Life and Times

Elban Fehl

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 09/03/2010
Last Updated: 19/07/2014
Status: in_progress

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.

Chapters

1. Complicated

2. Neurotic

3. Aftermath

4. Nostalgia

5. Perfection

6. Enkindle

7. Tainted

8. Family

9. Undone

10. Heart

11. Beseech

12. Options

13. Fragile

14. Recreation

15. Jane

16. Valentine

17. Ambition

18. Devotion

19. Nurture

20. Muddle

21. Admit

22. Addle

23. Ginevra

24. Esoteric

25. Games

26. Withdrawal

27. Break

28. Princess

29. Passion

30. Desire

31. Shag

32. Normality

33. Dance

34. Communique

35. Future

36. Letters

37. Misery

38. Visitors

39. Friends

40. Join

41. Funeral

42. Home

43. Bulgaria

44. Trips

45. Stress

46. Rite

47. Stone

48. Dedication

49. Oath

50. Sentinel

51. Ronald

52. Partner

53. Envy

54. Dreams

55. Love

56. Numb

57. Death

58. Retribution

59. Support

60. Kill

61. Miracle

62. Hangover

63. Rapport

64. Wounding

65. Loss

66. Prelude

67. Asylum

68. Awaken

69. Storm

70. Beast

71. Ritual

72. Reunion

73. Restart

74. Reveal

75. Room

76. Mirror

77. Changes

78. Together

79. Trust

80. Mother

81. Placebo

82. Invisible

83. Days

1. Complicated

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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2. Neurotic

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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3. Aftermath

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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4. Nostalgia

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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5. Perfection

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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6. Enkindle

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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7. Tainted

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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8. Family

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 25th, 1999, until December 25th, 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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9. Undone

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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10. Heart

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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11. Beseech

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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12. Options

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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13. Fragile

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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14. Recreation

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 3rd 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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15. Jane

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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16. Valentine

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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17. Ambition

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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18. Devotion

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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19. Nurture

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.

-->

20. Muddle

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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21. Admit

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 22nd, 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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22. Addle

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 }

-->

23. Ginevra

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.

-->

24. Esoteric

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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25. Games

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.

-->

26. Withdrawal

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.”

-->

27. Break

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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28. Princess

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.

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29. Passion

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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30. Desire

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.

***

Chapter Thirty - Desire

***

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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31. Shag

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.

***

Chapter Thirty-One - Shag

***

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.}

-->

32. Normality

Life and Times

Rating: R

Ship: HHr (main emphasis)

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

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

***

Chapter Thirty-Two - Normality

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“'Mione.” He whispered.

“Hm?”

“Did you want to go to that debut still?”

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

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

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

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

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

I lifted to see him, concluding with, “Like always.”

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

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

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

I scoffed.

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

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

“Where are you going?”

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

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

“That's it?”

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

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

He scribbled his name legibly on the first line.

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

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

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

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

“But—“

“Hermione…” He spoke firm.

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

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

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

“Never ceases to amaze me,” he said afterwards.

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

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

“You never cease to amaze me,” Harry added.

“But, I can't make wings and fly.”

Harry chuckled, shaking me upon him.

I smiled at his laughter warmly.

He began rubbing the top of my head.

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

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

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

I closed my eyes and fell asleep in smiles.

***

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

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

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

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

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

“HERMIONE!!”

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

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

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

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

He sat straight up and shuddered.

He winced and felt of his scar a moment.

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

“I'm here—“ I tried to comfort him, but he caught me.

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

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

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

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

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

…Christ…

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

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

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

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

“You did nothing wrong.”

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

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

He stared at me and became rigid.

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

“I'm taking you to dinner.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

“Your hair just doesn't want to keep flat!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We really should get going.”

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

“We really would be late.”

He peered at me quizzically.

I squeezed his shoulders.

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

He laughed.

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

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

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

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

“Indescribably beastly.”

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

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

“Most awful, a vile gentleman.”

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

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

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

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

He rocked into me, and I was utterly taken.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hold my hair?”

Harry chuckled. “With pleasure, madame.”

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

We landed with a miniscule amount of rattle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded and smiled when the goblin greeted me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry glanced at me, offering my choice first.

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

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

“I'll have a light Chardonnay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“You know…”

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

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

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

“The—my, uh, er…”

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

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

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

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

He nodded, breathing in and out, “Got it.”

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

“I thought I should clarify…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We were stupid—I,” He pointed to himself. “I was stupid, a git.”

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

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

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

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

He laid his hand on my heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

“HARRY, I LOVE YOU!!!”

“I WANT TO HAVE YOUR BABY, HARRY!!”

“PLEASE, HARRY!! PLEASE! PLEASE!!”

“HARRY! SIGN, PLEASE!!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“HERMIONE!!”

“HERMIONE, PLEASE!! SIGN MY PROPHET!!”

“OH MERLIN, HERMIONE, PLEASE, PLEASE!!!”

“HERMIONE! PLEASE!! YOU'RE SO PRETTY!!”

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

“PLEASE, HERMIONE!! PLEASE! MY WAND!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“HARRY!! HARRY!! OH GODS, HARRY!! PLEASE!!”

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

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

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

“HARRY!! HARRY, PLEASE!! MY BOOK! PLEASE!!”

“MY GODS, HARRY! WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?!”

“I LOVE YOU, HARRY!!”

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

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

“May I get a hug?” She was just adorable!

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

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

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

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

I did, though.

To Fran, Hermione Granger.

And handed it back to her.

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

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

“Fancy seeing you here, mon cheri.”

Shade—bloody—Epsilon.

I'd become star-struck.

“SHADE, OH PLEASE, PLEASE!! SIGN HERE!!”

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

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

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

Her vivid yellow lipstick shone bright in the many lights.

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

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

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

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

Sincerely yours, Hermione Granger.

I handed it back to her.

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

She put it within her torn and burned Prophet dress.

She snapped her fingers once more.

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

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

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

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

I nodded. “Yeah, she'll do that.”

“She's nice,” he added.

I sniggered, but quickly shushed when I saw…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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33. Dance

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?”}

-->

34. Communique

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}

-->

35. Future

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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36. Letters

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: The magical world always seemed mind-boggling fast, too fast, faster than our world and that's saying something. As per Order of the Phoenix, Harry surely knew the trial wouldn't be fixed and that Rita wouldn't play by the rules. So much for a warm welcoming back; then again, when did these lives ever really have a break?

***

Chapter Thirty-Six - Letters

***

“Hold my fedora?”

“It would be my pleasure, mademoiselle.”

And with that, we were gone from our holiday flat, the isolated island literally of nonexistence. Or, so people knew from the numbing charm. I held onto Harry, the stream of blurring colour like watery chalk residue, bounding passed us with enormous speed. A pull, and then a push, our heels collided with the cement before numbers eleven and thirteen of Grimmauld Place. Harry's chrome hued BMW sat outside the gate, we walked around to get the wrought-iron and unlatch the front. We shot glances in every direction before plunging into our home, the building growing as it always did for Number Twelve.

The London sky was gloomy, an overcast of grey cloud, the picturesque United Kingdom. Inside, however, even in the hall the murky weather felt uninvited. The flat remained cool, but not so cold that it hurt. If I hadn't worn a suit-style outfit, stripes of black-and-yellow from my jacket down to my tailored trousers, I would have been exceptionally comfortable. Unfortunately, I hadn't the time to undress. We carried luggage, Harry bumbling moreso than me, upstairs and unpacked.

Not the most incredible hour of our lives, but it needed to be done. Of course, looking back on that hour, I would have rather done another set full luggage than what we received by post. We'd set instructions with the Post in delivering mail. Because our letters were addressed strictly forbidden to be handled by anyone other than ourselves, orders were mandatory or the post be tossed. The life of fugitives—I mean, the lives of Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.

We were in the kitchen. I'd put on some tea in the kettle and went to fetch biscuits from the cupboard. Harry tended to the two dozen letters, which had fallen from a notch in the wall. He gave me those that were addressed to me personally. I knew from the scrawled writing who the first in the queue of the bundle was from, not to mention the overly-large postage of black-and-red securing the halves together. Breaking the seal, I read:

Hermy-own-ninny,

Thank you for the lovely letter you sent me of encouragement. I cherish it and keep it in my belongings for good luck. Yes, it was a very demanding schedule. The new trainers don't like us to be of children. They want us to act like adults outside the pitch. I've told that to Gregor and he still wants his whiskey and girls. Oh well. So I hear in the newspapers of your marriage to Harry Potter. Joy! You have a pretty mind and a heart of solid gold. I knew when we first met that he and you had a background. I'll confess I'm jealous. Do you hate me? I wonder if that makes me more adult? Anyway, I've enclosed two tickets to an exhibition match here in Bulgaria. I want you and Harry to come. Please! To celebrate your commencement and his birthday. On the tickets are special instructions on Flooing. I want you both here and escape the hardships I read about in your previous letter. You should get away. You shouldn't be sad anymore.

Your friend,

Viktor Krum

I fanned the two tickets burning at my fingertips. Burning because I knew they'd get Harry's outright attention. And, they did. Harry, who poured over a letter himself, shifted to see me making a scene beside him. His eyes lit and he glanced between me and those he watched.

“What? How did—What?”

“I have friends in high places.”

I laughed when he snatched them from said fingertips.

He gazed openly as if he'd discovered the alchemist's equation on creating pure gold.

He said in fits, breathless and smiling, “Bulgaria versus Lithuania?! Viktor!”

I nodded. “I told him about you, and if you look at the dates…”

“July 31st…!”

“Feliz cumpleanos! However, early.”

“You are amazing,” He gathered me and kissed my lips. “Gigantically, enormously amazing multiplied to infinity!”

“I thought you'd like it,” I smiled.

“It will positively be the best birthday ever. Thank you,” He kissed me again, giving me a tight embrace.

I hugged him tight, too, saying in smiles, “You're quite, quite welcome.”

Harry was on his sixth when I sifted open by nail the next. This also had an air of nostalgia written all over it before actually taking the parchment from its envelope. I knew right away who the letter was from, the envelope's paper dyed in a rainbow spectrum of colour and the postage cut-out like a crumple-horned snorkack leaving the author completely indisposed:

To Missus Hermione Potter (Luna insists in describing you as Missus Potter!),

Luna Lovegood is requesting an engagement. She wishes to have lunch with you soon. She hopes you are well and that the nasty bubbling urglops haven't found their way into your bed. Please give her a call by fireplace or post, or by her newly obtained telephone: X9-17065A.

She sends you and Harry her love and wishes you both the very best.

Sincerely,

Stephanie Shultz

Public Relations

Assistant Press Secretary

“I've gotten a letter from Luna.”

“Hm?” Harry flicked his eyes to me and asked, “Really? What does she say?”

“She wants to have lunch with me. Now that I have more free time before the session starts in autumn, I'll take her up on the offer. She has a telephone.”

Harry chuckled, “A telephone? Wow, that must be a sight, seeing her work a telephone. She loses the darnedest things and I can see her forgetting the functionality.”

I rolled my eyes in a grin, “Come now, it's not too difficult to press one, two, and three. Give her the benefit of the doubt.”

I began to shuffle the parchment back in the splotches of colour when Harry shrugged, saying, “She's always been a good friend. A great friend, a genuine friend, suffice to the lot we see everywhere else. She loves me and especially loves you. She'd practically bend over backwards to please us, so—yeah.”

He nodded. “Have a lunch date with her. Take it easy.”

He inclined at the sink, his legs twined together, one atop its partner. I went to take the kettle from the stove eye, it whistling its finale.

Harry shook with a fuss, sighing into his hand at nearly every other letter. He'd slide his hand into the front of his hair and let the long locks curl back downward slowly about his face and ears. I peeked in his direction when he'd said an obscenity, dusting my hands with a cloth after plating the biscuits.

I set my hand on my hip, its twin against the countertop ledge. “We just got home. We haven't had a chance to do anything. What could possibly be wrong?”

Harry crumpled the strikingly white bit of parchment in his hands and threw it on the ground. He stomped on it with his shoe and uttered a grunt.

I threw the rag aside and went to him. “What is it?”

He stood, staring blankly across the kitchen. He didn't blink, his nostrils flaring, his eyes piercing the porcelain sitting on rack along the far wall. I flicked to the goblin-made ware and back to him, not understanding his silence but realising the anger. “What—“

“I'm thinking.” He said curtly.

I placed my hand on the arm closest to me, his hand clutching the ledge of the counter. White-knuckled, he had quite the firm grip. “Harry, what is—“

He shot at me. “Hermione!”

Reflexive, I stepped backward, my head dodging his sharpness. For a moment I didn't just hear the animosity, I saw it behind his eyes. The way he looked at me and lurched toward me; but, it didn't last. A mere second, and Harry was back to the person I knew. He retracted himself, and stated in kind apology, “I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

He shook his head, and then he looked back at me. “I didn't mean to yell at you.”

“It's all right, really,” I went back to him and persuaded affection. He needed it, my palm rubbing alongside his arm, soothing whatever poisoned my Love. The letter had done the terrible deed; forced Harry to become that slithering serpent. “Tell me what it said for you to reaction like that. It can't be good.”

Harry laughed sarcastically, sniveling a snort and bent to pick up the crushed parchment. “That's stating it lightly. Here, see for yourself.”

My brow inched, rising, peering at Harry as he offered me the letter un-crumpled and cleaned from his shoe print. He blew away the dirt and it lay in my hand.

My eyes affixed to the legible cursive. The detail fine, I knew right away this wasn't any old letter addressed to Harry James Potter:

From the Office of Burdem and Bange-

Mr. Harry James Potter,

By receiving this letter, we are to notify that the Daily Prophet is intending to sue on grounds of physical abuse and molestation of one, Mr. Jason Daley.

“This… This is an outrage!”

“I hit the man, Hermione. I made him bleed.”

“But, he called me a Mudblood!”

Harry flinched.

“A swear! This…,” I read the message again, all the lawyer verbiage. “'Jason Daley' incited the incident! There were witnesses at the night club!”

Harry looked as if I weren't even there, and then shook out of his trance, throwing a smaller yellowed envelope at me. I caught it with one hand. “I've got to speak to Kingsley, anyway. He's requested for me to be present during the trial of Ivik Varishka, an Undesirable. He thinks we've seen him during the War, but he doesn't exactly remember.”

“And, who would?” I huffed, beginning to reveal the contents of the Ministry-signed envelope. “It's not like there were a handful of Death Eaters; more like an entire country of evil.”

“I'm to be the key in sentencing him…,” Harry's eyes strayed towards me where they instantly lit. I'd unsealed the enveloped.

“Hermione! Don't!” Harry went to snatch the envelope from me, but was late in grasping. His hand went right through what was the paper object, it catching on fire and burning on the kitchen floor where I dropped it.

Harry stomped it out.

“…Should have realised Kingsley would put a charm on the letter.”

“Classified and confidential,” When Harry lifted his foot there was nothing. No soot, no burn marks on the floor, nothing resembling the real flames that once incinerated the paper.

It had vanished.

“I'm going with you,” I decided promptly.

Harry shook his head, “Kingsley wanted me.”

“You're not going to do this alone!”

“Hermione, you're not going.” He said this unusually cool.

“I'm coming with you to the Ministry whether you like it or not! We're going to take these on as a team. Remember? A team!”

Harry's green eyes grew dark as he looked at me. “…You're staying out of this. You will not be put in danger anymore. This is what I've decided.”

“Tell me then!” I was frantic. I was scared. Death Eaters, Dark Marks… I couldn't believe Harry would shut me out like this. He never shut me out. I held up the engagement ring on my finger. “What does this mean?!”

“It means I love you.”

“It means we'll be by each other's sides!” I threw my hand back down and sized Harry aggressively. “I'm going!”

“…In another world we'd go together. But now,” He stared straight into me. “You are my future wife. You will be protected. I will protect you no matter what.”

“Then I'll be damned if I'll be you wife!” I took the ring off and threw it across the room. I heard the soft metal hit the wall, the clink echo in our sudden silence, and it drop to the floor with a thud.

I gasped.

I couldn't believe what I had done.

Harry had turned his head to watch the ring float aimlessly in the air, as if in slow motion, and strike the wall. It chipped a piece of wood from the surface as hard as I'd thrown it. He didn't look back at me, planted where he stood. After a while of waiting for something, anything in our tensed state, he made a move—for I couldn't, ashamed of my action—and prepared to walk carefully to where the ring had fallen.

I saw him vanish beneath the dining table, and then stand back from his squat, blowing the diamond and gold loop off.

He held his gaze from me, taking my left hand quietly and slipped the ring back on my finger.

A lone tear trickled down my cheek.

I wished I'd never done it.

It felt like I'd shot my own heart, the strings detached, bleeding profusely from an open wound.

When his eyesight finally clicked with mine, I threw myself on him. I hugged him, embracing him tight and sobbed uncontrollably into apology after apology.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry…”

In his silence he ran his hand along my back.

But, I needed more.

I felt like I'd disappointed him.

“Please, say something!” My embraced tightened, wallowing at his neck.

“…I'm going to the Ministry tomorrow…”

“Let me come with you, please…!”

“I can't… I will not endanger you any longer. You will no longer be shredded to bloody bits for the sake of galleons anymore. I will not have it.”

I stepped away, but only to see him, our distance centimetres.

“Please,” I pleaded at a whispering breath. “Please… A team… I can research… I can help you! You know I can!”

His plain gaze stood stationary. He wasn't really looking at me, but he was looking at me. I knew his mind raced in rapid thoughts, and I wished I could hear them, see them, understand why he insisted on me staying behind. He loved me, yes; but, he loved me in school, caring about me till this day and that was a fact. I started guessing in that noiseless moment about how our new level of life encroached on the past, now his lover, his forthcoming wife, the mother of his future children…

I didn't want to give any of those up, but I wanted to give those up to help the one I most loved.

His release of me interrupted my thoughts.

Rummaging in his pocket, he pulled out his wand.

He took me back tight and asked me to, “Hang on.”

I clung to him, embraced him once more, and heard him chant “Accio broom!”

Then, we vanished.

***

By broom, Harry had taken us to the mountains, somewhere far away from the reaches of London. I clasped to him snug, holding on from behind while he directed flight. I used to fear flying. I used to close my eyes. I remember our ride on Buckbeak and how scared I was, eyes closed, shutting out the scream. But now, with Harry, I knew no longer that fear. I kept my eyes open.

My cheek to his back, I watched the sun rise with us. I watched the automobiles become ants, their trails the pavement, the motorways of mid-morning traffic. I saw Big Ben in the distance, the bridges over water, and the water's sparkling ripples. The air grew colder, and as we left the city the atmosphere grew clearer. He pushed through the fog and the earth instantly disappeared, a sea of white cloud beneath us, the sky the bluest of blues.

He descended to land atop a plateau jutting outward. When his feet hit the craggy foundation, he slowed the speed, touching earth. He turned to motion he was about to withdraw his broom. I slipped away, grabbing his hand and held onto it. I wasn't about to let go.

We sat together on a cliff looking out across a lake, and at the English hillside spruced with dense trees. We watched the fog roll off the mountain and down in the valley, a sheet of the purest white tumbling through the trees. England's somber weather drew with its overcast, darkening the sky and squashing any penetrating light. Where the sunlight did try and break through, parts in clouds abstractly cut at odd angles as if what was above was flesh ridden with hundreds of lacerations.

Placing my chin on his left shoulder, my eyes upon him, I didn't look away. Harry kept his eyes on what matured below. The wind blew at us, blowing my hair everywhere. I had to move, to keep my eyes from drying, but Harry remained still behind his glasses. With his lips firm together, I knew he continued to think, almost oblivious from his surroundings. If it weren't for the occasional stroke of my hand, I'd think he was gone.

“You've been quiet for some time,” I whispered to him. “Please, tell me what you're thinking…”

He stayed to himself, eventually revealing through words of certainty, “…Circumventing is a must. She'll try and pull a fast one, I'm sure of it. There's no other way around. I won't have it become a sideshow.”

“Have Kingsley take care of Rita and her attention-seeking ways.”

“Kingsley already has enough to worry about. Squashing cockroaches is a full-time job.”

“I'm sure he's aware of what's happening,” I spoke, but Harry never turned towards me. His only acknowledgement came from his aural sense. “He'll do something to shut her off. He has to.”

“I'm sure he is well aware of Rita's plot, but I'm not going to run to him. I'm over scurrying for help. I chose what I chose, and I'll never think to change what I did. I'll take my dues if dues are given.”

I squeezed his hand.

“I'm scared Harry…,” I put my forehead to his shoulder and ran my cheek along the rounded edge, nuzzling him, and then kissed softly the spot before laying my chin back where it had rested.

“Scared? What for?” Harry made a cold chuckle, the side of his lip attempting to curl but didn't make quite it. “Everything will be all right. I have everything under control.”

“I don't want you to be in the same room as a Death Eater, be it one or one hundred…”

“I'll only be in there for one reason and one reason only. If anything, I'm dreading Rita's face than the trial of a Death Eater,” He laughed, but it encompassed a sigh. “I'm not sure if I'd want to laugh in her face or take a swing.”

I shook his hand, my right clasping palm-to-palm while my left held above, “Even if it's so difficult not to hit her, don't.”

“That was a joke…”

“We vowed to give up this way of life after the War… Why must we be constantly sucked back in? It's like we're right back in the tent…”

The only sound amongst us for a while was the howl of the wind. I had laced my fingers from underneath and would open and close them as I held tight his hand. I'd rub his arm, tracing downward to that hand in essence to soothe, do something, anything at all. If I didn't, I think I'd scream. I had to close my eyes, and did so, thunder rumbling in the distance.

Harry leaned into me, the side of his head tapping the top of mine alerted me out of the mood.

It was difficult, but I smiled however gently.

“Let's run away,” I suggested in the difficult smile. “Let's just run far, far away, as far away from London and everyone, everything.”

“If only it were that easy,” He smirked. “If only…”

The whistling winds took again within the absence of sound.

I didn't know what else to say.

What was there to say?

I felt as if our very lives were being taken away…

I kept quiet in our moment, gazing out over the valley as the rolling fog strolled casually passed the lake and onto the other side. I could see in the distance the troubling weather of blackened clouds; though, I squeezed his hand and wasn't stirred by what I considered now frivolity. My mind was riddled with, What if's.

“Guess I'll be packing when we get back…,” He breathed, shattering the silent glass.

“How long do you think they'll keep you?”

“I'm sure Rita's showcase will wrap up quick. I don't see the court having their precious time spent essentially on a freak carnival,” A strong gust blew some of his hair about his face, my own in disastrous chaos, attaching haphazardly on Harry's jacket. “Kingsley's call, however, might hold me there for a while. To be honest, I don't know.”

“What of your birthday?”

He stroked the inside of my hand, alongside the palm, with his thumb, “I'll be back.”

He nodded, “I promise.”

“Don't make promises that you may not be able to keep…,” I kissed his shoulder and held the caress. I said while there on him, “I don't know what I'll do without you by me. It feels like I've been punched in the stomach. It hurts…”

“Have lunch with Luna. Write a letter back to Viktor that we'll be there for his game,” He squeezed my hand, having to close his eyes slightly in another strong gust of on-coming wind. “Contact Gin and be with her. Don't stay alone. Promise me that you won't.”

“Again,” I made a laugh through my nose. “Don't know if promises will be kept.”

He smirked, but I watched it fall soon afterward, “Just stay away from that world. They're not allowed to cross.”

I nodded, letting him know that's something I would utmost follow. I had no intentions in getting anywhere near the magical world unless he needed me there.

“Still want to marry me?” He turned to me when he said this, the first time he set his eyes on me while we were here.

He had a bit of smirk on him.

Inside, I knew it wasn't because he thought what he said was humourous.

I just shook my head and hugged his arm.

“Perfect opportunity, and I'll understand”

“Harry…,” I exclaimed tersely; though, the silence that linger spoke wonders of truth in his statements.

He truly believed I'd leave him.

“…'Til death do us part.” I said softly in one breath, eyes closed, my cheek again on his shoulder.

***

The very second we were back at Number Twelve the telephone rang. Harry hadn't even closed the door behind. I wasn't but in the middle of the entrance hallway. I tucked pieces of loose hair behind my ears, hanging a right in the kitchen where I took the telephone from the hook, the closest of the few in our home. I heard Harry approaching, appearing under the frame, his side tilted just inside the dining area.

He watched me, my backside against the countertop, my right hand holding the telephone to my ear while its partner was folded across my abdomen.

“Hello?” I wasn't exactly in the correct mindset for the call, my mind working with the objective of packing for Harry's trip to the Ministry…and, so much more. But, when I heard the voice on the other end, magically some of that sadness washed away.

“Cupcake! You're back!”

“Mummy!” I put my hand on the receiver and turned to Harry who was smiling at me.

“It's mum,” I mouthed to him, going back to the telephone call.

From my peripherals I saw Harry with his Firebolt disappear from view and ascend up the stairs, each footstep heard.

“When did you get in, love? You sound tired for having been on holiday.”

I made a snort and rolled my eyes at the irony of her comment, “We got back a little while ago, maybe a few hours. We've been resting, going over mail, you know how it is when you just get back from a week-long holiday. Seems like everyone wants a piece of you.”

“Lots of bills, eh?”

“Mhmm.” I couldn't just tell her, `Hey, we're getting sued by a maniac out for our blood and oh, yeah, Harry will be witnessing a trail of an accomplice from the mass genocide that nearly happened two years ago!' Besides, they were obliviated for a reason.

“Do the two of you have enough to pay them?”

“Of course, mummy. Of course.”

“Just checking, love. You know we love you and Harry dearly. You two are always on our minds.”

“Aw… Mummy…,” I began to pour the cold tea from the kettle that had sat on the stove, dump the dried out biscuits in the rubbish bin. I'd start fresh, put a new bag in. I reached for those bags in the cupboards above.

“Well, it's true, dear.”

I smiled, flicking the faucet on for water.

“How tired are you and Harry?” She asked which tugged at my curiosity.

“Why do you ask?”

“Your father and I made prior arrangements for dinner and we were wondering if you two would like to join us. It's been weeks since we last saw you. But, if you're tired…”

“Would it be a bother?”

“Never a bother, dear. A simple call to the restaurant and a table for two will become a table for four. Does Harry eat Mongolian?”

I laughed into the phone, “I'm not sure if Harry's tried Mongolian, but he'll eat practically anything. That I know with certainty.”

“Fantastic! Will seven-thirty be all right?”

“Well, Harry's packing for a trip out right now—“

There was my cover if anything came up.

“He's leaving again already? That was quick.”

“Business trip for the school. A mandatory educational class,” I improvised on the fly. “He'll be back. I'll go ask him and I'll call you back, okay?”

“Sounds good, love.”

“All right, mummy. I love you.”

“I love you too, Cupcake.”

Hanging the telephone up, I bounded up the staircase. I must have made a ruckus enough to shake Harry for he was coming out of our bedroom. He grasped the side of the door when we met in the hallway, eyes ablaze.

“What's wrong?” He was concerned, his brows bunched together. He was looking me over.

“How would you like to go to dinner?”

“Uh,” Thrown off-guard, he stood dumbfounded, scratching his head. “What? Yeah, I mean—what?”

“With my parents. They've asked if we wanted to go, and I was thinking it would be good to go…you know…”

“Absolutely,” Harry nodded, patting the doorframe he had grabbed. “We need a little diversion from all this pessimistic baggage.”

He thumbed towards the bedroom where I presumed he'd begun to pack. Sure enough, walking around him to get the phone in the bedroom, I saw the luggage sprawled over the floor. I had to turn away from the image; the image utterly churning my stomach uneasily.

I did a bounce on the bedside, taking the phone to hold it to my ear.

As I went to dial, I felt a similar bounce beside me. Harry, shifting so we touched, caressed my arm when it was free, my shoulder, my neck until he roused me with laughter by his scruffy beard. I fell to the bed, dropping the telephone back on the hook on the way, and giggled as Harry snuggled into me. He kissed my lips, my hands cradling his face.

***

We held hands, and tightly, even as we made our way to the table with mum and dad. Harry pulled the chair out for me, to which I furtively grinned, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear and slipped into the table. He proceeded to sit down beside me, the men facing each other like the women.

It was nice not to know we had several thousand eyes on our every move. Actually, the people around us couldn't have cared less, being in their own universe within the confines of their tables. We didn't have escorts. We didn't discuss the horrible activities of what may or may not come. We merely spoke of our holiday, what our flat was like, the weather, what we did, what we saw, everything about our tiny island.

Thankfully, I let Harry know about his cover beforehand. My father asked about his educational trip in passing discussion, so Harry was ready to talk all about it. All the while, our hands hadn't left each other beneath the white, draping tablecloth. Slowly, I'd work the tips of my fingers inside the slight webbing between Harry's fingers. He'd slowly encircle the centre of my palm, so far as to give me a shiver which he saw. I smiled at him when I did, my chin in my left hand, the lights of the candles frolicking in our eyes.

The bruise, which had gotten lighter in its purple colour, was an obvious point. Harry told them he'd been hit by a ball while assisting the sports team at the school, the truth without every, single detail. After the War, I tended to keep much more of our world from my parent's view. Before I'd probably have come out and say Quidditch, or the terms derived from the sport, but now I wanted things to remain elementary.

Deep into our meal, in-between the main entree and dessert, Harry's hand had pretty much covered the entirety of my strapless satin cocktail dress. Dark maroon hue, a black satin ribbon restrained my middle. Harry hooked his fingers in the strip of fabric, wriggling them around, rubbing where my sides curved. A bit of intimacy, I grinned in the candle-light. I took advantage to lean in and kiss Harry while my parent's discussed something amongst themselves.

He smiled in return.

I adjusted his black tie, and the maroon vest under his jacket matching what I wore.

We'd been mulling over ideas about our wedding through wine and dessert. Harry and I hadn't really put ourselves forward in that category. We really felt we didn't have time for ourselves to think about our wedding. We always had some problem to face or something which stole our mind. Maybe we had an appointment, or maybe we just wanted to mingle together in silence. I guess that's why we found ourselves in bed; at least we knew our privacy would be interrupted less behind bedroom doors.

“If you do not want to do it there, why not have it on the lawn, baby girl?”

“In front of the house?” My eyes were on my father who had his right arm wrapped around mum.

I turned towards Harry to get his input, our faces close together. We hadn't but a few centimetres in distance the whole night.

Harry shrugged, “That actually isn't a bad idea.”

I flicked back to daddy, my curled tassels swaying in tune, “But, would we have enough room to accommodate everyone?”

“Oh, we'll make room for everything and it would be easier on everyone, in our opinion.”

I cocked a brow, “You two have been thinking this over?”

Harry's hand massaged my back.

I set my fork down on the now empty plate where once a slice of cinnamon apple crumble cake sat. One could actually see the triangular outline of the crumbs.

“Your father's already scouted the lawn, love. Where the chairs would go, where the catering would be, even so far as where the dove archways would sit.”

Daddy smiled from his laid back posture beside mum, his own suit jacket open to reveal his starched collar shirt.

I smiled warmly at their caring initiative for our future.

I turned back to Harry who stopped a second to take my pleased expression in, his hand continuing then as he smiled, too. “Sounds exceptionally well. I like it, and it wouldn't put a strain on your family coming over.”

I made a bit of a squeal from my throat, sheer happiness coursing the length of my body from my heeled-toes to the blackened bow atop my tamed brunette hair.

I leaned into Harry and kissed him again.

***

Having kicked off my heels, I stood in front of Harry at the end of our bed. We'd had a fabulous night with my parents, at times forgetting the inevitable that awaited us. But, when we were home, back in this environment, the gravity of emotion clung sickly to our skin. I didn't want him to leave. I didn't want him away from me. I didn't want him gone for a week, or another, or another, not knowing how he really faired, how he was really doing.

I was between his knees, his legs open enough to fit mine which were together. He was looking up at me, my hand rising to pull the black bow from my hair. When taken away, the long curls it held back fell forward onto my shoulders. I took his hand and led it to the zipper on the left side of my dress. Carefully, our eyes never leaving, I had him zip me down until I felt the dress begin to slip away. Detaching, I knew once I'd taken his hand to the lowest point my dress would fall—and, it did so—around my feet. Left in my black corset slip, a portion of my pale skin exposed a slight breadth between the brim and my tights. I led his hand to my thigh, to feel me.

I closed my eyes as Harry slid his hands up, unveiling more of my thigh, my knickers, my stomach where he kissed my navel.

I had my hands in his hair and lightly pulled on him.

I tilted my head back and allowed him to kiss my stomach twice, again, one caress on either side of the button.

My head fallen back, I pushed him to the bed and crawled between him. I flipped my hair, it draped towards the mattress and him as I traced by lips up a trouser leg, to his belt buckle, and pulled his tucked-in shirt out to caress his skin.

I sat on him, unfastening his shirt and prying it from his shoulders when he rolled us over. My back hit the bedding softly. He pushed my legs to bend at my knees, his body slithering between them, against them, and had them encompass his form.

My fingers gently combed his hair, tossing his glasses aside and kissed him.

He found my hands, gripped them, intertwined his fingers tightly with mine and responded roughly by coercion of my eager mouth.

{Inspiration for the chapter: Nick Cave's O' Children; the more I hear the words of the piece, the tangible but depressed beats of its ambience, the power of the work trying to be up-lifting but struggles to get there, I can't but be frightened at how well the song fits; also, the mountain scene is inspired by the promotional Deathly Hallows: Part I photograph of Harry and Hermione overlooking a craggy cliffside}

{Other notes - I didn't want to put this in before the chapter. Using the dance scene analogically, the threads between Harry and Hermione are those Harry wants to protect. Through Hermione's thoughts, I hoped to give insights into why Harry demands to be alone in his fights (lover, wife, future mother). From cherished friend to life-long companion is quite a leap and these two already have enough psychological baggage.

They also speak as if Harry will be gone for a while. In short, as trials of Undesirables would be kept extremely closed, Harry could be held from Hermione for days, weeks, and possibly more. Having them state these terms wouldn't be quite realistic as they would have known. I hinted during their dialogue but wanted to clarify what might be confusing.}

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37. Misery

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: (4/5/2011) Had bit of trouble trying to upload the chapter, and Portkey loaded like a snail for that matter. Hope all is well with the site. But, anyway…

Hermione struggles without Harry and grieves with the unknown. Sifting for answers in the media-mess is about as fruitful as finding a needle in a haystack. She tries to fight her emotions, but inevitably loses the battle. She finds support in friendship, but will it be enough? Angst-a-plenty.

***

Chapter Thirty-Seven - Misery

***

I honestly don't know how I escaped from not being able to sleep. Honestly, I had the right tools for insomnia: Rita, the trials, murderers, the Ministry, my love and the unknown. I wouldn't know when he'd be back. One day, there or not, he would show up at Number Twelve. Just like that. No signs, no warnings, no flashing lights—one day gone, the next he's here—the ways in which these awful things worked. Of all the times to be away… Frightening falls short of the description. Horrors from my vivid imagination complemented those what if's.

For hours we were together. For hours it was just him and me, and us. Consequently, and fortunately, I'd become exhausted. My body gave out. Elated, sad, indifferent, but I eventually gave out. Mixed perspiration, the smell was intensely pumpkin and vanilla. Hadn't thought about the sheets, we lay upon them. I lay upon Harry, his side, wrapped around him snug. It was a trap. I would know the very moment he moved. I'd waken. I didn't want to fall asleep only to realise he had gone. Vanished. Ka-poof.

We weren't out but for an hour or two, or three. Actually, when Harry disturbed me it didn't look as if he even tried to sleep. He was on his back, my cheek to his bare chest. He was staring at the ceiling and I was sure he stopped breathing. He felt me move, blinking, peering down at me with a false smile. I slid up him, and I could feel the muscles sore. I shook the hurt away and did as I pleased. I fell onto him, my arms framing his face, and kissed him good and hard.

Against his slick skin, I moved easily. I heard him grunt as I ground into his leg, his thigh, his hip. I flicked my damp hair back from my face and went to go again, lowering to kiss him when he gathered my limbs. He carried me across the bed, off the bed, my arms about his neck as he brought me into the loo.

He set me down beside him, turned the knobs in the shower, and lured me in by his mouth. Suddenly, I wasn't the least bit tired. The warm water cascaded down between his, literally falling on him to me. We twisted, my body slowly getting the brunt of the pressure until he lifted my figure. Weightless, I climbed onto his portrayal of jungle-gym and tightened my vice. Pressing me into the wall, I gasped, the water hotter, steam rising, and as I turned my head to face the shower door I couldn't see anything else anymore.

***

We stayed until the water turned cold.

I pleaded with him to allow magic, for me to keep the hot water going, but time ticked against me.

By the time we did leave Harry had to start sorting the packed luggage. I wasn't anywhere to be found. I couldn't watch him. I took the one piece of genuine Harry from our closet and put it on over my head. His Quidditch jersey always smelled of him, and I needed that sensation like I needed my very blood.

I took to downstairs. I wasn't going to abandon him. I wasn't going to just let him leave, offering as much as I could think of in this volatile situation. Volatile within me. Harry liked egg salad. Harry liked ham and cheese sandwiches. Harry rather enjoyed his puddings, biscuits, and pastries. He liked the juices, the milk, and the earl grey tea. I used magic, of course, for no human could accomplish such a culinary feat. The brief space it took Harry to bounce-and-bang the luggage down the stairs, I had prepared most on my mental grocery list.

I used an engorgement charm on the inside of a lunch basket. Saran wrapping what I could, I plated and stored the rest in miniature containers. One after another I placed them inside, making sure to organise breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The Ministry had their own meals, and certainly the greatly-overseen lodge they'd be sleeping at had their own catering. But, I loved him—damn it. I didn't know what else to do, so I cooked him his favourite homemade meals to-go.

I didn't want to see him in the den. I knew the luggage sat at the ready beside the fireplace. I knew he was counting their numbers compulsively, a trait that rubbed off from me. I was done in the kitchen, but I just couldn't walk in there. I heard rummaging, stomping, soft walking and footsteps closing in to my proximity. I stood firm on my feet. My hands flat on the countertop, I had my head down. I tried to shake off the tears so readily in their ducts.

I felt him, his burst of warm aura first, and then his entire body. He wrapped his arms about me from behind and leaned against me. He sniffed my hair, nuzzling, kissing, caressing down the curve of my throat. By hand he was painting me, my form, roaming the concaved curvatures, the convex hilltops. I remained still and let him feel of me, love me, taking pleasure from his fragile touch. I moved only when he made me, finding my breasts and squeezing them, pushing on me to arch backward. I followed him, met his mouth with a turn of my neck and savored his taste. The taste I knew I wouldn't have for a while.

He had me twist, shifting my hips till I faced him. He lay back atop me in our vertical stance, his arms embracing me. I wrapped my own, surrounding his neck and cradling him against my shoulder. We stood in silence like this, feeling his fingers along my indent, straight descending to the crease of my arse. I pushed off on my tip-toes, allowing him to pull away the cloth from my bum. He traced the smooth skin of my buttocks, and gradually I came back to the soles of my feet.

He tightened his embrace of me, and I did the same.

Without words, I knew what he wanted to say.

I don't even know how I got anything out, too, but said nonetheless softly, “I'm not going to cry…”

That was a lie, for the very moment a tear fell.

He stepped away and reached for me.

Instantly, I grabbed it.

He walked me into the living area, around the sofa, between the coffee table and the television to the fireplace. Several pieces, large to small, were fit close within the enlarged pit. He took the canister of Floo powder from the shelf and turned about to face me in his suit and tie. He inclined his chin as if to tell me, How do I look?

I made a tiny laugh, puffy-eyed and sniffed my running nose.

I pinched the knot firm and adjusted his tie parallel to everything else.

I didn't have to touch a thing on him, immaculate from head-to-toe, but did all the same.

I patted his tie, his chest, pulling at the sides of his jacket and exchanged the Floo canister with his lunch basket.

He had to clear his throat, and another, and again, his eyes growing red with withheld tears. He had to blink and shake out of it himself, smiling the fake of a smile.

“I'll be back before you know it.”

He stepped backwards into the fireplace.

“Good luck,” My voice came out pitchy, and I had to clear my own clasped throat.

We stood in quiet and stared at one another.

I wanted to kiss him one last time, but knew one last time could mean one last time. And, it wouldn't be one last time.

“I love you with all my heart.”

I heard a sob break when he told that to me, and the wall crumbled.

Tears streamed easily down my face and I could look at him no more.

The knots in my stomach and the wound in my heart shed physical pain, and I gritted my teeth to stop myself from screaming.

I threw the dust at him, my eyes ablur, and heard him say with daring courage, “Ministry of Magic!”

The green fires erupted at once, and then settled down, the aroma of pumpkin succumbing to an ash-ridden, stale odor.

I threw myself on the sofa before the fireplace and wept.

***

Like creatures of the wind, newspapers flutter carelessly…

The headline for the Daily Prophet towers in bold, stating, GONE MAD-EYED? SKEETER BELIEVES SO! A mobile photograph shows Rita walking arm-and-arm with her dozen lawyers in tow.

The headline for the Quibbler is scribbled above a photograph of a very disheveled Rita Skeeter, shirt and hair a mess, glasses crooked and cross-eyed: SKEETER RELEASES HER NUT FARM ON THE MINISTRY!

The headline for the Daily Prophet crawls from right to left, stopping to pause in the middle to reflect, SAVIOR-BOY FUMBLES FOR ANSWERS, SKEETER A SURE WINNER! A mobile photograph of Harry with faeries circling his head is underneath.

The headline for the Quibbler prints in psychedelic colours, moving from bottom frame to top: DALEY LAWYER STORMS OUT AFTER HEATED DISCUSSION WITH JUDGE, SKEETER! A picture of a beetle-eyed, short nosed man is shown pushing out of doubled-doors and disappears.

The headline for the Daily Prophet signs like a fine-point pen, NIGHT CLUB OWNER SAYS, WON'T GET INVOLVED WITH POTTER MISTAKES!

The headline for the Quibbler autographs in multi-coloured waxed crayon: POTTER'S SURPRISE WITNESS DESCRIBES MORAL FIBRE, OUTWITS SKEETER. A photograph of a charming Arthur Weasley is shown standing beside Harry Potter in his chair. He points out of the picture's frame.

The headline for the Daily Prophet spouts off in thick letters, WEASLEY AND SHACKLEBOLT CAMOFLAUGE POTTER LIES, SKEETER SHOWS AN ACE UP HER SLEEVE!

The headline of the Quibbler bolsters in thin cursive: UPROAR AT THE MINISTRY! THE JURY SEES THE BEAST HERSELF!

The headline of the Daily Prophet etches slowly, with distinctive curls at the tips of each individual letter, DOLORES UMBRIDGE TAKES THE CHAIR, UNVEILS POTTER'S TRUE CHARACTER! A photograph beneath shows a smiling, confident Dolores Umbridge wearing her signature pink pencil-skirt suit and tall-feather hat. She looks unfazed by Azkaban Prison.

The headline of the Quibbler prints at a quickened speed, emboldened white with a red cast-shadow: JUDGE MAKES WEASLEY LEAVE AFTER SHOUTING MATCH WITH UMBRIDGE, POTTER ENRAGED!

A photograph of Jason Daley himself, with medical tape wrapped around his face and a neck brace on, sits at the chair. The headline of the Daily Prophet transcribes, DALEY PRESENTS SOLID EVIDENCE, SKEETER GAINS SUPPORT FROM THE JURY!

The Quibbler's headline shuffles in a new statement, pressing largely: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE MENTIONED—KINGSLEY, POTTER DEMAND ANSWERS!

The Daily Prophet's headline addresses the judge's mannerisms, stating in turn, JUDGE CALLS FOR RECESS AT POTTER TRIAL—SKEETER SEES SUCCESS!!

The entire front page of the Quibbler writes with the biggest font the paper could hold: QUINCY NOLPHO ACQUITTED AFTER ANTI-MUGGLE REMARK! SKEETER CALLS KINGSLEY-RIGGED JURY!! POTTER WINS!!! A picture of Harry, standing before the chair beyond the jury and judge with Minister Kingsley, smiles albeit exhaustedly with evident bags under his eyes. Kingsley has an arm about him for support.

***

Eleven days later…

Incessant honking of horns would have given me a headache if my mind was still conscious to this world. But, it wasn't. My mind wandered off, thinking, pondering about Harry and the days I hadn't been with him. More than a week now, going on two, and not a single word said about his health, his stance. Although, I knew his whereabouts and I knew Kingsley and crew were with him, I just couldn't get the picture of Harry out of my mind and how tired he looked. Fortunately, during the Rita's trial I could at least see him; now, with the Undesirables, the Prophet had gone back to jousting with us and the Quibbler could only hint at what was or wasn't happening.

One headline from the Quibbler read: ALL'S QUIET ON THE POTTER-FRONT.

Vague.

I kept my promise. I stayed away from the wizarding world. Everything I did outside of Number Twelve I did around the flat. I didn't venture night strolls, only during the day. I wrote Viktor back, and an unusually lengthy letter, too. Caught up in being active, I was afraid if I didn't remain doing something I'd end up weeping as I had the first few nights alone. It's extremely difficult to be with someone and know someone is always there beside you to have his side of the bed cold. I put a pillow where he would be, but that didn't fill the loneliness.

I had stopped at the corner of two streets, catching my breath as well as waiting for the orange hand to turn into a white pedestrian. I felt of my legs, bending slightly, touching the olive and brown-striped jogging suit. A few people in business apparel checked their watches, briefcase in hand, and peeked around as if they were in a hurry and hadn't the time to be waiting. The streetlight flipped red and the hand transformed. I was off again.

I called Ginny. She was fairly surprised to hear my voice. I was much more in suspense knowing she halted her words with me, not the other way around. But, let bygones be bygones. We spoke for a few hours, mostly about Harry. She asked me if I knew anything more beyond the newspapers and of course I did not. I told her of the other trial, the trial no one would ever know about and she became similar in worrying.

“…Do you know when he'll be back?”

“No…,” I painfully sighed into the telephone.

Gin kept silent a beat, but breathed out the fact, “…They could keep him for months. The process is so convoluted. I almost wish for days gone when the same day you entered was the same day they sentenced you. Now, it's this full-blown deal.”

“When Kingsley came in he wanted to reinvent the system. He'd had enough of innocent people being sentenced to terms, or worse to Azkaban… I mean, Harry for example…if it wasn't for the Headmaster's quick thinking…”

“Let's talk about something else. All we're doing is depressing ourselves,” exclaimed Gin in her own sighs.

“How are you and Neville? Better?”

I didn't hear anything for a while, and I thought she'd hung up before I heard the telephone fumbling and breaths being brought back to the receiver, “Sorry, I had to put the phone down a second.”

She paused again.

“Hey—come over. Please?…”

My plan was to restock the rations. The refrigerator nearly emptied from supplying Harry, I'd gone slowly with what was left. We had a pantry of dry grains and cereal that kept me aloft, but when I ran out of basic foods like milk and bread I knew it was time for a grocery stop.

I turned the corner, and then the next, market shops dotting the pavement I lightly jogged on. Fresh produce sat out in stalls outside family shops. A hardware store was next followed by a craft shop. A block more, my right side lined with potted trees cut circularly into manmade asphalt, I'd taken this route before numerous times. I knew the next shop and the owner, Mister Worthington. Harry bought his goods here, whole and farm-fresh. Plus, he knew us by name, learning mine, our goings-on and of our engagement.

