after my shower. The shower hadn't affected the covering hairs, though; still over that one eye. I fought with it, tucking the tuft of brown behind my ear to see with both. What a thought!

The tray fit between my fingers as I picked up its mass by the side-handles. I held it steady, the orange juice jostling in the glass as I turned to move. I had his medicine, too—the medicine my mother had given me that worked so well with daddy. We hadn't used this yet, having gone to the pharmacy in Hogsmeade as said to get a quick fix. Unfortunately, whatever flu-bug ailed my beloved fought against the medication. The back of the box said, “Feel better in twenty-four hours!” with time now moving into the seventy-second.

Stepping onto the first step, I flew up the flights of stairs trying not to make a sound. He was asleep when I left him to come down. I didn't want to wake him, easing out of bed and traipsing by tip-toe across the floor. He was up most of the night with a cough, a victim of insomnia.

Harry is always Harry: worried about my livelihood even after I'd tell him that I felt, “healthy as a horse”. Harry didn't want to “infect” me. Rubbish—utter rubbish. Every time his body would react, with a sneeze for example, he'd immediately withdraw from me. Like a sneeze was going to bother me. Even if he hadn't proposed, I would have remained the same stubborn woman in love. I wasn't going anywhere, and with that, I'd find him when he'd retreat amongst the sheets.

The first night he argued with me, told me I was going to get sick, etc., etc.

Whatever.

I kissed him goodnight and wrapped my arms around him. One of the few nights I spooned him. Fine—if he didn't want to breathe on me, that's all right—I just slipped along him and embraced from the back.

Call me a nutter, but that's where my heart lay.

On the third and final floor, I touched the cold knob and pushed on into the bedroom. Sneaking in without a sound, I gently shut the door behind me with my shoulder and went on over to the desk. I put the tray down and picked up the cough syrup and its miniature measuring cup. I poured the exact amount it called for—two tablespoons—and looked on at Harry bundled in the bed to his neck.

He slept on his stomach. His hair looked wet, the strands fraying along the leading brim of the white comforter. He snored, his face partially hidden on the pillow in which I would have laid. I smiled a little, but then hastily subsided the sentimental thought when I heard my baby's hacking cough. Harry lifted, but I didn't think he really awoke from sleep. He sucked in his runny nose and rolled over on his side away from me.

I glanced at myself in the mirror above his desk, getting Harry prepared to eat. Talk about a blast form the past. I gazed into what resembled two years ago: white, starched collared shirt and a black, pleated skirt with black tights, the Hogwarts attire. Except, the tie wasn't striped with crimson and gold. Technically, I wasn't a “Gryffindor” any longer, so I couldn't put anything on that mimicked in case the faculty actually thought I was one of theirs. Not a problem—pink and black worked wonders.

I didn't allow the formal wear to devour all of me. My wristbands and charm bracelets covered my wrists. My signature black eyeliner colored the outline of my eyes. I don't typically paint my nails, but because I was going to be out often I decided to give me something else; so, more black. The shine from the metal studs on my leather wrist cuffs gave off a chromatic sheen in the subtle lamplight. I'd pulled the knot of my tie lower, between the second and third button down from my neck, and opened up the first few buttons—some of the perks in not being a student.

I moved quietly, syrup in-hand, and walked over to the side closest to where he lay. As I drew near, I noticed right away the thick layer of sweat on his face and shoulder which became exposed after he had lifted. I set down the medicine on the nightstand by the alarm and cautiously raised the comforter and sheet off him. Surrounded in a puddle of his own perspiration, Harry shivered.

I had to wake him.

I had to change the sheets… This looked awful, and most uncomfortable… Poor Harry… I knitted my brow, concerned and rubbed his back to rouse him. He came around in time, sluggishly, obviously sick. Harry didn't really open his eyes, but he smiled when he saw me. I gave him my most genuine of grins back, but the grin fell into looking even more concerned as I saw his bare body beneath the sheets drenched in sweat. My hand felt cool when I left his backside.

I bowed to lower and kissed his cheek, it too wet with sweat. I whispered in his ear, “I'm going to change the sheets and everything, get you a towel…can you stand up?”

His arms removed from around the pillow, his hands going to the mattress where he rose far from it. “I'm freezing…,” he said, but I was already on it.

I ran into the master lavatory and snatched up a clean bath towel. Rushing back, I caught Harry as he stepped slowly from the bed. I draped the towel along his naked body, patting him down to dry him of his own fluids. I frowned when I saw him shaking. “I made you a fire downstairs…,” I said, trying to dab the towel anywhere and everywhere I could.

Even shaking from his flu, he managed to grin. In a hoarse voice, he stated, “…Thank you.”

I had dried most of his body off, handing the towel to him to complete the rest of himself. I was behind him when I came back to the nightstand, and I gave his bare back a light kiss before stepping to his side. His focus was directly on the platter of food I'd brought up for him. He smiled and coughed, turning away from me when I held up the medicine.

“Smells good…,” He had to clear his throat of phlegm midway through those two words.

“Take this and go sit down at the desk,” He reached and took the greenish liquid from my hands. I motioned back over the dresser drawers and lavatory with a nod of my head. “I'm going to go get your robe and change those sheets. Eat something before you take that, though. It's no good on an empty tummy.”

“You look beautiful as always…,” He'd sat down on the chair at his desk by the time I'd come back with his dark blue, plush robe. His voice remained rough, but he tried to smile, tilting his head back to drink the medicine after eating a half-a-slice of toast. “…I'm sorry I can't send you off, today…”

He stood up and I assisted in putting the robe on him. He tied the cotton belt and curled back in the seat. He withdrew his feet from the floor and had his knees by his chest. The poor thing was still cold.

I took the damp bath towel and tossed it in the hamper. I went right to the dresser beside it and knelt to the floor where the bottom drawer held the linens. I spoke with Harry behind me, “I honestly don't want to go. I don't like leaving you here in the shape you're in alone. Makes me feel guilty…”

I tucked some strands of hair behind my ears and seized matching spread and sheets together in my hands. Pushing off the ground with my knees, I strolled back to the bed and began tugging the wet remnants of Harry off the mattress, comforter and all.

“Don't feel guilty…,” He coughed and my eyes went to him the second he sneezed. He took the napkin that the utensils were wrapped in and wiped his nose red. He sounded stuffy as he continued, “…I'll be right here when you get back, and better, too.”

“I hope so…” Throwing the damp sheets in with the damp towel, I glided to the nightstand where I left the bedding supplies. I began working on re-establishing the mattress and its comforts. I was leaning down, stretching the linen so it pulled the length of the bed, when I said rather firm, “Because the next step will be a trip to St. Mungo's.”

Harry chuckled cloudily, “…I'm not going to St. Mungo's. You'd have to tie me up to get me to go there with all that mess.”

“Or,” I suggested casually, making it around the bed to straighten the sheet upon the bed-spread. “I can charm up a body-binding enchantment and drag you in there. Either way, it's the next step.”

I smirked over at my man and he smiled, dipping the spoon into the cinnamon-and-sugar oatmeal. “It pains me that you're sick,” I added at the end.

“I'm sorry…”

I sighed, “You don't have anything to be sorry for, things like this happen all the time. I just don't want it happening to you and watch you suffer the ailments that come with it.” My eyes were on the fresh white sheets, trying for exact symmetry to the comforter and the sheets. I went onto new pillow cases.

“The Nyquil has a drowsy side-effect,” I had a pillow underneath my chin as I shimmied the covering upward with my hands. “It'll put you to sleep.”

“I need some…badly…”

“Mummy gave it to me, and it looked as if you did.”

“Thank her for me again…” he coughed.

“I will when you're all well.” I smoothed out the pillows after placing the two side-by-side like always. “There.”

I checked over my work, and nodded when I'd done everything I needed to, “Good as new.”

“Another reason why I love you…,” His words ran warm within me. I smiled at him, walking over to the hamper.

I quickly glanced over at the clock to see it flashing almost nine. I didn't have to check-in until ten-ish, so I had time. My eyes wandered back to the hamper beneath me and I took it up in my arms. I turned, pivoting, and saw Harry get up and wander off to the bed. My eyes flicked to the food, it lying half-eaten. The orange juice was gone and the bowl of oatmeal cleaned. He hadn't really touched the bacon and most of the eggs and toast were cleared.

I walked over to the tray with my arms full and eyed Harry as he removed his robe. He folded the material and hung the navy cotton on the nightstand. He coughed as he slid in, his nakedness covered back to his neck.

“Are you finished with breakfast?” I asked as he puffed his pillow. “Want me to take this, too? Or leave it?”

Harry wrapped his arms around the pillow and spoke softly from the side, “I'll take it to the kitchen and rinse the dishes off… Don't worry about it. I may eat some more between now and then.”

“Are you sure? I can come back up and get it,” I shifted the hamper's weight in my hands. “I'm going down there to toss this stuff in the washer before I leave. I have time.”

Harry shook his head, “It's okay… It's fine, really.”

I heard him yawn and saw his eyes close, “Have a good day, baby… See you this evening.”

My shiny, buckled shoes clopped across the wooden floor. I made my way bedside, to Harry, and set down the hamper. He tried to squint and smiled, nuzzling into the spotless, crisp pillow casing. I slid my left knee onto the bed and scooted around him, my arm moving across the hill that was his back. He tried to pull away, but I got him and smirked.

“Don't—you're going to catch what I have.”

I shrugged, “You should have learned by now that that really doesn't bother me whatsoever.” I made a light laugh and leaned down to kiss his lips.

He slightly lifted from the pillow, his strength weakened by the sickness and the distributed drug coursing throughout his body, and caressed my lips happily back. He fell to the mattress where I sifted back into the crevice his body created and nudged the tip of my nose against his. Harry chuckled softly, and I smiled, kissing the side of his mouth, and then his cheek. I lingered my kiss on his cheek and said within a purr, “I love you so much…”

“I…love you, too…,” I could tell the Nyquil was taking effect. He slurred his words and smirked as his head drifted lower into the softness of the pillow and his eyes drifted gradually to close.

I slid off the bed, took the hamper back in my hands, and quietly tiptoed out of the room.

Harry was out like a light.

***

We weren't allowed to eat in the library.

Between Blake Brown, a fifth year student from Hufflepuff, and Elizabeth Scott, a third year student from Ravenclaw, I'd gone down between classes to get a meal from the Great Hall. The faculty had their own meals prepared during session breaks if they weren't on the clock. A part of the faculty now, I had my name reserved at a seat. Well, not really a reservation, but more of the fact that I could eat with the other teachers. Not that there were many of them, having sat alone mostly since I'd gotten the tutoring job, but I did get to catch up on my reading and enjoy the benefits of being back inside the ornately, stained-glass panes of the Great Hall.

After a quick lunch of tuna fish and chicken noodle, I gathered my belongings, satchel in tow, books and parchment in my arms, and made my way to the library once more. Only a few students roamed the rotating staircases. They were either in class or out enjoying what sun we had on a cloudy day. I had to stop and wait for a staircase to revolve around just before the fourth floor. Two male students, fifth of sixth years by the looks of them, waltzed on passed me as I let them by. They wore their bumblebee colors of black and yellow, and when they buzzed onward, the guy closest to me gave me a wink.

I rolled my eyes. I'd gotten a lot of attention from the males since beginning. Sometimes I'd have to get strict and demand their attention when tutoring—the joys of working with pubescent adolescences. My past personality definitely came from its background. I couldn't understand, at times, why these kids didn't want to bask in the education they so readily had. I'd always find runes or the mythology of the magical world interesting, so I had a difficult time understanding when they'd get off on some off-subject tangent. That, and I didn't have time for it. Tutoring was a booked job. I had one student after the next and could only fit in an hour's worth with one each interval.

I waved at Madam Pince as I made my way back into the library. I'd warmed her stoic, cold persona; the attitude that literally made people quiet in the library. She was intimidating, and practically knew when a student was about to do something they weren't supposed to within the shelves of the library. She smiled at me from behind her reading glasses and desk, a large tome propped in her hand.

Making my way to the desks in the middle of the ground floor, I sat at my usually seat on the end of one bench and began taking out the parchment and books, notes from the previous day's work. I checked the watch in my bag and shifted so I sat on my left foot, tucking hair behind my ear. Low rumbling of chatter was all that was heard throughout the library. Every now and then someone would laugh, and Madam Pince would shush them.

As I waited on the next student, I doodled with a pen in the corner of my loose leaf. I held my chin in my left hand and gradually left the paper to smile at the photograph of me and Harry taken at the beach. One of my favorite pictures captured of us. How I pulled him into the frame, and how he grinned against my cheek, was too adorable. I sighed, and was abruptly broken from my daydream by a bunch of loud Slytherin. I scrunched my nose up and waited for Madam Pince's, “Shh!”

“Shh!” came from behind me. I glanced around to see the elderly woman put her finger across her lips.

The blonde Slytherin, tall and broad shouldered, blew a kiss at Madam Pince. He flicked his head at the other burly boys around him, dressed in Quidditch gear and bumped knuckles, “I'll catch you guys in an hour. Don't let Pruitt back on that broom. He'll just fuck it up.”

“I hear ya,” said a dark-headed boy, bumping knuckles with the blonde. “Later.”

“Yeah,” The blonde made one of those Slytherin, “up-to-no-good” smiles. “Later you lot.”

He came right up to the edge of the table when he climbed on the bench. The pads of his Quidditch attire bent as he leaned forward and held out his hand, “Why…,” he winked at me. “Hello there, sweet cheeks. What a fine and glorious day today is?”

I let out an annoyed sigh and held out my hand, “Your essay.”

The blonde took my hand, and went to kiss the top of it. I immediately pulled it back from him. “No!” I scolded, wagging my finger at him. “I want you to behave yourself this time, Xavier.”

“Aw…,” His baby-blue eyes affixed to me. His red lips curled and he went to sift his hand through his spiky, short hair. “You're just so fun, Grang—“

“Hermione.” I interjected, editing his phrase aloud. “Or, Miss Granger.”

He grinned and set his gloved hands beneath his chin, “You make it so fun to play with you. It's cute.”

I laid my hand palm up and ushered the words, “Your essay, Xavier. I want to see what Professor Mackay thought of your work for Muggle Studies after our last discussion.”

“Oh,” Xavier kept the grin on his face and leaned down to rummage through his school bag. The bag's surface was littered with stickers, buttons, and patches all supporting the Falmouth Falcons. “Oh, I'll think you'll like it, Grang—“

“Miiiissss Granger…,” he concluded, handing me a rather large scroll of parchment.

I went to take it and he held it firm. I didn't fight him for it and merely settled my eyes sternly on him on the other side of the table.

“What?” He asked, playing it cool. “There it is! You wanted to see it so badly, right?”

“…Give it to me,” I took in a breath and let it out. The last time I fell for this “tug-of-war,” I'd come out of it nearly falling backward on the floor after he let go.

“Isn't that breaching some sort of student-faculty contract, Miss Granger?” He winked at me and let go. I took the essay up in my hands and began unraveling its circular shape. “I mean, it is a hidden contract…and, you are, what? Nineteen? That's only a year below—“

“You failed.” I huffed, reading the scribbled red ink assortment against the black ink of Xavier's handwriting. I glanced up at him in disgust. “I have never, ever, seen a grade of a nine!”

“Are you sure it's not ninety?” Xavier gazed at his nails and went to polish them. “Maybe you're mistaken? A cute head like yours can only hold so—“

I slammed the scroll down on the table hard, and realized soon afterward that I'd gotten the attention of Madam Pince. I smiled sweetly at her when she eyed me curiously, and then swiftly turned to see Xavier grinning. “No—it's a nine. N—i—n—e. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, NINE.”

Xavier picked up when I finished, sarcastically mocking, “Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen?”

I let out another huff of frustration. I began to slide some pieces of literature out of my bag, textbooks specifically for Muggle Studies, when I heard Xavier let out a gasp at first, and then a laugh.

“You've got to be serious, right?”

I cocked a brow, my teeth together, “You wanted tutoring, didn't you?”

A pair of girls walked behind me and giggled when Xavier gave them a wave and a kiss. My eyes went back to Xavier, and then to the girls, following his eyesight straight to their bums. I put my hands over my face and let them slip across my features slowly.

“You know,” he began. “A cutie like you shouldn't squash their face up like that. Makes you look like a pig, and that's not so attractive now, is it?”

I massaged the sides of my head, my temples, and slowly inhaled and exhaled.

He gives me such a headache.

“And anyway,” He moved, and I saw him lean toward me across the table. “What do Muggles know?”

He smirked, and my jaw locked, teeth grinding. He knew who I was, he knew I was Muggle-born—Hell, everyone knew I was Muggle-born. The Prophet wouldn't let that one slip. I tried not to allow him to get a rise out of me, but he knew the buttons. He reminded me of another blonde Slytherin ass I unfortunately became acquainted a few years ago. To clinch the memory, I awaited the day Xavier called me a “Mudblood,” but he hadn't—yet. If that day occurred, he'd never get help from me; that'd be the end of that. I'll take on children to a point, but when it comes to derogatory name-calling, that's where I draw the line. I'd give him to Josephine; she worked wonders with immature delinquents like this.

“For your information, without Muggles, tons of what you benefit from wouldn't even exist—that is, you'd obviously know this if you ever cracked that book open of yours!”

“Wait…,” Xavier dug back around in his bag and procured the same textbook I had in front of me. “You mean this thing?”

He blew off a thick layer of dust.

“Point proven,” I added, shaking my head.

He dropped the book on the table, having it smack and echo along the bookshelves. From somewhere, I heard Madam Pince shout, “Quiet!”

“Hey…,” Xavier gradually pulled the essay from my hands. He set his eyes on me and didn't blink once. “Do you know what would be fun?”

“Actually seeing you pass for once?” I crossed my arms over my chest and stared on.

Xavier crumpled the essay in his leather gloves and tossed it hastily in his bag. He came back to me and bent over the table. “Actually,” Xavier reached to touch me and I backed off. “I was thinking you and I could meet under the bleachers after practice…that would be fun.”

He wriggled his brows.

I shot straight up, his focus moving upward. He kept that sly grin on his face whilst I shoved one thing into my bag after another. I took up the strap and shook the belongings to settle and put the strap along one shoulder, having it secure to my chest. Lifting one leg, then the other, I went to walk away, but said before leaving, “Improve the personality, and then maybe we can improve your work-habits. Don't come back to me for help—not like you want any, anyway.”

I started to leave and Xavier yelled after me, “Hermione! Don't leave me!!”

My eyes went wide, and I stopped to slowly turn to see the whole library looking in the direction of Xavier and me. Xavier was on his knees, crawling towards me with his hands balled-up. He pleaded, “Please! Hermione! My dog ate my homework! I wanted that last treacle tart! I overslept! I had gas!”

He'd crawled right on over to me. I, honestly, had no bloody idea what to do. Nothing like this had ever happened to me. Embarrassing, it was, and when I looked up every bloody person—including Madam Pince—stared at us. I stared back, but horrified. “Get up, Xavier!” I said low, through gritted teeth.

“You're the only one who ever believed in me!” Xavier shouted at my feet. He looked up at the ceiling. “Why!? Why cruel world!?”

I looked between him and the crowd gathering and smiled weakly.

“My kitten died! I lost my pencil!” Xavier cried out. “My mother beats me! I want the world to know that I'm sorry! I'm sorry!!”

“Xavier…,” I tried to keep the front up, playing as if this didn't bug me, but it bugged the Hell out of me. “Get! Up!”

“I'M SORRY!!”

I glanced over at Madam Pince who now had her hands on her hips. Red-in-the-face, wrinkles taut, she looked pissed—and who wouldn't be in this position?

Xavier gasped, drawing in a deep breath to start another “I'M SORRY!”, but I finally grabbed him. I took him by the sleeve, grasped tightly the fabric, and grabbed his shirt collar and dragged him to his feet. He smiled at me when he stood and brushed himself off all casually. I tilted my head and shook it, leaning in to whisper with authority, “Follow me, Taylor?”

“With pleasure!” He turned to wave at the gathering, but I yanked him away before he could take a bow.

I didn't pull him far from the library, just leading him outside the entrance. I pushed him around and pushed on him again. I pointed my finger at him, my lips in a line. My eyes were narrowed and I said, slowly, really making sure he heard every, single word out of my mouth, “Never again, do you hear me? Never again.”

“Ask Professor Mackay to find someone else to tutor you. I'm done,” I ended, swishing to my left to walk away.

I caught his smile, his evil, Slytherin smirk, before I moved. He called out to me, nonchalant, “So…this time next week good for you?!”

***

“Let me just say, McDonald, that in reviewing your work I do agree with you on the subject of Magical Law, but I disagree with what you say here. In paragraph seventeen you say…”

Walking the corridors to go home, I began to slow down to hear the debate going on in the auditorium ahead of me. The vocals of the two men discussing Magical Theorem broke what silence would have been there. The hallways weren't jam-packed as they had been mere minutes ago. With the students either sitting and eating dinner within the Great Hall or going back to their respective Houses, the passages weren't bustling. I gradually made my way to the double-doors unabated with my bag over my shoulder.

I peeked in at the two elderly men with parchment sitting on stools at the bottom of the concaved auditorium. Students were scattered about the benches and aisles, eagerly listening, taking notes, or, because some professors were giving extra credit, there just to get that bit of a grade bump. Soliciting just inside, my focus was intent on the billowing robes and gruff voices beneath long, flowing white beards.

“What I don't understand, Crea, is the definition you give “magic” here. It's out of place, either that or I'm missing the metaphor you're trying to give to clarify your thesis. Certainly, you mustn't think that magic created—“

I lost my concentration when two Ravenclaw girls shuffled inside and took a seat. I grinned, and moved on in behind them. I picked a row, slipped between a guy jotting on paper and his stuff at the end, and made my way to an empty area. I sat quickly and took up the foldable desk in the armrest. I placed my bag between my legs on the floor and propped my elbows on the newly acquired surface. I peered on at the brilliant, challenging debate and wished this had all been here when I was around. I could see myself skipping, literally skipping the halls to get to each and every open forum. I'd miss eating or whatever if that was a problem.

I sighed and crossed my legs, scooting back in my seat. I laid my chin on my hands and continued to watch the thrilling casework of the two wizards.

“You know, McDonald, that that evidence is clearly…well, it's unmistakably brilliant. I absolutely love the deduction between Magic Law and Magic Reality,” the wizard, Crea, in dark plum robes turned out to the audience. “Before we move on from the subject of Magic Law and the basis of Magic Reality, does anyone have any questions?”

In the front row, right in front of the two Merlins-in-action, a hand hastily shot up before Crea could finish. I looked down and—well, the sight of brown, bushy hair was all I could see above a Hogwarts insignia jumper. Book upon book, and parchment with quill, stacked high on her desk.

***

“I'm so, so sorry…,” I'd come from downstairs. I felt bad. Really, really bad. The forum heightened in its debate when the bushy-haired girl fought to state her claim against Crea's thesis. Then, I became utterly enthralled in their conclusions to Magic Realism within the Muggle Society, and how Muggles help in the creative process. I'd lost complete track of time, and ran home to meet with my sick lover.

He was still in bed when I got back. The tray was gone from this morning, and I used the tray to take up a dinner of steak and vegetable soup with toast. I wanted to get those vitamins and protein in Harry to recover his strength, to get better. I felt like a horrible fiance—terrible, bad, distasteful—for forgetting him. Harry had gone over with me when I apologized profusely. He accepted them with a smile, but I couldn't get away with it.

If only he'd yell at me—or something. I felt…bad, like I let him down.

“Apology accepted…again…,” He smiled from the bed, his arms wrapped around a pillow. He looked at me as I strolled into the master bedroom and shut the door behind me. At the entrance, I started to slide my shoes off, unbuckling them in mid-air. “You don't have to keep saying sorry. I mailed off that letter of recommendation the Professor wrote to Oxford, by the way…”

I dropped both shoes at the door and glided over to the lavatory, and more importantly, the mirror. Starting to pull at my tie, and then my shirt, I exclaimed in a breath, “Aw… Harry, thank you. But, I feel like a lousy fiance…forgetting my baby like that…”

“…You didn't forget about me, stop it,” He still had a drug in him, sounding tired, his words elongating when they shouldn't. “I'm glad you're not just going to work and coming home. You can have a life too, you know…”

Tossing my tie on the desk, I resumed unbuttoning the white collared shirt. I felt the cool atmosphere hit my warm, bare skin when at last they were all undone. I pried the bracelets and wrist cuffs from my wrists and set them atop the dresser along with some of my others. I swiftly went to his side, bedside, where I could see his naked back and shoulders. The sheets weren't pulled up all the way—he'd said he'd gotten hot. I touched his backside, sitting down on the ledge to rub him.

“When did you last take the Nyquil?”

“About an hour ago…,” Harry turned to meet me, his cheeks switching to its opposite position on the pillow case. He grinned at me, his eyes closing, “Before you came home.”

My fingers followed the indent in his back, the lean muscle that protruded slightly. Slowly, I crept up on the mattress. His eyes tried to follow me until he couldn't any longer. I slid my light mass on him, straddling. I pulled my skirt back when it got in the way, and then tore away my shirt when it fell on him. I gently massaged Harry's shoulder, his back, the pads of my fingers pushing into his skin and grazing the length toward my hips.

He laid still. He'd moan when I'd work at a spot, my hands giving him a loving rub down. He felt a little warm, not-normal-warm. I leaned down against him, the front part of my bra squishing into his smooth, hard flesh. “Are you cold?” I whispered into his hair.

He shook his head and removed his right arm from around the pillow. He let it slip to catch my side, squeezing me in reply before he spoke into the pillow, “…Feeling pretty good…”

I grinned, my hands still massaging into Harry's shoulders after my bow. I whispered again, “Want to flip around so I can get the front side, too? Or, is this good enough?”

I stood on my knees as I felt Harry move, giving him room to turn. I watched my man with a smile raise on his arms and hop to his other side, his head and all the messy hair hitting the pillow once more. I gazed down at his body, the pectorals, his little pink nipples and the black, soft hair between them. I saw his thin trail of black going from his navel as I lowered back to his body, to remain in straddle-stance, pulling at the sheets which twisted up in his roll. As I glanced behind me to gather the sheet in adjustment, I couldn't help but notice Harry, his northern region, and how his patch of black pubic hair encircled his semi-erect manhood.

I grinned—it was there, you know? Of course it was. I nearly started to rationalize why I lingered my gaze on him, uncircumcised and beautiful with the head partially covered by his foreskin. Then, I realized—wait a minute—why? I think I thought it wasn't right, or something, what with Harry being ill and all. But, when I swiveled back around to meet his gaze, he smiled. He knew what I'd been staring at as if I'd seen the single, most finest piece of sculpture ever created on planet earth—my Adonis.

You're his fiance for crying out loud!

How many times have you seen him now…?

“Well…,” I kept grinning, tucking tufts of hair over my ears. I blushed. “Looks like you're feeling better.”

Harry chuckled and slipped his hands to my stomach. He fingered my belly button, grazing lightly his fingers across the surface of my skin. He made me gasp, and then I giggled. “Still feeling a little high…” he said.

“That's to be expected…,” I moved my hands behind my back and felt of the fastening. Harry's fingers danced their way along the tiny breadth of my tummy, feeling of me as I did to him. I felt the brassiere loosen, the shoulder straps falling to my arms. Harry quickly reached behind me and caught my hands in assisting. Stretching my arms upward, I bent them behind my head at the elbows and felt the bra begin to fall from my figure. I watched as Harry carefully pulled the cups off of my breast and snakily shifted the garment from my body.

I sighed in relief.

The feel of bra to no bra…after an exhaustive day…

Amazing.

Truly.

I sighed again when Harry took to where he left off, a hand sliding down between my breasts, following a slight crevice down my body to my navel. I let a subtle moan escape from my lips and wriggled under Harry's touch. He snickered when my breasts, firm as they were, jiggled by my quick movement. He reached back to them and gently cupped their weight. I smirked, my arms still bent behind my head, and rolled my hips into Harry's abdomen. My breasts jiggle once more in his hands.

I snickered, too, and slipped my arms down.

Such a man…

I smirked.

My hands met Harry's chest, feeling of his hair, his pectoral muscles. I rocked into him, making him grunt in his lazy smile. I leaned down to him, my nose scrunched at the adorable expression of happiness of Harry's face, and nipped his nose. He bit at me, my body jerking back, and I giggled.

“This would probably be a bad time to ask if your day went well?” My face lingered less than an inch from his, smirking. My eyes followed his lips, how he moved his mouth to speak. “That is, besides the forum and that guy hitting on you for the umpteenth time…”

My smirk collapsed against his lips when I kissed him tenderly. I kissed the side of his mouth, and then his chin as he added, “You'd think the bloke would get a hint by the ring…”

I laughed through my nose and peck-kissed the tip of Harry's nose. He was smiling, a sarcastic twang in his tone.

“Want me to go down there and have a word with him?”

I shook my head and laughed, moving into kiss him when I felt something extra-furry, extra-fluffy pounce. Thunder had cracked, rain beating on the window panes around the bedroom. A storm with a cold front was moving on through our area, bring with it a tremendous amount of active weather. I lifted to peek, but knew what it was—who it was—the orange fur ball curling up beside my knee and alongside Harry's bare side.

Crookshanks wasn't allowed in the bed with us, but between my attention now completely on Harry and the mix of stormy weather, my poor kitty's life at the moment was utterly dismal. But, I had to be stern or he wouldn't learn. “Crookshanks!” I rose to sit on Harry's stomach, his hands on my hips, his fingers digging into the elastic band of my black skirt. “Down off the bed!”

Crookshanks yawned at me and meowed. He flicked his tail to hit Harry.

“Aw…,” Harry scratched under Crookshanks's left ear, making the Kneazle purr and tilt into his fingers. Only Harry could touch him intimately like this without being, well, clawed to death to put it simply. Only one other person could get away with it and that was his mistress: me. “Is Hermione being mean to you?”

I lightly smacked Harry's arm.

He chuckled, and said looking up at me, “He gave me his undivided attention while you were gone today.”

“Aw…,” I bent from my straddle of Harry to nuzzle Crookshanks. He purred and swished his tail. “What a good boy!”

Harry made a laugh, and as I climbed back atop my lover, he smirked. His fingers still scratched Crookshanks's ear.

“What?” I asked, my hands going to Harry's shoulders as I felt his free hand trying to slide under my ass. I shifted up to allow him to feel of me, and he tugged on my black tights to sit down on his hand. He held a buttock, his fingers in the crease of my bum. I gave him a gentle rocking into of his hand, and Harry looked on rather pleased.

“When you brought him in the other night when it rained,” Harry laughed. Obviously, something undid in his mind. “Well, during our fuck, you made this noise when you came that made him tilt his head to the side. It was rather…”

Harry sighed, “Priceless—hilarious.”

“He watched us?” I smiled, and my eyes went a bit wide.

“The entire time,” Harry was beside himself with a smirk. “Right up there on the desk. Never took his beady eyes off us. He probably didn't know what was going on.”

Harry let out a loud laugh, patting Crookshanks's head.

I gasped and roughly pet my kitty, “You little voyeur!”

Crookshanks leaned his head back and meowed.

“He knows his mistress was enjoying herself,” Harry snickered and winked at me. I shook my head and rolled my eyes, scratching my kitty's back.

“But, I didn't know he'd turn out to be such a peeping tom-cat!”

“Does this constitute as…,” I glanced over at Harry, and he followed his silence by saying, “'Playing with your pussy'?”

I gasped and smacked him on his shoulder, “Harry!”

I gasped again and he laughed, “And I suppose that now I'm playing with my `pussy'?”

“Do you play with your `pussy' often?” He said it so formal, but broke into laughter when I rolled my eyes at him.

“Such a man…,” I released Crookshanks and floated above Harry until I laid on him, my forehead alongside his jaw. “You're better, no denying that fact.”

Harry coughed into his fist in an obvious attempt to denounce what I'd said. Such a fake cough. I lightly patted his cheek and he smiled. I kissed the cheek I hit, and then the other, before kissing his mouth. He grabbed my ass with both of his hands and gave my right buttock a swat. I grinned on his lips and kissed him harder. “I'm still high,” he proclaimed when we moved our mouths away. “…from the medicine.”

“How are you feeling besides high?” I slid up to put my hand on his forehead. He felt rather warm, but his jade green eyes said something different when I gazed back into them. I asked, knowing the general thoughts going through his mind, “What was your temperature? Did you check it recently?”

“Ninety-nine point eight.”

He turned me on. Everything about him turned me on. But, the fact is that he has a fever, however a mild one…still, a fever. I sighed and said softly, “No fun tonight…,” I lay my head back in the niche of his throat.

“Oh, yes fun—tonight,” he argued.

“I'm not going to get you sicker than you already are,” I rebutted. “Your fever has come down.”

“I'm feeling fine, honestly…,” he chuckled and rubbed my ass. His fingers slipped into the crevice and I pushed into him from his touch. He found the beginnings of me, the soft between my legs, and immediately my hips bucked into him. I could tell my skin was flush, heat rising from those certain points on my figure that screamed absolute sex. He knew I was horny, and he even made a “Mm…,” when he knew it. “And…”

I lifted from his body and stared hungrily down at him. We hadn't fucked or fooled around during the days he'd been sick, and like any craving habit, my body needed and wanted to be made love to by Harry. I glanced behind me, knowing right where he lay, to see his impressive erection pointing towards me like a compass. I flicked back to ask in his quiet manner, “And?”

“…You can do another check of my temperature.” Harry flashed a smile and gave me a suggestive wink.

I tilted my head to the side and laughed, peering at how dilated his eyes were and how sparkly his emerald gaze was.

I thought, plastering that smirk-of-smirks on my face, about his “thermometer”.

“What about your whole, `Don't kiss me-Don't hug me' deal?”

He shrugged, “You haven't gotten sick yet.”

I nodded with the smirk, “Point and match.”

“Crookshanks!”

He meowed and stretched against my leg.

“Off the bed! Now!”

Harry yanked me down on him, and my body collided with his with a smack. Crookshanks all but jumped out of his fur and hissed at us. I laughed, kissing Harry when he hurriedly found my lips. His hands gripped my rear and pushed me into him. My hands were around his face, in his hair, his shoulder, neck—anywhere I could I could find while my eyes shut closed.

Harry flipped us over and shot up. He grabbed the band of my skirt and jostled me around on the mattress. He hastily unfastened and let it go, slipping his curved fingers into the rim of my panties, my tights, and the cotton fabric of my pleated skirt. He cleared me of them, pulling them from my legs and off, tossing them to the floor somewhere. My legs fell, spread when they landed, Harry having taken my clothes off from above my head. I smirked when I saw, waiting, Harry's erection jerk from side-to-side by his quick removal of my clothes.

He was on his knees, his eyes returning from having thrown my bottoms off, when he pointed behind him and snickered. “Take a looksie there,” he said in a grin, coming down and lowering between my legs. I went up as Harry came down and saw Crookshanks, yet again, watching us like a peeper.

“Crookshanks!” I pointed at him, and then to the floor. “Down! Naughty kitty!”

Crookshanks slouched and meowed. I pointed to him again and the floor once more before the cat actually flew from atop the dresser drawers. He meowed in dislike, but I meant it. I wasn't going to condition him into watching us fuck every, single solitary time. Gave me the creeps knowing that my cat found pleasure, or whatever was in his feline psychology, in observing us go at it biologically.

I made sure to take note of when Crookshanks curled up in his kitty bed in the corner of the room beside our shoes before laying back down on the mattress. Harry had been around me the entire time I got onto my Kneazle, grinning away at the stinker and his peeping ways. He laughed and kissed me, sliding on me whilst I tightened my thighs around him.

“Maybe he's making sure I do it right?” Harry laughed and nudged my nose with his. He kissed my mouth and I giggled.

I laced my fingers in with his above my head and said, the tips of our noses remaining together, “Such a dirty ol' cat…”

Harry leaned his head to the side and chuckled. I leaned my head to his and quickly found him, taking his lips up with mine to kiss him with intensity. Our tongues tapped as one, touching, the moment I felt him press into me. I arched my back, my head going into the pillow, my eyes closed. My legs wrapped around him and ever-so-gently he stretched my wetness with his girth. He pulled forth from me halfway only to plow right back into me, right to the hilt, our bodies slapping each others.

A groan rolled from my throat and off the tip of my tongue. In exasperation, I exhaled and grabbed him by force and pushed his lips back on mine.

I missed him so much.

-->

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: Some key issues that have been building beneath the surface finally hit head on in this chapter. I'm interested, as always, in what you all think; but, I'm even more interested in any insights my readers have for the future of Hermione, Harry, and the rest. We still have quite a few hurdles to leap over, and with curtains rising on new, confusing ideas for the characters, who knows what will happen next? I'm sure this chapter will spark more controversy. Enjoy!

***

Chapter Twenty - Muddle

***

Just like Doctor Stone and Doctor Stevens wanted, I took up exercising. Not like I hadn't done any before. Mainly, I'd do yoga. Yes—yoga. Yoga is simple, fun, and really can get those kinks out of your back and neck from the night. I really enjoyed doing my warm-ups in the morning, right out of bed. Harry really enjoyed watching me—really enjoying it.

He'd come out of the lavatory, or from downstairs, and I'd be tangled in the sheets performing on the mattress. He called it “performing,” which I laughed and the term caught on. So, I would perform, stretching my arms and legs, my back. I'd breathe gently in at first, finding that peace within my mind: a field of flowers on a sunny day, the smell of rich, warm baked bread, or the engrossing literature I'd been reading the night before. I'd let myself go until Harry became touchy-feely. Then, my breathing would increase in pace and I'd fall down on the bed in smiles.

He could do that to me.

One time I was doing my routine completely out of the realm of reality. My mind was between leaving sleep and that special spot I'd thought of to relax. I let slip one foot over the opposite leg and stretched to the side, and then slowly moved over and did the same with the other, really working to pop my lower back. Harry came from the lavatory, having showered, and leaned on the frame of the door. He stood there with a smile and watched me as I slipped both my arms, interlacing my fingers together, and stretched to the headboard. My gray tank top fit to my measurements, so when I acted, I pulled the bottom edge straight up. He loved when I exposed myself without really exposing myself…as if this was his own private, intimate show. I found it rather sexy, too, when he'd just stare at me, wanting me, even doing small things like this to get him going.

Rotating on my stomach, I pushed off the mattress with my hands and nurtured my back once more. I heard the slight pop, felt the tension release and grinned with my eyes closed. My face declined to the pillow as I rolled my body like a worm to come back up by my hands. My head went to the side, my hair falling to the left and then to my right as I swiveled to work the kink from my neck. Harry was doing something behind me, as I could hear the padding of his feet on the wooden floor around me. Only when I hopped onto my knees and rolled my torso again towards the sheets did I see Harry bedside. His eyes were affixed, observing his lovely specimen and how her body contorted. He called me “limber,” and I was—I could put my feet behind my head if I wanted to. I could also pull my thumb back to my wrist, extremely flexible with my joints.

Yoga helps.

I started doing Yoga to assist the stress within me while I was with Ron. He'd also watch me, but unlike Harry. Ron lusted after me. Harry, however, was delicate. His eyes weren't locked onto my breasts; his eyes were locked on me as a whole. Harry would touch me, feel me at times when I'd do my work-out. His hand would stroke the sloping of my back when I'd roll. His hand would slide along my tummy when I'd try and stretch the length of the bed. He'd run his hand along my thigh, my leg, when I'd raise my knee and catch it bent near my chest to rotate the pivot. His fingers lightly felt of my spandex shorts, or panties, the tank top I wore and the curves underneath. He'd run his fingers through my hair as it draped toward the bed. He'd rub the back of my head when I'd fall back and relax my form before stepping off the surface to start the day.

More often than not, he'd turn me on. Who wouldn't be turned on by someone so lovingly touching you with the intent to showcase how gentle they were of you? One time he glided just the pads of his fingers alongside the inner part of my thigh. I had my leg out-stretched to my side and I had to stop. My eyes were already closed, but I gasped a breath. He knew what he'd done to me and stopped, slowly pursuing onward to fully feel that spot upon me. His fingers went right against the crease my body created where my thigh joined my hip. Spandex fabric isn't thick at all and, well, the severely thin material might just have been my real skin. Shuddering when he came back in to feel of my other thigh, the inner portion so tenderly, I couldn't control myself any longer.

I shot right to my rear and pulled him back into bed.

My legs, arms, everything enveloped him—I wasn't letting go, and from his rigid, strong grasp of me that day, he wasn't either.

Sex helps, too.

Besides my Yoga sessions, I ran with Harry. Mind you, this was all done when I was not cut for time. Jogging with my future husband felt exhibitionist in a way. I mean, Harry openly told me he had started this because of his past; that, this was how he relieved himself of his nightmares. He'd literally and metaphorically run them out of his mind. He also told me how much he had thought about the days where he wanted me beside him, my arms around him, loving him. He became all sorts of giddy the first day I asked to jog with him in the morning. Now, it became nearly a routine whenever we both had a chance to go together.

Today, I had on those black spandex shorts Harry loved so much and a white shirt not unlike those of the 70s. My shoulder peeked out on one side and the black sports bra strap could be seen on my shoulder. I bought tennis shoes for the occasion, not thinking my Converses nor would my boots suffice kilometers of jogging. Harry wore sweat pants most of them time. Sometimes he'd have on the jeans he wore the day before. He didn't have one pair of shorts in his wardrobe unless one thinks of boxers as such.

Harry had on one of those step-trackers.

“How far did we go today?” I caught my breath beneath two flourishing downy birch trees, my hands on my hips. A breeze swished through the striking green of the leaves, the branches swaying. The breeze felt cool against the thin layer of perspiration on the uncovered portions of my legs, arms, and neck. I'd bundled my hair early this morning with a scrunchie so I didn't have to fight with it.

“Almost twenty kilometers,” answered Harry, breathing easier. He was in better shape than me, that's for sure.

I keeled over, sitting down and then falling into the manufactured, cut grass. I let my limbs go wherever they wanted, my arms over my head. I peered up into the partially cloudy sky. The clouds vibrantly white against an ocean of blue. The sun rose while we jogged, and now, just a few blocks from Number Twelve, we rested in a park as we've always done. Just getting outside, taking in fresh air, listening to the birds chirp, the pond ripple and the day-to-day bustling of suburban London.

Harry dropped right down next to me. I had my eyes closed and peeked when I heard his weight hit the ground. I looked over to my right and saw him on his side, his hand propping his head up from the grass. He had set an over-sized water bottle down behind him near his hip. A few people passed by us on a sidewalk circling the perimeter of the park. My ears heard them talking around us and my immediate reflex was to look at them: two older women chattering away about their jobs. I smiled at Harry when I felt his hand go to me. I lay back down content and felt his fingers crawl their way above my heart from my abdomen.

Putting a hand to cover my eyes from the morning sun, I asked with a smirk, “Satisfactory?”

Harry leaned to me and kissed my lips, and then reached with the hand that held my heart to tap my nose, “Perfectly.”

“So…,” My smirk never ceasing, but grew when I saw his gorgeous, white smile encroach his lips. “Are you going to tell me what mischievous scheme you have in-store for me today?”

“Hm,” Harry exaggerated a thought, over-dramatic when he put his hand to his chin and glanced at the sky. He looked back at me and said with one of those upper-class, haughty tones, “My lovely fiancee, what ever do you mean?”

I rolled my eyes.

Here we go again…

I'd been trying to get anything out of him all the while we jogged. He'd make some rhetorical question and blow me off calmly, or he'd try and direct my concentration of my question to some frivolous object, like a car. He knew what today was… He hadn't forgotten a month ago, and the month before that.

“Fine,” I huffed. I crossed my arms over my chest and closed my eyes, the sun creeping in-between shadows to blind me. “I guess today doesn't mean anything to you.”

His hand slithered under my shirt to feel of my tummy. I went to squirm away from him, but stopped. It was difficult to play mad when he made me feel good, his fingers lightly massaging the slight muscle under my soft texture.

I felt his breath upon my ear and knew he was smiling when he whispered, “Five beautiful months…surreal, dreamlike, loving intimacy with you…”

I opened my eyes to his words and shifted my head to gaze at him beside me. Harry lifted and hovered over my head as I guided him, having led my hand into his messy chaos and placed him on my mouth. His hand found my hand along my side and he slowly interlaced them together. Gently we kissed, our tongues lazily licking the others. We normally didn't put on such strong public displays of affection, but today—our fifth month anniversary—was an exception to our rules.

He released and roughly caressed my cheek, making my face slip a little to the left. I turned and met his mouth once more before he propped back on his hand and adjusted our interlocked hands, his right and my left, atop my tummy. He would brush the pad of his thumb against my own, and I would communicate the same as if our thumbs made love to each other. He slipped down into the crook his elbow made and eyed me at my level in the grass. I lifted and fell to my side, now facing Harry and his wonderfully brilliant jade green eyes. I was so close I could see the outline of black around the viridian color.

He lay back against the grass and I slid right to him. Cheek to his chest, I sighed and draped an arm loose around his waist. He petted me, rubbing my head as I laid there with him, listening to his own heart beat and the sounds of nature between manmade. I didn't have to be at work until one in the afternoon, so I had plenty of time to remain within our serenity.

Reaching over, I took up the water bottle and popped the top open. I drank the cold, icy aqua, nourishment for my thirsty body, and set it back down beside him. All the while, Harry observed my drink—every action, even the slightest, he loved to see. When I moved the bottle back, I resumed my lay, my head finding his chest. The beat of his heart I focused on until I felt him shake me awake.

I must have dozed, coming back to reality and the beat that rhythmically prodded me into sleep.

He went to sit on his behind, bending forward. He held me as he bent, sitting me up as well. I yawned into him and blinked, Harry's figure hiding me from the sun. I stretched, Harry going to his feet and grabbing the water bottle. He offered me a hand and I took it with a smile, getting up to brush the backside of my shorts off.

“How long was I out?” I yawned again.

“Maybe…a half hour?” he took up my hand and began leading me from our spot. He glanced back at me with a smirk, “You didn't get much sleep last night…thought I'd allow you to catch some Z's.”

I laughed, coming alongside him with my hand tightly clasped to his, “Thanks, I appreciate the gesture.”

He winked at me. “Not a problem,” we'd come to a corner and he had to push a button to allow us to cross the street.

“You're still not going to tell me what you're up to,” I leaned into him, tip-toeing on my tennis shoes. “Are you?”

He shook his head, keeping his eyes from me. He smiled, “Not a chance.”

***

“How—“ My eyes were wide. I was in shock. Utter and complete shock. The scene before me took my breath away.

Roses and rose petals scattered everywhere. From the entrance hallway, vines slinked and bound to the walls toward the crossroads of our kitchen and den. Petals made lines for me to follow and became splotched at random the further I walked into the home. After each step, a bud would burst into bloom, creating bunches of crimson red roses. I turned back to look at Harry who followed me with a smug grin. He had his hands in his pockets and ushered me forward with a bob of his head.

I saw the kitchen, the vines having made their way onto its walls. The moment I merely breathed my breath into the room roses burst into full blossom. I flipped around when I heard an explosion of flowers behind me to see from the den vines twist themselves into a heart-shape above the fireplace. They curled and hardened, and then like the rest, roses started to disperse to create the crimson red heart. My eyes went to Harry behind me and from behind him, more roses flourished into bloom.

I threw my arms around him, leaping. He caught me and chuckled, embracing me tight.

“I'm guessing you like the surprise?”

I fell back on the soles of my shoes. I gazed at him in silence, my heart racing and my stomach sprouting butterflies. I kissed him quickly, and then grabbed his hands. I pivoted on my heel and started up the staircase, having him follow. White candles were placed on the ornate ball-structures of the railing when the wood would bend and wrap to another floor. With my body passing, the wick on the candle would suddenly light up. From the first step to the last, vines accompanied my brisk action. With each pad of sole to stair, a dozen roses would come alive and vividly put on their display. The aroma of fresh roses sweetly filled our world with more roses joining rank every new step. At the top, the third floor, vines had chased me, halting to make more petals expose themselves to life.

I hadn't said a word to Harry, but watched his magic in amazement. He had went through so much to set this up; even I would have had difficulty trying to occupy him and transfigure and charm an actual rose garden within the enormous Number Twelve. It would have taken me weeks, maybe even months, to outright prepare for something as extravagant as this. I was overwhelmed, not so much by Harry's work, but by the time and affectionate thought put behind it. He could have gotten me chocolates and flowers, but he went far beyond with his efforts to showcase his love for me.

So, so much like Harry…

I pulled him into our bedroom and shut the door behind him. I didn't let go of him a second of our time, and really held on as I led him toward the master lavatory. Vines crept underneath the door and shot like comets across the walls. Fast they were, with blooms bursting in more heart-shapes above our bed. The flowers began to write our names in cursive together in a larger heart-shape centered just below the portrait of a hippogriff in flight at twilight.

“Where are we going?”

I turned, replying quickly with a flash of my smirk, “…We're sweaty, aren't we?”

“Doesn't that entail a shower…or two?” I added with the smirk he found so sexy.

“Or three!” Harry laughed and swiftly lifted me off the floor. His strong arms wrapped around me as my legs wrapped around him. I held onto him by the neck and giggled, my hair leaping with the force he pulled me up with. He held me to him and snogged me hard. My hands instantaneously gripped tufts of his crow's nest. I led him with all the strength I had to kiss me—and kiss me with fury—our lips matching as one. I moaned and felt him, the individual steps he'd make with one knee bending and then his other.

He moved fast, so fast I thought we'd actually apparated that couple of feet. He slammed me against the wall when I raked the tip of my tongue along the roof of his mouth. He grunted, liking what I did to him, teasing him within his mouth. He pushed into me from the front, and I couldn't take it any longer. I gripped his shirt and yanked it off him. I held my arms up when he went to get mine, throwing his to the floor. When my arms hit the cool of the wall, the vines slipped around me, conveying my body in outline. Roses shivered from their budding alongside my cheeks, blooming upward against my arms to the points of my fingertips.

My shirt to the floor, too, Harry pulled me away from the wall. I glanced with a smile when the vines had altogether followed every curve, every contour of my form to perfection. Harry kicked the lavatory door to shut behind him and I snickered at how ready Harry had become.

***

Painstakingly meticulous, I curved the wet, thin brush of black paint to encompass my eye. Wanted being the keyword. I was leaned over, looking into the mirror above my vanity and desk, giving Harry his time in the lavatory after our showers. He had to drink candied-smelling liquor, mixed and concocted by me the day before, as he wished to go out while I was at work. He tried to mix a cosmetic potion on his own, only to have it backfire—literally backfire—in his now-sooty face. I laughed, and he just shook his head and handed me the cauldron.

The black eyeliner, careful as I was, was nearly done. From my ears, I heard Harry waltz on out of the lavatory, clicking the switch off as he went into the bedroom. I saw him in my peripherals, his dark gray shirt left unbuttoned whilst a lighter gray v-neck fit to his chest. I could see his pectorals, the trace of them, extrude and struggle. My pink lips wrought into a grin at my handsome fiance, my man and his boot-cut black jeans all ripped up. His black, industrial shoes prodded rocklike on the wooden floor.

His solid boots clipped the floor as he moved on over to me. I looked at how the potion changed him, his black mess now bronze, and his eyes with a golden twinge of brown. We couldn't make the same style constantly for fear of another uproar from the wizarding world and the stalking of the paparazzi. Harry rolled his sleeves up to his elbows before he felt of my hips, my waist, holding me firm as he stepped on behind me. He touched my black, pleated skirt and inched his hands underneath the brown, yellow, and red combination plaid shirt top.

I shifted my weight from one buckled shoe to the other, the zephyr Harry created as he moved to me bringing a cool temperature to the bare skin between the ends of my knee-high black socks to the beginnings of my skirt. He tickled me, and chuckled when I went stiff and stopped painting my eyes. I glared at him through the mirror as he peeked over my head. He rubbed my sides as if to apologize for playing, and I couldn't get angry. I smiled and nudged my hips into his hands. I made a face, sticking my tongue out and crossing my eyes which made him snicker, his arms wrapping around my tummy.

I stood up into his arms. Harry's head, his chin, sat upon my shoulder as he observed me twist the brush back into my eyeliner vial. I glanced into the mirror to smile at him, my pearly whites gleaming in the subtle light sheltered by semi-transparent curtains.

“Radiant,” he said, briefly kissing my exposed neck above the collar. He set his chin back and looked on again at me.

I smirked and lay back in his stance, “What are you up to today, mister?”

“Gotta go to the Ministry, play with their red-tape, and get some things situated…lovely stuff.”

I made a laugh at his sarcasm, gazing into his twinkling, golden eyes.

“Can I get you anything while I'm out?”

“Are you actually willing to go to Hogsmeade?”

He shrugged and kissed my shoulder, “Say it and your wish will be fulfilled.”

“I'm going to need at least three tufts of unicorn hair from the apothecary,” I laid my hands, and then my arms parallel on his alongside the front of my body. My black nail polish looked odd compared to our complexions. I looked at him—us—through the reflection in the mirror, and we looked so…right. Too right, and the scene gave me goosebumps. I couldn't help but smile. “We're running low.”

“Got it,” he smelled of me and smiled, too. He tightened his arms around me. “You smell so…delicious…”

I lightly smacked his arm, “Down boy.”

He roared at me within the mirror and lightly bit at my neck, “Rawr…”

I shook my head to the side to flick the hair over my eye backward, but of course, it never worked. Harry slipped his head behind me and kissed the top of my mine. “Ready?” he asked as I went for my bag on the desk, my charms clunking against my leather wrist cuffs.

He helped assist me, pulling the strap of my bag down against my figure. I nodded, tapping the crimson and gold button that read, “HHr” and having it jingle beneath my fingers. “Ready.”

Normal couples would walk right out their front door and leave by car. Normal couples would kiss their mate at the door, or at their car door, and wish them a good day. Normal couples would wave as they drove off to their destinations. When Harry and I stood at our quadruple-in-size fireplace hole in the den, similar qualities occurred, but wholly, its own entity entirely. We did kiss after I stepped into the fireplace. Harry did wish me a good and safe day, and told me he loved me with all his heart. I did wave at him, and he at me, but that's where normalcy stopped and our other world began.

I took up the Floo powder in my hand, threw it at my feet and shouted, “Hogwarts!”

Harry's words echoed as the green fire engulfed me, swallowing me and pulling me through much like apparating. I smiled as Harry's voice continued to ring in the wormhole warp, stating over and over again, “I love you… I love you… I love you…”

***

“You really think I did good?”

I gaped. I still couldn't believe my eyes. In my hands held an unraveled parchment. Xavier had written his essay to have Professor Mackay give little error feedback. From the beginning until now, I thought he was a lost cause—well, maybe not so much the case, but a guy unwilling to stride far into his education. He was much more willing to strive with his hormones and wherever those led him, astray or not. Still, his grammar cleaned, his premise stronger, even Professor Mackay wrote with his red-inked quill, “Good job” at the top with a numerical score of seventy four.

“This is so much better than when we first met!” I read the number over and over to recognize how far Xavier had gone from just one, single “nine”. “I still can't believe it!”

We were standing outside the library, beside a column holding the roof. He'd given me his work, wanting to surprise me—another male in need of giving surprises. Xavier put his arm to balance himself as he leaned into me, smiling. “Thanks for the verbal support, there, Hermione.”

“Oh, I didn't mean—“ I smirked and watched him smile. “What I meant was that I'm proud of how much you've accomplished. See!”

I gave his shoulder a nudge with my fist, “I told you that you could do anything if you set your mind to it! Just like with Quidditch, and I know you keep your concentration centered on the field. I heard Slytherin beat the snot out of Ravenclaw last weekend.”

“Yeah,” I over-inflated his ego, unfortunately. He blew on his nails and rubbed them on his chest. “That was me—winning goal. I'm awesome.”

“Some advice?”

“Advice?” he looked at me confused.

“Women don't enjoy an egotistical maniac.”

“Women?” He winked. “Or Hermione?”

I shook my head. He certainly laid it on thick. “Anyway,” I began, and he laughed beside me. I handed him back his essay and he tucked it in his bag. “Good work, Xavier, but now I want to see you ace the next! You can do it, I know you can.”

He went to smile, but his face grew solemn.

“What?” I exclaimed.

He lowered his face from above, as he was a good foot taller than me, and whispered the words, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah…” I whispered in reply. I didn't know what he was up to… The majority of the time he wasn't serious, so I half-expected him to pull some prank.

His gaze stayed on me, his expression poker. “You,” he began. “Were the first person to really believe in me. The profs here all gang up on me, my parents don't understand the stress between Quidditch and school, and—yeah…”

Aw…

“Come here.”

“Hm?”

“Come here,” I ushered him with my hands, my arms open.

He looked on befuddled.

“Fine,” I slipped my hands to my bag, my other hand adjusting the strap across me. “Guess you wouldn't want a hug.”

“From a Muggle-born?”

My eyes affixed to him stern.

“I'm kidding…” Xavier opened his arms and embraced me before I could get around him. I felt his brawniness when he tightened and I patted his back. I went to let go and it took him a beat until he let go, all smiles with a wink. I just rolled my eyes, quite aware of his obvious flirting, and felt my back in case he put a “Stupify Me” sign on it.

“So… If I ace the next essay, I…” A wry grin crept along his lips. “Get a kiss?”

Reaching to his face, I patted his cheek as I slid on away. The bell rung for classes to let out and a tumultuous crowd came forth from the doors around us, swallowing the hallway in bodies. “You keep thinking that,” I said, walking away.

Xavier rushed on alongside me whilst I dug around in my bag. Something went abuzz, vibrating on my hip from within. I glanced up at him from my one eye and squinted a little.

“Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? They've opened up a new diner. Apparently, they serve you on brooms.”

“I'm flattered,” Though, I shook my head. “But, no. Xavier, I'm engaged to be married to Harry. You know that—everyone bloody knows that.”

I glanced at the people passing us to see them give me looks, knowing who I was, who I dated, and who I was soon going to marry. All thanks to the Prophet and they're “research” into our private affairs. They had dug up nice bits from our past at Hogwarts recently and smeared our names, especially mine, for being a… What was it this week? Oh, that's right: a “two-timing wench”. Nothing like seeing a photograph of me and Ronald on the front page against one of me and Harry under the title:

A WEASLEY-POTTER MENAGE A TROIS?

“You're hot, Hermione,” Xavier drew closer into me to speak due to the rumbling voices of the masses. “I don't know what you see in that bloke. He's pathetic. You need a man.”

“Coming from a child,” I patted his shoulder and gave him a nod.

“Ouch…,” He held his chest. “That hurt.”

“Look, Xavier…,” I sighed. I didn't want to hurt him, but I didn't want him clawing back to me. I didn't want to lead him on, if that's what he thought I was attempting to portray. “You're handsome, and the girl's here…”

Somehow…

“They like you,” I gave him a reassuring nod when he frowned. “Why not ask that one dark-haired girl I sometimes see you with. She's cute.”

“Ursala?!” He tilted his head back a laughed, scaring the poor first years walking away from us. “You've got to be kidding, right?!”

“She seems nice.”

“She's…like a bicycle,” he tapped his nose and looked at me. I studied his action from the corner of my eye. “If you catch my drift.”

“Ah…,” I wouldn't, and couldn't, play games anymore. I was off-limits and I needed to pound that into every guy's thick skull, young or old. You can see, but you cannot touch. I turned to Xavier and he gazed at me with hope, and here I was about to crush him. I sighed, “It's not going to happen. I'm sorry. I'm happily—more than happily engaged—“

My hand felt of the cold, metal and plastic electronic in my hand, my arm inside my bag. I knew the rounded, smooth texture and how I could break it in two, letting it flip to open.

“I just don't know what you see in Harry unless you're like every other chit who worships him…and, I know you're not like those girl's. Hell—you're a damn woman who needs a—“

I had taken my cell phone out secretly, just having the flap of my bag pulled away as it hid enough so I could see it. A white screen flashed and the words, “Text from Harry” read in its center. I flipped the phone back, closed, and looked up at Xavier as he continued to talk to himself, throwing a tantrum on how “Harry wasn't the best for me, he's better looking, yada, yada, yada…”

“I need to go.”

“Have you been listening to me?” questioned Xavier as we came to a T-intersection.

“Take care, Xavier,” I started going the opposite from him, to the left, and waved. “See you next week, and be prepared to get a one hundred on that essay!”

“Whatever…,” he said, trouncing off angrily.

The moment he left me in solitude, I brought my cell phone back out to read what Harry wrote. I got special permission from the Professor to enchant my phone to communicate to Harry. Harry, protected under so many divisions of the Ministry, could have certain things done around him that most people couldn't have. Not saying that Minerva wouldn't allow me to talk to Harry, but I did go for permission and she permitted me without asking questions. It helped me, kept me sane, to know that Harry was able to get in touch with me if anything odd happened or he was put into a jam.

Of course, he told me he wouldn't message me unless something major did happen, so when I got the text message my heart skipped. I clicked on the buttons in haste to pull up his short sentence and was ready to Floo, heading towards the floor with the Defense classroom. The message read:

Turn around.

Of all the times, I thought. I—

I halted my walk and reversed direction. My skirt fluttered as I turned to see, striding with ease as if the students gave him a path straight to me, Harry, my bronze-haired lover. His shirt flittered loosely from his sides as he glided on to me, his golden eyes flashing like his grin. He had his hands in his pockets, and I believe in that moment, my heart stopped. He looked utterly gorgeous with that bit of bronze hair coming from the low cut of the v-neck. I felt giddy, the environment of Hogwarts making me that little school girl once more, all in love with the tingling feeling upon my skin.

I smiled right back at him and slipped the cell phone back in my bag, my eyes glued to Harry and his confident, handsome step. I wiggled in my spot—my God was he beautiful—and gripped at the strap of my bag to keep me from jumping his bones. He came right up to me. Students glanced at him as he came through the crowd, but I must have done an excellent job as there wasn't too much of a stare. Some girls watched him from the corner of their eyes, but I brushed the gawking off. Harry was mine.

“Hey…,” I didn't know why I whispered, but the words fell out quiet. The smile stuck on me as he took hold of my shoulders and bowed in to kiss me. More people started to take notice, and I had to pull away as much as I didn't want to.

“Hey,” he whispered back in a laugh. He knew he flustered me.

I lightly smacked his shoulder, “Don't scare me like that! Nearly gave me a heart attack texting me! I thought you were in trouble!”

“Sorry,” Harry took me in his arms and embraced me. I tightened in our hug. “Didn't mean to do that… But, I wanted to catch you before I left.”

My cheek was buried in his chest. I glanced up at him and asked, “You're leaving?”

“Yeah… Aren't you still on the clock?” He peered down at me.

“…Yeah,” I sighed. The mass of student started to thin. The fifteen minute break between classes ending.

He ran a hand down my back bringing chills. He stepped us behind a column for more privacy, looming gazes still catching us from the lingering kids wandering the halls. I smelled of his pumpkin pie scent and smiled, hiding my face in Harry.

“Wouldn't want to distract you,” he added with a chuckle.

“I thought you were going to the Ministry and Hogsmeade?” my voice came out muffled and broke back to normal when I leaned up to see him. “Why are you here? Not that I don't want you to be here…”

I buried my face back into his chest, my arms holding him.

He stroked, combing my hair with his fingers, “I did do those tasks, and the three unicorn tufts are back at home.”

I smiled, the cotton of his shirt cushiony on my smooth skin.

“I also…,” Harry paused and I glanced back up at him. “I also got a job.”

“You… You got a job?”

“Don't sound so shocked,” he smirked with a snicker. “You sound like it's the end of the world.”

“I just—wow, that's wonderful, love,” I stood on my tip-toes and caressed his lips. “You were just against the idea of me working, and now you're working… Sorry if I came off sounding negative.”

I grinned, “I'm happy for you.”

“Would you be…,” He looked away from me, behind me, and I twisted my head to see Professor Flitwick wobble on by.

He nodded in greeting, “Miss Granger.”

He smiled when he saw Harry, strolling along, “Mister Potter.”

I chuckled and waved at Professor Flitwick. Harry let loose one of his hands from my waist to wave at him as well. Nothing, not even a cosmetic potion, got by the professors.

“I always loved Professor Flitwick,” I smiled at his wobble.

“Mm…,” I turned my gaze to Harry and he resumed from before. “…Would you be happier if you saw…more of me?”

“Now that's a silly question…,” I cocked an eyebrow. Not that Harry could see it as it hid behind the strands of hair hiding my left eye. “Of course I'd love to see you around…but, what are you getting at?”

He ruffled the hair atop my head roughly. I pushed on him gently and laughed, coming back to him instantly and as quick as I left him to push. “I got a job…”

“Yes…”

It hit me.

Wow, some know-it-all I am. Can't live up to that anymore, I guess.

“You got a job—here?!”

“…Would that be a problem?” He smirked, but his eyes were unsure.

I threw my arms around his neck, “Oh, Harry…that's wonderful, absolutely wonderful!”

My eyes were aligned with his, “But, doing…? Tutoring?”

Harry let out a loud laugh, “Yeah—no, I'll leave the smarts to you.”

I rolled my eyes. Harry was smart. I didn't like him discounting himself like that, but let this one slide to get to the core of the questioning, “Then…?”

“Remember?” He grinned from ear-to-ear. “Professor Hooch needed an apprentice?”

My eyes lit up and I kissed him.

“Even though,” he mumbled, laughing into my lips. “Professor Hooch told me I wasn't much of an apprentice, knowing the knowledge of brooms and flight like I do… That I was more like her…second-in-command.”

“Harry…,” I hugged him tighter and tighter. “I'm so happy and proud of you, love!”

“Monday morning I'm going to get the full, Hogwarts treatment,” He squeezed my hips. I grinned on and wriggled in his grasp.

“Introduction in front of the whole Great Hall?”

“In front of the whole Great Hall,” he nodded.

“Nervous?” I laughed through my nose. Harry's voice tinged on haughty.

“Nahh…”

“…Without?” I motioned with a nod toward his features, his changed physical appearance. “Everything?”

“Just me, the real me.”

“Wow…that'll be interesting…”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “The Headmistress is expecting a rousing cheer. She even joked about putting in extra security for my safety.”

I narrowed my eyes, “That's not funny…”

Harry tapped the tip of my nose, “It was supposed to be.”

***

“You know, you shouldn't be doing that.”

I had my guitar in my lap. We were without the men. Ginny and I just got finished going over preparations for her and Neville's wedding. Green gowns would be worn by the bridesmaids with bouquets of lush, red tulips instead of the wintery blue with white roses. She preferred chicken instead of the fish for the after-meal. She had a delivery of small cakes, a variety of combinations from carrot to Dutch chocolate, sent to her for taste-testing. The variety still lay on her coffee table in the middle of their den.

I went to home to change before apparating over to Ginny's. A more comfortable number of dark blue jeans and a gray t-shirt clad to my form. A black vest held secure to my figure and on top of those layers held clasp a black leather jacket with yellow lining. I loved my black leather. My Converse shoes were propped on their sofa and I was stretched its length, relaxed after the estrogen overload. Full, too, of the various sweets. Ginny practically threw cake at me, shoving piece after piece in my face.

I didn't know if I'd be hungry after all of it. Harry was coming for me soon with yet another surprise of a dinner-date. He wouldn't tell me where, but I had a feeling…

I gazed at Ginny from afar. She was turned around with her back to me while perusing her collection of CDs. She put in Shade Epsilon's new album and cranked the volume. I had to yell over the pounding, pop-base and lyric. Ginny swiftly moved so I could see her, an off-white stick in her mouth with wisps of smoke rising from the lit end. She rolled her eyes at me and plucked the joint from her lips.

“Yes, mother. Whatever you say, mother.” She put the joint back between her lips and fell on my feet.

“Hey!” I had to kick from underneath her to get loose.

Ginny took my feet after I got out and put them on her lap, “There.” She petted the soles as she lay back and tried puffing a ring of smoke into the air, her head tilted against the backside of the sofa. She elevated her feet on the coffee table and sighed audibly. She turned her head toward me and observed how I fingered the chords, my eyes static on my hand.

I glanced up at her and shook my head, “I thought you wouldn't do that again. I thought that was a release after everything.”

“Look,” she became defensive and bit at me with her words. “A lot of shit is going on, all right? Can't I just fucking relax? It's not like a light up every bloody day.”

“When's the last time you lit up, Gin?”

She went silent, her eyes closed.

“Does Neville know you're doing it again?”

“Fuck you, Granger,” she mimicked Professor Snape. She had a knack for Severus, bless his deceased soul. “One billion points from Gryffindor for being nosey.”

I leaned in my seat to have Ginny glance back over at me. She smiled when I gave her the finger and laid right back against the armrest. My fingers went back to the strings, strumming into a riff. I made the high-pitched melody as I went, not knowing where I was going, but rode the rollercoaster all the same. My eyes flicked to see and hear Ginny orgasmically sigh, her mouth fixating in that signature “O”-shape. She lowered in the crook of the sofa so her upper back lay for support.

I felt her hands gathered around my shoes, squeezing them with a rhythm to my chords. She began to untie them and, sensitive as I was to feel her through my shoes, I kicked her lightly to stop. He swiveled her head and laughed at me.

“So,” Departing from keeping an eye on plucking my black and white electric guitar with one of the picks Harry bought me for Christmas, I started to question my bestie's motives. She promised me that she wouldn't smoke anymore. I let her be because of the turmoil we all went through after the War, being shaken pretty bad, but now—she was about to be wedded to a wonderful man. I didn't get it.

“Why are you smoking again? Why do you need to `fucking relax'? You're about to get married to Neville in a month! Shouldn't you be excited?!”

Ginny winked at me from the side, watching me glide my fingers across the guitar strings, “…Do you know how absolutely sexy you are?”

“Don't change the subject,” I halted my fingers and stared at her lingering gaze. She had turned completely to her side to look at me. “Tell me what's going on and why you feel the need to resort back to that.”

I pointed at her marijuana cigarette.

I picked up the butterbeer bottle I'd been drinking out of since our taste-testing and took a swig to get the dry out of my mouth.

“You're not going to narc on me, are you?”

“Tell me what's going on,” Our eyes were connected as one, though mine were more attentive to her lazy composure. I put the butterbeer back on the table. “We've never kept secrets from each other. Why are you now, Weasel?”

“Do you really want to know?” she spoke rhetorically.

“No, Gin. I'm talking to hear myself talk,” one of my metal studs on my leather wrist cuff clipped a string making it resound deafly in the loud musings of Epsilon.

Ginny took a long drag of the cig and blew the smoke out in front of her, having turned away from me. She closed her eyes and sighed, opening them along with her mouth, “Mother's been bitching at me. Dad's been letting her bitch, the one front I rely on to defend me. Ron's being Ron—sure he's better, but it's not like he's being let out any time soon. My other brother has practically stopped talking to me for one reason or another, and—“

She stopped and looked over at me.

I looked between all her features, from her chin to her mouth, to her nose to her eyes. I couldn't quite read her. Her face would move between so many different emotional ranges. At first she'd look happy, and then she'd follow the smile with a frown.

“The…INEVITABLE!”

“Um…,” she screamed the word, “inevitable” out with what sounded like pain. “Gin?”

“What?” she coughed and I just shook my head.

“Why did you say inevitable like that?”

“Because it is? That's why?”

“What are you telling me…Gin?” She turned to me and spoke without speaking. Her eyes were lifeless and I couldn't understand why. I immediately thought it was the drug, the marijuana in her hand, but I'd seen her high before—and the look she gave me wasn't because she was high. The look toward me was a sign that she wasn't happy; that, Ginevra Weasley wasn't pleased.

“I don't know…,” Gin gazed longingly at the ceiling. No enchantments were placed upon it tonight, the wood and its planks bare to be seen.

“Gin,” I had to get something tangible back in her mind. She was losing it for some reason unknown to me. She loved Neville. “You love Neville. You've been with Neville for almost a year. When he proposed to you, you were bouncing around like a kid with too much caffeine. Why are you saying this now?”

“Maybe mother's right…”

I placed my palm along my face and raked my fingers down the crevices surrounding my nose. I sat up further in my seat, my guitar hanging from its strap around my neck.

“Maybe this is all one, big mistake… I'm too young, Neville isn't right for me…”

“Ginevra,” I sighed. Molly's been… Well, Molly's been being Molly. She wanted things her way like Ginny; but, her mother was a force to be reckoned with in desperate times. I lived with her—I should know—especially being not of the Weasley family. She really coddled me like a child and tried to get into my head about Ron.

“Neville loves you with all of his heart. Don't do this to him.”

Ginny sighed again over the music, her eyes looming on something above her, “I don't know anymore…”

“Gin, don't mess a good thing up!”

“It's already messed up… We fought the other night.”

“Why? Because of your mom?”

“Because…,” she looked over at me and smiled which caught me off guard. “Because…I don't know anymore.”

“Fine, Gin,” I groaned in frustration. Even with the battle between mother and daughter, I could rightfully picture Molly penetrating through Ginny, hard-headed, like mother, like daughter. “Fine—tell me something you do know. Let's start from there, eh?”

Ginny smashed the bud against the front page of the Daily Prophet lying on the table and dropped the cig into the throat of her butterbeer bottle.

“Well,” I said with a smirk. “That's a good start. I like seeing that.”

Ginny grinned at what I said and swiftly turned to crawl. On her hands and knees, she quickly crept toward me as if she were on fire, coming on fast. She tossed all her Weasley-red tassels back with one flick of her head. She was between my legs and above my guitar before I could say a thing. Her lips were hurried and upon mine the moment I went to say, “What are you doing?” but only ended up saying, “What—“

She wrapped her arms around me and caressed me softly, more letting her lips rest atop mine. Her body heat, warmer than usual, radiated beneath her cardigan. Or, maybe the heat came from me? I was still, my eyes straight forward. We had kissed before, innocently years ago just to see how it felt to be kissed. But, the way she kissed me and clutched to me—this wasn't innocent—Ginny wanted this to happen. She didn't make any other attempt but to kiss me, thankfully, because if she had that would have woken me up from this surreal trance. She ran the tip of her nose against mine. This was happening, but it wasn't happening; though, it was happening.

Something in me clicked and I started to move to my own free will. Ginny must be telepathic, or she has extra sensory perception, because she released her tender, brief kiss to lay her head upon my chest. I would have pushed her clear off me, but she spoke, perking my ears up by how sincere she was making it doubly difficult to concentrate on hating her for doing such a thing.

“…You've been there for me through thick and thin, Hermione…”

“Gin—“

“I love you… I've fallen for you, Brownie…”

Part of me wished Harry would have knocked on the door that very instant.

Part of me wanted to comfort my best friend who was going through conflicting scenarios.

Ginny merely lay on my chest for the rest of my visit. She relaxed into sleep and settled with her arms limply draped along my figure. My guitar was at my side, and I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, out the window when the wind blew the trees, towards the air conditioning when it turned on, wondering:

What am I to do?

The back of my mind wished it all because of the drug, the Ministry doing wonders to control the substances, but how she smiled in her sleep against me read the true denouement.

***

“Are you not feeling well?”

Harry's voice brought me back down to earth. I noticed I'd been rolling and re-rolling the same linguini over and over again in the prong of my fork. We were underneath the hanging gardens of bougainvillea amongst the candlelit chandeliers. Mi Amor hadn't changed since the first date we came here. In contrast, we had changed. I had changed. I changed two hours ago in Ginny and Neville's den. My best friend meant what she said…and, that wasn't ever going to go back.

I slipped out from under her when I had the chance. I used a charm to disperse the smoky environment and sat on their opposite sofa. I watched Ginny sleep. She looked exhausted, but happy in her state of mind. I thought of Neville and what she said, or at least, what she said between the lines. This wasn't fair to him—he loved her—he wanted to marry her, be hers forever. I wanted to have jumped to a conclusion. I wanted someone to tell me I jumped clear into the deep end of the pool. Who could shake a kiss off like that? She didn't just kiss me—she KISSED me.

“Unbelievable…” I said under my breath, looking at my pasta dish.

We sat in an intimate booth for two as Harry made pre-arrange reservations. Of course, Harry could hear me and spoke up in a whisper, “What?”

“Oh,” I glanced at him quickly, but averted my eyes to my plate. I shook my head, “It's nothing…”

“Something's on your mind…,” he took up his wine glass and tightened his arm around my waist. “You seemed stressed all of a—“

“It's nothing…”

“Did Gin—“

“It's nothing, all right?!” I announced low with a snarl.

Harry put up his hands, “All right! Gotcha… No more talking…”

“Harry…,” I sighed. Why, why, why of all days—any day. I leaned into his side and lay my light weight on his. I felt his hand go around to my tummy and hold me there. He peered over at me from his side and didn't breathe a sound. I coerced him to me, “Come here…”

He lowered as I moved up, our lips matching together.

“Happy anniversary, baby…”

I lay my forehead on his cheek and slid my hand to his thigh. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I tried my best to dispose of the images streaming, devouring my mind. Tried. “I'm sorry I yelled at you…”

“It's okay. We're all entitled to have those days. Just…,” He looked away from me, at his wine glass as he set it down, and came back to my cinnamon irises as I stared up at him. “…I'd like to know what's causing my wife-to-be anxiety. Communicate with me, love. Try me—maybe I can help?”

I smiled at Harry. Good God, am I in love with this wonderfully talented and handsome man. I drew in a breath, “It's…”

Yeah, Hermione, tell him.

Oh, hi—Harry? Yeah, your ex, my best friend, yeah, she kissed me. Kissed me with a capital “K”. Oh, and she said she loved me. Oh, and she was high. Oh, and I may be jumping the wand here. Oh, and on top of it all, she's getting married in a month. Oh, and—

“…It's work, no big deal.”

“What's got you upset at work? It's not that guy again, is it? I'll be there next week—maybe I should give him a talk or two. Set him straight if he's causing you this much trouble.”

“No, it's…,” Tell him the truth, damn it! I looked into his jade green eyes. “…the extra load of work I have to do. I tutor several subjects, more than I thought I was going to be.”

Harry chuckled and squeezed me gently, “I thought I'd never hear something like that from you. You were always bonkers over studying, and classes, and things of that nature. I don't remember a day seeing you without your books and school bag.”

“I also had a time-turner for most of those years,” I grinned and bit my bottom lip. Harry had displayed one of his famous smiles, the kind that made him so kissable—so darn adorable. My bracelets clapped against the metal of my cuffs as I reached around to wrap myself along Harry's neck and brought him into me to kiss him.

“Ah…,” Harry laughed, seeing my cheeks blush pink. “So, I'm guessing you let slip in some well-deserved sleep between the forty-two hundred seventy-three classes, and that's the key to success?”

I laughed, laying my lips upon his once more, “Exactly. Dumbledore never said I couldn't use it to get some sleep, only to make sure I used it for useful purposes. Sleep, I deemed, is very useful.”

“Or sometimes…,” Harry laughed through his nose and snatched a kiss from me. “Lack thereof.”

I nodded, my lips close to his. We both smiled.

“Sometimes,” I kissed him.

I kept silent while Harry drove us back home. I thought until my brain hurt. I still wasn't clear. Nothing seemed comprehensible. She was my girl, and now, things were going to be weird. Late nights with Ginny? Sleepovers? I thought too much. This was my flaw amongst others. I analyzed and over-analyzed something that would probably come out in the wash as frivolous. Twenty-four hours from now she and I would probably be laughing this up.

The part that agitated me so much more than anything was Neville. He needed to know; that is, if this was all true. She was under the influence, between butterbeer and her cigarette, but… No, everything was going to be fine. They're going to get married, everything will have been forgotten, and everyone will come out happy. I'll forget about this.

Yeah, okay Hermione. You do that.

Thanks for the support, little voice inside my head.

Great! Now I'm talking to myself…

I wandered dreamily, in a daze, upstairs. Harry was ever-concerned, following me step-by-step. I knew he watched every move, every flicker of my eye, every flinch of my mouth. My lips were a straight line. My eyes were focused in that surreal realm where my mind had traveled.

Harry already had his darkened red tie off his neck by the time we entered our bedroom. He started to undo his blazer, pulling it off and heading over to the closet. I continued my stagger, directing myself to the bed. I crawled on top of the spread and fell face-first into the pillow. Wrapping my arms around the feathery softness, I closed shut my eyes. My ears heard the jingling of the car keys being put away, Harry coughing, the fan in the lavatory turning on and off as he went in and out of the bathroom. His dress shoes dropped after hearing, and then feeling him collapse on the edge of the bed, bouncing me on my side.

I opened my eyes a centimeter, just enough to see Harry's bare back facing me. He still had his black dress slacks on, the shiny leather of his belt giving off a matte-like sheen. His slightly tanned skin pulled taut when he twisted and saw me looking at him. He smiled at me, and I smiled too. He set his glasses on the nightstand and hopped on his bum to get beside me.

He opened his arms and that was all I needed to see. He didn't even have to usher me with a motion. I immediately slid on over the cold sheets and met his warm, naked chest. I could feel his heart, hear the pump, beneath his chest when I lay my ear down. He wrapped his arms around me and held me. Slipping my left leg along his left, I inter-mingled my torso down as if we were holding hands, our lower appendages our fingers.

He slid his hand down the indent of my back. I shuddered against him and grinned, rubbing my cheek, my face, into his chest. “Do you want me to relieve you of your shoes?” he asked quietly.

I hadn't taken anything off. I didn't feel like doing much of anything, anyway. Terribly exhausted, I just felt like being with Harry, sleeping with my man on what was left of our five month anniversary. I could feel his engagement ring on my finger and that gave me comfort, settled any lingering, dreadful fears in my head. Harry's aura already removed much of my worry.

I shook my head in reply to his question.

“All right, just making sure you're comfy…,” I heard him chuckle and knew he smiled down at me. “Wife-to-be.”

I glanced up at him and smiled. I slipped my hand from his other pectoral and around his abdomen.

“I can't stop saying that…”

“Keep saying it,” those butterflies erupted in my tummy. Goosebumps formed and I shuddered again. He felt me move as I lifted enough to briefly kiss his lips. My eyelids heavy, I fell right back in my position on his chest—Harry, my pillow.

“I love you, Hermione.”

The palm of his hand stroked the top of my head.

I really am the luckiest girl in the world.

Walking my fingers along his right side, I drew a heart with my nail where I clutched at his arm.

The rich aroma of roses, the love garden living on our walls, and Harry's rhythmic, brushing hand drifted me like waves of bliss into much-needed sleep.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: I Wanna Be Your Dog by The Stooges during Ginny/ Hermione's scene; I Hate Myself for Loving You and Oh Woe is Me by Joan Jett; Semi-Charmed Life By Third Eye Blind; Someday by Sugar Ray; tons of Coldplay, and more of the same from the previous chapters; also, nearly forgetting, the scene where Harry walks through the crowd of students in Hogwarts to get to Hermione comes from the scene in New Moon where Edward walks towards Bella in the Forks High parking lot}

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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: It's summer! That means it's all about girls, late-nights, sleep, and…girls! Lol! But, seriously, I've been on vacation. I'll be on-and-off again with my writing, but I'll try and write some here and there. Still a ways to go, I keep hope that I can finish without breaking into writer's block in the future.

Also, I had to break what I wrote into two parts. I didn't realize I wrote 50+ pages until tonight when I finished. So, whenever I look over and edit the next part, I'll be uploading.

Thanks for all the reviews while I was away!

***

Chapter Twenty-One - Admit

***

The aroma of melting cheese, fresh vegetables grilling, and chicken teased my nose. The spices, a bit of jalapeno, made my eyes water too. I held the spatula in my hand and prepared to flip over the two pieces of flat bread covering all the warmth of goodies within like ravioli. Harry was in the process of cooking us dinner. I was upstairs, drowning myself with music—really, really loud music. I had my amplifier cranked all the way up and produced a muffliato charm to buffer the boisterous pitches, tone, and melody.

I went at it hard, too, breaking in riffs to break the constant thought of Ginny and Neville. I tried what I'd always done: reading. I read Hogwarts, a History for the umpteenth time. The binding distraught from wear, I flew through the words I read time and time again. I knew every chapter, every quirk of the author, every, single aspect of that book. I knew where the errors were, penciling in and scratching them out to fix them. Second-hand in nature, and because I knew it so well, I'd trail off into thinking of what could happen. I saw Ginny, my best friend, my girl, come onto me. I saw the drug in her hand. I heard her when she kissed me. I heard her words, echoing, ever-echoing.

I hadn't spoken to her the couple days between then and now. I had to…re-adjust. I couldn't just throw myself back into the ring. It's like putting your hand on a burner. You learn quickly that it's hot; don't do that. If I put myself back in the same situation, back in front of Ginny where she could do something else, then… I didn't want to picture it. With such a vivid imagination of mine, I wasn't going there.

Not like she never was going to try and talk to me again. Ha. I didn't want it to be this way, but I needed some time…alone. Harry felt my newly born withdrawal. He went to play with me last night, being flirtatious, being like us, but I stopped him. Then, I felt guilty. Guilty because the damn thing that kept popping up in my mind was Ginny, and Neville, and Ginny, and Neville, and Ginny, and Neville, and Ginny. I couldn't hesitate the thoughts, smash the pattern, the photographs rolling and re-rolling like film celluloid to show me each individual frame per second.

I came downstairs to see Harry with the phone stuck in his ear. He was smiling, so that was a good sign. I didn't know who was on the phone and went on inside when I saw him partially distracted with dinner and partially distracted to whomever was on the other end. He laughed and fumbled with the spatula, the dial on the stove, the chord wrapping around his torso with every pull across the kitchen.

Slipping on behind him, I nabbed the spatula from his hand. He went to take it back from me, switching the receiver to his other ear, but I swatted his hand away. He shook it as if I'd really hit him, his eyes flittering toward the phone as if he were really speaking to someone—making eye contact with them. He laughed once more, my fingers going behind my ear to scoop up lingering hair and tuck it behind the lobe. I gazed at him from the corner of my eye. Harry leaned on the wall and watched me cook, hugging the Bulgarian, black-and-red, “Viktor Krum” jersey on his chest. He propped his black industrial boots one upon the other as he stood observing me. The television in the other room blared its volume, an announcer repeating previous day's Quidditch scores for the preliminaries of the World Cup.

I motioned with my hand, my fingers tapping the same ear the receiver was on, having Harry glance up at me. He chuckled, grinning at me as I turned our Mexican meal over to see him mouth the word, “Gin”. My face flicked away from his, my eyes centering on the grill-pan. I doubly made sure my hair was tucked behind my ear, more of a nervous twitch than anything else.

She'd call here…to talk to him?

What?

Oh dear, Lord… This can't be good…

Peeking out the corner of my eyes, I saw him smile and heave into another laugh. He looked at me and rolled his eyes. I hadn't told him a thing. Actually, I did—I lied to him. What was I supposed to do? Really? It would come out…eventually… No, it needed to come out. But, I didn't want it to come out because… Because it's funny, embarrassingly so. She was high—great. Open up that can of worms and let out everything and watch me, Hermione the Know-It-All, screw up their wedding.

Oh, how fun!

“Oh, hey, hey—“

I glanced back at him, Harry's eyes watching me as I flipped the burner lower.

“Did you happen to catch Eudora's game winning save against France? Yeah—“

I fidgeted, fingering the metal-stud wristbands on my arms. Good… they're discussing Quidditch. Not—“Hey, I kissed your fiance!” Fixing the loop of my black-and-red, Bulgarian tie around my neck, I went back to flip over the quesadilla again before turning the burner completely off.

“Yeah—,” Harry chuckled, holding his abdomen. “Yeah, Everett's really going to be a star for Britain. She can do things I wish I could have done when I played. Yeah, yeah… It doesn't bother me. I have other plans. Besides, I'll get it all out working at Hogwarts.”

Harry looked up at me and smiled.

I held onto the edge of the counter and smiled in reply, letting the countertop balance all my weight. The baggy, black cargo-like pants shifted when I leaned to the left side. It really did look odd, I noted with a smirk, at how large the legs were against my tiny waist. An oversized belt, with a pseudo-metallic plate on the leather's surface, secured to what would want to fall down. No belt equaled no pants.

Harry pointed at my side, getting my whole body in perspective. I twisted to see a black string, probably from the pants, having come off and stay attached to my contrasting, white collar shirt. I had my sleeves up to my shoulders, so when I went to remove the piece and toss it in the rubbish bin, I didn't pull fabric.

“Yeah,” Harry began again. “Yeah, she's right here. Yeah—uh huh. Mhmm—beautiful, as always.”

I tried to grin, but Ginny popped into my mind and the grin faltered. I wanted them to move away from me as the subject. The further from “Hermione,” and subsequent “Ginevra,” the better in my book—for now, at least, until I figure out what the Hell I'm doing and what she's doing.

“Right—hey,” He looked back at me and stopped. “Did you want to speak to her still? She's come from upstairs.”

I waved a hand to get him to let me go from the discussion.

Divert from me, stay away, I'm not here!

He looked at me, his brow scrunched and confused.

“Oh…Oh, wait a minute,” Harry coughed into his hand; though, he kept his eyes on me. “That was just a commercial. I thought she'd come downstairs.”

Whew…

“No—no, Ginny. Ginny, I'm not fibbing,” Harry stepped forward and grabbed the spatula I laid down beside the stove. He started banging the pots and pans around. “Hey—Hey, I've got to go. No! I've got to go… Yes, of course. I love you, too. Yes, yes—I'll tell her. Tomorrow around six—yes, I'm writing it down.”

I mimicked in the air as if I were writing something down, being right there and hearing everything that was said. Harry put his hand over his mouth and ushered me to quit with his hand before the weasel was let out of the bag.

“Okay. Okay,” Harry's eyes studied mine, especially when I went to look away. “Okay, yes, I'll tell her that. Okay—ow, ow, ow! Burned myself!”

Harry smacked the side of the grill-pan with the spatula.

I went to giggle, but stopped myself, throwing my hands over my mouth.

“Okay—Ow, ow—right, yes, I'm getting ice. She'll see you tomorrow, Gin. Yes, I'll be all right. I'm fine,” He rolled his eyes at me. I knew Ginny was now going down the grocery list of things for Harry to take. She loved us… That's what made me so…so timid, anxious, angry. “Okay, right—love you, too.”

Harry side-stepped over to the hook, “Talk to you later—Right. Bye.”

Harry then flipped around to me, his hands on the edge of the counter. He shook his head, “I don't remember her being so talkative…”

Or, not talkative…

My eyes grazed the floor below me as my head sunk on my shoulder. Harry cleared his throat and eyed me quizzically.

I glanced up at him, antsy, “What?”

“Why didn't you want to talk to her?” He began making his way over to me. He took up the grill-pan and spatula, and cut the quesadilla in half.

“What was it she wanted you to tell me?”

“Oh,” Harry focused intently as he slid the spatula under the slightly scorched bread and put one-half on one empty plate, then went onto the other. “Oh, she wanted me to tell you that she loved you.”

“Hm…” My eyes fell on Harry's hands and how he so carefully set up our food. I went on ahead and, knowing we'd need beverages at some point, filled up two empty glasses with water from the tap.

Love isn't the half of it…

My mind slipped back into that trance and awoke, suddenly with a jump. Harry had slipped his hand around my back. He flinched when I did, having leaned in to say something but was diverted to ask, “Hermione…”

“Harry…,” I mimicked in his concerned tone.

He looked at me with that “Don't-keep-secrets-from-me” look, his eyes peering over his brow, “What did she do?”

“What did who do?” I moved around him, acting oblivious. I wasn't much of an actor, though; Harry caught on quickly and followed me into the den where he watched the beginnings of the QWC. We'd been waiting for Bulgaria, of course, what with our apparel. Supporting Krum against the Netherlands, their third preliminary match up. The previous teams, Portugal and China both fell to the force that was Bulgaria, one of the teams to beat this year. I asked Harry to call me down whenever Bulgaria entered the field, but I'd come down early because I grew hungry.

I knew Harry stared at me. I placed the glasses down on the table between the television and the sofa. I pulled on the ledge to get it closer to us, or where we'd end up, on the cushions. I tucked hair behind my ear, the strands always finding their way off, and continued to portray as if I were enthrallingly busy. I didn't want to look at him, knowing the second I did, I'd crack under the pressure.

I flopped onto the sofa. I heard Harry set the two plates down and fall as well, feeling his weight come down beside me. I felt him begin to slide to me, right along my thigh. I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, the flutter of my heart. I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, and I wanted to laugh. Mixed up with emotions, I couldn't quite solidify one single version of myself. Hastily, I drew the Oxford Student Manual from a stand beside the armrest I closely lay on. I made it a barrier between Harry and me, wanting, needing him to keep away.

I heard him sigh and reach out for something. Scooting my legs between us from the floor, I made more of that wall. If we weren't who we were, he would have gotten the hint. But, Harry loved me, and would suffice my extraction of him. He pursued me further, dropping the volume of the television down. The announcer continued to describe the previously played games, onto the game between South Africa and Greece, when his voice trailed off by the buttons Harry pushed. I turned my head when I felt Harry bow to me. I heard him sigh again, this time roughly, and push the manual I held firmly down onto my lap. I tried to pull the manual back up, to keep that shield between my emotions and him, but Harry was stronger. He could see me distraught; he could see how I struggled to yank the damn book back in front of me, the faint muscle in my forearms coming to the skin.

Finally, I had to relax. I couldn't fight against him—I wouldn't fight against him. He lowered himself, almost to my lap, to see my eyes. I swished my head to the right and watched the balding wizard discuss with a younger one with Quidditch gear on, the Greek colors of white and blue amongst his sports outfit.

My ears perked to the sound of Harry's voice. His voice was so subtle, so gentle, that it made me want to listen. “…Why have you become so disinterested in me? Did I do something wrong? I'm sorry, for whatever I have done, if I—“

I felt tears welling behind my eyelids. My heart became crushed, wrought in a vice of my tearing emotions. Harry halted as I silently interjected his sentence when I came forefront and back to him. A tear trickled down the crevice on the side of my nose and along my cheek. My eyes were large as much as I fought back to hold myself from sobbing.

Harry backed away, his eyes becoming like saucers. He immediately pushed off the sofa we sat on and clicked the television off. He threw the remote back on the table, the smack making the silverware, glasses, and plates shake and clink. He then took his arms and scooped me up in them. He had my legs, underneath me, my arms going to his neck, holding onto him tight. He sat me on his lap and wrapped his arms around me as tight as I held him. My forehead went to his cheek, feeling his strength—he wasn't letting me go, and I didn't want him to let me go. I needed him more than ever.

“Now,” Harry shook me in his arms, his tone with that Harry-authority. “I want to know what you're keeping from me and I want to know right now because—damn it, Hermione—I love you—“

I started crying when he said those three words. Of course he loved me, and I loved him with all my heart. I just didn't understand, and if I opened my mouth, I'd potentially create an even bigger problem. On the other hand I didn't want to keep secrets away from the man I was to be wedded.

“You haven't done anything wrong…,” I hid my face in the crook of Harry's neck. I wet him with my tears, my eyes, nose, and mouth against his throat. I kissed him where my lips lay because I needed to kiss him.

He squeezed me right through the sheer material of my shirt, gripping my side in response to my kiss. He would have kissed me if I hadn't been hiding. “You've been so distant from me the past few days. Last night I tried playing around and you balled yourself up. I didn't know how to react; it reminded me of the first nights we were together after Ron, and that's not a history I'd want to relive.”

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry…,” I coughed into him, continuing to cry. This, all of it, shredded whatever heartstrings I had connecting me to the relationships I created. My world was thrown upside down. I'd thought about it way too much. I let out another breathless, “I'm sorry.”

Harry combed his hand through my hair, scratching my head, petting me. He tried to soothe me when I hiccupped. “Hermione,” he turned to me and kissed the top of my head. “Calm down, love. Calm down… Don't want to see you back in the hospital.”

We became silent as I gradually settled myself. Harry helped, rubbing me down, massaging my back, my shoulder. He kissed my cheek, the only other place he could get to me while I planted my face into his neck. He ran his fingers up my tummy, across my breast and held above my heart. I moved my face from his neck and lay my forehead on his cheek. I felt him gently massage that portion of me along my heart and heard him say just as gentle, “I love you.”

“I love you, too…”

“Tell me what's going on… Communicate with me,” Harry urged. “Something happened between you and Ginny. Ever since you left her house…well, it's been different between you two. I don't think you've ever declined speaking to her, and you guys have never, at least to my knowledge, fought.”

“So, now I'm doubly worried,” added Harry at the end.

“…If I talk, I'll ruin everything.”

“Ruin everything?” Harry chuckled lightly. “You've saved many a soul from expressing your feelings. And, another thing is for sure, you won't ruin us—if that's the problem.”

Harry always had a sense for reading me…

“I'm actually…,” Removing my arms from his neck, I lay a bit more comfortably on my man, my loving, warm body, my recliner. I clutched at his Bulgarian jersey and closed my eyes. “It's actually rather embarrassing when I think about it…”

“Do you remember who you're speaking to?” Harry smiled. “I wrote the book on embarrassing moments—try me. Hell, the Prophet finds pleasure in finding them, too; so everyone and their wizard know my faults.”

I leaned from his body and opened my eyes. His jades set upon me, never blinking. I studied him, making sure I was ready to reveal exactly what I'd pent up. I felt overwhelmed, high as all my blood rushed to my head. His hand left my heart and fell into my lap where he ran the length of my thigh, coercing me to resume.

I breathed in, closed my eyes and let the breath out. I re-opened them and said within the breath, “Ginny kissed me.”

“What's—“

Harry's eyes widened, “Wait—she what?”

I kept still, our eyes locked.

“Like…,” he cleared his throat. “…She kissed you? Or, she kissed you?”

“And, that's not even the part that has me worried…”

“Okay… Tell me.” It's not like Harry was a homophobe, nor was I, but this was…extra-weird territory. We'd fooled around and “kissed,” me and Ginny, with Harry in proximity to see us. But, this time it wasn't like, “Oh, yeah, she kissed me”—and he knew it. He also knew she didn't intend to hurt me, and therefore didn't jump on the phone and down her throat. We were like family…just a really screwed up one right about now.

“I'm afraid of Neville.”

Harry cocked a brow and peered on, befuddled, “Why…”

And then, it hit him. I could actually see the light bulb turn on over his head and he tilted his head backward on the sofa. “Oh, man… This is not happening.”

“That's what I said…”

He peeked up from his tilt and asked, “She didn't try to…you know…grope you or anything?”

I shook my head frantically, “She just kind of…fell asleep. She's…”

Harry tracked my eyes, making them not fidget much.

“…smoking again.”

“Right now,” Harry half-smirked. “If I ever had, I'd be gone from reality, too, with all this dropping on us. They're bloody marrying in a month.”

I scooted along Harry's stretched body on the backside of the sofa and lay my hand on his chest, “But, that's not an excuse for doing drugs…again.”

“No…,” Harry shook his head, my head and eyes level to his. “It's never an excuse, you're right. She promised me she'd stop even when we dated.”

“Then we have another thing in common…” I half-smirked, too, and nuzzled into his neck. After relieving myself of the weight, I felt much lighter, happier in a way, more open.

Harry reached around me and pulled me closer. “Hey,” he said, having me look up from loving his neck, my nose grazing the little scruff of his stubble beard. “Come here.”

I smiled for the first time in days and lowered to meet his lips. He grunted in earnest for me to kiss him. I much obliged to meet his needs, my needs, and lingered my wet lips, heavily moistening his own. He nudged me, his lioness, when I released with a grin. His nose under my chin, he kissed at my throat and hugged me tight. I re-wrapped my arms around him and rested upon him, embracing my Harry-bear.

“Now, that's my girl…” He rubbed the back of my head.

I closed my eyes, feeling so much better.

“Next time,” he started to scratch my back. I loved when he scratched my back. “Let me be your stress-reliever. Please, tell me—anything and everything, even if it's horrible, I want our lines open.”

I nodded, my cheek rubbing into his chest through the silky jersey. I asked softly, “But…what about Neville?”

“Do you really think she meant the…kiss?”

“I don't know…and not knowing that scares me, too.”

Harry really knew the places on me to get me utterly relaxed. With one hand scratching the length down the middle of my back, his other massaged my leg, running over my thigh furthest from him. I went limp.

“…Are you still going to the Shade Epsilon concert tomorrow night after all this?”

I shrugged, “I want to… I bought my ticket, and I want to see the other girls. Katie's going to training camp with the British Quidditch Team, and this may be the last time I get to talk to her for a few months…”

“I was thinking…,” Harry continued to work his magic. I felt so rested that my body lay languid on him. Like Jello, I just sat still and responded when I needed to back to him. “If you pacified Gin, I could talk to Neville. Poke around, see if I can do…something.”

“They're so good together…”

“He really loves her. He tells me all the time.”

I sighed.

Of course, he does.

That's why this is all extremely painful.

“Just have fun tomorrow.”

“Mhmm…,” Thanks to Harry magic-hands, he slipped me into a doze.

I heard him snicker which first roused me back to life, albeit sluggishly, “Are you falling asleep on me?”

“Hm?” Lazily grinning with my eyes closed, I shook my head. “…I'm still awake.”

“Your food is getting cold.”

My tummy grumbled for the first time in the hour.

***

Warm and content.

Two words that describe spooning with Harry.

He had his arm around me. Inflexible and concentrated, even in his slumber, he had me to him firm. Heated by him, my personal, cozy blanket covered me underneath the sheets. Cradling my left breast, he had continued to worry that my heart underwent a ton of stress. I wouldn't tell him I was under a lot of stress, but I didn't feel bad. I felt pretty good, better when everything was off my back.

Our bodies matched like two perfect puzzle pieces, whenever I'd move a leg or wiggle, I'd bump into him. I loved how close we remained together. He snaked a leg in-between mine when we played footsie in the middle of the night. He wanted his sandwiched between my irrevocably smooth arches. He would take his hand and slide it in an up-and-down pattern, following the hourglass-like shape of my side and how it curved inward. He'd do this, soft at first, but then with more friction, pulling at my pink-and-white plaid button-up night shirt.

I fancied when he was like this. We were reacquainting ourselves with one another, having hurdled over a speed bump in our path. But, Harry was a Leo—and I enjoyed my Leo, the lion. I'll always lean on the fluffy, lovey-dovey side of the coin, though I nearly sought as much pleasure in our biological, animalistic senses than for more of the intellectual. He knew he had me, and I let him have me, gave myself to him. So, when Harry would grip me hard or pull my hair—Merlin, did I like it.

Not that he pulled my hair tonight, but he wasn't gentle—raw enough for me. Amongst twilight sleep, all my sensations doubled, tripled, quadrupled. Harry had me on him from behind, lying in the nook his body created. My head had gone beneath his, slipping on the sheets. His head lay just above mine, his hands roaming rowdily along every contour my figure shaped. He found my pink-and-white checkered panties, well, found them again as his hands had gripped my ass long before they moved to the front from around my waist.

I arched my back into him as I felt his fingers crawl their way under the elastic band holding the undergarment to my hips. His hand glided over the mound, tracing the tiny strip of hair. I gasped when Harry took his time, taking his nail and following the line to my sex. I shifted my legs in a way to allow him more freedom, but all he did was tease me. He'd get close to me, and then pull his fingers away. I'd whimper, and he'd snicker softly at his scheme. He finally touched the beginnings of my outer lips and pulled away again. Whining, wanting, needing him to part me, I grabbed at his hair. My arm was raised above me and bent behind me, my hand curled onto tufts of his messy chaos. I yanked on him while he kissed at my throat, nipping at the flush of my neck. He ran his chin, the bristles of his five o'clock shadow, grazing me to the point of leaving a burn.

He cupped his hand over me below, gaining knowledge at how ready and wet I was. He pressed his thumb on my button, the bundle of nerves, practically the most sensitive portion on my entire form. I bucked into his hand and heard him silently snicker. I felt his finger, just a finger, his middle finger, move into my slit. He didn't go all the way in, slowly circling above the hole—driving me insane in the process.

Harry twisted around to find my mouth. Harry hovered over me, laying on me, his weight upon mine, gently squishing me into the soft mattress. Hungrily, I tasted him and the contents of his mouth. I found his tongue most delightful, managing to pluck the slippery muscle from him to suckle. He grunted and rammed himself against my ass, pushing me further into the bed. I held there as I felt him like a rock on my buttock. I quickly moaned, only to be diverted again to breathe through my nose when he planted him lips back atop my own. He kissed me with intensity, slithering his finger, first the tip, gradually into my warmth.

He flattened me to the bed. Gripping the sheets with the hand not within his hair, I held on tight. I found a rhythm with his finger, the pattern of him moving, pumping at my extremely moistened insides. He started off softly, casually gliding only to the first joint from the tip and then sliding deeper to the middle joint. With happy difficulty, he fought with my tightened walls, small as I was, until he was able to ease in and out. He'd smirk when I'd clamp onto him and push ever-further, to the knuckle, studying my actions and how I'd claw the bed with my nails.

At one point Harry had stopped thrusting his finger. That didn't stop me from rotating my hips and riding his hand while he supported me. He propped his palm against my rear and gently wiggled his finger from the side-to-side as I fucked his hand, horny and too aroused to care. When I had to drop my arm, it stiff from its bending position to the point of hurting, he lightly bit the flesh beneath the cotton-plaid material.

Harry pushed my hair to the side and pushed his face into my cheek. Panting, he took back over stroking me. I felt myself on the edge, my body on the verge of feeling as if I were about to leap off a cliff, free-fall, and splash into an ocean below. He rocked into me, his hand and his body smacking wherever possible to give me as much pleasure as possible. He kissed my cheek, licked my face, feeling his nose flat into the back of my head and in my mess of damp hair.

I arched my back and gripped into the bed until my knuckles were white; my nails digging, nearly ripping the fabric. Something in my brain broke, a dam, flooding my mind like washes of pure, genuine ecstasy. I let go and rolled on my stomach as much as I could with Harry's weight allowing me. I felt his lips near my ear, and then him pull at the lobe when he snagged that part of my between them. He fell into my neck, to my back and bit down on my shoulder when he knew I began to climax. The pain of his teeth in my skin mixed with the sexual pressure relieving the sexual frustration in my core… I wanted him to puncture the skin, to break me, to sink those canines of his farther into my shoulder.

He took his teeth from my shoulder and inched to the pivot of my arm and sunk them back into me. I wished myself naked, bare, his bone to my flesh. The pain pushed me and I fell faster into orgasm. I wrought in positions beneath him on the bed, struggling, shaking. He tried to hold me down, burying himself, his face, into my back, but I gathered some unknown strength and pried myself upward. Harry brushed against me, rubbing his face along my curved back. His face recovered at the nape of my neck once more, his teeth subtle, though grazing against the exposed skin above the pink collar.

He took me out, getting me off-balance by swooping underneath and taking my hands away. He pushed me back into the bed, my face falling into the pillow where I screamed and bit into the feathers. My body, feeling as if it were on fire, began to subside. The flames ceasing as Harry's hand, his finger, slowed in its pace. I grunted into the pillow, my stomach lying on his arm while his hand was still at my crotch. I felt him kiss me, sifting his face in my hair, caressing the top of my head.

My body tingled everywhere.

I lifted my face from the pillow and lay it right back down on my left cheek. I breathed heavily, and smiled, my eyes blinking open just a tad before falling back closed. Harry kept within me for a moment, just having settled inside lazily before I felt him gradually pull out. I arched my back—I couldn't help but moan, nearly going to my knees by how slowly he went, and how that in itself teased the Hell out of me. I had to hide my face in the pillow, my nails clenched into the mattress. Harry, all but out, wriggled the tip of his finger just before his complete removal. My body instantly jolted, bucking into the bed, everything on me having become extra-sensitive thanks to my Leo and his wondrous handiwork.

My hips fell to the bed, my knees buckling. The instant I fell, making the bed slightly bounce by my mass, Harry swatted my ass. I swiveled my neck, withdrawing my face from the pillow to giggle in the atmosphere. My eyes opened briefly to see Harry in the corner move to his bum. He fixed my panties that inevitably bunched up in the sexual process. I sighed into a smile and felt his warm palm gently rub my rear. My eyes closing, I heard the sheets ruffle and pull beside my feet and Harry pull-and-tug them.

The cool sheets gave me instant goosebumps when they touched me, my skin sticky with a thin layer of sweat from heat. I went to move and Harry grabbed me and pulled me to him. I laughed when he tickled me, his fingers dancing their way into and under my shirt to get at my tummy. He slid a leg around mine the moment he snatched me up, encaging me like his wanted prisoner. Completely ravished, I lay there alongside him with a sleepy grin—satisfied.

Harry wasn't satisfied, though; trying to re-capture the breast he released more than a half hour ago. His hand wound around my left breast, he removed himself and fought with the buttons of my night shirt. I jostled by his fast actions, his fingers conflicting with the fasten. He lay behind me and couldn't quite get it undone until I stepped in, assisting in his battle. The moment I unfastened the button, his hand happily moved in and squeezed my breast. His hand firmly cupped to its rounded-shape, he settled in behind me as we spooned. I knew he smiled, snickering through his nose and the breath beating lightly upon the strands of my hair. I smiled, too, my hand finding his around my breast.

***

A marked, whetted noise continuously struck our quiet bedroom. The knifelike piercing shattered whatever dreamscape picturesque in my mind of my man and me making love in some isolated, wintery cabin in the mountains. Yes, it wasn't enough that we made love practically every second of every day. I dreamt of us together, and really, I wouldn't have it any other way. Harry's forever delicious pumpkin spice scent lulled me into this magical dreamscape, so I'd eat the pie and have it, too.

I roused awake. My hand which had left Harry's clutching my breast in the middle of the night, slipped out from underneath the cool of the pillow and across the sheets. I groaned and began finding ways to leave the incessant, rupturing ramble altogether. I felt Harry begin to move as well, my head, my face pushing under the pillow my hand used to lay under. I brought the hand to hold the pillow over my head, the tapping sound muffled; not to mention, it helped in removing whatever bright light came in from the windows.

Harry first squeezed my breast he held, making sure that that was still me—that I was still there beside him—I assumed. Not mattering, it was always a nice to feel a little fondle in the morning to wake me up from Harry. I felt the strength in his grip lessen, cold filtering in-between us when he moved to sit. I probably would have glanced out at him, but sleep overpowered me. I'd fall in-and-out, only breaking from the act when I'd feel Harry or hear Harry.

I felt him slip away, the bed bounding when he removed his weight. The sheets fell to me, having been left alone within them. He trotted over, stumbling really in his on-again and off-again sleep like me. When I heard him trip did I come out of the darkness and into the light, my eyes scouring to see him throughout the brightly lit room. He'd recovered, bracing himself on the window ledge from within the bedroom. Between the time he got out of bed to when I saw him, he had found a pair of his boxers, the ones he tossed off from the night.

Perched on the other side of the windowsill, a pitch black and rather large owl carried within its beak the mail. Around its neck hung the day's issue of the Daily Prophet and our new subscription to The Quibbler on a brown, woolen string. Amongst the delivery subjects, a royal purple pouch swung, open. Harry, procuring wizarding world currency from the nearby desk, pried the pane open to allow the owl to hop on inside. Harry dropped the knuts and sickles within the pouch; without payment, the owl would refuse to give up what it had. The instant Harry paid him, the bird dropped the letters, with one noteworthy manila-looking envelope, and the newspapers into Harry's hands and flew off into the cloudy, dull sky of London.

“What—“

Harry's squinting eyes glanced up at me, “Hm?”

“What is—,” Scrambling out of bed, I took off towards Harry who stood there with the papers in his hands. The large manila envelope looked inviting, almost as if finding some long-lost treasure. I couldn't make out the printed emblems and words, but as I grew closer, I nearly jumped.

I snatched the envelope from Harry's hands and he made a laugh, “Why so urgent? We get stuff like that soliciting invites to interviews and photoshoots…etcetera, etcetera…” He yawned.

My eyes couldn't have crept wider—fully awake and aware, reading over the circular emblem with a book and crowns in the center. Along what appeared to be a sash read the words: University of Oxford. Pasted on the front of the envelope:

To - Hermione Jane Granger, 12 Grimmauld Place, London.

“This is it…”

“This is what?” Harry said through another yawn. “…If it's from the Daily Prophet again, throw it out. I don't feel like being harassed by Skeeter today.”

I flipped the envelope around and held it up to him. I even shook it to gather his complete, though sleepy, focus. His eyes blinked only once before they grew as wide as mine. I smiled and he did right along with me.

“Does it feel heavy?!” He asked, breathlessly. Harry stepped towards me and put his hand on my hip whilst side-stepping to see the front of the envelope.

I shook it again and glanced up at him. Moving my head from side-to-side, I said, “I don't feel much of anything at all.”

“…Is that a good sign?” I could tell Harry was on just as many pins and needles as I stood on. I kept glancing between my lover and the envelope, its closed-flap becoming more and more interesting.

I shrugged. The only thing I knew was that this envelope became the hottest thing ever to be held in my hand. I gulped, letting out pent-up air after. Harry snaked an arm around my waist. My eyes settled on the insignia, my fingers hastily going for the glued tab; but then, I stopped and peered back at Harry. “…What if I wasn't accepted? What if they hated the audition?”

Harry shook his head and leaned in to kiss my forehead, “Then, Oxford lost someone very special. It would be their loss, not yours.”

I smiled at Harry and lay my forehead on his lingering kiss.

“Whatever it says in there, I want you to know that I'm very, very—enormously—proud of what my girl has accomplished.”

Harry really knew how to soothe my worries. He made every day feel the best for me. I nearly melted when he announced his support, and I did every time. He went to half-hug me, but I dived in for the full embrace. Wrapping around him, my arms tightened amongst his bare waist. He kissed the top of my head while I nestled under his chin.

“You're so very talented,” he added at the end. “And, I don't give a damn if anyone else thinks differently.”

I kissed where I lay, his throat, and then inched up to caress his lips. When I released, I focused on those genuinely caring, comforting emeralds and grinned albeit in a daze from the rush of everything happening. “I love you,” I smiled and Eskimo kissed, nudging my nose to his.

He smirked and loosened his grip of me when I set my feet down on the floor. He watched me as I slowly, yet hectically, grabbed at the flap. I stuck my pinky finger in-between the two pieces and shimmied until a part tore, moving in to separate the fold. I glanced up at him in preparation.

This was it—there really was no turning back.

I'd set all my eggs in one basket. I didn't want to go anywhere else. I wished, in that brief second in time, that what would happen next would be what I'd always pictured—my acceptance letter to what I believed was the most prestigious university in the entire world. I could tune and re-tune my loving craft, and I'd be back in the educational setting of which I utmost enjoyed, basking in what I could obtain intellectually.

I shuddered, literally shuddered, when I felt the stationary between my fingers. Harry felt my shiver and shook me in his arm. “Just remember what I said,” he nodded with a smile. “Whatever it says, I'll support your next endeavor one hundred percent. I love you.”

I leaned on Harry, the actual and metaphoric support of my life, and slipped out the intensely bleached-white piece of paper with typed, black-ink lettering. I saw the imprinted Oxford insignia in the upper left-hand corner and the salutation at the beginning:

April 22^nd, 2000

Dear Hermione Jane Granger,

It is a great pleasure to inform you that you have been accepted for admission to our renowned College of Music and Arts here at Oxford University this Fall session.

You were chosen from a variety of competitive talent within the largest applicant pool our institution has ever received on record. On behalf of the president, the faculty, and students, we congratulate you on your achievement and welcome you to Oxford…

I was glad I leaned on Harry, prone to faint, the excitement having built and my head feeling light. Harry read over my shoulder, stepping behind me to hug me from the back. I felt him squeeze me to him when he finished, lowering in and flicking my hair away to get at my neck. Planted, I closed my eyes and remained still. I let all the emotion, all the happiness, come over me. I would be going to Oxford in the Fall. I would be doing what I wanted to do with my life. I would have Harry beside me, my rock, my column of utmost foundation—a base to which I could always stand on and be affectionately welcomed, loved.

I tilted my head when he got to a tender, sweet spot. I gasped within my smile and felt him sweep me off my feet. The desk is where he sat me, only a step away. His hands gently plucked the letter from my own and he grinned, my knees, my thighs about him as I sat on the edge.

“I'm laminating the letter,” His true ecstatic emotion rang out in his high-pitched tone. “I'm getting a frame and hanging this on the wall!”

I laughed, my hands going to his exposed skin, feeling the muscle as they lay each on either of his side. “Whoa!” I laughed again when he glanced at me whilst hopping on the soles of his feet. “It says at the bottom to bring all paperwork in with the acceptance interview! You may have to hold off on the laminating and framing for a few weeks.”

Harry snickered. “Fine,” He took up my face, his hands cradling underneath my jaw, and kissed me. He looked into me, staring into those cinnamon brown eyes never ceasing away from him. “I'll wait… But the moment I get the chance, the letter is going on the wall!”

I slid until we touched, front-to-front. I did it hastily, my hands clinching into Harry's sides, my mouth finding his. Harry dropped the letter down on the desk beside us, finding my tongue in need of more attention at the moment. I giggled when he grabbed my ass and held me to him. I wrapped my legs around him, my calves pressed into his bum. Rolling my stomach, my chest into his, I reacted with a moan when our tongues gently lashed, tasting lazily its partner at dawn. We didn't so much as move, my head tilted slightly to one side while his tilted in opposite, just slightly as well. Our noses bumped each other's when we gradually switched positions, his tilt falling to the right while mine went to the left.

Harry slipped away, with a bob of his head, and down to slope of my neck. He buried himself there, my arms wrapping around his neck as I hung on, feeling him pull, push and tug on me. I felt my shirt jerk around, and then gently begin to slacken after each button undid by his fingers. Harry didn't have trouble this morning, face-to-face in the sunlight of the room, his hands knowing what to do and how to do it. Not to mention he could skip one undone button from the night.

My pink-and-white plaid sleep shirt fell away from my shoulder. Harry pushed the cloth to the pivots of my arm and pushed me with his face backward, coming down to get at one of my hardened nipples. My chest was flush with pink, much like the shade of the areola, the supersensitive fragment of me that Harry's hot mouth now covered. Arching my back, I held Harry to me as I felt the suck, his suction drawing that part of me into his mouth. He held me still, his head rocking into my left breast.

Gritting my teeth, I breathed in and let my head fall back. The tip of his tongue grazed me. He pulled within his suction and let go, having my skin snap firm into place. I glanced down at him and he glanced up at me. Our eyes locked for a millisecond, my arms cradling his head, his lips upon the smooth texture of my breast. I first saw him move, and then his arms catch me. His left arm held my arched back, his right arm scooped under my rear as he lifted me straight from the desk. Attached, glued to his body, my legs surrounding him, my arms too, I leaped when he yanked me into the air and came crashing against the bed when he threw me down.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Not much as I focused mainly on the situation with Ginny, a (sexy) re-connection of our couple afterwards, and Hermione's acceptance to Oxford; but, the next chapter will be full of… Paparazzi. I only hope it owns up to the musical inspiration}

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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: Well, I've gone over 450 pages according to Word 2007, meaning that this is officially the largest fic I've ever done. To recollect on the process, I think the most annoying or grueling part of writing (in parallel to writing scripts) is finding different words to show scenarios. There's just so many words describing a person walking or talking, for instance, and sometimes I end up choosing something similar that I've done in the past. After 450 pages, can you help that though?

I spent a lot of time on the concert scene. That's another part of not writing scripts (as the final product is based primarily on the director, his cinematographer, and the editing process what with computer nowadays) versus writing fiction that I sometime trudge through. I want to capture something so vivid, and I spend several days trying to unfold what scene in my mind in description and dialogue. Sometimes I like what I wrote, and sometimes I look back and say: If only I could show this via cinematics.

And, the previous chapter had 600+ hits in its first day with only two reviews. So, either I'm writing really well or I'm so terribly bad, it calls for silence (LOL!)

***

Chapter Twenty-Two - Addle

***

Keeping to the back like the other faculty members near the door, the last few stragglers shot in just as the Professor sauntered to the owl-carved podium. In her old age, she was slow—slower than Headmaster Dumbledore when he'd give his updates to the cast of students throughout our years. Just as everyone had thought, the very presence of Harry Potter back within the halls of Hogwarts brought the cheers and chatter to the young ones. An ocean of black, Hogwarts robes falling as one, giant curtain to the floor, eagerly struggled to get a better picture of Harry sitting beside Professor Hooch on the stage. In their seats, they'd wave at him and he'd wave back at them whenever he and Professor Hooch weren't talking.

Professor Hooch had just said something to Harry from the side. Minerva, standing now at the podium, put up her hands. Not that that did anything, Harry overly-exciting just about every pubescent girl into screaming their love for him.

“I LOVE YOU, HARRY!!!”

Minerva put her wand to her throat and shouted, “QUIET!”

I watched Harry laugh at the silent something Professor Hooch said and turned to her, her yellow-ochre, cat-like eyes monitoring the class of students. A wry grin crept on her lips, her eyes bright with anticipation of what was to come. Her gray robes offset the normal, Hogwarts attire Harry had on: a white shirt and black slacks. He wished he could have, like me in the beginning, worn his Gryffindor tie. On the other hand, I started to digress from the “norm” into more of my style, now a sporting red-and-black checkered skirt and a pin-striped shirt. I had my sleeves rolled up, my wrist cuffs, charms, and a black handkerchief covering part of my right arm pushed into my chest as they were folded. My study bag hung with its weight on my right shoulder, and I smiled when Harry grinned from far away. I was trying something new all the time and gave myself black lipstick this morning, and I could feel the paint pull on my lips as they grew in that smile.

My hand furtively waved from its confines along my chest, just coming off my shirt.

The students settled, the Professor's authoritative tone getting to them, especially her stare out into the rambunctious crowd. She cleared her throat and allowed the wand to drop from its height on her wrinkled skin.

“As I'm sure you all know,” she started, her aged eyes encircling the thousand bodies sitting and waiting for the “main event”. “We have a visitor amongst us this evening. You may have noticed him today on the grounds with Professor Hooch. Rumors have been flying around as to why this young man, a friend to all of us, is here with us. I hope to squash some…not so comforting ones to say that we do indeed have an up-and-coming star in our already fantastic staff of teachers.”

The students rose from their seats. Shouting, chanting Harry's name, the thunderous clapping easily made me twinge. But, I smiled. Even when my hands covered my ears, I was overwhelmed by the greeting they so happily gave my would-be-husband. The enchanted candlelight above the tables, having flickered to life as nightfall approached, quivered to the beat of their applause.

“Yes, yes—,” Minerva spoke once more. “I'm very happy to introduce, and it is my pleasure to introduce, a man I watched grow up here within these very walls from the little mischievous boy that stepped off the Hogwarts Express nearly a decade and a half ago.”

When the Professor gazed around in the direction of Harry, the crowd livened up again. I had to close my eyes. The noise contained between the four walls made it sound ten-times louder. I opened them back when I heard Minerva say, “Harry? Madam Hooch?”

The man of my dreams stood up from the table, and I along with the girls in the room could have all swooned. He looked absolutely handsome. I'd helped him with his hair this morning, putting a bit of paste to soften the slick in the front. I combed the front part up and naturally, his black hair curled at the peak. The candlelight distinguished his subtle tan, making him stand out even more against everyone else's pale tone. He had his sleeves up, like mine, his black, skinny tie swaying by his steps.

Professor Hooch followed right along with him, her features happier than I ever saw them to be. She was always a bit on the…catty-side; but tonight, she had a skip in her walk. When Harry approached, he offered Professor Hooch the stage, but Professor Hooch redirected Harry with a flourish of her hand back to the podium. I grinned at the courtesy Harry still provided to those elders above him. He never did obtain an ego.