He gave me a wave in greeting when I walked in to grab a plastic cart, an individual one that slid up the arm and not of the industrial, supermarket-kind. I smiled at him and made my way up and down the aisles, taking just what I needed and maybe a sweet here or two. I couldn't pass the extra-yummy looking chocolate truffle ice cream behind icy panes of glass. I chose the ripest of tomatoes, the freshest of milk, and the lowest expiration date of the multiple loaves of wheat-and-honey. As I shuffled in my pocket to pull out the clip holding the notes together, setting the basket near the register, Mister Worthington immediately struck a conversation after saying, as he always did:

“Did you find everything you needed this morning, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, including the mouth-watering chocolate truffle ice cream. I couldn't say no.”

He laughed under a salt-and-peppered moustache, “So, where is Mister Potter? He's typically with you.”

“He had to go on a business trip for a few days. He'll be back soon.”

“How was your holiday?”

“Lovely. Our beach-front flat had an amazing view of the ocean and sky. It was terribly difficult to leave and come back to London.”

“I would have missed my best customers!”

I lightly chuckled.

“Maybe I should ask the governor to scrap the park next door and put in a beach?”

“No! I simply love the park, too! I was in there, jogging. The naturey smells are just what I need.”

“Then, we'll just have to make the park bigger!” He went overly-ecstatic, and I made a laugh at how goofy he became.

He gave me the total and bagged the products.

“Thank you very much,” I said, taking the two brown bags in my arms.

“No, thank you!” He smiled, giving me another wave of his wrinkled hand. “Take care, Miss Granger!”

***

After putting everything away, showering and changing into comfortable wear, I set to start an early lunch. I was to be over at Gin and Neville's house in a few hours, but a few hours too much. I didn't want to act as if I were clingy; but, I wish I could have let that attitude go. I wish I could have just gone somewhere. I thought of my parent's, but they worked tirelessly and I didn't want to burden them. I didn't exactly want to go over to Cho's, for I didn't want to play a question game with her as I did before the holiday. Katie was gone with Quidditch… The Weasley's? As much as I wanted to thank Mister Weasley for coming to Harry's aid, I couldn't make myself go over there. It was too weird by myself…

Talking about feeling weird, odd, torture… All I could hear in the quiet Number Twelve was my spoon against the bowl or the glass cup sitting down upon the wooden tabletop after I picked it up to drink. Where Harry would sit, his chair was pushed in. My knee would bump into it by habit, wishing I'd find his knee. I let my hair fall with gravity as I sat, staring into the lukewarm chowder soup. Various newspapers scattered all over the table framed like the chaos within my mind. My world started to swirl in sickening circles, and I started to tear. I couldn't help it, and watched as the first teardrop fell into the soup.

Hastily pushing my chair from the table, it scratching the floor, I tossed soup and all into the sink. The bowl and glass crashed, and if they broke, I didn't care. Magic could fix everything. But, magic couldn't fix my sad, hurting heart nor the intensely cold atmosphere. I wiped my eyes with the cuff of my opened, warm-coloured chromatic jumper. I leapt the stairs, fleeing from the loud silence like a plague on my existence.

I found solace in my room. My room… I couldn't go into our bedroom, or any room encompassing us. I felt tired, but wasn't tired. I put the musical disc in the radio of our song, the dance song, the song that could keep me sane…and drowned out that silence. I turned the knob to its highest degree, the volume ascending in parallel. I picked up the paint palette and began nonsense, frivolous activity, the story of my life now. I thumbed my engagement ring, mouthed the words of the voice singing the song and let the tears flow freely.

My old self told me it was better to get this over with before venturing to Gin's. This was logical. But, I started to regret thinking about going to see Gin. With everything… A sharp pain put my chest in a vice, my heart at its centre. I stumbled forward, as I painted the wall, and clung palm-open on the wet acrylic. The palette in my right hand violent shook, finally dropping to the floor. I convulsed, groaning, eyes clinched—flashes of Bellatrix Lestrange flooding my memory banks. I could see her smiling, hear her laugh, feel her knife dig into my arm and feel the blood seeping easily from the wounds she inflicted.

I felt the electricity, the very vibrations of the Cruciatus. I dry-heaved and slid down the wall, the jumper taking the friction and smearing the paint along the way. Landing on the floor, my eyes settled on the last image of my jeans, the holes in the knees, and the vibrantly blue, Merlin slippers on my feet…

When I awoke I could see the sky. Blackish purple rolling clouds of thunder and lightning churned. Rain poured in buckets, drenching me. I realised, farther into awareness, that I felt muddy earth beneath me. I rose on my bum, my black, pleated skirt sticking to my black-tights. Buckled shoes, white-collared shirt and crimson and gold tie… I was back in Hogwarts attire. I stood and wobbled forward in the storm.

My surroundings were made of crushed concrete and stone. It was dark, too dark… A crack of lightning brought my eyes to see, swishing around and stumbling backward, a crumbling Hogwarts castle behind me. I heard a moan to my right, and looking, I saw Ginevra…my best friend…lying in a fetal position. She was clutching her stomach.

I fell to my knees and went to hold her, help her, as she cried out in pain. A gurgle, she coughed, and when she did she spat blood, staining her white cheek and chin. She sighed one last time, looked up at me as the deluge washed her face and slipped into death by the shut of her eyes. I saw the gaping hole in her abdomen, and further on saw bodies and more bodies of my beloved friends, people, students, Ministry personnel, Muggle personnel, the Order, and all of them dead around me.

I couldn't rid of the red stain on my hands. As much as I wanted the blood to go away, I couldn't relieve the horrific hue. Too much in shock to cry or scream, I crawled backwards to hit another corpse. I shuffled to my feet and ran towards an appearing light in the distance, and away from the destruction of Hogwarts.

Hogwarts's field a maze of death… I took caution not to step on anyone, blank faces staring at me as I ran on. I tried to close my eyes and tripped on something, someone, and when I came to my life was over.

It was Harry's lifeless body I fell over on.

I couldn't make out his face, scarred and burned much like the rest of his tattered clothes and skin, but I could see the untouched lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

I threw myself on his immobile form and screamed out into a tumultuous clap of lightning.

My hair clinging wet to my sight, the rainwater taking to my lashes, I couldn't make out the casted shadow on me.

But, when I blinked out the water which burned my eyes, I saw him.

Him.

He grinned, his wand pointed in my direction.

Blinding green light inundated any visibility.

I heard my final noise, a yelp, before piling atop Harry, limp…

“Miss Granger…”

“…Mm?”

“Miss Granger, stand up.”

I woke in a place of purest white. It could have been a room, but everything reached out to the horizon. There was nothing, but something, one something—a hand out to me. I took it without seeing who it was, a feeling of familiarity guiding my senses. When my sight adjusted, my balance equalising, I knew the hand, the entity taking on form. Silver hair and beard, his long robes and cloak swept the ground beneath him. He peered at me behind half-moon spectacles quizzically, as if he knew prior to my next action that I'd react the way I did.

I threw his hand from mine and hopped back.

I cursed him.

“How dare you!”

He tilted his chin upward and leaned his head to the side.

“How dare I?”

“I didn't have the courage to spell it out then, but I've grown a thicker backbone!” I spat at him. “You knew it all along! You knew everything! You knew everything and you didn't so much as stop it before the end!”

He let his head fall back, chin down, and gazed back over his spectacles. His wizard hat flopped to one side.

“And now…,” I wheezed. It started to get hard to breathe, and I fought each breath to get out the words. “Now we've taken on the monstrosity that you could have saved! We're too young! You could have saved us from this weight, the carnage, and the massacres we all had to endure!”

I was gulping for air at this point, and any logical person would have stopped to figure out why. But, I didn't, yelling in finality, “YOU MURDERER!!” and having it echo towards utter blackness…

My eyes shot open.

I was on the floor of my room in Number Twelve, the music disc on repeat and paint slathered all over me.

When I rose to my seat, I gazed around at the surroundings, going in-and-out of blurred, dreamy visions.

Everything was the same, just the way it was before, lacking evidence that I had any sort of chest pains.

***

The weather looked as if it were going to rain again. The sun hadn't come out for the longest time, thunderstorms and fog the forecast day in and day out. A disheartening and distressing ambience… If the weather were my health it would be precisely its behavior, right down to the pitter-patter of raindrops struggling to fall.

I'd apparated and stood in front of Gin and Neville's place. I pushed the doorbell, hearing the sing-song of each ding within, and waited while holding onto my purse strap. I was wiping some lint from my black feminine jacket, its sleeves pushed up to my elbows, when the door opened. I thought it would surely be a better-than-happy Gin, but when my eyes flicked from my jacket front to the doorway I saw Neville in his sleep clothes, his eyes in squints and his hair a mess. He had to have been snoozing.

“Neville!”

“Hey…,” He yawned and rubbed at his eye. “…Hermione!”

“Oh my, I apologise! I didn't know you were sleeping!”

Neville waved it off, “Gin's actually not here, so…”

“She's not?”

Neville peered out from his house and stared straight up at the sky falling. “Come in,” He urged me from the rain starting to pick up. “Come in out of the rain.”

I stepped in the doorway and turned to ask again, Neville and me at diagonals, “Where is she? She said she'd be here.”

“She told me to tell you that she went over to Cho's and to meet her over there,” He shrugged. “Something to do with finalising the wedding and she didn't want me around for the surprise. You know how she loves her surprises.”

My eyes went wide at the irony of the statement. “Mm…,” My eyes strayed from Neville, to the wall, to the drops falling now at a steady rate and back at him. “How are you doing?”

“Normal, I guess. But, the question should be, how is Harry? Have you heard anything from him? I've been following what I could find on television and the newspapers… I'm about to unsubscribe from the Prophet—bloody woman.”

I laughed into a smile, but that smile soon faded, “I honestly don't know… He's sealed shut in the Ministry and he'd get into some serious trouble if he tried to contact me… I wouldn't want him to do that… I wouldn't want him to jeopardise himself, for me or anything else…”

My voice gradually softened and softened, and Neville quickly noticed.

He stepped toward me and gave me a warm hug.

I grinned through closed eyes and accepted his lovely embrace.

“When he gets back we're all going out for a beer, all right?”

I chuckled lightly, patting Neville's shoulder, “I'm sure Harry would enjoy the sentiment when he gets back.”

“Take care of yourself, Hermione,” He said this while stepping away from the embrace. “And don't be a stranger. You'll never be a stranger around here. You're always welcome to stay over; there'll always be a bed for you.”

“Thank you,” These were my friends defining the term, `Best'.

“Before you go, I must say that you look stunning as always.”

I smiled.

“Did you do something different with your hair?”

“I brushed it?”

He laughed. “Go see Gin. She's been on Cloud Nine since she talked to you, so don't say you weren't prepared.”

“Will do, will do,” I smiled, and tucked that lock of straightened hair which always had a knack for falling in front of my right eye. “See you.”

I waved, my wand out.

“See you,” He waved back at me.

And with a gentle pop, I disappeared from Neville's doorway.

***

Thankfully at Cho's door was an awning where I escaped from the pouring rain. It'd still blow sideways and get me, but the moment I knocked on the front door the door flew open. Flaming red hair knocked back by the gusts of wind, lightning cracked and lit her face. She just gazed at me mindlessly for a moment, and I did, too. It could have been a millennium ago since we talked, and here she was before me at a standstill. I could see Cho beyond her arm, the hand which held the doorknob. In a burst, she flung herself on me, making me double back.

“Hermione!” She gasped.

I held the backside of her head, and I could feel the rainwater soaking the bottoms of my black jeans. “I think we should get in.”

“Yes,” She took me by the hand and led me inside, shutting the door behind us with her foot. “Come on in…”

“I see the party's already started,” I noticed scatters of picture books and parchment on the den floor, the tables, and even on the sofa where Cho sat.

“Hey Herms,” said Cho with a nod and smile. She was amid perusing leaflets of flora.

“Can I get you a drink?”

I went to sit down where there weren't wedding photos, a spot at the armrest of the sofa, and glanced around at Gin making her way towards the kitchen. “No thanks, I ate before I came. But, thank you though.”

“Gin's such a procrastinator. I swear,” stated Cho, smirking at a foul-faced Gin. “Less than three weeks away and she doesn't even know the flower arrangements.”

“Yeah… I apologise for being away, and…,” I'd turned to see Gin coming back into the den with a mug of something, the fizz lathering the top.

She shook her head, “I'm not pinning this on you. It's my fault. With…”

She sat down in the floor at my feet and kept her gaze on me.

“…Should I give you two some alone time?” chimed in Cho, glancing from me to Gin.

“Subject change!” Gin made an awkward cough that had me even more uncomfortable.

I fidgeted in my seat and took some piece of parchment with dates and figures on it to read. I didn't really read, just something to get rid of the agonizingly odd feelings.

“…How is Harry doing?” Gin broke the silencing spell that had entered the room.

I shrugged.

That's all I knew to say.

She and Cho went on to asking me several similar questions. I didn't have any information, and each time another question was raised that familiar pain from before crept in my chest. I knew they asked because they cared, but with every revelation, my mind reeled. I didn't know anything. Harry could be dead, and I wouldn't even know. All I could see is his exhausted face on the front of the Quibbler. Whatever key Harry was to sentencing the Undesirable, I hoped Kingsley wouldn't push him hard. I'd be terrified, horrified to know I was the one true piece in the entire puzzle.

Upon seeing a Death Eater I was brought back to that past… I felt the battle again, fought with the images of those I loved dying around me, the screams of their souls and the inevitable green lights sparking from every corner of the pitch black darkness… How Harry bore the suffering, I'll never know. I'd rather be put away than to be in his position, and that killed me to know he sustained such wounds…

Cho and Gin exchanged places around the room. Cho had to use the loo, and while she was gone, and amidst more wrecking silence I said softly, “…Thank your dad for me.”

“When I read what he'd done it didn't take but a second for me to go home and thank him face-to-face,” Our eyes locked, mine wanting to emotionally explode in tears. Gin saw this and ushered me over to her with arms open. I went to her and laid my head on her shoulder, her arms embracing me as I inclined.

What sounded like hundreds of thousands of tiny rocks drummed heavily on the roof.

“I'm so thankful Harry has so many people watching out for him when I can't…”

“My dad loves him, you,” She rubbed my shoulder, my upper arm, whispering this to me. “There will never be a day that goes by where that isn't true, and that's true with a lot of other people who love you.”

“I only wish I could be by his side during this ghastly ordeal…,” I turned so my face lay in the crook of Ginny's neck and started crying. I couldn't help it any longer. The heaviness in my heart, the ache in my throat, the torturous misery that became my very being… It all inevitably unfolded.

Gently, Ginny combed my curling strands by fingertip.

The wailing squall outside asphyxiated the existence of my own uncontrollable weep.

{Inspirations for the chapter: Nick Cave - O' Children, Jefferson Airplane - White Rabbit, Emily Browning (Cover) - Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This), and Audiomachine - An Unfinished Life to name a few}

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38. Visitors

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: Hermione's parents dwell on their daughter's growing depth of depression. Coerced, Hermione goes to stay with them, a breath of fresh air for Emilie and Frederick Granger in hopes for a turnaround. Unfortunately, terror lurks in the shadows of seeming refuge with innocence caught between life and death.

***

Chapter Thirty-Eight - Visitors

***

I'm losing myself.

I'm losing myself, and I don't know how to stop it.

Whenever I sleep it's dark.

And, not the obvious sense of “dark”.

Foreboding…

In the darkness, I'm running down a hallway inside the Ministry full of mirrors, and all I see in them are reflections of me multiplied billions of times.

It's nauseating, and that is how I feel.

I want to vomit.

I want to cry.

There's a door at the other end of hallway, but it doesn't open. It has one a large, metal loop for a handle. I've gone so far as to put my foot upon the door and use it to help pry the door open. I hear screams behind the door. Why do I want to go in? I think it's Harry. I believe it's Harry. That's what keeps me trying. I have to get in there. I have to get in there and save him from the horror making him scream. All I can see are serpents. I hear parseltongue. I smell the sweet scent of burning flesh.

I have to get in there.

Bright green light flashes, outlining the cracks around the door…

I wake up.

***

“Cupcake?”

“Yes, mummy?”

“You sound terrible. What's wrong?”

“It's Harry…”

Eight days later…

“…I hear you, love. Sometimes when your father is gone on business it gets difficult. But, then I remember that he's doing his best to come home.”

“Heh…”

I sat on the kitchen floor.

The chords connecting to telephone to the placeholder on the wall strung tight from its original curl-shaped structure. I had my back against the cabinets. Mum had called and woke me up. Not that I was having a wonderful dream, anyway. Waking me was a blessing. Either my dreams were images of death, destruction, horrendous pain I'd literally feel when coming to, or…the hallway…

“Cheer up, my love. I know it's difficult in the beginning, being away from your dearest, but I swear in the end everything's better. I promise.”

“…You promise?”

“A promise from your mother is a promise you can keep,” Mum took a pause, but quickly came back. I knew she could hear the depression encompassing my voice. “Say, I have an idea.”

“Hm…?”

“I know you've always been independent. You've always wanted to do everything on your own, but come home. Just for a few days.”

“Mum…”

“Blame it on these dinosaur fossils wanting to see their daughter.”

I don't know why I fought this so hard.

A perfectly good option on the table, and I felt to decline.

It might have had to do with the simple fact my mother spelt out; that, I was super assertive, independent, and I wanted to forge my own path in life. I've been called “stubborn,” but looking at the past and the streaks of good luck stubbornness have given me. I just couldn't—

“Hermione?”

“Yes? …Sorry.”

“I'm not used to hearing you like this, love. You're zoning in and out, and that isn't healthy by any means. I think you should—“

“I'm fine, mum. Look, I—“

“Your aunt needs a sitter for tonight.”

“Mum…”

“Your father and I are going to the theatre with aunt Ariel and uncle Paris and she needs someone she trusts.”

I went silent.

“Your room is ready for you, clean sheets and fresh rose potpourri. I'll make your favourite dinner. Please come and visit your old folks. We're worried sick about you.”

I heard my mother's plea, her desperation.

“Okay… I'll be over right after I've thrown together a few things. Pyjamas, toothbrush, shampoo, you know…”

“All right, love. I'll let you get ready. See you then.”

***

A mini-suitcase was all I packed.

I stood, having apparated, on the beginnings of my parent's driveway. My father's Aston Martin dulled by the cloudy sky, the navy blue resembled a blackest of colour. Both of my hands, one over the other, held onto the handle of my single luggage. I trudged the incline towards home. The bag would sway and hit my legs, the wind pushing through me like I hadn't a white lace dress on and black tights. The only parts that didn't feel a chill was my feet covered in velvet boots.

I started to feel that pitter-patter of raindrops by the time I'd gotten to the back of the Aston Martin. I gazed off into the distance, a graying overcast from one horizon to the next. A shout startled me from my rather languid, surreal state of mind, and my head quickly turned towards the squeal. Coming from the wraparound porch, I could see mum coming to me. Before I could get my foot on the small stairwell leading to the doors she'd taken me in her arms and embraced me tight. I could see daddy behind her at the door, and I could also see the true worry in his eyes as he looked me over.

I could smell the baked chicken on mum, my favourite. I put an arm around her, and she tightened her hug. She let go but for a moment, to glance at my stoic features, and pulled me back within her arms. I smiled, and it was genuine, but I didn't know how long that tiny happiness would last. Between these points, time would etch my mind. Then, and only then, would those nightmares take control again. In one way, I wanted to be rid of them. But, I didn't want to forget about Harry and feared, if relinquishing my fear that I'd forget.

The rain began to fall. Mum took my one bag and had me exchange positions, walking in front of her and into the house. Daddy hugged me after he closed the door. I could hear mum traveling upstairs to put my bag away. Like a zombie, I showed little to no emotion when daddy set me at arms-length, to look at me. He had me by my shoulders. I tried to look him in the eye, but couldn't. I looked to my right and down. I felt a myriad of interior emotions when seeing my father's incredible concern bleed forth. Mixed, all I could think of was what I was, or what I had left behind so many years ago. I was only happy at times nowadays, and my confidence? Lackluster at best. I thought my family prided themselves in how self-reliant I turned out to be, and now, I felt diminished.

“I've been plagued with uneasiness, baby girl,” He came in to hug me again. I rested my head where it landed on my father's shoulder. “You don't understand how glad I am that you're home.”

***

I don't think anyone really thought I was instantly pleasant. Every other moment I was sullen-faced. Not a literal frown, but apparently sad. I put on a show, a fake show for my aunt and uncle when they arrived. I was back to everyone's favourite Hermione. I talked with them at the dinner table about politics, current ideologies, the general status, but I knew from the corners of my eyes that mum, especially mum, noticed the in-betweens. When others would dig deep into their discussion, I'd slowly slip into my depression. Physically, I'd slump, maybe my lips would fall slightly, or I'd gaze blankly into my plate of chicken and vegetables.

After dinner, aunt Ariel and Paris set off to take care of a dirty nappy. I'd gone to the loo to wash up afterwards. Not necessarily left alone, but alone nonetheless, I walked about cleaning in a daze. My logical senses fought to contradict my mood. A voice in my head continued to shout at how ridiculous I'd gotten, how ridiculous I'd been. Ironically, the same voice I'd come to clutch all those years was the same voice driving me deeper into that dark hole.

I had dishes of half-eaten food ready to be saved and put into the fridge. An oval-shaped container in each hand, I went to turn into the kitchen and had to stop. Just before the entryway, I had heard my name in whispers between mum and dad.

“Should we leave her alone tonight?”

“I think Hermione's quite capable of looking after Hope. I wouldn't say so if I didn't think it were true.”

I heard mum sigh. “If she doesn't get better soon, we're going to have to take measures.”

“Em,” My father's voice slightly lower, I knew he was farther in the kitchen. “She's home. That's all we can really do to help. We can suggest options if it comes to it, but really, Hayleigh? Our daughter doesn't want anything more than her fiance.”

“Hayleigh's a psychiatrist, Freddy. She'd help Hermione.”

Bringing toxic silence, mum and dad abruptly shut up when I oh-so-casually sauntered into the kitchen between them.

I saw them look at one another in my peripherals.

I was sure they knew I'd overheard as I did take after them and their ways of finding things out well beforehand, be it accidental or not.

Tucking pieces of loosening brunette curls behind my ears, I stood staring at the countertop beside the oven where I put the dishes down. “…Where is the plastic ware? The chicken will dry out.”

I made it seem as if I hadn't heard anything, but we all knew that I knew where the plastics were put. I did live here for nearly eighteen years.

“They're in the cupboards on the bottom left, love. Beneath the silverware.”

To have it more known, I'd already begun in the direction mum said.

***

Hope had a tendency to use my hair for asylum.

I had him on my shoulder, carrying him while I went to fetch his bottle of formula. He started crying, and I mean full out bawling, the kind of cry that babies gave in shrill screams. I sort of bounced him in my arms to get him occupied, but when I came back into the living area and sat down did he stop. It helped to have the bottle, the security blanket of my cascading curls in his balled fist.

Those big blue eyes gazed up at me from that crazily beautiful, pudgy face. I smiled at him, propped now in my arm as he rested in a pocket. I swore he smiled back at me, and closed his eyes, satisfied with a tiny tug of my tassels and the nipple in his mouth. With a slight incline of the bottle for him, and a slight incline for myself on the sofa, I put my bare feet on an ottoman and watched some mindless game show on television.

The rain hadn't stopped. When did it ever stop was the main question. Maybe I didn't realise the weather when I was with Harry, but the weather certainly became a pattern of storms and greater storms. From daylight to dusk, I don't recall the rain ever coming to halt. I could hear the thunder, but couldn't see any lightning. Windows nearside me, I could see the rain hit the panes of glass and trickle downward at an angle. The wind would pick up, howling, shaking the roof when it did.

Lamps were on, casting an orange glow about the brownish environment. Our family portrait hung over the unlit fireplace, which is where my eyes lingered from the flashing lights of the telly. My father had a professional painter paint our portrait the summer holiday before my fifth year at Hogwarts. I remember myself clearly…completely naive and without a care in the world. Well, compared to what happened next I hadn't a care in the world. Looking at the portrait, I nearly longed for the frivolity of my life then, and to steal away from this long state of sadness.

I glanced at Hope who had gotten my attention, unknowingly, as his eyes were closed. He'd pulled on that bit of hair he held so tightly. The essence of human being, innocent, untainted, a clean-slate of purity… I wished my beloved nephew a better life than I. So sweet… I couldn't see myself that way at all. Not now, not ever. Changes with positive consequences, like my engagement with Harry… I saw the diamond studs twinkle in the lamplight. Changes with negative consequences… Masses, friends, ones I loved gone of existence with a looming fact that the world still had evil even after His demise.

I watched Hope's little arm struggle to hold onto the bottle, but succumbed to his tiredness. His arm dropped limp and his eager suckling slowly lessened. Gradually, I took the bottle and made note of how much he drank. Surprised, the little bugger drank almost the entire formula in a go! I lightly laughed quietly and placed the bottle on the stand beside the sofa.

With just a move, I found his tiny body wiggle. I stopped where I was, kept my eyes on him, only to see his big blue eyes shine on me slightly and his head tilt into the crook of my arm. Adjusting, the hand that didn't hold my hair instantly went for the lace of my dress. I smiled when he clung as tight to me as he did the darkened brunette locks. Looking at the ticking grandfather clock in the corner, I told myself that in an hour I'd put him in the makeshift crib aunt Ariel brought over. She set it in my room, and thought to combine the proximity of my bed. I'd know for sure if and when Hope would wake.

***

So peaceful, I laid Hope down in the crib upstairs. On his back, he was surrounded by all these cute stuffed animals, teddy bears, giraffes, elephants, and miniature pillows to keep him still. A blue themed hue, their little boy, I placed my arms on the side of the crib and grinned as I gazed down at his adorable sleep. I put my chin on the top of my hand flat on the wooden railing and sighed at this incredible miracle. My own maternal instincts came together, and there was our own little boy, so much like Harry, drifted to slumber in his crib by our bed.

I turned after awhile, pivoting half-circle to see my bed made, the brightly pink sheets tautly wrapped and ready, a signature of mum. The offset black-and-pink polka-dotted comforter lay at the end in case I needed it.

I set by foot out of the room, downstairs, taking the baby monitor with me to be safe. I didn't expect to be gone long from Hope's side, but to be cautious I held onto the electronics with the volume on high. My throat parched, I walked with confidence in the darkness to the kitchen. Second-hand, I knew each step, the corners, where the chairs and tables were, the route to the refrigerator. Lightning lit what was pitch black, the white-plastic monitor vibrant on the countertop where I set it. Inside the fridge, I took the apple juice and found a glass. Twisting the top off and pouring, I heard through the tumultuous rainstorm what sounded like scratching on the backdoor.

The wind blowing as hard as it was, and the many shadows being displayed from outside, I knew the tree branches were culprit. Just before the brim, I put the cap on and leaned into the fridge. Door shut, my hand around the glass, I went to drink, head tilting back with the monitor in front of me. I could hear Hope's breaths, soothing, and soft. Flicking the faucet on to rinse the remnants of the juice out, I placed the glass upside down in the sink. Lightning cracked, the window before me lighting the room immensely. I jumped, jostled, and into a loud rumble above the rooftop.

I heard Hope waken with a cry and set upstairs.

Halfway up, though, he shushed.

It wasn't like he calmed down.

He was crying, and then nothing.

A familiar chill tingled along my spine, and before I could react I heard a malicious male voice on the baby monitor.

“He's such a pretty baby boy, isn't he, Hermione?”

Less than seconds, my feet were up the stairs, two, three, four at a time.

My wand was out and prepared at my side.

A lullaby by the same sinister voice echoed off the walls of the upstairs hallway, coming from the monitor I clutched in my other hand.

“Lullaby and goodnight… With lilies of white and roses all red…to pillow your head…”

The hallway seemed to grow the more I ran.

I didn't remember it being this long.

My breath in huffs, I could hear my heartbeat pound straight from my chest.

“…May you wake when the day chases darkness away… Slumber gently and deep in the dreamland of sleep.”

My eyes afire, I was at my room. Inside the door, I glanced toward the crib, my bed, the window, the corners, closets, anywhere and everywhere to find…

Nothing.

I rushed to Hope to see him still on his back, eyes closed, his little ribcage rising and falling.

For a moment, I thought it was all in my head…

Yes, all in my head… Harry, Death Eaters, Dark Marks, society, anger, resentment, frustration, the unknown all getting to me… That was it, it had to be…

Logical-Hermione saw Hope undisturbed, and I laughed, audibly, at myself for turning into a bipolar maniac, a schizophrenic to think that I had heard and imagined these sounds, the images. The weather, the blackness… I laughed again, hearing another sharp crack of lightning. The layers of emotion from the weeks of loneliness, of deep contemplation, readings… It was all against me. Such a ropey prat I've become.

I let my heart rate drop, resting whilst standing aside the crib a minute, and then went over to flick the light of a lamp on.

I sighed, drew a breath, exhaled and focused on settling.

I fetched my favourite literature, a page-folded, slightly torn and worn, late edition of Hogwarts: A History and plopped down on my mattress.

A page turned, something still didn't feel…quite right…

Like…something or someone was in the room with me…

Watching me…

I looked around, put the book down on the bed and walked to the opened door.

I peered into the hallway, down the hallway. I could see the starting of the stair's banister and saw nothing.

Still not comfortable, with my hands on the doorframe, I peeked around my room again and back out into the hall.

I shook my head, trying to contain the creeping fear from thin air, I laughed once more. I scolded myself for being so…insecure, for days, weeks now. I laughed again, plopping back on the bed and grabbed Hogwarts: A History. I fidgeted against the pillow at my backside.

Something black poked within the corners of farthest visage, and lost in finding esteem I didn't quite make out what I saw at first…but, quickly fled the mattress and to the crib when I did see the hideous beast of nightmare. My heart stopped. My breathing heightened. The tip of my wand pointed in the direction of my opened door. Silvery-metallic, the mask of a Death Eater gradually showed itself from lack of light. Its robes of charcoal weren't apparent until the light from my lamp shone the contrast from the carpet, simply seeing a floating skull.

He had his hands up, but that wasn't going to stop me.

Alone, I would have thrown a curse, but at my right slept an innocent Hope.

“What do you want?!” I demanded, challenging the Death Eater to step once more with a thrust of my wand. He halted just inside my bedroom. “I swear, another step and I won't stop to think about killing you!”

“I don't think you could do it.”

“What?”

“I don't think you could kill me,” I recognised the voice, the voice from the lullaby. “In fact, I don't think you would kill me.”

“Try me!”

“Think about the child, Hermione,” The Death Eater seemed happy, having the upper hand. “His safety should come first, right?”

Trapped.

No way to contact anyone, the Ministry, friends, support…all I could think about was Hope.

“Leave before my friends from the Ministry show up!” I bluffed him.

He merely jested mockingly, “How queer. I've staked your house and…I've seen that you are, in fact, lonesome!”

“Get out of here!”

My voice rising with each demand, I finally woke Hope up.

He started to cry.

My eyes wanted to check Hope, that maternal instinct to go to him, but my head swished back when I saw the Death Eater move.

“You look…ravishing, Granger…terrified, yet so beautiful…”

“I'm telling you!” The Death Eater began to reach for something, but stopped. I threatened again, “No regrets! One false move and you're history!”

“Don't you want to see the very hand that will revel in killing your precious fiance?”

He reached for his mask, but he was given no time. The second he twitched to unveil, I shouted, “Diffindo Totalas!”

What sounded like several hundred scissors struck the instant quietness. Deep cuts accrued in the wall of my parent's hallway, on the opposite side from where I was, pointing now through clearing, purplish-black smoke. I heard the maddening laughter of a thousand men reverberating downstairs. The very house shook within a thunderous roar, and it felt like the roof would suddenly crash upon us.

I reached for the wailing Hope and cradled him in my arms. My mind frayed and wrought with turmoil, I should have done a lot of things I didn't in the following moments. I ran down the stairs, fleeing, needing to escape the house. Lightning lit up the living space I bounded through, and took a turn and ended up face-to-face with a mask. I had my hands around Hope, walking backwards as the Death Eater skipped at my speed merrily.

“He's going to die… He's going to die!”

I should have cried a while ago, my emotions sucked dry, my mind and heart unequivocally encased in getting Hope somewhere safe.

I turned and ran for a side-room, a room that connected to the other side of the dining area which connected to the kitchen. I made my way to the table, only to be accosted by billowing smoke snaking itself around me and having me cough. It took form, a Death Eater, his mask inches away from my face. It sickeningly spoke rough, “I'm going to have a fine time watching the life fade from his eyes!”

“Expulso!” A fiery burst of force shot from my wand, but not before the closing-in Death Eater vanished into more thick smoke. The reddish orb hit the dining table, and the wall beyond. Nothing happened at first…to have the table and its chairs fly upward, shatter and explode into mulch. The wall, the wallpaper incinerating, fell to flames. The chandelier over the table crashed down, my feet heading in the opposite direction as I heard the individual crystals break into millions of pieces.

Hope screamed with every boom, every rattle.

I attempted to shush him, “Shh Shhing” during the ruckus, getting to the backdoor corridor for another pillar of smoke take form in front of me.

Unmasked, the person, beneath the hood, in those robes, snarling a smirk gazed excitedly with shadowed eyes I knew at once. Tall, blonde hair, put him in a Slytherin tie, Slytherin Quidditch wear and anyone could see him walking the Hogwarts halls and in with the crowds. No one would expect…

“Xavier!”

“If I couldn't have you…,” He briskly walked forward, and I took steps back. He threw his finger at me angrily. “He won't have you!”

He halted, his lips curving, his dimples not matching the seeping hatred leaking off his forked tongue, “…The Dark Lord will reward me most pleasantly for the murder of your beloved Harry Potter…”

“Sectumsempra! Sectumsempra! SECTUMSEMPRA!”

As if in slow motion, I could see the knife-like blue slashes in the air. Xavier, laughing with intent, jumped backwards, fell and shot off towards the backdoor. The door withdrew from its hinges on contact, the deathly black smoke slipping in-between the cracks until the entire frame and all shook and disintegrated, leaving nothing but the howling winds and rain blowing in behind.

I ran a step to the nearby telephone, dialed the first number that came to mind, and heard the sluggish voice at first on the other end.

“…Mn, Hello?”

“Ginny!” I was in fright, the emotion not withstanding through my breathless voice.

“…Hermione?” She understood my plight without discussion. “Hermione! What's wrong?!”

“Please! Come!” I started to cry, gazing out into the ripping storm, and flicking to any other noise inside my parent's house. I couldn't make heads to tails what was normal, especially now through blurs.

“Where are you?!”

“I'm at mum's, dad's, just please get over here quickly! Death Eaters!…”

I could feel the lightning jolt and the rumbling thunder after by the soles of my feet.

Hope continued to fight against me, screaming.

I heard nothing on the other end, and thought the power went out.

Tears staining my cheeks, I didn't know what to do but to run the other way. I dropped the phone, the plastic breaking on the floor, and ran the fastest I could get my legs going toward the front door. I went to grab the door handle and heard a knock, and a very loud knock at that. I hesitated, clutched a struggling Hope to my chest and took a step back. All I could see in my mind was Xavier's wicked smile behind the door, playing cat and mouse.

“Hermione!”

I blinked, stopping my backtrack.

I could see and hear the person behind the door try and open it, jiggling the handle hectically.

The person's banging fists boomed in the chaotic stillness.

“Hermione, open up! It's Gin! Open up!!”

Hurrying those few feet, I unlatched the lock and Gin pushed the door away, a crimson bathrobe with an embroidered “W” tossing in the wind behind her wrought form. She saw me, scared, confusion, true terror bottled behind wide eyes. I flew to her, fading into her embrace and cried much like Hope into her shoulder.

***

Hermione lay across Cho with her head in her lap. Upstairs in Hermione's bedroom, any other soul would have thought this might have been a girl's night, add a sleeping infant. Serene, one wouldn't think that nearly an hour ago portions of the house were ablaze, the dining and parts of the living quarter demolished, and the backside blown away. Everything had been mended by an Auror support team, hastily arriving after Ginevra's quick response to the Ministry.

Like the Muggle police, the home of Hermione's parents was quarantined for investigation. No yellow tape and flashing red-and-blue lights, a group of a half dozen blokes in white cloaks stationed the vicinity with shielding and trick charms. Instruments in Auror possession would sound off immediately and notify those hidden in the home and on the street if any Death Eater was ballsy enough to breech the hidden boundary lines.

“Any news on if they found the Death Eaters?” Cho asked when Ginevra entered the bedroom. Cho, sprawled horizontal on Hermione's bed mimicked the brunette's exhausted form against her.

Ginevra wiped her forward of water, for it still rained, her hair and the shoulders of her robe wet. She leaned forward, letting her ruined Weasley-red fall, and held her wand to the thick strands. She whispered, “Spongify,” before answering with, “No, nothing, and it's a shame, too. If they had the knuts to come back I'd have loved to take my wand to them. Show them how to fear a ginger when they fuck with my girl.”

Ginevra swished her hair from side-to-side and threw it all back, good as new after meticulously withdrawing the rainwater from her curtains. “I didn't recognise the squad leader, but because they're so thinned across the world now, odds are one or two could quite possibly slip through the cracks. Or, so was told.”

“How reassuring,” Cho retorted, stroking Hermione's head which lay on her chest.

“Kingsley's against the wall to please everyone, so what's there to expect? The Auror populous hasn't surged in three years, and now they seem to be fighting worldwide problems with all these splinter groups scattered.”

“That's true,” Cho sighed in exasperation and glanced at the snoozing Hermione beside her. “Politics.”

Ginevra sat on the edge by Cho and watched each breath Hermione inhaled and exhaled. “Kingsley has made it known how every one of us is overseen by an individual Auror. Guess Hermione's decided to have a coffee break. What luck.”

Cho lightly chuckled. “Touche.”

“How is she?” Ginevra made a nodding motion towards Hermione.

“Besides the obvious,” Cho gestured to a pile of tissues atop the side table. “She stopped crying about a half hour after you left and the Aurors came to investigate. She swore up and down that they were after Harry, and I kept telling her Harry's in the safest place in the entire world right now. He's locked in with the Minister himself! The security hasn't let slip a photo for the Prophet, and you know you're doing your job if you can keep that rubbish out.”

Ginevra hopped across the mattress, arms out at Hermione. “Switch places,” she wiggled her fingers, anxiously wanting the Sleeping Beauty.

Cho pried Hermione's arm away and Ginny eased into the warmed spot which Cho lay in. By the move, Hermione listlessly blinked to awareness, but only to flash a dazed look and snuggle into the folds of Ginevra's fleece wear. Gently, Ginny sifted her fingers through Hermione's dangling locks, ending with a rub down the back of her white lace dress. The tight-clad knee of Hermione nudged Ginny's outstretched leg, making Gin's lips upturn in smile.

“What of her parents?” asked Cho, standing at the crib where she had checked on Hope after their exchange. She pivoted around to face the bed, an elbow on the crib's rail and a very noticeable wand sticking from her trouser pocket. “They should have been back by now. I was just waiting for them to come on in and see me magically here. Not saying I would be thrown out, but questions would have come up about why.”

“The squad leader told me she put a few of her team to find them en route and pace them. She said an idea was to let air out of their tire, mess with their engine, something to preoccupy until they had taken any evidence. Do a bit of tweaking and not have to obliviate, ingenious really.”

“That's a relief,” Cho watched as Gin put her hand on Hermione's pale cheek. Her eyes flicked back to Gin's when Gin's landed back upon hers. “And Harry? Do you think he'll be told what has happened?”

Gin let out a little huff, her chest rising and falling quickly, and sought Hermione's face hiding in her bosom. “…I told the Aurors I spoke with tonight how much he needed to know. They understand the predicament and how ghastly this scenario could have gone. She could have easily been…”

Ginevra's voice strayed from the norm, dipping low, but she shook out of it. Her eyes went from Hermione, draped about her, and back to Cho's curious eyes. “Yes, I'm certain Harry will know the moment the Aurors are back at the Ministry.”

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Blood by Audiomachine (played tons on loop, a beautiful parallel to Hermione's current psyche), ASAP by Two Steps from Hell, and anything imaginatively bone-chilling including the Halloween theme and other pieces of music mentioned before}

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39. Friends

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: Hermione leaves her parents after the nightmare. Emilie and Frederick are left in the shadows of truth, or Hermione's intent for safety of her mother and father. She takes residence at the soon-to-be Mister and Missus Longbottom's flat where she revitalizes one Weasley's mood. How many definitions are there for “friend”?

***

Chapter Thirty-Nine - Friends

***

Paralyzed.

I don't think I could move anymore.

After hearing, seeing, and feeling terror…

I remember being in an office. I knew by the distinctive archaic stone architecture, history corroded into the very walls that I was inside Hogwarts. The various banners of the Houses, numerous bookshelves and shelves containing gadgets and whirling gizmos, the desk in front of me and the chair… I was in the Headmistress's office. The chair, which always faced the entryway, where I'd come from, was turned around. In a malaise, a swirling state of consciousness, I all but stumbled my way forward.

“Professor?” I asked, slurring.

Fawkes shook his thick, feathery mane, blinking at my drunken steps.

A glowing pensieve, its bluest of blue colour dazzled in its corner.

I heard the Sorting Hat snoring while it slept.

Everything was…dreadfully silent.

“Professor?” At the desk, the gigantic Head chair masked any sort of familiarity or unfamiliarity.

I tensed, waiting for the inevitable shock of horror, the pattern with these mind-trips.

A multitude of small and large, tiny and tall, clocks all ticked non-unison.

Goose pimples erupted along my skin the moment I saw a burnt hand, the skin on its fingers flaking off after each bend like charcoal. I saw a ring glimmer, the gold band, the onyx, diamond-shaped stud in the centre. I knew it, the cursed jewelry, the horcrux Harry had in his snitch; the piece Dumbledore wore on his hand, killing him.

Going backwards, I readied my wand and pointed it directly at the Head chair, gilded in gold and stylized with plum crescent moons. The disheveled hand rose as if to free me from worry, but I wasn't born yesterday. I kept vigilant and tight, the crosshairs square on whatever being sat still. The hand lowered, the fingers, the joints sounding like each one broke as it curled around the armrest's leading edge.

“Come out.” I'd had enough of these games. I was done waiting.

The being stalled and I could hear more bones crunching.

“Come out now!” I demanded, shouting and outright disturbing Fawkes who drew several shrill caws towards me, its neck outstretched and its reddened feathers ruffled.

I heard shuffling, a cough… Soft cloth hitting the floor… White, long hair coming into view.

The person's hands were raised, palms facing forward so I could see them. On Muggle police shows one would derive this person was being accosted for his wrongdoings right down to the trepid, cautious walk before the good guys. Blue eyes bore at me from behind half-moon spectacles. Each wrinkle of his skin scarred his severely-aged face. He looked tired, shoulders slumped, back bent in a hump, his figure taken by tented robes.

“Miss Granger…”

“How long did you know?” The point of my wand never left the elderly male. My voice was incredibly still, though my mind was in maddening chaos.

A beleaguered silence impregnated the air, only to be stirred by a crippled reply of:

“…I apologise.”

“How long did you know?!” That wasn't enough. He wasn't going to cut loose that easily.

More silence, and it struck me like a dagger.

I gritted my teeth and shook out of it.

“We have to clean up the mess you made!” I spat my venom. “You could have stopped it! YOU COULD HAVE PREVENTED WHAT HAPPENED!!”

He merely stared at me, his Adam's apple bobbing up-and-down. In that second he resembled a nobody, a criminal, a homeless person wrapped in a single soul.

“You did Harry wrong… You did everyone wrong! What say you?! Speak!”

The aged man let out a pent huff and shook his head, “Miss Granger, I can still be of assistance. I can help.”

I shook my head quick, jerking it back and forth to rid myself of this plea.

“No you can't…,” I swallowed hard, my voice calming cold. “…Because…”

He watched me as if he could… Read my mind.

Read it.

“…You're dead.” I didn't breathe in-between.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The brightly green flash from my wand drowned the atmosphere, leaving me blind.

…I heard footsteps when I lingered just at the edge of sleep, removing myself from twilight and into what I considered bleak reality. I stared at a wall, mated in a grey-coloured hue, the tint of my worldly glasses. Green-and-beige sheets surrounded me. My head on a soft pillow, the room smelled of flowers with a hint of cinnamon, recognised as nothing apart of Number Twelve nor my parent's home in London.

I remained stationary with languid eyelids and a limp body. Someone had to have tucked me in for I hadn't strength to do much of anything. How I managed my senses was a feat in of itself. I heard something turning above me and shifted ever-so-slightly to see a fan rotating, its blades churning this awful, almost heartbeat drum. I blinked, eyes dry, but with a full stomach. I'd eaten a sandwich and soup after I'd come to Gin and Neville's. I practically broke my parent's hearts when I succeeded in telling them I wanted to go with Gin, stay with her.

If they wanted me… Death Eaters… I wasn't about to witness them strike my family. I had to relieve them of the burden they had no recollection about, obliviating them for time on the run. They thought they'd done something terrible to cause my anguish, and for me to wave goodbye and to see my mum take it so hard… I could see her leave my presence when I told them, Gin by my side with my belongings, that I didn't want to be there anymore. I knew when mum left she left to cry much like the emotion dad held back as he digested my reasons, or excuses. Safety from any danger, that's what I wanted and that's what was needed.

They were sitting ducks while the environment stayed as it did. If the Death Eaters were primed to watch my every move, I'd be better off near the wizarding world where the boundary wasn't so thick. Besides, I thought as I turned farther over by the ounce of will I had left, having a very blatant wand ready—as Gin did stuck from her pyjamas—wouldn't exactly be understood in the other society. More like a…fashion faux pas, a presumably wooden stick shown from inside your trousers. We wouldn't want any questions raised.

“You're awake,” She spoke low. Quietly, she bundled plates and glasses together atop one another, the clink of porcelain softened by her slowness. She looked at me as she did this.

I nodded with my head against the cool pillow.

“Did the chicken broth taste all right? Did I put too much pepper?”

I shook my head.

She went to take the plates and glass from the tray, but set them down to sit upon the bed. She lay on her side, positioning herself so she came in front of me with her legs off the mattress. I watched her, and then felt her hand on my cheek, on my forehead, sifting around in my hair and circling back to my cheek where she stroked the skin.

I could see the uncertainty mixed with the same distress as mine within her focus, her eyes heavy, and her hair not princess-perfect.

I closed my eyes, the stroke soothing, but re-opened them to her voice, asking, “Did you take that hot shower you promised?”

I nodded.

She frowned and leaned in.

My eyes shut on reflex while I felt Ginny's lips peck-kiss my forehead. She let her nails gently graze my cheek, tracing my jawline in an action to remove her hand. She pushed from the guest bed with that hand and hopped off. Picking up the kitchenware, and moving aside the tray, she affirmed, “I'll be right back, okay? In seconds.”

I nodded, my own voice struggling to respond, “…Okay.”

“Okay…,” Her voice trailed off, disappearing beyond the doorway only to have another take her place.

Neville gently knocked on the opened door. “How you doing there, lovely? Can I get you anything?”

I made a grin, and shakily replied with, “Nah… And, I've been better.”