“WE LOVE YOU!!!!!” shouted the same groups of girls when Harry held onto the ancient wood of the podium, the candelabra before him and the cheering students wailing for him beyond. He smiled and couldn't look at them right away. When he did, he waved at some of those too-eager, too-loud girls who kept trying to get his attention on the far side of the room. When I glanced over, I was shocked and pleasantly surprised that the majority were from Slytherin mixed with the Ravenclaw House.

“So—“ Harry began, but was immediately interrupted by applause.

Professor Hooch stepped in front of him on the side and put her wand to her throat to “Shhhh” them. “Girls…that's enough of that now.”

Harry grinned, and I could tell he was blushing from all the attention.

“I really,” Harry's voice went over the lingering claps of the few, and then silence of the crowd. “I really would like to thank Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Hooch—“

He motioned over to Professor Hooch who smiled at him.

“—For welcoming me in their ranks. You know,” He looked out into the crowd, at the first years to the seventh years. “Every soul in this room has a lot to be thankful for. It didn't really occur to me, until my fifth of sixth year, how much time and effort these teachers put in to help us grow and achieve who we want to be. Being here, I hope to do the same—to reach out and be that person, not just a professor, or pseudo-professor—“

Professor Hooch winked at him when Harry looked back at her.

“—That you all can come to and feel comfortable talking to if you ever need anything. I hope to be here for a while, and I hope I don't muck anything up in the process.”

Harry snickered and the Great Hall shook with laughter.

“Before I let Professor Hooch say a few words about my place here, for I'm not taking her place as Flight Teacher—“

A few boos sung out and Professor Hooch scoured the group with squinty eyes.

“—I just would like to add that, in addition to all these wonderfully, tremendously talented teachers and faculty here that helped me get me to where I am today, the beautiful, brown-haired woman in the back of the room wearing the red-and-black checkered skirt—“

Harry pointed at me, and I immediately drew in a breath. The whole room shot around to look at me, including the faculty and tutors surrounding me. I couldn't hide my face, but I didn't—couldn't—look at all those eyes upon me. The room had already grew warmer in temperature; looking into their eyes, the room would have shot up another dozen degrees. I heard a few whistles from the far corners of the room, but my focus became intent on Harry.

“—She is my everything, my support system. With my fiance, Hermione, I really wouldn't be here right now. So, I thank her with all my heart as well.”

My eyes flicked from one side of the room to the next when they suddenly applauded. I smiled and waved meekly at them, wanting to be like a snail and hide in my shell at the moment. Maybe hide underneath a table if nobody would see me.

Where's his damn invisibility cloak when I needed it?

“She also got accepted this morning into Oxford University, so give my wife-to-be another round of applause…even though, I think I've scared her half to death,” Harry's voice boomed, but wavered when the crowd went into an uproar at his sentiment. Rolling my eyes, mostly out of embarrassment, I was now the one in the spotlight.

Harry winked at me.

I smirked, feeling the subtle dimples rise in my blushing cheeks.

***

I showed up late on purpose.

Well, late as in I was usually the first one anywhere; thoroughly prompt to any event, especially to something like this. I just thought, with Cho and Katie already at Ginny's, she couldn't try anything. Not that I was exceptionally worried… I just didn't want to chance it. While I got dressed, transformed really, I thought I was way overreacting. Tonight would be better. Nothing would happen—or, I wouldn't let anything happen. The wedge between me and Harry evaporated like a single raindrop on a hot, summer's day. The puzzle pieces in our world fit too perfectly to be broken by something as silly and trivial as Ginny's…whatever she had on her mind.

Of course, I was lying to myself all the while. I loved her and Neville too damn much to just let it slide. But, I couldn't keep dwelling on what had happened or I'd give myself a stroke. I really am glad to have someone so sensitive to my needs. Harry could see me begin to worry, even the very beginnings of my neurotic thoughts, and would hug me. He'd tell me everything would be all right and he'd get to the bottom of it. He hinted he had an after-plan if worse came to worse, but decided not to tell me—which was great. I didn't need my already-wound imagination to crank any further into that area I didn't want to go.

“Damn.” That's all Harry said when he slipped into the master lavatory upstairs. He clung to the door's frame and his head, his face, came into view within the picture-cluttered mirror I bent towards. Over the counter, I was putting the final touches on my outfit for the concert: a morbid-resembling porcelain doll look-a-like. An extra-feminine creature birthed from mixing Alice in Wonderland with Tim Burton's mind. One of the darker music videos Shade Epsilon had done entitled “Innocence,” I glanced at Harry, my eyes having turned white as snow from their original cinnamon color.

“You like it?” My brunette hair gone for the night; vibrant curls of neon pink, ebony, and purest ivory swung from the growing crop of crimson strands. “You don't think I went too far with the potion?”

Harry stepped in and looked, staring at my waist embraced tight by an off-white corset. The black thread pulled and knotted behind me, one could really get a graphic sense of my hourglass shape. He took mental pictures, getting a varied look at my Victorian-styled shorts, knickers, and the ripped fishnet and black hosiery on my legs. I'd splattered what was “blood” from the video with my fingers, splotches in random places along the white fabric of the doll apparel.

My hand, interweaved with black ribbon amongst my fingers, held onto Harry's on my hips. He glanced at me and smirked. I knew he wanted to kiss me, but was afraid he'd mess up the sanguine lipstick I'd so carefully applied in the shape of a heart in the middle of my lips; the two hills of the upper portion on my top lip, the point of the heart on my bottom lip, so when joined they formed the shape. I painted a teardrop in black, my face masked in white, powdered make-up. Epsilon's eyeliner and shadow was made to look as if she cried, so I smudged as much as I could to the areas around my eye with black.

Spikes stuck out from my leather wrist cuffs. I didn't want to stick Harry, but all he did was examine me. I took time out to do all this at least he could answer my question. I squeezed his hands to rouse him from eyeing the new, gothic features.

He smiled at me. “From the bottom of your boots to the rich, warm red of your hair, you look exactly like you wanted.” I'd hung a printed picture of Epsilon's outfit with tape on the mirror all the while I set to emulate her look for the night.

“Good, then my job is done.” I smirked up at him. He may not have wanted to muddle my acquired look, but I didn't care. I slid my arms around his neck, again, making sure not to knick him with the points of the spikes, and stood on my tip-toes to snatch a quick kiss.

“Just…one, little thing…,” He said when I released from our brief caress. I eyed him curiously.

He blinked and gave me another hasty once-around, and then smirked, “…think you could…”

He looked into my eyes, into my white contacts, “…do it all over again some other time? Keep the outfit? Just a suggestion.” He winked at me and pulled me, yanked me to him.

I had to step once, and smirked like him when we were hip to hip.

“I think I can manage that…,” I bit at my bottom lip and smashed my front into his, squeezing him as he squeezed me.

“Mm…,” He smacked my bottom and let me go, slipping away.

I was left watching him move out of the door. I let my weight fall to one side, my hand going to the sink countertop. He moved quickly. I knew he didn't want me to go—and that kept my smirk upon my face.

He flipped around to me before walking out-of-sight and sighed, uttering another grunting “Mm…,” before stating, “Do you have to go so soon?”

I tilted my head to the side and laughed, pivoting around to gaze at myself. The next adventure would be Ginny's, and then the concert, Epsilon's Messy Wet Tour. The concert was being held at the Manchester Arena. I was to apparate to Ginny's and we would all Floo to the Floo Depot, and then Floo out to Manchester. So much Floo—but, I trembled with excitement. I really did look good, glancing from the photo of Shade to myself.

I was like her identical twin.

***

“Mi-Mi!!”

Ginny swooped in on me like a hawk. Neville had opened the door when we arrived and hit the doorbell. Neville gave me a hug, and then went to handshake with Harry as I slipped on by them to greet. I could see Katie and Cho, having walked halfway down the hallway, sitting in the den. They were waiting for my arrival, and all looked up in smiles at me. Katie fell over the back of their sofa to wave at me and Cho leapt up to follow suit behind Ginny.

Ginny, the walking billboard, dressed in a bright neon blue and pink leotard. Obviously, the outfit Epsilon wore in her video “Culture,” Ginny was very much in the spotlight. From her flaming Weasley-red hair to the extra-strength color on her body, I could pick her out from practically anywhere. On her face were these enormous sunglasses, the trim the same neon blue and pink, one lens each of the color.

Cho, now behind her as she latched onto me and embraced, wore a candy striper ensemble. Her pink-and-white striped top and skirt duo stopped mid-thigh where her exposed white garter and hosiery led from her knee down to white heels. Atop her head, a rosy-pink bow, her hair in pigtails; her outfit trying to catch the Epsilon look in her single, “Candy”.

Katie, who I grinned at, was the star for the night. She would be leaving for Quidditch training tomorrow. Weeks ago when she got her letter from the League, we decided to do something special—something other than a dinner or a girl's night. Part of me felt better that we'd done our night this way, what with all of us going to a public soiree. Ginny caught on when I didn't embrace her back as tight, not sure of where we were in our relationship. I did hug her, though; it just wasn't the same. She looked at me when she released for Cho to get in, but sort of shrugged it off to allow Katie on through.

Katie's lacey dress, the rough texture rubbed against the bare parts of my skin. Thin, with a corset on like myself but black with white trim, the majestic garb came down to her hips where a poof of the dress splayed outward; the same white in ribbon-form cascading down from her middle. Katie the Queen, a look-a-like from the song “Alice,” transparent fabric clung to her arms to her white lacey gloves. Her hair in curls draped down her back.

I hugged her tight and asked with a laugh, “How are you expecting to move in that tonight?”

“Slowly,” she grinned and me and tightened in another hug.

Harry hung back with Neville of course. They were going to do “guy things,” whatever that entailed, at Number Twelve. Skirt-chasing? Belching? Looking at nudie magazines? Not that Harry did any of these things; it was just his underlining meaning, our secret code. He was going to casually speak with Neville—be nosey, like me for a change. Let me off the hook for the night, thank goodness. They were probably just going to drink butterbeer and watch a movie. My only rule for tonight was to have fun with Katie…as much as Ginny kept giving me shifty glances from the corner of her eyes.

“You really do look beautiful, `Mione,” Ginny told me as we ran to get in line for autographs before the concert. Numerous people already forming the line, we got somewhere in what we thought was the middle until we realized with time passing that soon we were up front.

“Thanks,” I gave Ginny a quick smile, but turned the conversation to Katie who continued to peek above the heads at the curtain Shade would be coming out of to sit at the table to begin the signing.

“So, how long will you be AWAL from us?” I used military terminology because Katie made it out like she was going to boot camp.

Katie smirked at me and stated, “Four months, give or take. They're starting me with the Flying exercises for a few weeks and that'll be boring as Hell… You'd think when they scouted me they had enough footage of me on a broom to know how fast I can fly.”

“How fast can you fly?” piped in Cho, looking over my shoulder. She and Ginny were behind me and Katie, talking about the other people dressed in various Epsilon-inspired attires.

“I can fly the length of an average Quidditch pitch in about ten seconds. That is, if it's not raining or the weather isn't cooperating. My fastest was clocked at a little over seven seconds going from one end to the other.”

“Wow,” I was taken back. That was pretty fast.

She smiled at all of us, how our mouths hung open, “Of course, it helps when they give you the most updated broom. Our stuff isn't even on the market—top secret!”

“Kate—don't become a Quidditch player. Become one of those spies for the Ministry,” Ginny made us all laugh. We were in a large open area of the arena, just outside of where we were to go in to find a place to watch. The crowd around us began getting antsy. They began chanting, “Ep-sil-on! Ep-sil-on!”

“We can never get any information out of you to save our lives!” Ginny had to get close to us, our heads huddled together, for any of us to hear her. She then shouted and pointed behind us, “Hey! Isn't that Rosmerta?! She's looking good for her age!”

Sure enough, clad in a canary-yellow spandex suit with black skulls, the owner of the Three Broomsticks chatted happily away with a group surrounding her. I guessed they were from work, or friends, as none of them gave much of any other vibe. A scene like this as I glanced around at the other concert-goers, younger and older, some Muggles while others I'd seen from strolling the streets of Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. I hoped for this in the future, for any music of mine which could branch out and reach this array of demographic. I never wanted to be “popular,” but with music, I'd always hoped that there would come a day when people could see me, approach me and say, “Hey, that song of yours really touched me this way.”

Not to mention, bringing the best and creative parts of us out. Not one face resembled sadness, especially when I caught the curtains flowing aimlessly and the crowd coming to a cheer. The media swarmed the area before us. I stood on my tippy-toes, like the rest of the group, and could just see something—people—coming out of those curtains. Then, all at once, the barraging cameras and questioning journalists broke by the muscularly large arms of two men in suits. I guessed they were her bodyguards, Shade Epsilon breeching from the shell of shutterbug bodies.

Whistles, claps, hollering from all around, when Epsilon approached the table she stood there a moment and waved at all of us in welcome. She gave us a kiss, her black latex, fingerless glove going to her mouth. One of the two men pulled out her chair and she shifted in to sit down, pulling away a glittering diamond band across her eyes. Platinum blonde hair, super-straight, fell far down her back and mismatched against a black latex bodysuit covering all the way to her feet where black stiletto heels poked out. Shoulderless and sleeveless on her left side, her bronzed, tanned skin showed to the fingerless glove. A Chinese symbol tattooed on her back. Her right side was clad in that black latex, an oversized, gaudy diamond perched on her shoulder.

One after the other, she took care of her fans when they came to her table. I watched them chatter small talk, or at least see Epsilon smile, her severely pink lips curling into a smirk and her head nod when she was asked something by one of her adoring fans. Some guy actually whipped up his shirt. Her two guards, who tried to keep at bay the photographers who continued to try and swarm Shade and her fans, nearly rocketed to take down the guy. I laughed when Epsilon shooed them away and stood up, leaning over the table to sign the guy's chest with her white marker.

“No one's asked her for a photograph…,” I glanced around at Ginny who had spoke up, her hands fighting inside the sleeve of her suit for something. “I'm going to ask her for a picture!”

“What are you doing?” I asked, seeing her really struggle to free something from her tight sleeve.

Only when she sighed and the black “something” fall out did I see it was her cellular phone. “Eureka!” The leotard snapped back to her wrist. She looked at me beneath her sunglasses, covering much of her face. Her golden brown eyes set on me for a second, but she left me with haste.

We were almost next, the presence of the singer looming closer—only six people ahead of us. I dropped my hand into my pocket and plucked out my own phone, the one I carried around in case Harry called me, or some other emergency.

“Is there any way you guys can send me and Katie one, too?” Cho peered between our phones. “I need to get me one of those. Not much use while pushing papers for the Ministry…”

“Sure—yeah,” Ginny flipped hers open and then closed it. “I think the phone has to be hooked up to one of those computers or something, but Neville's good with that stuff.”

She shrugged, “I'll ask him when I get home.”

Well, at least I know now they're still talking…

Parts of me wanted to investigate further, but I took a deep breath and allowed Harry entrance into my mind. He told me to let it go… Let him handle it. I let the breath escape from me and smiled, turning to see only a group of three girls in front of us, then…our turn!

The international sensation had an incredibly high stack, two feet worth of posters to her right. She pulled one for each of those three girls and asked for their names, where they were from. Even just talking, she made the girls go crazy with squeals and giddy giggles. I had a hard time containing myself, too. I hoped I didn't make a complete fool of myself. I remembered the days of Gilderoy Lockhart, how dreamily I thought of him, a fan of his “works”—how I'd asked him dumbfounded for an autograph… One of the girl's in the group asked for a hug, and Epsilon nodded her head and got up to give them each an individual hug. Her bodyguards kept watch for anything crafty, but the three girls were so involved in jumping that the thought of pulling something shouldn't have even crossed their minds. Screaming in giggles, they hopped away like bunnies with their personally signed Shade Epsilon Messy Wet Tour posters.

“Next!” yelled the bodyguard to her right.

Epsilon rolled her sparkling blue eyes hidden behind thickly black eyelashes. “Don't mind him,” she said on the sly. “He's having an off day because one of the pap's stepped on his new shoes.”

Epsilon smiled up at us, her extremely white teeth dazzling against her tan. “Hey guys—,” she spoke when we just sort of stood there, stunned. My heart was beating fast, and I knew if I talked, I'd become my worst nightmare—that giggly little girl. “Love the outfits.”

“You're prettier in person!” exclaimed Ginny, pushing her way in-between Katie and I. “I absolutely love your song, `Culture'!”

“As I can tell,” Epsilon's smile curled as she reached for the stack of posters to pull out four. “So, what are your names?”

Epsilon glanced at Katie first and pointed with her white marker, “'Alice' first.”

“Katie Bell!” shouted a surprised Katie. She was planted like me, and when she opened her mouth, she yelled. Her hands immediately went to her mouth. She muffled, “Sorry…”

Epsilon laughed, “It's all right. I remember those days, too.” She turned her eyes to me. “What about our `Innocent doll'? I think I know you already, though.”

“You do?” I asked, cocking a brow. I shook my head and smiled, flush coming to my white-powder face. “I mean, it's Hermione.”

Epsilon's smile grew wider, “I thought so.” She winked at me and said, “I think I should be asking for your autograph.”

I smirked, and couldn't cease it. Embarrassed, I shook my head.

“She's just humble,” Ginny stuck out her hand and Epsilon shook it. “I'm Ginevra—Ginny. Weasley.”

She pointed her marker at Ginny, “I've seen you around, too.” She smiled at Gin, her straight bangs parallel with her lips. “I've got quite the famous duo coming to see my concert. Have you guys been fans long?”

“Long—long!” said Gin, ecstatically nodding, her red hair shaking around awkwardly. Part of it hit my face.

“Since you started, really,” I replied, nodding too while fighting with Ginny's out-of control hair.

“It's gratifying to know female heroes like you guys have been fans of my music for so long,” Epsilon peeked around at Cho and smiled at her. Cho waved from my left apprehensively. “I haven't forgotten about you, sweetheart. I see you there—what's your name?”

“Cho Chang,” said Cho promptly in response. She grinned at Epsilon. I put my arm around Cho when she began retreating from us and the spotlight suddenly put on her.

“Well, Miss Chang—“ started Epsilon, placing the marker on the photograph of herself, dressed in black-and-white striped prison garb. She was holding up a plaque that said, 0249, Paparazzi. “You're up first! How would you like for me to sign?”

She winked at Cho and Cho blushed.

“Just, `To a loyal fan'. That's all. I'm easy to please.”

Epsilon nodded and began writing in white ink across the mostly black poster, beneath the pink-painted lettering of Messy Wet Tour and beside her mug-shot. She blew the ink when she was done and carefully handed the poster to Cho, “There you go, love.”

I could tell Cho wanted to jump out of her socks the moment Epsilon gave her that piece of musical history.

“Katie here is leaving for Quidditch League training tomorrow,” announced Ginny, putting her hands on either side of Katie's shoulders. She shook her, Katie's face turning red. Because Epsilon came from that world, she very much knew what Ginny spoke about. America had their Quidditch team after all.

“Wow—that's really cool. K-A-T-E-Y?” Epsilon began on another poster in her own form of girlish cursive. She looked up at Katie and asked, too, “What about you, sweetie?” before asking the question, “And where are you going to be playing?”

“K-A-T-I-E, and surprise me?” Katie laughed and Epsilon resumed her smile, writing: Katie - With Lots of Love ~ Shade Epsilon. “And, I've joined the British Quidditch Team. Flying lessons tomorrow, and then who knows for the future. I hope I get drafted.”

Shade handed Katie her signed poster, “Well, I hope to see you at the World Cup in four years, Katie. Maybe I'll be singing at that one, too!”

“As for you two…,” she pointed at both me and Gin with the end of her white marker. “I don't think I can say enough with this little ol' pen. But, I'll try.”

I shrugged with a grin, “It was nothing, really.”

“Nothing my ass,” chuckled Shade from behind the table. She turned to Ginny and asked sweetly, “How do you spell `Ginevra'? With an `e' or an `i'?”

“G-I-N-E-V-R-A.” Ginny sighed. “I blame my mother for such a hideously abnormal name. I should have been named something simple, like `Heather'.”

I rolled my eyes. Ginny was who she was because of her name—she stood out, original, from those “normal names”.

I was glad Epsilon reaffirmed my inclination when she said in response, “But, it's so refreshing to write something other than `Mary' or `Karen'. Think of it as a blessing in disguise. I caught a lot of flack when I was younger, being named `Shade'; but, now look at where I am.”

Shade wrote after spelling “Ginevra”:

With this, I am more than glad you were put here on earth. I can't thank you enough, your fan ~ Shade Epsilon

She handed the poster to Ginny and Ginny nearly doubled over. She said, “Thank you!” once and then said it again a thousand times over.

“And, for Miss…or should I say, Misses?” Shade winked at me. She must read the Prophet because they were all over me and Harry daily, our whereabouts and what we were up to, especially after reporting Harry's proposal a few months back. I felt of my engagement ring with my thumb and smiled at Shade. She started working, writing in her cursive my message in shimmering, white ink:

You're my inspiration! I really can't thank you enough for everything you did to save that portion of our lives. You're truly an inspiration to all women. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise ~ Shade Epsilon

She handed me the poster and winked, “There you are, hun.”

My heart skipped a beat, and all I could do was smile at Epsilon's grinning face.

“Can we get a picture with you, Shade?!” Ginny broke in, showing Epsilon her cell phone.

“Sure! Anything for my fans!” She started up, standing, but nodded to the people behind us. I gazed backward to see a few with their hands on their hips, impatiently waiting. “But, it'll have to be quick.”

The cameras from the media photographers flashed simultaneously. I'm sure they heard my name, the wizarding ones, when I said it and were ready to catch me alongside Epsilon: tomorrow's headline picture, no doubt. Shade took Gin's, and then my phone, and set it up so we got all five of us huddled together—with her in the middle. I stood, leaned into the frame on Shade's left side. Ginny stood on her right, mimicking me into the frame. Cho kept to my left and Katie on Gin's right. We all smiled, Shade saying above the chattering crowd:

“Say, `Messy Wet'!”

“Messy Wet!” we all said, laughing, together.

A white flash overtook my atmosphere, time captured in the bytes of my phone's camera.

I couldn't wait to show Harry how I got up-close-and-personal with the charmingly thoughtful, Shade Epsilon.

That is, if I remembered before he got a hold of the Prophet tomorrow morning.

***

Well, I accomplished something.

Throughout the night we all but separated, me and Katie doing our thing while Ginny and Cho were beside us, but doing their thing. The scene reminded me of those immature, labeled cliques in Hogwarts. I was… Well, I wasn't giving her the attention I usually gave her. Did I have a choice? I mean, things were different, and I wasn't about to give her any lead on one way or the other. I wanted to show her how I felt without telling her—I couldn't hurt her. I loved her too much, and besides damn it! They're getting married! Why the Hell did she have to do what she did, anyway? Everything was going so…smoothly… Ride off in the sunset with her Prince Valiant and me with my Prince Charming.

Manchester Arena was void of seats. The chairs I suspected would have been there were gone. One huge combination of bodies, the entire amphitheatre was hot. With each soul, especially all packed, I sweated—we all sweated. So much for my face paint and make-up, if I could see myself I knew the white was drizzling away. The black around my eyes clouded my vision at one point and I had to smear it away. The pyrotechnics didn't help, either. With flames and lights going off everywhere, the heat rose from ninety-eight degrees. The concert-goers leapt in synchronization with the beats, the hidden speakers throbbing the heavy base. The cement underneath my feet shook from the sweltering, loud music.

Strobe-lights continued into the last song of the night. I could briefly see Ginny and Cho together, grinding to the rhythm, Shade with four shirtless men with black bowties back-up dancing to her performance. Katie was close by, enough for us to bump, my arms in the air as I would leap with the rest of the crowd when the base would thump in coordination with the fast-paced melody. Multi-colored, flashes of light hit the entire crowd. I glanced at Ginny, her hair dripping from perspiration, Cho's getting there too. Katie put her arm around my waist loosely when we all jumped again. I still couldn't believe she could move in that Victorian gear, but she proved me wrong when her body twisted right alongside my more flexible attire.

Ginny paid no attention to me. The more I would look, the more I began to think she was doing this on purpose. One time she caught my eyes, but she diverted away with a swish of her hair, moving back in with Cho. I shook my head, making it look like I was doing it to the song, but in reality I did because I was irritated.

Fine—she wants to act like that, suit herself!

I fell back along with Katie, an explosion happening over our head. An orange hue came over the people, including me through the white-to-black strobe. Gasping with the rest, I glanced to see holograms appear behind and around Shade and her dancers. I couldn't tell if they were from magic or not, the personas coming from thin air looking too real for either. From the first explosion came similar, smaller ones above our heads. Colored in various saturations, the explosions of fire produced blues, and greens, and violets unlike normal fiery explosions.

Words, bolded and in glittering gold, formed from these explosions. Small, fragments of sentences spread and encircled us. Things like “The New It Girl!”, “Want Me Now!”, and “You Can't Have Me!” shot around us like comets. The gold lingered in the air behind a tail, the remains of the gold washing down into rain, getting us soaked amongst our already sweaty skin. Looking between me and Katie, we both laughed and continued swaying, whirling to the rippling quake that was both Shade's booming lyric and techno-electronic sounds.

Epsilon, having changed a dozen and more times between songs, now choreographed with her shirtless men, the feminine holograms, in a striking neon yellow and black-striped latex bodysuit. In the stroking white light, the yellow would glow, words like “Hot,” “Messy,” “Taste,” and “Sweat” appearing where the black lines were on her form.

I sung, hearing Katie nearby, and Ginny and Cho not far away with the people around, Shade's belting lyrics after the men boomed a countdown, “ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!”

“I'm your biggest fan! I'll follow you until you love me! Papa—Paparazzi!” I turned to see a few guys singing along and I smirked at them, facing away to observe Katie—and then Katie's hip when she hit mine. “Baby, there's no other superstar! You know that I'll be! You're Papa—Paparazzi!”

Katie and I faced each other and screamed into the roaring, swinging crowd, “Promise, I'll be kind! But, I won't stop until that boy is mine!”

Shade rigidly moved as if she were being slapped around. Her body went at angles from her torso upward with each quick, hasty movement amongst strong, hard beats. She acted like a robot. A face—Shade's evil, grinning face—blinking to life above the stage. She winked at all of us and when opening her mouth, suds spewed forth. Her face transformed into a camera, the lens now expelling the deluge as it flashed its own strobe-light on us. The front rows got the soap first, the suds spilling like a wave and hitting us in the middle of the pack, going toward the back afterward. Soap or not, the texture was slippery, but thankfully it neither stung when it hit my eyes and when it seeped from a crack between my lips, the substance tasted sugary sweet.

Now sticky, wet, sweaty—I just looked over at Katie who rolled into hysterics. I followed behind her in giggles, wiping the foaming candy off my face, parts of my hair standing on end from the slight force of the wave.

Suddenly, the lights all went out after followed her lyric, “Baby, you'll be famous! Chase you down until you love me!”

She screamed, a blood-curdling scream, the words, “Papa—PAPARAZZI!” when the lights ceased into darkness.

If the strobe couldn't get any quicker, it did. I had to close my eyes at first, but soon they adjusted to the rapid succession. On stage a swarm of paparazzi, camera and people everywhere. In the middle, bound in chains in about the areas of the black stripes held taut Shade Epsilon to her spot. Where yellow had laid wrapped police caution-tape expressing the words, “Do Not Enter!” Risque, the caution-tape almost didn't hold to her privates' well enough when she moved. Some people screamed out, and even I was startled for a split-second thinking she might be in danger until she started her following lyric.

Her hair turned dark, black, pulled high into the air and into a Mohawk-like figuration. The stiffened top of her head didn't react to her pull as she struggled to unbind from the chains keeping her still. “Real good! We're dancin' in the studio! Snap!” Her head flicked to the left, and then to the right, the cameras around her on stage striking her, the bulbs going off without pattern. “Snap! To that shit on the radio!”

Robotic, a manly roar of “SHADE EPSILON!” rang out.

“Don't stop for anyone! We're plastic!” Her hair-tingling scream shook the Arena. “But we STILL HAVE FUN!”

She fell to the stage, the media swooping in, encroaching onto the chains that bound her. When she glanced up at her fans, the tens of thousands around her, we all heaved, my breath drawing in when I saw Shade—with each succession of a camera flash—cause blood to erupt from parts of her body starting from beneath the metal, burdened chain links.

Male voices broke her trembling voice from nowhere and everywhere, “ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!”

“I'm your biggest fan! I'll follow you until you love me! Papa—Paparazzi!” Shade cried out, her voice gurgling and in strain as she crawled toward us, toward the end of the stage. Some people around me, really in-tune with her performance, literally broke down in tears. The paparazzi around Epsilon hounded her, following her struggling crawl, blood spewing in streams. “Baby, there's no other superstar! You know that I'll be! Your! Papa—Paparazzi!”

The media gripped onto the chains that bound her and pulled her back, staining her body with her own blood. She went to crawl away but slipped in her pool of sanguine color, her hand dripping with the darkened hue when she reached out to her audience, “Promise! I'll be kind! But, I won't stop until that girl is mine!”

From somewhere, a sinister laugh rang out which sounded like it came from over our heads.

“Baby, you'll be famous! Chase you down until you love me!” We heard her cough, and then standing on her knees, the chains tightening around her, she coughed up the same sanguine color. Her blood dripped off her chin, the media streaming those lens flashes, capturing every moment of her fight—her death.

“Papa—PAPARAZZI!”

Like fireworks, the lights went out after her last, abrupt word and those colorful explosions re-appeared. Blue smoke released more words, two gold sentences which rained down more water upon us. They read, blinking through the rain to read them:

“Love me!”

The other read.

“Hate me!”

Between them appeared two eyes, Shade's eyes, peering down at us. She winked, and Manchester Arena shook with applause. My hair matted down, my clothes officially clinging, stuck to my body, I glanced over at Katie when the lights came back on—Shade having vanished. Looking up at the golden rain, she peeked to her left at me and grinned. She hugged me tight and I hugged her, too.

This was the end. After this, she was leaving us. I tightened my embrace of Katie and looked over at Cho and Ginny. Cho immediately ran up and hugged Katie from behind. Ginny, however, stayed put. Her eyes went away from mine, and she crossed her arms, glancing away from our touching moment.

***

“…I don't know why you guys didn't want to go home and just come back here. Cho, you even said the shoulder strap was chafing you!” I stumbled into Number Twelve, the hallway and beyond into total darkness.

“Because we wanted to bug you, silly. We'll apparate later,” Cho replied.

Someone shut the door and the flat succumbed to darkness.

“Didn't you say Harry and Neville would be here?” Katie was right behind me, her hand clutching my corset as I led them further into the apartment.

“He…was,” I knew where I was going, having done this several times before. My hand traced the wall and slowly I felt the wall end and an edge of a frame begin. This was the kitchen, and just inside the kitchen was the light switch. “I guess they went out.”

“Did anyone bring their wand? Whatever happened to Lumos?” I heard Ginny, and then I heard her knock over the umbrella stand. “Ack! Sorry…”

I fingered for the switch, and when I found it I flicked it on. The lights in the kitchen buzzed, the fluorescence coming to life. “There,” I said when we could all see. I stepped around, my shoes sloshing from the leftover essence of rainwater, when I saw in front of me numerous pairs of eyes.

In the den, a scroll fit to the wall. When I glanced to catch the object, it unrolled to reveal:

Congratulations, Hermione! Best of luck at Oxford!

I gasped.

Inside the den, those sets of eyes—my friends, Harry included—all began to clap. Beside me, Katie started, and then Cho and Ginny followed her.

“Congratulations, Love!” shouted Harry enthusiastically. My hand, which covered my mouth, now held onto my chest. I let out a tiny giggle and drew in a breath.

“Congratulations!” shouted the rest of our crew. Tables between us four and them were set with food and beverage, obviously a set up for a party. Neville stood alongside Harry. Dean and Oliver were on our sofa with Luna standing on her knees to get a better look at my reaction after their surprise.

I quickly turned to see the three girls, their hair matted to their faces, split-ends and dry, make-up in disarray. If everyone wasn't aware of where we were they'd probably think we had one rough night out. “You guys were in on all of this!?”

“So much for our know-it-all,” briskly announced Ginny. “Can't get anything by you, can we?” I saw her try and smile, but it falter when she came around to lightly hug me. She broke away and stepped on down into the den, heading towards Neville.

Katie and Cho hugged me tight and said in unison, “Congrats!”

Katie came back to hug me again. “You're going to go far, I can feel it.”

“Your name should be beside mine up there with the congratulations, Kate,” I said, hugging too.

When she let me loose, I noticed the train of people coming at me with Harry the engine, right in front.

“Just so you know,” I paused to smirk. “I'm still a little wet.”

They all laughed at the painfully obvious conclusion of my severely drenched state.

“That's never stopped me before. Come here, you!” Harry smiled and lifted me up, embracing me tight with a swirl. I gave him a kiss when he set me back down. “Congrats again, baby.”

“You…,” I pointed at him when he stepped away to let Neville in to hug me. “You're so going to get it tonight!”

“Uh oh… Should we go?” Neville smirked and laughed through his nose. He looked between me and Harry, and then gave me a tight, friendly hug. “Congratulations, `Mione.”

“Thank you, Neville,” I said with a smile, my arms around his neck.

“Let us in there!” Dean and Oliver both grasped me in one, large group hug, pushing Neville to move. They all laughed. I patted both their backs.

“Does this mean we get a free copy of your CD when it comes out? Maybe some free concert tickets?” Oliver was in all smiles, digging his hands in his pockets to ask me the question.

“Nah—it means you'll have to pay double!” Dean punched Oliver's arm, and I raised a brow. They went off to wrestle, and I stood there, chuckling at their roughhousing.

I didn't even see Luna until I felt her warm, light embrace. She wore this white, draping with transparent cloth little number, making her ethereal—like a ghost. Butterbeer bottle caps for earrings with striking, bright orange lipstick, she lowered to my ear and whispered, “You smell like marmalade and schnoozleberries…”

“Um…,” All I could do was smile. “Thanks, Luna.”

“Okay,” Katie was pulling at her stuck-to-her-skin dress. When she let it go, it snapped back with a wet splat. “So, now I'm apparating back home and changing.”

“Same here,” Cho nodded in agreement.

Cho started down the hallway with Katie, but Katie turned to me and the rest, her hand on the ledge leading to the hallway. “You're such a ditz…”

I stuck my tongue out at her, making her and Cho giggle all the way out the door. I looked for Ginny and saw her picking at the finger foods from the table, placing them in a napkin. I shrugged and looked around to those who were still watching me, Dean and Oliver wrestling off in the corner oblivious.

“Not to be a horrible hostess for my own party…,” I tugged on the bottom rim of my corset to squeeze out a bit of water. “But, as you can see…”

“Go get changed,” Harry addressed me. He'd been on my left through all the brouhaha and congratulatory greetings of our friends. “We'll be down here waiting with baited breath.”

I rolled my eyes with a smirk and lifted to my toes as I began to step towards the staircase, giving a wave to the bunch who observed me, “I'll be right back down in a second.”

“We'll be counting!” Neville voice called out after me. “One! Nope! Too late! Come back down!”

I heard Harry's snicker as I raced up the stairs to our bedroom.

I put on something simple, something fast with room. Being tied down with the corset, I needed room. I slipped into a knitted, gray shirt with black hearts embroidered arbitrarily in the cotton. The loosened shirt collar fell farther down my chest than I wanted it for the piece had been worn in several times before. One bit of clothing I'd had for a while. I had to put on a black tank top underneath, sliding into a pair of black, ripped-up jeans and my Converse shoes. I shook my hair around, trying to make it fuller with my fingers from the too-flattened, dampened mass it was left in from the concert. The potion was losing its effect, the tips of my hair now all that was left of the reds, whites, and blacks.

When I came back down, I headed for the den where I saw everyone mingling. But, before I could drop off the last stair, a hand shot out and took me by the arm. Harry led me into the kitchen, intertwining his fingers within my own, holding my hand. He brought me up against the wall just inside the kitchen and lay me back against it, snatching a quick kiss from my lips and asking, “You seemed pleasantly surprised.”

“I am—it's wonderful, love,” I kissed him, hovering my lips beside his when I released only to kiss him again. “I couldn't ask for anything more.”

Harry left my hand to grip my middle, sliding his hands down to my hips. He watched his hands, snickering when my tummy retracted at the slight tickle, and how I fidgeted by that tickle. “I,” he smiled at me, gazing into my eyes. “Couldn't ask for anything more.”

When he leaned into me, I fell backward. The back of my head propped against the wall and he kissed me hard. Removing his lips, he nudged my nose with his and said in a breath, a smile, “How was the concert? Wet?”

I chuckled, “Just a little bit…and, it was brilliant. I loved it. I want to go again.”

He kissed my lips briefly when I paused, to say when he released, “…What about…you know? You didn't just all out and ask him, did you?”

Harry shook his head, “He's very excited, too excited about their next step in life. He showed me the ring—and it's extremely expensive, a huge rock on this gold band, something Gin will absolutely love.”

I laughed and smirked, “She does like her diamonds… How much did she fuss about the engagement ring you gave me?”

Harry nodded and kissed me, “He's trying to please her… What about…?”

I shook my head, “Actually…she's been giving me the cold shoulder. She spent practically the entire night with Cho, so I don't know…”

“Remember that `plan' I fleetingly talked about?”

I sighed, my focus going from his mouth to his eyes, “Another surprise?”

Harry laughed at my annoyed tone, “…We're going to get away, leave all this, just the two of us for a week.”

“But, their wedding, Harry?”

“We'll be back in time. I've already discussed it with Neville because Ginny's, you know, wanting you there for everything, every little detail,” I went to say something, but Harry stopped me when he added. “She'll be fine. We'll be back, trust me. I think we—you—deserve to get away. Besides…”

He stepped up to me until the toes of our shoes touched each other. He kissed me before continuing the sentence he broke off. I studied the mouth he so lovingly used to caress me. “…I'm thinking this could be like…our pre-Honeymoon.”

“Pre-pre-pre-pre-Honeymoon,” I giggled and pulled him down to me by the front of his shirt. I kissed him in a smile.

“A trip into solitude…alone…,” he kissed me, and I trapped his bottom lip between mine when he pulled away. I let his lip snap back into place and laughed when he squeezed my hips. “…with lots of…”

He glanced away from my eyes, and then intently stared into them when he came back to me, “…alone-ness.”

I tilted my head to the side and laughed, only to find him and his lips again when I came back straight.

“All right… I'm going to talk to Professor Hooch to see if I can get off next week. Do you think you can?”

I nodded, “Yeah, I think so. I'll ask Josephine, too, seeing how I took some of her work load when she got ill last month.”

“Okay—it's a date, then,” Harry smiled and stepped to my side. “I've kept you from your party. The people out there want to see you after all—they're probably wondering where you are, taking you secretly from them like this.”

“Mm…,” I quickly kissed him as I turned and began to walk from the kitchen. A sharp, sudden wince of pain happened when Harry swatted my bottom. I gasped and swished around to see Harry come up behind me and wrap his arms around me. I grinned and let him walk me from behind, moving from the kitchen and nearly smacking into Neville coming in.

“Hey, you two!” Neville backed up when Harry and I almost tripped over into him. He looked around me at Harry, “I should have known you'd steal her away.”

“Yeah, well—“ Harry laughed through his nose and kissed the top of my head. “What do you expect, eh?”

Neville nodded, “Yeah, nothing surprising. Ha—but, anyway—“

He shook his head and pointed over to where the hallway began with his thumb, “Gin's not feeling well—“

Glancing over at the beginning of the hallway, I saw Ginny turn away and leave from my sight. Her shoulders slumped. Her skin tone had turned pale.

“And, before you guys go into Savior-mode!” Neville put his hands up, knowing first how I'd react, and then Harry to our best friends. “I've got her. Don't worry—go, do your thing, have fun. You guys deserve it.”

I looked back at the entrance to the hallway, the spot empty where Ginny had been.

“All right, mate,” I heard Harry speak, and then felt him as he shook hands with Neville. “Keep Hermione and I in touch if anything goes down. You know our number.”

“Right, right—“ Neville nodded his head and put his hands in his pockets. “She's just tired. No big deal.”

“Congratulations, again, Hermione.” Neville added, walking away from us.

“Hey!” I called out after him. Neville hadn't made it but three steps when he pivoted around. I sighed, “Don't I get another hug before you leave?”

He grinned. Harry let me go so I could embrace Neville when he came around me, wrapping his arms loosely. “We love you two, Neville.” I whispered into his ear.

“Thank you, `Mione,” Neville said, and then ended saying, “Harry.”

“Go tend to your girl,” Harry's palm and Neville's palm slapped together as they shook each other once again. “Don't keep us in the dark.”

“Thanks guys,” he slipped away and rounded the bend, following the hallway and out of our sight. He gave us a wave before disappearing.

I glanced back around at Harry and he immediately re-wrapped his arms around me. “Come on,” he said, ushering me on with a bob of his head to the chattering friends within the warmth of the hearth inside the den. “They'll be okay.”

“Yeah,” I blinked and twisted my head to look back at the hallway. “Yeah… They'll be okay.”

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Sticking with the whole “different” concept, I thought about some of the same things I thought of back when I wrote “Hermione”—something girly, something popular, and also something with an Avant Garde feel. So, I chose Lady Gaga, inspired by her “Paparazzi” song as it fit so well with what I'm discussing presently. I think she'd enjoy the concert I portrayed; something she'd do. I'd laugh if she read HP fiction - lol

Also, I've seen people post links to images before, but I'm not entirely sure of the protocol so if I'm going against some rule I haven't read on here tell me. I don't think it's a problem. But, to give an extra layer to the atmosphere, I was inspired by the Victoriandustrial singer, Emilie Autumn, and this was in mind for the outfit Hermione wore to the Epsilon concert:

http://www.alternativmusik.de/images/emilie.jpg }

-->

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: Hey there! Yes, I know I haven't kept up. Between graduating from college and now, my time has become limited. To be honest, I'm sick and that's the only thing allowing me to slow down to write. Sad, isn't it? But, I'm still willing to finish my story one way or another. The chapters may come slow, though. No promises.

***

Chapter Twenty-Three - Ginevra

***

I wish I hadn't done it.

I wish I'd done it sooner.

Love is a funny concept. It's true what they say, that it can come in many forms; that it can come out of nowhere. You'd never think of the taboo. It's not right, right? I'd never tell Mother. Dad might not go ballistic. He always was the cool cannon opposed to the loose one. I could see Mother having a conniption, literally her face cracking and some sort of demon expelling from her to attack me. I was her only daughter. I'm supposed to be the girl—the apple of her Mother's eye—homosexuality never should enter this picture.

She is my best friend. She's been my best friend. I think the first time I met her I felt…something. In the beginning it was probably envy, the emotion. I mean, Hermione knew every bloody thing. You could ask her anything, even when she was amidst of doing something she'd always have an answer—the best answer, the right answer. Oh, how I hated the attention she gathered from the guys, Harry, even my own brother. I'd secretly curse her. By the second year of my time at Hogwarts, however, we were two peas in a pod. We'd share every, little secret and every little lie we told.

I usually had all the secrets and lies, and she'd be the listener… But, that's beside the point.

Puberty hit me quickly the next year, and suddenly I was the centre of attention. Everything I heard the guy's say behind their back about Hermione now came full on at me. The guys clamored over me—or my boobs. Being one of the first girls my age to grow boobs, I was the number one favorite female to be hit on. At first I liked the attention. I mean, I really liked the attention. I went from one guy to the next. I'd line one up to catch me the second I'd dump the one I was with. They were like pawns and I'd use them.

I matured, or rather, I began getting used. I started finding out things weren't as they were cracked out to be. I started wanting more than just the little boys. I wanted the security. I wanted to feel wanted, and not just in the sexual way. I wanted to laugh without making myself. I wanted to smile genuinely. I wanted an actual intelligent conversation. I wanted…

I got all these things when I was with Hermione. I got confused—my feelings, the tug and push from Mother after every bloody vacation on, “How are things with him?”—the boy I'd talked about months ago. The birds and the bees never discussed the actuality of liking—loving—my best friend. The bee pollinates the stamen. The bird lays the egg. There's no grey area—it's always male and female. Male and female. There's nothing wrong with it…just difficult to understand when my eyes linger that extra second on Hermione as she'd yawn while reading in the Gryffindor commons from my corner of the room.

I had to act my role, too. Hermione was interested in boys—men—as she'd question why boys had to do such immature things. I'd express myself per my role, giving her what she wanted and always afraid of the reply I'd get if I said, “Who cares? How about me?” I didn't want her to laugh which I'm she she'd do promptly the second afterward. If I waved the laugh off and really meant it, then I'd probably never see her again—scare her away. Something…if that would ever happen…

So, I stayed Ginevra Weasley: the best friend of Hermione Granger. Talks? Ginevra Weasley. Walks? Ginevra Weasley. Study sessions? Ginevra Weasley. Holidays together? Best friend: Ginevra Weasley. Of course, sometimes I just couldn't help it. I'd do things…stupidly in after-thought, but would get away with it. Play-hugs and play-snogs, tickling, cuddling, sleeping…”platonically”. I stayed in the background and pursued Harry, instead. Why? Because that somehow filled the hole everyone wanted me to fill. I even “asked” Hermione for advice about how to get Harry. By picking the one guy the whole world admired, I knew that if I had him, I wouldn't want Hermione—that I'd move on, as if my emotions were a sickness needing a dose of heterosexual. “Normalcy” by society, by my Mother's standards.

I got him. I got Harry. Of course I would. I was the most desirable girl at Hogwarts. I snogged him to death. Our make-out sessions, albeit isolated from view, could break records. I'd prompt them, continued them, made them last longer. I think I bored Harry at times, kissing for an hour, and then another, he'd make some excuse to go. Potions? Yeah right.

I cried when he wasn't around. I cried, especially, when no one was around. I cried because…after getting everything…I didn't get everything. I was being torn. Torn once by the influence of what was going on with Voldemort and torn again by the falsity of my feelings. I became tired of putting on sixteen thousand masks. I only wanted to put on one mask—the true mask.

Before all Hell broke loose, one memory continued to taunt me. Everything was right, but all was wrong. I couldn't take advantage of Hermione. I couldn't even dream of the stress, the friction running through her. She was the rock within our core group, the group that led the way, the group that will forever remain in wizarding history. Without her brilliance and critical thinking skills, the certainty of us being here alive would be dim.

One moonlit night I heard the curtains of my bed being pulled away. I wouldn't have even heard, or saw that it was a moonlit night had I not already been awake. But, I laid in bed in thought. We'd just had one of our group rallying meetings, our old, trusted DA members for the future of what was to come. We'd discussed all possible outcomes, good and bad, until our heads hurt. We practiced our defensive measures, studied some literature from the restricted section about the Dark Arts for countering purposes, and inch by growing inch we could feel the wrapping hands of Voldemort around our throats. My mind wasn't really on anything else besides until I saw a streak of blue from the shadow filter across the porcelain skin. Her slightly darkened eyes blinking, her approach cautious as the light coming onto my bed had her eyes adjust.

I made a move to show her I was awake when she asked me:

“…Did I wake you? I'm sorry…I'll…”

She began to leave.

“No, no,” I whispered quietly. I could sense Hermione's fear…and that made me fearful. Hermione could look Voldemort in the face and not flinch. But now I see her…and she's shaking ever-slightly. “Are you okay?”

My voice was hurried at the end, and I quickly pulled away the sheet to allow her in. I felt her arms around me, her warm body clutching my own. She held onto me tight as we both settled. I put my hand to her cheek, her face near my neck. I felt her stutter a breath and I knew she was holding back tears. I didn't want to say anything. I didn't want her to cry, and the moment I opened my mouth I knew I'd set her off. So I held her, and I could feel my heart pounding.

“…Next week we'll be on the train home…”

She spoke, and I just listened—role-reversal.

“…I just don't know what will happen…”

She spoke in soft haste right into my form, her mouth close to the cloth of my pajamas.

“My parents and friends, all my loved ones… Well,” She began, and I could tell she was frustrated. “Don't just let me babble! Say something!”

“Everything will be okay,” I spoke fast, and I spoke in a lie. I didn't know what was going to happen…what was happening… Hermione was the strongest person I knew, and that doubled into the fact that I couldn't control my beating heart my mind unraveled. I said the first thing to calm her.

I felt her arms withdrawal from around me. I thought I'd set her off. I thought she caught onto my own fright, but she collapsed. She withdrew into me. With my hand reaching behind Hermione, I ran my fingers through her soft, bushy brown curls and held her as she began to cry.

I wanted to tell her that I loved her.

I loved her.

That, I wanted to love her.

For all I knew six months, three months, a month from now we'd all be dead and alas, I'd kept the truth to myself to the grave—a fate scarier to myself than envisioning Voldemort and his thousand Death Eaters.

My mouth missed her lips a few inches away.

Instead, they met with her forehead and that's how it ended.

We'd leave for train and our lives would still stay the same with me on mute.

Now, I've opened a can of worms I could never close. Under the influence, my emotion ran wild. What I'd been longing to do for years came to a sudden conclusion: I kissed Hermione, and in doing so everything changed. At first she didn't speak to me…and that in itself drove me crazy. Like a child in tantrum, I threw it back. I made it a point to dissolve her from my life—to not speak with her, to try not to breathe the same air she breathed. But, to what end? I was only hurting myself in the process. I was hurting myself, and I was hurting Neville—the man I would soon be wedded to.

I love Neville Longbottom. He's witty and smart. He takes care of me. We have this sense of humor only we understand and he knows me. But, this cannot be solved like any mathematical equation. There cannot be a grey area. I have to choose, but I don't want to. Some nights I find myself wanting to die than to choose Neville over Hermione, or Hermione over Neville. For myself, that is…for surely Hermione hasn't the same intertwined feelings for me. She has Harry—she wanted Harry. After my enormous dolt of a brother, abusing her as he did and seeking help for it, I gave her Harry by any means possible.

Why would someone do this? Why would I do this when I hurt seeing them smile at each other in that goofy sort of way, or see them kiss, or hear them talk about their wonderfully good lives together and know quite well he's shagging her? Because… I love her. I want to make Hermione happy, and if helping her achieve her happiness is what I can do and only do, I'll do it. No questions asked. I did it, but my heart still longs for her… Seeing her wrapped in some silky, see-through negligee and wanting me that way! Smart and talented…funny…down-right gorgeous with just a hint of tom-boyish charm…

I could see myself. I could see myself walking. I was on the sideline watching myself walking down an aisle, between desks. It wasn't odd that I saw myself walking between desk or that there were two of me. It wasn't odd that it was snowing almost glow-like flakes into the Great Hall where students sat taking an exam or that Doleres Umbridge was behind the owl-studded pedestal observing them. In full-Hogwarts attire, I saw myself making my way in light-step to the front of the room. I followed me from afar, pacing at the same speed as my double, maybe younger in age. No one bothered to notice me—not a soul—not even Umbridge who scowled at the fifty or so students seated, quills in hand.

I had my wand out by my side. I saw the target settled on as prey. I knew, by the unkempt black hair from the back and how he rolled up the sleeves of his jumper who the prey was. Harry, diligently working at his exam with Hermione on one side, Ron on the other, the rest of us surrounding him and all into our examination. I saw yet another me behind the group ahead of me—the older ones of the year before me. Never once were we grouped like this, but there I was with those years taking their test.

I wasn't with the group, but I saw myself trying to keep up with the rest of them. My quill flew as hastily, my eyes catching the others as they'd drop the point into their inkwells to go again. I felt empathy, sympathy, my heart sinking as I saw myself never completely keeping up with the rest and feeling left behind—the one that felt always felt the lesser—a child among giants.

Myself, the one with the wand had made her way to the front and stood before Harry. Either they all simply ignored that me, or…I couldn't understand until I saw her raise the wand and immediately noticed the familiar green hue produce at its tip. I went to call out, but my voice clung to my throat. I went to move, to tackle that me from her action, but remained frozen to my spot.

The two most dreadful words were spoken…and Harry's face planted into the top of his desk. The lifeless body rolled from the weight and he fell to the floor from his chair. I went to cry out again, to scream, to ask myself, “Why?!”—to expel nothing, soundless. I began to run again and tripped, falling over a desk. I lifted my head to see Ginevra, the murderer, step atop and through Harry, her eyes dark and her lips curled into the most sinister of grins. I looked from my left, to see the test-taking Ginevra still working away at her exam, and then to my right at all the other students not taking any notice into the killing that unfolded a foot away from them.

I felt a heavy, stale breath at my ear and closed my eyes.

I began to cry, and I found myself falling from pressure.

I felt as if someone had taken a sledge hammer to the back of my head and heard the words of any nightmare streak through my mind.

“…Very good…,” He exclaimed with utmost joy that made my blood turn cold. “…Never disappoint, child…”

I fell for what seemed like centuries in open, sightless space to awake in bed. My bed, the one in my house. Startled, I jolted from my slumber only to catch myself, smacking my forehead when I realized it all but a dream…a nightmare. I kept my hand to my head and breathed a sigh to calm down. Pulsing, I could feel palpitations emote from my body.

My hand felt cool…and then, wet…

I didn't understand and slowly left my forehead to feel a substance sticky and unnatural, making my fingers struggle to pull apart from one another. Sanguine…smelling of iron when the substance passed my nose. My eyes instantly lit up. I felt them dilate, fixating on first the blood dripping from my hand to the Hogwarts student outfit I was draped in. Blood splattered helter-skelter in huge, irregular splotches. I couldn't make out the slightest bit of a clean, white shirt beneath the pink color it gained from mixing with body fluid.

I went to turn, to feel for Neville beside me to find him…his body mauled and lacerated as if millions of knives were taken to him. I couldn't distinguish a feature about him, utterly ripped to shreds, detailing down to bone and muscle fiber.

The door boomed open, falling off the frame and into the bedroom like there hadn't been hinges applied. Through my gaped mouth and bright eyes I saw Hermione, wand at the ready. She looked at me in disgust, in shame, and screamed at me, “HOW COULD YOU?!”

I wanted to throw up, but couldn't. I felt the rich, rancid acid rise to my throat but nothing came out.

I struggled to make sense of everything—or anything at all.

“Ginny,” Mother was already at the sink by the time I'd gathered up the rest of the dishes. Her hands were over up to the elbows in suds. I guess the other utensils, dancing their way to cleanliness by a charm wasn't enough to get all our dishes done. “Did you—“

She turned to me to see more containers, pots and the like buried up to my neck.

“Ah--,” She tapped the top of the counter. “Set them here, dear. Thank you.”

“Mum…,” As I laid them down to be washed, I slowly crept up the courage to ask my question.

“Hm?” Mum's eyes dawdled on one dish after another.

I leaned my hip on the rim of the countertop and grasp the edge…as if that didn't give away how nervous my voice came out. “…What would happen if—“

“Hand me that there sponge, Ginny dear,” she pointed beside me, far from her reach. “The blue one.”

I did as she asked, and she replied with a, “Thank you.”

I sighed, Mother obviously too busy to tend to me.

I went to escape, to trudge to my room once again to have her say, “What was it, dear? I'm here, just busy, busy, busy.”

I turned around, closed my eyes, let in a deep breath and blurted out, “I love Hermione.”

“We all love Hermione, too, dear. She should come over more often during the holiday.”

“No…,” I shook my head, my eyes flicking from my Mother's hands to the side of her face—the only side I could see as she kept on the dishes. “…I mean, I love Hermione. I'm in love with Hermione, and I don't—“

My voice halted as a dish Mother had in her hand slipped from her fingers and banged into the sink below. Silence filled the room and my heart stopped. I heard a brief chortle come from Mother's pierced lips followed by, “Don't you have some work to do before going back to Hogwarts this term? Shouldn't you be seeing to it?”

“Mum, I—“

Her head flipped around at me, and I thought she was going to hit me.

“Listen…dear. You're confused,” Her grim look quickly turned into a…smile. She'd bent toward me, but moved back into her original position. She cleared her throat and said again. “You're confused. It's a phase. It's puberty and all the boys are probably acting like gits, so you think of something else. It's hogwash—it'll pass.”

“…It's not like I'm sick, Mum…”

“Your father married me, Charlie is getting married, Percy has Penelope, George has Angelina, Fred is dating all sorts of girls, Ron's trying to figure girls out and you will figure boys out, too—it's a phase. Period. Now,” She cleared her throat again. “Run to your room and finish your summer work, dear.”

“But—“

“Be a good girl, I said, Ginny!”

The voice of my Mother shouting was drowned out by another.

“Shut up, I said! I'm sick and tired of coming home to have you on my case about something! It's always something!”

I'd grown tired of my idiot brother scolding Hermione… I really did. I swore if he ever made a move…

I sat on our family sofa and watched the scene parade down the staircase. Hermione followed his decent, waving her arms around as she did while saying, “Well, if you ever did something instead of coming home and coming down on me like I'm some child!”

Ron swung around and met Hermione face-to-face. His eyes pierced her and I could tell something bad was coming. I saw what I thought was his hand raise and I was up off the cushion. He fell to the floor where I took a good shot. He yelled at the pain I delivered and pushed me off, my fist bloodied after punching him square on the nose.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?!” He shouted, his eyes ablaze and mostly filled with tears. He held his swollen appendage, it coming to a color of purple. He winced and yelled again, “Fuck!”

I hopped from the floor and pointed a finger at him, “And if I ever see you raise a hand to her again, I'll break your fucking nose a second time!”

“What is going on in here?!” Mother came in from the garden. Her arm held a wicker basket of vegetables which swung at the crook of her elbow. Her face lit up when she saw Ron squirming on the wall, life pouring from his nostrils. Hermione stood on the bottom step stunned and looked from Ron, me, and now Mother.

“She's mad, I tell you! Mad!” He told Mother. “Lock her up in the loony bin! Throw her in Azkaban!”

Mother was already at Ron, having pulled away his hand to see the cartilage twisted wrong. From upper lip to the sockets of his eyes the skin swelled. Mother turned to me first, of course, and noticed the evident slather of blood across my right hand's fingers. “Shame on you, Ginny! Violence is not the answer to everything! Go to your room! I'll be up to speak with you after fixing your brother's nose!”

“I'd do it again,” I said defiantly. I peered at Ron. “What I told you wasn't a threat—it was a promise. Hurt her and—“

I swung my hand and made a “POW” sound when my knuckle collided with my left hand.

“GINEVRA! GO TO YOUR ROOM THIS INSTANT!”

“...The moment Neville and I find a house, we're out of here.” I started my trek upward and crossed behind Hermione. She glanced at me as I went on by.

Mother shouted up the stairs, “While you're under this roof, you'll do as I say, Missy!”

I laughed, and made it loud enough for Mother to hear.

With each step, the wood of the stairs would echo less. The grain became denser. The color of the Weasley Burrow moved from a stained orange to a dull grey. The walls of the staircase wound upward and straightened out into a darkened hole leading out into a shimmer of light. Where my room was now lay a cave, and outside the cave—for I continued on—lay a ledge. Rocky ridges I stepped on, pacing to the edge. I heard the waves, smelled the sea salt in the winds as it furiously blew at my hair. There wasn't a sun, cloudy and overcast with a fog rising from below. I couldn't see the water, but I saw the spray as it hit the hidden rocks.

From around me, and in me, I heard Neville.

“I love you.”

I grimaced, a tear dripping down my cheek.

I closed my eyes.

“…You don't deserve me…”

“Please…don't do this…”

“I'm hurting…,” I took in a breath of the salty air. “It…hurts me to hurt you…”

“Please…just let me in…”

A part of me willed me not to do what was to be done, but I shrugged it off. My heart had failed me. My mind was in disarray. I couldn't tell up from down or left from right. I was tired of fighting the world, my family…myself. I felt warmth surround me, but moved away, back into isolated cold. The tips of my toes slipped over the edge and I let myself go. Arms out, it sort of felt like flying. My hair blew behind me as I heard it rip through the air behind my ears. The noise, the sound of the waves grew in crescendo as I approached.

Every barbed stone, every sharp spike hit me with such a force.

I'd be lying if I said it didn't make me even the tiniest bit happy.

***

Footsteps arrived quietly around the sofa where Ginny lay. She was sprawled across the cushion. Her arms every which way—one hanging off the edge where it stayed motionless on the floor and the other dangling off the armrest. Her body, contorted oddly, looked painful. Her face, buried into the dark nook made by said armrest, was covered by her flaming locks. An empty bottle of vodka sat disturbed on a table beside her. Partner in crime, the glass had been tipped over and whatever remains of the alcohol fumed as it dried into the treated material. The television wasn't on. No stereo to be heard. Only silence and darkness held.

Neville stood there for a while, staring at his beloved Ginevra. His eyes were tired, woken when he didn't feel her beside him in bed. He'd come to find her draped haphazardly. He reached down, bent down, and felt the rise and fall from her torso. He sighed, mostly in relief that she was still with him. He didn't pass judgment, as any other person would have probably shaken their head at way presented before them. He slowly just glided his arms around her and carried her off to bed.

After tucking in his fiancée, he tiptoed back downstairs to clean what was left of her night. The vodka bottle and a liquor bottle tipped over out of previous view were thrown in the trash outside. The glass was taken and washed; then, properly put away in the kitchen cupboard. Evidence of marijuana was disposed of, flushed down a toilet. Quietly he came back to Ginevra lying soundless where he put her, and quietly he slipped beside her.

Somehow he made it to sleep.

-->

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: I really wanted to get this out in time for HP7: Part I. The chapter was supposed to be longer with the part I cut out to be continued at the end, but I decided to keep it for next time for just this date. The cliffhanger at the end wasn't intended in the beginning, but works quite well with the tone created.

Also, the toothbrush scene really came out of nowhere. I wanted to write it as this deeply intense moment, but the characters wanted to be wacky, albeit in a cute, innocent way. Thought that was interesting how it happened and how the scene now alludes to the start of their relationship (which I liked).

A/N Edit: {Nov 20 2010 1:42 AM EST} Just got back from HP7, and trying to be completely ambiguous to those who have not seen the film, the HHr dancing scene was the sexiest part in the entire series. Scarily similar, I have a dancing scene of my own—watch for it in a later chapter! Also, minor changes and fixed small errors.

***

Chapter Twenty-Four - Esoteric

***

An alabaster sheen of soft, white snow powdered Hogwarts's grounds. What remain of the water pouring from the fountain now stood sparkling, clear crystal. The window panes of the glorious repertoire of brick and mortar glistened a subtle, frosty outline of the archaic, Victorian-like architecture. Winter was obviously upon them, and the thumb of Jack Frost pressed heavily down on the northern parts of England's shore. Inside, however, amongst the many chattering mouths laid warmth from a nearby hearth and its roaring fire.

The Gryffindor common room and all its crimson and gold splendor was ripe, in-tune with the on-coming holiday. Mid-term exams dwindling to those few sporadic individuals left to finish, the rest were in high-spirits for the long awaited trip home to their families, friends, and the tidings of Christmas. The Gryffindor students, donning their equivalent colours in apparel, excitedly corralled themselves a small feast—a party. Warm apple cider and pumpkin juice decorated the tables as much as the hams and turkeys, and the variety of candy and puddings. A radio in the corner played the season and those who had the confidence rose to the occasion to grab a lass to dance amongst the fireplace.

Smiling, my eyes flicked from Angelina wrapped in George's arms as they swayed to the music toward Harry not but a few inches away. I had my feet propped atop his lap and he had his arm, his left hand holding my stocking-covered leg farthest from him. He had his head turned away from me, discussing probably Quidditch with Oliver as they were really getting into their conversation. Hand gestures were flying.

He never did leave my leg, and I wasn't too sure if it came from the fire, the cider in my hand or from within me, but the place he forever touched rose in temperature. The heat crept right up in me, to my core, where it settled somewhere inside my chest. Having my arms slightly crossed the jumper I wore, I took a swig of what was left of the cider and placed the cup down on the floor.

I felt drunk without having had alcohol…unless Seamus had gotten close to what was in the community bowl. Settling into the crook of the armrest along the couch we rested on, I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. The fire flickered this colour on his skin. Sometimes the shadow would complement the tone of his arms. He sat with this exuberant confidence, too, a promising and noteworthy turn-on to me. After being beaten and battered, lack of nerve hadn't left him. Oliver had said a joke. I wasn't really listening, too caught up in watching how the shadow increased my observance of Harry's jaw.

Harry's hand twitched. I felt the palm raise, and every digit push into me in tandem. Slowly, he relieved the squeeze with his fingers gently relaxing one-by-one. I'm not sure if he had done it on purpose, but I certainly became more attentive. He felt me move my legs the second after and turned to me, my side on the back of the couch. A smile wriggled its way onto my lips—I couldn't help it. He sort of made a laugh, quizzically looking at me as if I were up to something.

And, I was up to something.

“Are you okay?” He asked with utmost sincerity, leaning in and away from Oliver at standby.

My mind shut off, or at least went numb. I acted on instinct—on heart. The atmosphere pushed me over with its jubilance, its raw, puberty-ridden adolescence. Pushing myself from the seat cushions, I rose to meet him halfway. With a drawl, husky-sort of voice I responded to him with, “Follow me.”

I took his hand and shot off the couch. I saw him turn to Oliver and Oliver shrug. He shrugged and I had him. I tightened my clasp as I pulled him willingly throughout the maze of bodies. I didn't once look at who I was pushing out of my way as there was only one thing on my mind, and that was Harry.

Without me he wouldn't be able to climb these stairs to the girls' dorm. I led him up the rounding staircase without a word, in silence. The windows as we wound echoed the cold, but the warmth ebbing from his hand—and through me like a circuit—eroded whatever chill clung onto me. We slipped into the dorm after I glanced around, breathing a sigh of relief to know some straggler hadn't come back from the party early. But, in case, I set a trap—a charm to whomever were to touch the doorknob would become of thrist, needing to march back down to get a drink. I went quickly about it, tapping on the outside handle thrice with my wand to make sure I'd attached my magic thoroughly.

When I flipped around, having come in and shut the door without a peep, I saw him just standing there looking at me in a daze. Then, as if knowingly, our secret, he smirked at me and I leapt nearly into his arms. I stood on my tip-toes, leaning my weight into his form at the side of my bed. He hurriedly had his hand up and under my jumper, lifting it enough for the cool air to hit my skin. Goosebumps formed, and I shivered, only to have his hands soothe over the exposed parts of me. Transferring, his heat exhausted whatever cold brought me to the shiver.

He fell back from me and onto the waiting mattress. I crinkled up my nose at how smoothly he looked when he doubled backward and lay. He winked at me and I rolled my eyes. Sticking my wand behind my ear, I slipped to my personal nightstand and breeched the top container. Sliding it open and closed, I took the piece we needed. I did a little shimmy, the purple wrapper within my fingers as I slid right to Harry—and upon him. I sat straddled on his hips and waited as he closed-shut the curtain surrounding the bed. He then sat up and kissed me, removing my wand from my ear, all the while I ripped-and-tore open the rubber with my teeth.

I heard him chant Muffliato and saw him drop my wand on the bed, his hands going to me and yanking me down. I fell, laughing when we merged and kissed him hard. My right hand, its fingers, clutched onto his face, and then in his hair. Our noses meshed together, roughly caressing, releasing our longing in one forceful kiss. I moaned into him when I felt the nibble, his teeth at my bottom lip when I pushed off to sit up. The lip sprung back firm, my eyesight coming to while my left hand slipped from his right, exchanging the missing piece of our puzzle.

He watched me as I wiggled right out of the sweater, his own personal show. Hair and all cascaded down the front of my nakedness when I was relieved, tossing the jumper atop his bugging eyes behind his messed up, sideways glasses. He laughed, tossing the jumper aside. He grabbed me, and much like he had done with my sweater, tossed me to the bed. He came in and kissed me softly, our eyes meeting. I lingered on them, his weight slight on me; his natural jades simply dazzling me…

I woke first to color, and then to that unnatural smell of Floo powder relinquishing from the fireplace. I had my head on a pillow, my hands around a book I'd been reading from the collection Harry had given me for Christmas. I didn't so much as move, knowing he'd come home and knowing that if I did anything hasty my head would explode. I'd grown a headache throughout the day even though I didn't have to work. To relax, I came home and fixed dinner after shopping with Cho at Violet Hill. I'd gone shopping primarily for the up-coming vacation Harry had promised and one that I so needed partially for me and partially for my own sanity. Tomorrow night we were to leave for a secluded island; one of many formed from this branch of wizarding travel. The island Harry had booked was entitled Nirvana and if it met all the pleasures of the Hindu definition I was greatly fine by that.

Also, I needed some girl-time. With Ginny having…well, whatever, I was without a best friend. Katie was gone with Quidditch. I called Lavender, but she was over-burdened by work. Luna had the Quibbler to worry about and so Cho it was. Not that I had anything against Cho, she was just…Ginny's friend more than mine and I had an earful of, “Why Gin and I were acting weird?” the entire outing.

Harry had sent me a text on the cellular phone I kept with me in case of emergencies. Of course, with it being for emergencies, I was startled when the machine buzzed frantically in my pants pocket. Thankfully, I was alone when I cursed aloud the word, “Fuck!” after thinking something had happened to Harry when I read his name on the caller id before reading the text:

Game tomorrow and practice tonight. Won't be in at the usual time. Don't wait up if I get in late. Text me back if you need me. I love you like crazy - Har-bear

I had to read it again, as it gave me a heart attack the first time, to calm from the confusion.

I had a little wine with the meal I prepared: a chicken casserole mum made for me with broccoli and cream with noodles. I also made cherry jello as cherry was Harry's favorite and set aside that for when he came home. I kept the oven turned on the lowest of temps to keep the casserole warm and lay down with the book. I must have drifted off to sleep unknowingly for I wasn't on my stomach nor did I lay face-first into the pillow which was behind my head.

The half a glass of wine and the cell phone didn't budge from the slight wind the Floo produced, Harry stepping out of the fireplace from nowhere. The green flash of flame burst with life, and then settled after Harry's full-form stood inside Number 12's den. I turned on my side, or tried to but was stopped by Harry swooping in after he set his belongings next to the couch. He put his hand on my back gently and squatted down to my height. I could feel a tinge of the weather on his hand through the black shirt I wore. My long sleeve undershirt, tiny black stars printed randomly all over the white base, stretched against my figure when I'd gone to turn toward him.

I merely fell back into my original position and smiled at him from my groggy state of waking. I saw him smile in return before blinking, and yawning.

“I didn't mean to wake you up…,” he whispered quietly. My headache was willing to increase, so I was glad when he used his inside voice. He scratched the arch of my back, right where he knew I liked it. He asked after examining me, “Why aren't you in bed, Love?”

“Dinner's in the stove and there's some cherry jello in the refrigerator…” I turned this time, and he met me with another smile and a light kiss on my lips. He lifted his hand for me to adjust and then let it fall back now to my abdomen.

He noticed the softness of my voice and the closing of my eyes as a sign of something unusual, asking while his hand caressed the side of my face, “Are you okay? You look sick.”

“Mmn…,” I raised my hand to meet his and slid his palm to my forehead. I said in whisper, “Headache.”

“Did you eat?” I felt him comb my hair with his fingers. “I see the wine here.”

“Of course.”

He kissed my cheek closest to him. I could feel the warmth of his breath when he lingered close to my ear, “Did you take something for it?”

I nodded. I let my hand go to my stomach which prompted him to ask in response, “Are you hurting anywhere else?”

His hand left my head and went to my tummy. I first felt him slip into my shirt from the bottom, and then I let out a breath of surprise when I found how cold his hand was.

“Cold! Cold!...,” I let out in a notch above whisper. I giggled a little and turned my head more towards Harry. I'd taken his hand out and put it back on my forehead.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry…,” he made a pouty face, grazing his thumb along the skin of my forehead softly. “I didn't know.”

“It's much better up here…,” I rubbed his forearm when he placed it around me as if he were embracing me, kneeling as he did so to the floor. His chest was at the couch's edge and he bent down to kiss my cheek once more, then my clavicle, and then my neck.

I turned my head quickly to sneeze, probably from essence of Floo swirling invisible in our room.

“Sorry…,” I preempted my apology in case I'd gotten him.

He merely lifted his hand the other way the moment it happened, reflexes like a cat. He stroked the side of my cheek, hearing me stuffy when I tried to breathe in. “You know what they say—someone's thinking about you.”

“Hm…,” I pushed back into his hand when he placed it back on my forehead. “And, I wonder who that could be?”

His laughter muffled into the couch.

“Is it the same sort of thing you had last month?” I heard him ask from about my neck, nuzzling me, smelling his lioness.

“Yep…,” his hand continued to comb my hair, his fingers creating waves in my already wavy locks. “The `girl-thing' strikes again. I'm not complaining, though… Cho gets major cramps she says.”

“You know if I could take the pain away…”

“…You would, I know,“ I smiled, my eyes closed. Harry peck-kissed my neck, leaving goosebumps everywhere.

“How'd that go, by the way?”

“Good…,” I breathed. I really didn't want to bring up how Cho talked about Ginny. “Got some new outfit things, a new swimsuit…”

“New swimsuit…,” Harry murmured.

“…something else that I think you might like…”

I felt Harry stop suddenly, and then found his chin at rest on my shoulder. I lay on my back mostly and peered down at him from above. Beneath his disheveled hair those dazzling green eyes fixed upon me without hesitation.

“…'Something else I might like'?”

I made a laugh when silence filled the pause.

“I'm leaving that as a surprise for later.”

“Rawr…,” Harry kept his eyes on me, but rose up from my shoulder to bite lightly down.

I laughed again and shook my head at him, “What am I going to do with you?”

“You better be glad you've got a headache…,” he made an evil of grins and kissed the spot he bit before resting his chin back on me.

I couldn't help but gather up a smug grin and roll my eyes. “Is that all you think about, Mister Potter?”

“I think about you, Misses Soon-to-be-Potter,” His eyes finally detached themselves from me when he bent down to kiss my shoulder, and then went onto my chest. “You don't know how much I missed you today, tonight, the few hours of tonight.”

“It was only today…you know I don't work every day during the week.”

“But, it was like,” He glanced at me on his way across my chest with gentle caresses. “I missed you like crazy. Maddening. I couldn't help but have you more on my mind than ever before—like I'd been possessed.”

I laughed through my nose, a smile never ceasing from my lips.

Harry left me when he'd gotten to my other shoulder and floated above my face. He looked at me and grinned, “That was kind of corny…” He kissed me in the moment.

When he released I shook my head from side to side. “It wasn't at all,” I stated, moving back to the tender kiss he had given me.

“Every day it feels like more and more butterflies are in my stomach,” he said within our kiss. “Every day it gets closer to that day…and it makes this more real.”

“Mmn…,” I smiled, thinking upon our plans, thinking about Harry who so lightly kissed me, afraid of anything further by my illness. “February.”

He halted our kiss, hovering his lips above mine as he spoke, “Were we crazy to set our wedding on Valentine's?”

“It doesn't have to be dramatic…,” I lifted to kiss his lips quickly. “It doesn't have to be fancy. I don't want it to cost more than it has to, or be labyrinthine.”

“But I want to give you everything. You know that, and you deserve a prodigious wedding.”

I shook my head, “I only want you…and that's all that matters.”

His kissed me rougher than before, but let up soon after. “…And, this is why I missed you madly.”

He peck-kissed the corner of my mouth. “I love you.”

“You better…,” snarky, I said it with a smile.

Harry laughed and kissed my cheek.

Harry began to get up from kneeling, pushing his way from the couch. He was standing when I asked him, “Gryffindor going to beat Slytherin tomorrow?”

“Oh, yeah,” He nodded on his way down to get his bag from the floor. “Definitely.”

Harry became giddy over the subject. The Gryffindor House had elected him their official Quidditch House Coach only weeks into working at Hogwarts. Of course he'd affiliate himself with his alma mater, but the fact he was so notarized by the Gryffindor student elect had him more than pleased—he was honored and would do backbends to help them succeed. He'd coached them the first time versus Hufflepuff and they won. Now, they were up against Slytherin who was a game in front of Gryffindor, making the exhibition crucial for the final game at the end of the year. Harry had brought out all his old Quidditch notes, books and the like from attic storage and bought an entirely new model Firebolt for Quidditch practice drills.

I moved farther up, now sitting on the couch. Harry, in his nature, eyeballed me and ushered me back down with his hand. Underneath his arm I could read the titles, Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch and Quidditch: The Ball and the Hoop, from books sliding out from under his arm as he tried to lay me back down. “Don't get up, Love. Lay back down. Going upstairs quickly and rinsing off, and I'll be straight back down to take you to bed.”

“I'm fine, really,” He knew I was stubborn, even with a headache.

I gave him a look and he sighed, bundling those stray books together. “Fine. Okay, I'll be right back down after I shower to eat—then, we're getting you to bed.” He bent down to kiss me quickly, saying as he did, “You have circles under your eyes… I don't like that.”

“That's what a vacation is for,” I matched him in stride, smirking.

He grinned. “Right. Tomorrow night we'll be off and away, alone—with no one to bother us…for at least a week.”

The last past came out of him weakly, and I put a stop to my giggling after her looked absolutely pathetic. “Go take your shower… I'll be right here when you get back.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” I cocked an eyebrow the moment I thought I saw that spark of mischievous light and his body language more poise in initiating something he might regret.

“You still got your makeup and all on…,” he smirked. “…Care to join me?”

He stood up and offered a hand.

“You…,” I swatted at the hand lightly.

He lowered to my side and silently spoke into my ear, “I simply cannot resist such a stunning creature…”

I laughed a little with my eyes closing, “Rain-check…wouldn't be any fun, anyway. I'd be rubbing my temples the whole time.”

Harry moved back to his stance above me. “But, I'd do all the rubbing.”

“Brilliant. You're hysterics.”

“Only the truth,” he stifled a laugh with a grin and went to leave for the upstairs bedroom. “I'll be right back.”

“And, I'll be right here,” I called out after him.

“You better be!” His voice echoed throughout the staircase.

I went to roll over, to lie back down only to find myself wide awake again. I don't know if I'd fallen asleep… I had, obvious by the tiny drool spot on the pillow I lay on. I made a grimace and turned the pillow over, making note to have it cleaned at a moment's notice. I rose up and sat on the edge of the couch for a while. Beneath the silence I could hear water running in the pipes behind the walls. The Floo-fire had died down and the smell gone from the room. The click-click noise from a grandfather clock somewhere notched the seconds I remained rooted to my spot until I finally rounded up the glass of lukewarm wine. I slipped the cell phone in my pocket and made my way, albeit drowsily, into the kitchen.

After pouring and rinsing the wine from the glass, setting it in the rack to dry, I went over to the cupboard and took out a plate. Walking by the drawer, I pulled out a fork and bumped it back with my hip. Placing the plate down beside the range, I bent down to remove the still-warm casserole with pot holders. I took off the aluminum and set it aside, flicking off the dial to the oven to off. Finding the spoon still where'd I'd kept it on the counter atop a paper towel, I dipped Harry a helping and a quarter in case he was really hungry and went over to the table.

Going back to the cupboards, I lifted out a glass for wine. Leaving it beside the fridge, I pulled forth the door to the box and uncorked the bottle I'd opened. Pouring the transparent red liquid into the rose-coloured glass, I popped the cork back on and put the bottle back on the shelf within the door only after taking out the serving of cherry jello. I was making the arrangement on the table look nice when Harry came on around. His hair was still damp and in that mess upon his head. He had on a shirt to eat which he probably wouldn't have had on. A pair of black lounge pants clung to his hips and that's where his hands were when I looked up at him from the table in a chair alongside his.

He sighed.

I shrugged and made a face at him.

“Aw. Don't look at me that way…,” He came over as he talked and slipped onto the chair. I felt his hand come up behind my head, cradling it as he kissed me. Eye-to-eye he said, “You're sick, and I didn't mean you to do all this.”

“Well, I did it anyway. I had to eat, too.”

“And, you ate?”

I nodded. “Yeeeesss...”

“Juuuussssttt checking,” he had his fork in hand, stabbing the pieces of broccoli and chicken with its four-prongs. As he did, he observed the material I'd left on the table besides the food. An envelope sat in front of him and the Daily Prophet, too, but that was more towards me.

“What's this?” He went to reach for it cautiously. “Another odd bill or a loving invitation to be interviewed by Skeeter? Like I'd give that woman the time of day.”

“Well,” I began, nodding a little. “You're half correct.”

“Half correct?” He glanced at me confused.

“Half correct,” I watched him remove the letter which was in fact…

“An invitation,” He was reading. “A grand opening for a new night club in Silverpond.”

“I thought…maybe…”

“The date is right inside our vacation.”

“If we ever got bored, needed something to do—“

He lowered his head and eyed me over his brow, “…We'll need something to do?”

He winked.

“You're expecting sex twenty-four seven?”

“Weren't you?”

I pushed on him while he bit down on his fork-full of noodles and cream.

Of course, he laughed and lightly pushed on me, coming back like a pendulum.

I laid my head along his shoulder and silently watched him dine.

“If you want to go, I'm more than happy to go,” he added, taking up his glass of wine for a sip. “I just get worried over all the publicity. You know the paparazzi will have a field day with us out-and-about.”

“I don't want them to run our lives, Harry,” I rubbed my cheek on the spot on his shoulder and wrapped my arms around his waist. “I say if we want to do something we do it.”

“You know I hate hearing and reading all the crap Skeeter says the day after. She still hasn't come off the whole comparison of you, and Ginny, and Cho, and the rest of the females I'd ever been associated with. And, she loves degrading each and every thing you do as if you were her arch-nemesis.”

“Speaking of…,” I took up the Daily Prophet and unfolded to the page I'd come to hours before. “Care to read her daily slap at me?”

“Not entirely,” he was halfway done with his meal, and he looked satisfied with every bite. Whenever he'd let me cook, I was happy with the result as well as Harry who scarfed the food down. Stone Age-d thinking with such a progressive man, he was thankful anyway. Not that I didn't like him cooking—I'd actually grown to like it, drowning the struggle I used to have to put on the “female”-role. Call me spoiled, but I'd still pick up and do the laundry.

“Fine. I'll paraphrase.”

“And, I can get angry because I can't do anything about. Write a stern letter? Ha!” He drank from his glass and set it down a tad hard. “That would be in the next day's news. The main headline, edited and twisted.”

“I've been graciously spotted at number nine.” I said this with utmost sarcasm.

“'Spotted at number nine'?” Harry affixed his eyes on me, flicking them to the paper every now and then whilst chewing.

“'For the past six months, we here at the Daily Prophet have been taking a poll on who young men see as most desirable. We're calling this, 2000's Most Alluring Witch (Up Till Now)'.”

“And let me guess,” Harry picked up the pepper shaker and shook some on a part of the casserole he missed. He cleared his throat, putting the pepper shaker back. “Gin's number one.”

“Believe it or not,” I laughed a little even after reading this prior. I was surprised as much as Harry for Skeeter, the head editor and all-around owner of the Prophet in so many ways, to see Ginny NOT number one. Skeeter forever put my—belated?—best friend up against me as if we were competing. “Shade Epsilon is ranked number one. Gin's number three.”

“Well damn,” Harry scoffed. “Bloody well could have fooled me.”

“That's not the end, though.”

“With that hate-breeding loon it's never the end.”

“'You'd think Miss Hermione Granger—soon to be Miss Hermione Potter—still hasn't had a clue what the men want out there, apparently. For such a well-known witch you'd think she wouldn't be caught out of the house with this little number on. Looking out-of-place, clammy, dressed like a vagrant. Miss Granger should see a fashion consultant immediately or else be a clown. What is the One, our famous Harry Potter thinking to be marrying to something that looks from the streets?'”

I paused to glance at Harry who just shrugged. He stated with little emotion to the “commentary” by saying, “Bugger—sounds like a pathetic woman seeking attention.”

“They even have this picture of me in the margin here,” I held the paper out to Harry to which he examined my show-and-tell. “And obviously, it's not at my best. They wouldn't dare take a photo of me actually looking good.”

“When was this taken?” he asked, closely watching the photograph move of me walking into a store, my hair messy and slung in a bun, a grey sweat shirt unbuttoned and falling off one shoulder with a white tank top on. My bra-strap was evident, black to the white of the strap from my top on my shoulder. I had my aviators on and it didn't look like I'd eaten, this muscle in my neck prodding out after scrutinizing the picture. All in all, I looked about ten years older, gross and oily.

“A few weeks ago while I was out with…Ginny before…you know,” I paused.

Harry looked at me and smiled, “Well, you look brilliant nevertheless.”

“Ha.” He humored me. “I look sweaty.”

“Sweat or no, Love,” he wiped his mouth on a napkin and leaned over to kiss my lips. He then looked at me without a blink. “You could wear a cardboard box and outdo any woman out there, hands down.”

I bit my bottom lip and waited for him to swallow the portion of jello he'd taken in.

He knew how to string those words together to make my heart aflutter.

I kissed him the moment after I saw his Adam's apple bob, unwrapping and re-wrapping my arms about his neck loosely, enough so he could continue eating without having to maneuver around me; though, I'm sure he wouldn't mind anyway.

“So, here's a funny story,” I'd left him with a goofy grin and, like fire, it made me smile. “Cho and I were in the, uh—out and about…”

I'd almost undone the surprise with the slip of the tongue.

Harry made a notion as if he knew what it was, and I'm sure he did with that wink he gave me furtively. Not that he had any idea what it looked like, he still had a good, gut feeling I assumed.

“Mhmm…,” The metal spoon he held scraped the inside of the bowl. His favorite was cherry after all.

“Cho had to go to the loo, and I went to pay for my merchandise while she went. Nothing really out of the ordinary until this guy, older, elderly, steps in line. I sort of smiled at him when he smiled at me, which was kind of creepy.”

“That is creepy,” Harry agreed.

“He was older than daddy, like my grandfather's age. He started talking to me while the lady rung up the receipt, asking me my name—as if he didn't know—and then he was all like, `Doll, you're very pretty, how old are you?'.”

Harry busted laughing, but stopped himself short with a clearing of his throat. He cocked his brow at me, an enormous smirk smug on his face. “The guy was making a pass at you? He called you `doll'?” he asked with the tint of humor still apparent in his voice.

“Yeah, and I could be like his great granddaughter,” Harry shook his head and sighed, sitting the empty bowl down and settling in beside me. His back rested against the chair, his arm looped around my waist. “And I swear I caught that sod taking a look at my bum.”

Harry couldn't stand it. He tried to bottle his laughter, but burst forth again. He became teary-eyed, and the more he tried to stop the more he continued.

“It was terribly disturbing. I told Cho all about it and she was doubled over laughing, and she told me she was certain you'd die when you heard the story.”

Harry was coughing, caught up in the shaking. He took a deep breath and became very serious, very quickly. Sternly, he looked at me and said, “Your arse is off limits” before losing his cool and laughing some more.

I waited for him, and he finally calmed down with a “Sorry, sorry—but, thank you for that. I needed a fix after discussing that dim lot at the Prophet.”

I scoffed. “I'm glad my horribly unpleasant experience helped.”

“Aw…,” He kissed the tip of my nose. “I'm sorry… And, thank you for dinner, Love. It was wonderful.”

***

Harry didn't go to bed right away.

I went to bed, attached and laying—held—in his arms.

He sat at one of the ends so his side touched an armrest. Part of my back bent towards and lay on said armrest whilst I had my arms around him, his arms around me. He'd found the Gryffindor quilt and put it about me, and about him. His hand, the opposite from the one which cradled me, softly sifted through my hair. My headache inched away on its own due to the medication I'd taken prior to him coming home, but Harry's hands were much better at soothing the hurt.

I went to sleep, dishes washed, kitchen cleaned, lights off. The only thing illuminating the room was the ever-so-flickering of the television screen. Harry relaxed as he watched old reruns of Quidditch farther back from when we were born. He'd taken quite the liking of my Christmas gift to him, the Quidditch channel annual sport pass. He studied it for his team at Hogwarts Anything to help his team. In a way, the DA of old, with him at the lead, transferred the same passion of teaching onto this new group; though, instead of secret dueling matches it was Bludgers and Beaters. At least, for history tells all, it wasn't as violent and devastating compared to what we'd been through. That, I was thankful.

I'd grown cold. I was always cold lately. Harry would tell me I warmed him, but it was really the other way around. With my arms about his neck, my head was all but buried into his throat. The quilt was covering most of my face with only my hair dragging out in random, loose strands. The cave I created kept in his pumpkin scent and heat, the true reason why I'd slipped further in but his scent was a plus. I didn't as move much which was funny for I fidgeted in bed and didn't flail about now. I stayed still. My breathing collected. My mind somewhere in the twilight, deeply into sleep—and boy, did I need it. People say you can't catch up the sleep you've missed, but I wanted to and was well on my way come our vacation. Harry would probably dislike it—maybe—but the bed seemed nicer to sleep for now. First things first: sleep, and wake up whenever I felt like it. Eight hours. Twelve hours. Twenty-four hours. The more the better.

Stress was keeping me on pins and needles.

Endless nights of thought.

Harry might believe I was asleep, but no, I was probably wide awake thinking about this and that, the future, the present, the rift that broke me and my best friend. Could I fix it? Should I fix it? And Neville, the wedding…so soon. They'd be getting it all together after Harry and I came back. Should I still help plan? Gowns? Cake? Music? For what? Lies? I didn't understand, and when I—Hermione, the know-it-all—couldn't grasp a concept, I'd dwell until I found a solution.

Not exactly a strength.

Not exactly a weakness, either.

But, neither helped me now.

“Hey.”

Roused by the quiet calling of my lover, I responded with a, “Mmm?” and not so much as a centimeter of motion.

“It's getting late,” he whispered to me. “And, you said you wanted to wash up before bed.”

“…What time is it?” Waking further, I grazed the bridge of my nose to the tip against Harry's neck and kissed him where I stopped.

“After midnight,” he replied. I didn't hear the television on nor did I see the lights jumping sporadically. “Nearly one o'clock in the morning.”

“You got to get to bed, too, you know…” My voice was a little rough-sounding, nothing mousy I'd been called out for mimicking.

Harry lightly made a chortle, his hand still scratching my head, “I'm going right with you. I just didn't want to move quickly to startle you awake. You seem pretty shot as it is.”

“Mmm…,” my instincts in control, I curled right back around him.

“Okay, come on…,” I felt light. He'd picked me straight up. The padding of his feet gave a drum-like noise against the hollow of the stairs that kept me coming in-and-out of my tired state. Up one flight, and then the other until he let me go after closing our bedroom door behind.

Walking drunk, I stumbled over to the dresser under heavy eyelids. I realized, only after obtaining a sleep shirt that I didn't care what I wore to bed. Pushing the shirt back in, I shut the dresser drawer behind and made it to the lavatory without stepping on my feet. I could hear Harry getting ready for bed behind me and while I was in the bathroom: the sheets being pulled down, him walking back and forth between my side and his and the grunt he made after relieving himself of his shirt.

When the cool water hit my fingers, my body replied in tune. I became more, if by a little, attentive to my surroundings. Waiting, the hot water came to and I washed whatever makeup on my face off—mostly around my eyes—the black pigment swirling down the drain. I patted my face dry, dropping off the towel in the hamper on my way out. I didn't make it to the bed, sitting down in a chair halfway to tear off my shoes and toss them in the corner until tomorrow. My socks went with them, sailing in a ball-like form and bouncing off the Converse.

I had to have slept-walked to bed because in one moment I sat in a chair, the next I was on the mattress. Harry said something. He asked something. He could have asked for the moon. I didn't care. I just agreed to whatever was said and felt him at the dark-grey and black pin-striped pants I wore. My pants loosened as he undid the belt buckle. He had the fastens off and was pulling my bottoms away. I stretched my bare legs when the pants were gone, blinking quickly to see Harry folding them and putting them on his nightstand with the matching belt. The sheets felt cool, and I felt better—feeling increasingly better the moment Harry had me back in his arms. He scooped me up, pulling the sheets around our united beings, and set me on his chest.

I stopped being cold.

I stopped thinking.

Harry rubbed the back of my head and that ended my day.

I was out like a light.

***

Waking up, curled next to my man who so enveloped me with his form. Comforting, I smelled the aroma, his scent upon me: vanilla and pumpkin. The sun had raised, shades of the brightest orange coming in through a window, illuminating our world within Number 12. But, how the sun glistened, how the rays had this tinge, a sparkle as it filtered right onto our mattress felt from fairy tale. The white sheets of the bed were turned the matching hue in columns across, three identical parallel lines. They never touched our faces, merely creating the creamsicle colour around us.

I felt slightly more rested from yesterday, sliding over to flip off the machine and its beeping alarm. Blinking, going through the closest of those columns of light, I stretched upward in sitting up. Part way, I felt pulled back. Harry's arms had dropped to my waist from my upper torso, and while sleeping was taking me back to him. Like Linus, as I smiled down at him, I was his blanket.

He gave me enough room, even with the tightening of his arms, to move and I did, my hand stroking his face. My fingers, my nails lightly grazed his cheek and into his messy, strewn hair. I heard him first, and then felt him take in a breath and move to my touch. Lowering, my hair falling to one side, I met him the moment his eyes adjusted to the morning sunshine. He smiled just the second I kissed him. Sliding onto my hip, and then my abdomen, I fell on him, beside him, my arms about his shoulder and neck. He gathered his hands to the lowest part of my back and ran them up across the arch, to my shoulders and down again. Our legs, our feet were entangled and playing a bit of un buen dia-footsie.

I nudged my nose with his, Harry relaxing back on the pillow as I nuzzled into his neck. Caressing, I made a loving line down his clavicle, portions of his more exposed arm and to his chest. He had halted all the while, but began again when I'd stopped to smush my nose, my mouth into his pectoral. I couldn't get to his heart, Harry lying on his left side, so I doubly made sure to love the spot. His hands had traveled to my buttocks where they squeezed. Gasping, I should have known he'd get there eventually, finding out that was one of his favorite areas to feel.

He didn't stay there long. He only wanted to see and hear that gasp. I had my face back to his height, on my pillow, an inch away. He smirked. I smirked, and I tapped him on the nose. Naughty, just five minutes into being awake. Quietly, he laughed at my response. I kissed him again, on the lips this time, and remained fixated—our eyes never leaving each others. We laid like that, just together, two people living their moment. Our breaths even matched.

I sighed happily and closed my eyes, his hands, his fingers in my hair. He glided me to him, his lips at my forehead where he caressed me and lingered the kiss. Lightly, I clawed at the bare chest before me, measuring through touch my man—his muscle, the skin, the essence of my future.

***

We both stood in front of the master lavatory's mirror, toothbrushes in hand and brushing our teeth.

Mint chocolate toothpaste for the both of us—the irony.

We were staring at each other, into each other. One of those gazes, much like the blinking-game, but profound as if interlocked without touching.

If we weren't extrovertly happy, smiling as we do so much together, our insides were fluttering. My insides were fluttering. Ten-thousand bumble bees buzzing. Forty-six bajillion butterflies flapping. I could hardly stand it. I think I needed to sit down, but I didn't need to sit down. Antsy. Outright antsy.

I'd brush up and down.

He'd brush up and down.

I'd move side to side.

He'd move side-to-side.

I stopped.

He stopped.

Did a swirl on my tongue.

He followed suit.

I winked at him the same time he winked at me.

I scrunched up my nose, and then bit my bottom lip. I glanced up, dunking the brush underneath the faucet to see if he imitated me there and laughed a little when he kept staring. He had these…eyes, staring…just staring. Enough for me to widen mine in interest to know what he was staring at, my black eyeshadow and liner emphasizing the whites around the dark brown irises. Did I have something on my face? Something in my hair? …Was my shirt on backwards? I went into hyper-drive, well my brain did, not literally touching those areas, but examining them in my peripheral while keeping my eyes on Harry who watched me.

He finally blinked, shook his head and laughed through his nose.

He bumped me with his hip on purpose and pushed my hand from the sink.

I pushed on him back, using more force than him to make him shift back to his side.

Then, we fought with our hands, grabbing each other. I dropped my toothbrush in the sink and he dropped his.

We were laughing, I was laughing more when he caught me under my arms and began tickling. The moment I could, I grabbed the severely wet toothbrush of mine and held it up to him.

He had his in tow and smacked the side of mine, brush downward, in the palms of our hands.

“En garde!” I said, knocking his back.

“You are no match for me!” he slapped my toothbrush back, making a clink-sound of two hard plastics hitting.

He went to go in for the kill, but I knocked his hand away.

“Oh ho! Wise guy, eh?”

I shot back, coming to poke him in the stomach with my brush when he came in with a sneak attack from my blindside. I was caught. He had his left arm around my neck, being not at all rough, and placed me in a headlock. He grabbed my wrist, the hand with the brush, and set it on his hip. The black, thin sweater-like shirt gathered up at my elbow, he'd caught hold of mostly the cuffs and bracelets.

“Mwahahaa…”

I looked up at him through squints, a wry smile creasing my lips.

“You win this time…”

He smiled and kissed the mint-flavor from my mouth.

“I always win…”

He started to let me go, having thought he won when I…came in and got him! Poked him square in the ribs, the handle pushing into the crimson cloth of his dress shirt.

“Guess again, o' evil villain!”

“Oh!” He held the spot with both of his hands. His gold tie swayed as he did, becoming melodramatic. “O' dearest world, how I loved thee!”

Harry dropped his brush into the container, a two-slot hanger on the wall and started to stumble out of the lavatory still clutching his ribcage. I dropped mine in as well and took off after him. Jumping, I cleared the small distance he'd made and latched onto his back. Curling my arms around his neck, his arms instantly found and supported me underneath my knees. In the breeze I created, my hair fell around me and all over him as well, strands of cinnamon-and-mahogany brown everywhere. So much for the brushing. My black socks tightened, constricting Harry from behind while my skirt slightly rose up onto my thigh from hanging on. A small, two-striped band around the edge ran opposite to Harry's black dress pants, similar to the pale color of my exposed knees.

I stole a kiss upon his neck, while he rallied our school bags.

“You know,” he said as he walked me, my bag, and himself out of the bedroom. I had my chin on my arm which was wrapped snug around him, my cheek against his ear.

“Hm?” I sighed, engrossed in happiness. Have I ever said how much I loved this man?

“I was thinking the other day about how we've never had a fight.”

We were on the middle floor now, winding our way down.

“I know, right?” I had this grin on while I became sarcastic. “It's like…we're meant for each other. Simply maddening!”

He squeezed the sock covering my right calf. “Isn't it, you know…healthy for us to fight?”

“I think we're drastically unhealthy…,” That grinned hadn't stopped, nor had my snark. “Call the doctor—immediately!”

“Such the jokester.” We were in front of the fireplace, ready for Floo.

“Well, I have been called a clown,” I hopped down from his back. “I'll set us a date.”

I sounded serious.

“For what?” He turned his head and followed me as I gathered my bag and slung it over my shoulder.

I stepped in front of him, fixing his collar after I'd messed it up. I didn't look at him.

“For a fight, silly.”

“You're going to set us a date…for a fight?”

I could tell his brows were knitted from his voice, and sure enough when I looked at him they were.

“Exactly,” I patted the knot of his tie. My hand sifted into the Floo powder as I stepped backwards into the hearth. He followed cautiously, eyeing my strange speech. “Now, would you like Mondays or Thursdays? Because my schedule is pretty jam-packed.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed out of exasperation. He picked me up beneath my arms in one, strong lift and kissed me hard. Giggling through the kiss, I dropped the powder and our surroundings lit up with the signature green flames of flight.

***

I had a free period.

Harry didn't have class.

We met for lunch and, of course, I surprised him with yet another hop on his back.

People still stared at us. Sure, it probably was considered immature, but we didn't do it during our work. Only when we had time for ourselves did we get a bit flirty, a bit more of our intimate selves. And besides, the Prophet wasn't allowed on Hogwarts property. This gave Harry and me more freedom to be ourselves without ending up as yet the next day's headline. It wasn't like we made out, too—just affectionate, playful, like kids at times. I liked this, sort of acting out those years we lost. Like Professor Dumbledore, I'm sure Minerva intended for all pieces to fall as they did, bringing both Harry and I back under the safety of this nostalgic roof.

Harry had placed my turkey sandwich and his ham sandwich in a sack with chips from the Great Hall. He carried our food, like he carried me, to a place near the lake with a great view back at the castle and the mountains on the far side. Unlike our normal pattern, today was sunny with wisps of clouds to break the summer glow. The grass was so green against our dark clothes, vivid, blades of emeralds. The wind brought a chill, the trees around us swaying with each individual leaf twirling in the breeze. If one would listen closely, you could hear the knotted Whomping Willow twisting against our zephyrs.

Other students were out enjoying the light. Actually, practically the entire student body was outside eating, or reading, or running around. Someone had brought out a Frisbee and a group threw it around beside us when we made it to a spot along the water. I quickly kissed Harry's cheek and down I went coming to my feet. I took the bag while Harry fell down upon the wavy grass. Following him, I sat crisscross, perpendicular to him as his feet had fallen in the direction of the lake. A slight hill we relaxed on, so I sat sideways but nothing noticeable from my point of view. If we hadn't been here for the longest time, we wouldn't have realized the earth going towards the lake anyway.

Reaching into the bag, I took out his sandwich first. Amidst loosening his tie, I handed him his lunch and a bag of chips. He sat up on his elbows and dove right in, really before I could even take my hand away. He made this obvious bite and snarled, making me shake my head and chomp into mine. I reached into my bag I'd put down at my hip and pushed down my skirt from flittering in the wind. Slipping on my aviators, I could feel the coolness on my knobby knees. I didn't dare look at them for fear of being blinded, reflecting off from the sun.

I'll never tan.

We unwound without a word, being at ease, just taking it in.

The only sound in those minutes came from when he or I would slide our hand into the chip bag and the foil crinkled. I had a water bottle I always carried with me in my bag, and Harry had one too, to quench our thirst. The pumpkin juice became a little too sweet after drinking it every day, and I rubbed off on Harry after making it a routine to fill mine up the night before.

I wished my time here was like this—without what had happened. Without all the drama of now. Me, and Harry, our friends—especially the ones we could no longer see. And, Harry's parents and my parents, and the Weasley's, and even Ron whenever he wasn't being himself. Harry had really assisted in the healing process, helping me get over the trauma of not only our past, but of my past with Ronald. Not that I'd go up and hug the boy, but I could probably tolerate him more now with the help and backing of my beloved. He had helped me grow as a human being without all the chains that had barred me from pursuing my own interests, pursuing my life.

I wondered, sitting there beside him—my fiance, and soon to be husband—how many other women could say the same about their boyfriends, fiances or husbands?

I felt lucky to have someone so endearing to my nature, to my needs and my wants.

I only hoped in retrospect that I gave back to him all one hundred percent he gave me.

Harry's face turned back from watching a seagull skim across the lake, creating a ripple, to the front where he met me. I'd come around and hovered over him the second he'd come back. I caught him unaware, collapsing a makeshift curtain by my hand for privacy and kissed him.

I heard a “Mm…” express from his mouth with my release, his hand sliding to the exposed knee closest to him where he squeezed.

I sat back up in a smile, peering down at him through my sunglasses.

“You're coming to the game later?”

“Have I missed one yet?”

“Mm…,” he smirked. “Come back down here…”

“Harry…,” Doing as told, I met him again and put up my hand, blocking out our scene of intimacy from view. Not like people wouldn't know what we were doing. I'm sure some airhead thought I was actually giving Harry mouth-to-mouth. Maybe he fell into the lake?

“Tell me.”

That voice wasn't Harry's.

That voice startled me, coming out of nowhere, from behind me.

I pulled away from Harry and glanced around to see the unlit, uneven form of Xavier towering over us.

It was pretty frightening, actually. Him in his black robes and a shadow across his face. I could only really tell who it was by the pointy blonde hair atop his head.

“Is this how adults act on the clock?” He wasn't really smirking. He wasn't really smiling. I couldn't tell what his expression was, but I felt cold, whatever it was.

I was more than a little perturbed. I heard the haughty, better-than-you Slytherin in his mouth.

“May I help you, Xavier?”

“Is this Xavier?” Harry asked, putting his hand up to block the sunlight from his face.

My eyes flicked from my love, and back to Xavier.

This would be the first time they actually met. I thought Xavier stayed away from Harry like the plague—I thought wrong by this awkward and more than slightly odd occurrence. Harry thought the boy was all talk and no walk, a kid with a little too much hormones, but now they were seeing each other up close and personal. At least moreso on Harry's side of the fence.

Xavier didn't react as if Harry was there. He just kept his dark eyes on me.

“I thought you'd like to know that I got an eighty-nine on my essay both you and I worked on,” Seething anger fell from Xavier's lips. If he'd been a rabid dog, his froth would have spilled over on me. “But, I see you're busy. I'm sure the Headmistress didn't hire you to be felt up in front of the entire class.”

“Excuse me?” Scoffing, I was taken aback by such audacity.

Harry was on his behind, having sat up from where he lay. He had his hand still above his brow which was bunched together, coming toward his nose. I was sure he'd gotten angry by Xavier disrespectful attitude at me. I was sure if he were more animalistic he'd growl. “I believe you owe Hermione an apology whoever you are.”

Harry was rather firm in speech, acute with every word.

“I'll be having a word with Headmistress about your flaunting sexual activities, Granger,” I couldn't see him breathe. Was Xavier moving at all? He stood as still as a statue, breathing this hatred on us—on me. “I'm sure she'd like to hear all about the promiscuity of one she holds so highly.”

I couldn't say anything.

Not because I was fearful of the threat he had said about contacting Minerva, as we hadn't done anything wrong by any means.

It was the fact that I didn't want to say anything—I wanted to act. I wanted to slap him, hit him, sock him right in the jaw for being so uncontrollably ridiculous. He reminded me of a certain someone from the past. Someone who had an affinity of calling me by my last name and getting a thrill of me reeling in irritation. He'd say it as if my name were malignant, the disease of our species—the “Mudblood”. I saw it every day, scarred into my arm. I heard this filth coming from Xavier for the first time. I had evidence that he didn't like me with Harry, but this crossed a line. Now, he was in our bubble and spat on us.

He turned without another word and left us watching his backside, going towards that safety of Hogwarts castle.

Clouds began to roll in blocking out the sun.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: I had the most difficult time trying to find a title for this chapter. There's a lot of changing moods going on, and I was listening to a lot of U2. I came up with the title when I was actually reading comments of U2's lyrics and how cryptic they could be to the listener. No one is right and everyone is right at the same time. I'm not entirely sure about it, but for right now it works}

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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: Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, readers! Had some time off to write, and did so. Hermione's plot thickens. Hope she'll be all right…and, I hope you enjoy the newest `episode'! (I've taken a creative license to Quidditch—the rules are the same, just added/ combined a few things to make it a more interesting read)

***

Chapter Twenty-Five - Games

***

Our lips met before Harry went off in the direction of the Quidditch pitch and I split for the courtyard. I wished him good luck, now sprinting through the crowd gathering and moving down the cobblestone pathway like a centipede towards the stands. I wouldn't miss Harry's game. I was his little cheerleader after all, his good luck charm. But, I'd grown tired of Xavier. What he did I didn't like. He's stepping over a line. If he was headset on speaking to Minerva, I for one would explain the situation. I didn't want him around me anymore nor did I want him around Harry. His obnoxious behavior went over the word “git”. Webster would have to make a new word for him. He was a downright nuisance, a creep crawling its way into my personal, private life.

I wouldn't tutor him any longer.

My bag swung as I flew, my feet not touching the ground. Bounding into one cavalcade of students, I pushed my way through and into the main hall. I waited anxiously for one flight of stairs to its ninety degrees so I could pass, and then another. Hogwarts was filing out, and as I went upward the students thinned. In the corridor, with its stained glass paneled windows arched in repetition along the wall facing out, I could hear the rumble of thunder from an oncoming storm. I turned a corner, knowing the image of the owls was on my horizon: the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

The moment I stepped through and onto the first of many swirling stairs I caught myself. My eyes grew wide and suddenly it was like I couldn't breathe. I had to stop for fear of falling and grabbed onto the rounded railing. My bag shifted with my weight and pulled me, becoming weak from my painful state. I clutched my chest, gathering black cloth underneath my fingernails. I couldn't tell if it was my heart or my head that hurt more, but it didn't matter. The white-hot flashes were more than enough to leave me paralyzed.

Seconds after falling upon the staircase…I blacked out.

I found myself laying in something gritty. My eyes shot open, and I was on my rear. The texture was sand. Salty moisture beckoned the smell of the ocean in front of me. A breeze blew right through me off the water. A long, over-sized white shirt swallowed me whole. I couldn't see my body, the length only slightly under my knees. My feet were open to the atmosphere. I felt naked underneath, and when I went to pull the sleeves of my shirt down I knew I was naked underneath. The breeze would hit me, forming my shape and leaving nothing to the imagination.

I didn't understand.

I didn't know where I was.

The sun off in the distance ahead of me was setting. A darkening orange glow blanketed the horizon, making the ocean bluer. Waves washed ashore farther down the beach, having woken closer inland. Behind me were these shrubby ferns, tall and string-like surrounding pieces of broken wooden fences lining the shore. The beach had done a number to the wood as it looked beaten and eroded from time. Further behind the fence was a path leading to a house not-so-familiar to me.

Going on familiarity, I heard his voice: Harry, on my right. I turned immediately, hearing him like a breath of fresh air from the unknown.

“Hermione, come on!” He wasn't too far away from me down near the water. He was in the middle of shaking a pant leg out, stripping to starkers. A collection of his clothes had fallen, producing the route he took toward the sea.

I bunched my brows together.

Parts of me continued, rising up and chasing after him.

Other parts wanted me to run away, flee.

I couldn't help but get caught up in his eyes, drawing closer to my lover.

He dove into the ocean.

I stood beside his boxers and off went the remaining layer of my wardrobe, dropping atop his.

He wasn't too far out, waiting for me to catch up.

The water felt unusually warm, almost welcoming, though oddly still as I dove in too. I came up, but could no longer see him anywhere.

“Harry?” Not even a ripple from where he had bobbed in the water. I flicked my head left, and then right, my hair sticking wet to my neck. A breeze hit my neck and it suddenly got spine-tingly cold.

I wasn't too far from the beach, so I made a break from it.

Fear broke me.

The orange glow dropped and darkness crept in.

The water looked black.

I felt like I was fighting the waves, the shore just inching closer no matter how hard I swam.

Something from beneath the water clamped onto my ankle.

I tried to slip away, but the more I struggled the more difficult it was to stay afloat.

I tried twisting my body.

The constriction gripped my knee.

I moved my other foot around to kick whatever it was off, but slipped on my own slippery skin as if nothing had ever been there.

Feet away, I was almost there. I could hear the waves on the beach louder each passing second.

I fell forward, a weight upon me from below. It felt like fingers, hands, a full body sliding on me. For the briefest of moments I thought this was a prank gone wrong—that it was Harry—and if so, I'd have his balls on a guillotine. Within me, something cried out—that lingering fear warned me by instinct. The hands grabbed me like claws, tightening, grinding their nails into my skin. The being pulled me into it and I flipped around, sharply gasping at the blonde-haired sneer of Xavier.

My heart fell.

My body went into convulsions.

I wanted to vomit.

I kicked him, cut him with my nails that left bloody lacerations upon his naked skin. I screamed at the top of my lungs before they were filled with water.

He pulled me under…

I found myself back on the staircase.

The intense pain faded, or at least subsided enough for me to get to my feet. The moment I did, shuffling together my bag and the contents that fell out, I raced up the remaining flight. At the door I heard mumbles from behind the old oak. Putting my ear to the wood I hesitated a knock. My knuckle to the door I waited. The respectful part of me kept me still, but only until I couldn't stand it any longer. I knocked, needing to explain my situation, needing to know Minerva knew how I felt, how Harry felt. I didn't know how much time had gone by after passing out, but I needed to be there for Harry and his game. The time dwindled the longer I waited, and I became unnerved while having to remain stationary.

The voices grew closer.

I stepped back when they were right at the door.

I wasn't surprised the slightest when I saw who opened the door; though, the repeating image of Xavier here, there, in my dream increased the rate I breathed. My heart raced. My fingers tightened, clasped firm around the shoulder strap of my bag. The blonde-haired Slytherin stood there, curiously watching me before pushing passed me and down the stairs. The air was considerably cold and I swear he flashed me a smile as he walked on out.

Minerva wasn't seated at the desk. Nearly every time I went to her she was there; so, I'd become accustomed to her ushering me in with a hand gesture and peering at me behind her reading glasses. I saw her standing, walking towards me in her old age, her classic black cloak dragging the ground. She looked even more elderly—was she in pain when she walked?—or maybe I'd gone delusional.

“Miss Granger,” The Headmistress came on towards me. She had something on her mind, obvious by the pace. I deduced in the minute that passed quickly why she was leaving, or about to leave, on account of the Quidditch game before she said, “I was just heading out—“

She halted her words when she came within my proximity, now a mere foot from me. “My dear,” she gazed at me and stepped that last step. She put her warm, wrinkled hands beneath my chin and lifted my head up. Our eyes locked and she knew right away that I was troubled.

“Come inside, dear. Come inside.” She placed her arm around my shoulder and led me further within. I heard the door close behind me and click, locking.

“I apologize for disturbing you when you're wanted elsewhere, Professor.”

Dumbledore's portrait moved with him sitting in a chair not unlike the Minerva now sat in. He fidgeted, disturbed by my voice but let out another long snore. His head drifted to one side.

“I always have time for you, Miss Granger,” She showed me to the empty chair in front of her desk. I didn't have to really speak, the otherworldly way of knowing now bothering the face of Minerva. She questioned the slump of my posture even before coming to sit down in front of me.

I plopped down in the chair.

“Speak your mind, dear. Something has evidently sapped that youthful spirit I've grown to know and love.”

I told her.

I broke down every, single detail—large and small—about Xavier.

I told her from the beginning, during tutoring, how he'd make references to Harry—how he didn't like me with Harry, and how he showed me this side of him.

I told her what had happened during lunch an hour ago.

I told her how I kept getting this chill around him, and how I fell and dreamt of him drowning me.

“I can't tutor him anymore,” I said at the end. She listened without a word. “Josephine or someone else must take him on as their lot. I just don't feel right around him, and now, everywhere I go it seems like he's there—like he follows me.”

“Like him being in my office before you.”

I nodded.

Minerva leaned back in her chair and folded her hands beneath her chin. She glanced away from me and stared in silence. I didn't know what to make of it and watched her looking out a window, at the blackening clouds of a gathering storm. I sat there, comfortable being within the office but uncomfortable at the sudden, deep quietness she made.

I heard her inhale one, long breath and easily let out an exhale. She nodded, flicking her graying eyes toward my own.

“I'll be telling Josephine in person of the change starting immediately.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

The Professor wouldn't have made me go otherwise. I was glad I wouldn't be around Xavier anymore.

“I'll also have a word with Mister Hart on his recent behavior. No one should feel disturbed here. This has always been a place of open arms.”

“Thank you, Professor,” I smiled, and through mine, she did too. I went to get up, scooting the chair back when I stopped after slinging my bag over my shoulder.

I'd shuttered. Something didn't feel right again.

I glanced back at her, from the direction of the door to which I headed, to see her looking back at me all the same. “Professor?” I asked.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” She had her hands folded in her lap.

“Did Xavier say anything about me or Harry to you while he was here perchance?”

Minerva shook her head.

“He wanted to discuss a matter about the Quidditch gear. Said something about one of the Keeper pads being worn and thin, and that I should know before the game.”

“Why would he ask that?”

“He's the Slytherin Captain—why do you ask?”

***

The rain was heavy and the drops—more like shards of glass—stung my face. Even before climbing the Gryffindor-North tower to get to their stand, my clothes were stained with water. The cloth clung to me, bunching up and attaching to my skin. I slid my sweater-shirt up along my arms, to my elbows, and the captured rain poured forth from the fabric squeezed together.

I'd asked Josephine to save me a seat, a former member of Gryffindor herself. She said she'd try and get one up front, but I found her near the middle of our pack. She waved at me, my hand having to cover my eyes to see her through the sheets of rain. Lightning flashed and the crowd roared. I flicked my head to see what had happened to hear, not Lee Jordan, but another commentating voice boom to the audience:

“…And, that's goal number four for Evelyn Matthews! Gryffindor is man-handling the Slytherin's now fifty points ahead!”

High above the pitch a singled-out broom traveled around in circles. If one could look close, one would see Evelyn pumping her arm, having raised her index finger toward the Gryffindor-side to say, “Number One!”

The rest of the Gryffindor squad flew up behind her and took off in a triangular formation back towards the middle of the pitch.

A snarl cracked through a flash of lightning and out came from up above me an image of a lion's head, its eyes toward the southern-end of the pitch, the Slytherin's end. The image bellowed, rumbling the stands. I looked back at our audience to see, and then hear them cry out in excitement.

The Gryffindor House Band took to a champion motif, stating to music the difference of fifty points to our opponent.

Shuffling on into the line of Quidditch-watchers, I continued on toward Josephine, stepping in puddle after puddle on the wooden frame gilded with crimson and gold colour.

“Where have you been?” She asked me under a dripping hood, her jacket thoroughly soaked.

“…Got held up,” I quickly changed the subject. “So, I guess I missed the beginning. We need to talk—“

I was interrupted when someone prodded my left shoulder.

I turned to see the bright, yet soddened, faces of William and Ilene.

“You walked on passed us like we weren't even there!” they both exclaimed together.

“I'm sorry, I—“

“Thhhhhhhhe Slytherin's coach Kris Keles should be happy with THAT performance! Where was the defense there, Gryffindor?! Slytherin goal!”

The other end of the pitch shrilly screamed underneath the booming commentator's voice.

The silver and jade-green standards billowed in the strong east wind. A strike of lightning ruptured the darkened sky as their mascot, the Slythering Serpent, curled from their stands and struck at us from afar. A long, drawn hiss drowned the blaring trumpets of their band from the Slytherin students and fans alongside their transparent snake.

Our fans around me began to boo as the Slytherin Chaser, Igor Levski, flew in circles upside-down and taunted the Gryffindor Keeper, Rebecca Greene.

“Where's Harry?” I asked through the heavy booing and boisterous thunder. I'd come closer to Josephine who had joined in with the rest.

She pointed to our right, farther west in the pitch from us in the north. “He moved over there after having to call a time-out to re-group right from the beginning. Apparently, someone had cluttered up the line-up or something.”

I could see Harry high up in the air on his broom. Much like Keles, the Slytherin coach, perching above the pitch like this—Harry once told me—they could get a better vantage point of the game. If they saw through the opponent's strategy, they'd call for time and begin a new offensive or defensive tactic. But, that still didn't create enough of an excuse for me to worry about him: one, because of the height he was at and two, because of the troubling storm.

“Does he have to be up there so high?” I called out above another roar from our lion. Gryffindor had scored again. I could see the pads he wore above his school suit.

“It's not like he's going to get hit by lightning,” I knew the procedure, but still didn't like it. “You know better than anyone that they make sure to implement a counter-spell for bad weather.”

“I still worry about him!”

“Well, look!” We were screaming over the crowd, the stands reverberating an “Ahhh” after one of the bludgers hit a Chaser square in his backside. The Beater had whiffed it completely. “He's flying down! He's probably going to call time! I know I would if I was in his position—that hit looked horrible!”

“And, it looks like Gryffindor's second-string Chaser has been hit! Looks like Christian may be out after that whallop!”

Cheers erupted from the Slytherin's side.

I saw Christian fallen over his broom, holding his shoulder. Lazily, he glided off to the side to meet with Harry as Harry descended.

“It looks like Sierra is being called by Harry to come in for Christian!”

A blonde from the Gryffindor sideline shot out onto the pitch like a rocket, nearly getting nailed by another whizzing bludger along the way. A Beater swooped in and smacked it back towards a Slytherin from above her head.

“Those Beaters sure are getting a workout out there! Someone better find that snitch soon!”

The droplets of rain fell fatter, and harder. The wind picked up a student's umbrella and took it for a ride up into the sky. The tassels of my soggy hair blew sideways, and then upwards, being tossed around in my face. I'd wipe them away, only to have them blow back, forever keeping my eyes on Harry as he flew back onto the pitch from the sideline.

A blur of red and gold rushed by the north stands quickly followed by a blur of green and pewter.

“Zoe has found the snitch!”

The Gryffindor fans leaped in their seats after the commentator.

Zoe, her outlandish pink hair noting her from the team, curled up around the pitch in chase of an invisible target. Behind her, the Slytherin Seeker Lilah, kept with her. Lilah was bent forward on her broom, slipping in Zoe's backdraft. Any moment Zoe knew Lilah would make her move. She outreached her hand, unbeknownst to her surroundings.

The rest of us could see green flying in and—with a group sigh—saw Zoe collide with one of the Slytherin members.

The Slytherin-side of the pitch applauded at their teammates' unsportsmanlike conduct.

Madam Hooch, the Hogwarts game's referee clad in black started in towards Zoe and the Slytherin. Her whistle could be heard astutely, ringing sharp for all to hear.

“Darrel knew what he was doing—that's going to be a foul against Slytherin and a free toss for Gryffindor!”

Harry flew down from his perch above, heading in a bee-line to Madam Hooch.

Keles came in from the opposite direction, the game having come to a halt for the penalty.

Both teams circled near their stands, waiting to hear who would receive the free toss on Gryffindor's side.

The Gryffindor band began to play against the Slytherin band while Madam Hooch decided the fate of the Slytherin player to see who could play the loudest.

“Why is he way over there?” I heard Ilene ask from my side.

I'd kept my eyes on Harry most of the game and didn't realize the lone Slytherin over the invisible line separating the opponents. I blinked and flinched at the crackle of lightning behind me. I squinted to see the Slytherin's details from the distance, but should have realized who the strange loner was.

Sirens in my head went off.

It was like I'd been here before.

Deja vu.

I glanced from one side of the pitch to the next until I saw the oddity I'd searched for: a bludger homing in on Harry's position.

Xavier wasn't even close to Harry, but something inside me told me the bludger and him were both linked.

“Harry!” I screamed out, my scream being muffled by lightning and its partner, thunder.

The students and faculty farther down in the stands heard me when I shouted again.

Harry was hit blindside and he tumbled forward.

He flipped three hundred sixty degrees on his broom, turning and twisting violently in the air. Madam Hooch, as with the rest of the Quidditch players, saw Harry fall quickly from his downward movement and zoom passed them, bludger following. Hooch, with the Gryffindor team and some Slytherin, were after Harry and the rogue bludger in a heartbeat.

The balls went through security measures for tampering before the game.

Everyone on the grounds for the game was screened.

Nothing like this should have happened again since Harry's fight with the bludger our second year.

“Blimey!” Josephine yelled beside me. She clutched onto my arm. “Harry's going to get killed!”

“Josephine!” My eyes lit up and she cowered back.

“…Sorry…,” was all I heard from her before bolting from the stands and leaping down the stairs. I didn't really know where I was going other than onto the pitch. My mind sifted through the card catalog of spells and counter-spells I'd learned throughout the years. I could cast some sort of exploding charm to diffuse the bludger, but could miss and hit one of the teammates—or Harry. I thought of stunning the object, but again, could miss my target.

Other faculty members had taken off, spiraling downward in front of me to hurriedly resolve the situation. Stepping onto the grassy expanse I saw Harry dodge, flying upward and backward to misdirect the bludger. The bludger, with a seemingly devious brain of its own, continued to follow him not obstructed by Harry's plan to divert its direction.