“Don't you worry about a thing, all right? I'm sure they've caught those bloody arseholes and showed them a thing or two. If it's true the investigation teams, or the Aurors for that matter, have been dabbling in Middle Aged devices for interrogation, I hope they lop off all their heads with the ol' guillotine and be done with it. Bloody…”

He paused.

“…I can't even think of a word to describe them. Pure, hellish evil.”

I looked from his dress robes, Ministry-ordered with an embroidered “M” and the number 899 sewn into a breast pocket. He had his hair combed over, his tie straight, briefcase in hand, and knew he set for work. A feeling of trudging on a person's practice crawled within my gut, and I started to feel uneasy. Not so much uneasy from being here, but for being here, another place where I sullied a routine.

I believe I began to get up. Neville hadn't a clue, his eyes leaving mine to see into the hallway. On my shoulder, and glancing in reflex to objects moving, something halted my impromptu actions. Gin, shuffling between Neville and the door, briefly looked at her soon-to-be husband and walked on into the guest room. She went for the tray and let down the kick-stand, placing it behind a cabinet out of the way. She did this without really looking at anyone other than me, and furtively, seeing how my body had risen. She pointed at me, and then pointed down.

I fell back to the mattress without discourse.

I heard clearing of one's throat, and both Gin and I gazed at Neville. He had his arm above him, propped on the door's frame. He watched his beloved, and how he watched her reminded me of…

I lifted my legs and curled myself into a ball where none could see.

“You forgot something,” he said with a smirk.

“Hm?” Gin had stopped in the middle of the room, halfway from the cabinet and halfway somewhere else. While examining her fiance, she used her fingers to tuck in that Weasley-red behind her ears, a habit I'm sure picked up from me.

Neville patted his lips with the pad of his index finger.

“Mmn…,” She made a tiny sigh and trekked to Neville. She planted a kiss on his cheek and lingered there a bit, especially when Neville took his hand and ran his fingers alongside the curvatures of her face.

I had to close my eyes, my throat clenched tight.

“I'll be back in the morning. You know how to reach me if anything happens,” I'd opened my eyes again to see Neville's lips pulling from Gin's forehead. Gin peeked at me from the side, her hand on Neville's chest. She migrated from him, pushing away and headed towards the bed. “The trick charms are armed.”

“Have a good night, Hermione,” Neville smiled friendly. “I'll try and see if I can get in touch with Harry. I'm not relying on Ministry officials to remember every little detail; though, I am a lowly employee without much clout. I'll do my best.”

“Tha—,” I squeaked and recovered. “…Thank you, Neville.”

“I love you, Gin.”

Gin closed her eyes. She was at the bed, having gone to me. She turned around and put on a grin. “Love you too,” she replied softly. “Be safe.”

I saw Neville go, and then heard doors shutting at a distance, their noises muffled by the length between the guest room and the front door.

I then heard what sounded like wind chimes.

Withdrawing the sheet that crept on my face, tickling the tip of my nose, I breathed the cool air and gazed at Gin who hovering above. She'd turned back around, though hadn't looked at me. Something on the bed procured her interest, and when I shot a glimpse at her vision she quickly averted her golden brown irises. She smiled warmly and set to adjust the sheets surrounding my form, smoothing where the sheet wrinkled and loosening parts I'd tightened.

She stood back straight after combing a bit of my hair with a nail. She smiled again, observing my form fidget and release from the ball. I smiled in return and yawned, reaching out to take the pillow underneath me. She sat down on the edge and asked, “Anything else I can do to make you more comfortable? Some freshly brewed tea maybe? I'd say wine, but Neville's…he's thrown out…”

She shook her head, closed her eyes and breathed. “We have crackers if you're hungry.”

I just shook my head “no”.

“All right then,” She removed herself and patted smooth the place she had sat on. She looked me over before saying, “Well, I'll be in the bedroom if you need anything, anything at all. Even if I've gone to sleep, wake me up. I'm there for you.”

I grinned, and I could feel my very heart grow; an unusual feeling after so many days without a soul.

“All right,” She made a move, stopped, nodded which made her hair fray about, and started off.

With each step away that growing heart shriveled. It was like…a metaphor. I don't know. I just didn't, couldn't let Ginny leave me. I didn't want anyone else to leave me. No more of my loved ones leaving me—ever, ever, ever again.

“Ginny!” I shouted, which caught us both. I hadn't meant to yell, but it came out that way. I'd shot from the mattress, the sheet slipping down my side. At the door, her hand on the knob, she didn't stammer. She flipped to face towards me, flaming red hair and all swishing.

“Please,” I begged after a moment of pause. “Please…don't leave me…”

I started to cry, my only true release.

I'd dropped my head, and by the time I looked back up she was there. No wavering, she pulled the sheets down and slid in beside me. Instantly, she wrapped her arms around me and held me against her. She rubbed my head, stroked my cheek with a tranquil hand and offered several “Shh's”.

“I feel so alone,” My teary, puffy eyes upon hers. The streaks of sadness quivered my vocal. “I don't… I don't know anymore. It's so cold… It's been so very cold…”

Gin, putting her hand to cradle the back of my head, lightly caressed my forehead. I settled, or tried to, aside her and within her warm aura. I felt her secure arms about me, and for a first time since Harry's departure for the Ministry I felt a sort of safety.

“You won't be alone anymore,” She announced quietly, firming her grip of me. I'd slipped in closely, so close our knees touched. She felt of my flannel. I felt of her cloth. I snuggled into my best friend and shook with the emotional remnants.

“You'll never be cold again,” She declared. “I won't have it—never again for as long as I live.”

“Do you think he'll be there for your wedding? Do you think he's okay? Do you think he's safe where he is?” Each question raised the exhaustion of my very fibre.

***

I awoke, hearing odd noises.

So relaxed and cozy, I'd forgotten where I was until my eyes flittered open. Above the usual rainstorm, a thump, and then another resounded into the guest room from the hallway. The door had never been shut, so the sound easily echoed. I realised, however, by the white drapes in front of me, translucent and filtering in a struggling sunlight through dense rain clouds that this wasn't my master bedroom, my Number Twelve.

On my left side, not facing the open door, I went to lift but stopped when I felt a tightening grip. At some point in the night I'd rolled over, now spooning with Gin. Those were her warm arms around me, her breath at my neck; though, her breathing shifted by the halted action. I settled back in, and she began to wake. She wiggled and pulled me closer, pushed her face into my backside and hair, and breathed in a deep morning breath. I heard her yawn, her fingers finding my hand once more, or where they lay intertwined at my chest.

Another thump, and obvious bumbling inside the house instantly had her rise. Where I'd started to close my eyes and slip into sleep again, she was up and out of bed. Rolling on my back, I first felt the sheet flip from her and the chilled, dry atmosphere hit my form. I rubbed my eyes and watched her hop to the edge and leap from the room, stumbling when she smacked into the doorframe on her way out. I laughed a little at her silliness to have her come around and stick her tongue out at me.

“Neville's home,” she hastily whispered. Amidst raising an exposing leg shifting from a single night shirt, she had a sock in her hands and jumped on one foot to get the other clad with it.

“Mm…,” I groaned, placing my palm over my eyes a second. The steady rain kept the silence out.

Pushing off the bed, and seeing Ginny do another hop while she slid a sock over her opposite foot, she gave me a quick little grin and said, her grin floundering by another bumble beyond the bedroom, “He's never one to tell me, but he gets rather hungry. Sometimes he leaves here with only a bran muffin. So, when he comes home I feed him. Would you like anything special for breakfast? I usually fix toast and eggs, maybe sausage links… Unless he's too tired, and then I fix sweetened oatmeal and coffee.”

“Whatever is fine,” I didn't really understand why she went about all this with haste, and thought it was more of that routine I treaded on. I shook my head, my tassels flattened on one side with bed-head. I went to comb the side out by hand.

“Would you mind if I helped? I need to do—“

“No,” She cut me off. “No. You stay right there in bed. Not like you need beauty sleep, but I swear if you get out I'll scold you, possibly beat you. Possibly. I'll find the broom, wherever it is. I swear.”

I wasn't going to argue. I was tired, and she seemed to be a woman with a plan. I flopped right back down into the soft sheet folds and mattress.

“Stay cozy and I'll come and get you when it's ready.”

“Yes, mother,” I imitated that frustrated adolescent dialect. “Whatever you say, mother.”

She made a gasp and smirked, “You're becoming less and less spoiled! Imagine that!”

I would have thrown a pillow at her if she hadn't walk from view and merge into the hallway. Instead, I lightly chuckled with my hand back over my eyes.

It didn't take me very long after getting still to find my twilight.

***

I usually didn't drink coffee, but I wouldn't waste Ginny or Neville's hospitality. So, when Neville offered the pitcher while I stood at the counter buttering my toast, I smiled and poured some in a mug. To hide the insanely bitter taste, I found the cream and sugar and soon the coffee drank more like hot chocolate. My hand on a jar of strawberry jam, I dipped a spoonful and slathered the two pieces of bread I had. Neville had given me the spoon, and he observed my spreading precision. Not a single sticky drop landed on their white plate.

“You know,” Neville said while sipping his black coffee. He had his mug up to his lips and let out a sigh after he swallowed.

I glanced at him amongst my obsessive compulsiveness.

He looked between me and the selected food. “The short time you've been here has given Gin vinegar. I don't know what you do or say, but keep doing whatever it is.”

He looked passed me, and I swished my head to his visual direction to see and hear Gin whistling while she prettied the silverware at our chairs. I smiled when I saw her brilliant smile, her radiantly white gnashers and her flames lively giddy.

“She missed you.”

I turned back to Neville. His eyes went to mine, and I smiled when he did.

My eyes went back to Ginny.

She peeked upwards and cocked a brow. “What?” she inquired with scrutiny.

“Nothing.” I heard Neville laugh, sipping his coffee mug.

Her eyes narrowed.

He wandered on over to the table with his bowl of oatmeal.

“You two are scheming something… I just know it. The moment I turn my back something's going to happen, right?”

“You've caught us,” I smiled, walking my toast and coffee to the table, too. The bottoms of my soft Merlin slippers tapped the floor, taking my time to a chair. “The wizard's out of his robes, now.”

Ginny bounded around to me and put her arms loosely about my neck, her chin on my shoulder, her cheek against my own. She ruffled the unbuttoned upper part of my royal blue-and-black checkered flannel shirt as she embraced me. Then, she put her mouth to my cheek and…

…Blew a raspberry, and loudly. It sounded…unpleasant, and I scrunched up my nose and fought against her now vice-like grip.

I chuckled into a bite of toast and patted her arm, my cheek left with a very wet mark.

***

Ginny wanted to make chocolate chip-flavoured biscuits.

It was humourous seeing her with a gigantic spoon, going at the inside of an enormous bowl as if she were fighting to squish something inside it. She'd already made a batch, the rack cooling on the oven top. She dared me with a warning that if I touched it, she'd bite my finger off. And, she meant it, wagging her finger at me.

She wore this pink homely apron and had a handkerchief in her hair. I'd come from the living area, watching the news which depressed me, the anchors discussing morbid events or Dark Mark scares across the English Channel. Or, they'd begin taking shots at Harry, or me, or Harry and me. I changed the channel to some movie, but became disinterested by spectacle and no intelligence fast. Disgusted, I clicked the off button on the remote and ventured into the kitchen with Ginny.

I had a cup of tea in my hands. I leaned so my back sort of lay at an angle on their countertop's ledge. I was on Ginny's right and watched her actually picking up some sweat with all her work. But, she happily sang the tune on the radio, a peppy song I'd never heard of, so I was sure the musicians were based primarily in the wizarding society. The high spirited music sounded as if it came straight from the circus, a uniquely acoustic mix of drums, horns, and guitar. I think I even heard a xylophone and a pan flute concoction.

Fixing the red cuffs around my elbows, the jacket I wore fidgeting upon a black t-shirt, I said the obvious whilst placing a hand in my black shorts.

“You look like your mum.”

I sipped my tea and, eyes widening, saw a monster enrage as Gin pushed from her bent position in the oven. Daggered, she shot, “Don't. Ever. Say that again.”

I let a laugh out when Ginny puffed some of her Weasley-red from her eyes. She stuck her tongue out at me.

“In that ungodly frilly thing you're wearing…”

“Hey!” She pointed at me, and then let a smirk form. She laughed at my wonky expression, eyes crossed. “This was a gift from my grandmum!”

“And hey,” I set my tea down on the counter and put my hands about an inch above my breast. “You're halfway there already.”

Ginny pushed me, and pushed me hard. I did a step to my left, laughing and seeing Gin laugh as well.

She pushed on me again the moment I could stand. I stepped in the same direction, and laughed again, doubling over at her stern, yet smirking face. She put her hands on her hips, which made her more `Molly Weasley'. “For your information, I am dreading the fact that we'll all turn into our parents whether we want to or not. Now I've only a hundred pounds left to gain…”

“All those cheeseburgers and chips…soda…sweets… That double chocolate frog with whipped cream filling I saw you eat that one day. That had to set on a few—”

She pointed at me with the batter-ridden spoon.

“Hush you!”

She closed her eyes and shuddered.

I laughed.

“Sorry we can't all be a hundred pounds, thin, royally perfect like someone I know.” She took off and tossed the apron as if it was fire, and she was ablaze. “That's it! I'm tossing the biscuits out!”

“Don't you even!”

“You called me fat!”

“Oh shush. I'm pulling you. You're gorgeous.”

She stuck her tongue out. “Quit being so damn thin and eat something.”

“I do… Just not twelve at a time.”

“I hate you, you know?”

“Shut up, you love me.”

“Well…maybe,” She smirked. “At times, at very rare times. Maybe. Always possible. With luck.”

I laughed through my nose. “Are you ready to be Missus Longbottom a couple days from now?”

“Sure.”

She dropped her eyes from me and I took her diverted look, coming in an escaping with one of those cooling chocolate chip biscuits. She gasped, and went to grab it from me, but I'd already bit.

To spit it out right away.

My features soured.

“What?” She asked concerned, following me to the paper towel roll and spat it out there. “What? Was it too hot?”

I explained when I could, scraping all of the biscuit off my tongue. “It's…a bit salty.”

“Salty?” Ginny proclaimed. “I don't understand. I followed the directions strictly. I mean, I've made two batches with a third in the oven! Mum's recipe!”

“Let me see the recipe card…”

She gave it to me after blowing off some cooking flower.

All it said for the salt content was: a dash.

“How much salt did you put in the mix?”

“It called for a dash!”

“Show me how much `a dash' is.”

I held my hand out.

Ginny picked up and carried over salt-shaker, the container's lid gone. She took my hand and poured the tiny white flakes. I observed, and it didn't come to a surprise nor did it stump me for long that she'd put in way too much. A mountain now sat of pure white in the palm of my hand.

With my free hand, I covered my mouth and made a giggle.

“What!” She snapped.

I dumped the mountain of salt in the sink and took a bit, tossing it over my shoulder. “That…was more like a handful. Not a dash, love.”

“Well… I tried.”

“It's a sign you won't be like your mother, though.”

I giggled, and Gin, that smirk carved back in her face, prodded my stomach with her fingers.

I bent when she did and laughed.

“Here,” She said, picking up the mixing bowl and dipping out a chunk of biscuit stew from the bottom. “Maybe this batch will taste better. Try it.”

She went to put her biscuit mix-covered fingers beside my mouth, but raked it all over my nose, cheek, and chin. The more moist parts dripped on the floor, some landing on my black tights and boots.

“Hahahahaa!”

I scowled.

I didn't think it was funny, but…

I whisked away the bowl, snatching it and took a handful of the mix myself. I slathered Gin's face, and dodged when she came at me. Or tried to, to have Gin's hand smother my nose, forehead, and my hair in goo. I shrieked into laughter, and Ginny did the same, sparring and cleaning the bowl completely out. We were biscuits ourselves, thick with crusting, drying bread and chips after a while. I had to wipe my eyes a few times, feeling the dough everywhere.

Though, I made sure to get Ginny dirtier.

She wasn't getting off easy after starting this war.

The kitchen a mess, bits of splattered biscuit dough on the cabinets and walls taken from our very clothes to throw. We sat at opposite ends of the room breathless, but giggling, laughing at how messy the other looked. Neville came in. I guessed the ruckus woke him. He glanced at Gin, to me, to the kitchen, and back to Gin before rubbing his face.

He just shook his head and shrugged before leaving us to make the area speckless once again.

“Women.” He announced while climbing back upstairs.

I looked at Gin.

She looked at me.

And, we both burst into laughter.

***

“Accio.”

Gin dropped her wand aside her the second her hand caught the hairbrush. I sat on the floor in front of her with a napkin of biscuit crumbs. Their coffee table had them stacked like a pyramid, still slightly warm, moist, but cooling while they further lay. The television was on, namely their film player. A Muggle would think they've tampered with a DVD player, what with the machine being turned on completely by one's voice. All Gin had to do was tell the player to, “Play Edward Scissorhands,” and it went straight to the movie.

I felt Gin above me, taking the brush and gently brushing my locks. Each strand, in thick lines, would begin to curl on their way down starting slightly and then fully at the end. Naturally, I hadn't done anything but shampoo and condition my brunette mane. Hypnotised by the rhythmic strokes scratching my head, I went trance-like and I think I could have went to sleep, my eyes closed.

Only when Gin spoke up did I become fully aware.

“I feel so bad.”

“Why?”

She sighed. “Spoiling this gorgeous hair. I'll never do it again, I swear. Something so soft should be in a record book somewhere. It's crazy.”

I grinned, my eyes slowly going to close as I felt Gin sift her fingers in my hair, and then produce another cascading brush stroke.

“I'm jealous, Mi. I almost want to shave it all off.”

“Don't you dare come back into my room then, witch.” I threatened in a smirk. “I'll have my wand bedside.”

Ginny chuckled. “Yeah, well… I'm still obscenely jealous. You're so fucking beautiful it kills me. You could wear a brown bag and still be centre of attention. If you get any more pretty, I'll just have to steal you away…”

My brow rose, to hear Gin conclude after a beat. “…and put you in some trophy case.”

“Are you excited?” I asked. Something in my subconscious tripped.

“For…?”

“Guess I'll have to explain to Neville.”

“What?” She stopped brushing.

“…That he's marrying some dumb bird. Honestly.”

“Quiet you.” She patted my head and resumed brushing. She hesitated when saying, “I've got quite a lot on my mind. Don't expect brilliant communication. I'm not a Granger after all. Super woman.”

“Psh.” I huffed. “I wish. Then maybe I'd have half my sanity back.”

I'd been smiling, and genuine, my mind taken from the loneliness of missing my Harry…

A slip of the tongue was all it needed to pull me right back in.

Ginny sensed the dynamic change of my aura.

“Mi…?”

It'd been so long now…a little less than a full month…

“…Mi?”

I stared in front of me, but really didn't stare.

The world in my vision became a blurred version where all colours blended into a single disgusting dirt-brown. In my hand I crumpled the napkin and pushed away the plate of biscuits in waiting. I wrapped my arms around myself, my chest, and gathered the extra stretchy, yet tight cotton sleeves of my black-and-white striped shirt into my hands. I held myself. Hugged myself. My sight dropped onto the starkly different colour at my knees. Holes purposely ripped, I could see their knobbiness protrude and pale leg. I curled them underneath me.

“No, no, no…” Gin repeated, dropping the hairbrush on the table. The plastic made a thud against the hard, stained grain. She urged, putting her hands on my shoulders and squeezing them. “Eat another biscuit.”

“I'm done.” I said, period. “I'm without hunger anymore, through.”

“Then come up here with me,” I heard Ginny hop on the sofa, and felt her poke me.

I turned to see her, my hair jostling and covering up that one side of my face diagonally.

“Please?” She sat now in the crook of the armrest, arm out and motioning for me.

I wanted to cry, and I don't know where I found the will to move. I suddenly felt cold without my other to keep me warm. Isolated. Removed. Withdrawn. I rolled onto my side and had to climb my way up, finding Gin who supported me by hand. I found my way into the pocket she created for me, my head, my cheek to her chest. I still had my sleeves bundled in my palms when I placed them around her, my face towards the television screen. She wrapped her left arm about my middle, her right hand cradling my head.

I lay there for a while, until she caressed the top of my delicate mahogany and cinnamon threads.

I snuggled into her form, my cheek rubbing against the silky cotton of her collared shirt.

I let my eyes close when she began to run her hand along my back, very carefully, so carefully the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rose. I sighed, opened my eyes once more to see Kim kissing Edward. I'd seen this dozens of times and knew they'd never see each other again, for him to protect her at any cost. She fled the scene, the camera closing in on Edward's saddened face as he watched her run from his castle.

“I missed you,” Ginny peeped in.

I closed my eyes and a tear trickled down my cheek.

After a pause, after witnessing Edward's lovely angel ice-sculpture, Kim's ethereal dance in the ice-flakes, his gift, Gin expressed an, “I love you.”

To which I replied, “I love you, too.”

{The song listened to while picturing/ writing their cookie-batter fight was Rusted Root's Send Me on My Way. A light-hearted, fun little piece given to a much lighter chapter aside from the beginning and its conclusion. I hope it showed they're still young even though they've had to digest some seriously disturbing and psychologically burdensome situations past and presently}

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40. Join

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: Molly and Arthur Weasley finally see the day their only beloved daughter is Joined with Neville Longbottom for all eternity. The stage is set. People are in their rightful place. Emotions run high; but, this is the Potterverse. Everything always goes swimmingly perfect in the Potterverse.

***

Chapter Forty - Join

***

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Click.

“Mmn…,” My long curls draped their length as I rose to turn off the alarm clock. I sat up on my side and yawned, feeling Ginny wiggle on her back. The annoying sound drove her to wake as well, though still rather stationary opposed to my movements.

She squinted at the time on the clock and hastily flipped over. She took the pillow and the sheets and yanked them over her head. I smirked, slipping back down where I had been and wrapped an arm around her. I lay my cheek and chin on her side and rubbed what my hand found where it rested.

“Good morning, Missus Longbottom…” I whispered.

“Urrghh…,” She moaned, muffled. “…Five more minutes.”

“Did you see the time?”

“Yes…”

“Do you know what time we have to be at the Burrow?”

Gin pried herself up, the pillow falling backwards from her head. Her squint fell on me, “…For someone who told me she dreaded seeing mum and dad, you certainly are antsy.”

“I didn't say I didn't want to see them. What I said was I hadn't seen them since, well…,” My eyes focused away from her, to the alarm clock, to the door, and then lingered back on her to say, “I'm your bridesmaid. I'm not going to let you down just because I may or may not have fluttering butterflies in my stomach.”

“Ughrgh…” She groaned. Her face fell flat on the mattress. “…Butterflies, many… I feel like I'm going to throw up. No, I know I'm going to toss it…”

“Come on,” I pushed on her. “You need to eat, get dressed, and get over to the Burrow to get you ready for your wedding. We need to be there in a few hours time.”

I slid from around her and hopped off the bed. I went straight for my things, leaving her to moan again. “Stttoooppp… What are you doing now? Quit doing whatever you're doing.”

I turned my head to see her and rolled my eyes. “Like I said two seconds ago, I'm getting ready. Get ready, I—“

“Gin, are you up?” Neville's voice echoed in the hallway. With the guest's bedroom door open, I knew by the loudness he closed in. I rushed to stop him, and was met at the bedroom door by a handsome man in coat-and-tail.

“Neville! You look dashing…and ready!”

Neville smiled at me, and tried looking beyond. “Is she awake?”

I put my hand over his eyes. “It's not customary to see the bride before the wedding!”

“But, is she ready?”

“She's getting ready!” I'd turned to yell back into the guest room.

“I'm up! I'm getting ready!” replied Ginny through a yawn, yelling back. “Christ… For the love of Merlin…”

I heard her mumble off expletives.

Relieving my hand from his eyes, I fixated on his tie, his shoulders, wiping them of any wrinkle. I shot a glimpse at him from my height, having to look up and said, “You really do look splendidly handsome.”

He lifted his chin just like…

Harry.

As I adjusted his tie knot.

I quickly withdrew my hand.

The door to the guest bedroom shut closed.

Neville hadn't noticed anything abnormal, requesting me with, “Tell Gin that I'm heading over to the Burrow right now. I'd like to do a little overview myself before Miss Nitpick wonders in. Donate some testosterone to the…flowers.”

I made a little laugh, imagining all the flower decorations there—and there would be plenty—a very girly sort of thing for the princess. “Right. Okay. Well, we'll be there…”

I paused, only to scream out.

“In the next couple hours!”

“I'm awake! God!” Gin screamed back. “Merlin on a motorcycle, I swear sometimes…”

She went off in those mumbles.

***

“You'll be coming in with me, right?”

We were at the Burrow. I literally had to push Gin to shower, to dress, to get her shoes on… I told her she wasn't getting cold feet. She told me she wasn't. Or, was. I didn't know. So, I guessed this was part of being her bridesmaid, resorting to lethality if I had to in the end. Gin carried her wedding dress, a beautiful little number…gorgeous, simplistic complexity pulled into one single piece of attire. White high heels in a shoebox underneath her other arm. Jeans and a t-shirt before the wedding for there were a number of guests perusing and meandering outside.

The men had already taken up the tent. Nearly transparent, if one would gaze up they could see the brilliantly blue sky amongst fluffy white clouds; though, the canopy was jinxed. If one dropped their ear below the music, one could hear the pitter-patter of steady raindrops. White fold-up chairs lined with pink rose garland stood in two columns creating three separate aisles, the centre larger to accommodate the wedding dress's train.

Whilst looking around at the people already here, and there were quite a number of gingers about, I didn't recognise but a few. Arthur was chatting away with some of the boys in a far corner, probably not wanting to muck anything; keeping the men far away from the extravagance. White, aesthetically ornate -adorned cylinders carried more of the pink rose garland, the garland wrapping around like a candy cane. Hanging flora lined the walls of the tent, again the same pink rose variety bouquet.

On the other side of the room, sitting in one of those fold-up chairs was Molly and some elderly gingers. I presumed older relatives, quite possibly Molly's mother as side-by-side the two women looked identical except for age. She didn't see us when we first walked in, but we definitely caught her attention within the next minute. She threw her arms in the air and hastily jumped from the seat. She wobbled right on over and gave Ginny a huge bear hug, lifting her off her feet.

“Ginny! Ginny! Ginny!” She shook Gin back and forth each time she called out her name. “Love button!”

“Stop it, mother. I already feel sick and you're just making it worse. I swear I'll toss.”

“Sick?” She eyed me, and then back to her daughter. “What do you mean, dear? Today you should be excited! It's YOUR day!”

Ginny made a passing glance around, glanced at me, and then back to her mother.

I could see the difficult swallow.

“Isn't this what you wanted, dear?” Molly motioned across the room with a hand, dropping her head down to line her eyes with Gin's. Gin threw her sight from Molly and back to me.

“You're coming with me, right?” I could hear a bit of desperation, not to mention the way her eyes bugged out when she said `right'.

“Yes, I'm coming right behind—“

“I'm sending Aunt Tessie in there with you before anyone else. You know she gets offended if she hasn't scrutinized even the very locks of your hair,” Molly turned about and snapped her fingers. She made a clap and shouted, “Tessie! Tessie!”

A woman made up with a too much make-up, especially the reddish blush all over her cheeks, and gaudy pearls and beads came racing on over.

“She has a bit of a hearing problem, you see…,” She looked at me.

“Besides,” She glanced back at Gin who was being captured, so to speak, by the older, overdone woman in a brown dress. Aunt Tessie also sported quite a feathered hat, the purplish plume rising several feet in the air…straight up. “I'd like to speak to you.”

“Hermione!” Gin called out for me while being dragged off.

“I'll be right there!” I shouted back, seeing Gin get pummeled back into the girl's area and behind curtains.

“Come with me, dear…,” Molly ushered with her hand to follow and we ended up sitting in the two nearby chairs. She sat at an angle with her arm on top of the backside.

“So,” She began. I'd crossed my legs, the white satin dress tightening at my knees. I rarely wore heels, the white points poking out from the bottom. I leaned a little forward, that diagonal portion of my hair covering that one eye. My hands were clasped on the edge of the seat.

“How's Harry?” She played with a cream-coloured knitted shawl around her neck which lay above an emerald gown.

All I could do was shrug…and watch Molly size me up.

She was paying particular attention to my face.

I hoped I didn't have something on it and became very self-conscious to her blatant exploration.

I hoped it wasn't a runny nose, or worse, a growing pimple.

“You don't know, dear? But, you're his fiance. You should know everything. Every bloody detail.”

My brow rose. “I'm sure you're aware he's at the Ministry, Mrs. Weasley. It's broadcasted in practically every media outlet, especially the Prophet.” I said this because Molly nearly swore by the Prophet since I met her ages ago, albeit a tad less a few years back. “I'm not sure what you want me to say else…”

“Petition to see your future husband would be step one.”

Slightly shocked by her forthcoming, I remained respectful. “…The confidentiality cannot go outside those walls. He'd have to sign a verbal contract. He'd have to promise. I can't do anything but wait. Those are the rules. I wouldn't want him to get into trouble, and there could be some severe consequences.”

“Rules can be broken, dear.” She snapped.

I sat more erect.

I didn't understand, I mean… She knew the rules of engagement. It's not like any bloody person can waltz right on into a Death Eater hearing. What Harry had to relinquish… What I had to contend with… I thought Molly, of all people, would understand. Arthur was in the Ministry during vexing times for Christ's sake. I thought she would show more empathy and not…aggression?

“Frankly,” She sighed and shook her head. She closed her eyes and shook her head even more, and harder. She stopped, opened her eyes, and looked right at me. “Are you even trying?”

“Pardon—“

The wailing cry and scream of a toddler racing by interrupted our lovely discussion. My head turned to see a little girl with a miniature-sized dragon in her hands run down the centre aisle, mimicking the `whoosh' sound as she imagined it flying. In a cute sky blue and white dress, she looked absolutely adorable.

“Victoire!”

I knew that voice.

A very distinct French accent.

“Mon mot…” I flicked around to see an extremely pregnant Fleur making her way down the centre; though, she sort of swayed with the extra weight. She had a hand on her stomach and halted a moment to breathe. She put that hand on a chair's backside and wiped some sweat from her brow. “…Ou est votre pere? Whew…”

She blinked, and startled, she gasped. “'Ermione! Iz you! Magnifique!”

“Fleur!” Brows rising, I couldn't help but see her tiny ginger, Victoire, growing up and another one on the way. I stood up and left Molly by herself still sitting where we were. I went over and embraced Fleur gently. I released, and when I did we smiled at one another. It was like… I wasn't even sure. Another life maybe.

“You're glowing!”

“Merci,” She set her hand back on her stomach. “Thank you. And, you? Vhere iz your groom? Vhere iz `Arry?”

I sighed. “Official Ministry work. I'm not allowed access.”

“Aw…,” She patted my shoulder and gave my arm a rub. “I see. Vell, he iz `Arry. Strong. Determined. He iz in good hands, so you should not vorry, okay?”

I nodded, my lips pushing together. I still couldn't get over how large Fleur was and how this immensely thin woman could get so big. I saw myself, thin, could I get his large? “May I?” I asked, gesturing towards her stomach.

“Oh yes, o' course!”

I set my palm lightly on top, aside her hand, and at first I didn't feel a thing.

Then suddenly, I felt a kick.

I smiled and giggled, laughing when I felt another bump.

“Do you know if it's a girl or boy?” I looked up at her.

“Anoder female,” She grinned. “Dominique Rene Weasley.”

“Aww…”

“Guess I lost father's gene to produce boys,” A hearty laugh roared behind me. I turned to see Bill with Victoire propped in his arms. Their daughter continued to imagine that dragon in her own tiny world as she made it swoop down and back up again.

“Zat iz not so! A male iz next! I can zee eet!”

Bill leaned in and carefully caressed Fleur's lips before gazing at me with a beaming smile. “Hello Hermione. I'm quite happy to see you here, and helping Ginevra so much in her moment. I'm sure she's shaking in her heels.”

“Oh, she's nervous all right. I couldn't get her out of bed this morning.”

“She takes after us. I'm sure she's overwhelmed with the whole experience, and I'm unbelievably surprised that she chose such a…feminine decor, really. I never knew she liked so much pink and white.”

“Well, her, Cho, and I sat around and she came up with this.”

“Hm.” Bill glanced around. “Where is she, anyway?”

“With Aunt Tessie,” I turned back to see the curtains they went into hiding what was beyond. I guessed a changing area. “After that I'm not sure.”

“Oh dear, not Tessie. Mum's all wound up that Tessie knows everything there is to wedding ceremonies. Mum went ballistic the day her and father Joined because Aunt Tessie meddled with every detail. Bloody don't know why she'd send Tessie in with Gin.”

Bill began to hop Victoire on his hip after she started getting rambunctious.

I glanced back at the tent flaps.

“You better get in there and straighten the mess Aunt Tessie's doing to Ginny. “ Bill laughed. “And, it will be a mess to be made.”

“Yeah,” I turned back around and nodded in agreement. “I should. Actually, I better. She needs me.”

Bill smiled, and then looked at his wife when Fleur asked, “Love, vhere iz ze escargot? You said escargot?”

“Uhh…,” He scratched his head and looked around across the room at the refreshment stand. “We have biscuits? Punch?”

Fleur sighed and shook her head. She let another one out and patted her very round belly. “Ze life of ze pregnant voman…”

I smiled and Bill made that hearty laugh.

“Let's go get you something to eat, love.”

“'Ake care, `Ermione. Ve vill `alk soon, I hope.”

I grinned and gave Fleur another light hug. “Of course. I can't wait to see ickle Dominique.”

“Less than a month, now.” Suggested Bill.

“Good luck!”

“Thank you, Hermione. And, well wishes for you and Harry. I've always rooted for you two,” He whispered the end. “But…”

His eyes went left, and then right.

“…Don't tell anyone else.”

I smiled. “Sure.”

“If you and Harry ever need some help, you know where we live!”

“Thank you, Bill,” I smiled between him and a happy Fleur. “Fleur. And, I'll tell Harry you've sent wishes when he gets back. I'm sure he keeps you two in mind.”

“Ve love you two!”

***

Giving another hug to Fleur, and one to Bill, I left them with a farewell and headed towards the curtains I'd watched Gin get dragged off into prior. Pulling away the flaps, I entered into another annexed room, a hallway leading to more tent flaps. I could hear the pouring rain strike the tent, moving away from the recorded sounding ceremony tunes and the music muting against thick tent material. Lightning cracked and thunder boomed in its wake.

I pushed into the second set to find a perpendicular tented corridor running counter to the one I came from. I'd also run into something of a scene that wasn't meant to be seen, nor heard. When I first came in I did hear chastising, anger, Molly's voice saying, “I don't want you near the wedding! Tell you and your lot to leave! All you bring is those damn Death Eaters—you're like magnets! And, that's all we need right now is another swarm of those attacking yet another Weasley wedding!”

“Molly… Dear…” Arthur's voice beside her.

That's when I came in and broke the discussion.

My eyes darted to the couple, Molly and Arthur, their eyes both upon me. Molly's were wider, almost boring into me as if to say, “How dare you!”

Arthur merely jested, and sighed. He put his hand to his forehead.

The person of Molly's resentment stood behind them cloaked in white with a hood. I could see her face, a female, middle-aged, maybe younger with blonde hair escaping said hood. Her bluish irises took one look at me, and then she left with no other words. That is, if she had said anything at all. All I heard was Molly.

The woman in white, an Auror, slipped from the tent completely and into the buckets of rainwater.

“Molls, you can't just tell them to leave. They're here for all of our protection, our safety…”

“Arthur, I swear if there is one mistake—ONE!—it's going to be your head that rolls!”

“Molls…,” Mister Weasley sounded dismantled, frustrated.

Molly slid up aside me, wobbling out the way I came in, but stopped to ask me, “Did Ginny allow you to wear that disgusting black gunk around your eyes? My word, the generation's lost it!”

I kept quiet, but stood my ground.

She moved from my eyes, to my fringe, and back to my eyes. “And, get a haircut while you're at it! And, these will be the next to run the world…”

The flap popped with a smack of Molly's arm and she was gone.

I turned to see Mister Weasley, his hand on his face, his fingers in the shallows of his eyes where he rubbed them under his glasses. He sighed and smoothed out his hair compulsively. “She doesn't mean it, Hermione,” He said calmly, assuredly. “Missus Weasley just has a lot on her mind. With Ron—“

“Ron?” I interjected.

Arthur pointed at the tent wall, but more he gestured further than that, “He's not here, you see. She's broken up about not having the entire family together for her daughter's wedding.”

“Where is Ron…?” I asked in near-silence.

It's not like I'd forgotten about Ronald. No, I couldn't forget about him, our past, and our past's past… But, with everything that has happened after, and right now with my mind on Harry, and Ginny, and…

“He's…well,” Mister Weasley cleared his throat. “Well, he's still at St. Mungo's. They asked for more time with him. He's improved in strides. He signed himself back in. He wants to improve more, but he was never…”

“I know.” I shook my head, nodding. “He was never… He was a good guy. We've all been through Hell. I get it now more than ever. We're all dealing with our issues. I'm happy to hear he's making his own path, and progressing.”

“We visit him…a lot, well,” Arthur made a slight laugh. “Molly does. I pay the bills, go to work, or I'd go see my son more often. He knows I love him.”

“We all love him. He should know that.”

Arthur paused a beat, and slowly asked, “…You could always go and—“

I closed my eyes and shook my head `no' this time. “Not now…,” I breathed in and exhaled softly. “Not yet, anyway. I'm dealing with Harry right now, and that's incredibly difficult… I could…”

“I understand,” Arthur nodded. “When he gets out. Yes.”

“Thank you!” I shouted this at him, but it was by accident. I'd wanted to thank him for a long time coming.

“What for?”

“What you did and have done for Harry,” I paused to settle. “It means a quite deal to me, to know he has others watching out for him when I can't.”

Arthur smiled honestly and nodded.

I nodded, too and quickly changed the subject before I broke into my already unstable emotions. “Is…?”

I pointed on down the corridor.

“Oh! Yeah, she's right down there,” Mister Weasley shook his head and laughed a little. “I'll come with you to, you know, drag ol' Tessie out. Let in some fresh air for you girls.”

***

“I'm here! I'm here! Sorry!”

“God damn it, Cho!” cried out Ginny. I made her stop as she moved, fixing her hair and making sure everything fell perfectly. She wanted her hair, `Like mine,' she said. So, I was on an adventure, trying to crimp and curl her severely straight hair. More or less, the conclusion was getting better. I'm no hairstylist, that's for sure.

Now that Cho was here I was more than happy for her to take over.

And, she obliged when I handed her Ginny's wand; though, she exchanged it for her own. So, I gave Gin's back.

“What the Hell took you so long?”

“I told you I was sorry! Christ woman!” Cho had begun mending my work.

I smirked when Cho gave me the evil eye.

I shrugged.

Like I said, I'm not one to beautify myself.

Now if Gin wanted me to do her eyes, now that I can do. Anything else was a shot in the dark, but I would help.

“She's extremely nervous,” I told Cho as she went about her work.

“Missus Ginevra Longbottom…”

“Shut up, Cho. God. I hate your guts.” Ginny snarled.

“She's already a new woman!”

I laughed, and loudly.

I bent down to Gin's level, as she sat in a chair facing a mirror. I took mental pictures of her wedding gown: lace frill at the top, bare shoulders, satin at beginning at her bust and down as the soft material cascaded into intermittent, natural folds. The fabric had a subtle matte to it, a bright ivory hue. She looked amazing. Sweetly tanned, her Weasley-red stood out like a flow of crimson curtain. Her golden-brown eyes flittered towards me beneath darkly curled, long eyelashes.

“What is it…?” She whispered, though I was sure Cho could hear.

“You're stunning, Gin.”

“Stop it…”

“I'm serious!”

She smiled and reached for me.

I took her hand and held it.

She tightened her grip.

“You'll be right there with me…right?”

“I have to hold that long train,” I chuckled. “So…”

“Fat arse!” peeped in Cho.

“I swear I'm going to hit a witch.”

I smirked into a laugh.

“Besides,” Gin expressed. “I mean, you're the gorgeous one, Mi. I couldn't hold a candle to you. People are going to think I'm the bridesmaid and you're supposed to be the bride.”

“Should I mess my hair up or something?”

I chuckled, and Cho fell in tow.

I felt Ginny ease her fingers, inching them in-between mine.

“Did someone order a warlock stripper?! Bow chica bow wow…”

“Go away, George!” yelled Gin.

I shot my glance to the flap and out popped George's head without a body. His eyes were closed. “Everything kosher in here?”

“She's dressed if that's what you're asking,” Cho exclaimed, her hands set in curling another strand of Ginny's hair, pulling at the tassel.

“Wow,” George's eyes open, he said this was legitimate awe. “And here I thought this was a trouser-affair.”

Ginny huffed and closed her eyes.

“What do you want?”

“Neville went home.”

“WHAT?!” Us three said aloud and in synchronization.

“I'm kidding! Whoa! Sorry!” he smirked.

“God. George. Leave. Now.”

“Okay, okay, the real reason why I came wasn't to bug you.”

“Seriously?” retorted Gin. “I wouldn't have guessed.”

“I've chaperoned someone who wants to see you all before the ceremony starts.”

“Who…?” Gin watched George through her mirror.

“I smell the aroma of snurgglepuffs in here…strong…so lovely…”

“Loopy—“

“George!” shouted Gin.

A strikingly light blonde traipsed in on her toes and danced her way over to us three. Luna, in one of her free-spirited dresses of printed flowers of the rainbow, put an arm around me and Cho. She grinned at Gin through the mirror, “Bride to be…how I love thee.”

Ginny raised her hand and Luna took it carefully, not to disturb Cho.

“Thank you for showing up, Luna.”

“The pleasure is rightfully all mine, Ginevra. I was simply ecstatic when disclosing the ceremonial invitation in my post box. I've framed it, and it now holds on the wall of my kitchen.”

The three of us girl's all sort of smiled at one another and Ginny said graciously, “I'm glad it made your day, Luna.”

“I hope, and I really hope, that it wasn't wrong of me to tag along a special soul of mine. I wished for her to see my friends, and I didn't know if we'd all get together like this anymore.”

Although she smiled, and one of those lazy, dazy Luna-smiles, she looked upon me.

“I'm sorry for not getting in touch, Luna. I've just been so…”

“With the Quibbler, I quite understand the changing auras. I see you now, Hermione, and I am happy. I wish for nothing more.”

“Luna…,” I gave her a hug. “You'll always be my friend, forever.”

“Strength of bond,” She nodded. “A chain that will never break. Love.”

I smiled.

“May she stay?” Luna's gaze went back to Ginny's.

“'She'?”

“My other soul, the ying of my yang, the piece of my Life's everlasting puzzle.”

Gin made eye contact with me, and then with Cho.

“I guess…,” Ginny slurred. She shrugged. “More the merrier.”

“I am pleased,” replied Luna warmly. She stood on her cream-coloured flats and sung her voice, calling, “Alice…!”

A lithe, slender girl—fairy-like—pirouetted inside at the slight tune of Luna's angelic beseech. Dressed so similar to Luna, her skin such in the same spectrum of colour, if it hadn't been because of her short, black, wind-blown hair and dark eyes I'd have guessed Luna found her identical twin. She came to Luna's side so quickly, and her hands found Luna's shoulder, at the crook of the neck. She smiled, like Luna, at everyone in the room. She gave each of us her undivided attention.

“Greetings,” She spoke kindly. I couldn't tell where her pupil began and ended, but she was pretty. And, they looked to be in love, stopping to see each other, her and Luna, before looking back at us. She even scrunched her nose up at Luna. “I'm Alice. Alice Burton. Luna's talked about you all so much that I feel like I practically know you all already!”

“Two flowers amongst a field…,” said Luna to us, and to Alice at her side.

“I'm Hermione.” I grinned, reached for her and shook her hand.

“Ginevra, or Ginny. Gin for short.”

“Cho Chang, hairstylist extraordinaire! Nice to meet you!”

***

After the greetings, after the small chitchat, getting to know Luna's Alice within the brevity of time we had, Luna touched my hand and motioned with a nod towards the exiting tent flaps. She didn't take her silvery eyes off me, but asked Alice beside her, “May I have your purse, my love?”

“Certainly,” she spoke, interjecting throughout talking with Ginny about her day, and did so without skipping a beat within their lively conversation. She'd made Gin laugh at something.

“I'm borrowing Hermione for a moment, loves.” Luna squeezed my hand and lightly pulled me towards the exit. She had the black sequined purse in her right hand.

“Don't stay away too long, Mi!” I noticed Gin through the mirror look at me, her eyes following me, her mouth straight in a line. “I need you.”

“I'll be…,” Luna was leading me out, and I'd turned to see Gin, looked back at Luna, and then back to Gin.

“She'll only be a few minutes, Ginevra,” answered Luna in a floated tone.

We were in the hallway, amongst other guests and what I believed to be catering servicemen in chef hats and aprons checking and prepping their food in metal containers. A strong scent of red meats and buttery bread mingled at my nose. We had to meander through some people, Luna tugging me along, and I was still left completely in the dark. Why did she need me? Was this about the letter she wrote me of a lunch date? I had to speed up, and in heels it was difficult.

Luna pulled away a flap and pulled me into a vacant room. Wall-to-wall, this was where the extra flowers were kept and immediately I knew it for the aroma hit me like a sweet rush, a summer meadow in a breeze. Crystal vases and pink roses lined shelves with each vase holding a dozen or more; a sight to an incredibly dulled, beige faux-skin tent. The hanging lanterns had the crystal glimmer, the light giving off a spectroscopic gleam of all colour.

Only Luna could find such a room.

She quickly turned around to me after making sure we were isolated, making sure the flaps we'd come through were closed. She had her hands busy with opening the purse, unlatching and unzipping the jingling bag.

“What's going on, Luna…?” My mind was abuzz with many a thing Luna could pull from her bag. Years ago, I wouldn't have been surprised if she wanted to show me a butterbeer bottle cap necklace she'd made, but these times this couldn't have been something so…Lovegood.

“You know what I do…and what I can do…”

I watched as she took out a bundle of tied envelopes, reaching far into the charmed bag to retrieve them.

I nodded, and I knew she saw me even if her eyes were closed as she felt around in the bag for something else.

“I want to give these to you,” Luna opened her eyes after smiling with a “Eureka!” moment. She gave me the bundle, and I peeked from the stack she handed me to the new object she retrieved: an enveloped she clasped with all her strength.

“What are these…?” What I read, and all I read on each letter, was The Quibbler, The Quibbler, The Quibbler. All of them were addressed to The Quibbler. A John Woodson, to The Quibbler. A Heather Haynes, to The Quibbler. A Christopher Pine, to The Quibbler.

“Amongst the blackest of midnight skies…,” Luna said, observing my hands switch from one envelope to the next, consuming the names of each individual, every soul who wrote into The Quibbler, or in some cases to Luna Lovegood herself. “A trillion twinkling, bright stars illuminate the pitch sea.”

My brow rose, and I shot a glimpse at Luna and her puzzle. Maybe it was because of…everything…but I couldn't discern her poetics. “I don't understand, Luna. What are these…? They're all to you!”

“Your adoring fans, Hermione,” she breathed easily when she spoke, and softly.

My eyes grew, realising that I'd counted almost thirty with about four dozen more wanting to fall right out of my clutches. One did manage to drop, but I hastily picked it up off the floor and put it back in with the others. “I… I…”

“I only wanted to show you, and give you but a percentage of the letters I receive in the post about you and Harry and how people are rooting for you two, how people look up to you and love you. Bad news seems to overshadow the good… Aw…”

I'd begun to tear up.