My hand had found my wand deep within my shoulder bag. I held it high and followed the brown ball. I heard the faculty around me discussing a plan of attack, but no immediate action. I couldn't let this continue. I couldn't just stand here and let Harry fly, and fly, and fly until something happened—with that something being him hurt, or…more.

I tried to calm myself.

I tried to find my center.

I wished I knew how to meditate on command.

My hand shook feverously.

Rain water burned and blurred my vision.

I blinked, finding a calm moment within my peril and pulled all the knowledge and confidence together as I could.

Harry rounded an isolated tower to try and out-smart the bludger again.

A spell was on the tip of my tongue, but broke and I stumbled.

I'd been pushed into from behind.

I flipped around to see a tall, burly man—a half-giant with too much facial hair and a face I've known my entire life at Hogwarts.

He would have been smiling, as he always did, but the time wasn't cut for happiness.

“Hagrid!”

“Wotcher, `Ermione. Been `ere before, aye?” Hagrid had his umbrella pointed in the direction my wand had been in.

I shot a glance back to Harry who came around the other side of the tower and tried to dive, but was clocked, the bludger slamming into the side of his head after busting through the tower's wooden structure.

The bludger bounced off his doll-like ricochet and Harry plummeted from his broom. I screamed out, running to where he fell, wand at the ready. The bludger blew up in flames as I heard Hagrid spout an incantation. The point of my wand was on Harry, but my Leviosa spell didn't come off before a member of the faculty threw out their own, stronger levitation spell.

Harry's broom fell to the pitch like a bowling ball.

Harry fell to the pitch like a feather.

When I'd gotten to him his eyes were closed and he wasn't moving.

Everything within me dropped to the pit of my stomach.

I've lost him were the first words that streaked inside my buzzing mind.

***

“How many times has it been, Mister Potter?” Madam Pomfrey finished the left side of Harry's face, namely his severely bruised eye, with this yellowish goo for a jar. The smell was like nothing I'd ever smelled, and its fumes brought actual tears to my eyes.

I didn't know how Harry could stand it being applied to his eye if it made mine water uncontrollably—or maybe these were tears of sadness, or of joy, seeing him…alive.

Harry made a laugh and winced when Madam Pomfrey began wrapped gauze across the effected eye and around his head, having the headpiece guard removed. She had to lift him and move him around, and that evidently cause him pain. He gritted his teeth in patterns of terrible facial expressions.

The Gryffindor team surrounded the foot of his bed. I held Harry's hand at his left with Madam Pomfrey beside me. Hagrid, who carried him inside, stayed with us. Our friendly grounds caretaker stood opposite of me.

“Always in a pickle, `Arry,” Hagrid made a snort.

Harry closed his exposed eye and made a smile. Madam Pomfrey laid his head back and told him, pointing at him sternly, to “Remain still!”

She went to go fetch some more ointment from her cupboard.

I tightened my clasp of Harry's hand when I saw him smile, and he tightened his grip in response. I stroked the top of his hand, my fingers trying to comfort one of his appendages that didn't look harmed. You could barely see the bruise now, the white wrappings covering the spot, but his eye and its proximity looked awful. More importantly, Madam Pomfrey said he hadn't a concussion which I was sure he'd get from the force of that weighted ball to his head.

“Madam Hooch called the game,” Zoe spoke up in silence. I'd begun to run my free hand through his damp hair. “She declared a Gryffindor victory.”

“We got the Quidditch House Cup!” rang out William and Ilene. They'd come in and followed us, too. I wasn't surprised, them both being Potter “groupies,” so to speak.

“Good…,” Harry sucked in a breath and said after a pause. “…Good. How's Christian doing?”

“Are you okay…?” I looked him over as he talked. He'd stopped the second and became uncomfortable. Of course he was uncomfortable, but he made a face I didn't like to see.

“Yeah…guess that pain medication is wearing off. My back where it hit me first is starting to hurt again,” He reached around and patted the equipment padding he still had on. “…They don't make them like they used to.”

I combed his hair with my fingers as softly as I could, “Madam Pomfrey is coming back… Don't push yourself. Stay still.”

All I could think of is Harry overdoing it and reinjuring himself.

He always was stubborn like that.

“…To answer your question, coach,” stated Sierra. “Christian was looked at by Madam Pomfrey before you came in. He didn't look half as bad as you and was cleared to go back to—“

Hollering, headache-driven shouts echoed on the walls of the hospital wing. Rambunctious males and squeaky females laughed and carried on as if we were still on the pitch. They sung lyrics that weren't audibly sound until they crept within the doors of the hospital beds where we were. I was looking in their direction. Hagrid was, too. Harry turned about a centimeter toward the door and the rest of our crew all promptly focused on the group that came in.

All of them were from Slytherin, their silver upon the green brightly dazzling in the lights.

“Slytherin! Slytherin! Slytherin!”

“Quiet down, the lot of ye!” Hagrid boomed with his mighty voice.

The adolescents all chattered and wailed, laughing and feigned as if they were listening.

One person stood out.

One person stood in their center.

And, all at once, everything came back to me.

The floodgates of my memory washed over me, and I became utterly possessed by the deepest cluster of my rawest emotion. Seething anger, I was ready to strike. Harry could sense me, and I felt him try to hold me back by my hand, but I easily slipped from his grasp. My feet couldn't really hit the floor. I didn't give them a chance. I was running, faster than I've ever run before.

All I saw was Xavier's face.

All I wanted to do was to crush that image of his face.

He was smiling, and he was smiling at me.

“Hermione!” called out Harry.

“Hermione!” yelled in tandem the choir of Gryffindor around him.

“'Ermione!” Hagrid shouted

I was at fingertip length from his stand-still face, ready to claw those pretty, little eyes out when I was picked up and pulled away. From the ton of strength and overly-large arms, I knew it was Hagrid even before I smelled the earthy odor of animals and dirt on his coat.

My hands were all over Hagrid. Kicking and screaming, I was gone from this reality.

My mind had one thing reeling, and that was Harry.

He had hurt, injured the object of my affection.

The centerpiece of my heart.

The cornerstone of my stability.

People can talk about him, but you lay a finger upon my man…

“Hagrid, let me go—NOW!!”

“'Ermione, calm down!” Hagrid was having a tough time bundling me up as I squirmed. “And you lot there by the door! Get goin'! Get to class! Get outta here!”

“What is the meaning of this?!” Madam Pomfrey shouted behind the Slytherin students huddled in the doorway. She looked from my grunting, to them, and back to Harry.

I felt the tip-toes of my feet touch the floor and thought I had control, but Hagrid scooped me back up underneath my arms.

I'd protect Harry with my life.

“Go you lot before I take fifty points from Slytherin!”

“Ooo!” taunted the Slytherin clique. “Fifty points!”

“Let her go.” laughed Xavier. “I want to see what she'll do.”

“YOU!” I pointed at Xavier, my scream shutting him up. He still had that wicked smile upon his lips. “You foul, loathsome git! You EVER come near Harry again, I'll—I'll—“

My heart was racing.

I probably overdid it.

But, my emotion—I couldn't stop. The end-all of my protection wouldn't allow me to stop.

“You!—You…”

My fingers fell limp

My arms fell limp.

My body went limp.

Darkness clouded my sight.

Everything went black.

-->

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: Wow - I couldn't believe that nearly a thousand people read last chapter from the day I uploaded it till now. Wow - thank you! And, thank you for the reviews I've gotten throughout the past three or so chapters since my long hiatus (even though I'd like to hear from more of you!)

To mention, as it may not be completely evident to those not reading these in sequential order (with the three week or so pause between the last chapter and this) that the rain being discussed in this chapter is the same rain being discussed in the last. The chapters overlap with its point of view changed from the time Hermione notices the rain in chapter twenty-five.

***

Chapter Twenty-Six - Withdrawal

***

Knifelike, a surge of immense electricity created such a sound that I thought I'd gone deaf for the second. I breathed in, sharply like the flashing, white bolt, and watched the raindrops strike bullets against the windowpane. The atmosphere outside withdrew many people indoors, like me, its darkness foreboding something on the horizon. I felt a chill after a strong zephyr pounded against the window. I stood, staring out into the night. A slight breeze blew through me from some unknown seam in the weather strip.

I had the curtains in my hands, satiny to the touch and crimson to go along with the stained-bronze hard wood. From behind me, two separate noises clashed with one another. One was from my dear Neville. The day winding down, the evening was drawing closer to eight o'clock. The time wasn't late, but he had a job interview tomorrow and needed to get to bed earlier than normal.

Well, his normal.

I didn't really sleep…normally, anymore.

I needed something to help me, or to exhaust myself out.

Sleeping for me scared me. I'd start dreaming out of control. Of course dreams were not of my control, but I needed them to be controlled—or suppressed. I dreamed of the future, of Hermione, or Neville, or Hermione and Neville, and I'd wake up shaking. Literally shaking in a cold sweat. Before I found the liquor cabinet my newest friend, I'd end up in the living room spending days awake to have me drop off. I spent three days wide-awake one time just to get tire me out. God help if I didn't have a supply now of alcohol, for I'd sit or lay in silence, on the sofa, in thought. And, I didn't want to think.

Thinking scared me.

A lot of things scared me nowadays.

Thankfully, the clash to Neville's wandering around was Cho. She's come over nearly every night since Hermione left my life…or whatever. She's my best friend and someone I confide in tons; but, she's no Granger. And, I miss my girl and regret, truly regret ever opening my stupid mouth for the truth to pour out. Ironically I knew it was under the same influence of which I use to help me sleep that I let my feelings out, but that didn't stop me.

Every time I drank or smoked, it felt good—because I needed the pain. I felt guilty, and no one had gotten onto me. Not even Neville and I'm sure he knew something big had happened. Maybe he even figured out the details—he's a smart guy. Distancing myself from him probably framed the clues. I've never divulged the precise problem to him, what went down that night with her and me, and never would.

I swore to it.

I'd rather rush out, into a night like this—my eyes gently lingering on our neighbor, a mother and her son rushing into their house in the pouring rain—and get struck by lightning.

As much as the inside of our house was warm, I was starkly frigid.

“Gin.”

My mind had gone elsewhere, my eyes following our neighbors as the father of the son, the husband of the wife, rushed outside to get something from their car. He hadn't an umbrella, using his hands to cover himself from the ever-flowing sheets of rain.

I felt something flush against my cool skin, covered slightly in a green sleep slip, my hair revealing a certain sanguine-colour around the hue of my exposed neck. I turned when another “Gin” aroused me to my left. I blinked, absent from earth and only came to when I re-opened my eyelashes, settling to breathe a moment. The person beseeching me softly was a tired Neville in his pajamas.

He reached out and stroked the length of my hair as I remained stationary, observing him looking me over like a medical specimen. He glanced at all my details, not as much for anything else other than for my well-being. He knew how cold I'd gone figuratively alongside the literal chill.

Saying I “felt out of place” was far from how I felt.

I was on Pluto, farthest from any known organism.

Neville finally looked back into my lifeless eyes without a slight of emotion in either of our features.

“Is Cho staying the night again?” He spoke low.

If the act of breathing solely predicted life, I'd be dead.

My eyes went to the floor.

I couldn't look at him for any length of time.

“…Well,” Neville cleared his throat. “You know where I'll be.”

If Cho hadn't have been there in the kitchen, there would have been deathly silence. But, she was rummaging in the drawers quite loudly, searching for what seemed like eating utensils as metal-to-metal clanked together, teetering on beleaguering.

I saw his feet shift away from me.

“I love you…,” I heard him clear his throat again.

The tip of his index finger grazed underneath my chin.

A tickle ran up my spine from his light touch, but nothing more.

His feet disappeared from the area of my vision, turning my head from him and back between the curtains.

My eyes were back looking out the window as I heard him ascend the stairs to the bedroom one weary step at a time. I choked on my own tongue. I couldn't speak a word. I heard how…sad he'd gotten, and it was all because of me.

Me…

I had to support myself from keeling over by holding onto the windowsill. I felt a hot-streak pass through me and the sickening knot the made its home pleasantly in my stomach grew and twisted.

Between my mother, Neville, Hermione, Harry…and even Ron—

The sound of clinking ice cubes in a glass stirred me. Such an inviting sound it was, making me happy. I turned around, my hands still attached to the windowsill, and saw Cho in a shirt-and-shorts-styled PJ skip from the kitchen, hop off a stair and into the living area.

My feet hit the floor as quick as I could.

My eyes were on the glass, and on the clear liquid sloshing around inside. The ice cubes sparkled like diamonds, a girl's best friend. My hands were around the glass before Cho could even speak up, and when she did, she had to stop for I swiped the drink from her like a mugger.

“I didn't really know what—“ She paused as I took the glass, its swirling vapors of intense scent rising into my nostrils. The burn was painfully sweet. The drink was my teddy bear, the blankey, and I wanted it back.

My hands were so tightly grasped its circumference that the joints in my hands were white from my clinch.

I tilted my head back and drank the chilled vodka quickly.

“Whoa—“ stated Cho. I felt her hand on my arm. “There's only one bottle left. Make it last a little longer.”

The alcohol drowned her out.

I coughed, my throat burning with its fire.

When my cough subsided, I finished what was in there.

Like a silly cough was going to stop me.

“…I think you broke last night's record.”

“More,” I turned my head to the side when I felt another cough pound from within my chest. I pushed the glass back in Cho's hand.

“Want me to just bring you the bottle next time?” she laughed.

I didn't.

I could already feel the alcohol working, doing the job I wanted it to. My mind clouded with smoke and my vision began to lose itself in a swirl of blurriness.

“Just do it.” Swiveling on my feet, I turned toward the sofa in front of the flickering television. I had to block another cough with the backside of my hand, sniffing back watery snot and a trickle of tear from the lasting burn of my esophagus.

I stumbled across the arm rest and fell face-first into the sofa cushions. My ears perked at the same sorts of noises from the kitchen, Cho getting me another drink. I had to crawl, slowly, my head beginning to hurt, so I wasn't so lopsided. How I landed, half of my body fell on the floor. My knee was inches from the wooden surface below.

I think I fell asleep, or blacked out a second, closing my eyes to the blinking television. I'd begun to get a headache. The next thing I knew was the warm feeling of something, and then what felt like a hard nudge on my back. I rose as much as much as I could, feeling heavier than I should with the weight of the world upon me. I could barely make out Cho, but knew it was her from her disturbingly bright baby blue pajamas.

“Where should I put this?” She held up something, but in the dark—and utterly out of it—I couldn't make any sense. But, the clinking ice cubes came to me Pavlovian, and I knew the object she held was the next drink.

I tried to say something, but my head fell face-first back into the sofa.

“…Right. I'll just put it on the table.” I couldn't really make out anything much anymore, just the direction of nearby sounds. I thought I heard her put the glass down, but then again I also heard the annoying, overly-excited news anchor on television talk about the “Potterphilia”-craze.

“We met up with Harry Potter himself leaving the Ministry of Magic and tried to get some answers out of him about the rumors of a set wedding date. Our photographer asked him the question as he was about to Floo—“

“Turn it off…,” My voice was muffled what with my face smashed into the cushion.

“You'd think they'd have something better to do than to harass poor Harry and Hermione,” Cho was talking with her mouth at the rim of her own glass. “Every night it's another `Breaking News!' about them—let them be!”

Cho shouted at the paparazzi now running alongside Harry who was being shoved into the Floo by a swarm of Ministry bodyguards.

“Earlier this week we got in touch with the one, Rita Skeeter, to discuss the rumors surrounding Harry and his fiancee—“

I grunted, trying my best to lift off the sofa to tell Cho once more to, “Shut the damn television off,” but failed miserably.

My entire arm slipped right off the edge.

“Oh, right—Neville's gone to bed,” Cho chimed in. “Maybe I shouldn't be yelling—and what are you doing down there?”

Apparently Cho finally saw how eager I was to get up…

“—the point is that Harry is too young and he doesn't know what he wants. This is evident by his misuse of Miss Ginevra Weasley, which was, as we all know,” Rita Skeeter's voice screeched like nails on a chalkboard. A repeating pain throbbed behind each of my eyes. “Mister Potter's love interest. If I were that boy's mother I'd surely give him a well-deserved talking to for mistreating that wonderful girl and going to some—well—Muggle-born.”

Rita's laugh was sharp and clung to my brain like a blood-sucking leech.

Cho had her hands beneath my arms and was in the process of pulling me towards her. I was like a rag doll, utterly limp. “Aw, come here…”

I didn't want to talk anymore. My head pounded, the den swayed, and the alcohol drove through my veins easily without an ounce of food to slow it down.

She smelled clean with a hint of lilac, my head in her lap and my arms wrapped around her waist. I tried to bury my face in her stomach, blocking out the incessant flicker from the tube. I also tried to put my arms in a way on my ears, or at least my hands, so I didn't have to hear the television anymore.

The wizarding world had become this voyeuristic society prying its way—or believing they were—into Harry's life. And with Harry came Hermione, and come Hermione came—I didn't much care to turn the television on lately.

Cho twisted and turned. I became perturbed. She was stroking my hair, and now she was fighting with something. Then came a soft material sliding up my legs, and then around me. She settled finally with a blanket up to my neck. I put myself back into the darkness of what was between me and Cho's abdomen and settled, too, only to hear her say:

“You're not going to turn gay on me now, are you?”

If I weren't completely sloshed, if I hadn't have given a fuck right then and there, I'd have slapped her. I'd have left a mark on her cheek, too.

“…It was only a joke,” she replied to the silence I gave her. “See, you're getting close to my—whatever. I didn't say anything.”

Her fingers were back combing my hair.

***

Cho had left the television on when she fell asleep. I'd gone to sleep far before her, passed out less than a half hour after her assumed “joke”. She found the matching ottoman to the sofa and propped her feet up for more comfort in her snooze. The television cast its bluish glow on both of us as the news had—miraculously—changed from Harry and Hermione rumors, and Rita Skeeter's forecast of them, to the economy and the equivalent to the Muggle stock market system, to the rainy weather, and then to a story about new magical medical treatments being done at St. Mungo's.

During an image of fibrous arm surgery done solely by wand, the news suddenly shifted back to the desk with the attractive blonde anchor and a streaming ticker headline underneath her stating, “Breaking News!”

“We're getting breaking news,” she said quickly, holding a piece of equipment to her ear. “That something horrible has occurred at the summit between our Minister of Magic and the German President. We've been following their talks of interstate trade amongst their branch of magic and ours all this week and—wait, it seems like we're getting a live look at what has just occurred.”

The image switches from the blonde anchor to a coat-covered male in front of a very large, white building.

“Right, so,” started in the male reporter. “This has just occurred mere minutes ago right here at the British-German summit which was being held behind me at its parliamentary building here in Berlin. Many German citizens were out and about doing the midnight pub-scene when they first saw the foreign object that lit up the sky. To ours, I'm afraid, it's not so foreign.”

The camera swiftly pans and zooms into the “object” hovering above the parliamentary building.

“As you all can very well see,” the reporter says about the image. “It really is nothing foreign to us.”

A deeply green, misty wisp of clouds has formed strangely into the depiction of a skull, slithering its tongue—a vile snake—in and out of its mouth.

“The mark of He Who Must Not Be Named.”

The camera pans back to the reporter, the wind picking up and blowing his hair into his face. He shrugs it off and stares competently into the lens, squeezing inside his coat for heat.

“There hasn't been any solid word of whom or what has done this. The Minister's security has already taken Minister Kingsley from Berlin and is now on their way back to London, much to the Minister's persuasion to stay we've heard to believe. The Ministry taskforce has already begun separating the facts from the fiction, here now in Berlin. The Obliviators got flew in first to calm the crowds of Muggle-spectators, and as always, to do their job of erasing their memories. I'm sure they've cooked up some alien-related story and tomorrow's headline here in Berlin will be some cockamamie rubbish about outer-space gray men visiting the skies above the parliament.”

The broadcast switches back to the blonde news anchor.

“Do we have any ideas at all about the mark? I know you've said we don't have anything solid to stand on right now.”

The broadcast switches back to the male in Berlin.

“Well, we've been reporting about these splinter cells, those rogue cultists being rounded up by the Ministry taskforce worldwide. This is probably just an attempt to scare rather than a murderous attempt. Anyone should know how tight the security is around Minister Kingsley. They're probably seeking attention. They've done this a few times throughout the world since His death.”

The broadcast switches back to the news desk.

“Well, they certainly got their and our attention—if that's what this all was an attempt to do. I'm glad to hear Minister Kingsley is safe and on his way back to London.”

“Correct,” the male reporter's voice was heard over the blonde's before it switched back to him. “His motorcade left for the skies seconds after the mark appeared. I'm sure they've done this drill several times for just this scenario.”

“Very, very,” The blonde came back on the television. “Glad to hear he is well.”

She turned her focused back to the television audience. “And, we'll be keeping everyone on top of this situation through our news ticker and any further updates will break our currently scheduled late-night broadcast.”

-->

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: I'll never write “Rowling,” but this chapter's sort of a throwback to past behaviors of our beloved characters entangled inside my plot. They're outside their element and can let their hair down, so to speak. I hope you'll enjoy the allusions and other points of interest for Harry and Hermione.

Also, I'm aware of the “Americanization,” being American (and of British-heritage for more of Life's irony). For instance, the height discussed in the chapter isn't in centimeters. But, I could also see half if not most of my readers rushing to Google as I did to convert American-measurements to European. I don't feel the “Americanization” is taking away from the message(s) I want to give and so will continue to use Britishisms when applicable.

***

Chapter Twenty-Seven - Break

***

Overall, the Slytherin's lost almost 500 House points between the time they entered the Hospital Wing and exiting by Prefect-escort. I wasn't aware of these events, having passed out due to over-exerting myself. Hagrid had rightfully taken me to a bed close to Harry for he would have gotten up and reinjured himself if it happened any other way.

Madam Pomfrey did her magic to get me back to awareness.

Thankfully, her diagnosis was based upon stress. Stress had made me swoon; but, it still startled Harry, and the rest of the eyes around. The Gryffindor squad, Harry's groupies, and Hagrid all waited with bated breath to see me stir. Breathing a sigh of relief, they saw me turn my head to the right, and then the left, upright on a pillow. Madam Pomfrey had put a blanket over me, to take the chill off from my saddened clothes, and as I awoke I felt her warm hand rubbing the cool of my forehead.

It felt like mum.

It even sounded like mum when I heard her yell back at Harry to stay in bed, that all was right and it wasn't worth cracking any more ribs to see a healthy me.

Just an exhausted me.

Hagrid left after giving first me a warm bear hug, and then my partner in the bed over. He did so lightly on purpose, for his hugs were always breath-takingly tight. He told us he was setting off to speak with Kris Keles in hopes of fully understanding the meaning of Slytherin's flippant attitude toward their elders.

They were obviously trying to get a rise out of everyone.

Harry never took his eyes off me. We were less than a few feet across from each other. When Madam Pomfrey left me after laying a lukewarm cloth along the forehead she touched, I glanced over at Harry who was more on his side now, not listening to a word Madam Pomfrey said when she told him to stay still. He smiled at me when I did, giving him more reasons not to be worried—for he would worry.

It wasn't a lie, either. I felt better and my chest wasn't tingly.

Madam Pomfrey came back soon enough with a chunk of chocolate for me. She wasn't offering me candy so much as she was giving me medication. Much like with the Dementors, chocolate helps aid in many forms of uneasiness, or unhappiness, or in my case all of the above. She broke the chunk up into little pieces and handed me one at a time with pumpkin juice. By this time the group of Gryffindor onlookers had thinned, leaving us various well wishes to get better.

A student came in needing the professional help of our nurse-at-hand. Madam Pomfrey, seeing me in higher spirits, left to tend to him. This allowed Harry and me to be alone in our separate, isolated area.

“Life just keeps sending and sending more of an incentive to get us out of here,” he smirked that charming smirk of his which followed onto me like a bug. I smiled and stretched out the length of the hospital bed. I caught Harry staring at me with that smug little smirk when I let my head fall back his way, my right arm elevated above.

I closed my eyes and took the short, light nap I needed.

Professor McGonagall woke me up soon after. She offered her condolences, asking if she could do anything for me or Harry. I just shook my head, and that's when she told me she thought it'd be best if I took the remaining weeks off from tutoring. With only three weeks left of school, I'd like for my knowledge to serve the students here; but, between everything that had happened, I didn't try and persuade anything differently.

“Both of you will be getting compensated for the next three weeks,” she spoke between our beds, her hand holding the edge of mine while she looked between Harry and me.

“Professor, I need to be here for Madam Hooch.”

“Don't argue with me, Harry,” she spoke with that authority we knew so often. “You're welcome to start the new school year with us in the Fall. I'm not having you take a leave because I don't want you here.”

She glanced over at me and smiled behind her spectacles.

“I want both of you here,” She turned back to Harry. “But, this is what I think is best. Besides, I believe I heard from Madam Hooch you were taking this week for a vacation?”

Harry went to sit up on his elbow and flinched, gritting his teeth.

“Harry…,” I pushed myself off the hospital bed and leapt off the side.

Harry put his hand up at me and breathed audibly, “I'm fine. It's fine.”

“Rubbish! Now,” I made him stop which was, in retrospect, a bit funny to see such a smaller me halt Harry who was two-times my size. “Stop.”

I had my hands on his shoulder and arm, but of course he tried to swipe them off, “Hermione, I'm not a vegetable. This isn't anything compared to what has been done to me.”

“Harry James Potter!” I watched him shuffling around, and with each shift of his weight he proceeded to grunt in obvious pain. He was shirtless, his hand on the side where the bludger first hit him. The Quidditch ball had cracked a few ribs, but hadn't broken anything—thanks to the padding everyone on the pitch had to wear. If the pads hadn't been worn down, he probably wouldn't have had anything cracked at all.

Madam Pomfrey had given him a dose of a bone-mending potion, a hint of what was given him his second year. She had also wrapped him in the same sort of bandage horizontally around his chest, like his on his head, to keep everything tight.

He laughed a little through his nose when he had finally done what he wanted to do, sitting on the edge of the bed facing Minerva. He saw me, my hands on my hips, glaring at him for being such a stubborn man. He could have easily exacerbated his injury, and for what? Hard-headedness?

“Is this our first fight?” his banter was playful, and it made me roll my eyes and sigh.

I flicked my head to the side, for he made a funny face to break my stare, and I shook it. My hair, now dry, swayed in its crazily-frayed state. “No…,” I stepped closer to his bedside, my hips colliding with the edge to support me from falling over. A hand to his chest, I kissed him lightly and respectfully for I knew the Professor was upon us.

Within our quick kiss, I heard him say, “I want to fight with you.”

“I'll be sure to jot that down in my notebook,” I exclaimed in a key low enough for just Harry to hear.

I went to embrace Harry, sliding my arms underneath his arms, inside the empty pockets his appendages created only to hear him do another grunt when I got close.

“What was that?” I jumped back, blinking at him. “Did I catch you? I'm—“

He grinned mischievously and laughed at my reaction, “Nah, I'm messing with you.”

I squinted. “You… That's not funny!”

Harry continued his laughter and pulled me to him, embracing me like I wanted. I couldn't stay mad at him, my Har-bear, hairy bear—Harry bear with his messy black locks and chest hair. He was so warm, my forehead on the curve of his neck as I hugged him lightly. Minerva coughed a little to get our attention. I swiveled a step around, my forehead now on Harry's cheek, and saw that the Professor had stepped further away.

“Have a restful vacation, you two. Best of wishes Miss Granger at Oxford next Fall and I'll see you back here in September, Mister Potter.”

“You too, Professor,” we said in harmony together.

McGonagall said something briefly to Madam Pomfrey, who sat behind a desk at the entrance, on her way out. She waved at us before disappearing from the hospital wing.

***

We got to our secluded island, Nirvana, that night. Because it was so late, and the dues Fate gave to us earlier, we headed straight for bed. I did take in the achromatic decor-scheme as we headed upstairs: the plush white carpeting, the white sofa, chairs, and shelves of the kitchen. The walls were also painted white with crystal-flecks if one turned askance in the light. The amenities of comfort were all there, set up and displayed for our invitation including a fruit basket on an adorable tiny oak coffee table with crooked legs.

We took a shower where I helped redress Harry in his bandages and clean the wounded area surrounding his eye. He couldn't open it, swollen but not bleeding as much since Madam Pomfrey put the first ointment-and-bandage on. The ointment was goopy, and it smelled just as awful as when I first smelled it back at Hogwarts. Harry sat on the loo and I could feel him tense even though he put his best face on. I had to tilt his head back while applying the bandage and he just smiled at me.

I smiled too, especially when he put his hands on my hips. He squeezed me and slid both his index fingers into my feminine, black and pink polka-dotted boxers. He let his fingers curl around the elastic rim and had it snap back on my hip when I went to wash my hands. I made a swat at him after I exhaled a gasp. He smirked at me, his lip rising in a way that evidently let it known he'd done what he'd done on purpose.

He winked at me and I played coy, turning my full attention on the water gushing out on my soapy hands.

I saw him gather himself up, as he had to slowly, and stand from my peripheral. I wasn't going to tell him to stop this time, knowing quite well he was coming right over to me. That probably was selfish, or whatever, but he'd have done it anyway regardless of where he roamed. And, sure enough, the moment I went to grab a nearby hand towel he had his hands on my slender love-handles. He traced the ribbed texture of my tank top as he slid his fingers up and down from the starting of my ribcage, descending back to the elastic.

I took a step back into his warm aura and watched him watch me in the mirror. I let my subconscious work the hand towel as I dried off, my eyes on Harry, his lips closing in on the nape of my exposed neck. His lips were like an electrical charge to my body. Every hair stood on end. I had to close my eyes, a hand leaving the towel I held to hold the side of his face as he caressed a line along my skin.

I inhaled sharply when he grazed the tip of his nose up into the hair cascading down my back. He nudged me and nuzzled me, smelling me as he let his hand roam along my abdomen. I thought of all the pros and cons of the situation, a habit built into me. There were tons of pros with not so many cons, but the cons were larger. I was fearful Harry would get a little friskier than his body could handle and he'd be in bed longer than the forty-eight hours Madam Pomfrey intended.

I don't know how I opened my eyes, Harry nibbling on that sweet spot behind my ear. My eyes weren't fully open, but I saw him and his reflection in the mirror through the locks of hair that ultimately got in front of my right eye. I made a quick gasp when he started using his tongue and patted the arm above my stomach which held me to him from behind.

“Harry…”

He didn't so much as hear me nor stop, continuing back down my neck with the fat of his tongue. Some voice inside my head wondered why I even cared about him over-doing it. He made me close my eyes again, but they snapped back open that lazy centimeter.

I reached up with my other hand to lightly pat the side of his cheek.

“Ha—“ He softly bit my neck. The voice inside my head wanted to hit me with a baseball bat for trying to stop this core-tingling sensation. I shook out of it and tried saying his name again.

“Harry,” it came out low and raspy.

I didn't think he heard me until he responded with a, “…Mm?”

I wasn't tired anymore, but it was best he slept.

“Love, I don't think—“

“Don't think,” he mumbled beside my neck.

“But, your ribs, I—“ The side of my head nudged into his as he moved his lips under my jaw.

As much as it was utter insanity to pull away from the love of my lover, I just had to—call me a loon.

Harry looked at me when I did so, leaning away from him as I eyed him too. Through the mirror we stared at one another in silence before he asked, “Was I-?”

“Oh. Oh, no,” I shook my head. He thought he'd done something wrong. Far, far, far from it. I watched him, and then felt him kiss me atop my head. “I don't want you to strain yourself.”

“Strain myself doing what?” He asked that rhetorically high-pitched, and with a grin. He wrapped his arms further around my torso, tightening his grip. I held onto his forearms.

I rolled my eyes, or eye to him as that hair still covered my right side. “You're just awful, you know that?”

“And you're annoyingly beautiful,” his left cheek was against the side of my head. “My sexy, little minx.”

He dropped from my sight in the reflection, but I felt him back on my neck. I tapped those toned forearms of his which stayed stationary around my figure and I heard him laugh afterward. He came back to my vision, the jade green eye of his looking back at me, and smiled as he laid his chin on my right shoulder.

“I would have paid galleons to see what you would have done to that Xavier bloke,” he caressed my shoulder. “All five foot, three—“

“And a half!” I interrupted.

“Shortie.”

Harry smiled, “It still would have been hilarious seeing you take out almost a foot more… But, then again, I'd have to kick his ass the moment he fought back.”

“Let's not talk about him or anything else,” I said this fast and meant it. I ran the pads of my fingers along the line where his forearm muscle protruded. “Just us.”

“Right,” He kissed my cheek. “Nothing else but us. That's the rule.”

“Mhmm…”

He suddenly let me go, ushering in all this cold air I didn't want. I followed him by turning when he left and observed him walking backwards out of the lavatory. He reached out for me, palm up and open. I placed my hands in his and had him walk me slowly toward the king-sized four-poster bed, the sheets and cases white, the comforter also carrying the colour-pattern. I could see all around us, the walls all clear windows out to the ocean. The entire house was built without exterior, opaque walls. Even the entrance-and-exit doors were translucid. The darkness sparkled with the moonlight and the stars beyond. The trees and the shrubbery tossed in a noiseless wind.

Pointing my finger at him, I wagged it firmly.

Through that same devilish smile, Harry asked all innocently, “What?”

“You know what, mister…” I stated, having him climb backward onto the soft mattress and pulling me along with him.

He winked at me, and I followed him into the sheets.

***

Beep-beep. Beep-beep. Beep-beep.

Yawning, I took my cheek off the pectoral I laid on. I didn't want to leave Harry's chest, my arms encompassing his broad, young manly form. I rubbed my cheek against his chest, rolled over and squished my nose upon his skin. The alarm wasn't going to shut itself off, wishing I'd put some charm on it now, but in retrospect was glad it didn't just shut off. I'd have continued sleeping and what must be done needed to be done.

He smelled so good, too. No cologne, just the scent of being natural, and clean, and pumpkin.

He had his arm around me, holding me as I held him. After our heavy petting playtime we had curled against each other. His other hand, his arm was put underneath the pillow above his head. It was four in the morning, and I didn't wish to wake him before I had to. It wasn't like he was going anywhere anyway, zonked from a side-effect of the bone-mending potion. Becoming drowsy was probably a good effect, too, what with his ribs setting quicker than the normal, Muggle-way. That couldn't feel good.

After the fourth set of beeps I finally got up. I had to raise his left arm from me and set it on his stomach. He had to sleep on his back, a direction from Madam Pomfrey. Another direction was to clean and apply the ointment to his eye every six hours. I'd taken that part for myself, and Harry couldn't argue. I wouldn't let him argue, so he kept quiet while I did the job.

I felt it the least I could do with the situation.

Scooting bedside on my bum, I ceased the beeping before stretching off into a walk towards the lavatory. I yawned again, the moonlight guiding a path toward the cabinets holding the medication. Adjusting my boxers, having been bunched up in uncomfortable places from our play, I heard a pop in my elbow as I stretched both my arms forward, breeching the rectangular arch of the bathroom. I didn't so much as turn a light on, quietly opening and shutting to get what I needed, until I came back to Harry's side of the bed. Then, I reached under his nightstand's lamp and pulled on the string to flip on the light.

He looked so peaceful, even though he was rather beaten. How I'd left him the sheets were off his left side, his right side the area where the bludger first slammed into him still clothed. I was cautious to lay on the left side of him. I could see the tight bandage around his torso.

My knees were against the edge, and then I rebalanced my weight to fall gently to one side. With an ever-so-light bounce beside Harry, I quietly tore into the package the new bandage was in. I didn't dare open the jar of ointment. No one should smell that stuff until they had to. Placing the pad of cloth in my lap, I used my right hand to wake him. Slowly he stirred in his sleep, my palm, my fingers following his jaw.

I bent down and kissed him, my hand moving to his chest. He was coming to, leaving the land of slumber for this reality. I called out his name, “Harry,” in whisper and he peeked open to see me in a drastically changed position.

He smiled nevertheless.

“Hey…,” I heard the sleep in his tone. He breathed in deep, rubbing the uncovered eye with the hand that was under the pillow. “Is it that time again?”

“Mhmm,” answering through closed lips. “Your favorite time.”

“The only time where you get to see my best side,” Harry started up on his elbows while I wrung out a warm, wet cloth into a bowl I'd set on the stand.

Rotating my waist, I came to him with said cloth. He'd already begun removing the bandage from his eye himself and I assisted in gathering the rest and placing it aside.

“My comedian,” I said, scooting closer to him as he tilted his head back. This became habitual, having done this twice.

“How'd you think I'd fair to the Prophet if I suddenly became, `Potter: Comedian Boy Wonder'?” He laughed as I dabbed the old ointment goo away.

“It wouldn't end well,” I laughed along with him, soaking up clean warm water in the cloth and wiping away the rest from his left eye. There wasn't any blood to be shown on the cloth, to my relief, but the bruise was still there and severely purplish-black. From the bridge of Harry's nose, to his upper cheek, to his eyebrow encircled the trace of the spherical bludger.

He tried to open his eye, but he couldn't quite make it work. The bruise had tightened the skin. This was a symptom of recovery, except for a laceration that hadn't gone away on his brow. I feared that would become another scar.

We were in silence for a moment, Harry following me with his uninjured eye as I'd dunk the cloth back in the water where it'd make a soft sloshing sound before reapplying it back on the injured eye. I'd cleared all the past medicine when he spoke up to me again with a, “How do I look? Still unbelievably dashing?”

He was obviously poking fun at the scene. I wish he wouldn't make light of the scenario, but he asked in such a ludicrous fashion with that charming smirk that I answered in all sincerity, “Beautiful.”

I had the ointment jar in my hands and flinched at the smell when I uncorked the bottle. An old onion was what came to mind or a really wet dog.

He hadn't said anything after his joking question, hearing the honest voice of mine.

He was the same Harry I fell in love with and nothing could change that feeling. If somewhere in that question he actually thought I'd think differently of him. Like, in a way, he was feeling me out to see if he could find a hint of dissatisfaction; but alas, there was none. I was deeply, and utterly, satisfied. I hoped he realized this in that part that may or may not have been seeing if I were not.

I called this the male ego.

“Does that sting?” I saw him wince through that strong, male attitude. He didn't have to be so overly tough in front of me. I knew it burned like Hell when I applied it.

“No,” but he winced again, the tip of my finger dabbing carefully the closed eyelid. I had to get the ointment between the eyelid, too, as well as the little pink area in the corner closest to the nose. Painstakingly vigilant to his every move, the tension he tried so hard to contain I could see and feel.

“Okay, maybe a little,” Harry confessed. “Only when you have to lift up the eyelid and it's mostly with that pulling sensation. Hurts beneath that bone under my eyebrow.”

He pointed at the area affected.

“Aw…,” I leaned over him and kissed him. “I'm sorry. I'll try to be more conscientious.”

I ran my left hand, the hand that hadn't touched the ointment, and its fingers through Harry's hair from front to back. Kissing his lips, he smiled which led me to smile. “I love you,” I faintly said to him.

I peck-kissed the side of his mouth before rising back up on my behind.

His grin followed my grin.

I could tell he wanted to get back to sleep, or at least the potion told him so. I applied the new bandage on his eye and gave him a nod. His elbows slid southward until he was on his back, reaching up to bend the pillow for more comforted elevation. I took up the waste, the dirty water in the bowl alongside the washcloth and pulled the light's string to click. The bulb went off and we were both left back in nature's nightly shine. White across the floor, the moon continued to gleam my path back into the lavatory where I threw what needed to be thrown away and rinsed out the bowl. With my hands under the water, I went ahead and washed them too.

Discreet with my movements, I didn't want to wake him up. I began to tiptoe back to bed when I saw Harry's head pop up from the mattress. Surprised, I hastily said in whisper, halfway back to the bed sheets, “I thought you'd gone back to sleep?”

“I'm waiting on you,” he replied in the same soft whisper.

“I'm coming,” How could anyone resist not smiling? “I'm coming…”

I picked up speed when I knew he was awake and slipped back into the sheets. I pulled them up to my shoulders, my hands crawling the spread to find Harry's warmth. I found his inviting body and curled back around it. My mouth found his as well, lips-to-lips as we kissed without a sound. My left leg slowly wound its way around Harry's left. My cold toes touched the underside of his foot, making Harry shuffle it away. I giggled, grazing the tip of my nose along his as I guided my mouth back on his.

His arm had me, and I simply loved the feeling of it—the feeling of being “his”. His arm wasn't massive, but it wasn't thin either. He made me feel safe, safer than I'd ever felt before, reminiscent to all those years beside him. He pulled me closer, to the point where I practically lay atop him. His fingers had found the arch of my back, the indentation of my spine. My sense of touch was heightened hundred-fold, the hairs on my skin erect by his digits I felt.

He was so…tender with me. So, attentive to my body, my soul, and how they both responded to his. I perceived the growing intensity of the communication, the slight tingle growing into heated loins. I heard my breath pick up, and then had to pick myself up. The sheet surrounding us fell off my shoulder and down to my hips. My right arm supported me as I left him less than a foot away, my left hand on his bare chest.

I smiled this extremely goofy smile.

If he hadn't been so injured—

“What?” he asked. The moonlight yielded enough light on us to see him, the difference in our skin hues apparent. The pale of mine nearly glowed while his was much more subtle.

He started up by his elbows, shifting his weight from one side to the next. The mattress gave in when he leaned and pushed back when he subsided until he was at my height.

I had to look away.

My heart was palpitating fast.

I hadn't enough time to calm my breathing pace, so even more of my aroused state was evident.

I'd become bashful, moreso because I had conflicting ideas of making love to my damaged fiance. I could easily cause those areas of him more distress, namely his healing ribcage.

He was nearsighted without his glasses, so he had to come closer to me. I felt his warmish breath, and that didn't help me at all.

“Wow…,” he said it so softly a chill ran along my spine.

It made me look at him.

He sat up on his bum and took his hand to lift those strands of hair that always found their way in front of my eye. Briefly I felt him on my soft skin, and within the brevity I found myself leaning into his touch, my cheek following his fingertip's direction.

He was looking at me in such a way…

“Hermione…”

“Harry…,” My voice raspy, I swallowed hard, hard enough for him to hear it.

The tension could be cut with a knife.

Our eyes were locked.

“…You are the most gorgeous, most brilliant…,” his voice faltered, his fingertips tracing the curve of my cheek, my jaw, my neck, my arm. “In the moonlight your skin is so…you are so…”

He electrified me.

He took up my face in his hands and kissed me so softly that I lingered, eyes closed, farther into him as if never to escape the passion he'd given me in that one, single caress.

When he tried to release, I didn't want to. I took my arms and wrapped them carefully about his neck like a snare, a trap to keep him near me. I didn't realize I had moaned, lips placed upon Harry's own. His hands had left my face, now set firmly on my slender waist. He hadn't the time to mess with my tank top, wanting as I wanted him to feel my skin. He moved gradually, conscious to his actions that I knew he wasn't fully recovered. The potion was made to hasten, but not of unearthly haste.

The thought invaded my swirling, love-toxic mind and I came to a halt.

He felt me stop, his hands having pushed the cotton fabric of my shirt towards my breast.

“You're not going to hurt me, Hermione,” our eyesight intertwined, he read me telepathically in that single second I stopped as if our very souls were just as inseparable.

His voice produced this treble, this wonderful base, this cacophony of knowing he wanted me like I wanted him through sound.

Harry spread in me like a fever.

With his strength he raised me right off the bed and easily sat me straddle on his lap. He kissed me first, and then had me point my arms to the sky as he pulled away my shirt. My hair fell in chaos when he met me once more, his lips pushed on mine, a slight moan escaping from my own. He had me around my torso, his fingers firm in the arch of my back facing toward the indent he so loved to find.

Nude now from the hips up one could vividly see how ethereal my skin had taken on with the light cascading from the moon: a white, glossy sheen like porcelain—flawless. I tilted my head back as Harry caressed the hollow of my throat, moving southward through the cleavage of my breast. My body fell back in its arch, utterly primed by every peck of Harry's warm mouth.

My hands were pulling lightly at his messy hair from behind. He could hear my breathing as much as I did, taking sharp, subtle gasps when he lingered on the roundness of my breasts. He bent as far down as he could whilst sitting, finding my abdomen as it retracted, recoiling to the graze of his moistened mouth.

He pulled me back to him so I sat parallel, vertical like him, and laid me down on him as he methodically dipped back onto the bed. My hands, steady on his broad shoulders, now found themselves back in his unruly hair.

I sighed in faultless delight, smelling the pumpkin spice scent on his naked skin, Harry's mouth caressing at my throat.

***

It was like stepping off cloud and onto another.

I had never been in a place such as this: so open, so appealing because it was different. I could see the white sand beach of our island off in the distance. My feet sank into the fluffed carpet, downy to the sole. My fingertips grazed the granite countertop of the sink in the lavatory, its gloss illuminated by the sunlight filtering in from everywhere. The shower was also made of granite, the black flecks almost invisible from afar. A transparent door slid horizontally, shielding the exterior from the water I'd turned on.

Harry had already been in here before me. He told me he'd do the dressings, inflexible to any argument thereafter. I'd watched him from the bed, where he ordered me to stay within and continue sleeping. He never so much as bothered to find his boxers, having been strewn on the floor from the early morning hours. I kept my eyes on him, my head statuesque on a pillow, and observed his bare-naked walk. I peeked at everything I could, whatever parts of his physique he allowed me to see on his way to the shower.

He was so damn good-looking, especially after sex.

I shifted under the sheets like a perky school girl and laughed into the pillow at myself.

He didn't shut the door all the way, leaving a crack open. When I heard the water flick on, I eased back into my slumber.

He was still in the lavatory when I stepped into my own shower. He watched me strip off the shirt of his I wore to stumble about before getting in. It wasn't so much as I was embarrassed about anything; it was just still a little weird to be so exposed to the world even though we were completely alone. There was a mind-numbing charm on the place that wouldn't allow anyone but the travel agency to know where we were unless we allowed it.

I hadn't buttoned the shirt, so it was only a matter of letting the shoulders fall and pulling the sleeves away. I dropped the shirt into a hamper, as well as our night-clothes, and was struck by the pressure of the hot water.

I gave Harry a little wink on the way in to see him staring dumbfounded at me with his toothbrush stuck out the corner of his mouth. He smirked when I winked at him and started again with the brush against his teeth. The shower door was clouded, but it wasn't enough not to see what materialized if one looked. I could see Harry, too, but not entirely the same way. I couldn't tell if he was turned or not; though, I could see the white towel contrasted beside his tanner skin.

I had turned on a stereo in the master bathroom for ambiance music. I put on one of the variety of CDs I'd brought with me. Finding one of the Beatles fall into my hands, it wasn't a question to pop it in and hit play. The music wasn't loud, but loud enough to be heard in the lavatory with the door open.

Halfway through my shower, the fall of the water on my hair as I leaned to the side to rinse out the suds, my hands scratching my scalp and sifting through the thick strand with my fingernails, I started singing along with the song echoing in our compartment. There wasn't a Lennon or McCartney song that didn't come catchy to me, and so I hadn't realized I'd begun to sing until I heard Harry humming with my vocal.

“Nothing you can know that isn't known,” Harry piped in with as my backup with a:

“Ohh…”

“Nothing you can see that isn't shown,” I had my eyes closed, letting the shower rinse off the remaining soap stuck my body. I'd come in close, my hands on the black-and-white swirl of granite near the crystal-clear shower knobs.

“Ohh…,” Harry had part of his hand in his mouth during the beginning, flossing.

“Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be,” Sliding my hands around the knobs, I was about to shut the water off and step out whilst singing, “It's easy,” when a burst of cold streamed quickly out of the shower head.

This prompted first my eyes opening wide, a step backward, the knobs flicking off, and the door having pulled open by my hand to glare at Harry who looked all innocent. Well, he wasn't exactly looking at me, more of a side-stare with a grin.

He'd turned the faucet on and off.

I heard it under the waterfall-like noise of the shower, so there wasn't any way he could get away with it.

With my left hand on the edge of the shower door, my right on the complemented lining of the stall, my wet hair dripped on the floor while my head peeked out. The water coming off me was easily soaked up by a plush white rug beneath, stretching all the way to the door.

Harry couldn't keep his face straight at all, and gave his innocence away in a laugh. I scrunched my face up at him and stuck my tongue out. Dropping the used floss out in a rubbish bin, he then stepped back to take up a towel and came at me with it opened. He drove my hair into a mess, drying those dark brunette locks to their natural cinnamon colour. The towel was warm when it brushed at my skin, and Harry himself even warmer as he wrapped me up in cotton. I slipped the extra part inside the ledge the towel created against me upon my chest, feeling Harry's firm hands drop to my waist.

He squeezed me, our eyes gazing into each other's. I lifted on the soles of my feet and put my arms around his neck. I squeezed him, ushering him to wrap his hands, and arms, further to surround my entire lithe form. I went to meet him with a kiss and halted, seeing him starting to meet me, too. We made a laugh in tandem, tilting our heads to their opposite sides and meshed out noses together. He kissed me softly, and I as well, letting our lips merely sit upon its equal.

When we released, I mimicked Lennon's voice in repeating to Harry, our eyes still settled on each other and me on the tips of my toes, “Love is all you need.”

Harry fell into McCartney's role, saying back, “Love is all you need.”

I tapped the tip-top of Harry's nose, leaving his neck with my right arm to do so with my right hand, smiling with him as I said in sing-song, “Love is all you need.”

I had to hang onto his shoulder with my right hand as Harry lifted me straight off the plush rug with a kiss, his vocal muttered but continuing our lengthy stanza of, “Love is all you need.”

Giggling, our noses pushing against one another's, I breathed into a sigh of, “Love is all you need…”

***

You'd think the white theme of our private villa would become over-bearing amidst the lighting of the sun. But, it was more different than I thought. How they built the house that sat nearly in the center of the island, the sun could never make it inside unless directed in those advantageous points of the home. Only in the early morning or at dusk did we see the sunlight, and then the home was most beautiful.

At dawn and at dusk this sepia-like colour basked itself throughout.

The sun was setting. We had slept in, staying in or around the bedroom almost the entire day. I made us something to eat, a little throwback to his love of combining favorite foods of white, peppered gravy and sausage atop a heaping of mashed potatoes. Being a stickler of vegetables, I prepared steamed broccoli on the side all the while Harry complained about me at the door:

“You're on vacation,” he said, propping himself on the ledge of the door frame. His eyes followed me about the kitchen, going to and from the stove over to one of the coolest contraptions I'd ever saw, a food reciprocator or something that could be compared to a vanishing cabinet that sent us our rations and their beverages. Write what we wanted on a list beside the cabinet, have the cabinet closed, open the cabinet after a few seconds and there it was—wrapped and everything. Nothing pre-prepared, but I wouldn't want that anyway; I wanted to fix Harry his meals and vice versa.

I glanced at him quick, but returned to rummaging inside a utensil drawer. “And, you're not?” I retorted.

“Baby, I can do thi—“ I noticed him coming in behind me from my side and I hastily stretched my hand out to him, finger pointing back behind him.

“No. No, you're not,” I said it with governing weight, something that made Harry stop in his tracks. “I'll bring it to you on the sofa. I'm quite capable of fixing your dinner. Now—“

I'd pulled out a big wooden spoon and began stirring the gravy. “Go rest, I said.”

“Yes. Ma'am.” He blew a raspberry of dislike, but I wasn't going to give into my position.

I waved at him, a notion for him to turn around and go back, but saw him insist in coming over. “Harry…” I flicked the switch to decrease the heat of the stove when I felt his aura through mine.

“I'm going, I'm going…,” He stood behind me, peeking over my shoulder at my hands going from one pot to the next. He put his hands on my hips and gently rubbed up along the curve of my waist, to the underside of my arms, and back down to my hips. Curling his fingers into the black leather belt securely holding the red-and-black plaid shirt over my dark blue jeans, he nuzzled himself into the crook of my neck.

His face hid in my mahogany tresses.

I heard him smell me and I smiled, feeling him kiss me while my eyes were steady on the broccoli. I didn't want them to burn.

He then swatted my bum and left me with a, “Rawr.”

I giggled through my nose, perking up to the noise of him wondering back into the living space. The kitchen was open with a bar space facing towards the sofa and television. Harry plopped down on it and soon the television came on with one of our many movie channels tuned in.

I served Harry as I said I would on the sofa. I reclined on the side that wasn't injured, albeit to Harry saying he was, “Fine.” I still didn't want to exacerbate the injury by having any weight—even if it was light like me—on him for any length of time. We ate mostly in silence, piping in with a laugh at some absurd joke the comedian said on the television or a comment on the parallels to the plot as Austin Powers spoofed James Bond.

Harry had his left arm around me, his right handling his fork. When I finished, placing my plate on the table between us and the film, Harry had me back. He put his arm over my left shoulder and held me along my chest and down around the opposite side. I held his arm with my hands, stroking him, the sleeves on the collared shirt her wore up around his elbows. He left the top four or so buttons unfastened, moving downward from his clavicle. My collared, plaid shirt was also open, but not as unbuttoned as Harry's. My shirt lay open enough, though, for his arm to peel back the collar and lay expose my smooth skin unintentionally.

I couldn't have cared less. I loved feeling his warmness against my skin. My eyes on the screen, my head nestled in the arch created by his arm and body, I was snuggled and feeling much better than twenty-four hours ago. It was funny to realize that it only had been that long since all the stress. My knees were bent, more or less, towards my body. Harry had given me the rest of the white leather sofa to stretch out on.

Harry's heartbeat began to slowly drown the sound of the movie shown, and slowly I found myself comfortable with a full tummy and surrounded by my lovably nurturing warm Har-bear. Harry set the heel of his foot on the coffee table in front of us, relaxing himself. I think I zoned out, closing my eyes for just a second in bliss amongst the sepia-tone of the household when I felt my right hand leave Harry's arm. He had taken it carefully and kissed lightly the back of my hand, the black rubber bracelets falling towards the middle of my arm from my wrist. He kissed every one of my knuckles, atop the detail of the bone which slightly stuck out. He began kissing my fingers, the slight height of them to my fingernails.

I had envisioned when I was but a youth how it would feel to be so loved and so cared for by a man. I thought my first ruined that hopeful dream because, as they say, first impressions last a lifetime. But Harry… Harry rekindled that young girl's desire.

I could feel the engagement ring upon my finger, and the feeling felt devotedly wonderful.

I'm thankful for every day I have with him, my most passionate lover.

***

Planning in advance is sort of my forte.

That night, as we got ready for bed, I thought to change into my workout clothes for the next morning: a simple get-up of military-grade green cargos and a black sports bra. Stepping out of the lavatory after a quick brush of my hair and teeth, I saw Harry sitting on the side of the bed. How he gazed at me at first was normal. I mean, he smiles, he does a little wink that makes me sigh and smile too, but he lingered far more than that on me. As I drew closer, I had to ask as curiosity became the best of me:

“What's the matter?”

“I think--,” He paused, ironically, in thought. His eye left me for a nanosecond, but was back. “No—I know I want this—“

He pointed at the bandage over his left eye.

“I want this off.” He ended.

“But, Madam Pomfrey said to keep it on for forty-eight hours,” I had my hands on my hips. I didn't like the sound of this whatsoever. I wanted to follow the rules, and those rules protected Harry which made it my utmost importance to keep to them. “So, I—I don't think so.”

I shook my head.

“Hermione,” How he looked back at me, and how he said my name made me stop again. I was heading towards my side of the bed. “You can either help me or not. But, this thing's coming off tonight whether Madam Pomfrey, or you, like it or not. It smells and it itches like the powder in those wonky joke bombs they sell at the Weasley's magic shop.”

I made a sound of dislike.

“You're serious?”

“Deathly,” he returned, swiveling on his bum so he had more of a direct line of sight.

“And,” I sighed. “There's no way I can persuade you not?”

“Mm,” He whistled, and then made this popping noise inside his cheek. “No. It's coming off.”

“Fine, fine, fine, Harry James--,” I retraced my steps back into the lavatory to get the cleaned bowl and a washcloth. The ointment needed to be wiped away. My voice echoed in the bathroom as I called out to him in the bedroom. “I swear to Merlin if your eye gets infected later on…”

I murmured under my breath as I came back to the bed, the bowl with warm water. “Always…never fails…always gets his way…I swear to Merlin…”

Harry, on the other hand, continued his grin all the way until I sat side-saddle on the edge of the bed closest to his bandaged eye. “Hey,” he said as I dunked the cloth in the water to begin soaking. My hands were about to tend to the tape holding the bandage on.

“What?” I was perturbed, to say the least, so my voice came out a bit on the harsher side of the fence.

My eyes were upon his, and closed briefly as he kissed me.

“I love you,” he stated with confidence, his signature smile on his face. My eyes were open once more, and my ears were listening to him. He'd reawakened that attention. He kept his right eye steady on me as I went to peel the tape off the side of his face. “My eye won't become infect. Trust me. I'll keep on it and the slightest turn I'll make sure to bandage it back and put that rancid-smelling goo back on my eye. Deal?”

I felt his hand, and then his fingers scratch at my nude abdomen.

He was very good at what he did best: get his way.

I sighed the word, “…Deal,” and had the bandage off. Gently, I caressed the socket with the warm washcloth. The white cloth immediately took the yellow colour as I stroked the skin to reveal the dark hue of the bruise beneath. I wrung the cloth out and began again, making sure to be delicate as I had Harry tilt to the side to see if I'd gotten all the ointment from the nooks and crannies.

I could see him try to blink. He was persistent when I gave him the green light, a nod, my approval that it was okay to go ahead with what he had in mind.

I could tell after a short while he was getting frustrated. The eye looked less swollen and much better than ever, but the eyelid itself still didn't want to function. He moved his head down, and I saw him begin to try and pry the eyelid open manually—with his hand. This, I had to stop.

“Harry,” I started, putting my hands on his to pulling them away. “Harry, you're only going to make it worse. Stop.”

It wasn't like I wasn't there. Then again, I didn't use much of any strength to get him to stop when I tried pulling.

“Stop. Stop—stop!”

“I almost have it…,” Damn, was he hard-headed. I loved his persistence and courage, but sometimes you have to think twice and I could see him making it bleed like it had when he was brought into the hospital wing. “If only I could get—OUCH!”

“Harry!”

He shook his head from side-to-side so feverously I knew he was in pain. I didn't know what to do in that second. He was rubbing his face and shaking his head. His hair was tossing about and he made this awful groan. I think I went to…try to console him by rubbing his head, or something, but he surprised me when he suddenly stopped. And, when he did stop, he slowly gazed up at me.

He blinked, which is what I noticed first, both eyes.

He did it again, and he smiled.

I made a gasping sound of joy and clapped my hands together.

That's when I saw his eye so opposite in colour to his unaffected one: red, bloody red.

It wasn't bleeding, but the white had turned so darkly sanguine that, if it hadn't been for his jade-green iris and the darker, black pupil, I'd have guessed his entire eye had turned black. He saw me staring, and immediately said, “…Still my old handsome self?”

He tried to joke.

I didn't know to laugh or to cry.

He didn't look horrible, he was still my Harry, it was just the adding in my head that caught up to me. I added the scenarios that made this happen: his crimson eye, the bruise in its proximity, and the evident scar across the brow.

I started to tear up, rippling water flooding my vision.

My chest started to heave.

Harry caught me in a way: his arms encompassing me, my forehead against his cheek. I didn't want to cry, but couldn't help but cry. I wasn't the most emotionally stable person anymore. I think I could have taken on anything prior to a year or so ago, but now I'd be a messy, distraught ball of stress.

“Oh…Hermione, now, come on,” Harry ran his hand along my cheek to soothe me. “It's not that bad, really. Hey! At least I can see, right? Well, better with glasses…”

He took the bowl from my lap and set it on the nightstand behind me. Through tears, and stutters of breath, I made out the words, “Stop—It's not a time for joking around… This is serious!”

“Oh…,” He lifted me with him as he lay back against the bed. I had my arms around him by this point, my head buried into the crook of his neck, my chest rising and falling upon his own. He massaged my spine, against the upper and lower portions of my back, following the lines my figure created. “Look at it this way, my love,” he breathed. “I can still see. I thought for a moment there I wouldn't be able to, but miracles happen.”

His hands, his words—Harry—he had a knack for calming me down in my most of emotional states. I don't think anyone else on this earth could, not even my own folks; not like Harry, anyway. I could feel myself becoming lighter in his arms, and that I loved. I closed my eyes and smelled of him, his pumpkin pie scent richly therapeutic. My breathing evened and my chest settled.

“Yeah…,” his voice was gentle beside my ear. I believe he was gazing up at the ceiling as I rested on my left side. I couldn't see him, my face still in hiding. “Yeah… It's all going to be okay… What else did you want to do while we're here?”

I knew he was trying to change the subject, and I fell for it on purpose. “Anything if it involves being with you…,” my own voice came out in a near-whisper.

Harry laughed through his nose, his body shaking against mine for that tiny moment. “All right,” he said softly. “Sounds good to me.”

We laid in silence for a while, the lamp at his bedside keeping us illuminated. Harry continued to rub me, lulling me into my comfort zone. He startled me, having gone in-and-out of the beginnings of sleep, when he stated again so softly:

“Don't you worry about a thing… Everything's brilliant.”

I nodded my head, entangled in the reinsured safety of Harry, the tip of my nose grazing his jaw lightly.

I heard him laugh again, and I smiled, a bit of a laugh coming out of my own closed lips.

I fell into sleep beside my warm Har-bear feeling secure.