I looked up at Luna and laughed, having to sniffle.

“I will, and we all will always have yours and Harry's back.”

I couldn't speak.

Choked up, all I could do was to hug Luna and did. I grabbed her and pulled her to me and gave her the biggest, warmest hug I could give.

She gave my back a little rub and said, “I know it must be so terribly difficult for you to keep on, but please realise you have so much support. You both have so much support from everyone.”

“You don't know how much this means to me…” I laughed again because my voice was so shaky.

Luna wiped my cheeks of black-stained tears. “We're going to have to re-do your make-up or I'm sure I'll be ex-communicated. The environment around some of these people is about as stiff as a gutralia jelly on its good day.”

I smiled and huffed, moving myself to calm down.

Luna handed me a tissue and I rightly dabbed any remaining tears.

“We should wait, though, on the make-up.”

I gazed at her quizzically, but soon noticed again the one envelope she hadn't given me. “Oh no, Luna…,” I sniffed. “You're absolutely going to have me crying again, aren't you?”

“Crying is a positive catharsis.” She handed over the letter and took the bundle of Hermione and Harry supporters from me so I could set my full attention on…

A blank envelope.

Nothing was written on the front.

Nothing was stamped on the back when I flipped it over.

I tore into it.

I glanced up at Luna, my hand muscles convulsing with the increasing rate of my breathing.

“I'm sure you know who this is from,” she assured my quivering actions, fast-paced thoughts.

“But… How did? …How did you?” I stuttered.

“Rita might not be able to get inside the Ministry, but that doesn't mean others can't.”

“Luna…” I was left speechless.

Hermione,

Harry's perfect, absolutely perfect handwriting.

I love you. I love you so much. There hasn't been a second I haven't thought of you since I left. I'm breaking the law, but I don't care. I'm coming home, baby. I've told Kingsley I cannot stay away another day. He understands. We've done so much here. I'm coming home. I'll be home in the morning. I love you.

I bawled.

I literally fell to my knees, the levees broke and I let tears flood over like a waterfall.

Luna knew with her sixth sense the very moment I'd crack, falling down with me and taking me up in her arms. She held me as I thanked her. I thanked her and thanked her and thanked her. I'm sure with that sixth sense of hers she could feel my heart and how it beat, and that was all that mattered to her for she didn't say once anything else.

No recognition, pleased for doing “the right thing,” and staying her humble self.

I cried into the silence.

***

I had to buck up.

This was Ginny's day.

Though, that's not to say that a huge weight was lifted off me. The letter, the piece of Harry, wasn't leaving my sight. I wanted to feel it, actually feel it—as ludicrous as that might sound—so, I stuck it folded small in my bridesmaid gown. Luna redid the mascara, fixed my hair, and got me back laughing to put the rose in my cheeks. So many more times I thanked her, and she stayed modest. She only saw it right to get in and get that information for me, and what a spin the portion of information gave me.

I felt as if minutes ago I lived a very different life.

I heard the assortment of string instruments and French horns when we left that floral room and smacked right into Gin, Cho, and Alice out in the hallway. I ran to Gin's side, her hand, her fingers dancing wildly to get to mine. I grabbed the hand and held it tight, her grip disastrous. I thought she'd break the bones for a moment.

“Alice and I are going to go find seats,” Luna tweeted, breaking Gin and I from our locked eyes.

I saw Gin turn to Luna and Alice and smile, and I did, too.

“Yeah,” cut in Cho as well. “Heading to my seat with them.”

Cho did a little nudge to Ginny's chin. “Go get `em, girl! You deserve it!”

Cho then pointed at me. “Don't muck this up, now. Do it right! If she trips and falls… No, it'd probably still be her damn fault.”

Ginny narrowed her eyes at Cho.

I chuckled lightly as Cho left with the others.

Only us two were left.

Alone, hand-in-hand.

Gin squeezed my hand until it hurt.

“Ow!”

“Sorry…,” she shook her head and shook away from my hand.

I took her hand back. “What's wrong?” I asked, seeing her purposely struggle to not make any eye contact with me again.

After a pause, she gazed at me long and hard, “…What did Luna want with you? You were gone quite a while and you look as if you've been…crying? Why were you crying?”

I grinned and felt the letter close to my heart. “He's coming back to me,” I said with sturdy confidence. “I'll be back with Harry tomorrow. He's made arrangements with Kingsley and he's…”

I sighed into a deep inhale and let it out slowly. “He's coming back to me…”

I squeezed her hand.

Her forehead rose, her eyes widened a second and fell as she looked away, facing forward at the flaps which would open any minute now so she could walk down the aisle.

“I love you, Gin.”

Her withdrawal quickly came back, and she eyed me in earnest. She saw me smile and did so herself, but remained with cautious glances soon after I expressed, “You've done it! You've caught quite the catch, Missus Longbottom!”

I shook her hand which shook her arm, her other hand fidgeting with the bouquet tassel holding freshly picked chrysanthemums and baby's breath.

Gin watched me from the corner of her eye and held still.

She looked in a daze, and who wouldn't be on their wedding day?

I dare say I'll look devastatingly ripe with worry. Egads, the possibility of tripping and falling on my face in front of everyone being up there in the priority hierarchy. It'll simply frighten me. I tried to reassure her thoughts with a friendly rub of her closest arm, an adjustment of the wedding veil on her face and a light pat on the shoulder. She went to smile, or at least tried to when the tent folds suddenly opened and there stood Mister Weasley.

His arm was out for Ginny.

“Are you ready, my beautiful daughter?” He asked with that fatherly, nearly humourously sarcastic tone. He wasn't, trembling in his own boots, and I could have told him Ginny didn't feel exactly at ease either.

But, it all happened so fast.

Ginny looped her arm with her father's.

I caught her draping train and held it as she walked. The music swelled for the bride and each side, the Weasley's, the Longbottom's, and friends all stood up and grinned at Gin moving forward through another rite of passage. There wasn't much magic to be done with the limit space of people in a confined tent. There was, however, bursts of pink rose petals which would puff into the air and land just before Ginny's feet touched that part of the carpet. Several glowing, golden sparkles dazzled in a dimming light.

I could see Neville beaming. Neville had always been the pure optimist in the group, always smiling, always affirming to everyone that everything would turn for the better when worse came to worse. But now, he electrified the entire atmosphere with his charming white smile, his eyes never once surrendering to anything or anyone else but Gin. He was in love.

Standing at the first chair, first row, was Molly. She had tissues at her mouth and nose. Her eyes puffy, any bloody fool could see she was happy, ecstatic, thrilled to see her only daughter being walked down the aisle by her father. The Weasley's had outright given their blessing to Neville's proposal, and those close to the two knew how much Neville dotted upon Ginny.

They were a match.

Ginny had made it up to the Ceremonial Warlock, a wizard dressed in white robes lined with red stripes. A patch on his breast embroidered with two images, a dove and a wand, signified he was allegeable to wed by Ministry law. I stepped to the side of the aisle, beside a ginger I didn't know on the Weasley side of the aisle, and watched while my two best friends joined in matrimony.

The Warlock spoke and the music died down:

“We are all gathered here, in Merlin's grace, to bear witness to a glorious immersion of two wands, two souls once wandering, but have found each other, enduring what Life has given them.”

“Who gives this witch to be with this warlock forever, for eternity?”

“Her mother and her father give Neville Longbottom the trust of our twined hearts.” Arthur slipped from Ginny and gave her hand to Neville.

Gin's hand gentle is cradled palm-to-palm, and is covered by Neville's other atop just as gently.

“Both families, the Weasley's and the Longbottom's, have had to take on the burden Merlin, and His consequences have lain. No other than these two souls have been shown hardships and difficulties no man should have ever made to bear witness. But, on this day, two families will see the profound Join, by wand, to create a new foundation of love and happiness. To see the Joining here is to remember days long ago, misery once we were and our choices, our freedom at stake. Now, youths, the children of the future step out together and lead a new world. It truly is such a wondrous sight. The vows you both will make to your other marks the non-verbal emotions we have all seen by our naked eye, a representation of those none can see, nor hear, nor touch, but what are yours and yours alone. Always frolic in the joyous harmony that is love.”

“At this time I will ask Neville to bear his soul to Ginevra. One may begin when thou is ready.”

I noticed Neville's throat bob up-and-down when he turned towards her, their bodies towards each other.

I could feel the tears at the ducts already.

“Ginevra,” He began. “I love you. I've always loved you and cherished you. Long ago you were but a shooting star I wished on, a dream. You have made that dream a reality, and a beautiful one. You are my other. I thank Merlin, everything, for giving me the gift that is you. I will love you, honor you, and keep you forever safe in my arms. I promise you. I'd lay my very life down to protect you, Ginevra, my best friend, my love. Today, I give thyself to thee until eternity.”

I had my hands over my mouth, and of course cried tears of joy.

Neville had done gorgeously. I was so proud of him.

Molly up front could already be heard weeping.

“Ginevra,” Asked the Ceremonial Warlock. “You may begin when thou is ready.”

Ginny paused, drew and breath, closed her eyes and opened them to Neville.

“Neville,” She began. “I love you, and I've always loved you with the very essence of my being. I know that Fate itself chose us because we are so alike…”

She stuttered, and I drew a silent breath.

“I-I know…,” Ginny's eyes closed again, and I felt, just by seeing her, that she was about to break.

The room kept violently quiet, even Molly quit weeping.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered to Neville in a rush, but we could all hear her.

My eyes fixated, wide, watched as Gin hiked her dress up and ran straight for me. She dropped her bouquet and fled passed me, her cheeks wet with tears. I looked around at Cho, to Luna, to Fleur, to Mister Weasley—to Neville who had stepped a few feet forward as if to chase after her. Everyone just stood there, and even I, the know-it-all, couldn't discern a right and a wrong way of proceeding. I couldn't find the answer until I saw Molly push from her seat and rumble on by me.

I ran after her, the musical score coming in to settle whatever atmosphere remained for the crowd, a distraction; but, no one bought it.

Molly's feet were in haste. She beat me through the tent flaps and down the hallway. For such a short, somewhat large woman she certainly caught afire when she needed. I threw open the tent flap to the T-intersection and bounded into Ginny's dressing room. I met with no resistance, but I was met with the words, Molly's words in the middle of a screeching sentence:

“…you make a mockery of this family! How dare you!!”

“All I want right now is for you to leave me be, mother! I don't want to be around anyone at the moment!!”

“I've done so much for you! Spoiled you with everything you ever wanted!!”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!!” Ginny cried, and by her hoarse, trembling voice, I knew her throat ached through the shrill.

I'd come up behind Molly by this point, mere seconds.

“DON'T YOU TAKE THAT TONE WITH ME, MISSY!!”

I couldn't believe it when I saw it, but facts are facts after seeing it up close and personal.

Molly raised her hand and slapped Gin so hard Gin's face and her body literally jerked sharply to the right.

Gin caught herself on the counter before the mirror and acutely gasped.

My subconscious or unconscious, or maybe my conscious—who knew—took control right then and there.

I didn't think. I don't think I could have had time to think.

I reacted in part in protection for the unjustified mean.

I grabbed Molly's shoulder, yanked her around so I could see her, her eyes blindly wide to my blunt assertiveness, and hit her face hard with such a force that she did a turnaround, whirling about in one spot and fell down.

The honorable-Hermione, the logical-Hermione resounded and within the same brief second my hands flew up to cover a gasp at just what I did to Molly Weasley.

Ginny gasped again, too.

“Get out…,” I heard Molly murmur from off the ground when she dizzied her way back to reality.

“Get…OUT!!!” She demanded when she fully recovered. She pointed, her face red as a cherry, at the tent flaps and belted out another, “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET!!! OUT!!! NOW!!!!!!”

I ran.

I didn't know what else to do, so I just ran.

I ran passed Arthur and Cho.

Passed Luna, Alice, Fleur and Bill.

Passed the other Weasley audience, George and Angelina.

I ran through where the wedding would have been, the Ceremonial Warlock still at his station, and out into the storm.

Lightning struck, lighting up my cold and rather rain-soaked surroundings. It didn't take much for me to get that soaked, either. I had my wand out and readied for an apparation when I heard what I thought was a scream. I flipped around, the prettied hair-do gone, leaving strands stuck to my face and forehead. I head to rake what hung over my eyes to see clearly in the downpour, but I knew immediately who called out for me.

“Hermione!” Gin had almost followed me step-by-step. She must have run after I did.

She smacked into me, having me stumble backward, but did so in embrace. She hugged me, and all I thought of in return was to hug her as well.

“I can't believe what you did back there…!”

“I know! I'm sorry!”

“No!” She was out of breath. “It was bloody brilliant!”

I laughed at just how enthusiastic she was, her dress soaked, muddied, veil and headdress thrown off.

“I love you!” she exclaimed in a rumbling groan of thunder. “I want to go with you!”

I didn't know which way the wind should blow. After everything, to leave her here with that? To take her? Would I portray something else? This wasn't a game…but, I loved her to death. I wouldn't, couldn't stand for her being left to fend for her own.

“Hang on!” I shouted.

We vanished with the last image being Molly and some of the Weasley bandwagon joining her outside the tent to see us disappear out of sight.

***

I was…to say the least…conflicted by the many events which unfolded one right after another. I'd hit Molly, I'd given Ginny asylum… Neville had to be scarred, he hadn't called although I expected a phone call or flames spark in the fireplace at any moment… Arthur called. Luna called. Even George called. I wasn't exactly born yesterday and knew quite well why, or at least signaled to why Gin did what she did. A part of me scoured my brain for any hints I may have given off in the wrong direction, that maybe I'd sent something to trigger Gin to think one way, especially with Harry so close.

That was the other part of me, eager and anxious, excited, but diluted when those other events entered the equation.

I decided, stirring with a spoon a cup of tea whilst my other held the teabag that I'd stay up all night long just to see him. I needed him more than any other time. Just to be with him, his arms around me, was all I wanted. The support factor, our companionship, and the heart beat I craved to hear… The smell of him, pumpkin, safety.

I heard rumbling upstairs above the television which had been set on low volume. Between rinsing the spoon off and taking the teabag to the rubbish bin, my ears perked to Ginny's laughter from around the corner, her feet descending the stairs. I had the cup to my lips when I looked up, the steam rising into my nostrils. I approached the den, to see Ginny with a Kneazle purring in her arms.

I smiled, and asked, “Was he bothering you while you took a shower?”

“He was at the door when I opened up and did a little `mreow' and I had to just pick him up. Too adorable. Too, too, too adorable.”

“Well, if he's not being a pain, then I guess it's all right,” I said, stepping down into the den and plopping myself on the sofa. I stretched out its length and relaxed, trying to welcome positivity, good things into my mind.

It didn't help to know Gin stared at me.

She sat in a nearby recliner, propped her feet up and scratched at the underside of Crookshank's chin.

Thunder rolled in-and-out, interrupting the sound from the tube for which I hadn't bothered increasing in volume. My eyes lingered on over to a clock on the mantle, to the deepening of the evening closing in on midnight, and flicked on over to Ginny, the whites of her eyes reflecting the glimmer of pulsated light.

“So…,” Her eyes left mine for a fumbling Crookshanks making her lap his new home and back, expressing an audible sigh. “What's the agenda?”

“I won't be able to sleep at all knowing Harry might appear.”

“Ah,” She mused, flittering to the science fiction movie on television. “Do you think he'd mind if I wore his shirt again? I mean, you know…”

“Not at all.”

“Having tried to slip into one of your shirts has made me even more self-conscious!” She made a laugh, but it fell flat when I didn't chime in.

My mind reeled in the what if's and the what not's.

“Hermione.” Gin said pointedly after a while.

“Yes?”

“I know I've told you this several times now, but… Thank you. I swear, I'll—“

“You've done so much for me, Gin. This is the least I can do to pay back all your charity.”

“Hm…,” She nodded, not so much in agreement, but in need to do something.

I'm sure she wanted to scream.

I wanted to scream.

“Besides,” I began, getting her full attention once again with a spritely swish of her hair.

I gazed at her a moment, and finished with a, “Isn't that what friends are for?”

She watched blankly, and then shook her head.

“Right.” She exclaimed, deflated.

The rest of the night kept quiet.

Gin fell asleep in the recliner…

…I don't know why I thought I could fight after such a restless day…

I fell asleep in front of the fireplace soon after.

{Side note: I wanted to have Harry “charm” his letter to Hermione with music, namely Lionel Richie's Stuck on You, when she opened it. I didn't feel the overall mood fit for a song, but if you'd like to use your imagination feel free. I might add it in the future}

-->

41. Funeral

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: Something so nightmarishly disastrous has happened, and our Hero didn't return to our Heroine.

***

Chapter Forty-One - Funeral

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

MINERVA GUINEVERE MCGONAGALL DEAD

Minerva Guinevere McGonagall, age 75, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was found dead last night by a Ministry Task Team. Found in her home in Edinburgh, officials within the Ministry are not saying how she died or time of death. Our sources here at the Daily Prophet have told us that Obliviators were on scene and that the Dark Mark appeared over eastern Edinburgh where her home is located. All discussions point towards a Killing Curse used. Having never married, she was alone when she died. People are already pondering as to why our Ministry is keeping such a tight lid on the death. A member of the “Order of the Phoenix,” Minerva Guinevere McGonagall became suspect to Death Eater threats. The Prophet is questioning the potency of the Aurors who keep our society safe, or supposedly as the death of such a priority tells all. The Prophet has always questioned the ties, interior and exterior motives, of our Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Our Minister left the country recently to pay a visit to the States. In times of crisis, we all would think our country's reconnaissance would come first. One must remember Mary Queen of Scotts when one thinks about our current top officials. The masses are getting behind the notion, a rising voice to overthrow our more than lackluster Minister and his subclass cronies.

In new polls done by our sister cover, Witch Weekly:

Do you find fault with the Ministry in how our society is being run?

Yes - 53%

No - 43%

Unsure - 4%

Do you find fault with the Minister in how our society is being run?

Yes - 46%

No - 38%

Unsure - 16%

Read more about our current administration and what it hasn't done for us on page three.

Gus Perwinsky

Writer

Rita Skeeter

Chief Editor

Page 1

***

The Quibbler

Our Beloved Sister, Professor and Headmistress McGonagall

Anyone who has ever traipsed the halls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry mourns a cherished soul today. Anyone who has ever known Miss McGonagall, friends, family, relatives seek answers as to why such a caring, loving soul had to leave our presence. In a darkening world, a light like Miss McGonagall was one in a million. I, Luna Lovegood, and the rest at The Quibbler reach out to everyone, arm-in-arm, as we mourn Minerva Guinevere McGonagall. A lucky one, I knew Miss McGonagall. She was my sister, but more than that, she was one of my best friends. She was there when anybody needed her and a confidant to many. She worked tirelessly at her crafts, her teaching being utmost important. I once heard her tell her students, “It is my life's duty to educate each of you for you all are our future. I will not let you down.” She touched me in so many ways and I've grown, become a better person for it and in knowing Miss McGonagall. She will be missed and we will never forget. She graces, now, in the clouds of peace.

Our issue today as you have already noticed has been coloured not in our usual rainbow variety, but tinted in opaque black in white type on our recycled paper. We mourn, and dedicate today's paper to Miss McGonagall. Each page tells her story and the unequivocal goodness she brought to all.

Luna Lovegood

Writer

Chief Editor

P.1

***

Channel 9, WNN. McCrady's Corner

“I actually was a student at Hogwarts. I took her class, Transfiguration… This was before she became the Headmistress after Headmaster Dumbledore died.”

“For those just waking up and tuning in,” speaks Erin McCrady into the camera at her clear circular desk. Outside, one can see people walking by the windows of the building as the people of Violet Hill go about their typical morning routines. “This is Erin McCrady and this is McCrady's Corner. We heard early this morning by Ministry officials that the Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or more known as Professor Minerva McGonagall, has been found murdered in her flat in Edinburgh. No other information has been given to us other than hints that there may have been several Obliviators at the scene after it happened and the possibility of a Dark Mark seen floating over the city. We're waiting right now for the Minister, who was in the middle of visiting Washington D.C., to break into our coverage to give a brief statement on what has unfolded. I'm sitting here across the desk from radio host and syndicated radio host, Lee Jordan, we all know from Wizard Watch, 211.7 WM.”

Lee, in suit and tie, nods solemnly and at his welcoming. “Happy to be here with everyone.”

“Today is just…a sad, sad day.”

“It really is eye-opening, I mean, we got Him. We got Him, and yet, these rats still run and kill, take hostage, demand and promote this entity of hatred,” Lee sighs and shrugs in his sluggish posture. “I'll never understand. I don't think anyone right now understands. Maybe one day the skies will open up and we'll all `get it'. I hope they get the bastards who have done this.”

“As I, and I'm sure everyone else agrees,” Erin shuffles her notes and peers back at Lee. “What do you make of Headmaster Dumbledore's painting having gone missing? Rumors are going around saying that professors at Hogwarts have already gone into the school with Ministry officials to investigate any leads and the enormous picture of the Headmaster has vanished.”

“I really don't know. Maybe it was misplaced?”

“Every other painting in the castle is there, or at least that's the rumor. The Ministry is keeping everything shut down. Almost every bit of info we get is more or less rumors, but thank Merlin Hogwarts is out for summer holiday. Could you imagine?”

“And, I'm glad the Minister is keeping everything low key. Okay, so we know Death Eaters are behind the murder. Okay, we find them, string their sorry arses up and make them pay. The only information the public needs to know is there are still demons on the loose and they need their indoctrinated heads lopped off!”

Erin adjusts an ear piece by her lobe and makes a gesture off-screen. “Okay, it seems the Minister is about to begin. The picture is being put up…”

A new picture of a podium, the Ministry symbol “M” on it, and numerous flags from all major countries are present behind the podium.

“Any moment now the Minister is set to come on,” says Erin in voiceover. The words, `Minister Shacklebolt from the United States capitol' appear on-screen, below the podium at the centre. A tall, thin man in thick plum robes walks into view and braces the podium.

“And, here is our Minister. Our original broadcast of this devastating news will be back shortly. For now, let's listen in.”

“Citizens, my friends, to everyone,” Kingsley, in his fatherly, deep, authoritarian voice calls out. His dark eyes stare with empathy, with sadness, the wrinkles with aging vividly apparent, nearly scar-like. “I'd like to say, first and foremost, that Miss Minerva McGonagall was a very dear friend of mine. I've known the kind, generous woman my entire life. She was like a mother, a mother to all of us, and never stopped trying to help her neighbour. What has happened today will not go unpunished. Justice will be served. The safety of everyone is my top priority. Right now, Aurors across the world are rounding up the sickening evil souring civility. Since Voldemort's fall, we have tried and sentenced thousands of criminals and we will find and capture a thousand more. Good will always triumph over evil. In times like this, however, we must remember to maintain vigilance, look out for our neighbours like Minerva, and remember we are all joined together as brothers and sisters. We are the good people of Great Britain. We are the good people of world. We will always remember and fight for what we know is just!”

***

Neville broke the news to us.

He lit up the fireplace brilliantly, and at first I thought it was Harry.

A delighted surprise…to…

He told us Kingsley had asked him personally from the States to give us what would be happening. This all surmised quickly, and I hadn't yet woke up, nevertheless digested the fact that Headmistress…Professor…mother…friend… All I remember was Ginny beside me and we were both knelt in front of a crisp outline of Neville's features in white-hot ash.

“He wants the Headmistress's burial done now,” Neville explained. He performed quite admirably, trying to contain the sadness Gin and I expressed forthright. I had my arms draped around Gin and wept into the crook of her neck. I could feel her rub my head and Crookshanks nuzzling against my leg. “He fears there may be something worse if it's large scale…with so many people…easy targets… The funeral will take place outside of Hogwarts…come to the Ministry…I'll be waiting in the Commons…a portkey…the Headmistress will be placed in a tomb on Hogwarts's hallowed grounds at a future date…”

Is it wrong of me to not be taken by the rain anymore?

I didn't even care for an umbrella.

My hair soaked, darkening those curls to black.

The deluge hit my black trench coat, making it heavy and wet.

My black trousers stuck to my legs and standing there, over Minerva's closed white casket I could feel my sopping wet socks.

The funeral was tiny just like Kingsley wanted.

Morbidly, it felt like a reunion as the majority of those witnessing were those I closely knew, but some were those I saw as I walked the hallways. Luna was on my right. She held my arm as my hand was in my coat pocket, my fingers tightly knotted while I clenched my fist. Gin was on my left. She hadn't said a word since we left, stone-faced. Cho stood with her, hand-in-hand. Neville was opposite of us with George and Angelina, and Dean. Lee Jordan showed up. Arthur was near that group without Molly. I didn't know why she hadn't showed up with him, but if it had been because of me or Ginny she could very well go to Hell. Hagrid could be heard groaning underneath the repetitious claps of thunder. Oliver was with him, coaxing to console. Professor Flitwick was missing; though, I made an educated guess as to where he may be. Curiously, Draco showed up near the end of our silent remembrance. I gave him a brief smile, as I did everyone, but he remained isolated from the whole…much as he always had in the past. He stood with a cane so much like his father. Tagging along with him was Pansy, their arms locked together.

I didn't see Ministry officials, Aurors, any specialty teams…but, I knew they were watching from somewhere.

Everyone had been given a red rose. Mine was in my left hand. The grass greener than it ever was before, I stayed my distance while the others placed their rose atop the casket and walked off in their pairs or groups. Gin had left my side. She walked up to the casket with Cho and placed her rose on the growing bunch. I couldn't see her face, a hat covering, but I had my own reeling thoughts to contend with. I had my own travesty to deal with and I couldn't worry about any other soul but mine, and my mate's.

A cold draft blew when I stepped onto the crunchy blades of earth, the toes of my trainers sagging into the muddy grounds. Alone, Luna left me for my peace and solitude, respectfully. I bent down, knees scuffing the mud beneath and sat with my rose in my lap. I don't know why I put the mascara around my eyes. It burned me, but in a way, I needed to feel that pain. Nothing felt real. The colder it got, the more obvious everything felt. I didn't need to be pinched. Alone. Deaths. Loved ones.

Harry didn't come.

I waited for him, and he didn't come.

He didn't tell me a time, just, “the morning”.

Well, I knew it was…semantically early morning…but morning, nonetheless.

He hadn't come.

And, the Reaper had taken another of us.

I sat there and reflected on my surrogate mother, a figure I'd looked up to and never wanted to fail. She lay there inside. She would never, ever wake up. Gone, and to a better place. Somewhere. It just had to be. Had to be somewhere so utterly mirrored from this forsakenly cold world. I closed my eyes and it was like I was there, in her class, raising my hand, asking questions, Minerva applauding me, rewarding that eager want to learn. I saw her take me in, all of us in, protect us from harm and the evils of the world. I saw her crippled, a few months ago, limping those same hallways and corridors after Headmaster Dumbledore's death. Display of courage, bold, daring courage…love… And, now, all of it gone in a blink of an eye.

The saline of my tears mixed evenly with the drops of rain which hit my cheeks.

My head tilted back to let the weather drown the tears, I let it drop forward, and in that moment let the rose fall alongside the others.

I clutched my knees, fell forward and cried.

The rain beat upon me like tiny hammers, my back sore with the exhaustive weight of accomplishments and defeats.

I was bruised, physically, emotionally, psychologically.

I gave up.

I give up.

You win.

“YOU WIN!!!” I screamed out into the storm.

The hammers ceased, and I swore for a second I'd left the earth myself.

I think I died.

This couldn't have been good for my heart.

Everything stopped.

I could hear the rain pattering around me, but no rain hit me.

I eased up and looked around, startled and scared.

I could feel the weather, its essence still clinging tight to my body, so I was…awake, but in a…dream-like state of mind.

I glanced up at the sky, and when I did felt someone's hand on my right shoulder.

Warm hand.

Soothing hand.

His hand.

My eyes grew with shock.

I flipped around, twisting my torso and all to want to see him, to hope to see him, but he hadn't showed up…

But there Harry was.

There he was!

Scruffy with a beard and more length in his hair from those long days away, he stooped down to my height. His glasses, his eyes reflected his remorse. He wore a suit like the men, held an umbrella over my form and let the rainwater attack him while he sheltered me.

I clamored for him.

My hands, my arms around his neck I felt of him.

Solid.

Warm.

Beats of his perfect heart.

Breaths from his perfect lungs.

He helped pick me up from the ground and kept that umbrella over me, and now, us.

I let everything, every little bit of me out.

I yelled into a wail, my face in his chest, my nose and mouth squished up against him.

He held me, as I clutched, squeezed, and clawed at his coat with my fingers, pulling the very fabric from its own taut cling of his figure… And, that was all I wanted.

Harry was with me…

Again.

***

There was this abandoned shack on the hill near where we had the funeral.

A safe-house of sorts, we all gathered there to get out of the rain and to mingle before leaving to live our lives once more, independently or together.

People, more or less, left me and Harry alone. They knew as if there were large billboard signs plastered on every bloody corner the present history. Briefly, they'd wander over, say hello's, give us hugs, other greetings and general question's ranging from, “How you been, mate?” to “When are you going to take a razor to that monster?” I let them amuse Harry, but after a while we were alone again in our separate corner of the room.

I had my hands deep inside his trench coat pockets. Deep, and controlled, he wasn't about to leave me side for a second. I became instantly obsessed, my drug. I watched him without a single blink. He seemed older, looked older, dark bags under his eyes and a wrinkle carved into his forehead. It hadn't looked like he'd gotten sleep in the month we were apart. Christ, I wonder what I looked to him. He never took his eyes off mine, gently taking a towel to my hair to dry it, the wild, bushiness becoming increasingly apparent. He took the towel and patted my coat down, starting around my neck where he lightly squeezed my shoulders, arms, torso, and back. When he reached behind me, I came in and embraced him tightly, my eyes closing while he rubbed the arch he found.

I smelled him before, but smelled him strongly of that pumpkin. I was sure the separation made his scent ten times more lethal, but it was also ten times more therapeutic, and warm. I rubbed my face into him, hiding amongst his chest and pulled at his coat without thinking. I heard him lightly laugh and I smiled, purring like a kitten which had found its catnip.

“You are such a woman, my love,” he whispered into my ear.

I could hear the small talk in the distance of the others.

With my eyes still closed, I grinned and replied in whisper, “I've missed you so much… It's almost like, this isn't real…”

I felt him kiss the top of my head.

I sighed in smiles and leaned back to look at my man. The bruise around his eye had turned brownish, like a birthmark, a scar more evident across his brow. The eyelid itself slightly sagged compared to its twin, but he was beautiful. So handsome, and so…Harry.

“A medical team took a look at the eye after Kingsley expressed concern,” he said as he saw me observing the change. I tightened my embrace of him and lay my head back on his chest. “He thought it may become blind after the trauma, some sort of buildup behind the optic, so the Ministry did a little work.”

“You're absolutely gorgeous…,” I exclaimed proudly, and in truth. “I love you.”

“I'm not worthy of you.”

“You're worthy of every bit of me, inside and out,” I retorted plainly.

“I left you,” He sighed.

Tilting back, I blinked to see him. “…You had to do what had to be done. I love you more after you stuck to your convictions. You didn't let Kingsley down, and you've never let me down.”

“All I want to say is,” He began, gently sliding his hands up and down the curves of my sides. “Is it won't happen again. I told every person I came into contact with, including Kingsley, that I couldn't do this anymore. That, I couldn't leave your side. There was too much at stake, and after a while I couldn't think of anything more than you.”

“I hope I wasn't a distraction. You had to—“

“No,” He smiled beneath his beard. “You are my pleasant distraction. Without you my sanity would have broken years ago.”

Relieving my arms from his waist, I slid them about his neck. I stretched them out, pushing myself against him in a way I'm sure I'd blush about in afterthought, but right then I couldn't have cared less. “I want to kiss you,” I said this low, in a raspy tone. Our eyes, noses, and lips were but an inch away. I could feel his warm breath.

“Kiss me,” he said, and it was more like a grunt, too.

“But, is it… would it…,” I closed my eyes, shook my head, and reopened them. “After…”

“You define the term `respectful',” Said Harry with honesty in his eyes, commitment in his speech. “There should be nothing shameful by any of your actions.”

My body's weight, supported by his, lay on him vertically. Tilting my head to one side, I slowly moved in, as he did, and felt softness, and then the memories take me. My eyes gently fluttered. It was like…that other life, something lost for so long having been found by accident. My heart leapt, and I swore I melted; thankfully, Harry had his strength upon my slender waist or I'd have fallen right to the floor.

The kiss wasn't long, and in those few seconds it felt more than a “welcome back”.

It was a, “welcome home”.

“Oi!” A burly, bear tone startled us and we both jumped in our boots. I'd begun to nuzzle Harry's cheek when I had to find my heart on the floor, having it pop from my chest by such a fright.

“Terribly sorry. Just my luck. I'll let you kids alone.” It was Hagrid carrying a sack one would see if running away from home tied to a stick. An enormous picnic cloth swung in his hands.

Harry laughed at Hagrid's face turning as violet as his violet-and-yellow ochre striped tie. “It's all right, Hagrid. It happens to the best of us.”

After retrieving my heart, I let out a sigh and smiled at the pacing Hagrid. “Hagrid, come back!”

He saunter on back, his eyes shut as if to continue letting our privacy be, but eventually peeked open an eye. “Is it all right, really?”

“Of course,” stated Harry. We'd loosened our grip to give Hagrid the sense to stay, but are hands and fingers still mingled with their nonverbal communications. He obviously had something on his mind, and something in his hands. “What's on your mind, Hagrid? Anything I can do?”

“Anythin' you can do?!” Hagrid laughed so loud it shook the shack covering our heads. Everyone chatting immediately shut up. “O' Harry, always the kidder. Here, this ain't much, but I brought these in case everyone was hungry. `Bout a day old, but still good.”

He reached into the sack and gave Harry one of his old, secret recipes; food Hagrid shared with us with tea when we'd go and meet with him at Hogwarts.

A fruity rock cake.

“Aw, thank you, Hagrid!” I watched Harry slip his hands beneath the heaviness of the fruitcake and smile in return.

“That was very thoughtful of you, Hagrid.”

“Ah, shucks…,” He grinned, blushing. “It were nothing, nothing at all. Just thought of ya, tha's all.”

After a pause, he said in haste, “Oh, er, uh—I'll let you two kids alone now. I'll hope to see you at Hogwarts in the fall, `Arry?”

Harry nodded, “Wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“Don't be a stranger, now!”

As Hagrid left, Harry took a chunk off and handed it to me. Even for such a fraction of what he still held, the piece was with weight. I bit into it and my teeth hit a nugget of fruit, and hard like a rock it was. I winced, but didn't allow anyone but Harry to see me.

Harry chuckled a little, “You okay there?”

I shook my head, “It's the thought that counts.”

“Yeah, he's always looking out for us.”

“He does,” I turned to see Hagrid bumbling back towards Oliver and Dean. He had his back to us, but I smiled.

When I turned back around, I had Ginny in my face.

I had to take a step back to gather her in her entirety.

“Ginny?”

“Did you ask him questions, Mi?!”

She was spooked, loud, angry… She had her wand out and Cho was behind her.

Cho's eyes were wide as mine were, and I didn't understand her sudden insensitivity.

“Ginny, what in Merlin's name are you—“

She grabbed Harry by his coat's collar and shoved him up against the wall. The thud of his body being slammed shook the talking up again, and anyone still inside the shack immediately withdrew to look at what was going down.

Even Lee, who had popped outside for a smoke, peeked in at the new ruckus.

I grabbed Ginny's arm and yanked her away from Harry so hard I thought I'd taken her arm from its socket.

But, Gin pushed me away and pierced her wand's tip in the soft portion underneath Harry's jaw. “While everyone's going about this like nothing has ever happened, I want to know!”

“Ginny! What in God's name are you talking about?!” I screamed and fought her away, or tried to. Her strength to push me back every time was immense.

“Gin, he's Harry!” cried out Cho.

“We won't fucking know until he's been asked questions!” Her eyes went to slits and she squinted, snarling at Harry. “And believe me, I swear I'll use the Killing Curse. I'm not afraid of using it by any means necessary…”

“For goodness sake's, it's him! It's Harry!” my voice cracked within Harry's name through the shrill.

“It's fine, Hermione! It's fine!” Harry tried to sell me this, but I saw it as nonsense. I didn't give a rat's arse what anyone thought. Who stood in this shack, which stood beside me, who kissed me with intrinsic delicacy, was Harry James Potter and not some imposter!

“The acronym, `DA'—what does it stand for!?”

“Dumbledore's Army,” answered Harry.

I continued to try and pry myself between Gin and my fiance with luck not with me.

She kept pushing me away as if I were some annoying fly.

“How many of us were there?!”

“Twenty eight,” answered Harry again, his eyes set upon Gin's fire.

“The first spell—what was it!?”

“Expecto Patronum.” Harry remained controlled as if he knew this would happen, like he'd been expecting it.

“Gin, please!” I tried yanking her away again, and got her off him a second, but that angered her even more.

The poison within her veins had her hit me backward. “This is for your own good, Hermione!” she said, her wand thrust now against Harry's chest, above his heart.

I started crying, my hands tugging the angle of her wand arm.

Harry looked at me with such concern… He never wanted me to cry.

Her focus went back to Harry. “WHAT WAS HERMIONE'S PATRONUS?!?!!”

“An otter,” replied Harry with sincerity, his eyes flittering back to me. I hated how he was being persecuted, interrogated as if he were some animal.

He was Harry for Christ's sake!

I'd had enough

I gritted my teeth.

Growled from my throat.

Found that hidden strength only witnessed after that fine line had been crossed.

Before I pounced, Gin reached back and punched Harry's face. I heard a cracking of bone, and I didn't know if it was her hand or Harry's face. All I heard, inches away, was, “IF YOU LOVED HER AS MUCH AS YOU SAY YOU DO YOU WOULDN'T HAVE LEFT HER!!!”

Harry held his face, having moved sideways by her punch.

Harry couldn't have been expecting that.

Gin couldn't have doused my inner flame more with her careless aggressiveness, penultimate gasoline.

I, on the other hand, had a fistful of Weasley-red and pulled Gin down with me to the dirt. She gasped, and I hit her. I heard screams and shuffling around us. She had my hair, too, and pulled it as tight. Both our heads were inclined, our taut grips pulling us towards the other. We both cursed, Gin being the louder, the filthier, yelling, “Fuck!” every bloody second. I was on top to begin with, but Gin overpowered me.

I'd cut her cheek with my nail.

She'd cut my arms with her nails.

A throb, with no limits, pounded in my head with every sharp tug of my hair.

I gave her no less, making sure she screamed with my hand wrapped around her locks.

I wasn't sure how it happened, my focus on Gin and Gin alone, but one moment we were on the ground and the next I was being pulled away, and carried off. I saw Neville, having come from outside with the rest of the men, taken to Gin. He had has arms around her as she still clawed for me. I knew, without having to look, the smell of pumpkin, that Harry had me. My hands, fingers, nails still swiping the air.

Harry had to lead me out of the safe house, and by his strength, for if he'd let up even the slightest he would have found me back on top of Gin trying my best to yank out each little hair follicle from that ostentatious flock of Weasley-red.

And, mark my words, she would have been bald in seconds!

***

The Evening Prophet

ORDER OF THE PHOENIX: FRIEND OR FOE? FOE, SAYS MINISTRY SOURCE

Coming off the heels of Minerva Guinevere McGonagall's death this morning, a Ministry source here at the Prophet is currently investigating how close Miss McGonagall could have been to these “demons,” as Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt has titled them. Let us not forget Severus Tobias Snape. A hierarchical member of this group, Order of the Phoenix, headed by none other than Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore (Hogwarts's Headmaster, Chief Warlock, and noted homosexual discovered by our own Rita Skeeter's extensive investigations), Snape was more than “friends” with everyone including Kingsley Shacklebolt and Minerva McGonagall. Soon after the War ended, words caught afire when Severus Tobias Snape was outed by the press to be partnered closely with He Who Must Not Be Named. That, he in fact gave secrets to Him and the rest of the aforementioned, “demons”.

Could all of this be but a ruse?

Could our own administration be but a tool for something more sinister for its citizens?

Our source says yes.

Other curious questions have risen since this morning's issue of the whereabouts and time of Miss McGonagall.

The Prophet has always put on the table a belief that the entitled, “Knights in Shining Armour” or, namely, the “Order” was in bed with Him and his “demons”. Now, more than ever, the belief is gaining truth towards fact.

Read more about the bread crumb trail leading the investigation on page four.

Kara Roslen

Co-Writer

Rita Skeeter

Co-Writer

Chief Editor

{Inspirations for the Chapter: Audiomachine - Final Hope, Audiomachine - Triumph and Loss, City of the Fallen - As Wings Block Out the Sun, Two Steps from Hell - Calamity, and other such music like Audiomachine - An Unfinished Life}

{5/25/2011 10:27 PM EST: Just wanted to add that I do read the reviews/ comments/ questions. Most of the questions are answered already or going to be answered in the future, so I wouldn't want to spoil the experience. One patterned trend I read surrounds Gin. All I want to say is, and I believe I can say this without it being a SPOILER, is that Ginevra will never let Hermione down. She is the definition of “friend,” and will throw herself in front of a bus before she'd think of throwing Hermione. For those who haven't read chapter 40, this WILL be a spoiler. I've laughed—for you're all too clever—at those reviews in the past which have picked up on Gin and her attraction of Hermione long before it being written, and I couldn't for the life of me hide the runaway bride motif.}

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42. Home

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: A return to Number Twelve becomes quick resolve, release, relinquish from the spectrum of bottled emotions: love not withstanding.

***

Chapter Forty-Two - Home

***

Harry was more than exhausted.

After we got back to Number Twelve, after showering, after he put antiseptic on the lashes Gin had done to my arms, after I fed him and we had “our time,” we were out. I remember waking up and watching him sleep. The master bedroom didn't feel cold anymore. Actually, the entire Number Twelve felt livelier. His scent was everywhere, that pumpkin so sugary when I had a craving for sweets.

He was on his back with his left arm beneath my neck, lining my pillow's edge. He had his other arched above him with his face towards me. I was at his side. It wasn't too long ago when he had his injuries taped. A bandage wrapped around his torso to keep him from exacerbating the bruising and potential other fractures. That healed, and I kept the bandage clean. I kissed the boo-boo after Ronald had laid several hits that fateful day. Nothing as extreme as this, but his features healed, keeping an eye on him, again, with those injuries. But now, having faith in what the Ministry medics had done to him, especially after Kingsley expressed concern, this injury would linger. At least the consequence, a permanent bruise blotching his face for the rest of his life.

He was stubborn. I could make a case, explain how St. Mungo's could clear the bruise easily, but I knew he'd use his lightning bolt scar as an example of what it all meant to him. An aggressive attitude, Harry had a, “Come at me,” personality. He thought it were a weakness if he went and “tidied” himself; to him, they were more like battle-marks. I didn't push him as much as I think I could. I probably would have won, too; but, there was a better place and better time. I just hated seeing another laceration here, another spot there, another knick physically to add to his already battered interior.

His left hand, the one with “I must not tell lies” hacked deep into his skin, pressed firm against my back.

My fingers slid slowly through his hair, combing from fingernail to the inside webbing of each individual digit. I did this with my left hand, my left arm around him, touching and laying bare chest to bare chest. We had the white sheets over us, but mine moved from my shoulder as I made my slight actions. Inclining, I watched him breathe, how his ribcage pushed upwards and downwards. Something unnoticeable—who would really see another take a breath?—I didn't take for granted. I grinned and ran the tip of my nose along his pectoral, shifting so my lips would run against the same imaginary line I created by the tip. I caressed where my lips landed, smiling when I peck-kissed him.

I lifted further, my left arm still about him, and kissed his forehead, the lightning bolt scar, the side of his nose, the darkened skin surrounding his eye, his cheek and then the side of his mouth. He awakened between giving attention the cheek and the corner of his mouth, but dazedly, sleep continuing with him. He sort of blinked open, drunkenly, tired. He smiled, making me smile.

“Hey…,” I whispered, hearing nothing but Harry stretching, the sheets pulling inside his stretch, and Harry yawn.

I remained stationary, close to where I stopped near his face.

My eyes never left him and his various small and large movements.

“Hey…” He replied back to me after his yawn, the stretch, in whisper. He grinned in response and took a wandering glance about the room before coming back to me. “Anything wrong?”

I shook my head “no”.

“No,” I smiled and lightly kissed his grinning lips. “Everything is very right.”

“Mm…,” Twisting, he slipped to his side, rolling to his left to meet me. The left arm under my neck stayed, but his free arm now procured me, and tightly. He took me against him, and I snuggled into the crook the mattress, the sheets, his throat and his chest shaped.

Something so trivial… I was the happiest woman in the world.

I felt him kiss the top of my head and instinctively pull me closer, although we were at our closest.

I sighed contently, and squashed my nose against him.

He sparked laughter, and I followed suit.

I sighed once more, kissed him where I lay and soon I followed him back to our matched twilight.

***

Harry jostled me.

I didn't know what he was doing.

I hadn't put him in my trap, his arms around me instead of the other way, and I was startled at first by his motion. Weight to weightless, as Harry removed himself, lifting and pushing from the bed, the valley his body made ceased.

“Where are you going?” My speech was through a yawn, but my voice was anxious. I didn't want him away from me.

I don't think he realised he'd woken me, his back turned from me, his muscle folding the tanned skin amongst his shoulder blades. He twisted around the moment he had realised, having sat up to get up, and planted his lips on my forehead. “Start the daily routine. I need to begin a load of clothes, sheets in particular.”

He winked.

“Need to make inventory of what we have and what we don't have in the refrigerator—“

“Don't,” I started crawling behind him, keeping his stride to the ledge of the mattress.

Harry rotated his centre, took my face in his hands and eyed me level. “You've already done so much.”

He kissed me, and when he did, the warmth, the care, the love washed from his steady lips, coursing through me as if our collision of body to body completed an electrical circuit. I think I felt my toes curl under the sheets, but just as fast as I felt the charge every nerve in my figure relaxed. When Harry released, my eyes still closed, I followed him unknowingly and nearly tumbled straight off the bed.

Harry chuckled.

Reveling in the multi-endorphin overload, I swayed in grins and fell backward in the bed. I kicked at the sheets and got comfortable, all the while observing a very naked Mister Potter wander the floor of our bedroom. I had my left arm above my head, my hand touching the intricately-detailed wooden backboard of the mattress. My right lay outside the sheets, above the comforter and followed the rounded curves of my form. My hair, gently poofed from my fall, the background. My eyes, settled directly on Harry, never dropped.

A bit of black hair on his chest, his smooth skin broke the pattern, nude, until below his navel which traced a line of dark down to his groomed pubic region. Subconsciously I'd let slip my right hand beneath the comforter, the sheet, to cup my right breast and give it a gentle squeeze. Leisurely gaining arousal, I watched how the muscles tensed when he moved, how his abdominals lightly protruded from his squared stomach, and how the hood of his uncircumcised penis covered his manhood like a wrapped gift.

I gave my nipple a tug and moaned subtlety when my breast snapped back into place.

Finally, and after he had bent down to pull up his boxer shorts, giving me a picturesque view of his taut buttocks, I couldn't resist. I almost started laughing, the thoughts, the building of emotions which made me antsy…

I decided to interject the silence with a…

Whistle.

Harry shot around with his forest green-and-navy blue striped shorts on his hips and did an awful impersonation of someone in surprise. He gasped. “Were you peeping at me, Jane?”

“I was,” I replied in a smirk. “And, it was quite a lovely sight, if I may add.”

“You're supposed to be falling back to sleep after I woke you…,” He began over, and slowly. First, he climbed upon the mattress by kneeling on the end of the bed.

“And miss you strutting your handsome stuff?”

I giggled and fought him, my right hand slipping out from the comforter.

He'd lowered himself and gnawed playfully where my feet were positioned, formed by how the sheets lay.

I didn't really move, biting my bottom lip as he nipped my toes from above.

He kept his eyes on me, gazing, his teeth on the bigger of my toes where he sort of shook my foot around.

I smiled and gave another burst of giggle, especially when he growled, my lion.

He used the tip of his nose like a pencil and traced my right leg upwards, my calf, my thigh, my hip all getting his delicate treatment. He lightly kissed where my abdomen lay, having it retract to which he smiled. He moved further, to the round hilltops where he nudged me a bit more assertively, rubbing the growing stubble for he had shaved the night we got back home. He followed the concaved shape between my breasts where his slight weight gave aid to its appearance. He kissed to my bare shoulder, lingered at the crook of my neck, and then kissed my lips.

Throughout, I'd closed my eyes a half dozen times, but the final close remained and slowly I reopened them after he removed himself from my mouth.

Hovering, he kept above me, our noses barely touching. He stared into me, and I couldn't stop smiling. I took my hand and slid it behind Harry's head and scratched the back, slipping easily in-and-out of his mane.

He lowered himself from his crawl down on me, his elbows propping him up at my sides. “Are you going to go back to sleep?” He asked quietly.

I didn't answer him in that minute, casually caressing by finger his soft hair. I shook my head and gave him a smirk.

“You were asleep. I woke you up…,” He leaned into the underside of my chin, at the hollow of my throat and began kissing lines. My eyes rolled into the back of my head and I swore I stopped breathing.

I let my sexuality tingle with every hair on my body erect.

“What's going to help you get back to sleep?” He questioned, nuzzling me by nudging the bridge of his nose against my jaw.

He stopped, moving back upward. I stuttered to open, but limply those eyelids did open. Staring right back at me were those green jades, one severely darker than its twin, but beautiful nonetheless.

“Hm?” He asked as if to repeat.

From the corner of my mouth a smirk carved itself until I'm sure it became evil, sinister, and as awful as my thoughts. I gave Harry a little notion, and then an obvious tug down of the sheet. His eyes went wide for a second, but he laughed and shuffled his way back into the sheets. I didn't get to see what happened next, everything going to black, but squealed into giggles when he grabbed me, threw the sheets over our heads and started ravaging me with the same sorts of gnawing, biting, lovable nipping of my feet.

He growled, and I shrieked with laughter.

***

I wasn't asleep for long.

At least, I didn't think so.

The room was brighter when I woke this time and I was on the opposite side of where I remembered when I fell asleep. I had my hands and arms wrapped about a pillow, and again it wasn't mine, so to speak. I knew this by the scent, and heavily, of Harry's pumpkin. Even without him, for he had gone downstairs following our love-making, I took to whatever came of his essence. I was definitely a lucky girl.

“Hermione…,” Harry spoke in low tones, his hand stroking my head, my hair. He had on a pair of lounge trousers and sat side-saddle on the edge of the bed. He leaned over and was now beside me with his hand propping up his chin.

I stretched and made a tiny yawn.

I heard Harry lightly laugh through his nose at the tiny yelp I did at the end of the yawn.

His hand still stroked my head, and now, my cheek while my eyes adjusted to the environment. I went to rub them and blinked to get my clarity. I heard him say, when I saw him better, “…Good morning, baby.”

“Hey…”

“You've been sleeping soundly.”

I grinned and stretched again, rotating the pivots in my feet. I reached out and above with my arms, something popping in my upper back. “How long was I out?”

“In total? Almost fifteen hours.”

“Christ…”

He laughed through his nose again. “Yeah, you must've been more tired than you thought you were. I came up here a while ago to get you up, but I just couldn't. You were like an angel. How the light hit your skin, how your hair lay…”

The rain had stopped earlier in the week, and now the sunrays breeched breaking cracks in the overcast.

I smiled and rubbed my nose along the pillow, squashing it into the softness while I squirmed.

“Are you hungry?”

I hadn't really been feeling anything, flittering between sleep and no sleep, but suddenly felt the urge for food.

I nodded, and then my stomach decided to speak up.

Harry grinned, his fingers sliding a lock of hair from in front of my face to behind my ear. “What's on the menu? Breakfast? Lunch?”

I lifted my head to see the clock and realised it was passed noon. I really had slept for hours. I guessed this was an example of how recklessly tired my body had gotten over that month without Harry, and how I rarely slept for a period of time. Instead, I'd sleep for short intervals that added to a fifteen hour escapade. I fell back to the pillow and answered in that sleepy tone, “Breakfast.”

“What would you like?”

“You.”

He snickered. “You've had me. That has to get dull after so many times.”

“Psh.” I retorted, rolling my eyes. I snuggled back into the pillow and clasped it, mimicking the original position of my arms and hands.

“Sausage?”

“Eggs.” I resounded, and did a laugh, snorting.

He laughed when my laugh fell into a snort.

“I can definitely make you eggs, if that's what you want. Scrambled? Fried?”

Chuckling, I let him off the hook. He was being serious. “French toast?”

“The sweet sort with powdered sugar and maple syrup or just with a side like bacon?”

“Sweet, no sides.”

“You've got it.”

He went silent, and I couldn't feel him moving, his hand stopped on my head. I went to peer, but halted when I felt his lips kiss my cheek. “I love you,” he said at my ear.

Grinning, I turned my head less than a centimetre and met his mouth. I kissed him, and in the brevity produced a moan of pleasure. Not so much sexual, but of…wow.

He grazed my nose with his, pushing away to get off the bed.

Opening my eyes, I followed him over to the closet. I pushed myself, with my elbows, from the bed. Under my arms I held the sheets against my front and yawn. I let my head fall to the side and combed the bushiness from my hair, or as most as I could, being interrupted by the sound of the closet's doorknob turning and Harry asking, “What are you going to wear today?”

“Harry, you don't have to do that. I'll get it.”

“But, I want to, love. Let me.”

Pausing, a smile resumed and I scratched the back of my head. I leaned back up and said, “The burnt orange-and-dark yellow plaid-like shirt on the far right.”

The sound of metal scraping the closet rod was followed by a reveal of asked piece, “This?”

“Mhmm,” I said, pointing towards the dresser drawers next and Harry following my instructions with a hanger in his hand. “The dark-washed jean shorts in the third drawer and one of the sleeveless black shirts in the first one.”

One drawer slid opened while another closed. Harry turned to show me the sleeveless shirt he found. “This you mean?”

“Yeah, that's the one.” I smirked. “Will you be getting my knickers, too? If so, the crotchless ones.”

“Now that's what I'm talking about! Where are they?! The first drawer?”

I chuckled with a hand over my mouth.

Harry laughed loudly, but shook his head. “Nah, just helping a little where I can. I'll let you keep your privacy with the undergarments.”

“The jean shorts and shirt are on top of the dresser,” Harry went over to the closet knob. “And I'm hanging the plaid shirt here.”

A clank echoed when he set the hanger on the knob.

“Okay,” I smiled. “Thank you, love. I appreciate it.”

Harry made his way out of the bedroom for me to change, but not before stepping once more to the bed. He put a finger under my jaw and led me to his lips. He kissed me and ran the finger along the point of my chin. “Mm… I'll be downstairs when you're ready.”

He paused, and then said, “You have the most beautiful eyes. Up close, I can see tiny flecks of gold in those cinnamon irises. I missed that.”

Mer…

I breathed in, and deep.

…Lin

I was that ecstatic school girl again; the kind that whimsically fell head over heels for her schoolyard sweetheart. “I love you,” I stated, giving him a quick peck on the lips and watched him walk on out, shutting the door behind

When he was gone… I fell back to the bed with giggles.

I shrieked into laughter.

I threw up the sheets and let them gently fall back onto me.

I danced around, but gasped when I heard laughing.

I quickly flicked to the door, my hair swishing about, and saw it open with Harry utterly splitting his sides.

Embarrassed, but overwhelmingly happy nevertheless, I took the pillow and tossed it at the door.

***

“…Well, that's great, Cupcake. I'm glad to hear Harry is back and by the sound of your voice you're happy he's back, too.”

“Very, very much.” My hip tilted into the countertop. I had my right hand holding the telephone with my left about my middle, its hand helping to support its partner. “I couldn't be happier, really.”

I watched Harry washing the dishes and setting them aside to dry later. Mum called or I would be assisting, side-by-side, with a dish rag. Uprooted, Harry continued while I chatted. Not too far away, for I didn't want him out of my sight. He paid close attention to the plates, forks, knives, with each being set on a rack. With each new piece, the ceramic would clink together or the metal would make a sound much like one would hear at Gringotts.

I could feel the layers of clothes, the plaid shirt parted, its sleeves rolled up to my upper arms, with the sleeveless exposed. Harry's gorgeous upper body, my eyes would flutter to his biceps when he'd lift a plate out of the soapy water, to his toned backside when he'd turn to organise it with the others. He caught me gazing at him, with a flick from his right, and made a face at me. He stuck out his tongue sideways, his nose and eyes crinkling. I laughed by the receiver, and did a face myself, sticking out my tongue and crossing my eyes.

“What's wrong, hun?”

“Oh, nothing mum,” I laughed when Harry made another funny face from his side. I stepped and gave his arm a little push, to which he laughed and went on with his washing business. He smiled, and in profile, handsomely. “He's just being silly and it's contagious.”

“Hello, Missus Granger,” spoke up Harry, his voice giving off an echo.

Crookshanks purring was rather loud, brushing himself against Harry's leg. He was happy his playmate was back.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hello Harry, dear. We're happy you're back!”

“Mum says, `Hello' and that they're `happy you're back' from the business trip. Crookshanks! Down!” My ball of reddish-orange had decided Harry's leg a scratching post, wanting attention.

He grinned and set another plate in the drying rack, stepping around the carrot-coloured fluff hastily coordinating with his fleeting feet.

“Well, Cupcake, I'll let you get back to your day. Your father and I need to pick some things up from the shop downtown before it gets too late.”

“All right, mum. Harry and I love you. I'll be sure to talk with Harry about getting together one weekend.”

“Oh, and tell Harry `Happy Birthday' and have fun on your trip. Be safe, you know how we get to worrying.”

I smiled into the receiver whilst looking at Harry. “All right, and tell daddy we love him, too.”

“Will do, Cupcake. Talk to you later.”

“Love you.”

I went to hang the telephone on its stand on the wall, and said amidst the few steps back, “Mum and dad say, `Happy Birthday'.”

I stopped when I saw a red flashing number on the message indicator. “What is this then? Did someone call while I showered?”

“No,” Harry was at the rack now, drying and putting the dishes and utensils in their spots in the kitchen. “Are you sure it isn't—“

I'd pressed the button.

“Hermione, it's Gin. I've gone to Cho's if—“

“Ah.” I mashed `delete' and the message cut.

The indicator reset to zero.

Gin called to apologise, to tell me where she went…and then, more apologies.

I didn't want to deal with that right now. Cho would be best for her at the moment. I was glad, though, she didn't run back to the Burrow. That was the last place she needed to be. Harry had expressed concern about Neville, as did I, and brother to brother I knew he wanted to talk to him. Not to necessarily get them back together, for now more than ever I believed Harry and his statement of “leaving them to resolve their problems”. We couldn't protect everybody in our lives…even though it pained our personalities to resist temptation to do so.

“I think I may call him today.”

“Hm?” We always had this telepathic connection. He always knew what I was thinking. My eyes went from the message machine.

“Neville,” He replied, the dishes clinking when the base of one met the top of another. The windowed cabinets held open. “Take his mind off the torture I'm sure he's in. I know I'd be devastated if something like that ever happened.”

“And, nothing will,” I'd come over to help, but Harry knocked my hands away.

I just smirked. “As usual.”

“That's because I've got it.”

“Oh, Harry…,” I slipped behind him and wrapped my arms around him. I lay my head on his upper back, his shoulder, “Quit being so damn perfect.”

I smiled, and I heard him, felt him laugh.

“As the primary perfectionist in the house, you're beginning to bug the Hell out of me. You should know this by now.”

“Beginning?” He teased. I felt him squeeze my left arm before gathering the set of knives and forks to dry off. “What an excuse.”

“Competition.”

“Well, you win then.” He laughed.

I smiled. “I do win.”

“You do. Checked Webster. Definition of Hermione: win.”

I giggled and kissed that portion of his upper back. “Mm…,” I sighed with utter satisfaction.

“I'm not going to push you this time,” Harry said pointedly, my body forming to his, mimicking his movements back and forth to the cabinets. “But…“

“I know…” Lethargically pronounced, I sighed, but with exasperation this time.

“That's all I have to say about that. I won't bring it up again. You've always been wise with judgments; I shouldn't have pushed you the first time.”

“Let's not talk about that right now…”

“Okay,” He quickly announced, pivoting to face me. He took the dish rag he'd been drying the silverware with and seized me about the centre. He pulled me to him, the cloth easily showing the plaid shirt's excess material. Pulled tight, into a belt-shape, he had me on him.

I made a little, “Mm,” and a subtle smirk grew into outright grin.

My hands went instinctively to his arms, the biceps, the niche his forearm and upper arm made at the elbow.

“What do you wish to discuss then?” He ended.

“Discuss?” I asked blase, smothering him about the neck and placed my lips upon his softness. I kissed him briefly, inching back to see him afterwards. “What is this…'discuss' you speak of now?”

“Mmm?” He pushed against me and kissed me just as brief.

I remained locked in his cloth-vice, hip-to-hip, enclosed on him and kissed him with length. “Mmm,” I purred.

Our noses together, we grinned into each other's eyes.

I felt the cloth around me fall to be replaced with his hands, and strong, lifting me straight off the floor. He flipped around and set me on the counter where I stayed at first, but soon started to fall to my right.

He'd accidentally set the right half of me leaned into the sink.

“Harry!”

He caught me and slid me over.

I'd grabbed onto his shoulders and hung on for dear life.

We bowled over with laughter after the…death-defying balance on the tightrope.

“I swear I saw my life flash before my eyes!”

“Smooth,” Harry grinned and winked. “Very smooth.”

“Criminally smooth,” I retorted with sarcasm.

“Mmm…,” He pulled me to him, to the edge, his hands firm on my hips. He didn't move with hesitation, sliding down and around each buttock. His hands squeezed me, and then wiggled themselves into my back pockets. It was a difficult task, but he managed them in there.

“Insanely tight,” He remarked with a kiss. “How do you get these on again?”

“Carefully,” I laughed through my nose.

He fit between my legs, and when I felt him at my core I took my legs and loosely wrapped them around him, my calves at his thighs.

I had to hang on again. Harry took me up. He lifted my bum off the counter and I gasped, his strength incredible, and sexy. Our noses meshed while we kissed, and hard, roughly on my part with giggles. Slowly, he eased my bum back on the countertop with the same speed he laid into me, having me lean back. I shrieked into laughs, his stubble extremely ticklish against the erogenous zone, the soft part under my chin, my throat. My hands were all in his chaotic hair, in his thick tufts, as I breathed audibly. My eyes closed and that familiar smile formed with little effort.

He roared, now at my chest, between my breasts.

I gasped, tried to breathe to gasp again in smiles.

My sleeveless shirt was cut like a crew neck, but with thin strips of fabric hanging on my shoulders, revealing more skin than the average tee. Harry's face, his nose had nudge itself into one side of the lowered neckline where he attacked with kisses. He licked, driving me to those giggles, at the contour of my breast. I didn't have time to laugh, however; Harry's hands were under my arse and swiftly lifted me off the counter.

I squealed into a giggle, hearing Harry laugh into my chest at my surprise.

I locked my legs around him, and he placed me on the dining table.

Giving him the snog of his lifetime, I dropped back to the table.

From our lips, he came down by my lead.

***

I felt incredibly sexy.

Several romps.

A long, hot shower with my man.

A chilled butterbeer.

How my signature sleep shirt, charcoal and sky blue trim, swayed with my steps as I drew closer to Harry. He was on the sofa, stretched out when I saw him. He relaxed in another pair of lounge trousers, dark grey, the elastic band hanging low enough to see the lines his abdomen muscles made, cascading down between his thighs. He had his left arm behind his head, his right arm, his hand holding the television controller. The lights flickered from the tube as he flipped through the channels to find something for us to watch. The lights were dimmed enough that I could see the path I walked.

I put the bottle to my lips and took a sip. I stood at one of the two stands on either end of the sofa armrests. Harry didn't notice me there, his eyes watching the screen. He stopped on some Quidditch game, so I wasn't at all surprised. I sighed and rolled my eyes. I put the bottle back to my lips, took another swig, and then placed the bottle on the stand in front of me.

He quickly knew I was there.

I lightly came around, smiling at him taken to the flying broomsticks, and leapt on him.

“Oomph!” He resounded, catching me post-action.

I smacked him. “Don't you `Oomph'!”

“You're heavy!”

I gasped, said “Harry James!” and gave his cheek a little smack in the centre.

He still looked smug, and he even tried to sneak his hands up my legs, on my thighs which had been unveiled by the straddle of his waist.

I swatted his hands, and when he tried again, I smacked them harder.

He growled, snarled, and began lifting from the sofa.

He went to bite me, but I pushed him back down.

He bounced back, his head on the armrest.

“So violent…,” He grabbed my hips, picked me up and set me back down where he wanted me.

I gasped, falling to him by his strength.

He trapped me with his right arm around my upper back, his left sideways, holding down my lower parts, his left hand on my left buttock.

“You're horrible.”

“You're beautiful,” He snipped at me.

I went to kiss him, and he swatted my arse.

Gasping became routine, and I smacked his pectoral.

He loosened his grip as I leaned upward. His hands left from around me, and I found them, lacing my fingers with his. I played with him, moving his hands, his arms around, tugging them and pushing them back. He laughed at my goofiness and I grinned.

“What are you doing?”

“Look at this,” I put my hand flat against his.

“What?” He asked, glancing between me and our combined hands.

His fingers were almost a half-inch above mine, and in comparison, his hand engulfed my slenderness. “Large.”

“Large?” He cocked a brow.

I leaned back down and gave him a peck-kiss. “Laaarrge…”

I scrunched my nose up when he peck-kissed the tip in return.

“It's extremely, extremely sexy,” I'd lifted back into my straddle, pushing up with support from his hands. “How you're so much bigger than me.”

“Well,” He exclaimed in professorial speech. “The Neanderthal cavemen were sophisticatedly more of mass due in part because they had to fend for their—“

I smacked his chest again, making him stutter to a stop.

He laughed.

“Shut up…,” I said with another eye roll, and a smile.

I put his hands back on my hips. “Here,” I stated to rewrite his focus.

“Mmm…,” He grunted, pulled me up, swung me around and I landed in his position on my back, switching places.

Snickering, Harry didn't even give me breath enough to readjust myself. He gathered my sleep tee, all the excess fabric albeit much less than what I wore earlier, and hiked it north. A barrage of kisses, starting from below my breasts and cascading over my tummy. I squealed into giggles, pushed up off the sofa with my shoulders and fell back into the angle of the armrest. My neck lay with the roundish outline, the back of my head on the armrest itself.

I closed my eyes and gasped, finding his mouth by sensations, multiple nerves firing off within all their cylinders when I felt him nearing my knickers.

The moment he landed a caress on the mound, I stretched into my arch, tilted my head back and let out a gentle moan.

He tore my knickers off and it was difficult, between lovable shocks rocking my core, to find his head.

But when I did, my fingers all inside his hair, I gave him a right, hard tug.

He grunted, making an “Oomph!” sound.

***

“Spot on.”

“Spot on?” Harry glanced from The Quibbler in one hand, his other around me beneath our Gryffindor roaring-lion knitted quilt.

A lamp had been clicked on by a drawstring.

The television was turned off.

We were resting before eventually going off to bed.

I lay perpendicular, my head on his farthest thigh, on his lap, the quilt just over my shoulders. My flowing brunette hair, flowing a bit in a mess that is, fell all over the parts of Harry I hadn't covered. I lay facing towards him, and close. I'd been in and out of dozing, the silence helping with every so often a crackle of the newspaper turning.

We'd been talking, bantering as we did, and of course I was in my smiles.

“Spot onnnn…,” I elongated in a dazed slur as the onset of my exhaustion began breaking down faculties.

Harry glanced at me beyond his glasses, his glass reflecting that shortened gleam from the nearby lamp. He leaned over and gave me a light kiss.

I grinned and fidgeted, laid out the length of the sofa.

I found the arm that was around me and clung onto anything Harry.

“…But yeah, I'm glad—no,” He diverted. “I'm really glad you weren't there.”

He rubbed my side.

“I wanted to be there,” `Genuine' was a lesser term than what I meant. The promise I had to him went beyond reality. “I wished to be right there by your side. I read the papers religiously—”

“The stories, Hermione,” He shook his head, stopped the rub for a beat, and begun it all again. “The stories I had to listen to from this… Kingsley called him a Priority, this terrible being if one can even call him that, Ivik…”

“…Stories?”

Harry stared blankly. It was almost as if he was looking into the past, keeping still with his only movement the resuming rub of my side. “I remember him just staring at me throughout my time there. When he was being interrogated by the Ministry all he did was… It wasn't even a stare. It was this cold look, sinister, evil, and the hatred he spewed wasn't anything I'd seen or heard since Voldemort.”

“Kingsley offered him defense. He's a man of his word, Kingsley. He didn't just want Ivik sentenced to death without a trial, but Ivik wanted nothing of it. He called us filth, said something like he smelled sulfur. But, he would watch me as if he was calculating this…inner dialogue. I told Kingsley about my assessment, and he assured me he knew the look I received. He came out and told me he needed me there to bait the man into relieving potential information, and information he gave willingly. It was like he enjoyed telling his tales of murder to us.”

“I had to walk out a few times. One time in particular. I remember it was one of the few times Ivik actually took his eyes off me. He started rambling about killings, or deaths he would have liked to done. One being, of course, mine; that, I took their “god” from them. I was in turn their, “anti-god,” or “devil” as he put it. He started to… I want to say reminisce? Disgustingly… It was like he was talking about his innocent childhood, but he was describing how he'd kill me. He'd love to, `fillet' me: take a knife and take the top layer of my skin off, let me bleed until I scabbed over and healed, and then do it all again. He said how he, and many of his others, craved for killing the victims slowly. `Slower the better,' was something he insisted when asked again by the persecution.”

“I could take that. I've been taking it,” Harry laughed, and I knew it came from his morbid life story. “Well, I tend to believe I've been taking this my whole life. Maybe when I was younger, naive, thought the world was one way… But, all this hatred towards me came rhetorical. But, he was asked to describe the other murders he wanted to commit, and that's when I had to leave the courtroom. He…”

Harry cleared his throat.

All of my questions ceased.

“You don't have to go any further,” I coaxed to renew the route of our discussion in another direction. If it hurt him to tell me details, I wasn't going to keep asking as much as I wanted to know everything. I understood the premise, having lived most of my life beside him already. I got it. “I just needed to know that you were safe. That's all.”

“Very safe,” He mused, running the hand he had rubbed me with against the side of my cheek, his fingers sliding into my locks of hair. “With or without the two dozen or so Aurors. And, there were plenty on hand. None of them paid particular interest to me as I'm sure all eyes were on Ivik. Kingsley, of anyone in the courtroom, was the one not to be trifled with. He brings this assumed authority wherever he goes. He's like the father role, and all the kids shush when he enters. When the judge asked me questions regarding the past and if I remembered seeing Ivik, all he did was laugh while I spoke, called me names. He did it under his breath at first, but he became audible the longer he got away with it. Ivik hushed when Kingsley silenced him. All he had to say was a single, `Silence!' and everyone went quiet, especially Ivik. That's authority.”

“He stayed beside me, Kingsley. Maybe arms-length once or twice, but always right there. Standing, sitting, even eating—he'd ask, `Everything going all right?' He knew the whole scene affected me more than anyone, and that's why after I told him he wasn't reluctant to keep me there. He knew right away that I'd done my best and it was time for me to get back, especially when I heard you were…”

His voice trailed off.

His stroking of my head was soothing.

I closed my eyes slowly, and then reopened them.

“I love you.” He expressed straight with unwavering loyalty.

Lifting up, he had to rearrange. He moved the arm, the hand that was upon me around to meet about my centre. I slipped aside him, giving space and quilt to him, shielding him figuratively as he shielded me, comfort, safety. I came in and kissed his lips with a sense of ferocity, with love, and lay my forehead to touch his. I remained there, the tips of our noses as one, and said with my eyes closed, “I'm sorry…”

“You've nothing to be sorry about, my love.”

I pulled my knees together, and then shifted them across Harry's lap beneath the crimson and gold quilt. I kissed his lips again, and then lay my forehead back, touching. “…I'm sorry you've had to take the cards you were dealt. I wish, everyday, that something—me—that I could take some of that away from you. Like, absorb it to lessen—“

“I don't think you quite understand how much light you give my life,” He kissed me, our foreheads never leaving its soul mate. “There's a reason behind my evacuation back to you. I needed to be around that light. I needed to be with you. I am but a ship on cursed waters, and you are my guiding ray of hope.”

“Harry…” I sighed, smiled, shook my head and gave him a tightest of embrace.

I kissed him, and then nuzzled into his neck, my head on his shoulder. “I love you,” I said into his ear. “I love you…”

He held me.

I closed my eyes and fell asleep in his arms.

{Inspirations for the chapter: Jewel's You Were Meant for Me. The passed chapters are a reflexive to her song as well. Also, Iris by the Goo Goo Dolls from Harry's point of view.}

{Added Note: At first I wanted this chapter to be communicative to the previous, having Hermione still mourning and have Harry pull her out of it. But, I thought that would be beating a dead horse with Hermione's affliction in “Funeral”. What occurred here happened later on, and I hope it came off this way. Again, I wanted to put this added note in because—like Seamus's death and following written reaction—there would have been a greater response to Minerva's death, but wanted to put their `coming back together' in the forefront and not have what could have been a dragging episode. This may change when I go back and look at everything as a whole}

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43. Bulgaria

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: Harry's twentieth birthday is ripe with celebration, the forerunner: his love for Quidditch. Viktor's tickets in-hand, our Heroine and Hero leave the doldrums of London and set course for…

***

Chapter Forty-Three - Bulgaria

***

The Quibbler

Rita Skeeter interviewing Death Eaters?

Yes folks, you've read that correctly. Rumors are swarming like wildfire. Rita Skeeter to interview a Death Eater? Death Eaters? “One is more than enough,” says Press Secretary Toulsen. In a special Ministry briefing held yesterday evening in the Commons, Toulsen said, “Although Minister Shacklebolt is abroad, he has been notified. He has condemned any Daily Prophet future actions regarding this matter for he sees it as an act of treason against the country.” The Daily Prophet and Rita Skeeter have yet to respond. Our panel here at The Quibbler finds this sort of rumor troubling, disappointing to say the least, and probably yet another attempt in a long line of attempts for Prophet attention. We agree with the Minister's condemning of any actions resorting in housing murderers. Though, looking at Skeeter's past judgments, anyone could see her continuing “to step over the boundary,” her taste for repeated controversy. Her newest novel, The Truth Behind Him, garnishes a pure light on Tom Riddle. Anyone who prances evil in any other way than evil deems pathologically mad. What is the next boundary to be crossed if Skeeter does in fact interview Death Eaters? Should we be worried about this patterned anti-social behavior?

Going to ask them over for tea, too, Rita? Or will you just skip to the mass killings of Britain's finest?

Meygan Brookes

Writer

Luna Lovegood

Chief Editor

P.1

***

“Wow… You look…”

I hurried downstairs, the bottoms of my pink-and-black trainers padding. The sharp steps produced a knocking for there wasn't backing to them. My arms up, my hands in my hair, I was in the middle of slipping on a black-and-red polka-dotted scrunchie. The ponytail swished when I let go, much like my Bulgarian “Krum” jersey if it hadn't been knotted at my lower back. With skinny black jeans, my severely white legs peeking from permanent rips, I was ready. I'd stopped when Harry spoke, his form in front of the fireplace beyond the sofa which stood between him and me.

Harry just shook his head. “No, you look stunning every day.”

I smiled and traipsed on over, skipping.

Two small bags sat at Harry's feet.

I laid my hands on him, his chest, to smooth out a wrinkle on his own “Krum” jersey. Black trousers matching mine, his black boots, the rubber soles of them cemented to the ground, squeaked when he pushed up to step. He took my slim waist, emphasized by the tied knot at my back, and kissed me.

“To say you look stunning just today would be a mistake,” He concluded.

I grinned, stood a bit on tip-toe and peck-kissed his lips.

“You ready?”

I nodded. “Very. Did you check the bags to see if we remembered everything?”

“While you were upstairs finishing,” He went to drop down, to pick the bags up, but halted midway. “Wait a minute.”

“Hm?” I wriggled a brow. “What?”

Harry had his bag opened and searched for something. In his hands a tiny jar appeared. He uncorked the top, the small vial making a popping noise, and ushered me closer. “Here. To set the mood.”

I looked up by his movements, his fingers beneath my chin. Gently, he wiped a smear of black underneath one eye, and then went to mark the next. Two similar, parallel lines now held above my cheeks, equally apart. “There.”

He kissed me, and we exchanged the vial.

I stood back on those tip-toes and marked him, too.

Two perfect black lines beneath his eyes.

We both made a snort, Harry going over to retrieve a cloth to wipe our hands.

“We ready now?”

“I think so,” Harry stated amidst putting the jar away and picking the bags up. “The Floo is set just as Viktor wrote. We should be thousands of kilometres away from London in seconds.”

“I can't wait…,” I grinned, glancing backward to see Harry on the move at my heels.

We stood together in the opened hearth.

I had the powder at the ready, but before tossing the handful I turned to Harry, smiled once more, and said:

“Happy twentieth birthday, darling.”

Harry smiled, his index finger in my enclosed palm.

A flash of brilliant light lit our scene, and suddenly the inside of Number Twelve went still and silent.

***

We went straight from the hotel, checking in and unpacking quickly into our suite, to the Quidditch game of Bulgaria against Lithuania. Oddly, we were running later than we expected, especially noting how we promptly planned and left Number Twelve earlier.

The entire environment outside reminded me of my first official Quidditch game. The energy from the people left the hairs on my arm like static, human affect lively against the Burgas Province overlooking a ridge towards cerulean water and crashing waves. The smell of fired grills wafted by breath as people tended cooking prior to the game, barkers called out their wares, selling everything from sweets, to caps, to foam fingers. For just an exhibition match, it came surprising. Tents overflowed our trek, stretched to the arena pitch. One tent would glitter Bulgarian red-and-black, its neighbour Lithuanian tri-colour green-yellow-red.

Sweltering hot, something like thirty-six degree centigrade…and it was hot. Even though we had smiles on our faces, gazing around at the frivolity, these same faces dripped readily with sweat. Having to wring my forearms of the coolant, Harry vowed to get me the first bottle of water he saw when entering the arena. I joked, however, and pointed at the horizon. A line of darkening clouds loomed mountainside, steadily drawing closer. Why buy water when all we had to do was tilt our heads back?

Like London in some ways, but better in many, we weren't attended by a thousand cameras. Not to say there wasn't a camera flash around, but significantly less. We had to walk a ways, and along our route did sign bits here and there for people, slips of paper, t-shirts became a trend, and someone even wanted their forehead signed. Harry had to drag me away. The people were so nice, and forgiving, asking us how we were as to the usual prying for personal information.

Thankfully, we didn't see a Prophet person in sight. We try not to let things out, and are surprised many times by how information is revealed to the media. Journalists, mostly from this part of the world, were lined up. We did give them time, but really, I think the most annoying part of… I don't like to say we were “heroes”. We were only trying to do better, to make better. I mean, Voldemort was hellishly evil, indefinably evil… We were asked the same questions over and over, and it became routine with the answers. I think people wanted to hear the same answers, and the same answers; maybe they ran in doldrums. Every now and then we were taken back by something else, like:

“Chocolate or vanilla?”

And, I'd stumble because it did become routine these answers.

I'd half-expect:

“Is it true you're pregnant?!”

Of course, the answer was: chocolate.

Harry was once asked: boxers or briefs.

And, he couldn't stop laughing that day.

I think he questioned the question by asking, “I didn't think men wore briefs anymore. Do they?”

I stayed in front of Harry. The Quidditch pitch was open, much like at Hogwarts and similarly to the match at the World Cup; though, not as flamboyantly decorated. Steel support beams held the oval-shape together, and on upward we went. A special section for us, a section coordinated by Viktor particularly for us, we didn't see the crowds. Looking through the steel archways one could see the masses funneling in droves to find their seats. I hoped none were claustrophobic for they traveled tight, shoulder-to-shoulder, whereas Harry and I maybe saw a person standing around and an isolated group of two or three. Nothing like on the other side, and I thought that was a shame.

Politicians, businessmen and businesswomen, families and friends or the two teams coincided together at the top. A clear roof over our heads, you could plainly see the cloudiness building and an inevitable downpour in the wings. The air was humid, severely. By the time we were on the last set of stairs, I'd undone the knot of my team shirt and knotted it higher so that air got to me, or at least my torso. This definitely wasn't a day for wearing red-and-black.

Harry stood by me. We went off into a corner of the stairway, for a few groups were going up and going down. I adjusted my apparel, Harry helping to re-tie the knot now at the centre of my back. I held the shirt up to the point and Harry did the knot firm around me as to not allow it to fall. We had a moment where we smiled, his hand, his fingers grazing the newly exposed, slick skin of me. He kissed me and exchanged the water bottle back to my hands for a drink.

“Granger.”

How my name was spoken startled us, and came familiar.

Harry had his back turned from the stairs and I couldn't see anything but him.

I thought for a second I'd be seeing Malf—

“Why, hello…Potter,” A smirk, a sneer, his cold eyes aligned with ours. How he wore black robes fit him…for I'd seen him in them before. I'd told Harry about Xavier when he came home—of course I did. This was the first time any of us had seen him and his…

A blonde woman was with him. Taller, and also in those black robes. She was paler then me, and that's saying something. Blue icy eyes bore a glance into me, and then into Harry. I don't think she took in one breath, almost as if she attempted to withdraw from breathing on purpose. The side of her red lips twitched ever-so-slight and she never once blinked in our presence.

“Mother, I'd like for you to meet his Holiness. Should we bow, Potter?”

We stood silent.

I don't know if we were transfixed or were quiet from repulsion. Nevertheless, we were still.

My hand, my fingers intertwined with Harry's.

He gave me a little squeeze to know he knew I was there, though his eyes kept on the Hart family.

“Come Mother,” Xavier's lips curling at the intensity so thick within the air it rivaled the baking humidity. “And don't look directly into it. You might catch a disease.”

The tall blonde broke her listlessness and smiled at the word, “disease.”

She bounded away, swishing her robe towards us so abruptly that I felt a wash of cold, stale air, and headed south down the staircase.

Xavier lingered, but only to say, “Do keep that shiner medicated. We wouldn't want you anything less than tops, Potter. Or is that make-up for the big game?”

Silence.

He winked at me.

His eyes fixed back at on Harry, “See you around.”

We kept our eyes on him until nothing of his being could be seen through all the steel mesh and wirework.

I drew in a breath and exhaled, something I'd pent-up and had to get out.

I could feel my wand on my thigh, my mind wandering to take note exactly where it lay. Harry's was in his pocket, too, and I was sure his mind felt the same. He turned to me, and at first seemed blank, but fire lit back in his eyes at the sight of me. He kissed me brief, to break the atmosphere, and gave my arm a tug in the direction he went.

“Come on,” He urged, my feet in a frenzy following him up. “We don't want to miss this!”

“I'm coming, I'm coming!” Foot-over-foot, I shook my head and laughed at his instant hysteria.

***

“KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!”

Bellows of chanting boomed the innards of the arena.

Loud and proud, the fans of Bulgaria took to their feet and rocked the house.

Harry and I included.

The haughty-taughty establishment around us kept to themselves, standing away from the pitch with their swirly drinks with tiny umbrellas. Their suits weren't tarnished, but our jerseys were. Harry and I stood right at the balcony overlooking the game and as close as close could be. The rain that was so tempted to fall did so, and in a deluge, the rain blasting sideways and into our shelter from what was not enclosed.

“ANNNNNDDDD KRUM SEEMS TO BE GAINING ON THAT SNITCH! YARDS APART FROM ELZBIETA!!” shouted the announcer.

A ten-story high paneled screen displayed the fight for the snitch, Krum dangling from his broomstick with his right arm extended, his gloved hand mimicking the fluttering, fast-paced gold sphere.

Bulgaria was outright manhandling Lithuania with a present score of 110 to 40, and my voice began to all out quit on me by the sheer volume of my screams.

I had my arm out, fist-pumping, my left hand on the rail-wall.

I was bouncing in my spot with Harry right behind me. At one point I bounce and fell on his foot, but Harry chuckled and continued to laugh with my excitement. I was in a fervor, yelling, chanting with the Home team, “Krum! Krum! Krum!”

My jeans were soaked, my trainers squishy, but right then I couldn't have cared less.

I was caught in the moment and everything felt really, really good.

“KRUM, INCHES AWAY! INCHES AWAAAAAYYY!”

“KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!”

I could literally feel the Quidditch arena shaking under my feet.

“AND, KRRRRUUUUM!! HE'S GOT IT! HE'S GOT IT! KRUM'S GOTTEN THE SNITCH!!!”

A wave started at the far end of the field, and grew, the sound hitting this side of an eruption of cheers.

“BULGARIA WINS!!! BULGARIA WINS!!!”

Every person, every dot masked in red-and-black leapt.

Every teammate, Bulgarian and Lithuanian stopped their motions, their brooms gliding by their own from their slowed acceleration, and looked back at the large paneled screen: a shot of Krum, his arm held high in the air with the snitch shaking feverously betwixt his stocky digits.

A close up, and further in the crowds got a glimpse of the golden sheen of the trapped victim in Krum's darkly-gloved fingers.

“KRUM! KRUM! KRUM!”

I shrieked and fell back into Harry.

His arms around me, he squeezed me into a backwards embrace.

I shifted, leaned so I could get to him and kissed him in a squeal.

In his arms, I was his little jumping-bean—I couldn't stop myself.

He smiled, and laughed at me, with me, as I chanted onward with the others, “Krum! Krum! Krum!”

And, you know, I couldn't feel the rain.

***

We tried to find Viktor after the game.

We waited all we could, drenched clothing in an air-conditioned environment and all, but what we got was a maddening statement from one of the team's public relations associates, that:

“If we let you two into the press conference, we'd have to let everyone in. You're not above the other hundred thousand fans in here.”

Stuff like this followed us. Okay, we were Harry and Hermione. We did things our own way; not because we were obligated to, but because we felt the need. All we wanted to do was see a good friend. I made a case to the associate, told her we'd been sent special instructions by Viktor to Floo, the arrangements—I had the letter in our suite. This infuriated her more as we found out she didn't know he'd sent us anything.

She ultimately dismissed us, giving Harry the cold shoulder when he chimed in with a, “Don't talk to my fiance that way!” and left us standing there.

I remember just looking at Harry, and Harry looking at me. He took my hand and said, “Don't worry about it. Things happen. The moment we get back we both can send a thank you letter to him. It's not a big deal.”

“Your twentieth birthday is a big deal.”

He smiled. “Let's go,” he said, pulling me along. “Before you catch cold.”

I took one last look in the direction the woman ran off in a huff to, and decided Harry was right. I could only do so much.

I wasn't one to storm a meeting.

There's always another day, another time.

***

We apparated back to the hotel.

We'd taken a portkey there, given of course by Viktor, a butterbeer bottle cap of all things, and now that we knew our way all I had to do was wrap myself around Harry and snap, we were inside the lobby.

Colder within, our lift wasn't quite quick enough for my taste. Prone to getting the chills, I continued my wrap-around with Harry willingly conforming. He wasn't going to argue with his beautiful fiance snuggling, be it from the cold or in any other instance. He had his arms around me, too. We were alone in the lift, mirrored on the inside and gilded gold about the edges, our reflection cast our gentle caress. He put his souvenir Bulgarian cap on my head, a trinket amongst others in a bag he held. I grinned and kissed him again while the doors opened.

Our feet were swift, and squishy, excess rainwater droplets marking the maroon carpet. The corridor was quiet, though it was the afternoon. We kept courteous in case folks were still asleep. Standing at the door, I took my wand, placed the tip against the knob and heard confirmation: a click, its unlocking.

After closing the door, coming into our personal space… It was enough for Harry to start. He made a noise, a thump. I swished around, pivoting, the ponytail flicking about as I'd taken the cap off, on my way to the bedroom to change. My eyes lit. Harry dropped the bag on the counter, stepped one foot, and then the next, my own going backward at the same stride as his.

He took off at me and I started to run.

I shrieked when he caught me, and I knew he'd throw me onto the bed with him… But, the bed. We were thoroughly wet, and sticky from our sweat melding with whatever we'd come in contact with at the grounds. Smoke, an example, from the many burning bonfires from Bulgarian tents.

“Wait, wait,” I halted him, put my hand to his chest. He had my right leg, my left foot still on the ground and the bed only a foot or two away. He was in the midst of picking me off the floor.

“What?” he asked, my right foot dropping with its twin.

He had my waist.

I nodded yonder, at the door. “There.”

“There.” He imitated my sweet sound. He didn't give me a chance to glance from the grand bathroom back to him before he'd taken me up, his hands holding my bum.

I laughed, my legs around him, sitting at his hips.

He took the cap from my hand, having to reach behind him as my arms were around his neck, and placed it backward on my head.

I smirked, fell into him, elbows bending in tight embrace and kissed him hard.

I could feel his pace, the jarring action of withdrawing the closed door beneath my arse, and giggled at his wicked haste.

***

A pendulum, the bathwater crashed against one side of the tub and then the other. The bath was built easily for four, in essence a Jacuzzi, jets of rushing pressure beating down on our naked bodies. We'd only managed to run the hot faucet before we were over each other, on each other, soggy trousers and jeans mixed with soggy socks and shoes. My shirt landed in the sink. Harry's was hanging from the tub. My bra was in the corner of the wall beside it. Knickers…somewhere. I couldn't keep count. I didn't care. We were naked.

I straddled him, rocking with the wave my form created. My sight would succumb to blackness. I'd struggle to watch him, to watch how Harry would make a face of drawing pleasure when I'd collide; but, I was a creature of sensation. Slipping down, I couldn't resist closing my eyes. It was a reaction; a reaction to this shock straight to my craving id. She was happy. I was happy, lost in bliss.

Harry's hands were everywhere: above the water, below the water. He made the drier parts of me drip, pun intended. Whenever he'd slide his hands from my arse, to my hips, to my waist he'd do so in nearly a rush, taking in through touch, taking with him handfuls of soapy water. At one point he had my breasts, cupping them, squeezing them. In his face, an easy target, another layer, another jolt of injected pleasure. He sucked, putting his mouth around a nipple and took me in. We switched place, my arms, hands cradling him to my breast, his hands eager to feel under my buttocks.

I made these short breaths, a sigh, a gasp. He began to take control, a part that drove me. He could lift me with little effort, even easier in the water, and did, speeding up or slowing down my ride of his broomstick. Something snapped. My hands at his abdomen, his chest, his throat, in his hair. I gripped tufts of him, tensed and let out a portion of Hermione that no one but Harry could ever hear, and see. I let go. I began shaking, and held onto Harry, churning in an orgasm.

“Fuck!...” I expressed, voice throttled, diluted in the crook of Harry's neck. I had my arms locked around his neck and hoped, somewhere in my mind, that I wasn't choking him—vice-like.

My body had a will of its own and I didn't wish to fight it, floating somewhere above me but still in reality.

Harry shifted and I went to move until he stopped me. He slid further into the water, but not by a lot. Stomach to stomach, chest to chest, I was in my arch and Harry steered. He took advantage of how I wound around him, the new length, the position, and how I didn't sit so directly on him anymore. Enough of a gap to pull out some, and then slam back into me, pull out again and slam. I'd gasp every time to breathe, my nose, mouth, my face against his temple, in his hair, beside his ear.

He had me at my centre, and tried to keep me still, but every smack would push me. Anything that could jump, did. My body would roll with his parts squashing, my mouth, throat, my voice uttering these animalistic moans.

He grunted and picked up speed.

I knew he was about to plummet, like I had, to freefall off that cliff.

I felt his lips, his mouth on my chin, cheek, nose, having difficulty finding my mouth before the second stopped, and he groaned.

He tightened his grasp of me, his arms on my back, around my centre, his hands clutching a side, my arse. He slowed his pace, methodically choosing a steady rhythm to release.

He dropped his head back against the edge of the tub. His eyes were closed and his mouth was opened without a single breath.

I knew after one, and one, and one, and one, the thrusts contained his seed.

I simply went with his flow, caressing his freshly exposed throat, the Adam's apple bobbing in earnest to find breath again.

I smiled, the tip of my nose poking the underside of his chin. His movements gradually ceased, his body relaxing. There was trust, a trust from me and a trust from him, and that's where we stood in our relationship. I smelled of him, the ripe pumpkin pie spice, and closed my eyes whilst the arousing aroma drifted and clung to my skin.

I was satisfied completely, and I knew, by the look on his face when he lifted his head from the edge of the bath, that he was, too.

“Christ…,” He took up my face and kissed me rough, making sure our tongues met and greeted gaily. He went to let go, only to take me up again in a hurried snog.

Feeling the after-sex high come, I drunkenly grinned at him, inches apart. “You're quite welcome.”

He smirked and gave me several more caresses, each more in length than its predecessor.

I had my hands on his shoulders when we removed.

“You're so incredibly amazing,” His eyes lit. “Do you know that?”

“Are you sure you're not just saying that because I just shagged you rotten?” I smiled, which carved itself into a mischievous, little smirk.

He grinned and lifted me up so he sat back on his seat with me in straddle. “I'm saying it because you really are the most brilliant woman on the face of this planet. I swear to God.”

He kissed me again, and was left in a ticklish laugh, his hands at my abdomen.

“Happy birthday…,” I quietly spoke, to become louder in ending with, “I expect things on mine.”

Harry chuckled, “You wicked devil…”

He brought me up by the arch of my back.

I let him do whatever, reveling in our time.

My tits back in his face, I watched as my left nipple, standing at attention, was swallowed.

I rested a hand on the back of Harry's head, my other on his neck and shut my eyes. I let a, “Mmn…,” escape.

He withdrew, my tit snapping back into place which garnered a gasp from me.

My right nipple became the lovable victim, his hot mouth devouring the softness, the gentle suckle. He massaged my left, making sure—I knew—he hadn't hurt me. I smiled and allowed his hunger to wane. Kissing the top of his head, I lay my cheek against him, in his dark, warm lion's mane. His hand fell from my left, his mouth gone and my right nipple retracting back firm.