{Inspirations for the chapter: McCartney, Lennon, and the Beatles. Most, if not all, the music I listened to came off the soundtrack from their film, Magical Mystery Tour (which was the CD Hermione pulls from her collection, not named in the fiction) with most notably, “All You Need Is Love,” sung by our two. My original intention was for them to sing “Hello, Goodbye,” but I felt it had less of an impact than what I chose in the end. Also, the villa at Nirvana is an allusion to the decor of Lennon's house in his “Imagine” video. I wanted to portray clouds, the sky, their “Heaven”}

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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: Two chapters in less than a week? What?! How absurd! Being less busy in real life (while being busier soon…), I took on chapter twenty-eight. I mustn't have lost my touch, seeing 10,000+ hits for the fiction since I came back from hiatus; but, I've gotten only a handful of reviews! Someone must have something to say ;)

***

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Princess

***

“Today, Senior Defense Secretary Eaton addressed the British counsel and their constituents on the nabbing of four men suspect of being Death Eaters in Prague yesterday morning.”

“After receiving communication from the Russian Ministry body of Defensive Affairs regarding the four acused, we here at the British Ministry have proven a link to the He Who Must Not Be Name's mark above Berlin's parliament a few days ago and Moscow's mark a little over a month ago,” an older, wrinkly man with dirty blonde short hair and glasses stated beyond a podium overlooking camera shots and busy Quick Quills. “We have intercepted the men and have taken them into our custody for questioning. Unfortunately, none of them were on the Most Wanted list, but we've seen a significant decrease since taking in Number Four, Ivik Varishka. We are, without a doubt, moving at Merlin's speed to capture and question those remaining criminals and bring them to justice!”

The image switches back to a tailored suit clad male at the Wizarding News Network. The camera has him positioned perfectly in the center with people shuffling about behind him. “Minister Kingsley was quoted earlier, `I will not rest until every remaining Death Eater is sentenced under our Code of Law. These heathens are wretched beings of hate and will be dealt with swiftly for their murderous actions to our body of state and its citizins,' before jetting off to Italy where he will be meeting with top officials in Vatican City tomorrow. He will be in Rome the following day for talks with the European Union.”

Cho applauded at the television screen. “Cheers, Minister! You take it to them!”

Cho's clapping hands felt like hammers hitting the backside of my skull. I lay curled up in a ball on the other end of the sofa. I had a blanket intertwined amongst my squeezed figure, the edge of one side at the lines of my neck. A fairly large glass sat to my left. Half of its contents gone, the yellowish hue of what was still there broke off a chunk of an ice cube. The clinking noise against the glass, so slight it was, still continued to make my head throb. My eyes were in squints.

It was morning, and I was still wide awake. Cho stayed over as usual. Typically the scene would be me and Cho, somewhere, probably right here on the sofa, out sleeping. I guessed I didn't have enough to drink. I guessed I needed more. The sun tried to shine in, but I made that stop. Before bundling myself with the blanket I'd taken the curtains and pulled them to block out the light. Any light. I didn't want any light whatsoever on me. It was bad enough between Cho's talkative personality and the tube flashing colours wildly.

“…And, the galleon is losing against the Pound due to future economic scares from Dark Marks, down almost a point and a half percent. Gringotts Gold stock also decreased to their chagrin, though more and more people are saving. Other large companies like Mungo Pharmaceuticals and Orina, makers of butterbeer, fell short of what they had expected. All in all it's quite a terrible opening and it's not looking well with futures. Next, we'll transfer it over to the weather. How's it looking out there today, Joyce? Will it be brighter than this forecast?”

“Today's going to be a very pretty day. Sun across the country except for parts south where the rain will continue to shower on any plans for today.”

“Did you hear that, Gin?” I think I loved Cho's perkiness much more before she `moved in'. My eyes nearly closed to the environment's torment, I gradually turned my head to see her smiling face. “It's going to be a pretty day! We should go shopping—get out!”

I stayed like a statue.

“Remember? Walking along the streets of London, window-shopping for those cute boots, and those dresses—“

“Does it look like I want to go out?” I interrupted her sweet little attitude with a bitter retort.

Her smile faded.

It faded to a straight line like mine.

“Does it really look like I'm just ready to go right outside and play?” I spoke with thick sarcasm, and sharp. My voice grew louder when I asked again, not getting anything in response from Cho which made me angrier. “Does it fucking look like I want to shop?”

“Okay, okay!” Cho's voice met mine in tone and volume. Her eyes lit up and her face scowled. Crossing her arms, she fell back into the arm of the sofa she propped on. Her face towards the screen, she muttered, “Take a fucking pill…”

“Oh, shut up,” I responded, hearing her.

“Hey!” she flicked back at me. She put her hand on her chest, her eyes on me. “I didn't ask to be the one on the brunt end of your period, or whatever crawled up your ass!”

I closed my eyes and dropped my head back.

The pounding underneath my eyes grew.

I started to get a migraine and reached for the glass of alcohol.

“I can fucking leave if it'll help you out. You know,” She'd gotten her buttons pushed, Cho seething, drifting off the side of the sofa for me to see her better. I tried not looking at her on purpose. “Whatever helps Ginevra. Merlin knows how much shit I've had to deal with when it comes to being around you these weeks! And for what?”

“Okay, okay…,” I sighed, putting a cold palm to my temple as I drank the icy drink down. I needed to drown.

“You're such a princess!”

I put the emptied glass in my lap and rotated circles on that temple. My eyes closed still, I resumed whispering, “Okay, okay, okay…”

“Want me to leave?”

“Don't… leave,” I set the glass down and scooted on over to Cho's warm body. “Please don't leave me… You're my best friend.”

“No, Hermione's your best friend.” Cho sat back, her foot beneath her rear, and sighed as I rewrapped everything around her including my blanket. “What are we going to do with you? You cannot stay like this forever, Gin. You have to get out of this mood. Have you even tried to contact her lately? Mend the fence? You have to meet her at least halfway.”

“She doesn't want to talk to me anymore…,” I took the blanket and pulled it over my head. The darkness was welcoming. My voice muffled. “I'm a stupid idiot, an imbecile, a total freak and she doesn't want to speak to me anymore!”

I felt Cho's hand on my back before she said softly, “I'm sure that's not true. You and Hermione are like two-peas in a pod. Like sisters—“

I groaned and balled myself up in a fetal position at the word “sister”. I felt that was the stereotype, what the world wanted of me, and her, and I didn't!

“—Oops, no… You get what I'm saying,” Cho rubbed my back as she resumed after a pause. “Hermione was never the one to hold a grudge. You, on the other hand, are a diva. You've held grudges. For Merlin's sake, you utterly loathed anyone who had Harry's attention. Remember your grudge against Parvati? You hated her guts and probably wouldn't have minded someone give them to you on a silver platter when she went with him to the Yule Ball. So, don't say you've never held a grudge…”

“I'm not saying I do… But, I'm not saying I don't, either,” My voice fell from the sheet over my face. “I just want everything back the way it was…”

“It's healthy to express your feelings, Gin.”

“Healthly stupid,” I added.

“…And, I'm sure that took a lot of weight off your shoulders.”

“Bullshit.” I hid my face further into Cho by holding my hand over it. Coming from someone who never had an ounce of homosexual thought just tore me apart.

“But, you have to realize the truth, hun…”

“I don't want to hear the truth…,” The tone came out rough, and I meant what was said. I knew the truth. I didn't want someone to tell it to my face.

I heard Cho sigh. “…for whatever it's worth, you have a fiance who loves you.”

“Oh, how well do I know,” Cho had moved her hand on me, now rubbing the back of my head beneath the blanket. “…And, it was better when I was lying to myself…”

Cho stopped her rubbing. “You do love him, right?”

After a deafly pause, I replied, “Sometimes.”

“What?”

“Of course I do.”

“…Then, what was that comment about? `Lying to myself'?”

“…That I fell in love with two people…”

“Hermione is in love with Harry, Gin. They're getting married You have to see the—“

That shook me to the core.

I knew they were getting married, shagging it up on some remote island who knows where and having the time of their lives.

It pissed me off.

It pissed me off because I wanted Hermione.

Beyond anger, I pushed myself right up—fighting my migraine—and met Cho eye to eye. Before I could belt out the string of curse words that so readily wanted to drop off the tip of my tongue, I heard the door open and slam shut in the main hallway. Neville got accepted to his job at the Ministry, working in a branch appealing to Muggle studies. He knew tons about those objects so needed by Muggles that he was a significant cornerstone in assisting them in reaching out to the Muggle-world in our own way.

The Ministry wanted people to help them to fully understand the contraption called, “The World Wide Web”. The Ministry could see this as a similar contraption used in our world. It wasn't like we were daft over the subject, a tool buzzed just about anywhere you went outside of our universe. And, there was communication between the wizarding world and the Muggle-world. We didn't want to be left behind, the advent of cellular telephones and music devices so small you could travel with them piercing this side with angst from our blood.

I re-hid my face in Cho and took the sheet with me.

I heard Neville walking behind us. First he went into the kitchen. He dropped something heavy, and then something that sounded like coins hit the countertop. Several cabinets opened and closed, the refrigerator being the last door to be shut. He coughed and came closer, stepping to a closet where he took up a hanger. He mumbled something to himself. The newscast was the only sound heard for a while, Neville busy hanging something up and closing the closet door. I closed my eyes, feeling Cho's hand back on my head.

Neville coughed again into his hand and my ears perked to the fact that he was now standing in the living area, the padding of his shoes elevating and drawing nearer.

“Cho,” he said her name very calmly. So calmly that it didn't feel right.

Cho halted her massage and I heard her above me. “Yes, Neville?”

“I know you're Gin's friend and all, but I believe it's time for Gin and I to have a discussion.”

“Huh?”

How he said, “discussion,” irked me. It irked me right out of my ball and up on my seat, however slow it took me. Neville was standing behind the armrest where my toes pointed. He had his hands at the knot of his red and yellow-striped tie, undoing the box-shape and loosening the loop about his neck. His face was stern, and that drew a look of distaste on me and in my mouth.

“Alone.” He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at Cho who had shifted in her seat.

“Gin?” she asked me.

That broke something.

Something inside Neville lost it.

His eyes shot open, his body language turned aggressive, and he pointed at the door and yelled, “Out! NOW!”

“I want you out, out, OUT!” He stomped the heel of his shoe to emphasize the word.

Cho scurried up like a startled rat in a cage.

My eyes were on Cho, busy putting her slippers on from aside the sofa. My head turned back to Neville and I screamed, “Don't you fucking talk to her like that!”

“You.” He pointed at me. “I want you to be quiet.”

The alcohol teased me and my vision. The insides of my head swirled and, trying to get up quick only had me fall back down on the cushions of the sofa. I held my head, that hammer coming back to pound at my skull.

“And, I'm tired of all this fucking alcohol—“ I glanced at Neville just in time to see him seize the glass I'd been drinking out of and throw it against the wall. It shattered into a billion pieces, scattering everywhere. “—BULLSHIT!”

My adrenaline started to rise.

The adrenaline of a red-head.

“Quit… Fucking… YELLING!!” My voice louder at the tail-end, I shot back at him. “MY HEAD IS ON FUCKING FIRE, ASS!!”

“Gin!” I heard Cho from behind me. She was almost gone, a wall of the hallway covering her as she peeked out from the side. “My door will be open, hun!”

Neville stomped around in front of me and took the empty whiskey bottle and threw it at Cho who dashed out of sight. The bottle burst into what looked like powdered flakes of crystal blowing into the house.

“I'm tired of seeing you, every, single fucking day—“ Neville took the entire coffee table with Cho's cup and another half-emptied bottle of gin still sitting on top and tossed it over onto the floor. The gin gushed into a pool on the stained wood floor. “Every. Fucking. DAY!”

“That's right,” I laughed at him mockingly. “Tear the whole GOD DAMN HOUSE UP!”

My throat felt like it bled, my voice scratching the skin of my esophagus.

“IT'S NOT LIKE WE HAVE TO FUCKING LIVE HERE!!” I concluded, screeching.

We stared at each other in a split second, fire burning in both our eyes, our mouths a tight line, before he was gone.

Neville left me for the kitchen where I heard the cabinets fly open. I went to get up and run, to follow, stepping over the glass to see him sling one bottle after the other into the sink. Each of them crashed into a bazillion pieces. Some he threw in so hard that the glass actually bounced on top of the counter and onto the floor at his feet.

“I don't ever want to see another alcoholic drink in your hand,” he said this fast with his back turned against me.

I stood in the entryway looking in, having to hold onto the side of the door to balance my equilibrium.

“I don't want another fucking bottle in this house ever again, or I swear to Merlin I'll—“

“You'll do nothing because this is what I want to do!”

Neville turned to me this time. He'd taken half the liquor cabinet out.

“THE HELL YOU WILL!!”

“Don't touch anything else!” I started in, stumbling forward and grasped the top of the counter. He didn't push me, but he took his strength and moved me from around the cabinet.

“I'm doing this for your OWN GOD DAMN GOOD!”

“These are my drinks!” I annunciated “my” within a long slur. “I BOUGHT THESE WITH MY MONEY!!”

“And you're going to die if this keeps up! Now,” He held me back firm and looked me straight in the eye. “Get upstairs and lay down while I clean all this shit up!”

“MOVE!” I pushed all my weight into him and made him shuffle backward.

I grabbed the largest bottle I saw. I couldn't get away quick enough before Neville had me in his arms and fought the bottle out of my grasp. I clawed him as he took it. My nails punctured his skin, drawing blood where I slashed at his arms. He made a sharp gasp from his lips as I gave him pain, shaking me away and throwing the bottle into the sink.

I'd stumbled backward and hit the wall.

I watched it shatter, the clear liquid going down the drain.

The house fumed with the remains of alcohol.

My eyes kept on the liquid, swirling and twirling, until it was no more.

I felt suddenly alone, Neville dissolving my last moment of respite from me.

I came at him with my fists. Being in a house full of boys, they taught me how to defend myself alongside defending my turf from them. The sight of my enemy, Neville, swished to one side where I went to punch him. He grabbed my arm and held me tight. I tried to hit him with the other, but he grabbed that one as well. I tried to knee him, making these animalistic grunts, feeling tears cross my cheeks. He tackled me to the ground, understanding where any glass had fallen on the floor. He didn't want to cut me.

I fought him even from down there.

Through fits of tears, my legs trying to channel enough strength to kick him, I cursed him. I cursed him loudly.

“Why?!” I screamed out in tantrum after using up every curse in the book, having made up some in the process to tell him where he could go. “Why?! I didn't do anything to deserve this!!”

“You loved me,” he responded coolly, keeping me flat on the floor. He kept me from attacking him.

“This isn't how you treat someone you love!!” I yelled at him, twisting my head around and coughing through tears.

“It is when I see the one person I love treating themselves wrongly. You're on a right path to death and you're not dying on me. You don't eat and all you do is stay drunk. I don't even recall you sober it's been so long.”

“You're hurting me!!”

“My heart aches, Ginny…,” I had my face squished into the floor when I felt Neville kiss the back of my head. I gritted my teeth and cried. “It's like we're two different people now… And, I don't want to lose you. I love you too damn much to lose you.”

Nothing made sense.

This was a thematic, the pattern of my new life.

Ripples of images flashed through my mind like a roll of film celluloid turning on a reel. First of Neville, the man I was proposed to on the day he proposed to me. He got down on one knee in the middle of a family get-together at the Burrow and asked for my hand in marriage. Then, Hermione's sweet, lovable smile tore the scene. The tear wasn't a rip, more like it had been there, like one of those memories that keeps creeping into your mind throughout the day, even though that memory was of yesterday, last week, a month, a year, ten years ago.

I felt Neville kiss the top of my head again, his weight upon me.

I fell limp, probably to Neville's pleasure, my head hurting within white-hot washes of pain.

I laid there on the floor in a pooled, lukewarm mixture of my own saline and saliva.

I opened my mouth, my eyes closed, and let out this shrilled scream of sheer sadness.

I continued to weep for I didn't know how to do anything else anymore.

-->

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: I wanted to get back to the internal thoughts of Hermione. I wrote a lot like this with Harry while in his point of view, probably moreso. Reviews during that time liked the thinking and digesting aspect, so here we go.

Disclaimer - They love each other madly. They're young. They have relatively no responsibilities and they're alone. It's a perfect time to play chess, right? Checkmate. They're all over each other.

***

Chapter Twenty-Nine - Passion

***

Smelling so sweet, my nose grazed the right side of his bare back. He had somehow turned over and pulled the sheets clear off, leaving his subtly tanned skin to contrast the white of the bed. The bandage around his waist camouflaged, complementing with the decor. He lay on his stomach, his arms around his pillow. When I left him for the lavatory I'd come back to see him like this. He had to have been healthier. If not, he'd have wakened by the induced pain caused by putting weight on his ribs.

I smiled upon seeing this.

I peck-kissed a line from his shoulder across to the other, leaning into his own indentation less obvious than my own. His was more or less a curve where mine was a symmetrical separation of feminine muscle. I smushed my nose into his back and wrapped my left arm around him, having side-sat with my feet off the ledge of the bed. Caressing his neck, moving the chaos of black not impeding my adventure amongst Harry, I heard him stir.

I leaned down on my side, the cool of the sheet arousing the exposed skin of my abdomen, and watched him come to however slight. He didn't so much as lift an appendage, just twisting a bit to blinking, adjusting to the soft light of morning. I kissed his jaw when it came into view, and then his cheek, his chin, the tip of his nose, and ending with a kiss on his lips. I stayed in the same position after our release, covering Harry with my warmth as I stroked my fingers within his messy nest.

“…What did I do to deserve this treatment?” He asked with his eyes closed. He had on a sleepy smile.

With my nose near his, I replied quietly, “Everything.”

“That's a lot,” he laughed a little through his nose and I couldn't help but grin. “I should do more of `everything'.”

I kissed him, giggling lightly as I did. “Mm… You're terrible.”

I smelled the newly revealed skin of his throat as I added in question, “How's your eye this morning?”

He yawned and I slowed down the combing of his hair while he stretched himself before speaking, “It doesn't hurt at all. So, that's good.”

“I agree,” I smiled, caressing his throat. “I see it hasn't closed back.”

The eye was still blood-red, the bruise still there, but the eyelid functioned normally while he looked at me.

“It's chilly, baby,” He put his hands on me. There weren't any goosebumps before, but at this touch my backside became covered in them. I shivered. “Come back to bed.”

“It gets better once you're about,” I said, kissing him one more time before lifting onto my rear. My eyes gazed down at him, his head squished into the pillow, his eyes shut. He yawned again and I knew he was better off remaining in sleep. I guessed it was the last dose of medicine.

I traced the muscular lines of Harry's back leisurely as I watched him depart to silence.

I thought he'd left me for sleep, not perturbed at any rate for he needed it. When I scooted to leave by bedside he spoke up to my surprise.

“What are you up to?” He cleared his throat halfway.

“I was thinking about wandering down to the beach. Have a jog just down there,” I pointed beyond our window at the crashing waves and white sand, but Harry didn't move. He was quite comfortable where he was in the bed. “I'll only be but a few. Get some rest. I'll be right back.”

“Do you want me to come with you…?” His voice faltered at the end.

I replied with a short, “No, Love. It'll be a light, quick jog.”

I waited for something from him, but he remained stationary. I sat there for a few minutes and asked after the time passed, “Harry?”

I whispered.

I thought he'd went back to sleep.

And, my feeling was right when he didn't respond in that next minute.

Tiptoeing out of the bedroom, I left him with a delicate shut of the door. He left me with a snore, something that made my lip curl in a smirk as I watched myself quietly unwind my fingers from the doorknob. One flight of stairs down, I went into the kitchen to fetch the piece of bread I wanted toasted. I put a pad of peanut butter on top and ate whilst drinking cranberry juice and taking that lovable pill for my heart. My black and pink-rubber sole tennis shoes tapped the carpet with an absence of sound, a route to a sliding glass door to the outside balcony.

I had to make my way across the white-wooden pool deck built alongside the villa. They had chairs set out for us and a table with a parasol propped in the center for shade. Though, if used today, we wouldn't have needed it; at least, not right now. The sky hadn't turned that vibrant blue, morning cirrus clouds in wisps. The sun rose, but was blocked out besides some breaks in overcast. It made the beach that more surreal, the colour of the sand absorbing that grayish saturation of the sky. It also gave my eyes a wonderful break for if it were light the shine from the beach sand would be blinding.

Starting when my feet hit the yielding earth from pebblestone, a fenced pathway from the home ensuring I'd arrive without fall, I began to run. With my arms bent at the elbow and close to the hourglass curve of my sides, the toes of my tennis shoes pushed gusts of sand in my wake.

I started to think, and as I realized my thoughts I was reminded of Harry and how he told me about his running routine. We'd grown so similar. He'd taken on parts of my personality and parts of me for his own, and I took parts of his personality and parts of him for me. I wondered if this was what being together for the rest of our lives was all about. Not that I hadn't thought of any of this before, but as time grew closer to the exchanging of my engagement ring for the wedded-type I realized more and more on just how close we had gotten.

We were close at Hogwarts. Some people might have thought we were scary-close. Harry was my best friend. That sounds like playing favorite with another character apart of our trio, and Ginny too, but Harry was unlike anyone I ever knew in my life. He could match me on any level. I think that's what truly set me off on the route up until now. We were so alike in many ways, and whichever part of ourselves we lacked the other assisted in making up for it.

We might have butted heads, but it was never anything like those others. Mostly, I'd be the one getting onto him much like I'd been getting onto him recently. He always had a knack for over-doing. His body could only take so much before it gave out and he was psychologically and physically thinned from the start. I saw this year after year, and it was all I could do to watch his back.

The night Ron left us in a huff and we danced together in the tent really threw me in a loop. I mean, he'd been so tied up with Ginny that I thought he had no interest in me. I feigned disapproval, or however he took it, when I stopped. Believe me, I wanted it to go on. I wanted him to take me in his arms like he does now with me every night. But, I also over-thought, a ruse of my personality and fought the very nerve that wanted him to take me. With all our emotions on high, I thought he wasn't honest…or something. I wanted to know, genuinely know, he wanted me like I wanted him. It was all very much a blur.

The letters he began to send me after all had settled down proved to me he wanted more. He wanted me more than just the girl next door, plain Jane Granger. He wanted me as his best friend for life, his partner in crime, forever. I don't know why I was so hesitant for him to make love with me. Well, as I'm certain, I'm sure it had to do with Ron—but, in retrospect, Harry was Harry. He wasn't Ron. He'll never be Ronald.

My name will never be Hermione Jane Weasley.

I thumbed at the engagement ring on my finger.

I smiled as I breathed in the salty-sweet air.

My name will be Hermione Jane Potter.

Misses Hermione Jane Potter.

Misses Potter.

If it wasn't enough how close we'd been linked in Life, being sewn practically to the hip, our initials were going to be the same:

HJP and HJP.

I'd love to see those carved into a tree…if it didn't actually hurt the tree.

I'd made my way running to where I wanted to stop. I didn't want to get out of view of the villa in case Harry wanted to see me. I halted my feet, swirled around and took off in the opposite direction. My shoes made prints backwards atop the ones already there. I could feel my lungs grow, the air fresh with just a hint of dew. I could feel the tiny bit of humidity as it brushed the unclothed parts of me, namely the breadth of my tummy. I had an equal number of square and rectangular pockets on my pants, going down one leg and up its twin. The weight of the military-green bottoms shook on my thin figure, a black leather belt holding the brim secure on my hips. Parts of the pants, laces and small belt buckles, clinked on the metal rivets placed sporadically upon the pockets as my legs moved at their steady rate. I'd put a black scrunchie in my hair, the ponytail bouncing as my body did on the evened sands.

I'm happy that my parents were so approving of Harry. They'd met him before, at times, but never as anything but “a friend”. They never really met him for a length of time, either. I think the longest they chatted was when we all got together at Lockhart's book signing—if you consider a two minute meet-and-greet “chatting”.

Although, my loving father did give me a heart attack when he put on that…exciting…show for me, Harry and mum. I guess it was better than him finding a gun and announcing he'd have none of this. They trust my judgment…beyond Ronald, who my father would like to have a nice man-to-boy chat with, and saw Harry as I see Harry. They saw that invisible string, the inescapable attachment of ours when people saw us together. I believe we intimidate many of our friends, and even strangers, by how we move as one.

When I read all this rhetoric in the papers I know it's just that: nonsense. It's frightening for people, for some reason or another, when they sense this sixth sense of those who have grown so close it's like a single entity with four feet. Rita scathingly hated Harry before this, scared I reckoned of how humble he was about his presence in society. Now, she had a larger force to deal with and she wanted us to be torn down.

Sad for her efforts, it's just not going to happen.

I smiled when I heard Harry's voice in my head repeat the words, “Pathetic woman”.

I swiveled, turning my body back towards the other way and jogged back the line when I thought I'd gotten from the villa's glass wall-windows.

I want a child. I want to give Harry a child. I want that purest of things only two people can share with the world in light of love. Harry knew I wanted one: a little raven-haired boy with green eyes.

Yes, a little boy who resembles so much of my Harry.

I didn't commonly bring the subject up. I did like to tease Harry, for I knew Harry didn't want a child anytime soon. I didn't want one until for at least five years, maybe ten. I liked our lifestyle now. We were two smart, intelligent young people…with a ton of hormones to work out. I didn't want anything to change that because, and I'm not at all ashamed to say it, fucking Harry is…

I closed my eyes, the wind I created while running tossing strands that tickled my ears.

I grinned so wickedly I knew if Harry were around he would know my thoughts were headed for the gutter.

He is a man that knows what to do. Grab me, and pull me, and push me in such a way… So prim and so proper, with a tie on, and “Yes Sir” and “No Sir”…so incredibly gifted with brains and common sense…so devishly sexy with a nicely toned, tanned body…

I could taste him in my mouth.

I had to shake my head from side-to-side to keep my attention on jogging and not falling flat on my face.

He knows me.

He knows me, and that's crazily sexy.

If I'm in one mood or the next, or if I want him animalistic and rough, or tender and romantic…

I let some pent-up laughter out at myself and how my body began to respond to all these…thoughts.

I cleared my mind and took up a clean slate.

Five or ten years down the road, sure. Harry in a secure job, me in one too, even though Harry always says for me to never worry about money… Then, we'd have one. A family to call our own. Seeing little Harry Jr. off to Hogwarts with his little carrying case and robes, an owl of course, maybe a cat, with a bright, shining face peeking out of the window, waving at us in dimpled smiles. Harry wrapped around me as we stand watching the Hogwarts Express take our own on his Life's adventure… Maybe he'd meet some know-it-all on the way there?

I couldn't escape the ear-to-ear grin, seeing myself twenty years my age read a letter stating, “I met this bossy, bushy-haired girl on the train—“

“Hermione!”

I heard that.

Or, did I?

I slowed down the pace of my jog and looked back at the villa. Closing in on the other end of the path I chose, I wasn't near the pebblestone walkway. I turned around and started back.

“Hermione!”

I heard my name echo, and as I came closer to where I started I saw Harry. He stood at the balcony of the pool deck. He had something across himself, but I couldn't quite make it out even through squinting. He needn't call my name again as I heard the concern in the sound of my name.

“Harry!” I cried out, waving my hand to motion where I was.

He saw me at the beginnings of the beach between the fence and the sparse shrubbery lining bordering the sand. He instantly came down the steps of pebblestone in a hurry. My face quizzical, I stood planted with a hand on my hip, steadying my breath from the run. He hustled, the object across him billowing in the wind that picked up. It blew hair in my face to which I flicked away, my hand over my eyes to see him, the sun breeching a hole in the clouds.

“You scared me half to death,” he said in haste when he was on the final steps. One of our Gryffindor quilts hung about his neck, covering a bare chest which would peek out beneath when the wind would blow again. He was at me when he stated, “I woke up and you weren't beside me.”

He embraced me as if he hadn't embraced me in years.

With the quilt now surrounding me, like his arms, I breathed in the warmth of his skin as I said back, gazing at him, “I told you where I was going when you asked. I wasn't going far, just down here.”

“You could have drowned in the ocean!”

“Would I be dumb enough to swim in the ocean right now when it's frigid? And, why would I be swimming without you, anyway? Come now…”

“That doesn't matter,” He sighed, his heightened emotions turning a hundred eighty degrees along with the worry in his voice. “Was I half asleep when you asked?”

“I thought you were conscious enough to understand me.”

“You know how I sometimes talk in my sleep,” he laughed a little, shaking against me in the process. He kissed me and continued gazing at me after release. “I woke up and all I knew was that you weren't beside me in bed, and when I started checking the rooms of the house you weren't anywhere to be found.”

“I'm sorry,” I kissed him briefly with my apology. “I'll make doubly sure to check if you're awake next time or write a note.”

“Knock me over my head if you have to—anything.”

I made a face. “Or not. I'm not going to hit you.”

“You know what I mean,” he said, eyes rolling.

I giggled. “I know.”

He took me by the hand and walked me with him just beyond the pebbled path, drawing nearer to the ocean and the horizon. “You were running?” he asked.

“Mhmm,” I traipsed happily behind him, beside him. “Doctor's orders…unlike some people who shall not be named…”

I heard him chuckle from in front of me before having me step forward, switching places. Tucking strands of loose, blowing hair from tickling my cheek, I observed him bend down and softly sit on the white sand below. He opened the quilt, stretching his arms its length, and ushered me with a nod to follow him in sitting. I lowered, leaning towards him and twisting into a fall gently between his legs. With my back against his front he pulled the Gryffindor quilt, the embroidered lion roaring ferociously as it always had, around me to block out the bursts of wind.

I leaned back into his arms, his beautiful, strong, safe arms. I scooted until I felt his body aligned with mine and sighed within our constructed igloo. I looked beyond the water, at the orange sun appearing every-so-often between cracks in the clouds. I smelled the immediate cling of pumpkin scent on me and smiled comfortably. Lying in the crook of his body, I was the happiest girl in world.

My head parallel with his an inch in front of him, my hair flailing on his shoulder, he smiled and kissed me. I closed my eyes and met his tongue, savoring the taste that was my fiance. We gently left each other, to stare, only to restart the kiss. My head fell to the side, and Harry's did too. I licked him from within his mouth. I felt his lips curl and I knew he was grinning.

I felt his hands on the small width of my naked abdomen.

I felt his knees through the cotton fabric of his sleep pants.

I felt his hands slide easily north, merely brushing my skin so sensitive now to his lightest of touch.

My hands slid to his thighs, squeezing them in a repeating rhythm only my body knew.

Both hands curved at the band between his thumb and index fingers, mimicking the rounded curve of my breast. He let his hands rest, teasing me, and he knew it. He knew it from the way my body responded, arching when he held me just below. A stirring rose, a pulsating wash of heat transferring to the place between my thighs. I'm sure he was ready, and in thinking of Harry hardening from me and my actions made it that more difficult to contain myself.

These were the hormones I didn't want spoiled. I'd become addicted to this feeling of Harry. I didn't think we'd lose it, but I just wanted all of him now.

After painful, playful seconds of his teases I finally removed my grip of his thighs and pushed his hands from beneath my breasts. I placed them where they needed to be. Harry left our kiss for a moment, to smile as I did, giving my breasts the well-deserved squeeze they wanted before swooping back into another warm kiss. My back lessened the arch, having him hold me as if the two objects in his hands were the most fragile artefacts in the world. He squeezed me that one time, my hands following them on top, and held me thereafter. His thumbs would gently graze the points left without imagination, my nipples hardened from excitement.

He squeezed me again, and I would have had him peel off my sports bra hadn't he confused the process of my thought. He'd taken his hands from my breasts and began sliding them back down, leaving my hands to his command.

I felt my hands descending by him. His tongue tickled the underside of mine. I let out a moan of pleasure between breaths. I felt Harry slow down to a stop on my tummy, but didn't realize he'd done so, electric charges running lengths to the ends of everything inside me. He slid his hands up, but proceeded back down only to stop again. This time he released his kiss and laughed. I scrunched my nose at his expression, bewildered by this new…approach on things. I didn't like it and wanted his mouth back.

“What's wrong?” I asked when he just continued to smile into my eyes.

“Your stomach,” he kissed me cheek and left me to look me back in my eyes.

I cocked a brow. “…I'm not follow—“

I heard my tummy rumble.

Err…

Harry quirked his face into that snaky smirk and caressed the side of my forehead. “Did you eat anything?”

“Some toast and peanut butter,” I replied. I tried to hide the fact that I was hungry, to go back to the previous, but Harry's questioned spurred the growth of another rumble from inside.

From somewhere within me I sighed.

“Come on…,” Harry started up off the beach, dragging the quilt along with him.

I didn't move, exposed back to the atmosphere.

I stared up at him as if I were a child about to throw a tantrum.

My toy was being taken away.

I pouted my bottom lip.

Harry reached out to me. “Time to feed `Mione.”

“What if I said I wasn't really hungry?” I huffed, taking his hand which led to being pulled up from the ground.

“Mm…,” He shuffled around so I led the way and wrapped us back in the quilt as we walked off toward the pebblestone. “Then I'd have to ask what you wanted to eat.”

Darting my hand out to his side, I lightly tickled him.

He jumped alongside me.

I smiled, his body tight to mine.

“I have to feed you,” he caressed the top of my head. “To keep you energized for our…playtime.”

I smirked.

“Playtime,” I said back softly.

“Playtime…” he said back just as soft, wrapping his arms around me in a way that crisscrossed my breasts.

I was sure he'd done it on purpose.

“So,” he began innocently. “What's on the menu for this morning?”

An evil thought ran through my head, and I laughed aloud, my eyes glancing at the steps we walked towards the pool and the villa.

“What?” he asked, obviously unaware at my scheme.

I laughed again, smiling all the way through the word, “Eggs.”

He didn't have to think but a second to connect the pun.

He rolled his eyes and I bumped my ass against his groin.

He bumped me back from behind, having me gasp within the smile.

“Eggs it is!”

***

I found myself doing the very same thing I had chided Harry for yesterday.

I just couldn't stand not being around him. I loved him with the very being of my existence, however cliche that might sound. I mean, everything that he'd been through. He could have been easily in a wheel chair, hospitalized, laying somewhere in a coma or worse… Seeing him standing in the kitchen, the wrappings still about his chest, his left eye's bruise not fading how I wanted it to be, and that eye which I feared would forever be that red colour. All I wanted to do was help, and I guessed in helping… I didn't know. I thought I was a good person. Harry is a good person, too, and all that ever seems to happen surrounding us is horrible.

All we wanted to do was live and bring something wonderful into this shaded journey.

The sun had broken through the overcast. I had broken my own “rule” and harassed my dear lover while he stubbornly fixed breakfast. Inside the joke, he delivered the eggs—scrambled with toast and jam, and some leftover sausage. I had my arms around him, standing behind him, walking with him when he served the two plates at the table. He shifted his chair over when I sat down, closing in on me to keep ourselves connected at the hip.

I lightly lay on his side as we ate, talking small talk about nothing in particular. No Prophet, no Hogwarts, no people—just us. I watched him eat, and breathe, and swallow, the small things people take for granted. I kissed his shoulder while he discussed something about a newly designed broomstick. I let my mouth linger the caress, loving how casual the kiss was and how he smiled whilst talking in acceptance. I let the bridge of my nose, the philtrum and my upper lip push into his taut, smooth skin. I kissed him there again and lifted, taking in another bite of toast as I listened to his story attentively.

I made him get back to bed. Another spot of role-reversal from yesterday. He groaned in dislike, but all the medicine continued to work from its two day period. I could see it in the dark bags beneath his eyes that he was deprived. I cleaned up, removing our plates, silverware and glasses to the sink where I washed and placed them in their proper cabinet regions.

With a light step, I traveled, ascending to the second floor and into the opened door of our master bedroom. I found Harry where I knew I would in a pile of sheets. He faced where I would be sleeping, turned away from the door. Noiselessly the pads of my feet went first to the closet, the dresser, combining apparel before heading to the lavatory to redress out of my workout wear. A shirt I thought was cute, and ravishingly sexy, I slipped on. Its neckline draped, cut into a V-shape and was a bit on the revealing side if I were to be in public. Sheer and sleeveless, it still gave way to leaving parts without needed imagination as one could see an open cleavage by a plunging neckline.

I slipped on signature dark blue jeans bought torn at the knees and thigh. Gazing into the mirror, I ruffled the strands of my hair after removing the scrunchie. I'd take my hands and comb from the inside of my hair, near my neck, and out, trying to make the shape fuller. Locks curled and fell above and behind my shoulders, falling into the opened portion of my shirt and all over. From the pale of my skin, and the white shirt, my hair which was cinnamon-mahogany really looked black in comparison. I dropped the clothes in the clothes bin and stepped out from the lavatory.

Harry hadn't changed, his arms holding the pillow he slept on. I could faintly see the curved lines his back muscles made beneath his skin whilst he lay on his abdomen. He looked rather peaceful with a hint of a smirk on his face, and as I drew towards the bed I stopped. I thought a moment, about how I'd wake his peaceful slumber, and decided to side-step from the master bedroom.

I left the door open, but moved it a smidgen so he'd know I'd been in there if he'd come for me.

I wasn't going outside.

I quietly came back into the den and fell onto the leather sofa. Stretching myself out, I laid in silence a beat before scrounging for the remote control behind my head. I used my sense of touch, my fingers bumping the lamp on a table before I took hold of the television control and turned it on. I didn't have to search long, my geek-sense reading, Star Wars: Episode IV - A New Hope. My thumb hit the enter button before my brain hadn't even a chance to take in the stimuli.

If an individual didn't know I was, well, a complete nerd, then they really didn't know much about me.

I'm pretty much Queen Nerd of the universe.

And if watching Star Wars for a bazillionth time wasn't enough evidence to bring that to fact, I found my portable Gameboy system and put in Zelda.

Yep… Pretty much.

I didn't care what anyone says—I love it.

I had the volume low, Luke's voice barely audible, not wanting to wake up Harry a floor above. I kept the volume off my handheld, lounging in bliss with my many different loves around me.

I'd been utterly caught up with my full attention to the tiny screen and getting Link to push a block here, and push a block there, trying to get around this annoying puzzle to get to the boss of the dungeon that I didn't hear footsteps. I saw Harry wander down the final steps to the ground floor and peered from the game. Sitting straight up, the Gameboy in my lap, I asked him as I watched him rub sleep from his eyes, “Did I wake you?”

He didn't make a sound, squinting at me through mid-day's light surrounding the villa.

He came right up to me, glancing at the television screen to see what I had on. I glanced to, from him to the tube and back, before realizing he'd gotten the control.

“You've seen this before I assume?” he questioned, peeking at me from R2-D2's beeping.

“Yes…,” my answer came out slow for I couldn't quite grasp any obvious concept. It wasn't like Harry to just barge his way in and interrupt like he owned the place, so I waited for him like a move in chess.

He paused the film, Luke's face stopped in mid-discussion with Han, and dropped the remote on the sofa.

“Hey!” I'd been thrown into confusion. My eyes were lit and flicked from him stretching, to the halted shot on television, and then Harry picking me up. He didn't do it carefully, throwing me over his shoulder. He held me on my bum as he started back towards the staircase.

“I was watching that!” Although, I didn't intend to care after he tossed me over his shoulder. I did note he must be feeling much better if he could jerk me around like that.

He smacked my buttocks.

“Shh,” he hushed me. “It's intermission.”

I smirked.

“You're tired,” he stated, maneuvering us upward.

“Am not.” I retorted playfully defiant.

“Well, I am,” he slapped my bum again making this sharp sound reverberate on the walls. I let out a tiny, `Eep!' “So, I need my security blanket or I'll never get to sleep.”

We were inside the bedroom, at the door where he took his bare foot and shut it behind. I'd closed up the system still in my hands and dropped it on a side-table as he strolled over to the bed. Zelda could wait to be rescued.

He patted my rear before he set me on the bed with a bounce and slid on in behind me. I giggled as he chased me to my usual side of the mattress, a quirky, yet maddening grin on his face. He mimicked like he was out to get me, and grabbed me, pulling me to him as I wound myself around him wanting to be taken. He laughed and he kissed me, watching one another as those lights frolicked in our eyes.

His strong arms held me to him, burying his face into my chest, my hair in a mess on the pillow.

I smiled, closed my eyes, and held Harry, my teddy bear.

His blanket.

***

I'm the one that fidgets in bed.

Harry is the one who keeps up with me.

I don't do it on purpose, especially when I'll accidentally kick him.

Harry, on the other hand, thinks it's adorable…even when I kick him.

Men.

I don't know how I ended up on my front against the bed. I remembered lying on my side with Harry cradled in my arms. Now, as his movement woke me slightly, Harry was wrapped around me.

I didn't really look over to see what he was doing. Maybe he had to use the toilet. Maybe he had to go get a drink of water. He wasn't leaving me, I assured myself, for he was the one who dragged me back in here. I felt him, though; rather, I felt the bed rise and fall to his weight. I think I blinked once, seeing him covered in brilliant daylight, but resumed my snooze.

I hadn't made it anywhere back into twilight before feeling his hand on me, rubbing me, massaging my backside as it pointed toward the ceiling. Snug in the sheets, he pried them from me, shifting and arousing me further. I yawned, an eye opening to observe his naked torso fully exposed. He was on his side, his hand having gone up onto my shoulder where he firmly pushed his digits. I made a sigh, smiled, and lay happily watching him on the pillow.

All of this happened in minutes. It was a short, quick rub into slipping away. He left my line of sight, even in my peripherals I couldn't see him until I felt him again. But, this time, he had straddled close to my rear, having pulled the sheets off.

I felt Harry use both of his hands, gathering them at my lower back and ascending the arch to the upper reaches. He circled, sliding opposite directions when he got to my shoulders and down he went again. With just enough grip he repeated the same heart-shaped figure north and south, nerves tingling beneath the parts he touched.

His hands would slowly push the fabric of my white cotton shirt up. The shirt rose until it couldn't any longer, laying on it. I could tell he needed some help. I thought I heard him chuckle, proving evidence of the struggle to continue the reveal. I sighed in smiles, rising just enough for him to slip his hands on my bare, rounded waist and push, mostly with his fingers, over my breasts. I felt the rush of air hit the unclad blades of my shoulders, setting myself back down on the cool mattress and feeling the acquired sensation of Harry's warm hands now tracing those blades.

Gently, he fell away and back where I first found him, He tugged me in that direction, making me turn with him on my side. He laid his hand just below my belly button and held me to him. I wasn't entirely awake, but very aware of the growing urges so needing to be sated from the beach. My hand sliding under his arm, I squeezed his hip and the elastic band of his sleep pants on his hip. Our bodies spooned, slightly bent, our heads positioned at equal heights. He had me turn my head, grazing a line with his palm towards my neck and making everything along the way hurry to excitement. He cradled underneath my jaw, his fingers in my hair as we kissed.

His hand fell back below my navel, relaxing on my breast along its familiar path. His hand this time, however, continued downward. Carefully, he wiggled his fingers into the tight brim of my jeans. My tummy, retracting at every act clinched when he teased the trimmed hair. I smiled into our kiss, lightly gasping and hearing him silently laugh to how my body reacted. It was an awful tease, too. He slipped out, just wanting to touch me once.

My legs danced with anxiousness, colliding with his from behind. I didn't have to wait much long as I felt him remove from the brim and slide down the stitching of the jeans. He relieved the snap and slowly moved the silvery metallic zipper down.

Stopping a moment to breathe, he caught me off guard when he pushed me back over and into the spot I originally laid in. His hands inside the edges of my jeans, he sat back beside my buttocks and shimmied them off. He laughed, as well as I, when he had a time prying them off.

I heard the sound of a subtle flop of those jeans hitting the carpeted floor. I peeked around to view Harry above me, tucking in pieces of hair behind my ear and smirked when I saw him gazing back at me. Crawling, he met my turned head and laid himself on me. He kissed me with a fevered want, but with fragility and kindness. His hands pushed into the bed beneath my arms and gently he rocked into my rear through his sleepwear.

He nipped my ear and nuzzled my neck. My eyes closed, I inhaled audibly with a grin. I laid my head down on the pillow, Harry sifting through those locks to get at my neck. I felt him nibble, and then lightly bite at the crook of my neck before biting with the same strength my shoulder. I felt the bed jerk by Harry, unbeknownst to what he was doing, ravished in the pleasure I received above.

I moaned when he touched me through my boy shorts. He put the flat of his hand between my thighs and held me there, rubbing a finger along the one line so readily created. I quickly gasped once when I felt him push lightly into me with his middle finger. He stifled that moan with an eager kiss, twisting to him to lick his tongue.

He removed his warm mouth too soon. With my eyes still closed, and the haste he'd done, he left me kissing the air. My eyes lazily opened only to be shut again the second after. He slid into me, his erection forcing the crotch of my panties aside.

I arched my back and felt his chest beside me. His arms, his hands open, his fingers rigidly balanced himself on the bed. I could feel his forearms, the bicep muscles. He had me inside the pocket his body composed. I tried to mimic him, pushing myself off the bed and balancing like he did, but succumbed to buckling the moment he picked a hastier pace.

I wanted to moan, but couldn't. My mouth formed the O-shape, but nothing came out. He smacked against me, the distance he traveled small as he laid atop. I felt him pressing my spot, his hips gyrating, his thighs together with mine. I tried to get up again and succeeded where I had failed. I braced the bed on my elbows.

I felt his warm chest on my back, heard his sighing, the short breaths he made as he fucked me. I tilted my head back on his shoulder, the side of it brushing the underside of his jaw and bit my bottom lip. My eyes were shut, mouth gaping with sounds unlike a normal Hermione coming out. I said something. It could have been the word, “Yeah!” when I felt him nail where my core melted. My fingers crushed the bed sheets. My nails punctured the material. I felt it coming and smiled, groaning when I climaxed, my body shaking alongside the heated skin of my lover.

He felt me, too. How I constricted around him while he thrust deep. He kissed me where he could, the side of my forehead, my shoulder. I heard him grunt, having to adjust from toppling back on the bed when he eased the pace, but delivered harder blows. I'd sigh when he'd thrust and pull out. Thrust and pull out. Goosebumps swarmed, the environment and us on vastly different temperatures.

I lowered my head, my curls covering much of my face like curtains. I whimpered when he pulled out on purposed, flicking around to see him with that deviled smirk before pushed back inside. I dipped my head back and moaned, feeling him spread my walls.

My elbows finally buckled and I fell face-first into the pillow. I cried out his name, my nails back digging into the bed as I felt another rush of pleasure strike at my core. I felt the spasms and rode the wave of bliss. Harry slid evenly on top, his knees pushing my knees under the sheet to spread. He wrapped his arms around me, one holding my lower abdomen while the other held secure to my breast. He made my ass rise by his rhythmic hips, my back arching to meet him. His head was above mine, even though I couldn't see it, hearing him grit his teeth and thrust those last pumps.

He grunted, kept his entire length inside me after the final push and released.

I heard myself moan, becoming aware of reality from the surreal place I had settled in. I heard my elongated, “Yes…,” my whimper, and another “Fuck…!” as Harry quickly pumped me to empty.

Tranquilized, unwinding from the sense of sexual high, I laid still and felt Harry stroke my side. He fingered those niches of my ribcage, tickling me under my arm. I controlled my shake this time, breathing in smile. I let him work me over, kneading the muscle to relaxation from their tensed state of being. Curious, I hid my hand into the tied up sheet around us and slipped between my legs. I felt my wetness, the satiate of my loins and that of my sex until I grazed his hardness with the tip of my fingers.

I knew Harry still sat inside me, but I wanted to feel him inside me. With my sense of sight gone, I needed to feel him. My cheek on the pillow, my left arm above my head cradling the pillow, I grasped lightly the inch or so of Harry outside. Like a rock, the underside of his member swelled straight, rounded lines of an engorged urethra, his sack soft as it hung. He humped when he found me feeling him, pushing my body further into the mattress. I had to hold onto his abdomen to brace myself, turning slightly to peek at him when my eyes opened from closing. I was met with his grin, grinning as well being thoroughly gratified.

Sleep settled back within my frame after our romp.

With a languid stare, a blink of the eyes, I felt Harry close in to kiss me. His left arm kept him from falling completely on me, lifting him to rest on me while his right arm paralleled my body. His right hand scooped and cupped my breast. He caressed me gently. Removing my hand from between us I laid it upon Harry's cheek whilst he lured my tongue to lap with his.

A groan settled in my throat, reveling in the increased awareness and sensitivity. I laid my head back against the pillow, eyelids shut, basking in the smell of aftersex and Harry. He pulled away the hair crowding my neck and caressed a course of faint kisses. I heard him smell me, his nose traveling the threads of my curls, kissing my head, the top, and beside my ear.

He imitated how I bent at my elbows, but slid his arms around me from underneath my pillow. When I felt something propped beside me I took a glimpse briefly to see Harry's jades peering into mine. He kissed my lips, and I snuggled securely against him.

He kept atop me while I fell back into slumber, my ever-so-perfect puzzle piece.

***

Harry initiated the munchies later on when he woke me. He'd gotten off me, lying on his side with my form curving to meet his from behind. He whispered in my ear after a little playful petting if I was hungry, what I would like. I'd grown hungry with all eager effort expressed and Harry was right on it. He fixed me some tomato soup with a chicken, lettuce, and tomato on wheat. He let me sleep while he went about the kitchen after I watched him, from the corner of my drowsy eyes, snip away the bandages on his chest. He smiled at me when they were off and deposited them in a rubbish bin on the way out.

My bare legs roamed the king-sized bed, loving how I had it all to myself. I easily fell back to sleep, hearing the faint sounds of Harry downstairs as he hadn't shut the bedroom door. He was down there for quite a while preparing, lazily waking to the sounds of his footsteps retracing upwards and into our room. I lay still on my stomach, my shirt still crowded under my arms from his massage. Slightly turning my head, following Harry when he went around to the far side of the room, I saw him pick my ripped jeans off the floor and offer them to me. I shook my head as I yawned into a grin. He tossed the jeans over his shoulder and they landed with the others in the dirty clothes bin.

He reached for me and I took his hand, lifting from the bed. He had me sit on the edge by a kiss, taking my face in his hands to do so. He smiled. I smiled, and we were off downstairs by the lead of his hand. I pulled at my panties, Harry creating a wedgie in our tussle. He looked at me askance, carrying my sandwiched plate, a bowl set beside for the soup, and chuckled a little at my adjustments. My cheeks grew hot, but I shrugged and said quietly, “Que sera, sera.”

I met him on the sofa, the television already plugged in with our favorite Nintendo cartridge ready. My pink-and-black controller sat beside where he put my plate on his left. He'd made himself a sandwich and plopped down near the right end of the sofa. I sat down alongside him on my knees, gathering a sliced half of the sandwich and observing Harry yank the coffee table closer as I munched the combination of whole wheat, chicken and veggies. I peck-kissed his cheek, making sure to wipe my mouth of any mayonnaise, and saw him smile in profile. He gathered me up as much as I'd gathered my sandwich, his left arm tightly clutching me to his bare chest. We ate together before picking up our controllers to play.

With my legs over his lap, my butt against his left thigh, I took and put a pillow under my back and relaxed, selecting Princess Peach as my driver. Harry had his forearms on my thighs, my shirt having fallen to my hips in my restful incline. He chose Mario, of course, and the game began.

It was like only yesterday when we had played this game the first time together. I'd glance at him, and he'd glance at me, and I thought about all the things that had happened since. Mind-boggling, it was, to go back through time and see those glimpses of life and death, strange occurrences, grudges, fights, the unexpected, hate, and love. He hadn't proposed to me at the time, the engagement ring band tapping lightly against the plastic of the controller. We hadn't made love or fooled around, our relationship taking off. I hadn't known about my heart and the consequences of past judgments. I hadn't known how my best girlfriend really felt about me, and the tangles that made in our lives. I hadn't worked at Hogwarts, didn't meet Xavier, Harry wasn't scarred… But, we were here through the thick and the thin. That was the light of our tunnel.

I loved him unconditionally.

He loved me to no end.

I stared at him, placing my controller in my lap, and grinned.

His eyes were on the tube, and he laughed when he drove on by me. He turned when Peach hadn't moved for I'd gone lost in him. I grabbed him, sliding my fingers in the hair coming down his neck and led him to my mouth and into a kiss. He dropped his controller, and led me backward by the weight of his lowering body. I giggled when he swatted the controller from my lap, the controller rattling when it hit the floor. He got to his knees and separated mine to lie in.

My head fell back on the pillow, my dark locks strewn everywhere, cascading from the white leather sofa.

My arms were around his neck.

His arms were around me, holding me tight to him.

I breathed a happy, satisfied sigh between our twined lips, my legs fixing themselves about Harry's waist.

***

Leading Harry out onto the pool deck, our fingers loosely intertwined, I reached out with my free hand and grasped the wooden balcony. The wind blew straight through my airy, delicate Canterbury slip. The lacey trim tickled me at mid-thigh, the satin ribbon near my bosom waving in the bit of zephyr. The cool atmosphere was met with warmth, Harry wrapping his arms around me snug while I peered out over the water towards a setting sun. The overcast of the morning faded, letting this magnificent sunset appear at the end of our day. The ocean carried the falling rays of oranges, red, and purples along its shimmering surface.

Harry's prickly five o'clock shadow roused me upon my shoulder, my shoulder and my figure shifting to the sensation with a tingle and a grin. I turned to see him looking at me as he kissed my cheek, the wind blowing those strands of hair across my face. I tucked them quickly behind my ear and placed my arms, my hands upon his on my waist. I kissed him lightly and snuggled into him while we stood.

I gazed back over the water.

“So pretty…” I sighed against him.

“You are,” he replied, kissing my neck and making me giggle.

“Harry… I meant—“ He tickled the crook of my neck, purposely brushing his stubble along the extra-sensitive skin. I giggled again, his fingers clutching the cotton white fabric of my slip. I quietly added in whisper when he let me, “…You're simply incorrigible.”

“I'll take that as a compliment,” he said in a grin, kissing me as I gazed upon him.

Bare-footed, I stayed still as I watched the sun decline further over the horizon. The purples ran deep, changing the sky darker as the orange glowing ball slowly disappeared under the ocean's horizon.

Harry said beside my ear so softly that it made a shiver run down my spine, “…Ready for bed?”

We had stood there for moments.

I could have stood there longer.

“We just woke up a few hours ago…” I rubbed his arms about me. I'd be lying if I said they didn't feel really, really good.

“…Who said we had to sleep?”

I cocked my eyebrow, my lips curling in a quirky smirk.

I had my eyes on him like he had on me.

He took his arms away from me, but I continued to stand where I was completely still.

“You have three seconds to run,” he growled.

“What?” I sort of stared at him, fixed, unable to do anything.

“One.” He began counting aloud, his eyes bright, his lips in a snarl.

I started to back away, moving towards the opened glass door.

“Two.” His voice grew louder.

My eyes grew wider, and I turned and ran.

“THREE!”

I screamed, swishing my head around to see Harry running helter-skelter behind me. I picked up my speed and laughed, jogging up the stairs, hearing Harry smack against the railing. His footsteps drew nearer, and when I got to the second level, I turned around, walking backwards to see Harry slinking on towards me like a madman.

I was quick, but he was quicker.

Before I could outrun him again he had me, picking me straight up off the floor.

I struggled without actually struggling, giggling and chuckling as he play-bit me, nibbling, gnawing at me.

He left the door open, tossed me on the bed and crawled ever-so-slowly towards my feet from the bottom.

Eyes wide, lips curled in that smirk, I watched him graze the tip of his nose along my foot, along my calf, and up along my thigh. I could feel the pattern of his breath as he traveled so casually, building up to my thigh where sparks intensified. It brought me to close my eyes, but I fought to keep them open. I had to see Harry. He blinked while he rose between me, growled within his grin and kissed me hard.

He started tickling me halfway and I had to release, laughing hysterically, trying to fight to get away.

He pulled me back under him, grabbed the sheets around us, threw it over our heads and plundered his found spoils in darkness.

{Inspirations for the chapter: Marvin Gaye - Sexual Healing? Hahaha… I'm so clever ;)}

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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: Trying an unorthodox way of storytelling, I had a few friends read and scrutinize this piece because of its Avant Garde-esque feel. I haven't read anything like this in any literature, adjoining heavy film techniques with pure text. Not sure if one can create a “musical” without a screen (derived especially from the “choreography” written), but I've tried and the people who did read it laughed at the humor and enjoyed the analogical song choices. So, here we go with something different.

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Chapter Thirty - Desire

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Long tapestry of a myriad of colour fell across the wooden floor. Behind the opaque threads of fabric a window, seemingly ten stories high, tried its best to let in the sunlight so wanting to come inside the lesson. Professor Flitwik, the short, stumpy man flittered about down below and inside the circular format of the classroom. Step upon step, a staircase of desk and chair gradually ascended to the exits at the top. I picked a seat, sitting beside Cho who sat beside Katie on my right. We were in the second row from the top with me at the aisle.

I couldn't have cared less about the teaching. My eyes never left the person I most adored nearside the single ray of light escaping from the window drapes. Flitwik cast some charm that backfired and I wasn't one to gasp, oblivious that anything but the angel lived. All mahogany locks of flowing hair. How her tassels weaved themselves amongst her shoulders, crisscrossing on her school jumper and below. She didn't notice me, and what girl would who sat aside Prince Potter?

She sat how he did, imitating nearly the slightest of breaths he took, aligned and close to the boy girl's clamored over. She did this without knowing, instinctively, like they were really meant for each other. The knot in the pit of my stomach grew as I watched them. I had my hand supporting my head, an elbow on the desk. I sighed longingly at how she livened up the room just being there.

Who really cared about Potter? I surely didn't.

I sighed, my bosom inching in and inching out to my observer's interest. I hadn't known Cho and Katie were looking at my gaze. They had followed my eye, the straight line right to Hermione, and the melancholy malaise that followed the slump of my posture.

Cho poked me with her index finger, the nail puncturing the grey cloth of my jacket.

When I didn't respond, she accidentally bumped me with her shoulder, making me tip and fall to my left. I grabbed the desk's ledge and caught myself before I could land face-first on the floor.

“What is it with you lot?” I demanded beneath a seething breath, a tad flustered.

Cho fluttered her eyelashes at me in a most mocking way.

Katie fanned herself, looking as if she were hot.

“Oh, cut it out the both of you.” They could hear the irritation coming from my lips.

“What you looking at there, Weasel?” Katie teased with a haughty accent.

“Something fancy your eye?” asked Cho in that same sort of haughty tone.

My eye wandered back from the two to Hermione who I had caught glancing at Harry. The knot within me grew.

“You know very well what I fancy…” I answered cat-like, biting the air.

“Have you told her how you felt?”

“No…” I slipped further in my slumping shoulders.

“She won't know unless you tell her, Gin.”

I couldn't take my eyes off Hermione. I felt my throat clinch, restricting, keeping me from talking. Words wanted to fall from the tip of my tongue, but my tongue ran dry. My eyes bugged out the moment I saw Cho and Katie staring from their side.

I saw Hermione glance back at me.

She smiled her smile and gave me a furtive wave.

Somehow, as I watched her turn back around, those golden brown locks dazzling in the light of the sun, I found my mouth quenched.

I spoke, my voice inside an unknown melody.

I looked back at Cho and Katie, singing, “I don't know, but I think I maybe…”

My eyes shot back at Hermione from afar, “…Falling for you, dropping so quickly…”

The unknowing harmony rose with the treble of my words. Some students around us turned and shushed me.

My eyes went to them the moment I saw them swish in their seats, their fingers over their lips to show how much they wanted me to shut up.

I purposely scaled the tune of my vocals higher, glaring at those agitated classmates, “Maybe I should keep this to myself!”

I slid easily to the aisle, descending to the following row of desks. The ones who attempted to hush me followed my form, their gaze ascending to see my hop on the long, rectangular wood. I kicked the first peer's books, the satchel slipping away and his notes sprawling the width to the next row down. Those students flipped around, watching me as I punted the next student's Charm literature to the floor, stomping on the subsequent pages of the adjacent student's text.

I heard the ruffled sound of Flitwik behind his moustache yell at me to, “Get down this instant!”

“Wait until,” My voice increased, the invisible chorus rising with me as I hopped down to the next row of the desks. “I know you better—“

My shoes left faint, dirty prints as I walked over more sheets of loose-leaf, more people's belongings with each of them hollering at me until I made it to the middle aisle.

“I am trying not to tell you,” Skipping the stairs to the floor, my eyes on Hermione who had obviously caught my attention with all my ruckus.

Flitwik got in my way, stopping me with more pointing, more angry looks.

“But, I want to,” The Professor impeded me with his dwarfed body a step before mine. I tried to close in on Hermione, and with the help of Katie and Cho, I made my move. Katie had grabbed the scruff of Flitwik's coat. Cho held his stubby legs, carrying him behind the scenes.

“I'm scared of what you'll say,” The rolls of parchment I'd kicked everywhere began to float, circling the high ceiling. “So, I'm hiding what I'm feeling—“

I jumped in front of Hermione, her cinnamon irises bedazzling within the radiance of her sun. Her lashes flashed in blink as she studied my performance, a cute, subtle smirk on her face.

Her brows rose.

“But, I'm tired of holding this inside my head!”

The window burst forth, the panes folding the curtains backward to bring a breath of flourishing fresh air. The atmosphere went sweet with the antique smell of old Hogwarts and of spring. Once the brush of earth's sigh swirled amongst us the curled parchment fluttering transmogrified into pure white doves. My Weasley red hair caught up in my face.

I smiled when Hermione smiled.

I appeared at Hermione's side, ignoring Harry who looked on with a gaping mouth of such bewilderment. I put my elbows on her desk, the grey wool material of my school jumper softly slipping as I dropped to her height. I sat with my knees on the floor and quietly sung to her, “I've been spending all my time just thinking about you.”

Hermione straightened in her chair, leaning closer to hear me.

“I don't know where to—“ I sprung up from the floor, Hermione following me with those pretty doe eyes. From the brilliant white light shot sifts of red rose petals to dance with the doves flying above our heads.

I reached my hands out to her and she took them, her touch delicate when I led her with me to stand.