We were back looking at each other those inches away. His hands at my lower reach, he rubbed my arch, observing the way my hands took my own breasts, cupped them, my fingers following the round curvature, their tips, my thumb and middle fingers gently giving my tits a small tug.

Harry was mesmerized.

My hands slipped around to hold me, pushing my breasts together, my nips happily perked and pointed towards my beloved.

I stopped and watched Harry, his eyes on me from below, at my perch, lean in and lick just the tip of each protruded nub, each lick making me sigh.

I gave myself a light squeeze and let go, to take Harry, his face, my arms wrapping around him. The water rippled at my fast action, flattening against him as I had him lay back along the ledge and lining.

“I love you,” I said, kissing him.

He brushed thick, wet strands of brunette from my face. “Hold still, love.”

I saw him reach for the cloth, dip to soak the cotton, and told me to, “Close your eyes.”

Having yet begun to bathe, those lines of ink he'd put underneath my eyes, now smears from rain and sweat, he wiped away.

He wrung the bath cloth before wiping the other tenderly as not to get it anywhere near my eyes.

I grinned, opened them when I felt nothing more, and leaned back in to kiss him.

Out of sight, he lathered the cloth with soap and started bathing my upper back.

***

“Hermione…”

“Mm?”

“Hermione…,” he whispered again.

I'd fallen asleep on the sofa in front of the television. He let me by myself, taking up most of the soft, plush cushions and pillows. Everything extra-large, extra-white, it reminded me of our bed at home, only half the size. Harry sat on the floor in front of me with a beverage, his arm around my while he watched television with the volume low. Or, he did, for the next moment, eyes fluttering to wake, rousing focus, he'd stood up and hovered over me.

“Come see this.”

“What…?” I bent one knee and pushed out the other, stretching and yawning, still very well comfy on the sofa.

I lifted my arms above and stretched, my black, ribbed, sleeveless top pulling away from my vibrant pink lounge trousers. The string that knotted the waistband tickled my now-exposed tummy, and Harry did more, moving in to caress the navel which appeared.

I lay there as long as he kissed me, my arm slipping down, my hand on the back of his head, my fingers combing his hair.

“All right,” he said, taking my hand, the hand from his head. “You've got to come see this.”

I growled, again, not really wanting to move. “Come see what, though?”

I moved anyway, rolling to the side. Harry helped me to my feet, his hand still in mine. I followed him, the light padding beneath my blue, Merlin slippers tapping the floor in opposition to the slight suction coming from his bare feet on what resembled stone granite.

He was taking me towards an open balcony, the white doors wide open, its sheer drapery blowing inside by the wind. Two potted plants held on each post, the right and the left, of Greek-columned rails.

I had my fingers in my eyes, wiping the sleep from them, yawning and yearning to go back to sleep.

“Look at this,” Harry said it in a way that had his speech stopped, breathless.

I'd wanted to go back, lay down, until…

Our view was of a lake, mountains in the background and the small town where we stayed down below. It was quiet, some car horn here and there but relatively sane compared to London. I could hear wind-chimes hanging outside someone's home. Picturesque, the countryside set the scene: dusk. The sun, like an egg, the yellow on a base of white sparkles glimmering across motionless water. Parts of the sky were this vivid blue, cobalt, navy, to purple, violet, indigo darkening where our part of the world would eventually go in time. Cloudless, the overcast had broken completely but a few wisps, and even those changed to golden orange, mimicking the glowing, main actor.

“My God, Harry…,” I was speechless, that breathlessness I heard from Harry.

He was at the rail, his hands on the granite stone.

I did the same beside him, like him, and gazed out over nature's beauty. “…It's beautiful.”

“It's remarkable.”

I glanced over at him, to my left, and saw him utterly absorbed in the scenario, our universe this gentle, burnt spark from flame, an apricot hue. The light of his eyes twinkled, and I smiled. I slid my hand atop his and held it. He smiled at me and kissed my temple, the top of my head when I closed in around him.

I felt him thumbing at my engagement ring circling my finger, cemented, really, to the digit.

“I know you get tired of me saying this, but I'm sorry to have you trudge through this with me.”

“It's not every day where you see a stubborn woman take on the bad when the good outweighs at the end of the day.”

He smiled, and kissed my lips this time.

“I sometimes think,” His eyes wandered from me, to the setting sun in the distance. “If I were me, without all the `frills'—“

I grinned.

He sighed.

“Quidditch.” He nodded, returning to face me. He kissed me again. “Thank you for today. Best. Birthday. Ever.”

I caressed his lips in response, and said after, “You know, no one's telling you that you can't pursue a dream. I'm certainly not, and you know I'd support you with every beat of my heart.”

He grinned. “Maybe in our next life, but for now, my dream revolves around you. You've given me so much, I—“

“You support my endeavors. Let me.”

His grin continued, but faltered some with resuming discussion.

“Xavier,” Harry left my hands alone, lonely, meandering towards the columned rails. He put his elbows up, let his arms go together, and stood facing the lake in a slouched position.

I stepped behind him, and then beside him.

Our hips touched, my arms going like his on the rail, my face towards his profile. “What about him?”

“I told Kingsley what had happened with you, with the Death Eaters…”

He stopped, and I thought he paused, but he never continued.

“And…?”

Harry's eyes dropped down to the street below. “Nothing. His whereabouts were somewhere else at the time. Unless he has a twin, in which he does not, the Aurors are flabbergasted to say the least.”

“Polyjuice perhaps?”

“Potions came up, but were simply thrown out due to lack of evidence. They trailed friends, family—even so far into the districts regular people dare tread—nothing.”

I scrunched my brow, my eyes rolling to no place in particular. “How on earth can such a thing be? Unless they've found magics outside conventions, much like with the Half-Blood Prince…delving into something unknown… I mean, it's not like I ever poured over Dark Arts books in the Restricted section for pleasure.”

I started wracking my brain for answers, but consistently hit roadblocks.

Between my eyes began to hurt, and suddenly I had a headache.

“Kingsley has a task team on him, especially for the Hart family. Their moves are watched closely, so closely that he said they had a file full of information of their daily activities, but nothing that could credibly cause them to warrant an arrest and put them on trial.”

“If only I had my handheld camera with me,” I mused.

Harry half-grinned, his eyes back on a sleepy sun. “Xavier is spotless. He's never done anything any other rambunctious juvenile would do. The worst on his record is when he stole from Flourish and Blotts, an issue of the Witch Parfait magazine.”

“I know him, or at least part, and…,” I rolled my eyes at the news of him having stolen pornography. “…I'm not surprised the least.”

“His mother, Ophelia—“

“Wait, Ophelia?” I huffed. “Doesn't the `Evil' handbook state: to be in their club, ones must have names like, `Ophelia'?”

Harry looked over at me, “His father's name was Thomas.”

My eyes went wide and I begun wildly to piece the puzzle. “No…you don't mean…?”

“No, it's not what one would think. Even I struck the obvious chord to Kingsley. They're not the same, Thomas Hart and Tom Riddle are not the same person. It's purely coincidental…but nonetheless chilling.”

I shook a chill off my spine thinking about it.

“Ophelia had some misdeeds in life, but nothing to flag her as criminal. Actually, I was told she failed Dark Arts at Hogwarts two consecutive years and had to go on a probation period until she got her act straight. She didn't seek the limelight, but she did have a clique of girls she talked with—all around average is what was given.”

“The Ministry can find out specifics from dates that far back?”

Harry chuckled, “Apparently so. I guess Kingsley did a thing or two for the network because he told me things, not everything, but specific enough that made me question that same argument. It's cool, yet frightening at the same time.”

“Well, as long as Kingsley's there.”

“And he feels confident. He doesn't take shit from no one, and they like it. I'd think they hadn't seen that sort of personality in a while knowing Fudge and the others were more or less doormat-material.”

“Ironic when the mainstream media slams him for being a member of the Order. Skeeter doesn't even know what the `Order' was. She simply tosses hate and lies, the slag.” I had to calm down. “Just thinking about it makes my blood boil.”

Harry smirked. “All Kingsley told me, pleaded with me, is to live my life. He told me he'd, `Take care of everything from here on out'.”

Our suite phone shook us, and we both looked inside as it rung.

“That's odd,” I stated, following behind Harry after he pushed off the balcony to go back in.

“Hm…,” He had the phone which sat away from the living space on a table of its own. A fresh bouquet of iris and primrose sat in a vase aside the receiver.

He picked the telephone up. “Hello?”

Harry had his eyes on me as I stood in front of him, my arms crisscrossed at my centre.

From somewhat of an even line, his lips curled into a warm grin which ultimately spurred my brow's reaction, rising on my forehead as to what cause such a happy smile. “What?” I mouthed.

“What say you for dinner?”

“Huh?” I exclaimed, confused.

His smile widened. “Viktor would like for us to meet him for dinner.”

Excitement crept from my befuddlement with a profound smile.

***

Viktor really didn't give any details, only just to meet him in town. That didn't give me a scope of what to wear, nor Harry who spoke to him on the phone. So, as I went through what I brought I chose more formal over more casual, but still held a sensible outdoorsy style. Viktor wasn't for coats and top hats, that I knew. If anything he'd throw a cheeseburger at us…but, just in case, I didn't want to walk into a place with what could be considered lingerie.

I checked myself in the four-plated mirror, several light bulbs lined in rows atop each plate. A tube top shirt held beneath my arms, black, with a sort of metallic sheen as a base for these tiny red roses. Up close one could see the flowery pattern, but from far away it looked as if they were darkly red rows of dots. The top made it just below the belt line where jean shorts secured to my hips, dark blue and washed, the bottom hem sewn upward. My cinnamon brown locks curled over my shoulders, my fingers sifting through them to create a fuller look. I'd brushed dozens of times prior, the hairbrush still at my side on the counter. A golden crucifix hung on a necklace, laying on my chest from the thin-chain about my neck.

Harry came in and stared into the mirror, inspecting his face. A white shirt on, he wore a black vest over the top. Jeaned trousers and boots walking against the floor, I'd done his hair, put moose in it to give him personality. He'd shaven, and I guess that's what he wanted to see, if he'd missed some, for blemishes weren't common for him—a gift I didn't share, especially during the time of the month. I had to get rid of one, and thankfully it wasn't right in the centre of my forehead.

Harry glanced at me. “Are you ready?”

He stepped away from the mirror and slid beside me.

I could see him in profile through the reflection.

He put a hand on my back, a hand on my abdomen and bent to kiss the top of my head. He lowered, put his head on my shoulder and gazed at me in the mirror.

“You smell good.”

I leaned my head against his and took up my aviators.

Suddenly, the world became tinted. “I'm ready.”

He took me by the hand and we left the suite for the evening.

After apparating, after walking a short distance from where he had us go, there he was: Viktor Krum, same as ever. Oppositely Harry, Viktor still sported the shaved style. Broad shouldered, bear-like, he wore a short-sleeved polo and jeans. He smiled when he saw me, us, walking our way up the pavement uphill.

Arm-in-arm with him was a dark-haired woman. Model-esque, she was frighteningly beautiful. Viktor had been taller than me and she matched his height. Slender, I smiled when she did and it was warm, much like Viktor's. She wore blue jeans and a plaid shirt with the adorable hugging boots.

“Happy birthday, my brother!” Viktor reached out and took Harry's hand. He pulled Harry in and gave Harry a brotherly embrace.

“Hi,” I grinned again at the woman with Viktor and slightly waved.

“Hello,” she replied and stuck her hand out to me. Her thick Bulgarian accent swelled the air, thicker than Viktor's. “You must be Hermy-ninny?”

“Hermione,” I took her hand and shook, glancing at Viktor who laughed.

I rolled my eyes.

“It is Hur-my-o-nee, Zu.”

“You have been telling me her name iz Hermy-ninny!” She gave Viktor a punch on the shoulder.

We all shared a laugh, Viktor coming around with his arm, wrapping it around “Zu's” neck and brought her next to him.

“Friends, Harry, Hermione, I'd like you to meet Zuzanna. She iz, how you say, `girlfriend,' `mate'.”

“Hello,” Harry reached out and Zuzanna shook his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“You are quite famous. It's almost inconceivable meeting the Harry Potter!”

“You've got quite the famous one yourself,” I nodded to Viktor.

We laughed.

“You both look exquisite!”

“A bit…overdressed…this is not London,” expressed Viktor.

I pushed him from my side. “Someone just told us to meet you here without details!”

“I should have said we wanted a greasy pizza.”

I looked over at Harry who wore white.

“Will that be okay with you all?” Viktor assured, looking between us. “It's just around the corner. A little family place I've been going to since I was a lad, and somewheres where camera usually don't follow.”

“Not a problem the slightest. I'll just be a bit careful, that's all.”

“Good!” Viktor proclaimed. “Greasy pizza for all!”

“Yeah!” exclaimed Zuzanna.

“Whoohoo!” I shouted, scaring some nearby crows. They cawed, being disturbed, and hastily flew away.

I withdrew. “Oops…”

Harry chuckled and pulled me to him.

***

“Who in their God-forsaken, bloody mind would create a tournament of which dragons try to kill children. I mean, honestly, what the Hell? Whatever happened to running to a finish line?”

I had this huge slice of pizza in my hands, twice the size of the hand of which was trying to hold it, so I had to double up. I laughed at Harry's statement, with Viktor and Zuzanna too, because it was true. Who on earth would think of such a thing? I was glad Kingsley was trying to…find alternative projects for any other future Triwizard Tournament.

“It's like some crazy bird down in her basement thinks of these things! Idiots…!”

Viktor took a swig from his beer mug. “They should have renamed it, `Ten thousand ways to die'.”

“Oo…,” I winced, and glanced at Harry.

“Yeah…”

“Ah, yeah… Cedric. I'd forgotten about him.” Apologized Viktor. “Poor lad. Just goes to show how absurd the fiasco was. I remember asking headmaster why we had to go, and was said was `it's tradition'.”

Harry put on a smile. “So, you said there wouldn't be photographers?”

Harry motioned over to the windowed wall looking out at the street. A fair lot had mingled into a group, their cameras flashing at every little thing we did. I bet they caught the very breath I breathed for some front page; though, I didn't recognise any of the “usual” crowd.

I always carried my aviators for such the outing.

“Ehh…,” Viktor sat up straight and gazed over them. “They're local. No bother. I've seen them before. None of that Prophet trash.”

“That Rita has tried to smear the modeling company Zuzanna works for on top of bullying my friends,” ended Viktor, coming back to his fourth slice of meat pizza.

I had a beer to my lips when I asked, looking above my mug at Zuzanna, “You model?”

“A side-occupation. My real love iz literature.”

“She's a librarian,” touted Viktor, looking from Zuzanna to us. “She has smarts I lack.”

“Aw…,” I leaned my head to the side and pouted at Viktor.

“Don't put yourself down like that, mate. Intelligence comes in many forms,” noted Harry.

I smiled at Harry, setting my beer down.

We were in a cozy little booth meant for four. Red leather seat cushions with a hanging light above our table. I had my legs crossed, my thigh touching Harry's, my laying against his. We'd been playing a calmer game of footsie, just enough to know we were there. A pizza on stilts, the pan on a pivot, rotated with half meat and half vegetarian. The other three munched on the meat side while I fended the vegetables. Harry dabbled.

“Only for de while, though,” Zuzanna looked over at Viktor, and then back at us. “I'm pursuing university in the spring.”

“How exciting!” I replied. “I've registered for fall session. What will be the base of your curriculum? What are you majoring in?”

“Eighteenth century lit. Is fascinating.”

My eyes lit, and I focused over on Viktor who looked rather smug.

“What will you be, as you say, `majoring' in?”

“Music. Singing, to be specific.”

“You sing?” asked a curious Zuzanna.

“She's brilliant,” piped in Harry, his arm falling from my shoulders to my waist. “Really astonishing.”

“I'm not that good,” I pushed on him with my shoulder. “Nothing special.”

Harry leaned to his right and glanced at me with an eye roll, “Pfft. Says the one who will blow Oxford's mind.”

“Maybe we get you to sing a song sometime?”

All eyes fell on me after Zuzanna spoke.

Viktor began the call, starting low.

“Sing… sing… sing… sing…!”

Their fists began to hit the table.

“Sing… sing… sing… sing…!”

“HOW ABOUT THAT GAME?!” I yelled over their now loud chantings.

All three of them burst into laughter.

***

Zuzanna got a call on her mobile and stepped aside a moment when we got outside.

Harry had to use the loo.

Night had fallen, a billion stars twinkled at me, my head, my eyes on them as I tilted my head back. I stood beside Viktor, after having to shoo stragglers capturing us on camera. In the face of a bear, you will run, and so did they—Viktor laughing it up while they scurried down alleys.

“You rarely see this many stars in the London sky,” I sighed, my arms crisscrossing my chest.

“Maybe you and Harry should come visit Bulgaria often. I could show you all some sites out of town that would make your dropping jaw.”

I smirked at Viktor at my right.

“If you ever need me, please write, Hermione. Your post will follow whether I'm on the road or home. You're both welcome at my place even when away. I'll give you key, here—“

He started undoing a key from his keychain, the metal jingling together.

“Oh, no, no. Stop,” I chuckled, hands up.

“Yeah,” Viktor scratched the back of his head. “I would need it to get back tonight. I'll have new ones made, how's that?”

I smiled. “I appreciate the thought, I really do. And, Harry would say the same.”

“None of that trash would follow you.”

“We'd only bring it with us in time.”

Viktor sighed, defeated.

I didn't like to see him slouch.

“She's pretty, you know,” I chimed in, nudging him with my arm to coax him out of the mood. “And smart.”

“Is it odd that she likes books?”

“No?” I rose a brow.

“Because…,” he cleared his throat. “I like her, a lot.”

“She's adorable.” I grinned.

He grinned. “Thank you, Hermione. You really are my best friend.”

My grin widened, and I glanced back up at the stars.

“Sorry for leaving,” said Zuzanna coming aside Viktor. She had her hands in her purse, adjusting I'm sure the mobile around.

I saw her hand go directly to Viktor's, and Viktor squeeze it.

I smiled at the loving scene to smell a sweet waft of pumpkin, and then hear Harry beside me.

I took his hand, and Harry, interlacing my fingers, squeezed it.

We stood there in silence, bellies full and happy, just looking up at the shining starlight and waxing moon above our heads. The air couldn't have been fresher, the wind couldn't have been more gentle… It was…nice, for a change.

“When are my friends leaving?”

“In the morning,” answered Harry to Viktor's question. “Sometime, maybe the afternoon. We've really nowhere to go but back home, screw around.”

I laughed a little from my nose.

“Maybe we all get breakfast in the morning? I know a little place…”

We laughed at Viktor's, “I know a little place”.

He knew all the places.

“Sure, mate,” replied Harry. “It's a date.”

“Nine?”

“Sounds good.”

As we said our farewells for the night, and hugs, I went to embrace Viktor and told him, “Thank you for sending those tickets to the game for his birthday. It means so much to me and Harry.”

“You're welcome,” Viktor acknowledged, giving my back a pat. “You all are really my good friends. I'll be sure to send any others in the post.”

“Thank you, Viktor.”

“Don't mention it, best friend. I think about you and my brother lots.”

***

THE EVENING PROPHET

DEATH EATERS, HYPOCRITES, AND THE LAW

Fans of myself, and readers of the Prophet, today I received a personal letter addressed to myself and our media business in reflection of a rumor with no base, a spin created by the hippies over at The Quibbler to discredit us. Here is its disclosure for future reference of our hypocritical government body:

From the Desk of Timothy Toulsen,

Press Secretary to Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt

Dear Miss Skeeter and The Daily Prophet media,

We are informing you and your business that, starting today, there will be an on-going investigation into the matter of communications with enemies of the nation. Any evidence, small or large, found will be held against you in a court of Law and all employees will be charged, accounted for, and persecuted to the fullest extent of the Law. In that time, your business will be seized by the British Ministry counsel, et al. The British Ministry counsel will see fit consequences of the business after that time with proposals to close and to strip all media licenses.

The Ministry urges you to comply immediately or we will act swiftly. If you can assist with the capture and persecution of any criminal, we would greatly appreciate it. Any defiance against what is written can be held against you and can be considered evidence.

Remember: you are our nation's child first.

Threatening, is it not? Minister Shacklebolt, or “Minister Holiday” as we like to call him around here, is breaking his own Law. The Law that governs the people, the Law that the people use to govern themselves: freedom of voice, to choose for or against a choice. By attempting to silence, to threaten a voice, is an attempt to relinquish our freedom to speak, to communicate, to act. The Prophet understands the world, but we are also journalists. We take pride in our journalism. The Prophet is sold worldwide with sales soaring to new levels. Our readers want to hear our voice, and we want everyone to exercise their right to speak.

For our governmental body, the Ministry to keep us from discussing issues is disgusting and deeply unnerving. We elect our own to keep those Laws in check. Maybe we should seek a new version of the elect? People who understand that free speech is appropriate on all spectrums? The Prophet will, as we always have since our infancy, practice our freedom. If myself, or anyone working at the Prophet produces a telling story we will approach it as we approach everything else, and protect our award-winning journalists. Take note, if I were to interview a Death Eater, I would do it in the means of my own personal freedom and choice. If I am taken to court by such matters then our elected have failed, and we must push removal or our free society is lost. Isn't that what you've pushed for Minister?

Reader: place pressure on our Ministry! Resound your voice as we all should! Write, call, rally—for who else will when we are backed into a corner?

Rita Skeeter

Writer

Chief Editor

Page 1

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44. Trips

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: Everything is going so well. Get-togethers with the Grangers, wedding plans, a strengthening of our couple's relationship… Until…

***

Chapter Forty-Four - Trips

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

WANTED: BRAINLESS WITCHES

{A moving photograph is positioned in the centre of the front page. It's of Hermione and Harry, but moreso Hermione, the focal point. Taken in the deluge of the Bulgarian-Lithuanian game, the reader can see her jumping for the Home team, but more importantly, the rampant sexuality from the wetness of her shirt, tight jeans, and her stomach showing. Harry can be seen in the background, an arm around Hermione}

Fathers, mothers, parents of girls and young women, this is their “idol”. Long are the days of women being modest. As a strong supporter of uniforms in schools, and a believability of women being concealed, this is alarming.

Hermione Granger: look at her. This is a warning. It's already a struggle to keep children to stay children, the evident hyper-sexuality of our young girls brought up by personas in public forums like Shade Epsilon, which has sold enough of her new record to go platinum. I don't see many middle-aged folk scurrying to purchase Epsilon's lyrics; our daughters are the ones digesting the anti-feminine sentimentality. Do not forget those in magazines, too, which the Potter's—and I must say this bluntly for V-Day is coming for Savior-boy and his trophy—were said to have joined up with one such model to be exploited by her sexuality. Isn't this the same definition as “prostitute”? Don't prostitutes spend sexuality in order to gain monies? Shade Epsilon, her album's picture displays a so-called, “Lolita”-look. What is this? Are we headed for all girl's to be unclothed and walking the streets naked? This social pattern we must be vigilant of or face an honest consequence of all our youth succumbing to pornographic imagery. Hermione Granger used to be very chaste, a carbon-copy of pro-female. Now she's signed-on with a rising club of sexual attraction.

A bad example for all and another rotten apple from the tree of Life.

Potter, pick up a quill and write an apology to the Weasley's. You could have done better, dear.

In a recent poll done by our sister cover, Witch Weekly, the problem is greatly addressed by our public:

Do you believe social trends from our most famous overtly convey sexuality?

Yes - 47%

No - 39%

Unsure - 14%

Do you believe female socialites convey too much sexuality?

Yes - 61%

No - 31%

Unsure - 8%

The percentages speak for themselves.

Rita Skeeter

Chief Editor

Writer

Page 1

***

“Aw… Look at you two,” Mum had her hands full of photographs I took while Harry and I were in Bulgaria.

Sitting with my legs underneath me, I held onto the portion of black sock outside a dark blue jean dress. I had my elbow on the back of the sofa, seated sideways, my fingers near the black band atop my head. The band couldn't keep the usual bits from falling over one eye, looking at mum pick one out and slide another picture behind the stack. My various black rubber bracelets had slid down from my wrists on that arm, the others still kept about my left hand.

We'd come over, something my parents wanted to happen more often by their vigorous, repeated calls. They weren't in fault for being too demanding, they just wanted to be within our lives. Besides, I was their only child, and a daughter to boot. Not that they needed to keep their eye on Harry—they acted as if Harry was one of theirs now, anyway—but, they were… Well, mum and dad, especially daddy and his protective paternal instinct.

Harry was outside with him and his love for automobiles.

“Wow, you guys are soaked to the bone here,” mum showed me the picture I took after the game. Harry and I were still inside the arena, right there at the reserved balcony overlooking the pitch, and we were thoroughly drenched as pointed out.

Harry had his arms wrapped fairly securely around my chest whilst I held the camera facing us to take the snapshot.

“It was terribly hot,” I replied, seeing mum exchange for the next in queue. “By the end of the day I think everyone was glad it rained and there were a lot of us. Frankly, I was surprised. I was expecting less than…there had to have been thousands.”

“Your hotel suite was very pretty, and spacious for just the two of you. I like all the white and gold here. Did you use the kitchen?”

“No, we mostly ate out.”

“Waste not…”

“Mum,” I sighed, feeling mum go, well, motherly. “It was Harry's birthday. I wanted to get him the best I could afford…with him insisting to help fuel the charge… Beside the point, Harry deserved it.”

“The landscape is gorgeous. This was the view?”

“Yeah, all of that,” I pointed out the lake, the mountains, the sunset… I smiled. “That's what we had to wake up to. Fairly different than London, eh?”

“And there's Viktor.”

“Mhmm…,” Mum showed me the photograph of our group which was taken after breakfast. All of us were smiling, happy… You'd think these faces never saw the badness, living their lives carefree.

“He's still very handsome, I see.” Mum knew who he was. Viktor being the first true time in my life that I was actually accepted as a woman, rather than “one of the boys,” so of course she knew who he was. He was my first crush, and first kiss… A mother's intuition, even through the post, she knew I'd been struck by the lovebug at Hogwarts. He's one that I can count on, and someone who quickly established himself as one of my better friends on his mannerisms and respectability.

“Who is this hanging on his arm?”

“That would be Zuzanna,” I had to switch legs around for one began to fall asleep. “His girlfriend. She's nice.”

“She's very, very pretty,” exclaimed my mother at the obvious.

“She is,” I nodded in agreement. “And, she's going to a university in the spring.”

“I wonder how that will come out with Viktor being on the road so many months.”

“They'll make it work. They're happy, and I'm glad Viktor has someone so wanting to be with him for him, and not because he's `Viktor Krum'. They couldn't keep their hands off each other while we were there.”

“Almost like another two I know,” Mum leaned in and wriggled her brows.

“Oh, mum…,” My hand went to my face and my nose scrunched up. I laughed a little and shook my head. “Heavens, I have no idea who those are at all. Quit being such a busybody!”

Mum gave a hearty laugh. “It's my job, dear.”

Mum took a closer look at the photograph. “You know,” she said tilting her head a bit to the side. “She sort of resembles you. A little taller… Yeah. Did I have twins?”

I snorted and nodded. “Yeah, Harry pointed the resemblance out when we left the first night we all got together. Maybe he fancies brunettes? Guys tend to follow patterns.”

“Or,” Mum's eyes widened, slipping the group photo behind the stack to take the next. “Maybe he still fancies you. He's a good guy.”

“Harry's a perfect gentleman.” I interjected.

“Well,” Mum shook her head around. “I'm glad you're getting married to him.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Mum grinned, gazing at the new photo. “Because it seems like, if any other broad sunk her talons into Harry you'd kill `em.”

I leaned my head back and laughed, shaking my head, those strands of saturated brown covering my left eye swaying. “Well, maybe not kill per se…”

“…Maim,” I laughed, doing a little bounce with my head and shoulders. “Good chance.”

I let out another laugh, and so did mum.

“You're hysterical,” She retorted, then followed up by stating, “He would have been a good guy. Harry is the guy.”

I smirked. “Right! There you go.”

Mum went silent and immediately looked up from a following picture, a shot that I'd taken of these quaint alleyways we strolled through on our last day there. “Do you know what I just thought of?”

“What?”

She turned to me. “For someone who told me she, `never thought she'd ever find a boy,' boys have been at my baby's heels since she was born. What with Harry, and Viktor, and that… Ron fellow, and I'm sure you've had loads—“

“Mother!” I gasped. “You're making it sound like I'm some woman of the streets!”

“—And that Longbottom guy, wasn't he—“

“Neville's like a brother!” I said this quickly, slipping it in-between mum's grocery list of chaps. I made a face and stuck out my tongue. “Blah…”

Mum finally settled back into the sofa. “I told you how many times back then?”

“Well, I honestly thought I'd live the rest of my life on my own. I thought I was the worst!”

“Gotta listen to mummy every once and a while, kiddo,” She was smug. “And now you've snagged quite the catch, and your father and I absolutely adore Harry. He's so very sweet, and kind, to you most importantly, and a respectful young man to everyone…”

I pushed on mum's shoulder. “You're simply terrible…”

“Well, I love you too, Cupcake.”

I just smiled and shook my head.

The aroma of mum's cooking, of honeyed turkey, of a cheesy mixture of spinach and macaroni, of steamed cauliflower and buttery rolls, all mishmashed in the den. I had been helping her, doing whatever I could for dinner whether that be getting her spices or setting the table. We had tea or wine, and we waited for the men to come in from playing outside. And just when the television meteorologist started describing this afternoon's weather did we hear the thump-thump of boots on the wraparound porch.

I was the first to get up from the sofa.

“That would be your father,” quoted mum, picking herself up from the sofa, too.

I hurried on over to the pentagon-cutout, a window in the door. Peeking out, not only could I hear Harry and daddy laughing, I could see them laughing, shaking off the rain, wringing out their sleeves. Nowhere near as wet as what we got in Bulgaria, Harry's mane still matted to his face, black curls at the back of his neck. I grinned, daddy and him talking away.

I skipped into the kitchen where mum wandered off into and began scooping and bring bowls and saucers out to the table.

Mum uncorked the wine and put the bottle on the table.

I heard our main door open, the growing rain, and daddy:

“…I drove on bald tires before a long time ago. Not something I'd ever do today. I'd be worried sick. So, if your friend says he's driving like that tell him it can cause him some serious trouble down the road, literally.”

I glanced up, putting the spinach casserole on the table, both of my hands in mittens to keep from scorching, and smiled seeing daddy and Harry meander into the dining room.

Harry gave me a quick smile, but then looked back at daddy. “Yeah, he's new at vehicles and driving. He wouldn't know what a bald tire would even look like.”

“He definitely needs some new ones,” Daddy slipped behind mum as she was coming back into the dining room with the ham. She set the pan the turkey was in down at the centre of the table, standing back straight to be taken. I watched them kiss and began my trek to Harry, taking the mittens off and placing them on the table.

“Your wet, go away!” Mum chuckled and I heard daddy laugh.

Forever flirting, and in love.

“Get caught in the rain?” I asked Harry in a smile.

“A little,” Harry jested.

We gave each other a peck-kiss.

“I'd give you a squeeze if it weren't for the…,” Harry motioned at his wet shirt, long-sleeved with the sleeves rolled to his elbows.

I noticed a smudge of grease, I supposed, on his shirt, too.

“Hey Harry,” called daddy after his barrage of mother.

She escaped into the kitchen.

Harry glanced from me, “Yes sir?”

“I have several shirts and jeans upstairs if you really need to change. Probably a bit big on you.”

“That's all right, sir,” Harry smiled. “But thank you.”

“Don't catch a chill, young man. It's not worth it.” Daddy took his eyes away when mum strolled on by with a separate dish of melted cheddar and gave her bum a pat.

“Freddie!” resounded mum sharply and in a bit of a astounded laugh.

I just rolled my eyes.

“Hey!” Daddy caught my eye rolling. “We're still young!”

Harry chuckled into his fist.

“Nothing these kids wouldn't know…”

“Freddie…,” mum scolded him, side-stepping for daddy tried again. She ran into the kitchen to escape again.

“This is the stuff I had to live with on a daily basis…,” I covered my eyes.

I felt Harry's hand stroke my back, his body an inch or two away to keep from messing my attire.

“The deal is still on the table,” said daddy as he crossed our paths on the way upstairs. He said this to Harry, looking at him. “Come on up if you want. I'll find you something to wear.”

“Parents…,” I was…slightly embarrassed.

I'm sure Harry could see the rose in my cheeks.

He smirked when I shot a glance at him askance.

“Freddie can help you if you're cold, dear,” restated mum when she came back from the kitchen.

“That's all right, Missus Granger. I'm fine.”

I put my hand on a place where the rain had gotten him good and felt the remnants icy to the touch.

I squinted my eyes at Harry and turned to mum, “Nothing a wand wouldn't take care of—we'll be right back.”

I took Harry by the hand and pulled him up the stairs.

“Hurry back down soon, Cupcake!” rang mum.

We went over a creak in the wooden floor, a same old creak that had been there since I was here. The target was my bedroom, for privacy, for Harry wasn't going to get sick. I wouldn't have it. He tries to tough it out, and this might be trivial, but it'd take only a few minutes to dry off if he didn't want to put on a spare from dad, toss his in the dryer.

“I said I was okay, love…”

“And, I say you're not,” I shut the door behind him when I'd gotten him into my bedroom. Unchanged, it still was very… “Hermione”. Books spread throughout the room, and where there wasn't a book, music, art, or other hobbies of mine held its place.

“Strip,” I demanded, my hand fleeing to a pocket on my dress in finding my wand.

Harry went to take his shirt off, but stopped at my word.

My mind was into my actions that when I finally saw him at a halt did I stop my actions, wand in-hand.

I paused.

“What…?”

“You always want me naked, but here?”

I had to rewind until I found…

I rolled my eyes. “Only you…”

I thought a moment. “I don't think I've ever said that to a boy in this room, nevertheless had one in here to say it…”

“Guess it had to be done at some point,” I laughed in amusement. “How pathetic.”

I heard Harry growl low.

My eyes went back to him.

“Down boy…”

He took off and I shrieked.

***

Harry stood beside me, down to his black, pin-striped shorts.

We had made it into my bathroom after he chased me around. I had his trousers on the counter, the tip of my wand tracing an outline of the rainwater stain in one spot, and then moving onto another one. Only the bigger patches I worried about; though, in reference, I think I had to worry about my fiance more. Harry had his arm about my waist, his hand on my hip. He moved into me, kissed the top of my head whilst I dried his clothes with a spongify spell and slowly would let slid his fingers along the closest buttock.

I had to swat his hand away when he lingered, giggling, snatching a gaze at him beside me only to find when he went back to my hip those curious fingers slide right back down.

I arched and squirmed from him, trying diligently to dry his clothes to be so rudely interrupted.

I smacked his hand away again.

He laughed and squeezed me, now that he could, in an embrace.

He had my eyes close, removed from my focus, when he kissed me.

When my eyes opened, barely, being pulled into another kiss, I saw me, him, us, his pectorals, his abdomen…

Hermione!

A voice inside my head screamed, “Foul!”

I smiled, feeling Harry's fingers lightly grip my hip harder, and had him slide his hand back down to my arse.

I reveled in this low, lingering arousal we always had when we were together.

He gave my bum a well-earned swat, and then rubbed the area with affection.

I stuttered a breath in our kiss.

“You're really warm…,” Harry mouthed in whisper when he could.

Our kiss was tender, and gentle, and slow.

I stammered off his lips, eyes slightly aflutter and gave his chest a pat. “You, uhm… Heh…”

I breathed, audibly, calming my rising heartbeat.

“What's wrong?”

“Mum, daddy…,” I had my eyes closed, my hands on the counter. I laughed a little through my nose, opening to see our reflection. “You better put your clothes back on.”

“Oh,” Harry, having stopped everything, merely laughed at his found answer. “Ohh, right. Mm…”

He turned my head, his finger at my chin, and lightly kissed my lips. “Thank you,” he said when my sight returned, looking into my eyes.

My eyes widened, a withheld breath, and I let the breath out.

I grinned, arms crossed, my hip against my bathroom countertop, and watched Harry slip one leg into his trousers.

Even putting his clothes on I couldn't see anything that wasn't completely…sexy.

I laughed at myself, and how much time had changed me from a wee, `ittle bookworm to a woman with fulfilled…and fulfilling dreams.

***

“Thank you for the delicious meal, Missus Granger. Everything was really good.”

We had our hands loosely together, fingers laced.

Our feet were together with my left calf over Harry's.

One wouldn't think anything had ever happened, now over a month ago: the dining room ground zero of destruction, chairs, the table, cabinets, the wall behind daddy and mum with family pictures in frames smoldering in flames. The chandelier, its many shards of crystal glass all as they were before, bright in colours of the rainbow by the candle-like bulbs. The team tasked in reconstruction really did well piecing the house back whole. I'd have to write to the Ministry and show them my gratitude, my family never knowing anything at all occurred—and thankfully.

“You're very welcome, Harry. Always a pleasure.”

“Em, you and baby girl can get this?” asked daddy, putting his wine glass down from his lips. “Harry and I were talking outside before the rain came and—“

I cocked a brow at Harry, giving him a little tug to get his attention. When he turned to me his face didn't allow any reaction, to my discontent. What were they scheming?

“Yes, yes, go let out all the testosterone, please!”

Daddy laughed and gave mum a kiss, “We'll be sure to put the place back together after our wrestling match.”

Harry smiled.

Moving to Harry's ear, I asked him, “What's this?”

“Come, Harry boy,” Daddy pushed in his chair. “To the den.”

“Yes sir,” Harry started to get up and said to me, responding, “It's about the wedding…”

“What about the wedding?”

“Pounds.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm trying to get your father into letting me burden most of the bill.”

I laughed, utterly amused. “That'll be quite an uphill battle. He's a staunchly one, won't budge, especially when monies are involved. You're going to have to learn when daddy says he'll do something, he'll want to do it.”

“We'll just see…,” He took my chin and kissed me, and then gave my head a pat. “I'm stubborn, too.”

“Oh, how I know…,” I sighed, rolling my eyes and watched my beloved go off towards father and the den.

***

Dishes removed, cleaned, spotless, and put away, all that was left was to pack Tupperware with excess for the both of us. Turkey sandwiches and spinach casserole for days to come, and by mum's prowess with the culinary no one complained.

“So, did you two slug it out then?” I'd come from the kitchen, around the sofa and plopped beside Harry. I imitated as if to look around the room, tucking loose strands behind my ear. “I don't see any blood stains.”

“Nah, but your dad's about to throw something at the telly,” Harry laughed.

I pulled my legs up onto the sofa, my knees touching Harry's thigh. He welcomed me in, arm upwards and then down, snug between the sofa and my middle. I found his empty hand and slid my fingers between his, playing with them subconsciously while looking over at father who shouted:

“Complete, and utter morons. It's like they can't spell for shite.”

“Freddie!” scoffed mum, coming to sit on daddy's recliner armrest. “Language!”

They'd been watching some game show, the gist involving letters appearing at intervals with each new letter ticking off the total the contestant would receive if he had answered sooner.

“What? I said, `shite',” Daddy yanked mum down with him which gave me another eye roll instance. “You're so parental.”

“And, you're so vulgar, I swear.”

“Well, if they'd let people on with half a… The answer is `conservatoire'!” He yelled at the telly.

Harry laughed and I smacked his shoulder, “Don't egg him on!”

“But, it's hilarious.”

“Buggers…,” Father, remote in his hand, switched the channel. “There has to be something better on… Harry!”

“Yes sir?”

“What's on your mind? Thriller? Comedy?”

I laid my head against Harry's jaw and further snuggled into the shape of his toned figure.

“A comedy sounds good. Not so much a thriller fan.”

“Sure,” His surfing ended abruptly when he found… “There we are!”

“Oh no…,” I hid my face.

“How many times have we seen this, Freddie?”

“What is it?” asked the befuddled Harry, outcast by the unknown by which was to come.

Daddy went to get up, having to adjust with mum half on him, his hands at the ends of the armrests to propel him forward. “What? You haven't seen Young Frankenstein?”

“No sir.”

“It's one of daddy's favourites… He's seen it, we've seen it dozens—“ I'd whispered to Harry by his ear, to be halted with daddy's voice.

“Then, you're in for a treat!” Daddy was up and headed towards the kitchen. “Going to pop some popcorn! Do you like butter on yours, Harry?”

“Yes sir,” Harry nodded, feeling his jaw move against me.

I don't think I really cared what we watched in the long run… I'd become sleepy, the tryptophan kicking in with a warm pumpkin spice remedial sedative.

A two-hit KO.

***

“I can't believe that in a few more weeks you'll be starting Oxford,” Harry had his hand inside my shirt, the cotton fabric of my sleeveless vest stretched, his fingers along the indent of my spine. I laid on his lap, my chest, my head on my arms, on his lounge trouser-clad thigh which I used as a pillow.

My eyes opened and closed with each rhythmic rub from his massage, my face towards him.

“My tiny genius.”

I smiled amongst shutting my eyes. He'd hit a sweet spot on the upper reaches of my back, right where the blade of my shoulder lifted.

The television was on, but it was on low, intermittent flashes on our forms in a barely lit environment of Number Twelve. We left from mum and dad's, showered, changed, and Harry made us a snack of peanut butter and jam to tide us over until the morning…or afternoon, whenever.

Slightly turning to further face him, I questioned, “Today was good, yes?”

Harry grinned. “Fantastic. I like helping your dad on his old cars, hearing his stories. He gives good advice.”

“He likes to provide tidbits of knowledge whenever he can…,” I grinned, closing my eyes again to Harry's rub.

“I see how you've become my tiny genius with a family like yours.”

I let out a contented sigh. “You're so good with daddy, mum… You don't know how much they tell me they love you.”

“Father-in-law,” I added.

“An excellent father-in-law,” express Harry instantly. “And a mum-in-law.”

I giggled and settled back with my cheek against his thigh.

“Hey…,” His hand withdrew to the curvature of my side, rousing me to peek at what he was doing. “Let me run some soap and water over those plates and glasses, and then we can go to bed.”

He helped lift me as I moved, sitting back on my knees to observe his figure leave the cushions. “Do you want me to dry?”

“No, no,” he said in yawn, maneuvering around the sofa toward the kitchen all the while scratching his abdomen through a shirt. “I'm fine. Lie down, relax, chill. If you happen to fall asleep, I'll carry you up.”

I smiled, flipping around, my hand going above me to fetch the remote on the stand behind the armrest. I flipped through the channels, all the while thinking… That month from Hell felt so far away. Ever since Harry came back it was…cloud nine. Mum and daddy accepted him with open arms, and with daddy's rigidity after the Ronald-debacle that soared points. This darker world, with hate, and evil, and disgust, all seemed to vanish. No Rita Skeeter. No Death Eaters. No mourning. I smiled. I laughed. I hadn't cried since Professor's funeral…since Harry came back.

The television became nauseating, the pit of my tummy gurgling, so I clicked it off. I took a magazine—I didn't care which, just to pass the time—and retrieved one of Harry's many Quidditch issues. I flipped a few pages and begun reading about how the snitch got started. Did you know there was once a day when there wasn't a snitch? How did the players end the game? When one of them practically fell off their broom, a game of endurance. An old match dated a century and more ago had a game lasing more than twenty-four hours. Talk about fatigue setting in…

I made an uneasy face, my lip quivering, my nose scrunching.

Something didn't feel right…

And then it hit me, like a punch to the centre of my gut.

My eyes shot open, and I tried to call out for Harry, but all that came was a dry heave.

I was back in the long, reflective corridor, my image three-hundred sixty degrees.

I rolled over on my hip, went to get up but fell on the floor.

I finally managed to get that damned door open, but to what cost?

I couldn't stand the sudden pain, clutching, as I dry heaved over and over, my stomach.

Beyond, Harry lay in the middle of a snowy floor, a murky pool of vibrantly fresh blood blackening as time passed. Blood poured from a gaping hole, a gash in his skull, his head all but halved. There over his body, Riddle, Voldemort, menacing, smiling, his wand still in his hand, a green flash uniting back into the tip. He was proud, an essence of triumph in his louring smirk.

On my hands and knees, I vomited, the acidic mess getting in any curls which draped.

Behind Riddle…

My vision obscured in-and-out of reality.

Albus…

“Harry…!” I finally could talk, struggling, and screamed him name loud.

I heard a scuffle from the kitchen, something crashing into the sink, something hitting the counter, and bounding footsteps of a hastened pace.

“Oh my God… What happened?! What's wrong?!”

I gazed upward, my elbows feeling weak, my knees wanting to give out…and apologized for throwing up, “I'm sorry…”

This…excruciating pain hit my stomach once more and I groveled, beads of sweat penetrating my forehead.

I wept.

It hurt.

Harry took me by my arms, and carefully, very carefully to not have me wade in whatever came out of me, and carried me off in his arms.

“I'm sorry…,” I said, squirming, holding my stomach. “…It's getting on you…it's in my hair…”

“Hold on,” said Harry with much authority.

One second we were in Number Twelve, the next second it all became white with a distinct smell of strong lemon cleaning fluids.

“I need a doctor over here!!” yelled Harry.

Through slits for eyes, I could see the inside of St. Mungo's… We were in one of their many waiting rooms.

What sounded like several thousand feet wooshed to our side, people in white robes, doctors, nurses, Healers, the St. Mungo's plum cross on their breast pockets.

One of them put a stethoscope on me.

“What happened?”

“I don't know. She vomited and she's in pain.”

“Can someone bring me a stretcher please?”

“Has something like this happened before?”

“She's been having headaches. They're not rare, but they're not common either—it's not a daily thing. Also, her heart—”

I tensed and held my stomach.

“Does she have a physician here?”

“Yes, Doctor Stevens.”

“Yvonne, contact Doctor Stevens for me now.”

I felt like I was going to toss.

“Yes, doctor.”

All the various voices mixed as one, a concoction of varying degrees of echoes…which wasn't helping my stomach or my head, a nagging, rising headache induced.

“I'm going to be sick again…” I managed to get out.

“…Doctor Stevens, Doctor Stevens to the emergency desk. Doctor Stevens, paging Doctor Stevens to the emergency desk…”

I coughed, thinking something would come out.

“Everything's going to be okay, baby,” I'd shut my eyes. Harry tried to soothe me, bundled in his arms. “Everything's going to be okay.”

“Can someone bring me a damn stretcher for Christ's sake?!”

Albus vanished… Leaving Voldemort to taste the redness dripping from Harry's cracked cranium… The redness trickling down his cold-white fingers…

He showed me…

That something finally came out, a yellow-and-white stickiness now on Harry's shirt.

…Death.

***

The Quibbler

Honoring Britain's Best

Dear readers, it has been a long week this week hasn't it?

We bought shovels here at The Quibbler, but we didn't buy enough. And, the ones we did use weren't big enough for all the dishonorable injustice being flung around by the larger, “mainstream” media. I'll say, in all honesty, that I have to—unfortunately—crack open the stale pages of a Daily Prophet every morning. Why? To protect friends from Miss Skeeter and the noose she so readily throws around her victim's throats. Head of the Daily Prophet, Miss Skeeter has written books defaming Albus Dumbledore, but boasted praise for Tom Riddle. Can someone help me understand or can I point out the obvious? She and the Prophet systematically attack anyone who has done good for the country, its people, namely Miss McGonagall, Minister Shacklebolt, her “enemies” of the Order, Severus Snape… Hermione Jane Granger and Harry James Potter. Without the actions of these courageous people, we all wouldn't be here today. We all would be slaves hoping to die, and it's true. Even our previous Minister admin, with all its great flaws, tended to shield the common man and common woman from facing these evils headlong.