“I think I'm falling for you,” I whispered to her, and only to her. Her eyes hadn't left mine whilst I stepped from the baffled onlookers, Flitwik fighting Cho and Katie in the corner of the room.

“I'm falling for you…”

“I can't stop thinking about it!” Our fingers laced together, I brought her to me. We were out on a ledge overseeing the lake from our height in one of the many towers.

The sun complimented her brunette tresses, making the darkened locks honey-coloured in the spotlight of us.

“I want you all around me!” I swiftly swiveled on my heel and took Hermione's arms so they settled about my waist. She stood behind me, my arms inclined with hers. I held her as she held me. “And, now I just can't hide it!”

“I think I'm falling for you…,” Our heads, our faces, our lips grew closer. “I'm falling for you…”

My vocal slid an octave, calming its volume.

Her lips a centimeter away, I spoke in sudden silence, the doves, the rose petals encircling us.

“Falling for—“

The bell rang, shaking me from the interlock of Hermione's eyes and arms. She took off without a word behind Harry, grabbing her books and leaving me at my desk near the exit. She was whispering to Harry, smiling so lovely to the something he replied with. I had to turn away, my stomach churning, to only see the eyes of Katie and Cho so seemingly in the know of the situation.

“Do you think I should ask her to the Yule Ball?” I said this quick within one gulp.

“Go for it!” exclaimed Katie, giddy.

“Only one way to find out!” chimed Cho, nudging me with the side of her body with a wink.

I guess I wanted to be a hunchback after slipping further into that turtle shell posture. I stretched my hands out and gripped the far edge of the desk. I sighed into saying, “…She'll never want me.”

I let everyone out first, Katie and Cho behind me when I finally stood up to exit.

Stepping out into the hallway a baseline began by the beat of my shoes hitting the floor of the corridor. I carried my books clutched to my chest and peered out. Light fell from the stained glass window panes, creating this rainbow atmosphere of the full spectrum. Students and faculty alike were cast in different shades of color depending on how where the walked.

I pushed my way through the crowd of people only to notice them looking back and staring at me.

The students parted, my eyes quickly noticing the familiarity of Dean and Oliver, even Seamus with his grey vest and Gryffindor tie.

Inside the division of people, far down the hall, I saw Hermione traipsing happily behind Harry. I could see the perky hop in her step, how her hair swayed in unison to that spritely animation. The elation, and how she hadn't notice me, stopped me in my tracks. The sea of students suddenly began stomping, their wands sparking a beat—the beating of my longing heart.

I gritted my teeth and showed them, my lips peeling back in a snarl. I took the forsaken little bow from my hair and let the flames fall over my shoulders. I threw my book aside, the school literature and parchment scattering across the floor, the heaviness landing in several thuds.

It was like we'd practiced our choreography, those students slipping around me, readying that part of me which wanted to scream. It was all I could take until it began with a snap of my fingers, my eyesight on Hermione and Harry all pleasantly pleased.

I flicked my head down, the fire that was my tresses slinging towards the floor, and back up in an even quicker crack.

I pushed the sleeves up to my elbows and slid my arms up like a hawk from my sides, dipping my head slightly back and rang out, Katie and Cho alongside me following my lead.

“How was I supposed to know?”

I took my arms, waving them from their bird-like position downward diagonally, much like the disco we'd learned from Muggle Studies. Up and down my left arm went, in line with everyone else who imitated the language, growing closer to Hermione and Harry chatting silently against a column down the hall. “That something wasn't right here?”

I felt the air on the exposed areas of my legs between my dark grey knee-high stockings and the pleats of the black skirt when I jumped. The sounds of a hundred feet clopped against the floor, the heels of our rubber soles smacking the hard stone. My Gryffindor tie loose to my neck waved with each striking gesture.

“Oh baby, baby,” As I'd go beyond the torches lining the corridor they'd erupt with a plume of smoke and fire. I swung my right arm, and then my left, connecting them together at fingertips and jerked my elbows out in halt, the lyrics and formulation of human and magical instrument resounding into affinity. “I shouldn't have let you go—“

The distinguished peppery chroma of my unfastened jumper stretched as my elbows popped outward, the white collared school shirt pulling where I'd unbuttoned the four small clear buttons underneath my throat. My tanned skin in the wash of pale Britons cued me as the point of linear perspective.

But, she didn't look at me, enraptured in the single conversation with Harry.

I belted out, reaching out to Hermione with my hands and then one atop my heart, my knees inward in my stance. In my peripherals, I saw Katie and Cho repeating the same sort of motion with all its drama. “Show me how you want it to be!”

“Tell me, baby,” I sauntered on forward, the screen of the student body encased within the spectacular colours of stained glass, darkened only when out of sight of the lighting torches. I patted my chest, my eyes carefully observing the grin of Hermione at Harry and shook my bosom. “Cause I need to know now—“

My left foot forward, and then my right, we all as a unit continued approaching the two, “All because—“

I placed my palms on my thighs, swiveled my hips in a twist as my fingers felt the ruffles of my skirt. I swished my hair to the side in a flourish of vibrant red, the fire of a nearby torch illuminating the already flame red hue of the strands as they fell. I swished my head back to the front, taking my hands from my thighs, my hips gyrating, the skirt billowing in our produced wind and wrapped my arms around me in an embrace.

“My loneliness,” Strummed the arrangement of my chords, speaking to Hermione who hadn't even turned her head at the unreal performance, or anything. “Is killing me…”

“I must confess, I still believe,” With a curve of my frame, I slithered downward by the top of my head and back up, side-stepping in display. My skirt spun with haste, my knee bending with a point of my buckled shoe and down again with my figure sideways in canter. I slipped back down, elbows up, the skirt circling again with a whoosh when I turned completely around and back again, seeing both the skirts of Katie and Cho and slacks of Oliver, Dean, and Seamus as well as the rest do the same.

“When I'm not with you,” I pointed at Hermione who still remained blind of the strange uproar at Hogwarts, and then held my head, my fingers in my hair, pulling at the threads as I sung, “I lose my mind—“

I stood with my legs slightly apart, reaching out to Hermione and screamed in sing-song, “So, give me a sign!”

I leapt, my shoes tapping, the shock of several hundred shoes tapping, too, rumbling after mine. I kept my arms near my side, only to point firmly at Hermione with my right hand, flipping Weasley-red out of my sight when my hair fell in front of my face as I did so in a maddening expression and squint.

“Hit me baby one more time!”

A thunderous sound of textbooks dropping struck in one concentrated accent, terminating quickly to utter silence. We all stayed still in our final postures until I heard Hermione laugh audibly, the annoying voice of Harry laughing too. They ran off down a connecting corridor leaving me in my breathless, heart-lost state.

A bell rang and everyone scattered, securing the belongings they dropped and rushed off around me to their destinations. Some went into classrooms for lessons while others ran off in the direction of the moving staircases.

I'd planted myself, dropping to my knees with a sigh when it was all over. Scrambling, I gathered the books and notes I'd slung on the floor together in some mish-mash of disorganization and ran off where the rest had left me for the stairwell, the smack of my heels the only noise to be heard in the end.

They were serving the most horrendous cabbage and bean soup. It was soup, I hoped, stirring the concoction that looked like I'd destroyed something inside my cauldron during Potions. A bubble of lime green popped, expulsing this odor that made me wrench. Of course, when I looked down the line of the Gryffindor table I saw Ronald lapping it up like some underfed dog.

Gross.

God, and I'm related to him…

I pushed the bowl away, what little taste buds fading as my stomach lurched from a rancid onion-like odor. Katie sat to the right of me. She busily read the Prophet and its lies, absentmindedly chomping some apple to the core. Cho sat to my left, looking in the same state of disgust as I had with a similar bowl of the soup in front of her. She held her hand over her nose and mouth and prodded the side of the bowl away.

The stuff had to be hazardous and needed to be carted away as soon as possible.

I knew exactly where Hermione would be sitting. I'd watch her from the corner of my eye come in through the Great Hall doors if I were here early and sit in the three seats reserved for our “Triumphant Trio”. Seamus, Dean, and Oliver all sat around them. It was like this clique that only a privileged few could get into by means of risking your very life. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I hadn't found the time to jump in front of a bullet and remained at bay… Or, so I told myself.

I sighed, slipping down to tabletop where my chin met my folded hands. I peeked down the line again to see Hermione leaning into Harry as they spoke. She looked at him in such a way that made my blood boil and skin crawl. I was jealous. Yes, I was jealous. I wanted Harry out of the picture. I wanted Hermione to look at me the way she was gazing at him. They breathed each other's breath for Christ's sake. God! It infuriated me. Who needs Voldemort when you have a red-headed monster meters away?

“Whatcha looking at, Weasel?” It was Cho's voice. Katie was still caught up in some frivolous article on the yellowed print.

“…What do you think,” I sighed, mourning secretly for my heart as it died when I saw, and then heard, Hermione giggle at something terribly stupid Harry had to have said.

It was Harry—he wasn't funny the least.

His jokes were worst than Ronald's, and that's saying something.

Simply outrageous.

Cho patted my back. I didn't take my eyes off the beauty with her vibrantly cinnamon eyes.

“Cheer up,” Cho exclaimed, seeking to appeal to me as a friend. She sort of shook me, but I didn't bother turning to her if she wanted me.

“I say,” Katie piped in. She made me flinch, the little witch all quietly eavesdropping. Katie then turned her head to face me. “I say you walk right down there and ask her.”

“It's going to eat you alive if you don't,” Cho added with enthusiasm. “So, go!”

She pushed on me.

I leaned up erect. “But, what do I say?”

I glanced between them, resuming after a pause, “I don't want to look like some moronic wanker. Merlin knows I wouldn't want to steal Ronald's true talent.”

Cho's face dropped, that enthusiasm in her expression falling, “Uhh… You go up and ask her politely if you could speak with her privately—“

“And then, you shuffle your tiny arse right on out of here,” continued Katie from Cho.

My eyes went to Katie.

“And pop the question!” Cho made a popping noise with her tongue. “Easy.”

My face flipped back to Cho.

“Simple.” I'd flicked my head back and forth between Katie and Cho's banter that the world started spinning.

“Durr…” Cho tapped the empty space where the bowl used to be on the table. “Knock on wood.”

“Let's go!” Katie began to rise and pulled me along.

“Hey!” I shouted, feeling Cho assist in standing me up.

“I'll save you some of this incredible soup for later,” Cho gave me another push when I was on my feet. I faced the Gryffindor line, and Hermione about ten people in.

Katie started me going with a pull.

I couldn't believe what I was doing

Me. Ginevra. Female. Hermione.

Hermione. Me. Ginevra.

I thought every single eye in the Great Hell watched me.

I felt like a dunderhead, a fool for thinking this would work, that Hermione Granger would ever accept my invitation to go to the Yule Ball. She obviously fancied Harry and everyone knew that. I heard Ronald complain consistently about the subject of the “Trio” actually being the “Duo”.

It'd drive me into a headache!

I wanted none of it!

Overwhelmed, I stopped, turned around, and started back the way I came in posthaste. I could feel the flush of my cheeks, but then halted once more at the faces of my two girlfriends egging me on with their thumbs up. They shooed me to turn back around and I breathed deep, exhaling, trying to relax.

One step forward.

That isn't hard.

Three steps… I'm doing okay… She's so beautiful…

Eight steps… I can smell her…

Eleven… Only one step away…

The inside of my mouth dried. My throat quenched of thirst.

I heard Hermione's horribly cute giggle, saw her toss her long locks of hair that captivated all of my attention, and saw Harry “accidentally” brush his fingers along her hand as it lay stationary on the table. They hadn't even noticed, nor did I think it happened by accident… I was stone. I was too young to have a hot flash, but it happened. The room swirled. I nearly dropped, fainting, but this obscene anger riled within me.

I was on the other side of Harry in a second, a few centimeters from his face, striking out my words like a cobra, “Harry is a friend… Yeah, he's been a good friend of mine…”

My eyes went to Hermione, speaking softer, “But, lately something's changed that isn't hard to define…”

I was on the opposite side of Harry instantly, at the same distance, biting the air between us and smelling his annoyingly pleasant cologne, “…Harry's got himself a girl and I want to make her MINE!”

Appearing beside Hermione, I laid my head on her shoulder as she continued to talk their chit-chat, “And, she's watching him with those eyes…”

Taking mental pictures, glimpsing from the side at all of Hermione's features, her figure, her insanely attractive feminine framework, “…And, she's loving him with that body, I just know it!”

Jerking my head, squinting at Harry, lashing at him, “And, he's holding her in his arms late, late at night!”

I took the bowl from Ron's disgusting face, Ron moving onto another as if I hadn't done a thing, and stepped one giant step onto the Gryffindor table. I dumped the cabbage and bean soup atop Harry's head, the lime green oozing down that stupid mullet of his.

I kicked his lunch aside, singing with the balanced beat of a thousand feet stomping, mimicking drums, “You know, I wish I had Harry's girl! I wish I had Harry's girl!”

Tipping over his pumpkin juice with the heel of my shoe, the orange splattered and stained his crimson and gold tie, his white school shirt soaking the hue with ease, “Where can I find a woman like that?!”

I lay between them with my knees bent at right angles, atop the table, the space now emptied. Hermione dazzled me, glancing at her grin, seeing her smile, the faint, natural rose in her cheeks, “I played along with the charade… That doesn't seem to be a reason to change…”

Departing from my gaze, I shot back at Harry in a snarl, a grimace, “…You know, I feel so dirty when you all start talking cute…”

I went back, smiling at Hermione's smile, but her eyes on Harry, “I want to tell her that I love her—“

I turned, snapping at Harry, “But, the point is probably MOOT!”

I was back between Katie and Cho, a stainless silver tray in my hands. Combing the flaming red of my hair with my free hand, I peered at my reflection, “And, I'm looking in the mirror all the time, wondering what she don't see in me…”

I eyed Cho, swiveling on my rear, my voice eager, “I've been funny. I've been cool with the lines—“

I flipped around to Katie who stomped, clapped, and shook the Great Hall with everyone else. I questioned, “Isn't that the way love's supposed to be?”

I was behind the podium, on stage of the Great Hall, encircled by members of the Hogwarts' student paper awaiting me to say something for their headline. I looked down at my notecards and saw, scribbled one right after the other the same sentence.

I pointed at them, waving my arm around to each and every one of them, “I want Harry's girl!”

I slammed my fist down on the podium, pointing off into the dining room where Hermione sat, “I want! I want Harry's girl!”

Flakes of snow plummeted from the upper reaches of the pillared-roof of the Great Hall. My eyes there, I saw not the support beams, but a sky churning of sparkling ivory. When I dropped my gaze back down, the Hall had suddenly changed into one large ice sculpture. Dark blues and silver etched the walls and crawled up the columns. The candles had dispersed as well as the tables and everyone had on formal wear.

My hands went to grip the podium, but grabbed thin air. In front of me the podium had left a microphone kickstand, my wardrobe not of the uniform-kind but morphed into black leather pants and a white sleeveless shirt which read, “Team Hermione”. I wore a S.P.E.W. badge proudly, chrome flecks upon my vermillion hair surrendering to gleaming off the brightened cerulean fires of various iced-over torches.

I took the microphone in hand, the kickstand falling toward me as I stepped forward. A band imitating my apparel played behind me, the strum of their guitars, the illustrated sound of drums helping the cacophonic melody linger.

I searched for Hermione mingling the crowd, but couldn't find her. I repeated the invisible tracing, recounting each soul in utterance to find my special someone. Nothing dazzled, everything felt bleak until the shining force of life struck silence in the room.

Hermione, wearing her periwinkle gown, traipsed from the outskirts. She came from the grand doorway. People let her through, separating if having to, to let her in. Everyone was present—and I mean everyone, including Dumbledore and Cedric Diggory.

And, of course Harry Potter done up in some handsome tuxedo.

He looked like a monkey.

Big ears.

Goofy smile.

His hand out to Hermione while she approached the center.

I shook my head.

I snapped my fingers.

I had enough of this.

From the crowd came Katie and Cho. They headed right for Harry, picking him up from under his arms and dragged him off to the trophy room. No one seemed to notice this, nor the screaming or the fighting he displayed. I smiled when they shut the door behind and gazed back out at my gorgeous girl.

The drummer clapped his stick together, and then began.

The guitarists followed suit.

A light from the sky landed on Hermione, accentuating her beauty in glow.

Stagelights shined on me while the rest of the Great Hall fell into shadows.

My lips to the microphone, my eyes never leaving Hermione, I felt the red handkerchief on my wrist slide down my forearm as I signaled the start of the song with a nod on the side.

“Ohh…,” I moaned into the mic, smiling back at Hermione's smile. “I don't hardly know her…”

My voice settled smoothly, soft. “…But, I think I can love her.”

The base guitars grated their strings in a steady six pattern, the drummer lightly hitting in the silence between each grind.

“Crimson and clover…,” I found myself mouthing so quietly I felt as if we were the only two. I'd dreamed of making love with her and the sound, so secretive, so whisper-like, was the subtly I wished to converse with after such a magnificent deed.

“And, when she comes walking over… I've been waiting to show her…,” The shine of my hair glittered, weaving my head slightly to the beat. I didn't blink. I don't think I breathed either, scared if I did one or the other she'd fade away.

“Crimson and clover—over and over—!“ The drummer picked up the pace at which the sticks collided. The loudness of the guitars amplified into a furry. I leapt off the stage in a hurry, the snowflakes like shards of glass bringing crystallized sparkle within the Hall.

My low-tops squeaked only a bit with the rush, a beeline to Hermione. I didn't have to push my way through, the bodies removing themselves, spreading into halves from the stage. I grabbed Hermione's hand the moment I could, circling, twisting her form as I rounded a step. She swirled with me, our hands together, our figures matched in flashes of dance.

She kicked her heel up, and I did as well, hearing her laughter brought an even bigger grin to my face. We spun, our feet quick and never nudging. I felt her warmth, and it felt good. I smelled that vanilla scent always upon her, nearly salivating by the aroma. Her eyes bright, the lithe fairy came to me when I pulled her, slowing down our step when the music lessened in rate.

I had one of her hands in mine, the other finding her small waist while she clung onto my shoulder. Our hips were together. Our heads, our sight at the same height. I could see the ever-so-slight freckles on her nose. I could feel her tepid breath rise in temperature…like mine. Gently I moved her in slow dance.

“Yeah…” I sighed. Like a flower, she was so delicate in my arms.

“…I wanna do everything…,” I winked and her eyes widened.

She let on that knowing smirk.

“What a beautiful feeling…,” I moved in, tilting my head to the side.

She needed to be kissed.

My reddened lips aside her naturally pink, I sighed into another, “Crimson and clover…”

I went to kiss her—

“Gin.”

My grip was lost.

I opened my eyes to see Hermione's face fade into fumes of white smoke.

I grasped at the smoke in fright and felt nothing.

The music ended.

The Great Hall and all its spectators vanished.

I was left in darkness…only to reopen my eyes and see Neville. He knelt by the sofa where I sprawled out on. I wasn't drunk, going almost twenty-four hours without alcohol. I wasn't high. Neville had flushed any marijuana he got his hands on down the toilet; though, one might think I was by the…dream?

I remembered waking up from our bedroom when the shower came on. He worked nights and was about to leave. I think I wanted to meet him before he left for the Ministry, but I found more solace on the sofa cushions than in my own bed. I had my arms wrapped tightly around a pillow. I blinked at him, feeling his hand on my stomach while I stretched, wiggling.

I put a smile on, seeing him beside me.

“I didn't want to leave without letting you know,” Neville kissed my forehead. He ran his thumb where the bangs of my hair hung. “Did you want me to pick up any breakfast?”

I shook my head “No” in answer.

“Okay,” He lightly kissed my lips. “I put a lasagna in the oven. Just turn the dial to two hundred twenty for a half hour.”

He stroked the side of my face, my hair cascading from the sofa. “You really are lovely…” His voice had a certain roughness to it.

I closed my eyes and let out a sigh.

He kissed my cheek, hearing him get off the floor.

“I'll see you tonight” was the last thing he said before migrating to the exit and apparating by his tenuous pop.

I was glad he wasn't telepathic.

But my happiness came with a cost, and I felt guilt-ridden like the rest of these days, weeks.

I rolled over, grasped the pillow once more and fell back to sleep.

I sought for that white smoke again.

{Songs in order of appearance: Colbie Caillat - Falling For You; Britney Spears - One More Time; Rick Springfield - Jessie's Girl; Joan Jett (cover) - Crimson and Clover}

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Life and Times

Rating: NC-17 (for this chapter)

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: This chapter was also scrutinized heavily by myself and others before upload. Earlier reviews asked for NC-17-ish writing (“smut” to be precise). At the time, I didn't feel anything that vivid would fit; now, however, while they're on holiday I decided to do another unorthodox scenario to see if I could do it and how well I could write it. Some Lit authors fear vigorous sex scenes.

It's fluffy, it's erotic, it's detailed, and it's blunt.

I'm more than halfway done with this part of the plot, so why not have fun and romance before more angst? Thirty-one picks up where twenty-nine left off.

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Chapter Thirty-One - Shag

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Fondling.

Foreplay.

Cuddling.

It happened in those three steps and I was left practically wasted.

And, exceptionally hungry.

I found my slip pyjama from where it was thrown on the headboard and tugged it over my head, sliding off the bed while Harry watched my legs wobble when I stood. He laughed. He liked doing that to me. I stuck my tongue out at him and he offered me his hand. I took it and he led me down to the living space, tossing my knickers in the clothes bin on the way out.

Our hands unclasped, our fingers wanting to linger together but were pried away by their fingertips. Harry wandered off to a recliner beside the sofa. I wandered off in the direction of the kitchen. Lightly prodding the tile, my weight shifted slightly as I lowered, writing down the certain sweet I wanted by quill and ink. The black ink swirled in that moment, the cupboard closed. The ink vanished, my ears listening for the sounding beep in acknowledgment of a new `something' within said cupboard. I unlatched and opened the wooden door, revealing a white plate with a sliced cake in its centre.

Salivating, smelling the aroma of the freshly baked good, I retrieved a fork from its drawer and bit into my yummy dessert. Like Heaven, the moist cake melted in my mouth. I closed my eyes to savor, letting the chocolate be one with my tongue.

A “Mmm…” escaped, the freshness so delicious and so very much what I wanted.

Traipsing happily back into the den, I turned the corner of the sofa and went to plop down. The single second my rear collided with the cushion I heard Harry clear his throat. I peered from the slight mountain of chocolate. His head tilted toward me, I noticed his arm, and then his hand as he motioned with his index finger for me to move.

“Come here.”

In a sleepy tone, that's all he had to say.

Dutifully, I followed his instructions, pushing myself off the cushions and slinked on over in front of him. He patted the sides between the armrests and his body, noting where he wanted me to go. With one knee and then the next, I jostled into a straddle. He made a low grunt in his throat when I sat down, my unclad lower regions hidden by the pyjama slip but very well felt the soft cloth of his boxers.

He held my slender waist, his thumbs easily rubbing my belly through the silky fabric. Harry just watched me, leaned back into the extra-plush of the recliner, his body bent at forty-five degrees. He was watching me devour the slice of cake through heavy eyes. I smiled at him, cutting off a piece with the fork. I held my hand under it and floated the chunk to his mouth where I fed him.

He pleasantly smiled, chewing the bite.

There wasn't much left after that, sharing the last portion with Harry. I'd bitten off half from the fork and deposited the rest in his mouth.

He motioned for me to lower, pushing me from my backside downward and I did so in grin. My hands free from the plate, putting it aside on a side table, I held onto Harry by his pectorals while our lips met in a lazy kiss. I could taste his flavor and the chocolate mixing into one delectable medley. I was sure he could taste the cocoa within mine, his tongue licking a lovingly curious sample.

I slipped my arms around his neck, slowly propping his head closer to mine between the back of the recliner. My body flat on him, I became increasingly aware its reaction. I felt them becoming exceptionally more attentive while Harry's hands ran everywhere, rousing everything. So, when I lifted back up in sitting, my nipples were additionally apparent, protruding where they relaxed.

Harry lay back with that smug smirk on his face like he'd achieved special recognition from Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. I blushed, trying to hide them as if I really wanted to hide them, but really pushed them together with my upper arms to create a fuller bosom. Harry had his hands on my hips and squeezed them through the night slip. I tilted my head down to see Harry's firm grasp. I flicked my head back, swishing back the curls of brunette that always fell in front of my right eye.

I smiled, flush in my cheeks. This time I really hid them, cupping my hands on my breasts, placing my palms on their rounded curves completely out of view from Harry. I think Harry thought I was giving him a show, getting off. When I first began the hiding game, I palpitated, giving myself a softened squeeze. But, Harry was smart and realized when I settled that I meant to conceal rather than to paw.

He went to remove my hands, but I turned away, fidgeting from his fingers. He tried to tickle me out of my clutch, but failed when I didn't move my hands while the rest of me wriggled around. He tried to kiss me, thinking I'd lose myself in his passionate caress. I felt his fingers pry themselves against the supple flesh and my taut fingers. I swatted him away and leaned back up, releasing our kiss in a snigger.

He pouted, laying back on the recliner.

I made a face, too. My bottom lip stuck out, but couldn't resist laughter into a grin.

I had him.

He was mine.

I should have known Harry was craftier than I led him to be. Even while thinking one way, I could actually see the light bulb over his head with some brilliant scheme concocted. He moved on his bum forward until he inclined nearly at a diagonal. I had to crawl on my knees to get back on him. He started to bounce me from underneath and my eyes lit up, knowing this was him outsmarting me. He held me down on him by my hips and the only way I knew how to make him halt was to pull his hands away, and the only way to do that was to relieve my own.

I tried to fight this, but found myself failing. I felt the beginnings of a wet patch where my sex brushed against him. My thighs squeezed his and my hands gripped my breasts. My breaths started to pick up in pace, my hair lifting and falling to his steady bounce. I watched his eyes. I watched his face, his mouth, his smile.

Christ…

He knew he was winning, and when I finally let out a moan, my eyes bright as ever, I removed my hands. Instantly, I grabbed his bicep muscles and hung on.

Less than a second after holding onto his arms he stopped altogether.

I gritted my teeth and smacked his chest.

He laughed.

He had won.

Damn it.

He squirmed back in his original position higher and pulled me along with him.

He began to roam my body, take his reward. I had my arms at my side, my hands lightly touching his thighs. He was slight as he brushed his hands, his palms running the course of flat abdomen and my ribs where he fingered the notches behind silk cloth. I closed my eyes and reopened them, his hands sliding over my breasts. His warmth was gentle.

I dipped my head back, the curls falling behind me. I felt his knead of the unyielding flesh, my breasts so secure in his hands. His fingers teased, and then tenderly pinched down on the protrusions. I let out a gasp, my eyes shut. I leaned my head forward, coming to, in time for Harry to release his clamp.

My hands went to my chest the moment I didn't feel him any longer. I watched me feel myself, my fingers running inside my cleavage, the material of my sleepwear against my breasts. I rubbed them, massaged them, and bent down and kissed Harry.

I felt his hands grab the brim of my slip and push it up, giving my bare arse a firm slap through the kiss. I hesitated and gasped, kissing him briefly before he led me back in my sitting position. He took the slip from underneath and had me raise my arms. Slowly he relieved me of the garment and threw it on the floor beneath us.

I grinned when our eyes locked after fixing the chaos that was my hair.

I had my hands on his chest while looking down at him from my perch.

There is something so…so extremely sexual about being naked next to him, alongside him, on him. He needn't be clothed or unclothed. Just being nude and Harry looking at me in that way…

It gave me chills.

“Absolutely stunning,” he whispered to me.

He rubbed my sides, my back as he said this.

I pushed myself in my arch, dragging a finger in tracing the muscle of his chest.

He found my breasts again and gently cradled them in his palms.

I left his chest to place my hands upon his.

I tilted my head to one side slightly to allow the hair to fall from across my eye.

“These aren't too small for you?”

“All I need is a handful,” he laughed through his nose and lifted from the recliner to meet my mouth. He kissed me, his hands still snug around my breast.

“Girls nowadays are into getting magically enhanced—“

He interrupted me with a, “Shut your mouth.”

I stared at him, his stare remaining stationary on mine.

“I don't want to ever hear that you think you need to be `magical enhanced',” He lifted me, wrapping his arms around my back and pushed me into his body. He kissed me, and I kissed him hard.

Our noses meshed together, and when we let out a breath he ended with, “You're the most perfect woman to walk the face of the earth.”

“I'm not perfect, Harry…,” I glanced at him, but strayed from his stare.

He took me back, his hands leading my face to his. He gently held my chin, and gently caressed my lips. He made me peer directly into him as he said very carefully, and very sincere, “You are perfect.”

“From here,” his fingers brushed lightly my forehead, the hair I eagerly wanted from my eyes coming back to cover the right one when he disturbed the strands of my fringe.

His hands slipped over my throat, my shoulders, my arms and down to the lower reaches of my stomach, “To here—“

“To here,” a hand ended above my heart.

I glanced down at his hand at my breasts, “But, my tits are s—“

“I love your tits,” He gave my left a light smack, making me gasp, eyes full from the quick intensity. He smiled, watching how the firmness jiggled.

He gave my right one the same light smack and I gave his breast a slap, too. I giggled when he made a face of surprise. Of course, his didn't jiggle, and when I tapped the striking sound was sharper than the softened taps against mine.

He gripped my waist and squeezed, sliding his hands down to my hips where mine went.

His eyes went everywhere, all over me. He smiled, glancing up into my eyes, and then settled back to retrace what he'd taken in again. “You are truly blessed, natural, tight—“

He abruptly left a hip, his right hand, his palm feeling the slight indentation on my front from between my breasts leading towards my navel. He felt the feminine muscle beneath the breadth of satiny skin. He could visually see the muscle, especially on my abdomen where there was an oval teardrop shape, the point at my cleavage and rounding at my nether regions. The cut of my obliques were subtle, but apparent, flattening at my middle with the button the focal attention.

A retrace again down the middle of me made me sigh, my hand leaving the area of my hip intent to follow his. When I had slid passed my navel, feeling his fingers brush right over the brunette tuft contrived into a single line I hesitated and breathed out a sigh.

He pulled my hand away and held them back on my hips.

He had me sit back farther on my bum to take a peek at my pink, moist he knew as I did, wet on his evident tented manhood.

A low, throttled grunt produced in his throat, making no effort to hide how he needed to look at my pussy. He sat me back in hiding, giving him a much deserved gyrate of the hips. He grunted again and smiled.

“Damn,” He said through rigid jaw and teeth. He gazed at me from below, right into those cinnamon circles which hadn't left his. “I swear to Merlin if you do anything to destroy your beautiful canvas, I will—you will have a severely disappointed fiance, husband.”

I grinned, leaning down, removing my hands from my hips to wrap my arms around Harry's neck. I kissed him lightly, and then rough. I let my body relax on his, my hair about him, my breasts on his pectorals, my abdomen square with his. I felt his hands leave my hips and grab my bum, one hand on each buttock. He knew what he wanted, another effort of not shading an attempt. His fingers were along the crevice, walking them from one hole to the next where he could feel the dramatic shift in humidity.

I moaned through a smile, having to break from our kiss to let out pent-up breath. Leisurely he rubbed me, never entering, taunting me. I tried to kiss him, or start to kiss him, but let out another audible breath, a sigh, a laugh into his pretty jade green eyes as he knew he was making everything down below feel quite content.

“You've wet my shorts…,” he smirked, our faces, our breaths together.

“I know, I'm terribly sor—“ He made me gasp, slapping my bum hard and making me rise up from his strike.

He sniggered at my shocking reaction, the yelp I made, eyes lit. He began to rub where there had to have been a reddened print on my bum.

Reaching over, an idea shaped within my horny mind whilst attached to Harry's chest and I gathered part of the remains from the icing of the cake. Just enough for the tip of my finger, I wiped a smear of it along Harry's right nipple and, shaking my head to the side to keep the hair from my eyes, peered up at him while I licked the chocolate cream off.

The warmth of my slippery tongue erected Harry's little pink nipple. He groaned to my liking, to his liking. I smeared its partner a pectoral away with what was left on my finger and did the same, but after its lapping I gave him a bit of a suckle to end.

Mmm…

Chocolate plus Harry…

I bit my bottom lip, lifting from his chest to see him utterly taken by my action.

I was crazy about leaving him baffled, but in the best way possible.

I continued to feel him rub the smooth cheeks of my arse.

My hand dipped back in the chocolate icing to carry again a thimble's worth back.

He watched me apply it, this time on my left breast, my left hardened nipple.

I cupped the breast, making sure not to get remnants of chocolate elsewhere, and served my lover that piece of me.

Harry hungrily wrapped his mouth in its entirety around the areola, bringing my nipple and the surrounding soft flesh inside his lips. His fingers pushed into my buttocks. I felt his tongue flick, working the hard little nub over. I stuttered my breath, moaned, closed my eyes and smiled. He took his mouth away and left my breast shiny with his spit when I gazed downward. He eagerly waited by its twin, waiting for me to apply the rest and when I did he took that breast in his mouth, too.

I couldn't help but whimper. With each suckle from him, a wash of warmth pulsed. I had to close my eyes, cradling his head against me, intertwining my digits within that messy crow's nest. I had arched my back, pushing more of my breast in his mouth until he finally released me.

I had had enough—seeing Harry, feeling Harry between my legs twinge at every response from my frame.

I stuck my finger back in the icing and crawled backward on my knees. Harry watched me smugly, grinning wickedly too as I knelt in front of him. I spread his knees, tilting my head down to bite into the elastic band of his checkered boxers. Slowly, and with Harry's help, I peeled them off. The moment I knew he would spring, I stopped, teasing Harry so much for all his teases. I caressed his member through his shorts, his cylindrical shaft visibly hard. With his boxers back in my teeth, a hand helping to ease them down, I watched with a giggle as his rock leapt out and fell on his lower abdomen.

He gave me a celebratory pat on the head when I'd cleared him of the shorts, tossing them away to look at my fully naked Harry. I crawled on my knees right to the edge of the recliner, my breasts shown to Harry at this height. He took my hair and wrapped it around his hand to relieve me of it, to see my face, my actions, all things me. I leaned down, licked his thigh, the tip of my nose nudging his sack where I caressed how soft he was. Led by my nose, my nostrils took in that strong sexual scent oozing from the erection, smelling him as my lips kissed a line up that similarly cylindrical exposed urethra.

I had my eyes on him, his smile, how he rubbed the back of my head to tell me without words he loved what I was doing to him. He was beautiful, turned on, solid—I lightly nibbled at the shaft, not so much with my teeth but by the contact of my lips. He had both his hands in my hair, relaxed, by the time my mouth was at his tip. I got back up, rising to raise his dick from his stomach. I had him in my hand, my grip forming his circle. Gently I pulled down on his uncircumcised appendage until his fleshy pink coloured head unveiled.

A drop of clear liquid, I happily gave the tip of his member a lick, tasting the pre-ejaculate. He grunted at my tongue, and then groaned when I smeared the chocolate icing all over his swollen head and took him in my mouth. He always tasted good raw, but with chocolate it was…

I let out a “Mmm…,” my id forming, taking over, my biological want of Harry being satisfied as I bobbed on him.

Who needed cake when I could have this?

I gave him a flash of smile, observing the “O” forming on his face while I'd slowly let me mouth drop around him. I couldn't take him all in, but he liked when I tried—and I delighted in seeing him go berserk. His legs twitched beside me and tensed when I pulled off him, a string of spit detaching from his shaft and fell upon the recliner between his thighs.

He gritted his teeth and leaned his head to the side to watch me pump. My hand was fixed tight around the shaft as I'd push down and pull up with speed.

My right breast, jiggling at a rate with my right hand, enticed Harry to lift forward and give the nipple a tiny tug. I let out a moan, his lips finding my mouth where he kissed me hard, his hands in the mess of my hair.

“You're such a good girl,” he said breathlessly after our kiss; his mouth still beside mine, his face, his eyes on me.

I stopped jerking while he kissed me, and began again after our removal, asking sweetly at his rousing statement, “Am I Harry's good girl?”

“You are my good girl,” He kissed me hard, answering, leaving me without breath. He patted my head. God, how I loved how he patted my head. “Such a good girl.”

He kissed me again and wriggled his hands under my arms. I let go of him when he picked me straight off the floor. I thought he was going to take me somewhere, my legs entangling about his waist. Maybe the bedroom? The loo? The kitchen? But, he tossed me on the white leather sofa. He unwound my legs from his middle and held them tightly so the back of my calves, my thighs faced the vaulted ceiling. I laughed when I bounced, feeling Harry, and then seeing him catch me under my knees, pushing me further into the sofa.

I was at an angle with my head propped on the back of the sofa perpendicular to my torso which ran parallel with the cushions. He ripped his glasses from his ears and threw them aside, jerking me upward until his mouth hovered over my sex. My hands on his arms, I gasped when he met with my slit, ravaging, rubbing his face along me. My hands went from his arms to his head, yanking and holding onto those raven locks, feeling his tongue slither inside.

He put my legs on his shoulders to rest. Immediately they crisscrossed at the calves, tightening as I felt him engrossed within. I began to moan, and pant between moans. I'd shake my head from side to side and arch my back, bucking into him. I heard his slurping, and felt it. My ears fixed to the sound of suction relieving as he'd remove his mouth only to dive back in and push me further into the sofa.

He broke off in a rush, gazing up at my whimpering state, my hands all over him or at least the places I could touch. He smiled, his thumbs, his fingers holding me open where he watched me watch his tongue lightly lick the vibrant pink. My body lurched backward, my head twisting to the side and all my hair falling to the left. I gasped, letting out a moan, a yelp when his tongue flicked the button.

I dropped my head back, or as much as I could while he attacked my clitoris. I'd suck in a breath and hold it. Suck in another, and hold it into a moan from within my throat. I pulled at his hair, my fingers curled and crushing. I tightened my thighs and had his head captive in a vice for a moment until he stopped, my face dropping back forward and my eyes opening to squint.

I whimpered and pushed back into him, humping his face and seeing his mouth surrounding the hole. My mouth was open, but nothing came out. I let in some air, another gasp, and then a long, strong groan shook my throat as I dropped my head straight back again. I felt his hands on my breasts, his hands restrain them, clutching them in the pocket my arms created as I held his head down.

In one, elongated moan I cried softly the word, “Yes…”

Harry looked up at me, smirking, stopping his onslaught and impeding the driving pleasure he brought me.

“Yes…?” He imitated me, lowering his head but never took his green eyes from me. He caressed the mound above my sex.

I closed my eyes when he kissed me, turning my head to the right and then the left and whimpered, nodding my head.

He caressed my pussy, and then lightly kissed the inner part of the thigh that connected. He glanced up at me and asked quietly, “…Tell Harry what `Mione wants.”

I inhaled and exhaled audibly, “You…”

I combed his finger betwixt my fingers.

“What was that?” He went across and caressed the other thigh, and then another brush of his warm lips against my sex.

I leaned my head back, sucking in a breath and let it out slowly.

Dropping my head back down, my eyes dilated from the sexual struggle, I kept my fiance within frame and tugged at his chaos. “You,” I pronounced a bit louder.

He slapped the left cheek of my buttocks of which he now held and smirked with an ego, “What? I didn't quite hear you.”

It was the intense arousal within me that shot out in a scream. It wasn't fair—I didn't want to play. I wanted to fuck.

“I want your face on my pussy—NOW!”

The normal, intelligent, rational Hermione came back suddenly when I realized first that I screamed this and second the words in which I screamed. I think I went to apologize, or something, loss for words when Harry pushed his face back into my slit and began his blitz of sexual aggression.

His tongue darted, easily moving in the dripping fluids. He lapped me up, licking, kissing, growling—eating, for a lack of a better term. He was hungry and I'd become his meal. I wanted to be his meal—I screamed out, cried his name, my eyes shut tight. He consumed me, no question, his mouth over the part of me that so longed for him. My legs began to ache, and I soon realized I hadn't moved them for the longest time. I thought to move them, only to feel Harry break away again but this time stand from where he had knelt between me.

My feet landed on the floor from his back. I hastily pulled them to the edge of the sofa, spread still, my hands diverting to my breasts to rub them as I saw Harry come back down on me. Though, he didn't use his face. He took a leg, my left one, and held it in his arms. I saw him jerk his erection, like a preparation for things to come, and bend down to tap its underside against my pussy. He pulled the skin back to push his swollen head along the slit and I fought hard to not climax which held so readily on the horizon.

Similar to my legs, he finally stopped his extremely terrible tease and split apart my lower lips. Sucking in a few rapid breathes, I felt him slide slowly halfway, pull out, and then push all the way to the base. My entire body bounced in accordance to his first thrust, taking in and holding a breath only to let it out in a drawn moan. My eyes shut, but reopened to look up at him. He lowered to kiss me, my head elevating to meet him from the sofa. His mouth sweet, I lingered my tongue against his as I felt him take up my right leg and hold it, too.

He started pushing into and pulling out. I had to hold onto his abdomen for support, for balance, his thrusts deepening and quickening after each previous push. I felt those abdominals surface while he worked me over, loving how they'd come to form when he'd fuck me like the veins in his arms.

My body teetered to his jolts, shaking and pushing me again and again into the cushions. I had to close my eyes, shut them, take in a deep breath and hold it. He began pummeling, and even though I wanted it, it put me at a standstill. Tilting my head back, moans drowned out any other noise. I arched out, giving Harry a nice look at my tits rocking to his rhythm. I knew he took advantage of the display, and in knowing turned me on more.

I fell back, my eyes opening from their shut. I looked between my legs, my thighs, and Harry's erection in a slather of my juice when he'd pull out. Harry, glancing from my own, watched me below as he felt my hands leave his stomach. I felt his hardness, his penis stretching me. I gathered both my hands and laid them on my outer labia so his pelvis would smack into my fingers.

Flipping his hair to the side to see better, he huffed, grunting when he'd smack into those fingers of mine. I smirked and huffed myself, my mouth forming an O-shape inside a moan. Gently, I pulled the outer labia and the inner labia apart, a struggling task for my index fingers to the tightness of my vagina. I showed Harry my pink, how he pulled at my inner lips when he'd fuck, even though he probably had mental picture after mental picture tucked away in his brain.

I had to have put Harry over the edge. I knew it when I had to take away my hands, Harry groaning, grunting, his animalistic lion persona appearing. His darkened mane shook with the rate of his thrusts, smacking harder, faster. He bent farther on me to the point where our pelvises touched. I breathed in a mash of hesitant breaths, sighs, and hastened whispers of his name. I'd suck in a breath, and suck in another, hanging onto Harry's arms his chest, his abdomen, wherever I could.

I came.

It was instant.

It was hard.

And, I screamed.

I could feel his arse and clung on, constricting further the girth of his circumference.

He slowed his pace down, signaling his oncoming pop.

His sack, his balls which had bashed against my anus now struck with lighter taps.

He grounded to a halt and pulled out of me, dropping my right leg to take hold of his swinging erection.

He only had to pump himself once for on the second pump, his hand grasped around the throb, I watched the bubble appear at his tip and then a string of white squirt across my stomach.

I moaned with him after each spurt shot.

I watched his balls twitch a final time, a streak of spunk landing on the hill of my left breast.

I left his arse to hug the sides of my breasts with my hands, pushing them together and seeing the splotches of Harry on my pale skin, a pool accumulating on the pubis of my mound. Inching my fingers around the supple flesh, I squeezed my breasts, feeling his orgasm sticky beneath. I held on as Harry stuck himself back in and thrust until he was spent, emptied.

He caressed the inner part of my calf, my leg still carried by his arm above me. I opened my eyes, his driving thrusts had made them close. I grinned when he kissed my leg, slowly allowing it to fall as he gradually let it go to meet the edge of the sofa like its other.

He laughed a little through his nose, smirking, seeing me and what he'd done.

He propped himself, his hands above my head to balance on the sofa without tumbling on me and kissed me softly.

I kissed him just as softly, clutching at my breasts as I did.

I licked my lips as Harry stood up, my eyes becoming attentive and aware of his erection subsiding to semi-hard.

My eyes flicked upwards, stirring to sit up, when I heard him say while he continued to look down at me, “I made a mess, didn't I?”

He laughed, but stopped when I'd taken my right hand from my right breast and curled my fingers at the base of his penis. I'd put my mouth back around him which made him stop. I smiled as I gave him a suck, his hands back in my hair. I pulled my mouth away to say in reply, eyes gazing up, “You certainly did,” only to rewrap my warmth back around the head.

He moaned, and as I lowered my face down on him I felt his instinctive reaction. It wasn't rough, an easy reflex. I closed my eyes, my forehead to his abdomen, my hand back on my right breast and let him gently slide himself in and out of my mouth. I let my tongue be the plane that lubricated him, assisting in his gentleness. I made him stop by removing my right hand from my breast again and placing my palm open on his stomach. He minded me, like he always did, and I released from him but not without leaving suction from his shaft. My lips made a smacking sound at the end and I giggled, seeing his head angled, his mouth opened and in a grin.

He opened his eyes from close just in time to see me push my tightly gripped hand along his dick, the flat of my thumb underneath, to get that last drop from him. A white bead appeared from the tiny pink slit and I pinched it off with my thumb and index finger, placing his seed on my tongue and dropping back from my seat into the white leather.

I sniggered when he just watched me with that dumbfounded glaze, standing like a statue. He shook his head from the trance he'd taken, my feet kicking up so they settled back at the ledge of the sofa, knees inward and touching at their caps.

He kissed those knees, one and then the other, before slipping around my legs, taking my head by the chin and kissing me.

“Christ,” he said with a ruffled tone. He peered into the dilation of brown following the lead of his jades. He breathed in, nostrils flaring, and said in another ruffled tone, “Christ.”

He shook his head, eyes wide, gazing at me scrunched on the sofa now alongside him. He grunted and kissed my cheek, the side of my forehead, in my hair before saying, “Incredible.”

“You're not so bad yourself,” I chuckled, my knees swaying a tad, my figure leaving the sexual high however slowly. I didn't exactly want it to leave, and was glad that it was a gradual decent of aftersex sensitivity.

He shook his head again and laughed. He scratched the top of mine and I continued to gaze at him from the side. “Christ, you're fantastic.”

He brought my forehead to his lips and sighed, “And mine.”

“Yours,” I answered. “I'm sorry for screaming at you earlier.”

I guessed this was as better time as ever to seek apologies.

He just smiled at me and kissed my shoulder.

He got up and stretched, his own legs wobbly. I'm glad I didn't get up that moment for I would have fallen over, my legs jellied, too. I lay my head back against the sofa and closed my eyes, breathing in and out to calm whatever restlessness still lingered in my form. My hands clutched at my breasts, rubbing his come on my smooth skin and smiling as I pictured what just happened over and over in my mind.

“May I get a glass of water, please?” Quietly, I said this.

My mouth had grown parched, its lips drying.

I began to notice the coolness of the room from my light perspiration. The darkness outside really made the white of the flat stand out in contrast, almost blindly as I sat still dilated from our romp.

I felt a thud of weight back beside and saw Harry when I blinked. He'd come back with a towel and a glass of water with ice. I took the glass when he handed it to me, a bit of perspiration dripping down upon my nude tummy. I giggled at the lurch of my body when the cold collided with the remaining heat.

I sipped the chilled water so needed. I'd dropped my knees, allowing Harry to wipe me clean with the fluffy ivory cotton. He strolled over my curves, my neck, abdomen and thighs. I spread my legs and he wiped down the puddle he left which had leaked down below. He lightly rubbed my spot. I laid the glass down on the cushions, closed my eyes and tilted my head so it touched Harry's shoulder.

I kissed him when I could, a hand to his cheek, and sighed deeply into the euphoria that was Hermione and Harry.

{Ending Note: I've also taken special attention to Brit-terms. I'm trying.}

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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.

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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}

-->

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: If there is one concept I want to leave as a mark for my lasting fiction it is this: that with whatever obstacle thrown at them, good, bad, or indifferent, Harry will forever love Hermione and Hermione will forever love Harry. I hope to have established this unequivocally.

***

Chapter Thirty-Three - Dance

***

My hands clasped the cool metal railing, re-emphasizing the stainless steel and reflective aluminum-look of the outside, I held on while simply gaping at the thousands below us. We were put above everyone else, which I didn't necessarily like seeing no reason why we couldn't enjoy ourselves with everyone else. Of course, there was that voice in the back of my head that told me it was probably best to be away for safety reasons, and it would definitely keep Harry from worrying. I leaned over a balcony to see our view. One could not directly distinguish body and floor. Heads, arms, frames swayed to a beat pulsating from thin air. The Muggle world would describe the beat as techno. Lights committing to the ravenous riffs and clashing of sound struck against sunburst-covered walls, reflecting onto the mass from its mirrored quality.

Harry stepped beside me, placing his hands on the railing, too. I felt his left hand, for he was on my right, lay over my knuckles. My thumb grazed the portion of him I felt and suddenly, in a wash of screams, we were spotted. Every breath turned towards us. The house jumped, and not for the music, but in synchronized cheers for their “Duo”. I peeked over at Harry, not sure what to do, and he did the same. He cautiously raised his hand and waved at the crowd and another wash of tumultuous screams circulated and reverberated, bouncing off the walls in a cacophony of shrill.

I think I smiled through a wince for the noise got to my ears.

Harry shrewdly smiled, giving another guarded wave and letting on another multitude of screams for us.

“Captivating, isn't it?”

A familiar and horrendously squeaky voice gave way to a feared shudder. I hadn't noticed, the sway of bodies hypnotizing, but a certain cold someone had come on my left.

“And, pleasantly daft,” The boorish woman, donned in a black number like the rest, peeked from above her spectacles. She stirred her drink with a smirk, bright red lipstick curving into a simply hellish grin. She made a laugh, my eyes widening at the sight of her standing before us like a visible disease. I covered my nose and mouth with my hand.

“Every last one of them,” She concluded, eyeing those below.

“Hello there,” She stuck her silk-gloved hand out to me, her starkly bleached blonde curls shifting heavily, pendulums, much like the silvery chains off her glasses. “Rita Skeeter if you've forgotten.”

“Don't you dare touch me with those dirty hands…” I went to slap her hand away.

“No one's forgotten you!” Harry snapped, pulling me away from the snake before being bitten. He sized her up, switching spots with me, and she laughed again into her drink.

“You simply must accept our invitation, Potter,” She sighed, twirling a tiny black straw in the clearest of liquids. “I swear, just having you on the cover of the Prophet, and me, its beloved writer, a tell-all of your hidden life after Him would help rake in a few galleons.”

“Is that all you see? In galleons? Bodies for sport? Twist our actions, our words, for your liking? All for riches?”

Harry held me back, so all I could see was what I could beyond his shoulder, but I thought I saw Rita reach towards Harry. Harry sharply stepped away, and I heard Rita laughing.

“I spit on you! You're nothing but a worthless biddy if I've ever seen one! You're a—“

“Now, Harry,” Rita cleared her throat, glancing to her drink and back at Harry. “You do realize the Quick Quill beside me? You wouldn't want those dearest words splattered all over tomorrow's page, would you? Rita Skeeter ravaged by brutal verbal assault by The Boy Who Lived?”

Harry got in her face with a finger pointed at her, his voice abnormally calm, collected, “You listen to me, and you listen to me well… If I ever see another slanderous print about me or my fiance, I will drag your pathetic carcass to court! Do you understand these words?”

Rita wafted her hand in front of her as if she were ridding flies, “Pish-posh, Potter. Settle, for I'll have you know that I also have friends in high places. It's old news you're in bed with the Minister, this “Order of the Phoenix,” this “special interest” in your well being. But, I—I am Queen of this society. People love me. People would voluntarily lie in puddles for me and I would walk right over them.”

Harry gritted his teeth, his nostrils flaring.

“Tell me I'm lying, love,” She ended, smiling in the strobes of multicoloured lights.

“You disgust me!” I yelled, my own finger pointing at Rita and that nasty, terrible smirk of hers. “Wretched—!“

“A clever girl like you,” Rita's eyes fell on me. “Should know how right I am.”

“I own your…reputation,” she spoke low, almost snarling, but smiled when she led her sight back on Harry. “I can turn the very people who love you against you with a turn of phrase.”

Harry mimicked her, lowering his own, snarling too, “You are the filth under the filth that clutters the soles of my shoes. One day you will get your comeuppance, believe me. And, that Day of Judgment will hit you where it counts most.”

Harry smiled most menacingly. “Have a pleasant evening.”

Harry took me by the hand and led me away with him in haste. Not but a few steps from the balcony, meandering into other witches, warlocks, creatures considered very important, Rita called out, “You've given my niece autographs, Potters! Why not me?!”

She laughed a most unpleasantly fiendish laugh as we were sucked into the wandering crowd. Fortunately, it didn't take long for Rapture to envelop her, the pounding noise drowning all utterances. We were going down the winding flight of stairs we'd come up, but not withdrawing from the party. With varying levels of the section, when given entry we slipped onto another balcony.

“I'm not allowing her to destroy tonight,” he said angrily, his eyes lit with fire sparkling off the blinking lights.

We slid up to a bar and Harry showed bartender two fingers, asking for, “Butterbeer.” The goblin behind the counter nodded at Harry and reached for the brown bottles labeled with the vibrantly blue-and-white Orina stickers. The goblin pried the caps off with an instrument and slid the bottles our way. Harry caught them in the palms of his hands, giving the first to me and the other he put to his lips to sip.

“Don't let her.” I exclaimed, watching the fire grow in Harry's eyes. He took my hand again and we went and sat down on one of the sleek, contemporary sofas positioned to see the dance floor and its entertainment. Speakers were positioned in key areas, surrounding us completely with the surging vibrations.

“Harry.” I said when he sat starring off in the distance at nothing. I had to take his chin and lead his eyes to me for he didn't move a muscle at my call.

“She does that on purpose. You know this.”

I stroked the underside of his chin.

“Tell me why I shouldn't go up there right now and rip her face off?” He sat with his legs spread, his elbows on each knee, his bottle of butterbeer swinging to the cadence of the room. I recognised the stance as aggressive for I'd seen Ronald sit like this and reel in the same sort of hatred.

“Because that's what she wants you to do. She knows your buttons—don't let her play you like a marionette, Love.”

He watched me stern-faced.

I knew he was deep in thought, weighing the pros and cons of any future actions. All I could do was wait and see how he would react, and react to him if he chose to do something drastic.

He finally laid back against the sofa, his eyes still on me.

I sat side-saddle, legs crossed, my hands around the circumference of the bottle while it lay on the frills of my skirt. My knees faced his.

“What would I do without you?”

I smiled. “You'd probably march back up there and start swinging.”

“With you around, I can barely hear that devil on my shoulder,” He smirked, sitting up so we were at each other's height. He leaned in, lips in that curled grin.

I grinned, my eyes flicking to his lips and back to his jade green eyes darkened by the flittering black-to-bright pattern within the club.

He kissed me, and I kissed him, tasting the butterscotch flavour of butterbeer on his tongue.

He left me with an even greater smile, watching him as he lay back against the sofa. He had this air of smugness, and I rolled my eyes, seeing his ego doubled.

“Damn.”

“Behave…”

He sat back up, closing in on me, face-to-face, “It's quite difficult, you know, to listen to that.”

I placed my butterbeer down on the abstractly peanut-shaped black table in front of us, the glass making a knocking sound against the wood. I dragged my hand along the shirt beneath his dress coat, feeling of the muscle, his pectoral, until grasping the elastic strip of suspender holding to him.

“We're not leaving without a dance…”

“Who said we were leaving?” He smiled.

I lifted and pulled him with me by the suspender. He set his butterbeer down beside mine.

I kept my eyes on him, the side of my mouth upward in my smirk, “I'm laying down tonight's rules.”

Twirling to walk ahead, my fingers still led him forward by his suspender, pulling out from his opened coat.

“Rules?” He sniggered aside my ear, whispering. “When did we establish rules?”

I peeked around furtively and chuckled, giving him a kiss to continue the instructions whilst leading him further onto the floor.

***

Sexuality oozed off us betwixt the stroboscopic light beams which would hit our bodies and the loud, throbbing swell of techno music. Epsilon's sultry voice would speak, intermixed in the syntax of up-beats, pumping our very blood to move.

Like him, Harry learned quick. He had his right arm wrapped around me, having ventured from holding my waist to looping the appendage. He had me loosely, for I wiggled inside the framework he created. His left arm, his fingers and their tips traveled the length of my body. He rocked into me from behind, our figures influencing the other's, bending effortlessly as one while our bodies moved back and forth.

I could feel his cheek against me, his face in my hair, beside my ear. I could feel his heated breath intertwining with the heated atmosphere of a thousand hearts. I could feel his shoulder equal with mine, his chest to me, his squeeze, the grip he'd hold when I'd rub along him. Epsilon's lyrics were repeated, strung out, provoked and rewound. The sounds slowed down and picked back up in pace. I was intent to follow them, and Harry was intent to follow me.

I could smell his pumpkin. I could smell my vanilla. I'd begun to sweat and I was sure he was, too. He kissed me, in the strands wanting to stick to the nape of my neck. The strands bunched, pushed northward by his face, nose, mouth where he caressed me while rocking hip-to-hip. I had my arm arched, about him, on his neck. He hugged me tight, circulating the motions I did.

Other couples, people in the darkness, were stimulated like us by the pulse. I could feel the beat in my feet, in my legs, my core, my head. I closed my eyes when I felt Harry take over, my body now following his. The scream of the crowd woke me from his trance. Eyes blinking from flashes of white light, I noticed Shade Epsilon at the ceiling, having come down and hung over the swaying crowd below on a platform. I would have paid more attention to her performance, but looked back at Harry who held that attention in its entirety.

I placed my hand in earnest to cradle his head, to lead him to me while we watched each other without so much as breathing. Our bodies moved, but the stare never wavered. I kissed him, my eyes shutting again, and he responded furiously. He clutched me like a vice, knees bending to rise and lower, hips shifting left and right, my hair in tangles about him.

***

Fact: I was having fun with or without Harry.

Fact: Harry found it more pleasurable to watch me dance than to actually dance. I guess I tired him out.

Fact: A lightweight, I'd become slightly inebriated just by the limited amount of alcohol in the butterbeer. I was on my third of the night.

Not by a foot or two away, Harry sat on the sofa with our drinks. He observed me doing my thing, letting loose, something I needed after spout after spout of looming negativity. It was like everywhere I went, or we went, something bad always had to happen. I'd cry out for something or someone to change this string of bad luck, but succumbed to the inevitable—or what I was to believe. So, with nights like these, I went with it.

Epsilon had retired after her performance, the techno music rushing into the club. The oscillating lights had me look as if I danced in slow motion. The floor below, for I stood aside the banister overlooking, mimicked as if several cameras captured one frame, and one frame, and one frame. With each pounding beat felt in my feet, I'd turn, twist, my arms bent above my head. Shaking my head, following the ascending, rippling rhythm, I laughed out loud but was greatly silence by a quaking base.

I flipped around on my feet, something I shouldn't have done, but still smiled while my world swirled even after I stopped. Dizzy, the light shone Harry staring through the numerous repeats. He grinned, my hips still rocking to and fro, my hands finding and gripping the solid, metal railing. The ends of my tassels shook, the beat never leaving the bob of my head.

Pirouetting over, I leapt on the sofa and crawled on over to Harry. With a butterbeer at his lips, he gradually took it down, eyes on me, before my arms wrapped around him. I yanked him to me in one strong pull and snogged him within my grasp.

“I love you…” Near each other that was heard albeit quietly by the deafly tones. If I were at the rail I'd surely be voiceless.

My hands unwinding from his hair, he glanced down at his watch and peered back up at me. “Should we go?” He asked.

“Should we?” It was apparent that others on our second tier balcony had left, empty spots where groups once stood, stragglers still musing about the floor.

“We've been here for nearly four hours. It's going on midnight.”

“Like that's stopped us before.”

He grinned, took his hand and held the back of my head to lead me to him. He kissed me, looking at me afterwards in close proximity. “We should go. I'd like to have you back all by myself.”

“You don't have me by yourself now?”

“Not by my definition.”

My lips curled into a grin. “Let's go.”

***

“Harry, look right here please!”

“Hermione, right here!”

“Harry! Flash us a smile!”

I had hooked my arm around Harry to walk out, but we were met by a deluge of wizard paparazzi. That's when my arm was left for his hand where we hurriedly fled from them—or tried to—a body barricade and their cameras sniping with us in their crosshairs. I couldn't see, and didn't even attempt, having my hand over my eyes. Blindly, Harry pulled me.

“Could we get some bloody security out here?!” Harry hollered over questions upon questions.

“Harry! Is it true that you're being wed on Valentine's? At Hogwarts?!”

“Hermione! Is it true you're with child?!”

“Harry! Is it true Hermione gave you that blotched eye? Why haven't you left her?! Is it because she's pregnant?!”

“Why are they asking if I'm pregnant?” I whispered at Harry's ear.

“Prophet rubbish, I'm sure.” Harry quickly replied.

Several men in suits finally came rushing to our rescue. If this were war we would have had hundreds of wounds and left for dead between the time of them arriving and now.

“Out of the way!” One of the security personnel yelled, prying hand-and-arm a route for us. “Out of the way, I said!”

“Bloody move it, now!” yelled another, taking and having to physically push a photographer.

“Crikey!” A third suited-man turned to us with a bunched brow. “You certainly bring down the lot!”

“And people wonder why we're not out often,” responded Harry in some laughter. “Let's take a leisurely stroll, eh?”

“With all our friends!” I chimed in with thick sarcasm. “All seventeen thousand three-hundred and thirty four of them!”

The whole of us laughed, even the security from Rapture who took the full brunt of the flock. Thankfully, they were built and large, our own battering ram. We actually began to think this was funny, hilarious, chuckling at the paparazzi who questioned these ludicrous stories surrounding us. But, as with our luck, the amusement ended and ended quite abruptly.