But, I as well as some on my panel were there, smelling the smoldering ash, the iron of fresh blood, and seeing lives lost left and right. Miss Skeeter wouldn't have a voice today was it not for the people she hates, and this… I will never understand.

It saddens and sickens me.

Hermione is a deeply caring, highly attractive female who is intelligent and humble. To say the least, if I ever have a daughter I'd be quite pleased if she looked upon my friend as her idol, Miss Skeeter. I'm happy to report that most young women and mothers see my perception the very same way. So, why are you attacking her? Why do you obsessively attack her? Do you fear her goodness? Are you scared what she, and others like her, could do to you?

Shade Epsilon uses her concerts to get awareness for heart disease and breast cancer, the two leading causes for death in women. She's thrown galas to promote education. She's presented material, liking to write a children's book one day and has talked openly to the press and in her personal life how she wishes she could do more for the people of Britain. Why do you hate her? It can't be because she sings, or her adverts, because you've aimed your sights directly on her and not the thousands of others. It can't be because she rakes in pounds when you rake in double. Is it because she's openly discounted The Daily Prophet, and you, calling it a “cross between fear-mongering and a bestial bigot”?

Shade, our panel loves you, and we think your shredded-Prophet dress and matching beret are hot. Keep up your brilliant work!

Luna Lovegood

Chief Editor

Writer

P.1

{Additional note: In the UK the term “vest” describes a “tank top”. Don't ask me how “vest” transformed to that extreme. I'll use “vest” and “tank top” interchangeably.

Also, I've taken creative liberty with spells, namely the Killing Curse used here. I remember watching Order of the Phoenix and seeing Sirius get hit by an Avada, and it was a letdown opposed to how it's supposed to be the most frightening of all Unforgivable Curses, not to mention the power Bellatrix was supposed to wield. Moody's teaching of Cruciatus in Goblet felt more formidable. About a third of Harry's head was blown to bits, like it or leave it}

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45. Stress

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: When the pressure's upon you, sometimes things are said. Mix in several painkillers…

***

Chapter Forty-Five - Stress

***

Brownouts.

The lights above my head flickered on and off.

So fast, the dark-to-light got me…

Bedridden.

Sick, I felt like I was going to throw up again.

I wished them all to stop, small lights and large lights, thin lights and thick, some were coloured and some weren't.

I had to close my eyes.

Tired and weary… It actually took effort to close my eyes.

That's when I heard something. A voice, inaudible and toned down which spoke in murmur. It sounded like an argument, or people just talking loudly. I couldn't make out anything, as if I were underwater, my sight matching the same blurriness. My eyes, squints, I tried to focus on the smear and blobs, all black, all shadow, except for those lights which had stopped their incessant blinking.

I tried opening and re-opening my eyes, to clear away the fog.

I heard something, a compression, a waft of cooler air hit my face, hitting my mouth and noise.

I smelled pumpkin, but I saw only black.

Sharper, now, after squeezing my eyelids and trying my best to find similarities of any resemblance, something as these blobs moved around me. I knew I was lying down, a distance between them and me—them, multiple, two, three? Three people…maybe I fourth… I couldn't quite tell. The hospital… St. Mungo's, right? Were these doctors? Why was everything…

Black?

Black…

My eyes shot open and I began to squirm, to grip at everything and anything.

Death Eaters!

I shook the bed I was in, grabbed hold of some strings on me, kicked my legs to free myself from the tightly wrapped sheets. I had to get out. I needed to get out. They were here… They were here! Help! Help! I tried to scream out, but voiceless. I remember gasping, fighting…for seconds…

Pumpkin… I'd gotten so involved in piecing the puzzle…

Warm pumpkin…and a cool hand on my forehead…

I stopped struggling and relaxed…

I remember taking a deep breath and letting it out easy, slowly… In a daze, my eyes flittered, exhausted, body languid… I turned my head towards the hand, the blob… Harry? It had to be…

I went to stretch out, to move…reality becoming cleaner, less grainy…

I looked over, wanting to see more, wanting to hear more…

They were talking again… Talking… Talking to someone—someones…

Suddenly the clearing happened. Suddenly I saw it all, or one, platinum blonde hair slicked back, strong-jaw and robotic, a mannequin in every way and shape possible. Glowing pale skin, striking grey eyes, evident cheekbones carved into what could be considered malnourishment. A lustrously silver snake head poking from black leather gloves shown through fingertip, gazing at me in a fright, mouth open, teeth bearing to bite…

…Draco.

I found myself waking up. My eyes rolling to consciousness, the lights of the room I was in remained…stationary. No flickering. The exhaustiveness I felt before bombastically decided to stay, the very muscle and bone within me so very tired, so tired I really didn't want to move. But, a pain started in my side, and that cold waft of air kept tickling my face.

I began to turn, having to use every bit of my strength to do so. Difficult, but I managed…with help. A hand in my own, I had the pillows adjusted underneath me without actually knowing there was a pillow beneath me. The hand had left mine to do this, only to slide back in my palm and fingers. I held it, whoever it was, for it was…familiar, friendly.

I looked and saw flaming red hair, long, flowing, curly. She wore pyjamas, the various light bulbs surrounding me on, indicating nightfall outside. Not a fashion faux pas by this hour of the night. I smiled at her, Ginny, and she leaned down to my height, and thankfully… Looking up made me nauseous.

“Hey…,” I said through this clear mask on my face. I realised it had to be giving me oxygen, having had something similar on me before.

My voice cracked and I coughed.

“Shh… Shh…,” Gin combed my hair by running her fingers through the front. She delivered a soft kiss to my forehead. I closed my eyes, only to open them again to see her back at my height.

She looked me over. “You know, we really must stop meeting in places like this.”

I smiled.

She smiled, too.

“Harry…,” I got out in a raspy whisper.

Gin grazed my forehead by fingertip and said with a nod, “He's just outside. I'll go get him.”

I straightened my form, squirming to get on my back. I saw a bouquet of roses bedside, the fresh perfume rousing, but not enough. Grinning at my perceived gift, I felt my eyes close. I tried so very hard to keep them up, but ultimately succumbed to sleep the second I found myself surrounded by an aroma of spiced pumpkin.

***

“What happened?”

“You had quite the fit, that's what,” answered Harry, our hands together on the white sheets of my hospital bed. “I'd never seen you that way before, and I've seen you sick. It…”

The three of us were waiting for Doctor Stevens to come in, and any minute now. A nurse had relieved me from many of the lines, the mask on my face when she knew I could breathe on my own, and had given me some water for a severely parched throat. The plastic cup was empty now, fairly thirsty, the ice cubes helping nicely.

Gin was curled up in a chair by the wall. She kept her eyes on me, and Harry, her arms folded, knees up to her chest. The emerald-green pyjamas emphasized that Weasley-red, Saint Patrick would have been proud. She didn't talk, listening.

“I blacked out. I don't remember everything… Like splotches of memory.”

“You went limp after having this…,” Harry glanced away, but came back to me.

“But, you're okay now,” He ended.

“I had this…,” I paused a beat, to find the right words. “You know those dreams I keep having…”

“About Dumbledore?”

“No…well, yes,” I continued, taking the single ice cube left in the plastic cup. I felt it melt cold in my mouth. “But, this time…”

I sort of laughed and shook my head. “…I saw Malfoy.”

“You're having dreams about Draco now?” Harry huffed, sarcastically, playing.

I smirked, but the smirk fell callous. I shook my head again. “I swear he was right here, right where you are…with two other people. I think? I don't know. I'm so exhausted…”

“They drugged you pretty well…,” told Harry. I hadn't known they did anything, but it made sense. I was in a hospital after all, and very…high. Sound, I'm sure they'd send me home.

“Hm… Yeah, drugs would be the only thing that would help me swallow Draco to begin with, let alone him paying me a kindly visit.”

Harry and Ginny laughed.

“He hated me.”

“Nah, he didn't hate you,” he leaned over and kissed my cheek. “No one could hate you. It's impossible. He was just…well, misinformed. Brainwashed by his father's hate.”

My eyes went a bit wide and a bobbed my head to proclaim a `yes'. “But, he hated everyone…”

“Well, I know someone who doesn't hate you,” Harry turned in his chair to Ginny. I looked over at her.

“How did you…?”

“It was…” began Gin. I felt her uncomfortable at that moment. “I mean…”

Harry picked up where Gin stumbled. “She called me. She—“

“I don't really believe in this, but…,” Gin fidgeted, switching her legs around. “…I don't know. I was asleep on Cho's sofa, and I mean really zonked out…No, not by alcohol, so quit giving me that look of suspicion…and I just… I just felt this nagging weight to contact Harry. I didn't know why. I still don't know why. I'd never felt something that intense before, and when I heard Harry's voice…”

“We all were scared,” Harry added, kissing the corner of my mouth.

He'd already tried to kiss my lips, but I didn't want him near my mouth. At least until I could get a toothbrush and mouthwash. The area was off-limits, but Harry, as usual, wanted it anyway.

I smiled at him and clenched his hand.

“I'm really sorry, Hermione. I'm glad I trusted the instinct, but I really want to apologise.”

My eyes immediately returned to Gin.

“I apologise, Mi,” she said again. “For being such a…witch.”

“I'm happy you're here, Gin.”

Harry put his forehead on my side, his nose at my cheek. He nudged me with the bridge of his nose, and I saw Gin smile at our intimacy, but look away indefinitely…or until the door opened and a white-robed Doctor Stevens walked on in. Then, everyone in the room stopped what they were doing or thinking and looked up.

“Ah, Miss Granger! I see that you're awake now and looking well!” Doctor Stevens took the clipped pieces of parchment from the door, the medical records. “Did someone bring you something to drink? I've asked the nurse to bring you something coming up.”

“They did,” I held up the emptied plastic cup.

Doctor Stevens gave the cup a once-over. “I'll be sure to get you something better tasting than plain ol' water. Some blueberry juice, freshly made downstairs in the cafeteria. But, first…”

Doctor Stevens sat down in a rotating chair, quill in hand and dipped the tip in an ink vial. He scribbled quick writing, and Gin stood up while everyone went busy with watching the Doctor.

“I'm…,” She pointed towards the door. “I'm going to let myself out.”

She said this so only Harry and I could hear.

“No, you don't have to—“ I started to say, to see Gin out the door before I could finish. She just looked at me and smiled faintly, her form disappearing. The door shut quietly.

Doctor Stevens gazed towards her exit, the quill and parchment levitating by themselves after he had removed his hands, and looked at us.

“It's okay,” expressed Harry. “She's a friend and just stepped out for some air.”

“Ah, okay,” He rolled on over beside Harry, aside me, and put his arm up on the hospital bed's rail. The quill and parchment followed. “Well, everything seems to point to a lack of fluids, dehydration. The headaches, the vomiting—sometimes in a case like yours with the daily heart medication you'll need to drink a little more than usual. I'm not saying loads, but an above average intake would suffice greatly.”

Dehydration…really?

“What about her heart?” spoke up Harry.

Doctor Stevens adjusted his eyeglasses and gave us both a grin. “Everything checks positive with Miss Granger's heart, beating stronger than before. When I first read the synopsis, her heart never came to mind. Not to say there isn't relativity with the matter—Miss Granger won't have to come in this month for a check-up—but I wanted to know from those who checked her out when she came in if she'd, for example, ate a bad diet.”

I sighed, having not the energy I'd like to argue a case… I was sure, by a quizzical look Harry gave Doctor Stevens, that he'd make my case for me.

“She hadn't eaten anything bad,” Harry began to counter-argue. “Quite frankly it was the best meal we both had in weeks…”

Then again, the truth would have made us look mad.

I took in a breath, sliding back into bed after hearing things was looking fine. The voices started to combine into one droll, numbed.

“What's wrong?” asked Harry, a deep-seated concern in his voice.

“Oh, nothing…,” I exhaled. I turned my head against the pillow to look at him one more time before shutting closed my eyes. I smiled, or I hoped I did. “…Just tired, that's all.”

“She's had it rough, poor thing,” stated Doctor Stevens. I could see him no more, but could hear him wheeling back to the desk. He procured the quill and parchment, scribbling away as he had so prior.

“She certainly has…,” Harry sighed aside me, his lips caressing the side of my forehead.

I felt his hand in my hair, a stroke. I nudged into his palm, and he gave my temple another kiss.

***

Wizard Watch, 211.7 WM, 8:57 AM GMT

{A mix of pop music and metal greets a new morning hour of Lee Jordan's Wizard Watch}

A dark-skinned Lee Jordan sits behind a low-tiered desk with an early talk-radio microphone blocking most of his face. A white collared shirt and navy blue trousers, a Union Jack pin dangling on his shirt pocket. He sets a mug of coffee down, the steam visible off the top, and moves closer to the microphone after the Wizard Watch anthem plays.

A red flashing sign, “On Air,” stops and remains lit.

While the introduction music ends…

“Shit has really hit the fan. Mud-slinging everywhere and who is to blame? Coming up… Now!”

Lee lights up a cigarette and stuffs parts of his shirt into his trouser.

“The economy is falling amidst concerns of terrorism, Death Eaters running amuck with a government in full throttle to produce a miracle out of essentially a cynical country,” Lee dives into his monologue. “Welcome witches and wizards to the Wizard Watch program. I am your host, as always, Lee Jordan. If this is your first time listening to our exquisite program, well, you are in for a treat. I don't welcome falsities. I don't welcome hypocrisy. I am a learner of truth and I search for what is true. In the studio with me this morning is my good friend, Bill McDawson. Good morning, my friend.”

“Good morning, Lee. Happy to be here again. Ready to take on the kingpins?”

Lee sighs angrily into the microphone. “To echo The Quibbler, what a week this has been, eh? What a year 2000 has been for us.”

“It definitely has been an interesting three-fourths of a new millennium. Time to ready a red carpet.”

“Where do we start first…? That is the question. When the monkeys toss their feces, one doesn't know where to begin cleaning up,” Lee takes a long drag of the cigarette. “Let's start with Miss Rita Skeeter's agenda against the wizarding world, and I'm not just talking about within the United Kingdom. This broadcast goes beyond Union Jack. Have you been reading this shit spewing from the Prophet?”

Bill leans over his own, smaller, modern microphone. “You know how I despise that journal, if you want to call shit journalism. It's journalism's black eye.”

“Well, to inform any listeners who don't follow the Daily Prophet—and I'm definitely not advertising for that filth—but there are a select few reading the Prophet who will know what I'm speaking of. That is, this notion of rioting.”

“What?”

“Yes, Miss Skeeter's new personal agenda is to create riots. That's exactly what we need right now when our economy is in the throws and murderers are on the loose. Good job, dumbass.”

“I saw on WNN how people were picketing the administration's decisions in the Commons of the Ministry,” Bill chuckles. “Lee, you're really on it this morning.”

“I wouldn't have to be on if I didn't see what is so blatantly real. I hate people who purposely mislead the general public into thinking something as radical as, and I will testify to this remark, an anarchist. Skeeter and her troublemakers at the Prophet are gathering a crew of thugs to stir the proverbial pot. At this very moment, she is calling upon her readers worldwide to take up arms and oppose authority. By all means it is our right as citizens of a country to debate the politics of one's nation, but there is a difference between asking Parliament and rioting. Asking questions and producing riots is not the same thing.”

“Let's say this, Miss Skeeter. Let's take this into consideration,” Lee coughs into his fist. “Let us take any order out of government. Better yet, let us not have a government at all. What do you think will happen then, Miss Skeeter? Will the economy miraculously rise out of its slump? Will the murderers, Voldemort's lackeys automatically cease to exist? Can someone explain to me how this woman can justify her own noxious statements?”

“Don't ask me. I've always thought she was a loon,” chirps Bill, drinking his own coffee. “Haven't subscribed to the paper in nearly a decade.”

“Not only do we have an anarchist breeding other anarchists,” breathes Lee. “She's now being investigated by the Ministry on the basis of sheltering Death Eaters. Sheltering the same people who killed our loved ones. I was at Miss McGonagall's funeral and it definitely wasn't old age that got her. The same damn thugs she may or may not—let's say she will—bring into…”

Lee abruptly stops. “I can't even go on. It's all so stupidly stupid—bloody stupid, fucking stupid. Thank Merlin we have other news outlets uncovering this plague in our existence. Does anyone think three years ago, four years ago—Hell, five years ago we would be having this conversation?!”

Bill shakes his head in dismay.

Lee looks over at Bill. “And now she's side-stepping. Her agenda is to piss on those who helped—not hurt as she's doing—helped this country back on its feet, cleaned out the hatred. Again, I don't believe we're actually having this conversation!”

“She's pathetic,” Bill puts his hand around the microphone and fidgets in his rotating seat. “Do people actually take her seriously?”

“Yes! People actually take her seriously!”

“Her actions are quite transparent.”

“That doesn't mean anything,” retorts Lee, dragging on his cig. “Sheep need a shepherd to follow. To some, she is their shepherd and she knows it. That's why she can do and say whatever she wants and gets away with it! Look at what she has on her plate now. She owns the biggest newspaper company in the world. Unfortunately, what she likes to continuously state is true. Millions on millions of copies are sold, and nothing, nothing compares. Not even The Quibbler holds a candle, though The Quibbler is making strong strides. Their profits increased around ten percent last year.”

“Didn't I read in the notes that the Prophet doubled their profit margin by nearly thirty percent?”

Lee points at Bill. “And that, my friend, is why I'm on the air. I feel the need to teach those who weren't there. Well folks, I was there in the War. While the previous administration called for a mass exodus of cities and towns, took measures to secure the Muggle citizenry, I faced Voldemort's army head on. Rita Skeeter, on the other hand, was one of the hundreds of thousands to flee Britain. She tucked her tail between her legs and ran.”

“I didn't know that at all.”

Lee nods. “I think she went halfway across the world to escape. Laid low in Australia or something. Regardless, she doesn't know the shit she's talking about. Without Kinglsey, without Dumbledore, without McGonagall, without the Order she loves to dismember as the true criminals.”

Lee counts each person and construct on his fingers. “Without Harry Potter, and Hermione Granger, without Luna Lovegood, without me, there wouldn't be a world where she could breathe.”

“Did you expect any less from her, Lee?”

“No,” Lee sharply answers, crumpling the cigarette in an ashtray. “And that is why I am scared. Every morning when I wake up I see something from her passed on. The hatred she spews given a pass.”

“And that is why I ask you, listeners,” Lee gets close to his microphone. “I ask you, the thinkers, the learners, the believers, the future. I ask you, not to gather torches and pitchforks, but to read and ask questions. I don't expect the Minister to make everything better. I don't expect the media to make everything better. Each of us, every human being out there can make a difference. We all can make this world a better place. The truth is out there, listeners, the information readily available. All we need to do is open our eyes and open our ears. The truth is in front of our faces.”

{The Wizard Watch theme plays, preceding a commercial break.}

“We'll be right back after these brief messages.”

***

The sunlight shining into our master bedroom woke me up. I couldn't tell if it was morning or the afternoon, but I could tell it wasn't overcast. Crookshanks, the naughty kitty, had jumped onto the bed. Wound beside me, he fit into the half-circle my form portrayed through the sheets. I didn't care. Any other time I'd scolded him for getting on the bed, but I was sore. Having come home from the hospital, that last fit really did a number on me. I ached from head to toe.

Crawling upwards was a chore. By wobbly arms and hand, I pushed myself to sit. The orange ball winked open his beady black eyes and stretched his stubby little legs. I slid my hand across my cheek, against the side of my nose, rubbing my eye. A slight headache still within, it was nothing like that night thank goodness. I scratched the backside of my head, fixing pillow-hair patted down. I noticed Harry gone, the king-sized bed to myself.

I could have, and really should have lain back down. But, I craved tea, thirsty, or at least something cold to drink. I inched the sheets off me, Crookshanks hopping down. He stayed at my feet, my feet on the floor while I drew in a breath, seated at the edge of the bed. I felt woozy the moment I pushed off and had to shield my sight, darkness soothing my low, throbbing pound. Wandering over to slip my Merlin slippers on, I paid close attention to my steps. Each step played challenge, my equilibrium gone after being drugged for pain.

I buttoned the large-printed red-and-black flannel shirt I wore. The size of the shirt pointing towards Harry's closet sort, a tent on me which hung passed pink-and-white knickers. With each new fastened button the less cold I felt against my exposed abdomen and chest. I rolled the sleeves further and had to catch the doorknob, swallowing hard and closing my eyes, Crookshanks about my ankles.

“Crookshanks… Go on now… Don't trip mummy…”

He went in front of me, stopping when I did to grasp the rail at the start of the staircase. He'd look back after each stair, watching my slow descent down two bloody flights. I halted on the second floor to catch my breath, fatigued from a constant wash of sickness. I heard the telly on the closer I got to the ground floor. I heard someone in the kitchen, Harry, closing the refrigerator door, doing something with plates, the sink faucet turning on.

A spherical top at the end of the railing is what I held onto, my feet off the last stair. My mind took control, my world swirling. I put my hand over my mouth for I wanted to…alleviate the quavering sickness on my tongue. I burped instead, a wave of uneasiness, a wave of wet cold clinging to the parts of me unclothed. Crookshanks sat in front of me for that bit, and then scurried off into the kitchen.

I re-opened my eyes to see Harry coming from the room with a dish cloth drying a bowl.

“Hermione!” He said, and a tad too loud. My eyes shut again. “What in Christ's name are you doing down here, love?!”

He dropped the bowl and cloth on the sofa, the hard ceramic giving a bounce.

Crookshanks galloped at the pace of his stride over to me.

Harry stroked my arm. “You've got to get rest, baby, or you'll stay sick. You heard what Doctor Stevens said when we left—“

I brushed his hand from me. My eyes gently slipped open a crack, the sunlight completely draining the living space to my unfortunate current state. “I came down here… For a drink…”

“I charmed that cup beside the bed, remember? Like a Walkie-Talkie. All you had to do was talk into it. I would have come up there with whatever you wanted.”

“I…,” I swallowed and took a breath. “…I wanted to come down here…”

“'Mione…”

My lips were straight across, those slits for eyes on him.

“Come on,” He whisked me, taking my feet from the floor in one careful swoop. “You've got to remain in bed and rest.”

He started ascending, my body wiggling within his arms after each additional stair.

I scowled. “I've been resting… All I do is rest… My life, as I know it, is one. Big. Sleep. I'm tired of resting… I want to do—“

We were back in our bedroom.

“No,” He cut me off. “I don't want to see you back in the hospital. We already go there once a month, and once a month is too much…”

The corner of my lips twitched, the scowl certifiably stuck in frown.

The second he put me down, my feet, my legs against the edge of our bed, I pushed him away from me.

I had to grab the bed, having bounded backwards by my push, stumbling with the painkiller clouding my head.

“Leave me alone!” I shouted. Crookshanks, who had followed us back up, hissed at me and fled from the room at the shout.

Harry, taking a step back, eyes wide, gave me space.

He kept stationary, watching me breathe harder after exerting that bit of strength to force him away.

I flipped my annoying flock of loose hair from my face, staring at him through a daze. “I'm tired… Of you always… Treating me like I'm a child!”

“I'm not an invalid, damn it!” I stomped my right foot.

“Now,” My chest inflated, and then deflated after a long breath. I gritted my teeth. “I'm going to the restroom… Can I piss by myself or do you want to come in to wipe me when I'm done?”

He threw his hand up in surrender.

He didn't so much look at me after my tirade and merely pivoted one-eighty and left me to myself…like I wanted.

That throbbing headache picked up and I had to hold the sides of my head, eyes closed.

I felt my way to the lavatory blind.

***

Shuffling with kindness back to the bed, noting how the sway would hurt or help by how light I walked, I finally sat back down on the ledge of the mattress and shifted into the sheets. It wasn't sickness that gripped me, something far deeper keeping my focus…however worthless I felt. I didn't want to shun him. For Christ's sake I loved the man with all my heart. I wore my engagement ring like a Medal of Honour and would only take it off if I knew I'd tarnish the piece which literally and figuratively showcased my whole world.

I just…

He…

I didn't know what was going on inside me.

Harry knew everything, exposing it like his own instances, of dreams he had so many times before but never quite understood them. The people he looked to assist his understanding of the dreadful material were gone, deceased or otherwise not with us anymore. He could write to Kingsley, but Kingsley is no Albus Dumbledore or Minerva McGonagall. They were a rung of the ladder by themselves. Talking to anyone else would garner insanity, and I'm sure would be leaked into the newspapers and other media ad nauseum.

We didn't disregard anything… But, what could we do?

Like Kingsley told Harry, and I could hear his bristly voice as if I were there when he said, “I'll take it from here”.

I wanted to live my life with Harry, and we were trying…taking unmitigated detours down rather badly paved roads. Harry was right. Once a month I would go to St. Mungo's for Doctor Stevens to check my heart. Once a month I was thrown back into a situation where everything wasn't right, something was wrong. Surgery? We've been down that route… I had plans now, and I did feel better… Just not like five years ago when even I, Hermione Granger, could take on the world.

Something was afoot, and nothing to my vast amounts of knowledge connected the dots. Maybe that's why I'm having headaches? I kidded myself.

Leaning over, I took hold of the tiny, ornately-painted porcelain cup and whispered the name, “Harry…”

I waited.

I closed my eyes, both hands wrapped around this tiny cup, and asked again, “Harry… Harry, please come upstairs, I—“

The knock startled me.

My sight went to our bedroom door.

Harry was inside the frame, still open from when I left it going downstairs.

At his feet ran orange fluff, in his hands held a glass of tea.

“I was just calling you…,” I set the charmed cup down on the stand aside the bed and rolled over to exchange it with a cold glass of tea. The outside of the glass was drenched with perspiration, an indication of what was to come…cubes of ice hitting my nose as I took as much of the much needed fluids in as I could.

Harry kept his eyes on me, vigilant of each sip, for I drank fast.

When all was well, he started out, and I caught him at the door with his back to me.

“Harry…,” Though my voice soft, he stopped his trek.

He put his hand on the doorframe and turned around to look at me. He lifted his chin, to say that he recognized my call, and asked in whisper, “…Yes?”

Sliding on my bum, I shifted to the far side, closer to Harry but still at a distance, “I didn't mean to shout…”

“I don't want you to shout… I'm only trying to—“

“I'm sorry…” I started to weep.

“Sweetheart…,” He came back over to the bed, to me, and slid in alongside me. I had to make room, and did so, needing him, Harry pulling away the sheets to get inside.

My voice cracked, Harry pulling me to him. “…I'm sorry. I don't know what's come over me. Stress, I—“

“Shh…,” He had his arms around me, my head just below his chin, my body warming against his. He slipped his hands up-and-down those portions of me which weren't covered. “My, you're cold.”

He withdrew, only to grab the comforter and throw it over us.

Cradled by Harry in the pocket he created, I soon felt loads, and loads better, his aura infinitely times better than any medication. I settled down, Harry wiping away the tears from under my eyes and down my cheeks.

“I don't want you to hate me, I just get so emotional when I can't—“

“No one hates you.”

We went silent long enough for me to run the tip of my nose, the philtrum, the skin of my lips along his chest where I hid inside the sheets.

“…I don't know what I'd do without you.” I said this at his chest, the echo drumming off his smooth muscle.

“You're loved by so many people,” I looked at him, and in the moment he lowered to kiss me. His jade irises, the undamaged and damaged, kept to my own as if to define what he had to say. “Always remember that you're never alone.”

***

I remember briefly waking up to Harry. At my neck, caressing my throat, I'd turned over so my back faced him. He had his arms wrapped around me tight, his head within the crook, breathing in smooth skin and an abstract of cinnamon-and-mahogany strands. Drugged and feeling as if someone casted a Levitating charm on me, I reached backwards, eyes closed, lips in a grin, body like liquid, and clutched deep within his wild curls. He scratched my tummy, lightly grazing from fingertip along a breadth of unyielding flesh and feminine muscle unopposed by buttons. He wasn't rough the slightest, knowing quite well my brain was like the leftover pumpkin after they'd squeezed all the juice out.

He was just expressing, without using his voice… Hey… I love you.

Calming down, he fell back around my slim figure after leaning to get at my hollow, the inside of my shoulder and the upper parts of my chest. He took me up, his front flat against my backside, his arm beneath my head, his arm paralleling my form, between my breasts where I clutched him, and I subsided once more into a medicated slumber.

His hand over my heart.

***

THE EVENING PROPHET

ALLIES ON THE RUN

Long-time allies of the Ministry, of human governments worldwide, have decided to, “Leave this one alone,” says a top official in the British Ministry. With the world stretched thin with War efforts against He Who Must Not Be Named, the Elves assisted in filling gaps. Strongly against the Death Eater uprising, questions have been raised if they see confidence in Minister Shacklebot's new administration or if this is a future epidemic of other magical creatures allied with humankind leaving the International table. Yet, another feather in Minister Shacklebolt's cap. Will the Goblins be next to back down? Time will only tell. Gringotts Bank hasn't been doing well. The supporters of this, our two thousand six hundred and seventy-first administration pride themselves in telling lies. What will happen when we're all alone in the dark? Without the Elves, the Goblins, we would have never had the upper-hand. So, keep on telling yourself good things in the mirror. I'm sure that'll get you very far.

We need a new administration with some brass.

Gus Perwinsky

Writer

Page 2 (cont. on pages 3 and 4)

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46. Rite

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: Gone are the days of Hogwarts… University has begun for Hermione.

***

Chapter Forty-Six - Rite

***

The Quibbler

“Dark Ones” Captured

An overseas faction thought to be North America's version of Death Eaters, the so-named “Dark Ones” were tracked down one-by-one in the northern parts of Canada yesterday. The Dark Elves, with the help of Washington D.C., raided several hideouts and homes where they found Death Eater paraphernalia and means of attacking targets there and abroad. A fight broke out at what was considered headquarters, but no casualties were said to have occurred. A “hundred or more” were taken into United States custody. A spokesperson for the Dark Elves has said that they've “destroyed many networks spanning the continent” showing a “variety of ways to get to targets under government and military radar”. Much like here in Britain, North American travelers must be licensed to apparate, for example, therefore leading to believe there may have been unregistered Floo-type apparatuses or the like. When asked what specifically was found, the spokesperson only said, “No comment”. However, the spokesperson did show us a few pieces of paraphernalia: a poster of Voldemort, hand-drawn, and articles cut from newspapers with one such article being cut from an older issue of The Prophet.

Canadian officials as well as Washington praised their Dark Elf comrades for a job well done. Washington has said that they are “welcoming their brothers and sisters to dinner,” a congratulatory gala after the investigation and meetings. The Dark Elves have yet to accept Washington's invitation, probably due in part of their naturally covert lifestyle. The Quibbler will echo the Canadian officials and Washington in applauding the Dark Elves' performance and assistance to the cause.

Rebecca Greene

Writer

P.1

***

There was something about this day that I knew I'd never forget for the rest of my life. It's that feeling, you know, the feeling you get when you're on the ledge of a cliff looking down. For some reason your mind tells you to, “Jump”. For a moment, you actually think about jumping. How absurd! I was at that cliff, looking down at what could lie ahead in my future. I felt revitalized, and anxious, exhilarated, but at the same time that terrified little girl who first entered the Great Hall at Hogwarts to be Sorted in front of the entire student body.

I plunged, arms spread, eyes wide open, into the first step of the rest of my life.

I woke up.

I hadn't really slept, going into the wee hours of the morning checking and re-checking if I had organised everything that I bought weeks before. If I had enough pens and pencils, textbooks, required literature, some loose leaf tablets, a modern calculator with functions I didn't recognise the least, the clothes I wanted to wear, the accessories, my hair, my… This was a very big deal to me. So much of a big deal that, when I did wake up from the few hours of sleep, I realised I slept with the Oxford Course Catalog and my weekly schedule. All the dates and times highlighted, details underlined, notes scribbled in the margins, tabs of varying colour labeling English, Science, Mathematics, and of course, the specific core Music lectures.

Today was Harry's first day back at Hogwarts; though, I'd been the crazy one who chose my very first class of the semester at 7 AM. Harry didn't need to go into Hogwarts until almost 10, so when I lifted to sit in bed after clicking the alarm off, the time reading five o'clock, he continued to snore.

He had his arm around me, or did, for when I sat up he removed it. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes I yawned, glanced around to room, adjusted the sheets fallen at my hips and stretched upwards. I found irony in the fact that I wore his shirt to bed, and Harry was shirtless. I fell back to him, Harry lying on his stomach, and kissed his upper back, the sheets having been pulled down to the beginnings of his boxer shorts by my waking actions.

I tried to be super-quiet, but by the time my rear hit the edge of the bed he was wide awake…well, five o'clock-awake.

He yawned, asking within his yawn, lying now on his side to face me, “…Want me to fix you breakfast before you head out?”

I twisted to see him, the Catalog and course papers in my lap, “I'll just grab a bran muffin and some juice.”

“Too excited to eat?”

I nearly skipped over to the closet where today's apparel hung separately from our rest. “I can hardly stand it!”

“Toss me your schedule again,” he laughed as I began humming, clothes hangers in my hands.

I traipsed to the bed, handed my schedule over to my now-seated Harry reaching for his glasses, all the while undoing his shirt to shrug off.

“'Unseen Translations of the Classics,'” Harry read aloud.

Bare from the waist north, I had my bra on backwards to fasten, and then rotated the support to slide my arms through the bands. “Uh huh,” I responded, turning around to see Harry watching me. I smiled.

“Only my Hermione would ever think of taking a boring lecture at 7 AM on a bloody Monday,” he winked.

I threw my knickers at him and laughed, exchanging those for a new pair. I looked back to see them on Harry's head. I laughed again at his silliness. “Well, I think it's going to be engrossing! Loads better than being stuck here…”

Harry gasped. “At least I'll have the bed all to myself for those few hours Monday thru Friday.”

I stuck out my tongue, turning my head around to do so whilst rolling on deodorant. “I'll remember that.”

Harry chuckled and pried himself from the confines of our bed, albeit sluggishly. He covered his mouth, hiding a rather large yawn, and scratched his abdomen. “Three hours of maddening literature followed by…”

He stood beside me, leaning against the wall. “Followed by a rousing lecture on `Interpretation of Music'. All of this before lunch… Sounds like suicide if you asked me.”

I glared at him with a smirk, having slid my arms into the sleeves of a black-and-powder blue striped jumper, tailored brilliantly to my slim physique. Connected to the back of the neck sewn a hood. “No one's asked you,” I glanced down for a second, to see to a black button that wouldn't quite go into its hole, and looked back up at a smug fiance.

“Will you leave me be!” I threw his shirt at him this time. I giggled, taking up one of my sand-blasted denim skirts. I wanted to go for casual, though practical: something that would get me through a first day without constantly pulling at an annoying starched collar.

Harry, with what I wore to bed in his hands now, removing the knickers from his head, set down my schedule on the vanity—knowing well how obsessive compulsive I'd get if it were to grow feet and wander away from my sight—and gave my bum a swat. I had my right knee up, stepping into the skirt and had to brace onto the white, wooden countertop to stop from tumbling over.

My eyes lit with a smirk, and before I could get to his arm to smack him, he said, “Just trying to get a rise out of you this morning! God!”

“I noticed!” And thusly smacked him this time.

He bit at me, strolling straight towards the clothes bin afterwards to toss my pyjamas in, and strolled right on out of the room, noting on his way out, “Breakfast of ham and eggs will be done shortly. I'll be expecting you.”

His voice trailed off the further he distanced himself, hearing his steps descending the stairs.

I sighed, shrugged, and paid attention now that I was alone where my feet went into the skirt. At least now, I thought, I could… “…Get prepared without being bothered!” I yelled for him to hear me downstairs.

I heard him laugh, a pan banging around as it was taken from underneath the stove.

I smiled at myself in the mirror, zipping and buttoning the skirt together.

He could have slept through this… But, there was my Harry, and I loved him for always thinking of me.

***

The closer I came to the den, the closer I came to my rock. My entire security, my one, my only, my love—and the breakfast dish he so wanted to prepare for his fiance's brand new endeavor. It got me to thinking about things. Alone, up in our bedroom, putting my black tights on, putting my hair in clips, whilst painting those portions of my face it hit me: this was it. This was my life. Been through so much, him and I, and here we go again. More thrilled and afraid, fear of what was to come still hung in the skeleton closet. It was just… The good, the bad, everything swirling together to produce a new product—and we were guinea pigs.

Right then and there, standing now in the kitchen with Harry setting the last of the table, I didn't know to laugh or to cry.

I rode the wave and reached back for positivity, leaving behind—or trying—all the negative.

Pulling the shoulder strap of my school bag from my form, I put it aside to help…only to be brushed away.

“Sit.”

“I was—“

“I've got it.”

I saw the butter dish, and being as stubborn as Harry seized it from the counter and ran to my seat at the dining table.

I sat quickly and quietly, obviously seen, though played as if nothing had happened.

I heard him laugh, his laughter creeping behind me where he first kissed the top of my head, and then slid a plate of ham, eggs, and whole wheat toast in front of me. “I've left out the butter.”

My eyes on the hot, steamy food before me, I let out a laugh. “Did you check the refrigerator? I could have sworn I saw it in there.”

Harry, walking back from pouring apple juice, sat down beside me with his own plate of the same. “That infamous butter-thief strikes again!”

I couldn't help but laugh.

He placed one of two ice-cold glasses near my plate.

“Did you get everything?” He asked.

I ran down that grocery list permanently seared into my brain.

Harry laughed at how I recalled everything spot on, to the very detail, as if he could see the numerical assort of one to infinity. “You've forgotten the most important thing of all.”

The phone rang, and Harry left to catch it.

His fork knocked against the ceramic.

“Which is what?” I called out in reply, coupling a perfectly squared ham slice with a proportionate prong-full of yellowy-white.

I heard the phone shift from the wall hook. “Your sanity—Hello?”

“Psh.” I grinned. “I'll likely leave it here today. So much to think about, so much to remember… I hope it's something as simple as that, I mean, wouldn't it be just the best if I forgot the first lesson's textbook? Christ!”

“No,” Harry said in the background. “No, we're up. She—yes, yeah…”

“…'Miss Granger, where is your textbook?' Completely embarrassed. I'd run out of the lesson immediately…”

“Hermione.”

Harry's affirmed voice next to me shook me from my babbling.

He held out the phone to me, “It's for you, love.”

“Who is it?” After the tangent, I'd lost all track of thought. Someone was on the phone?

I reached out and retrieved the telephone, my eyes on Harry as I set it to my ear.

He just smiled and sat back down to his breakfast.

“…Hello?” I cautiously said into the phone.

“'Mi, I told him if I caught you at a bad time I'd—“

Gin.

“No, it's fine, really,” I said, though Gin rambled on in apologies beneath. “Really it is, hun.”

“I just wanted to call and wish you luck on your first day,” She breathed. “Are you scared?”

“No…,” Then I felt something bubble in the pit of my stomach. “…But now I am, sort of, maybe.”

“No, no! What I mean was, er—I'd be frightened out of my knickers! You're `Mi Granger. This is like…you.”

I laughed. “Me, eh? Books and cleverness…”

“And too smart for your own damn good, yes!”

I smirked and bit into a forkful of egg.

“I want you to blow them out of the water.”

“I'll try my very best.”

“And I think you're stark raving mad starting a term out at this hour of the morning.”

“Isn't that part of my charm? Me?”

Gin laughed. “I guess so. How are you feeling—as in—“

She stumbled.

“As in, are you well or sick or…”

“Well, Harry's fixed breakfast…so, full, excited, anxious, in some ways I want to throw up…”

“New rule: Hermione can't get sick.”

“If only—I'm overwhelmed, yet in the best mood. I think.”

“You show `em, girl. You're going to do great. I wish I were there beside you.”

“You can come with me. Want to come with me?”

Gin muffled a snicker. “Right, yeah. Let me go find that thousand galleon Gringott account I have again… Now where did I put that damned thing? Let me go ask that tree outside I talk from time-to-time where I last had it.”

I smiled.

“How's the job search going?”

“…Since Neville.”

“Mm…,” I nodded, nodding to Harry when he got up to take my plate away. “That is quite a conundrum.”

“And I'd ask father, but mum has it in for me. We certainly haven't gotten along after…”

“Right, well, I mean,” I started up, my calves pushing the seat of the chair backward. “You can always ask Harry. He has connections with the Ministry. I'm sure he'll help in any way possible. We're like family.”

I turned to look at Harry at that moment, but saw him within one of the cabinets with his back turned.

“Or I'll just look into shops. Maybe Diagon. One of those may be hiring.”

“Well, I'll be thinking about you.”

“And you'll definitely be on my mind today, `Mi. Silently cheering you on, on the sidelines. Just be yourself, love.”

“Sometimes acting like myself gets trouble,” I'd taken and swung my school bag over a shoulder.

“No, if I acted like myself then there would be trouble. You're a Saint. Saint Granger.”

I laughed, and loudly, Harry flipping around from the sink to see me and my expression, my hands adjusting the strap of the bag.

“I love you, `Mi. And, I'll be thinking about you.”

“Love you too, Gin.”

“Hell, it's six—of course you'll be on my mind. No other bloody reason to get up this early for anything else.”

I grinned. “Good luck with the search and get hold of Harry if things don't turn right.”

“All right,” I could see her smile. “Show them who is boss!”

***

“Harry!!”

The more I waited at the fireplace, the more I became antsy.

I could hear myself swallow.

Harry came flying downstairs, his tie dangling around his neck, his fingers creating the hole for the bunny to hop through; though, his focus went right to mine.

The tie unraveled and he had to start again.

“What's wrong?”

I pouted.

He took me in within snapshots, making sure everything physical was fine, though inside…

“You're going to be fine,” he added to my thoughts.

Connected, he knew me.

“…I don't want to come off presumptuous, but… You see…”

He put each of his hands on my arms, his tie knotted, and said with attention, “Look at me.”

Shying away at first for butterflies, my eye level rose to see him.

“Hands down you are the smartest, and most beautiful—“ He stopped to embraced me tight. “And I love you. I swear it will be night and day. You'll laugh at all those little nerves swelling right now later on tonight. I promise.”

“Come with me,” I declared at his shoulder, tightening the hug, my arms about his neck.

“If you want me to.”

I grinned and hid my face in the crook of his neck, between the pocket of my arm and his shirt collar.

We stayed still for that moment, Harry's fingers, each digit finding my spine through the jumper, each tiny notch. The valleys drove a calming, soothing sensation; the peaks excited. I smelled of him one last time before breaking away, but not before he kissed my lips.

“You've got this in the bag,” he noted firmly.

“I've got this,” I repeated, smiling when he did.

I gave him a hug, brief, knowing if I lingered I'd want to linger even more. I pushed myself to stray, to walk on into the waiting hearth. My back turned to him, when I did turn around he had walked my pace behind me. He took the Floo powder from the canister, dabbed a bit of the ashy grain in the palm of his hand and held his hand out to me. I cupped both hands and took the powder, watching the sand fall, and then watching him put the canister back atop the fireplace.

He put his arm, his hand on the side of the brick and leaned into it, grinning as he said softly, “You'll be great.”

I smiled, though my knees wobbled.

“I love you.”

“I love you,” I answered without hesitation, ending with, “…And you take extra care out there! Do you hear me?”

He nodded and chuckled lightly, “I'll certainly do my best.”

“Do better than that. I don't want to come home to see another injury.”

“Keep your phone on,” Harry interjected. “I'll catch you during your lunch break, and you can let off those jitters and tell me all about the morning. Okay?”

“Okay,” I nodded. “Say hello to Hagrid for me.”

“Good luck, my love. If you need me before—“

He could see my emotions becoming real.

I wanted to start crying all over again.

He leaned into the fireplace and kissed me, leaning back out so I could drop the powder.

“Wellington Square!”

The shocking apple-green flames instantly engulfed me.

Before the Floo could take me, I heard Harry one last time within our small distance:

“I love you.”

“I love you!” I called in response, but was unfortunately taken before I could see his gorgeous smile, being swallowed whole and yanked towards the described destination: Oxford University.

***

The Quibbler

No More Kisses

Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt's long-time agenda to contain Dementors came to head this morning when the very last Dementor was banished from Azkaban Prison. Minister Shacklebolt put strong sanctions on Dementor-use, declaring them an “arm of Voldemort” and thusly treated as the evilest of all evils. Criminals instead have been subjected to trials and given their sentences humanely as opposed to previous administration use of the dreaded Dementor's Kiss. With Dementors gone, the lurking fog surrounding the prison lifted revealing parts of the island never before seen by even the guards who have worked at Azkaban for years. One guard of twenty-eight years said, “If it weren't for all the jagged rocks below and the, you know, prison, this would be a nice spot for fishing.”

In a conference, Press Secretary for Minister Shacklebolt, Timothy Toulsen was stated saying, “The excommunication of the last Dementor will be an event depicted in history archives as being the next of many steps glorifying the found freedom of our Motherland. Minister Shacklebolt will be honoured immensely on his courageous acts for years to come.”

Meygan Brookes

Writer

P.1

***

I double, triple, quadruple-checked that my phone was on and silent.

On the grounds, I stopped amongst the busy, bustling swarm of our future generation and gazed at the grand buildings I would consider a home for a while. I gathered my shoulders up, drawing in a deep breath, and let it all out at the monstrous, towering structure—no, scripture of the world, one of the finest institutions. And here I was, feeling…lots of things jumbled and going in the wrong ways. I was hungry. I was thirsty. I needed to use the loo. I was… I took another deep breath and followed the flow of student body into the doors and into the halls where I was met by…familiarity…

Though I hadn't seen anything of this number in comparison to the students at Hogwarts.

Though I hadn't seen anything of this generous stature, this hauntingly surreal atmosphere.

I smelled…the familiar scent of old, dusty books and freshly mowed grass.

Hogwarts.

I smiled, standing there, just taking it all in…to be jostled from behind when someone hit me.

“Sorry!” cried out an older man in suspenders, literature in hands, running somewhere in a hurry.

I guessed I shouldn't stop traffic anymore than I had, the flow moving around me like a log in a river. A hand in my shoulder bag, I shuffled around until I felt the paper, my schedule, the room numbers, and headed for my first class of university.

***

I didn't get lost to the first lesson.

That put me one up for today already!

I found the room, and… Christ, did I find the room. Enormous, each seat was tiered going from the ground floor and spreading at a forty-five degree angle upwards. Three aisles, two on the sides and one directly down the centre. The door stood in the centre, and I stood wide-eyed at how many people were seated. I swore I lost count at a hundred. Learning from earlier, I side-stepped out of the way, letting others in as I scouted for a seat not too far back, but not too close. Maybe deeper into the lesson would I move forward, but I found myself wanting to keep just enough distance.

The first few rows were filled, anyway.

Tucking hair over my ear in my habitual, nervous reflex, I started towards the left aisle and made my way down the slope to a middle section. Having to express a few, “Excuse me's” and “Sorry's” along the route, scuttling slowly to the seat I saw, I finally made it and sat down. I noticed others around me, as I took out the text, my notepad, and a pencil from my bag, that there was a small desk attached to each chair. Sure enough, fastened to the right armrest was a desk that could swing out for every individual.