One of the reporters came a little too close for Harry's liking, even so far as to lay a finger on my arm. Harry didn't think, reacting, grabbing the guy who had touched my arm and pushed him to the ground. Someone screamed out above the security detail that swarmed at my side. They yanked the man up who fell from the ground for their own set of questions, seeing them do this, only to turn my head around to see Harry from my peripherals push on another news reporter getting too close for comfort.

Testosterone, nerve, guts—the reporter had them all, becoming physical. He had the gall, pushing Harry and I stumbled. The security called for backup which came too late. The reporters and Harry exchanged words, and someone uttered the fatal nail in their coffin; a word so severely hated by Harry, and me, about me, that before I knew it Harry had lifted his fist to swing.

“—She's a filthy mudblood!!”

Harry's fist collided with the reporter's face, knocking him off clear from his feet.

The reporter didn't fight back, or couldn't, Harry having leapt on him. On the graveled pavement, he held the reporter down and continually pummeled him, grunting, cursing expletives and calling him and the rest what everyone knew they really were:

“Fucking Prophet trash!” The reporter's face slammed into the pavement by the force of his fist. “Vermin!”

Arm up, he brought his fist down to the fresh blood spewing from the reporter's face, “Lying rats! Lowlifes! We're human beings for Christ's sake!!”

“Harry!” I had my hands around the arm he brought up again. “Please!”

Other reporters, the Rapture security, were at him, trying to pull him from the flailing man beneath him. Cameras captured these images, quills hastily jotted these words. Flicking my head to the left and to the right, all I could see were the pressuring walls of bodies collapsing in around us.

***

When we returned to our holiday flat that night, I didn't speak a word. Harry might have, but my mind was abuzz. With so many thoughts, I couldn't single out an exact one. I tried to keep cool, keep collected, knowing if I let myself go… I don't think my heart could take it. I needed to do something, preoccupy myself. I thought of things, anything, each more dull than the next.

I had to walk around Harry who turned to look at me. Dropping any belongings on the counter, I made my way across the kitchen floor and to the cabinets. I heard Harry rummaging, his shoes being removed, a cough, his feet wandering up the staircase. I saw him in the corners of my eyes before he ascended, watching me in the kitchen flip the faucet on to fill a tea kettle in silence, deathly silence.

I felt the tension in my body rise to the muscles in my arms. My joints felt stiff, and it hurt when I reached, the tissue in my tendons not wanting to progress how I wanted them. My head started to throb and I breathed conflictingly calm, unlike my shaking hands. I had to hold its other around the one on the kettle's handle to steady.

I inhaled and strived to piece myself together, reaching up to get a tea bag from its container above the range. The bag's string caught on the box, and I hadn't the time. I huffed and jiggled the box. The string wouldn't work with me, and the harder I fought with it, the more I angrier I got until the box and all its contents fell over the heated stove.

I went to pick them up, my mind elsewhere, and my fingers touched the red-hot eye.

“Fuck!” Jerking my hand back I hit the kettle over. Water poured from the newly opened top, sizzling and smoking steam when it came into contact with the same eye I set my hand on.

Tears welled in my eyes, those burned fingers in and at my lips. I yelled another, “Fuck!” and with all my might another “Fuck!!” for good measure.

The final straw.

My body began to shake and I started to cry.

The massacre of today came back to me all at once.

My heart lay as splattered-looking as the pool of water against its cage.

Overwhelmed, I couldn't do any less than painfully wail through tears.

I heard echoing footsteps and saw an arm, a hand flick the switch to turn the stove off. Harry took me, carefully holding that injured hand in his, and had me walk with him over to the refrigerator. He opened the freezer, ice cubes being shuffled about, and brought one of the many out. He took my hand again, our bodies close, and cupped those singed fingers around the chill. He pressed the tips into the cube and glanced between the shakes of my hand and my puffy eyes.

Walking backwards, he led me to the sink and flipped the faucet on. He let the cold run over my hand in his. He leaned in and kissed me while he massaged those fingers softly beneath the water. He nudged the tip of his nose against mine and caressed me lightly again. He kissed my cheek, taking a cloth to dry my hand.

“Does it feel better?” He asked, watching me watch him dry.

“I made a mess, I—“ I stuttered in breaths.

“I'll clean it up.” He interjected, kissing me.

“But—“

He kissed me again to shush me.

“Come,” He said, leading me from the kitchen by hand, tossing the cloth on the counter on the way out.

We stepped into the living quarters, and he had me stand in the centre of the room.

“Harry… What-?”

I blinked through what remained of my tears cluttering the lashes, following Harry who walked over to a stereo system. He turned on his heel back towards me, twisting a knob and music poured from the speakers softly.

Instantly, the song gave me chills, a shudder running the course of my spine.

The gradual increase in song halted any other words for I knew it.

I was taken back to a place in my past.

He was with me, with my hands, grasping them tenderly and bringing them towards his chest. He had me shift my weight, pulling delicately at my arms in a continuous loop. In my anguish, I was somewhat despondent with glimmers of hope when my lips would wriggle at their corners; mostly due to his dancing antics of overdramatic, nutty moves. He tried to rouse a bit of happiness out of me, I gathered. He swayed me, swaying as well, smiling. “Remember this?” he asked after a while.

I smiled, a tear trickling down my cheek.

I let out some pent-up laughter.

It was difficult not to smile whilst he did.

I nodded with whatever tears left falling away to the white carpeting.

It was the same song we danced to in the tent two years ago amidst the changing winds of Fate.

He twirled me, and I let out a laugh.

He was silly, and I loved it.

When I came back to him I had an arm about his neck clutching his shoulder. He had his hand in its free partner, figures together, as we slowly danced. Propping my head, my chin, on his shoulder, I breathed in, closed my eyes and let him move me gently.

Everything in the world felt better.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: O' Children - Nick Cave. Even though the music in the beginning addressed techno, I still had this song through to the end. As per the A/N of “Esoteric”, here was my allusion to the wonderful dance in the Deathly Hallows film. I finally got here and it fit so very well. I'll be using this song again in future chapters—“Hey train, wait for me. Once was blind, but now I see. Have you left a seat for me? Is that such a stretch of the imagination?”}

-->

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: I've been under the weather, but I didn't want this fiction in-progress to last ten years. Lol. I can't believe it's already been a year! Thank you for all the reads, reviews, and support!

Like the Ginevra-related chapters, this chapter further moves motives outside Hermione's (and Harry's) story. Rita Skeeter truly adores Harry and I hope to have accomplished that fact. Also, her superiority complex when talking to others. Let her shenanigans begin!

***

Chapter Thirty-Four - Communique

***

Stage-lights shine brightly upon a circular table reflecting a dazzle of white from its clear-coated surface. Two women dressed in business apparel sit facing each other while a team of make-up artists diligently applied coats to cover any outstanding blemishes. The artists tease the curly blonde woman's mane while brushing off any excess powder from the shoulders of her sparkling green pencil-skirt suit. The other woman, blonde as well but straight-haired, wasn't taken to in comparison. Sure, she dons make-up, but less, far less than her older counterpart.

“Erin, the moment we're Live we're going straight into question-and-answer,” says a tall, thin man wearing a tanned shirt and brown trousers. He gazes beyond his spherical-glasses at the younger of the two.

Erin, who wears a navy-coloured feminine-cut trouser suit, turns from her loose-leaf written notes to respond with a nod at the man. “Will there be a video into the segment about Rapture?”

“Yes, an overlay of footage with questions with Miss Skeeter.” Another man rushes over, talking in whispers. The man in glasses scowls and inclines from whispering, shaking his head a jotting something down on clipboard he has at his chest.

“There'll be a bit of improve,” says the male over his glasses when the other left, chasing the path he previous ran from and into a back room. He shakes his head whilst jotting another draft on the clipboard. “The people upstairs decided on another piece of footage we got in by a witness who was there. So, a minute before broadcast they change.”

“Joseph, calm down,” says Erin shuffling through her notes in re-organization. She glances at him. “You've quite enough on your plate with Anna pregnant.”

Joseph sighs, bringing his clipboard with him as he pushes his glasses upward to hold between his eyes. “She has me going to sweet shops for grass-flavoured beans and only grass-flavoured beans… Do you know how difficult it is to find a sweet shop open after midnight? And if I happen to find one, grass-flavoured beans?”

“There, there, it's just a phase, dear.”

“You say `dear' as if you're older than me,” Joseph laughs. His glasses when he leaves them to his nose.

A female screeches, “Fifteen seconds until Live!” which stops both Erin and Joseph from their casual chat.

“Here we go!” yells out Joseph, backing from Erin and into the shadows of cold cameras steady and waiting. “Ten seconds!”

The artists have left Skeeter immaculate under layers of fakery. She flourishes her eyelashes at the cameras when they wake with red lights giving the go. She leans in and smiles with every tooth shown between severely red lips contrasting to her pale-white face.

“Cue the lights!”

“Seven, six, five--!”

“Camera C!”

“Four, three--!”

“Everybody smiling! Yes! Good!”

“Two!” Joseph goes silent, holding up a finger and then points at Erin who directs her sight at Camera C.

“Good morning and what a pleasant morning it is out there! I hope you all got the weekend out and are ready to take on Monday! I am, as always, your host Erin McCrady and we're itching here at McCrady's Corner to dive into top stories breaking even while you're all asleep—and Merlin, do we have stories to discuss!”

“Before we begin, I'd like to say that we're honoured to have a special guest in the newsroom this morning. She hails from the Daily Prophet, and I'm sure every witch and warlock knows her splendid face—“

“Hello, darlings!” interrupts Rita, embellishing an Elizabethan wave towards lit-Camera A. “What a beautiful morning isn't it, Erin?”

“Yes, yes it is Miss Skee—“

“Call me Rita.”

“—Rita. Best-selling author of six books and a seventh out in shops next week titled—“

“The Truths Behind Him based on Tom Riddle's life. It's an excellent work, if I do say so myself.” Rita smiles after sliding into Erin's introduction again.

“Yes—The Truths Behind Him—a thrilling piece that I actually had a chance to read before its arrival. An interesting biography on He Who Must Not Be Named. You've almost made him out to be the Hero, dare I say?”

“I'll keep my lips sealed on this one,” Rita grins again, batting eyelashes, leaning in as if she were telling a secret. “Wouldn't want anything revealed before it's in shops.”

“Right,” Erin replies. “Rita will be at Diagon Alley bookshops next—“

“—Tuesday—“

“—Tuesday,” Erin's eyes flit to Skeeter's lasting smile and back at the camera. “Where she will be signing, hopefully, her seventh best-seller.”

“Would not put it past me,” boasts Rita. “I've simply groveled painfully to extract the very truth and hope to redeem any falsities.”

“It was a great read.”

“Thank you,” toots a smug Rita.

From afar, Joseph taps his watch in earnest.

“Right, well, Rita will be here with us all morning long. She has a special announcement she wishes to address to everyone.”

“A very special, nearly confidential announcement; though, it is a clever move on my part. I've been with the Prophet now for years and have thought about this for the longest time.”

“Tell us you're not retiring!”

Rita shakes her head, “Later, my dear. Later. Don't we have stories to attend to while we keep them guessing?”

“Yes, of course,” Erin sits up in her seat and turns back to Camera C. “Protestors have been boycotting the Minister since the first Dark Mark scare months ago. They're calling on Minister Kingsley to act with haste on these Dark Marks, to investigate further into these crimes. Protestors have set camp in-and-outside of the Ministry causing concern for Obliviators. The Muggle-world wonders why so many people are walking around a seemingly vacant booth or a public toilet. Our journalists were inside the Ministry yesterday and one protestor, Alison Trimley, had this to say on the steps of the Central Fountain lobby.”

We understand Minister Kingsley has a full plate, but the Aurors come off lackluster. Is this not a sign of crisis? Is this not considered an Unforgivable curse? Has the Minister and his lackeys forgotten Him so soon? We want more action and we're tired of them bringing the accused to our backdoor! Send them straight to Azkaban for the sake of our safety! That's where they belong!

“Bethany Crawson said this on the matter,” says Erin, a voiceover and transition into a rather youthful girl with auburn hair.

The Dark Marks are coming closer. Who's to say that by tomorrow we'll have our own scare in London square? Where's the Minister during all this? The chap seems to be on holiday! We'll camp here and picket until he comes back from his worldwide getaway. He'll get an earful welcoming!

“Troy Hamlin, a veteran robe-maker, stood with everyone else at the Ministry. At a ripe age of sixty-two he had to stand with a cane, but standing he did.”

All we're asking for are answers. The politicians spout off these transparent monologues and rousing war-like speeches. Are we headed for another war? I'm fearful to what's on the horizon as it's only been two years since His death. I have a family to account for and I'm not sure if our government realises this. It's frightening to note how easily it is to forget fallibilities.

“Sibil Schuhmacher, a Muggle-born from Germany and mother of two, said this to our reporter.”

I don't think Great Britain is prepared. It's a pattern of mistakes. That's my opinion. Germany wasn't prepared either and without its allies I don't think it could keep out Death Eaters. I'm scared that there will be an uprising with these rogue groups growing in numbers. I do hope Minister Kingsley and his Cabinet members understand the dire consequences of rose-coloured glasses.

“Miss Skeeter—“

“Uh uh…,” exclaims Rita, wagging her finger at Erin. “Rita.”

“Rita… What do you think of these claims? Do you think the past will come to haunt us?”

Rita laughs and shakes her head. “I'm trying to figure out if this is a serious question.”

“Do you see their claims as rubbish?”

“I do, and for the simple fact that the Ministry right now has in their possession His wand and His artefacts. They took them from Hogwarts and I saw them with my own naked eye. They've been destroyed to bits. So, will He return? Pish-posh, rubbish.”

“What of these concerns of an uprising? Splinter groups are surfacing worldwide. We saw in Germany last week—”

“I wouldn't call one or two Death Eaters a `group'. Ivik Varishka was found by himself in a shabby flat. By himself, love. We're not seeing what we saw several years ago.”

“But, through him the Ministry found evidence and captured several more of these men and they were as radical in mind as those two, three, four years ago.”

“Through terrible means. Have you seen the measures the Ministry will go through to extract these `pieces of evidence'? Ever heard of an iron maiden?”

“I think so, but I'm not entirely sure.”

“It's a torturing device, dear, from the Middle Ages. They have them and they use them. They throw prisoners into this metal shell and once inside these sharp spikes continuously puncture flesh. Some of these spikes can be thirty centimetres long. Think about how deep the wounds can be, and these people can be locked in there for days, weeks, maybe even months.”

“How horrific.”

“The Ministry isn't all sunshine. They're beastly dunderheads from the Dark Ages. They'll go so far as to administer doses of veritaserum which is against their own Law.”

“Minister Kingsley himself signed that Law!”

“That's the point. They're devils in disguise. They'll bend their owns rules and regulations whenever they feel. My fifth best-seller, What You Didn't Know: Albus Cornelius Dumbledore Fudge, goes more into depth.”

“Do you think there is a possibility that Minister Kingsley will be taken from his position in the future?”

“I'd be the first in line, and you can quote me on that.”

“Who would you endorse if such an occurrence happened?”

Rita shrugs and yawns, “The whole lot is corrupt. Quincy Nolpho, a Head within the Wizenmagot would be an exceptional choice if I had my way. I've had a chance to brunch with him on several occasions and he's quite a clever man, too clever to be a follower and not a leader.”

“But this,” Rita thumbs at the replaying images of people being interviewed in silence on a screen between her and Erin. “This is just the beginning. The Minister is the lion-tamer about to be mauled by his very lion.”

“It's rather…intriguing, too,” Rita stares curiously at the screen being repeated. “I've become inspired, almost.”

“Another piece of literature?” asks Erin.

“Quite possibly,” Rita looks over at Erin from her side and grins. “'The Historic Fall of the Remaining Order'.”

“Do you think the Order is influencing the Minister's point of view? Do you think they've an agenda?”

“Heavily affecting every single move he makes. It's the American's perspective of the Freemasons in government, but with little evidence to gain a conclusion. This, however, on our front is blatantly real. Any unintelligent nobody could see Kingsley's motives are with the Order's, and they're quite an archaic crowd. Give me the Crusades a millennia ago.”

“But, if that's one hundred percent fact why should we be worried? History places the Order of the Phoenix in good intentions. If it were not for them, the road of freedom from His rule would be clearly difficult.”

“Or so people say. I for one see an opaque curtain with skeletons waiting to fall in bunches,” Rita takes up a cup of tea and sips. “I daresay that their motives are not astutely realized. In fact, no one even heard of them until the dust settled. They could very well be in bed with these rogues, could they not?”

“Are you saying the Minister—“

“I'm giving a different perspective, love. Things to think about,” Rita winks from behind her cup and sets it down. “Such a group with such an influence should be revered. Severus Snape with Albus Dumbledore? Do you not see a pitfall with this duo? None of it makes sense.”

“I see your point.”

“The Daily Prophet will be doing a week-long article on Severus Snape from his childhood, to his work at Hogwarts, to his untimely death next month. Be sure to watch for it—it's quite a piece. Definitely a character that led two lives, one more gruesome than the other.”

“We ran a story about how the late Severus left Harry Potter accessories in his will.”

“Curious, is it not? Connect the dots and people wonder if the Savior even is our angel. He could be a fallen angel, our inevitable downfall. He could be the next He Who Must Not Be Named. The power Harry Potter possesses… He took Him down after all! Why should we not be intimidated by this mysterious young man? He turns down interviews to right out truths and the Minister and his Order are protecting him!”

“Why is he hiding his story from us?” Rita ends, smirking while she takes another sip of tea.

“Speaking of Harry Potter, and transitioning to our next video—“

“I'm so, so glad to be present when we discuss this matter! I've been waiting since I woke this morning in sinking my teeth into this delectable number! This is the Prophet's headline!” Rita ecstatically hops in her seat, inching close to the screen between them in anxious anticipation.

“Right, the video may be wonky for this is apparently taken by a witness that was there last night at Rapture's opening debut at Silverpond…”

“Fucking Prophet trash!!”

The news studio silent, Harry can be heard shouting, echoing, as he strikes a reporter in the face with his fist.

Lying rats!! Lowlifes! We're human beings for Christ's sake!

Blow after blow, the wobbly camera zooms in on the reporter's face bloodied and Harry wailing on him. Red flecks splatter over the white cheek of the flailing man.

Harry!

Hermione screams out from frame and the picture abruptly stops there as a Rapture bodyguard tries to snatch the camera from the witness's hands.

Rita is left shaking her head and saying, “Tsk tsk” beneath her breath. The audio part attached to her suit picks this up.

“What we didn't see or hear, and what is believed to have instigated Harry Potter's rampage, was that the reporter called his fiance, Hermione Granger, a derogatory slang for Muggle-borns.”

“Yes,” Rita nods and sighs. “The reporter is one of mine. Jason Daley is his name and he has been reprimanded for the misguided word. The entire debacle was an accident. The scene became volatile and words were tossed. He didn't deserve a broken nose and bruised face. Would you and the rest out there like to know where my reporter is at this moment?”

Erin sits in silence waiting.

“St. Mungo's. His nose was shattered in four different places. He could barely breathe. The inside of his nostrils swelled and he has to breathe entirely from his mouth.”

“But, in any instance where someone is called such an awful term, wouldn't you agree that he had it coming? Not to be biased.”

“Maybe a good punch, sure, but my reporter has to have surgery on his face, love. This was what I was talking about earlier. For such a person to be beloved and looked up to in society, why isn't he getting reprimanded for his misdeeds?”

“I'm not sure if condemning his act is black and white. He needs some guidance, of course, but—“

“And he won't get that guidance either!” interrupts Rita, slapping her hand on the table. “He has Big Brother by his side! His actions should have consequences attached to them! What if any regular Joe went off? The Law would be broken and he'd be served judgment for his brutality! The Law is playing favourites!”

“What do you think should be done then? What do you think will be done if anything?”

“I've already had reports on my desk stating that the Ministry Defense team contacted Mister Potter during and after the event outside of Rapture. They appeared on the scene because it involved him, our beloved child. Maybe they gave him a slap on the wrists? Of those reports, right after investigation Mister Potter was not taken in for more questioning nor fined for his conduct. He was said to have been in a drunken state! What is this world coming to in allowing this? Our children will follow the lead!”

“That being said, the Prophet and I are taking action against Harry Potter.”

“Are you saying you're going to sue Harry Potter?” Erin looks at Rita quizzically as if she were nutters.

“Because Daley was for the Prophet at the time the occurrence happened, and prior to his tongue slipping he was doing his job and was met with physical force by Mister Potter before his swinging, we are filing to sue Mister Potter.”

“This will be… This will be quite a three-ring circus!”

“My lawyers have been called and are on standby to issue statements when Mister Potter is back from wherever he's gone. We've tried contacting him this morning at his flat in London with no luck.”

“But, what of the choice of words?”

“Daley will be present at the trial, which I'm sure will be hastily upgraded to Wizenmagot-status, so the members will see his injuries plus the facts that Harry Potter needs to be counseled or be put into some probationary perimetre where he is overseen by court marshals. I'd be surprised if he were put into jail, but would be pleased if the court sentences him to it. He needs to be held for his own sanity.”

“Harry Potter in jail? I can't predict the future Rita, but I don't foresee that decision. I wouldn't throw him in jail for something like this. It's unperceivable, unheard of really, and not just because he's `The Boy Who Lived' or part of the Order if it's true.”

“The deranged child needs to be controlled somehow and the Minister is only coddling him for further outbursts like this in future episodes. When I was so bold as to try to greet him last night at the debut, he accosted me with verbal abuse. I'm not taking him lightly. He needs a heavy dose of punishment!”

Rita stops herself. Taken with disastrous emotion, she relieves a breath in one giant huff and fixes her hair.

“…Are you quite all right?”

“Yes, I just get passionate about my beliefs,” A frazzled Rita instantly becomes the collected Rita, folding her arms together on the table. She peers at Erin over her glasses and smiles. “There's a reason why I became a writer so many years ago. The passion inside just wants to burst forth! It's an incredible feeling.”

“So we see…,” Erin looks over into Camera C from the corners of her eyes and blinks back into Rita's view. “I'm a bit flabbergasted and wondering if I should ask you the next question in our queue.”

“Ask away, dear. Ask away. I'm all ears.”

“You know Harry Potter has proposed to Miss Hermione Jane Granger, long-time friend and—“

“Yeah, yeah, long-time blah, blah, gibberish. We know. I know. I wrote my first best-seller and several thousand articles about him and her, the first during their fourth year at Hogwarts and received various bouts of praise for being the lone reporter of the Triwizard Tournament. The Prophet largely jumped in sales thanks to me.”

“You've heard the rumor? That they're to be wed on Valentine's?”

“How quaint.”

“Your behavior seems quite distant of this marriage. Do you not approve? They look good together besides the floating rumor she beats him. I hardly believe she hit him.”

“Firstly, the whole Valentine's Day wedding is cliche. It sums the entire scenario, really. Cliche date for a cliche wedding for a cliche couple. I'm calling it now that they'll have it annulled if the couple even gets that far. Maybe a divorce and a realisation from society that they're troubled people with a troubled relationship.”

“You don't see their wedding? Their supporters have really taken a liking of—“

“Adolescent witches and warlocks who can't apparate yet have about the understanding of this caliber as a mountain ogre. Let them be wishful in thought, and maybe they'll learn from Potter and this Miss Granger's mistakes. Besides, dear, his previous mate was better for him than this…Muggle girl. What does she know about treating a warlock? There are several Muggle-borns that I'm sure fancy her.”

“Miss Weasley?”

“From an inside source, Miss Weasley was devastated by Harry Potter when he broke their courtship pre-maturely. She's all but gone into hiding, the poor girl. Our photographers haven't seen her about Diagon Alley or the like in a month. It's heart-breaking. My best wishes for her and her family.”

“But, there's proof she's moved on. Miss Weasley is to be wed to one Mister Neville Longbottom, a peer of hers at Hogwarts and within the same House Gryffindor. Images show them smiling, holding hands, acting gaily—“

“Lies. It's all a fake. Don't trust Quibbler or any other of that pseudo-journal rubbish. It's false. A psychologist friend of mine assisted in an article I wrote about Ginevra Weasley and Harry Potter's relationship and past connections. She's crushed and the Daily Prophet is behind her recuperation one hundred percent. `Team Weasley'.”

“Will there be shirts?” Erin laughs.

“We're thinking about it.” Rita winks and smiles through a sip of tea. “Our fanbase would definitely snatch the merchandise from the racks.”

“Possibly a lucrative investment there, Rita.”

“Possibly, possibly. I'll get in touch with my marketing team.”

“Your marketing team? Don't you mean the Prophet's?”

“How clever—you've outted me. I've been dropping hints the entire interview.”

“Do you mean…?”

“Yes—the time has come for me to make my second big announcement and fantastic career jump,” Rita puts her elbows on the table and lifts her hands, palms up, to the ceiling. She smirks. “Meet the new owner of the Daily Prophet.”

The whole news studio uproars in applause at Rita's statement. Erin claps, too, and Rita relishes in the moment. She sighs in triumph and clasps her hands together, looking as if she's found that fond boy of her dreams.

“Congratulations!”

“Is it really that much of a surprise?” Rita laughs into her tea.

“You have dedicated years and endured so much, Rita! Tons of hard work without waste! Congratulations again on such a career mark!”

“Thank you, thank you,” Rita bows before the cameras from her sitting position. “The Daily Prophet has a tad tweaking to do now that I'm in charge, but it won't dramatically change. We are the largest news source in the wizarding world when boiled down, so why fix something that isn't broken?”

“What of your nemesis the Quibbler?”

“The Daily Prophet sold twenty times more newspapers before I bought them. They have no chance in the business now that I'm in charge,” Rita's snarky remark ends in a shrill laugh from her teacup. “They better be watching their backs! Or, is it watching their sells profits?! Red is a lovely colour, Lovegood! It's the same colour as those Snarfigulumpki—whatevers!! Hahahaa!!”

“You are definitely the one to watch this year, Rita! Possibly a new reign of the Richest Person in Britain?”

“Ah, a new reign indeed…” Rita gazes off as her words drift into the voiceless void. “I wanted to announce this wonderful news of mine exclusively to the Wizarding News Network. So, there you are!”

“Like Rita Skeeter said, `There you are!'” Erin rotates her chair to stare into Camera C. “Be sure to check a bookshop near you for Rita's new book, The Truths About Him a tale of Tom Riddle, next week! Rita will be in Diagon Alley for a public signing, so anyone in the area be sure to stop in and say hello to this talented author and loved entrepreneur! Thank you again for stopping in and giving us the news, Rita!”

Erin reaches across the table to shake Rita's hand.

Rita grasps Erin's hand with both of hers.

“Always a pleasure, always a pleasure!”

Erin swivels back to Camera C.

“We'll be right back with the weather after these commercials.”

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Don't Stop - InnerPartySystem; Rita Skeeter's theme song for obvious reasons}

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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: Their final night on holiday. Lots of Hermione and Harry, lots of fluff, and lots of thinking. Hermione contemplates her status with Ginevra and her friend's status with Neville. Will they be or will they not be wed? Lies over truths or truths over lies? And, if truths, what will happen to the nerve of their friendship? Harry contemplates his own marriage on the horizon and all that may entail in Hermione's choice. He expresses the very real problems arising in their life because of him, finding faults in being `The Chosen One'. Or, so he thinks.

***

Chapter Thirty-Five - Future

***

“…Marry me?”

“What…?”

“…Marry me, Harry…”

Harry stifled a laugh in a grin and replied, “I am you goof.”

“Mm…?”

“Mm,” Harry chuckled again and this time it bestirred me. I wriggled and tossed about, my legs hitting his beneath the sheets, wrapping and re-wrapping them around them. I think I went to blink, above and exposed to the sunlight. The moment my eyes went to adjust to the bright saturation, I fled. I fled straight back into the crevice Harry's arm produced while he held me to him.

With my nose and face squished into the far reaches of his chest, I tugged and yanked the sheets over my head. The blackness became soothing. “Mmmn…”

Harry patted the top of my head, or the sheets now covering the top of my head. His slight laughter shook the parts of me touching him.

“Whaaaattt…?” I whined, my head instantly hurting from the painful one-eighty, from dark to light. My voice was muffled beside him and aside the mattress. “What's so funny?”

“You were talking in your sleep again.”

I breathed, and in doing so smelled the natural pumpkin of my man. Essence of anti-lethargy, his scent provoked my next action. I peek outside the cave. The sheet in a U-shape surrounding my head, I took a chance and glanced at him. He peered at me when I did.

“…What secrets did I divulge this time?”

“Oh, nothing that really mattered…” A fairly large tome was propped alongside his bare chest. He had his glasses on and looked to have been awake for a while. I, on the other hand, couldn't have cared less to wake up. A perfect end to our conclusion from the previous night's dance: relaxed and wound around Harry.

Although, I hated the smile he showed and the nonchalant away he said “nothing”.

“Tell me what I said exactly…,” I exclaimed with extreme passion…passion to kill if didn't tell me. I'd been known to be quite frank when speaking in my sleep. Not that Harry didn't know whatever was said before it was said. But, the fact that I was unconscious and hadn't known what was said didn't set well with me. I hoped it wasn't unkind.

“Hm… I don't know. I could hang it over your head for awhile…especially the rather juicy parts.”

Lifting, the sheets pulled away with my curls cascading like curtains around my neck, shoulders, and down my exposed back. The sleepwear I wore, a white lace night slip, had left much of the material of the backside off. Curving circular at my lower back, a strap with an overly-large button for decoration purposes kept the piece together. A solid black silk bow clung at the seam at the top with two smaller versions on each of its shoulders.

“Harry James…” My eyes formed to slits. I had my right hand on the bed while my other held to his chest.

“I'm finding it terribly difficult to find words after feeling your stocking-clad leg slide up mine…” He looked over his glasses, some of his black hair slipping from the fringe.

My mouth gaped and I pushed on him, “I was leaning up—that wasn't done intentionally!”

I took my left leg from him, swiftly gathering it with its twin.

Harry pouted, but asserted himself. He stuck his arm under the sheet and firmly grabbed the escaped prisoner of his affection. He dragged it back to its original position. I gasped when he slid his hand along my leg, our eyes locked together. When he felt flesh from tights he gave my lace knickers a smack, the stockings thigh-high with the remainder my arse.

I smacked his chest and he grinned triumphantly.

“Now, tell me—” I pushed him at his shoulder making him shift away and towards me. My focus went from his to the tome he had in his hands. I realized it was something from my own collection: the Oxford Catalog, a thick, novel-like text of a thousand pages depicting the various schedules and lectures given as options to their student base. I'd gone through and tabbed, highlighting pages of curious lectures for pleasure and of those I would need to take in autumn.

“Well, that looks familiar…”

“Hm…?” Casually he looked over at me and just as casually went back to reading.

“What's this?” I gestured toward the course catalog.

“What?” He asked almost offensively. He gazed at me from the side. “It's not like this is the first time I've cracked this horrendously large book open. You know I'm curious like a Kneazle.”

“I'd think it would be dreadfully dull for you,” I had my hand flat on his pectoral, my elbow outward across him while I lowered my chin to rest atop the hand. I watched him as he turned carefully to the next page of a series I'd labeled with a yellow sticker. Yellow were those that I will be taking, or at least registered in my first semester. I could always re-arrange those electives if I somehow came to dislike them; though, that would be rather far-fetched. I wished to take them all if I had the time and money.

“You're not bored out of your mind?”

“Are you boring?” He replied with sarcastic intent.

However, I explained with a short, “Yes.”

“No.” He retorted.

I felt his hand on that exposed portion of back, his fingers along the carved indent and arch.

“Your talent will not be unnoticed. I'm your number one fan, remember?”

“Even if I don't get into precisely what I want, I still want to gain knowledge beyond x, y, and z.”

“And that enthusiasm is like a breath a fresh air,” Harry turned to a following page. “But, it's not like there's Charms and Potions. Mathematics, anatomy, history, government—and none will teach the likes of the Ministry's Decree of 1631—“

“You remember the Decree of 1631?” My brow and the corner of my mouth rose.

Harry huffed, but didn't take his sight from the pages of the catalog. “You make it seem like I was completely deaf all seven years.”

“I suddenly feel like quizzing you.”

Slowly, Harry turned his head towards mine and said plainly, “'The prevention of any beings carrying wands other than licensed witches and warlocks.'”

“Wow…” My eyes were lit. He always had a knack for surprises.

“Well, don't act so surprised. Christ!” He flipped his head back to the catalog as if he were offended.

“Aw…,” Rising, I raised the hand I rested from his chest and kissed the spot. I collapsed back in the same position and grinned at the smile he now sported.

“English, and English, and English. I'll never understand why people have to sit in an English lecture and be taught English,” He sighed and glanced at me. “Are we not speaking English? Can we not understand and communicate effectively right now?”

I shrugged and continued my grin at his debate.

He smiled at me, “You're an inspiration. You know that, Love?”

“How so?”

“You've pretty much all the smarts you'll ever need in that sexy cranium of yours and you voluntarily seek more.”

“Call me `civilised'.”

“What does that make me?” He winked.

“I didn't mean it like that… And besides,” I watched him read, slipping my free hand around and upon him to stroke his other pectoral muscle. “You're my lion—an animal.”

He growled, took his eyes from the pages and nipped at me.

I giggled.

I sighed contently, taking my hand away and laid down on my cheek. I could hear Harry's heartbeat through his chest and the rhythm lulled relaxation, my eyes closing. His hand was doing wondrous things, too. He massaged my back by fingertip. Nearly, he tickled me, but the feeling felt conflicted, like an entirely new sensation all over. He wasn't overcome by bra-strap, the sleek skin a pathway from top to its lower reaches.

I grabbed the sheets and tugged them over my face again.

Harry laughed at me, his mountain and valley of fabric.

“Love.”

“Hm?” My eyes closed, I must have dozed.

“What do you want to do for the rest of the day?”

“This.” I said this quick for it didn't take but a nanosecond for the synapses to calculate the response.

“Our holiday is coming to an end and you want to stay in bed?”

“Yes.” I really was quite happy where I was, and warm thanks to my future groom.

“You'll have our entire king-sized bed to yourself when we get back home. Let's doooo something…”

He lightly pushed on my shoulder.

I whined.

Somehow I knew I wouldn't win this, but I'd try to strike a deal.

Maybe I didn't want to win this, but I didn't entirely want to leave the downy feel of the pillow and comfortable sheets.

“Give me five more minutes…”

“Five minutes,” he said back.

“A half hour,” I yawned.

“Half an hour.”

I peeked out of that cave, “…An hour?”

He smiled and chuckled at my attempt to linger.

“Take all the time you need, my Love. I'll be right here when you're ready to get up.”

I smiled and settled into Harry within my created darkness.

His lucrative pumpkin aroma I reaped with its beneficial therapeutic profit. I rubbed my cheek against his firm muscle and sighed with happiness into blissful sleep.

The last sound I heard was the noise of a crisp page being turned.

***

I rather enjoy falling asleep one way and waking up another, especially when the waking up way brought more of Harry. When I drifted I'd laid on his chest from the side. My head was all but covered. Withdrawing from slumber in a stretch, I slowly realized I had turned over with Harry in spoon. He had an arm, his right arm, paralleled with my body. Straight his arm was I could feel the caring strength as he held me to him. The underside of his forearm pressed into my chest; his hand, his palm lay on the smooth skin of my clavicle just below my throat.

I had held him, his arm, while he held me. He was, after all, my Harry-bear. Any bits of him he'd give I'd take. If that meant simple things like an arm or leg, maybe a finger, a smile, I'd cherish it. And, he was warm. Gods, was he warm. The moment I started to move I wished I had not for in moving began the process of waking him.

I stretched my arms out and above my head, feeling the board our pillows were against and hoped to quit. I halted when my brain turned onto my actions, and then his actions. I felt him moving and quickly I slipped back into the sheet-shell. Alas, though, I had wakened him.

He ran his hand down the centre of my chest and ended with his palm over my heart. Habitual from the second I'd left the hospital months ago, he'd doubly check my status albeit in civilian methods. With my locks of brown my palette against the white decor, I rolled to him the centimetre between us. My back touched his and stopped, but I tilted my head to meet Harry. Eyes closed, our lips met with a gentle caress. He lightly squeezed the breast he cradled so carefully in his hand whilst we mingled, participating in the first conscious play of…whatever time it was. The afternoon, I guessed, or late afternoon from less light by the angle of the sun on the flat.

I fell back to the pillow after our brevity. The coolness of the pillowcase coerced a tingle from the flush that filled my cheek. Harry had me in an embrace, bringing his other arm to surround. In doing so, I followed him, holding those arms which gave me a hug from behind. He kissed the back of my head, the top, breathing into my hair as he strolled down with leisure to the nape of my neck. He wasn't fast, and I didn't want this to be fast.

In grins, I twisted and turned when needed to allow him full access wherever he wanted to go.

I had my eyes closed and relaxed without care when he roused me, and roused me indeed. Slowly, I felt a hand slide into my night slip from the front. He came from my knickers, his fingertips tracing the lace stitching which clasped to my thigh and hip. My legs still, at once I shook. With a jolt, and with a graze of his cold hand on my stomach, I jumped. I tossed around and he laughed, an unfair play in the books that led to a tickle onslaught.

Here I was in Wonderland with nothing particular in mind except Harry and he ruined it!

I couldn't stop giggling and he wouldn't stop tickling.

Living and being together every day one would begin to pick up and remember where certain things were placed, where certain things shouldn't be placed, and where things were always meant to be. Well, Harry knew exactly those hotspots and he struck them with exact force.

I finally flipped up and over, his hands still trying their best to attack. I swatted them, and then him, his chest and he chuckled heartily. I smacked his hand again when he went to tickle another spot and he smiled so smugly.

“I was having a rather enjoyable time…” My eyes narrowed as I looked from above him at his side. “…Emphasis on was.”

He put his right arm between his pillow and head, his left arm, his left hand running along my right thigh beneath the covers. “Take me in for insanity for I'm crazy about you.”

“Christ, that was awful…,” I scrunched my brow.

He made a little laugh, “It was, wasn't it?”

I nodded with a smirk, “Yeah, it was. Really.”

I laughed.

I first saw his arm dislodge and then felt him drag me down to him. Jostled, I fell and our lips met in a kiss. He laughed when I scrambled for removal. He was met with a light slap on the cheek.

“You're so mean to me…,” I breathed, my left leg sliding up against his underneath.

“Am I?”

I shook my head, those darkly brown tassels swaying, “You are.”

I went to sit, twisting around and straddled his leg.

“Hm…,” He watched me take my hair and flick it back from falling over my shoulders. I smiled at him from my perch.

“Am I really?”

I sighed and shook my head, “No.” I said this whilst lowering back to him and gathering his warm mouth with my own.

Slipping my arms into the crooks created, I held tight Harry. I clutched his shoulders and hugged him with all my might, lazily letting ourselves explore within. I gave him a greater squeeze in embrace after release, smiling and kissing the cheek I had lightly tapped like I'd kissed a boo-boo. I nudged my nose against his, laughed quietly with him and rose back on my perch.

“You certainly like being on top,” he said with an air of contemptuous sophistication.

I rolled my eyes, my lips in smirk. I sighed into, “…Shut up.”

He laughed and loudly, too.

He picked me up by my hips and led me, with my help, in completely straddling him. Sitting me down, he gave my hips a squeeze.

“Mmmmuuccchh better…”

“Oh yeah?” I raised a brow.

“Oh yeah…,” He smiled and winked at me. He rubbed my sides.

Subtly lurching forward, I rocked easily into him.

He closed his eyes for a second and came to in haste.

He had stopped rubbing me and I thought he had lost the ability to breathe.

He went statuesque, as if I'd given him a full-body binding curse.

“You…” He growled low.

“Me…” I imitated him in growl and tone.

He breathed in and exhaled audibly.

“You've woken… The beast…”

My eyes widened, but it was too late. Harry had grabbed, jerked, and rolled me over so I was stuck on the bottom. I giggled and tried, without really trying, to get away. He laughed menacingly with a, “Muahahaa!” for which I laughed at, getting caught in darkness.

He'd thrown the sheet around us.

I stopped when he stopped.

I could hear my breathing, his breathing.

I couldn't see him, but he was very close, almost face-to-face.

He growled lowly once more, stating in growl and threateningly, “You're going to get it…”

I shrieked when he pounced and screamed out his name in a fit of high-pitched giggles, the sheets being kicked into a mess.

***

Eyes closed, head tilted back into the plush of the pillow, mouth carved into a smile.

I lay there, lingering, basking in the warmth of the rays of sunlight cascading yellowed-orange streaks abstractly across the bed. One of those ray appeared on us, between us, through the slight distance of our bodies. When I re-opened my eyes, a breath escaping of satisfaction, I was met again by the sunlight along Harry's handsome features. The sheets over his shoulders, and him over me, I ran my hands over his arms which I had grasped for balance. Tight skin to his bicep muscles, I could feel the rounded hill and felt of his sturdy shoulders as I moved up and along his back.

He rocked into me, connected as one, my toes curling to clinch tiredly still. My legs were around him.

I softly gasped, the last picture a smile from Harry as he rocked before I went to close my eyes again.

I let my eyes open gradually, taking every sensation in and wanting to devour the sweetness of our scene. I took my hands, slid my fingers in his unruly dark hair, and brought him down to me. His arms, which helped him for support, slipped further between my form and the mattress to embrace me.

My head to one side, his head matching in opposite, I kissed him. Our lips met, but merely relaxed on the supple partner's. Without haste, we simply enjoyed the aromas, the breaths, the tastes of each other while our bodies rested after such a rigorous recess.

***

Walking along the beach, hand-in-hand, whilst in the dimming lights of a beautiful setting sun. The colours mixed layering oranges, blues, and purples. The wind would blow my hair as I'd look to my right at Harry, smiling. We chatted about frivolous things, nothing really more important than the next. We joked and enjoyed the remaining time of our holiday. We didn't want to leave, and I really didn't want to leave. What came next, when we'd step back in London and into our world, was vaguely unknown. I knew the rungs of the ladder, but I didn't know which one could break in my grasp. I didn't want another mishap. We just wanted to live our lives.

When Harry saw and heard the dismay, whenever dismay would wash over me, he'd fight it. This time, a simple frown set him off. I'd flicked my eyes from him to take a lock of hair from tickling my nose blowing furiously in the wind, when suddenly my feet swiftly left the sands. Harry picked me up with a swoop and tossed me over his shoulder. He held onto where my frayed jean shorts fit to my thighs to keep my legs from flailing. A variety of light and dark blues, my plaid shirt unbuttoned wanted badly to come from my shoulders in the breeze as it lay fairly open to the environment. If it weren't for a brown string belt about my waist I was sure the strong zephyr Harry twirled me into would have exposed my left shoulder.

Clutching his short-sleeved shirt, I stated while laughing a bit, “Don't you dare!”

For he was closing in on the ocean.

“What?” He replied innocently, walking farther into the waves. The water hit his unclad calves, his shorts being blown in disarray in the breezes.

“You know—“

He started to make a run for it, right into a crashing wave and went to throw me into the sea.

“Harry!!” I yelled aloud, eyes wide at the crest of the in-coming wave. My fingers poised and gripped, I held onto his vest for dear life.

He halted his mimicking throw and laughed at this so-called joke.

I swatted his back, the upper part I held onto.

“That wasn't funny!”

“I sure thought it was.”

“Your humour is appalling.”

“Oh, really?” He had turned from the bashing waves, but swiveled and began walking back into the ocean. I could feel the crashing swells.

“Harry James… I swear to Mer—“

“Swearing is bad,” He gave my rear a pat. “Girls shouldn't swear.”

“Ass.” I grinned.

“Oh, I see. I see…”

“No, no, no!! Ah! Harry! Stop!” Infinitely more times stronger than me, he began to dislodge my grip. “I don't want to get wet!”

He laughed and gave my rear another pat. “No more frowning?”

“I swea—“

He swatted my bum again. “Now you're just doing it on purpose.”

I giggled into my hand, my world turning one hundred eighty, my hair flowing in sway back to the beach. “Guess I'm not as clever as I used to be.”

“O' masochistic one.”

I gasped. “I take offense to that! Just because I like a little arse-play every once in a while doesn't make me—“

He set my feet on the sands.

“You're awful,” I ended, peering at him through wind.

“You have three seconds.”

“What?”

“One.”

Monstrously, he went to tower over me, his hands like claws out at his sides.

My eyes grew wide and I shrilly laughed in a smile.

I turned and ran.

“Two!” He was closer now, the cheater, for when I turned to see where he was he was right at me.

“But, you didn't say three!”

I screamed out in a yelp, giggling, feeling his arms catch me.

He scooped me up, one arm at the bend of my leg, the other at my back. He playfully snapped at me with a bite of his teeth. “So I'm a pathological liar.”

“I should have known it all along. I'll remember that the next time we play a game.”

He kissed me and left me in my grin.

He fell into the shore. I jostled when landing with him, landing beside him in the sands. I lay back a moment while he adjusted, twisting and turning himself to meet with my form. At a slight height, he lowered to kiss my temple, my forehead, before pushing off with his elbow in propping himself. I climbed onto both of my own, shrugging my shoulders with relaxation whilst I gazed out over the sparkling waters, the great orange sphere dazzling the darkening surface with white-orange glitter.

I sighed.

This was perfect, but when glancing at Harry who watched me so contently, I could help but to predict something awful on our horizon. Every time things seemed so very right, they became so very wrong. I sensed Harry saw the worry, and quickly smiled to divert questioning my thoughts. I couldn't upset him. He needed my love and care, not to be retold problems. Voldemort was gone. These thoughts should be over, so why did I always feel this inkling of menacing nostalgia?

I turned to face the setting sun when Harry once again saw a flicker of negative emotion. “The colours are always so beautiful at dusk; the day's grand finale.”

He was at my ear, caressing behind the lobe and tickling strands of hair that fell behind it when he asked me, a hand on my abdomen, “May I ask you a question?”

“You may.”

He took himself away and to my sight aside me. “It might put a damper on the mood, but I'm curious on your answer.”

Letting my elbows slip, I fell back against the evened sands. My bushy brown puffed out like a miniature shrub. My eyes were on him, and how the bluest sky changed purple around his face like a picture frame. I breathed in and said, “Well, now I'm curious about your curiosity. Go on.”

He sniggered into a smile, his hand rubbing the breadth of my cloth-clad belly. He slid a leg between mine and lay gently on my side. I had to rearrange my legs to fit to his, but fit they did with my left knee bent around to grasp. He slid further on his elbow with his face mere inches towards mine.

“Do you think if I weren't…'The Chosen One'… Do you think we'd—“

“Yes, absolutely,” I broke into his sentence having him stop his question to look at me, my lips as I answered. I knew where he was going and wanted to present myself with earnest because I knew what I replied with was true.

“Dumbledore wouldn't have dropped me off at the Dursley's and they would've been out of the picture. I would have lived with my real mum and dad and everything would be different…”

“But, I still would have peeked into your compartment on the train in search for Neville's toad. Just because you were meant one way this life doesn't mean you wouldn't have sat with Ronald. You chose to sit with Ronald, did you not?”

“I did. He seemed friendly and I needed a friend.”

“So, we would have met regardless.”

“But, would you have had any interest in me at Hogwarts? I mean, there wouldn't have been basilisks wanting my life nor would there have been a portkey to Riddle's grave. You wouldn't have had to scour books for me and would have led a completely different life, one that may or may not have been with me.”

“Do you honestly believe that I took to you strictly because you were `Harry Potter'…? Do you honestly believe I'm that petty and shallow? Do you—“

“Okay, all right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything.” Harry sighed and looked away from me. He peered of into the sunset. “I'm sorry.”

Pushing off the ground and back on my elbows, I got to his height and intently kept my eyes on Harry without blinking. Some of the wind came between us and skirted isolated black tassels at the bottom fringe of his hair on his neck.

“…Why are you suddenly asking me these questions?”

He kept quiet for awhile, the whistling breeze the lone noise to break the silence.

I kept my eyes fixed on him, only taking them away once to pull a strand from my brow blowing annoyingly against my nose.

“Because,” He started, but didn't bother looking at me. He sighed. “I can't read your mind. I don't want this to be a passing phase. Gin loved `The Chosen One'. Other women so eager to want me want the pizzazz of some famous rock star, not because of…”

He sighed, but put anger towards the end.

“And, now I'm babbling like a buffoon and I'm supposed to be the strong, unemotional man full of unabated testosterone. The perfect man. Your perfect husband. But, all I can think of is our wedding and how I want to be, and how you'd like to be and how I can't fix every fucking thing that is thrown at us.”

He sighed again with that forceful anger and fell onto the beach. He put a hand on his forehead and closed his eyes, a bit of snarl lingering. “I feel like a failure, and I don't want to fail you.”

“Firstly,” I rolled onto my side to meet him and placed my hand on his chest. “You are not a failure. You are a brilliant success. Anyone else in your shoes would have been driven mad with all the shit that is thrown at you. Look at all that you've accomplished. Secondly, my Love, we are a team. We're always going to be a team no matter what consequence. Have the entire world take us on and I'll still be by your side—always—helping you with books and cleverness.”

“But, I'm supposed to be—“

“You're supposed to be Harry, yourself, and nothing else,” I interjected with steam. “Don't think you're supposed to be something else. We're flesh and blood, remember? No one's perfect. I'm sure as Hell not perfect even though people portray me as Saint Granger, the flawless protege that knows all. Fact is I'm not. I have my problems and I stumble a ton trying to fix them like everyone else.”

I paused to breathe and then continued, “Just because I'll be Hermione Potter doesn't mean you need to be this…Puritanical husband. I want you to stay just the way you are, mistakes and all.”

“Mistakes and all, eh?”

“Mistakes and all, and everything else in-between. Thus is why I love you.”

Moving his head towards my side, Harry held to a squint, he said with a pinch of sarcasm, “You love me because of the mistakes.”

“I love you because you're real. I love you because you're not some fake person who says one thing and does another; that you're genuine, and unique, and caring, and nurturing, and—“

I sighed and began again. “Do you remember the instance that captured me so to your side?”

He shook his head. “I'm sorry, there were just so many instances and my mind is a blur.”

I smiled in my thoughts. “You saved me from that troll in the girls' toilet.”

“Oh, yeah… That's right. After that I couldn't get rid of you.”

I sniggered. “See? Did you do that because you were `Harry Potter'? Or, did you do that because you chose to, because you found it the right thing to do down deep in your heart?”

Harry smiled and inched forward. In doing so, he planted his lips upon mine and snatched a quick kiss before falling back to the sandy terra.

I laughed a little in his hastiness, as if he needed to be that way.

“But, would that have been enough to keep your interest?”

“Hm…,” I made it so he thought I pondered intensely, but it was all theatrics. I looked up at the sky, put a finger to my chin and bunched my lips together. “Well… The lack of attractive boys would have made it quite—“

I felt him give the hand on his chest a tap and I sniggered again. “I'm kidding, I'm kidding… It was a joke. Though, I did find you handsome. It may have taken me a bit longer to see how special you were, for I was in my own little universe during those early years, but I believe my heart would still have been yours. I think we were written in the stars to meet and fall in love.”

“Do you think the Headmaster gave us a push in the right direction? I think he was rooting for our team albeit secretly because sometimes it just felt, well…right.”

I grinned from ear to ear. “It did feel like he had grand plans for each of us and maybe one held to believe our pairing. I mean, he did sort us to be together into the wee hours of the morning or give late night dates. Hint, hint, hint—Hermione study this with Harry, Harry go here with Hermione, you two should track this oddity down… Ronald would tell me that he'd sit up until he heard you come to bed whenever we were out.”

Harry shook his head and sighed in a chuckle. He looked over at me, “You know, I wish I could have been with you years ago. So much time wasted. So many hearts broken.”

I sniggered. “What would we have done that we didn't already do? Besides the occasional snog or two.”

“Or, three or four, or sixteen, or I wouldn't have allowed you to study because I'd always want a taste.”

I laughed lightly and shook my head. “Maybe it's good we didn't court. What would I have done if I'd gotten a failing grade? I'd hate myself.”

“I'd make up for it. You wouldn't have hated yourself at all.” He winked and I lost myself in a laugh.

“You're horrible. You're really horrible—really and truly.”

“Do you…,” He paused a moment to smile and started again, a twinkle in his eyes. “Do you think you could have gotten me up those stairs?”

“Stairs…?”

“Dormitory…”

My eyes grew like my smile. “Heavens, why would you have wanted to go up there?”

He smiled, too, but then became very serious. “Oh, oh, study. Of course, yes, study is of utmost importance, especially Potions. Absolutely. Ab-so-lute-ly!”

I threw my hand over my mouth to keep from bursting with laughter. I pushed on him and pushed on him hard, “Gods, is that all you men think about? Merlin's name…”

“Hermione,” He snatched another quick kiss. “Between your mind, body, and heart, I wouldn't put it passed me to do some fairly…uncivilised notions. Horrendously naughty bits of the imagination.”

I pushed on him again and shook my head, “Come off it.”

“I think you would have rather enjoyed it.”

I laughed a little too loud and caught myself.

He knew me.

I bit my bottom lip, my eyes flicking from his and his mouth while he spoke. “…I would have,” I exclaimed with honesty.

“Oh really?” He responded, pushing forth from the sand to meet my lips.

“Yes really,” I said just before caressing his waiting mouth.

“But, of course,” I breathed afterwards, watching Harry settle back beside me. “If tattled, we wouldn't hear the end of it from the Professor. She would have easily taken our heads, not to mention separate lethal and lengthy detentions.”

“Even if I purely wanted to sleep with you? Literally sleep with the one I most adored?”

“You really would have wanted to sleep with me without—“

Harry gasped, “Hermione! Where is your head?!”

I rolled my eyes. “Be serious…”

He nodded. “Yes, if we took our courtship to the following level I would have liked to have slept with you…and not just with intercourse. I'd have sought, like I do now, to be with you and I don't believe we would have the privacy anywhere else, especially not in the Commons. Gads, I could just see Fred and George walking in on us curled on the sofa. I would have gladly taken the Professor's chastising before theirs. Think about all the material they'd have at their disposal…”

My smile hadn't ceased, the smile only grew. I leaned in and kissed him this time. “How are you feeling? Better?”

He found pleasure within my caress; so joyous a pleasure he wouldn't let me go.

I laughed with him when he held me there upon his lips.

I didn't want to let go.

***

The aroma of grilled steak, the spices and peppery scent, drifted above the pool. Harry cooked the meal. He had the steak and vegetables. I just had the vegetables. I wouldn't consider myself despondent while we ate, more contemplative. So many things had happened before we went on holiday. So many things are waiting to occur when we get back. Namely, and something I dreaded for I hadn't a clue what to exactly expect, was my best friend's wedding. Or, not wedding. Or, wedding. Or…enter the unknown of infinite conclusions.

I think I figured out several different matrixes floating atop an inflatable pool lounge. My left arm away from the water, I let my right arm, my right hand skim the surface creating subtle ripples by the tip of my index finger. Black rubber bracelets had dropped about my wrist, touching the water, too. The water itself was lit and extremely cerulean, and clear.

I watched Harry swim from one end to the next, his body as vivid as if he were standing up. When he'd push off from the edge to go again he'd produce rhythmic waves keeping the floating chair slowly mobile.

I didn't necessarily want to get wet, even though I had on a swim costume. Actually, I took caution when getting into the lounge not to tumble into the pool. The chair's length was long enough to keep my feet out, my legs straight. I had my hair wrapped about with a scrunchie to keep those strands down from the breeze which stirred the atmosphere, but I could still very much feel it. Wearing a black bikini, one of the few new pieces bought with Cho for the trip, the wind would hit my exposed belly and goose pimples would procreate like rabbits.

I thought the piece was adorable. There were these cute white loops where the cloth attached, at the hips and between my breasts. I even bought a grey little sleeveless top to go over the bra, it cut diagonally with contemporary fashion, but I had too much on my mind to care anymore. Whilst keeping an eye on Harry going back and forth through the water my sight would blur; but, only because I was such in thought, staring blankly.

I hadn't realized Harry stopped swimming until I felt something wet on my feet. I blinked away from my stare and down between my legs at my future husband bobbing in place. His hair, obviously soaked, dripped down his face from thickened, pointy clumps. He had my foot, or rather my toes, wiggling them around with his fingers to get my attention.

“What's wrong?”

That was my cue.

I smiled, but I guessed that excuse began to wear after conditioning. It was a sorry excuse anyway.

“Nothing.”

“Mhmm…,” Of course he didn't buy it. He started to massage the bottoms of my feet by lightly pressing his thumbs into the centre and rotating clockwise. “Now, tell me what's wrong. You've been silent and that's a signal from the Big Book of Hermione that you're thinking about something, and I'm sure it doesn't involve lemondrops.”

“It's nothing.”

“Hermione…”

“Trust me.”

He had his head tilted in a way and he was looking at me in a way that told me he knew better.

“You're not going to let me off the hook are you?”

He shook his head, “Nope. Not until you tell me what's in that beautiful mind of yours.”

Inhaling, I let out a sigh. “…It's Ginny.”

“What about Ginny?”

“What do you think is going to happen?”

“Shouldn't we let them figure it out?”

“I don't think it will be that concrete,” I sighed again, tapping the water with those fingers already at the surface. “It's unbelievably fucked up.”

“It is, but we can't make them decide. They have to decide on their own how they want to continue with their lives. Maybe it's for the best all this happened? Who would want to go about their life in lies?”

“I don't want Neville to hurt. He's too much of a good friend, and Ginny…”

“So, you'd rather have them marry?”

“Why can't everything go back to the way it was?” I asked with exhaustion. It knew it was feeble to say it. If we all could time-travel without endangering other lives we'd all fix the problems we have now.

Harry wobbled towards my right side, some of the water splashing onto my arm and armrest. “Hey!”

I jerked my arm away.

He sniggered and smiled, the nightfall and luminescence having his skin hue seem darker than it actually was. “Come into the water.”

“No.” I folded my arms.

“I could always make you…”

“What's going to happen when we get back and she insists on having me continue to plan their wedding? What if I tell her no?”

“Then you'll have told her no.”

“What if I can't say no and I say yes instead?”

“Then…you've said yes instead.”

“Harry…” I watched him put his arms and elbows on the now vacant armrest.

“I see two large scenarios, right. One being they've worked it out and, if she continues to want you planning she'll ask. The second is she's lying to cover herself, but that's her fault.”

“Harry, that's awful.”

“Well, how are you going to know if she's telling the truth? Unless she strolls out and says it, and I don't think that will happen. She sure didn't come out and say she fancied you while she was with me or the rest of the guys she was with in school.”

“Ugh!” Dropping my head back, I closed my eyes and grunted low from my throat.

“Tomorrow will be tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow…,” I quoted, sighing as sighs became the general theme of the conversation.

I felt the pool lounge tilt to the right and I caught the sides in reflex.

I should have known it was Harry who had done it.

My eyes were wide on him. “Harry James! You gave me a fright!”

“Come in with me,” he laughed.

“I honestly don't want to get—“

He pushed on the side again making me fall to the right.

I hung on.

“I swear to Merlin if you drop me in the pool you'll regret it.” I said this in one breath.

“Oh, now I'm just dying to get you in. You shouldn't tease me.” He pushed on the float again and I fell further towards the blue.

“Harry!!”

“What?” He asked innocently.

Innocent my arse.

“I swear I'll—“

“Whoops!” His full weight on the float, I plunged into the pool with a splash. I tried to hang onto him, but slipped.

I shot straight up when I found my equilibrium. Dagger-eyed, I leapt on Harry and pushed him under the water. He caught me, my arm, and then my leg. He gave me a tug and I fell as he dragged me with him. We tossed, our bodies like a revolving sphere beneath.

He actually tried to get away from me, surfacing and fleeing. I grinned, surfaced too and a stroke away. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pounced from behind, hearing his and my laughter before going back under. I told him he'd get it, and get it he shall. I latched onto his back and thought to pull him under again when we came up, but he checkmated, pulling a fast one and dropping so he put me under. I unwound, pushing off to see him twist underwater to grab me. I twisted around too, to run, but he caught my foot and I was pulled backward.

I thought two could play this game and met him on his act. I placed my arms around him, around his neck. He gathered me by my behind and led me to wrap my legs around him. We both shot from the water together with a smile, and a laugh. I wiped the water from my eyes and slicked back my hair, and then his hair from his eyes, holding onto his broad shoulders. He walked us backwards, smugness carved on his face.

“Ah, my plan all along…” He put himself against the ledge of the pool and made sure my knees didn't scrape.

“Would it be such a plan if I really wanted this to happen?”

He held my bum and stood with an incline as he watched me watch him. “Lies…”

“Truths…,” I smiled and gave him a kiss. I could feel the elastic waistband of his swim shorts along the inside of my thighs.

“Mm…” Harry leaned forward and kissed me after my release.

“Mm…,” I mimicked, re-wrapping my arms around his neck to embrace and to kiss him after his release.

I relaxed in my embrace, stroking his back, my cheek to his shoulder. I think I even closed my eyes and just kept in the private moment. Moving back to the original position, holding onto his shoulders, I said without hesitation, “I love you.”

“Christ, do I love you.”

We both smiled, my arms slipping, winding behind his neck as I closed in. I nudged my nose against his. I felt my body flatten against him. I tilted my head to the side and kissed him. I felt his hold of me tighten, and I grinned further whilst hugging him.

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Talking in Your Sleep by the Romantics (am I the only one who hears this song when people reference sleep-talking?); Something About You by Level 42 for the specially fluffy bits (one of my personal favorite 80s songs); When I See You Smile by Bad English for the extra-extra fluffy bits; Faithfully by Journey (when Harry thinks about the future, his marriage with Hermione and everything he's going/ been through)}

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