I tried to get comfortable, biting my bottom lip subconsciously until I realised what I was doing when a guy sat down in the empty seat on my right. He smiled at me, and I did too, swishing my head back forward to see the professor walk down the centre aisle to a large podium on the floor. My eyes followed him, a younger version of a male in retrospect to any teacher I've ever had…prolonging my anxiety and trumping what consolation I'd gotten from the familiar smells.

The professor put his briefcase on the podium and I saw him open it up, pulling out a stack of paper. He looked around the room, at those coming in, those seated, all the while tucking in his dress shirt. He glanced at his watch, moved back over to the podium and picked up what he brought. He quickly went to the first row at the bottom and handed the printed stack to the first person, a young woman like me, and pointed on towards the next woman beside her.

“Hi.”

The person to my right startled me.

I nearly jumped out of my seat, turning robotically to him.

He had his hand out towards me. “I'm Nathaniel Blake, and you are?”

“Oh, uhm,” I had to re-wrap my mind back to some normality. I closed my eyes just enough to collect my thoughts and opened them to shake his hand. “Hermione. Hermione Granger.”

Dark hair, dark eyes and muscular.

His arms were three times the size of mine. It was one of those starkly traits, especially as he wore a black short-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. A messy crow's nest of shiny ebony and big brown eyes beneath glasses, for someone could be considered threatening, he sure came off as a puppy dog. His smile was genuine, and confident, and I could have sworn he could be Harry's long lost sibling…or at least a distance cousin or relative, albeit one that exercises daily.

“Hermione. That's quite an interesting name. New, and very pretty.”

I smiled, if not for someone trying to console my rocky nerves. “My mum and dad have quite the fascination of Shakespeare.”

“Then you're in the right lesson,” exclaimed Nathaniel, sitting back in his seat. “Prewitt, he's fond of early literature. He'll really have you thinking. He's good.”

“You've had him?” I had my legs crossed, my foot wriggling. My left elbow flat on the single desk, I curiously looked at my fellow friendly peer.

“Twice, actually. This is my second term.”

I pointed at myself. “First here.”

“First class?”

“Can you tell?”

“Well, your foot hasn't quit moving since I sat down. I thought you may have been flirting until I saw that ring on your finger,” he motioned to the engagement ring secure to my left ring finger. “Then it all added up.”

I laughed a little. “You're certainly a character.”

“I try,” he smiled warmly. “Though he's fine. Listen, take notes, study and the exams and essays will fly by fast.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“It is,” Nathaniel replied. “University is fun, I'm serious. I suggest joining in on extra-curricular activities, too. Clubs and groups…I'm in a thrilling Lit group.”

“Really?”

“You sound shocked.”

“No, I didn't—“ I put my face in my palm and grinned embarrassed. “I didn't mean it to sound that way. I meant… I don't really know what I meant. I didn't say anything.”

I glanced at him.

“You thought I was all brawn and no brain.”

“No!”

He laughed.

“I get that a lot,” He pointed to himself. “Literature major. I'm that kid who reads in the corner.”

I laughed. “I'm glad to know me and the three other people in the world have another to add to our growing ranks. Maybe by next month we'll find the fifth!”

“Good morning everyone!” Class was starting, the professor stood right smack in the middle and grinned on at each and every tired face. “Welcome to this new term! I will be your professor, Stanley Prewitt. I am also someone you should get to know early for I teach tons of classes involving literature past and present—and future, if you can understand that much at 7 o'clock!”

I wrote down the date in the upper right corner of my loose-leaf and prepared for note-taking.

“I've just begun giving out this term's itinerary, a script detailing the various tomes and translations you all will be reading. Yes, for anyone who hasn't had me, or if this is your first class, be forewarned that this lesson is severely book-heavy which means your nose will ultimately be stuck in-between a novel ad naseum. There will be three essays, one in the beginning, the middle, and at the end of the term. There will also be six exams after roughly two or three texts with one final cumulative exam at the end of the term. If this is too much for you, feel free to go to Administration and choose another one of our varied Lit lessons.”

Stanley Prewitt… Three essays… Six exams… Cumulative final…

I scribbled all this down frenziedly, even though the syllabus would surely be a repetition of what he said.

“Various ways you all can contact me or my assistant is typed at the top of the itinerary for you. Office phone and hours, cellular phone—please do not call me at midnight saying you've forgotten something the day before or I will not be happy—e-mail address.”

The girl to my left handed me the stack of printed paper and I took one, passing it to Nathaniel and onward. I took a minute to see the hours, the phone numbers, an “e-mail address” I wasn't too familiar with and the dozen selected literature material we would be reading and discussing in our lesson. With perked ears, I heard the first novel of which lay in front of me…

“To begin,” Professor Prewitt stuck his hands in his pockets and paced the floor. “We will be studying Iliad. Has anyone read the epic poem yet?”

Several hands rose in the air, including mine and Nathaniel's.

The Professor studied the room. “Good, now can someone tell me a little about the author himself? Something beyond the preface or articles inside the binding?”

I suddenly had the urge to raise my hand.

I'd read the entire list, everything from the Iliad, the Odyssey, to Virgil's Aeneid, Hesiod's Theogany and Sophocles's Oedipus rex and Antigone. I knew it, and yet…halted. I looked around the room and no one, not a single soul even inched in their seats. I looked back at Professor Prewitt who seemed disappointed and began to move on when that defense mechanism burst.

Up shot my hand.

“All right, so, Hom—Oh! Yes!” He pointed at me. “You! And you are? I like to correlate faces to a name.”

“H-Hermione Granger, sir.” I put my hand down and noticed those around me, all around me, looking at me.

I gulped and wished I hadn't raised that hand.

My voice seemed small amongst the huge auditorium.

“Well, good morning, Miss Granger! What can you say about our author, Homer?”

I went to speak to find a catch in my throat. I stopped, closed my eyes found that courageous ingenuity, and began again, “Homer lived during the 8th century BC and the Iliad, being one of his most famous or works, is described as being the most studied piece of Greek literature. Finding the days of the Trojan War exceptionally fascinating, he wrote of themes on a monumental scale which embodied hexameter verse. Because the poems have been passed down by each generation orally, the majority of Homer's tales have come under scrutiny with no one really knowing if Homer was an author or authors of the works. This has been termed the `Homeric Question' with no conclusion in sight for ancient literature historians.”

The room was silent a beat, and I just knew people could hear that hard swallow I took to wet a parching throat…which didn't help.

“Brilliant!” Professor Prewitt's face lit with a smile so wide it over-indulged happiness. “Absolutely brilliant! Thank you, Miss Granger! That was wonderfully executed!!”

My solemn expression immediately flipped.

I smiled, and smiled big.

I could see from my peripherals others utterly spellbound.

With Professor Prewitt going on with the conversation, I heard Nathaniel whisper in my ear, “…Join the Lit club.”

I flicked my head to the right, seeing him smiling to mine.

“We'd love to have you as a member.”

“I'll definitely check it out,” I whispered as quietly.

“Now,” exclaimed Professor Prewitt from below. “Who can give me something they've learned about Homer's Iliad?”

I grinned at the question.

I found it.

I found me.

And it felt…amazing.

My hand shot straight up in the air.

“Ha! Miss Granger! Once again!”

***

10:27 AM GMT, Interpretation of Music

Another gigantic audience of hundreds and none seemed to take advantage. I didn't quite understand, but what happened in my first morning lesson continued on into this one. When a very bubbly teacher adorned in a flowery dress and bushy hair, Professor Turner, asked the audience to engage in a history of classical music, my arm rose without any thought.

The fourth time.

“Again! Miss Granger! What say you?”

I grinned when the Professor became animated by my enthusiasm.

“Jean-Jacques Nattiez stated a viewpoint in which the border of music and noise is culturally defined, implying that in different societies these borders rarely pass through the same place. Thusly, there is no general consensus in defining what can be considered music to noise or noise to music might be.”

“Excellent, Miss Granger! Very, very astute!” She turned to the rest of the class. “In consideration of Miss Granger's quotation of Nattiez, what happens when a culture…”

With acceptance easily coming from the faculty of the university, it truly started to feel like home…and like the days of Hogwarts.

Including some looks I received from members of the lesson.

That didn't stop me from raising my hand several more times in the last hour, and then staying after to discuss with Professor Turner on Nattiez and how Western cultures differentiate greatly to other cultures. It was thrilling, having a few laughs at that intellectual level I craved, and getting to know those elders who could teach me more. She told me she hadn't come across someone “like me” in a while, and she was happy I chose her lesson over any other.

Leaving class and going into my free period, saying I felt like skipping was an understatement.

***

Sitting outside underneath one of the many planted trees surrounding the Oxford Commons, I'd people-watch amongst reading, again, the Iliad. The weather was overcast, nothing unusual for Britain. People meandered through groups handing out paraphernalia, slips of paper announcing on-campus studies, clubs, and events. Coming from the main building out into the Commons, I was offered six pamphlets ranging from a Student University Association meeting to the Young Labour Party to a concert being held tonight by local bands at a pub across the street.

I became intrigued by a board some peers congregated around after a while, checking my mobile phone in intervals to see if Harry contacted me, though knew that his lunch period wasn't for another twenty minutes. I also understood that it was also his first day back at Hogwarts, and after the Headmistress's death it wouldn't be a smooth entrance into a new year. I stood up and brushed myself off, having sat in grass, and re-arranged my bag to set the Iliad and other epic poetry in. I crossed the Commons again, dodging the more assertive groups, and went straight to this massive board of coloured paper.

Standing aside some people, I gazed at all the student-sponsored clubs, some being the likes of academia, others nostalgic to S.P.E.W. for animal rights. Businesses around the area also placed paperwork needing young blood, asking for people to apply or call a certain number for employment. Sports pubs and family restaurants, I sort of laughed at a sheet for McDonald's employment. I reached to take a tab for a Youth Music Club, one tab for contacting an animal rights association, Law, English, debate team…

“Hey!”

I looked to my left and saw Nathaniel, his school bag swinging behind him, wave at me.

“Hey!” I waved back at him, his form nearing me.

He stepped up beside me and looked on at the board. “Overwhelming, eh?”

I showed him all the tabs I'd taken.

He laughed, and noted, pointing out, “You didn't take one for the Literature Club.”

“I didn't see it.”

He reached around me and took a tab from a green sheet of paper, the sheet of paper type-printed: “JOIN THE DISCUSSION TODAY!”

“There we are,” he handed the ripped tab to me, counting now seven slips in my fingers.

“I think that'll keep me busy for months,” I jested.

“I think so,” He agreed, smiling. “I've already spoken to a few members in the club about you, so it's now mandatory to join.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

I chuckled. “Well, we'll see.”

“If you don't I'll be heartbroken.”

“Aw, we wouldn't want that now, would we?”

“Not at all.”

We both laughed.

“I'll check it out.”

“Really?”

“Really!”

“Awesome!” I could see the glitter in his eyes. “So, are you busy right now or—“

My mobile started ringing.

“Oh.”

“Hold that thought,” I held a finger to him, and dug around in my pocket to produce the aforementioned cell. I smiled at him when he nodded and let me have privacy, directing his attention to the Students' Board.

“Hello?”

“Hey there, love. How's your day been so far?”

“Brilliant! I absolutely love it. It's so amazing, Harry… So amazing… First lesson went great, the discussion about Ancient Greek literature was so stimulating and the professor is so laid back, and so—well, my other professor, Professor Turner is laid back, too. She's like from the 60's, she's funny and smart and she taught me something about classical music I hadn't even known before, it's just—Ah! I'm not making sense, gushing on like a buffoon!”

Harry laughed. “All of this in a matter of a few hours, eh?”

“Yeah, it's—well—so bloody amazing!”

“Well, if you're having a good time, I wouldn't want to spoil it by interrupting. But, if you still want to get together I'm free. Tired, but free for lunch.”

“Aw…,” I sighed in smiles. “Of course I want to see you. I want to hear about your first lessons, too, especially with all that's had to change.”

“It's changed, but not to the point where it's completely a different atmosphere. It's definitely a sight to see Headmaster Flitwick at the owl podium in the Great Hall,” I heard him sneeze, to which I said “Bless you”. He began again, stating, “Meet me at home and we'll go from there, okay? How long do you have again?”

“Little less than three hours now.”

“Lovely. See you at home. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I hung up and slipped the phone back into my pocket, looking to see Nathaniel gazing down at me.

“Gotta go?”

“Yeah, that was Harry, my fiance. We're going to go to lunch.”

“Cool, cool—I was going to suggest, by the way, for you to join the ladies Rugby team, but I decided not to.”

I laughed so hard. “Not quite, not quite…”

“I'm a recruiting officer for the Rugby team here, so…yeah…”

“Makes sense,” I winked at him. “But my love is waiting for me. I'll catch you later?”

“Yeah, sure. And if we don't see each other later on, we'll see each other tomorrow in lesson!”

“Yep,” I nodded. “Absolutely.”

I started to backtrack towards a less populated area of the Commons. “Take care, Nathaniel.”

“You too!”

Traveling behind a building, a made sure that no one saw me or was seen. I went off the sidewalk and in-between a bush and a tree, in the shadow of the building and apparated to Number Twelve.

“Hermione! I forgot to…,” Nathaniel, running to catch up with me turned the corner and stopped to see…nothing. He scratched the back of his head and looked around. “…Hermione? Hermione?”

He went silent a beat, and then added, “Wow… Maybe I should have asked her to join Track and Field instead?”

***

THE EVENING PROPHET

MINISTRY ATTACKED

While the Minister is away the children will play. Around 7 o'clock this evening, reports came into us revealing that a group of Death Eaters tried to break into the Department of Mysteries. Said to be defunct by Minister Shacklebolt's administration, officials within the Ministry afterhours said, “We heard loud explosions and saw fire down on Level Nine from the lift. Smoke could be smelt as far up as Level Three”. Other statements have come out of the Ministry saying a “bevy of Aurors” caught the group of Death Eaters inside the “so-called obsolete” Entrance Room “apparently disoriented and confused”. No other details, including how many Death Eaters were detained when found in the “non-existent” Department of Mysteries. No word on what they were after either. Some suggest that this is where they have He Who Must Not Be Name's personal effects, one being the broken pieces of the Elder Wand. But, of course, none of these exist according to Minister Shacklebolt and friends.

Groups like the Citizens of Magical Liberty have already filed for an investigation against the Ministry, though we're sure the administration will provide a few Obliviators to hush the rising masses. Minister Shacklebolt himself has been stated as saying the Department of Mysteries had the most “powerful and frightening magics” he'd ever seen and thereby told International persons and the British people he'd “see to its proper demise” which leads to the question we've always asked here at The Prophet:

How many more lies does it take?

Minister Shacklebolt is reported to have left the States and is en route back to London. I'm sure the incompetence will allow in more Death Eaters between now and then.

Angelica Teivel

Writer

Page 1

***

“Would you hate me if I wanted to get another job?”

I'd just gotten off the phone with Gin, telling her about my day which she was curious about, to re-enter our stay-in movie date. Harry lay where I left him, the spot open on his lap with the Gryffindor quilt pulled away just as I had done to get the phone. I came around the sofa, our movie, Like Water for Chocolate, on pause. With all of Gin's discussion of jobs, and me without one—and wanting to be a provider of our relationship—I thought I could take on at least something part time. University would be my top priority, of course.

I sat back down on Harry's lap, his legs sprawled out the length of the sofa. I took up the quilt and threw it back over us, taking up our bowl of popcorn and put a bit of the salty essence in my mouth while looking at Harry in the dimmed environment. He merely shrugged and reached in with me for more popcorn, tossing a few kernels in his mouth.

“If you can manage, and I'm sure you could. The moment you can't I'd like for you to stop, you know.”

“If only I had my time-turner…”

“Not,” He watched me as I lay back with him, our faces next to each other's. “I saw how draining that had you. I don't think…”

“I'm kidding,” I gave him a kiss, feeling his hand inch around my torso unheeded by nothing more than a pyjama shirt. “Something fun, something where I wouldn't really have to think. I already think enough.”

“And you're exhausted from today.”

“Not exhausted,” I addressed, changing the phrase. “Assimilating to a new climate. I'm loving university and the people I've met today.”

“I'm glad they've taken to you so quickly. Makes me worry less.”

I grinned and kissed him again.

“So, what were you thinking?”

“Well, there's this Students' Board in their community area, right? Businesses post for employment and I was thinking about applying for something right off campus. Maybe a waiting position?”

“I'd have thought you'd want to apply to their libraries.”

“Don't get me started!” I sighed. “Their library is… It's easily fifty times larger than Hogwarts's. It's a little bit of Heaven.”

Harry, my head in the arch of his arm like a pillow, began scratching it as I gazed on at him. I closed my eyes at the tingly sensation, and then re-opened them with a smile.

“You know I'll go with whatever road you take. I just don't want you to take on too much when it's covered.”

“I want to help.”

“You know you don't have to.”

“I know, but I want to.”

He smiled. “So, classes after lunch were enjoyable as much as the first portion of today?”

“Mathematics was absolutely grueling! All these equations to mermorise, and they kept coming and coming—never ending! He put the notes up on this screen for everyone to write down and it was page after page of definition this and X divided by N minus 2 carry… Take into consideration that I'm looking at this calculator, trying to tell it what to bloody do while everyone is just going at it!”

Harry smirked. “A riled-Hermione is adorable.”

“It did get me on my heels because he wouldn't slow down! One page he'd keep up on the screen for like 5 seconds! I mean, who does that? Really…,” I huffed. “At least my Art History class was better. We're starting with Stone Age cavemen drawings in discussion.”

“You've got a whole new day tomorrow to look forward to, haven't you?”

“History and social sciences…”

Harry chuckled at another sigh.

“Love or hate scenarios.”

“You're telling me…,” I laughed. “But, I love it. Really. It'll be quite different from Muggle Studies.”

“Want me to turn the movie back on?”

“Yeah,” I started moving around when Harry did, getting comfortable with him surrounding me, his arms embracing me. “Got to get up at 6 this time. Lesson doesn't start until 8.”

“You're crazy,” He kissed me.

“You've learned this just now?”

“I wouldn't have it any other way.”

Snickering in a smirk, I twisted my head to meet his lips before snuggling back into his arm, my pillow, and seeing the telly come to life.

{Additional note: I'd like to know if I went too far from UK universities. If I didn't, cool. I know all about US colleges and how they function as I graduated less than a year ago from one. I did some research, more phrases than anything else, and got some info from a person who lives in the UK. But if there's something so very off, I'd like to know. From what I know and hear from others, the UK isn't all that different than the US}

-->

47. Stone

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: Like a game of tug-of-war, the more our duo resists, the more time plunges them back into a past.

***

Chapter Forty-Seven - Stone

***

“No, no, that's not entirely true. Before Shakespeare, the ideology of romance wasn't shown as a worthy topic of discussion. Such plays as Romeo and Juliet, and Othello, conflicts of violence were often paired with romance because romance on its own wasn't viewed as tragic. The times of those days probably…”

“To defer, Shakespeare wanted to create an illusion of theatre, not so much a depiction of reality.”

“'The world is but a play,' should that say enough? By any other means, Shakespeare was a modern-day psychologist. Aware of human biology and emotion, he could portray reality through catharsis, not just an artificial statement. Look at Othello. Now look at reality. Can we not make the same conclusions with people now in comparison to how Othello thought and acted then?”

“But to simplify it to a mere gender-based status quo…”

“I didn't mean the generation was felt through men and men alone. But, by any means, most men view the world through war.”

The Literature Club. Analysis: Shakespeare, subject: reality versus fiction, specifically Shakespeare's conversation of tragedy. A once-emptied lesson room, a space about the size of an average room in Number Twelve, twenty-seven seats were taken by young university students. Some of these students were freshmen, like me. Others, the majority really, were upperclassmen and women. I'd been debating with a senior classman, Kirk Poole II, for almost fifteen minutes now. Twelve minutes over 3 PM, or when the club should have adjourned.

“That's still a sexist statement!”

“It's a correct statement,” pushed Nathaniel on my left. I looked at him from our circle of chairs. “No one can deny the influence genders have, especially back then.”

“Are you all quite through?” An irritated Marsha Hamlin, who had been checking her watch for the past ten minutes, jumped into the fray. She had her eyes on her watch when she said this. “I've got work at four and I still need to go home and change.”

Her interruption pretty much ended the discussion with others following her in packing their bags and belongings.

“We'll meet back in room 217 next Wednesday!” yelled Kirk, several club attendees already out the door. “Have a good weekend everyone!”

I threw my school bag's strap over my head, the strap hanging off my left shoulder. Reaching back, I pulled out and reapplied my hair scrunchie, glancing over at Nathaniel who coughed into his fist. Windows on the far wall, without much wall, mimicked the time. How the sunrays arced at an angle portrayed the growing evening hour. My seat still sat in shade, but the ones opposite now shone in a struggling sunlight.

“Doing anything later this evening?”

I started my walk out, Nathaniel at my heels. I looked back at him, and then to my side when we crossed through the door. “Today's actually my first day of work.”

“Oh?” We'd taken to the stairs, one at a time, together. “Where are you working? Maybe I'll show up unexpectedly to, you know, say hello.”

I smiled, looking down at the last step before stepping off and onto the ground floor. We headed for the exit. “O'Brady's Pub and Restaurant. It's just a few blocks from—“

Nathaniel had stopped, and I hadn't noticed until his shadow left my sight. I halted my stride, turned, and saw him at a standstill. His mouth was wide open.

“What?”

“Do you—“ He started, paused, and began again. “Do you believe in fate?”

“Is this another one of your analogies?” I placed my hand on my hip. “Let's see, the chicken crossed the road to get to…”

“I'm serious,” He began his pace to me, poking his chest. “Because I work at O'Brady's.”

“No way!”

“Yeah way!” He laughed and I did too.

He opened the door for me, and as I went on through I said in thought, “That's…sort of scary.”

“Scary?”

“And cool,” He picked up the stride beside me.

I could tell he might have been offended by my choice of word.

“I didn't mean anything by it. It's just—“

“It's…wow. So, what is Richard having you do?”

“Wait tables.”

“I'm a bartender, but maybe I'll have to have Richard switch me to waiting.”

I laughed. “When does your shift start?”

“Soon.”

“Five?”

“Five.”

I snorted. “Of course.”

“Of course.” He smirked.

“Well,” We both stopped nearside a pathway going towards a parking lot. Nathaniel had shown me his car, a '93 Ford Mustang convertible. The teal blue dot could be seen on the flattop in the distance. “I've got to use the ladies room before heading off home. Guess I'll be seeing you tonight.”

“Haha—guess so,” He grinned and added. “Don't forget to remember those notes on the Odyssey. I'm sure the second essay will be on it.”

“Right, and you better,” I prodded him. “Be on your A-game next week. You've been silent now for the last two weeks in the debates. Who was the one who wanted me to join so badly to begin with again?”

“I know, I know… Could I use an `ill' card?”

“You're ill?”

“No.” He shook his head in a smirk.

I pointed at him.

“Then no!” I laughed.

He chuckled, walking backwards so he could wave at me. “See you tonight. It'll be fun.”

“Oh, it better!”

“Haha!”

“See you!”

“See you!”

I started off in the general direction of an office building…only to walk a little more down the path, Nathaniel none the wiser, and apparated without being seen.

I'd gotten quite good at this.

***

The tunes of Smashing Pumpkins competed against the hoots and hollers of the pub attendees. Thankfully, I'd begun working and working my shift in the middle of the Rugby season. I hadn't seen a room this packed since… Well, let's just say I had to do a little crab-walking, a little ballerina pirouetting, to shuffle through patrons amidst the bar, in the walkways laughing and having a jolly good time. Meanwhile, I had a tray of food and drinks in my hand, and sometimes had to elevate the tray whilst doing a balancing act. I swore those drinks wouldn't topple over.

My table quotas had increased throughout the night. The game was close, so more customers stayed as new dinner guests arrived. My table included a family of six. Within a black apron, sullied with bits of splattered essence from a child's temper-tantrum, swung a notepad nearly gone of blank pages. My pen had its workout tonight. My hair was wrapping in a tail, portions of the lighted pub still showing the shine from the conditioner; something so different, and ironic, from the tiredness I'd achieved. I didn't quite realise how demanding this job would be, but then again, it wasn't the worst “occupation” I'd held.

A smile on my face, my forest-green collared pullover and black trousers still their colour, I made my way back to my table—table 2E of table's 1B, 1D,and 2C I had—and propped up a stand-alone surface for the tray. The four children had devoured the appetizers of chicken strips and fried cheese. The father and mother, the mother shushing one of the children's screams, looked up at me as I served them their food.

“Grilled onion provolone burger with no pickles,” I set that one in front of the mother.

“Bacon and mushroom Swiss burger with extra ketchup,” I set that one in front of the father, only to be bumped from behind by one of what seemed to be a million bodies.

“Sorry!” called back a mum and her toddler, assumingly escorting the crying kid to the loo.

“Actually,” said the father after I just smiled at the fleeing parent. “She had the Swiss burger and I had the grilled onion.”

The mum of the four grinned, the burgers being exchanged across the table.

“I'm sorry. It's been a very long night,” I set the four burger baskets with chips in front of the children's seats.

I blew a loose strand of hair from my face, beads of sweat formed on my forehead from the hot kitchen, lights, and body heat.

“It's all right, love,” replied the mother.

“Yeah honey,” said the father.

“Bartholomew!” yelled the mother, one of the kids dumping ketchup all over the table. The tot only wanted to do the pouring by himself.

“I'll go get some more napkins to pick that up,” I said quickly, giving them what I had to clean, including wet-pads, after they'd used their own.

“Thanks, love,” said the father.

Starting off, I wandered over to table 2C and gave them the four mugs of beer and an entire pitcher, along with a platter of cheese-covered chips. Four men, most of them hadn't seen me, their eyes glued to the Rugby game on the television screen. My feet were off, an empty tray in my hand, towards the kitchen and waiting lobby. I'd pass by Nathaniel's bartending, and as I did, dodging on-coming patrons with sloshing beer in their hands, was called by one:

“Hey babe, can you get us another pitcher of beer?”

We brushed against each other, the empty tray between us, squeezing in-between the cramped floor space.

“Um, sure. Let me go ask,” I tucked strands of falling hair behind my ear. “What table are you at?”

“That one over there,” the younger male pointed off towards a booth.

3B.

Jessica's table.

I nodded. “Sure.”

“Thanks hot stuff.”

As I turned away, I held my laughter from the rather charming middle-aged men until I saw Nathaniel and his flamboyant bottle-tossing. He had to be showy for the girls tending the bar, their hands on their chins, their eyes ogling how snug his collared shirt fit. He caught my eye, my smirk as he flirted with a slender ginger and her friends, and abruptly changed course.

“Hermione!”

Madonna's Ray of Light came on, as well as a myriad of cheers from the gathered crowds around the tellies.

The group of girl's all turned their heads and gave me the dirtiest of looks, withdrawing to—I'm sure—talk about me in whispers.

They sized me up as I walked to the bar, setting the empty tray on the counter. Nathaniel slid a bottle of beer down the bar to a man's open hand, and then went over to me those few steps.

“You look exhausted.”

I had my hand on my forehead and huffed. “You're telling me. Is it always like this?”

“Quite the first night. Rich really took it to you,” He put his elbows, his arms on the bar and leaned into me. Between the rowdy patrons and music, only we could hear each other. “Maybe next time don't write down you `enjoy multitasking' on your resume?”

I smirked, laughing through my nose.

He chuckled.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned my head to see Richard, the manager, an older man in his thirties who started the pub after he graduated from university with a hospitality degree. He took to his employees like friends than with a stone fist. He smiled at both Nathaniel and me, and then slid in to ask, “Tired?”

I nodded and laughed. “A bit.”

“Think you could take the family of four that just came in?”

He motioned over to the four people that just came in, a young couple with two children that didn't look older than two. The host, Marcus, was seating them.

“Yeah,” I pushed myself from the bar. “Of course.”

“Tell me if you can't,” He patted my shoulder. “Wouldn't want you scared from the job your first night with us.”

I grinned. “I'm fine. Getting used to the swing.”

“All right,” He took off to mingle with his customers, saying to me as he went. “Penny will be back tomorrow from holiday. You're doing great!”

“Excuse me,” A middle-aged woman had come up to the bar, speaking to Nathaniel.

“Yes ma'am?”

“Could I get two House mugs?”

“Absolutely!”

“I'll let you get back to work,” I leaned from the bar. “I've got to catch Jessica in the back, anyway.”

“Hermione!”

Nathanial caught me only two steps away.

I raised my eyebrows, a notion that I'd heard him.

“If you haven't lost it, have a beer with me after closing?”

With a smirk I nodded.

***

It was after eleven when the last customer left.

Nathaniel stood behind the bar. I sat on the bar stool in front of him, a cold beer in my hand matching his. He'd just said a joke, having me chuckle. Behind us the cleaning crew went about their business straightening chairs and tables, vacuuming trash and food particles left behind. I recognised the time for one, my beloved, and two, school in the morning. But we'd gotten into a discussion about literature, and I'd forgotten all about the time.

“See you guys tomorrow!” yelled a few of our fellow comrades, employees, opening the glass door and a bell chiming.

Nathaniel and I waved at them, Richard in the back having a talk on the phone about tomorrow's food shipment.

“Favourite Shakespeare play?”

“Romeo and Juliet.”

Nathaniel smacked his hand on the bar and I laughed, the beer to my lips.

“I swear, we were meant to meet. We lived in the same neighbourhood, we're taking the classes together, and you ended up applying here…”

“It sure seems that way,” I commented in agreement.

“Your love for literature is just the best.”

I grinned. “It's nice to have another person to dive deep into the pools of literary antiquity.”

He took a swig, setting the bottle on the counter after. “Hermione Granger.”

“Nathaniel Blake.”

“Where had you been all my life?”

I burst out laughing. “How ridiculously cheesy!”

“Hahahaa…,” He snorted, which made me snicker.

“Did you go to a private school? You should've gone to the public school there if we lived in the neighbourhood.”

With a drink, I shook my head. “Yeah,” I swallowed and set the bottle down beside my folded arms. “Yeah, private school.”

“Which? A friend of mine went to school near Carlisle.”

I couldn't just lie to him, and I couldn't just pick some random place, especially when I hadn't known any. I could have easily said something, a town, and could have just been easily seen as a liar. Knowing my luck I'd pick one and the questions would have kept rolling in, so I diverted to:

“Actually, more like home schooling.”

“Ohh. Well, that's cool. I wish I'd been home schooled. I tell you the times when I could have screamed.”

I smiled, and breathed a sigh of relief.

These were the junctures I realised I had to maneuver within the so-called “Muggle society”. I had a script ready in mind, but sometimes my head was off and I'd have to think in action. I hadn't known I'd find someone that was practically next door in every shape possible. Hearing him speak about what I could have done had me to think what could have happened…if I hadn't gotten that famous letter from Hogwarts that fateful morning in `91.

Amongst Nathaniel's schoolyard reminiscing, my ears at attention, the pocket of my trouser begun to buzz. I was startled at first, and then noted it was the mobile after looking down.

I'd gotten a message:

Wednesday 11:47 PM

From Harry:

You okay? Missing you.

I closed my eyes, seeing how late it was had me guilty.

I'd been sitting here for more than a half hour talking.

I was sure Harry wouldn't care when I told him, but… I cared.

“I've got to run,” I slipped from the stool and put the mobile back in my pocket.

“Really?”

“Yes,” I glanced at Nathaniel. “That was Harry.”

“He wants you home, eh?”

“Not exactly…,” I sighed, my eyes widening. I pushed the stool in. “I should have been home a while ago. He worries. I worry.”

“Ah,” Nathaniel began around the bar to meet me, my feet on the way towards the exit. “Sorry to keep you here then. Tell me what's up next time. Don't want to get anyone in trouble, especially you.”

“It's fine,” I had my hand on the door lever, and pushed it out. A rush of cool air came in through the crack. “I'll see you in class tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow. Need me to walk you out?”

“I'm a big girl,” I smiled, the door now ajar completely and the autumn air swirling in its chill. I had my arms together.

“You have my mobile number.”

I nodded. “See you tomorrow, Nathan.”

He looked as if he was dissatisfied. “I can't just leave you alone on these downtown streets. I'd feel all sorts of guilty, and I'd call you ten dozen times…”

He pushed between me and out the door.

“I'm fine, really,” I said, following him onto a bustling avenue.

“Wonderful,” He spoke sarcastically, glancing back at me with a smirk. He waved his hand in the air and shouted, “Taxi!”

There was my lie.

I'd have obviously apparated.

“Nathaniel!”

A chrome-and-black carriage slid to the curb, a lit-sign reading “Taxi” atop.

Nathaniel opened the door for me.

“Mademoiselle?”

I stared for the longest time at Nathan, but finally climbed into and on the cab's black leather seats.

I huffed, arms crossed, eyes squinted.

“Keep warm,” he stated in smiles while I just shook my head, sighed and proceeded to roll my eyes at him as I sat down inside the carriage.

“I'll see you tomorrow,” his voice was loud, but muffled between him and the door.

He was waving when the cabbie took off down the road, to Number Twelve. I gazed out the back window to see him see me off, and then turned to face the front with yet another eye roll, slightly flustered…

…And, a grin.

***

The clock on the mantle chimed one o'clock inside Number Twelve. When I'd gotten home, Harry met me with a meal still hot in the oven. I nearly cried for the sake of his loving soul, always on his mind, knowing I wouldn't have had anything since I left for work. Vegetable soup, baked chicken and toast. He had made some crumble for the top, two pieces of chicken breast with garlic. He knew I had school in the morning and persuaded me to eat without a conversation, but I felt bereft. We sat coupled at the dinner table chit-chatting mostly about how my first day at work went and my school subjects.

The term that kept coming up was: exhausted. Even Harry, who told me he had a wonderful—full of heavy sarcasm—day, had bags under his eyes. I leaned into him when I was through, our voices ceased, and scratched his head. His hair was so soft and so silky, his skin that spicy bathing scent from his body wash. He purred at my touch and put his head on my shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me and embraced me tight, echoing his message on how much he…

“I missed you.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Don't be.”

“Well, I am.”

“I'm just so used to coming home and see you here. It was…quiet. It was weird, and lonely.”

“Aww…”

We started to kiss, our kissing rising in intimacy to which I had to be prodded to move. He insisted a shower, a statement I'd made whilst talking, and come back down to relax. I was left on that note, Harry picking the plate, bowl, and glass from my seat and set to wash them. The faucet on, the soap dispenser in his hand, I went to his backside and kissed his neck. I saw him grin, his hands in suds, the cloth removing the natural oils the chicken left behind.

The hot shower was welcoming. I'd have to remember to bring my jumper with me to work. I wore one to school, so I hadn't come to the conclusion why I forgot it. Suffice to say, my mind was down for the count. So much had happened today, and all of it, thankfully, rinsed from my bare skin and was swallowed by the metal drain in the floor at my feet.

The bed looked inviting the moment I trekked by it. Towel in my hair, I dried the last remnants of moisture and threw the cotton in the clothes bin on the way out. One step, two step, twentieth step down, Crookshanks, the fur ball hopped right along with me. I hadn't shut the bedroom door, so he waited for me when I'd gotten out of the lavatory. He missed his mummy, nuzzling when I rubbed his teeny head. He slid up against my nude calves, in the casual sleepwear of Harry's wardrobe and hidden knickers where the bottom edge tickled the now-cleansed porcelain skin.

I sifted through my poofy disarray of locks, having brushed it a few times, but nevertheless decided to dry in fray. I attempted to fix it, but halted when the bushiness took over. I shrugged and walked around the sofa to see… Harry stretched out and asleep. He looked adorable. His glasses on the stand aside the armrest, he'd breathe and those dimples, however slight, would form. He looked peaceful, and I almost didn't want to wake him. Though, I knew if I'd done anything else he'd come looking for me, anyway.

The fireplace was lit, the flames licking a still scene. Upstairs colder than downstairs, the den was inviting, and something about the warmth nurtured my physiology into a sleepy state of mind. I yawned, and knelt at the sofa.

My hands lightly on his arm, I shook Harry.

“Mmm?”

“Love…,” I whispered.

He yawned, fidgeted, though never opened an eye. “…Mm?”

His face was turned towards me.

I kissed his forehead, his scar, my fingers back brushing his hair.

I stayed that way for a while, until my knees hurt, when I asked him quietly to, “Lean up…”

At first he didn't proceed, but pushed by his elbows onto his bum. He squinted an eye open to see me sit behind him, sliding my right leg between the sofa and his form. I ushered him onward with my hands, taking the Gryffindor quilt from the back of the sofa where it always laid. Harry flipped around, carefully to not take me on with his full weight, and rested between my legs. I pulled the quilt so it surrounded us. His head on my chest, I cradled him in my arms, rubbing his head so rhythmically that even midst drifting I continued.

The clock on the mantle struck three o'clock.

Three separate chimes.

I believe I woke on the second, and not entirely, just enough to look around inside those few seconds. I felt Harry still on me, his warmth, and something… Something reminded me of the time…

“There's a reason I can hear them… The horcruxes…”

I separated myself from Ron…

He was…

Was he…

The blood on his face…

His blood…

Life…

“…I think I've known for a while… I think you've known, too…”

He let out this… This burdensome breath…

Anyone could feel the weight.

I did know.

I knew exactly…

…That's why I never left his side…

…Lied to myself.

“I'll go with you!”

A tightly-gripped hug.

Why I didn't…

The flames within the beating hearth rose lively, animated, and unnatural. I shook from my trance, my arms around him, a hand, fingers in his hair. His breaths subtle in a light snooze; though, interrupted when my form jerked at the face of who appeared in the coals of the dying wood. An oval-shaped head, eyes, nose, lips, chin were apparent even from my distance. I heard Harry hesitate a breath, disturbed. I went to move, to hear:

“Harry Potter!”

The boom of the voice resounded, deafening.

Harry nearly fell from my figure.

I put my hands over my ears.

Harry, having caught himself on the ledge of the sofa, jumped across the room to land beside the hearth. It wasn't every night this sort of thing happened. Bedazzled, and taking the quilt to cover myself, I joined Harry in mid-conversation with…

“…Minister Shacklebolt must have a word with you, tonight!”

“It's three o'clock in the morning…,” Harry still was rubbing sleep from his eyes. “You've scared us half to death! What is it at this bloody hour?”

“As per the matter of…,” The man in the fire stuttered to find exact words. “Grave importance! We need you here tonight, Mister Potter! Minister Shacklebolt—“

“Where is Kingsley?” asked Harry.

“He's right…”

The fire stewed, but lit up again.

“He's right here. But, I—“

“Let me speak to him,” demanded Harry.

“Well, it's—“

The fire died, glowing bluish-orange coals resting where once carved a face.

My eyes were on Harry who stayed still in his squat.

I shrugged the quilt further around me.

The fire was brought back to life, and vividly bright.

“Harry.”

Kingsley.

“Kingsley, what's going on?” Harry's speech went quick.

“You know I wouldn't bother you if it wasn't important. But, right now, I need you here.”

“What is going on?”

“Death Eaters.”

An anvil fell from my throat to my stomach.

Harry hadn't have given a second thought, pushing up from the floor. “I'll be right there,” he told the amassed charcoal that was the Minister.

“Eaton will tell you the Floo coordinates. You won't be coming directly to the Commons. You'll end up in my office on Level One and we'll take you from there.”

***

We argued all the way up the stairs at a run.

“Why can't I come?!”

“It's dangerous, Hermione! Death—“

“And all the years—“

Trouser-less to trousers, I matched his stride in tugging on clothes, shoes.

“Yes! And all the years I worried sick about you! And months ago, when they breached the defense—they got to you!”

“I'm going!”

“Why must you be so stubborn?!”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Why must we have this discussion every time something like this comes up?!”

“Hermione… I'm only trying to protect—“

I smacked into him.

Not with my fist, or a kick, no more words.

An embrace.

“I'm going with you…”

At first he didn't say anything, didn't move.

“Hermione,” He begun after a dreadful silence. “…It's safe here. I know for certain it's safe here. The protection this house has…”

“You left me before… Look what happened, as you said,” I tightened my grip, my arms about his neck. I felt his hands go to my hips. “…I'm safer with you. I want to be with you. Please…”

“Take my hand,” He stated after a minute.

We released, my arms slipping away slowly from his neck.

He put his hand out between us. “And, never let me go.”

“That's all I'm asking,” I took his hand. “I love you.”

We were off.

***

“But sir, we requested Harry Potter only, and not…”

Two robed men, one in grey, the other in plum, paced at a jog towards an open and waiting door. Beside them, myself and Harry in pyjamas jogged. The taps of our feet were louder than our own voices, the dead space helping to reverberate the tones indefinitely, making it seem like there were more than just four humans, but a sea of beings talking all at once. We were heading through a back entrance, or exit, I didn't quite know. Instead of seeing a cleaning crew, or a random businessman, we saw a blank, unlit corridor and a lift at the end. I'd taken to think this was something only Minister's knew, and only the most highly appointed officials. This route definitely wasn't known by the average person.

“She's staying with me,” Harry barked back at Defense Secretary Eaton, his grey robes billowing behind his elderly-frame. “And if you don't like it, we can surely exit.”

“Dennis, Miss Granger is as much Harry Potter as himself,” We'd gotten into the lift, and I noticed the tip of Eaton's knobby finger move across the metal, a latch removing, some impressively large gears turning. Nothing the likes of any other lift I'd witnessed in the Ministry. “I would have been surprised if Miss Granger wasn't with Harry.”

I smiled at Kingsley.

The lift made us all shuffle our footing.

I reached up and grabbed hold of the restraint before the lift changing course and shot straight down from its horizontal rush.

“This could be a serious breach of confidentiality…among the several breaches…” Eaton mumbled.

“I'm giving Harry and Hermione full clearance.”

“As you wish, Minister. I'm not one to judge your decisions, just…with the weather…”

“Noted Eaton,” Kingsley fell flat.

“'The weather'?” I asked during our jostled flight down. It wasn't like the Secretary was hiding code.

“Our current predicament,” answered Kingsley. “I'm sure you've heard about it from the Daily Prophet?”

“No sir,” replied Harry. “We've done away with the Prophet. We've abandoned the subscription.”

“How do you communicate with this world?”

“We rely on The Quibbler.”

“…We're in an investigation, many, on how such a story leaked into the Prophet. We've some disturbing news on the front; but, nevertheless, we had a breach while I was gone.”

“Surveillance didn't pick out a soul!” cried Eaton at my side. He looked at me, his arm swinging, clasped to the dangling restraint. “Nothing! It was…a matter of the bizarre, and most intriguing. The Dark Arts…”

“…Death Eaters within the Department of Mysteries.”

“I thought there was nothing more of such Department…?” my tone fell a bit uneasy, our past spectacles fresh in the mind.

“There is no such Department!”

“Dennis!” bellowed Kingsley's deep voice. “Harry and Hermione are not imbeciles. They will see with their own eyes that there is, in fact, a Department intact.”

“But sir, will they—“

“I have complete confidence anything that may be seen will not be spoken about publically. Besides, we've doubled our preventative measures…”

“Isn't that—“

Harry's question was broken off by Kingsley's astute discourse:

“It is for the greater good of the country.”

“Department of Mysteries,” chimed the lift's soft feminine voice, the door re-opening to what resembled a stage after arson. What Harry and I had entered during our fifth year at Hogwarts was utterly burnt. Soot clinging, outlines of where fire would have been visible on the black brick walls. Ash had been swept into the nooks and crannies of the corridor's edges, its grey matter juxtaposed to the severely darkened room.

“You have my word.”

“And mine,” I said, following behind Harry's.

“I had no worries,” the plum robes skirted the floor in haste. “Come my friends, this way. Let us not waste precious time. I'm sure you've better spent your time elsewhere.”

Harry squeezed my hand when we left the lift, the Secretary behind us. Or, so I thought. From one of the adjoined room, a closed door opened revealing a slender figure in white robes, an Auror. The door shut behind by its own will, the Auror's hands around a long parchment with evident markings of writing upon the paper. She stopped the Secretary in his tracks by her appearance, the long hood covering anything human at all. The further we pressed on, the more I strained to hear something from this person in white. Something…

“Was anything taken?”

I turned when I heard Harry.

Kingsley stopped, his hand on one of many doors, its knob, and sighed heavily.

He closed his eyes.

“No,” he said.

He opened his eyes once again and peered at us. “Thankfully.”

He twisted the knob and we stepped into what appeared to be any normal office, abnormal and absolutely unordinary from…everything else. A desk, chairs, a lamp was all that was in here. Chalkboards were along the walls with scribbles I'd never seen: bits of the Latin language conjoined with terms unlike anything I'd ever read. Surrounded by this unknown knowledge, I was instantly curious, spurred on by the fact that we had an audience of Aurors, some in white to whom I'd seen more and more, their hoods covering their features. With them stood what I remembered from the Order: ordinary men and women in ordinary attire with an extraordinary talent of magical prowess bottled behind normality.

“Minister Shacklebolt,” a young man with glasses and short brown hair acknowledged Kingsley when we arrived. At his chest held parchment, his hand a quill. His face lit when he saw us behind the Minister, and motioned a wave.

“Gregory.”

“Yes, Minister?” responded immediately the coffee-locked young man. He sported a trouser-suit and tie, his hair displayed with mousse.

“Please announce aloud the report on the whereabouts of the Resurrection Stone.”

“Resurrection Stone, sir?” asked Harry at the proclamation of the tool from the Deathly Hallows. A subject we knew much about to our…misfortune.

“Please, Harry, Hermione,” Kingsley was on the other side of the desk. He motioned towards the chairs. “Do sit down with me.”

Never once did our hands break. Interlocked, our fingers would fidget but never lost its partner. Harry took the chair I went to and pulled it closer to his own. He waited until I was sitting, and then lowered with Kingsley adjusting to his similarly-decored chair. I took several glances around the room at the various Aurors in waiting, assuming they were waiting to hear this report like Kingsley and us.

Harry's ears were particularly perked, his head aside mine on an equal level.

I squeezed his hand to let him know I was right there with him. He told me about the stone, what had happened when he used it, how he felt. I knew hearing anything about it would have him ripped apart again.

“Firenze has gathered more support amongst his centaur brethren. Before, as we know, they wanted nothing of the object. Called it `evil,' a `tool for foolish power'.”

Kingsley nodded. “Go on, Gregory.”

“Firenze told us that they've found `dirt, twigs, and lots of grass.' No Resurrection Stone.”

“Why must we be searching for the bloody Stone, anyway?!” Offended, Harry spoke aloud. “I wanted no more of this! I told you that, Kingsley! Why am I here?!”

“If it weren't for those who seek it for sinister purposes, Harry, I wouldn't have called for you.”

“I want no more of this!” Harry shot up, and my hand along with him. He looked to his side at me. “Come on, Hermione. We're going home.”

“We were unfairly perturbed when we woke at any rate,” he ended.

“Harry, listen to them. I'm sure Kingsley wouldn't have done what he said if not for genuine reasons…” I pulled back on his hand as much as I…didn't want to. We both wanted out, and badly. Things just kept pulling us back to an older time, or maybe…our reality.

“Kingsley,” I went on to change the subject briefly, to go another route. “What of Xavier and what happened while Harry was gone? When I was attacked? Has this a connection to their hunt?”

Kingsley shook his head.

“…He's still at Hogwarts,” Harry sat back down. “He's a disciplinary case, failing, but he attends. I won't allow him in my lessons. I don't know why he even goes.”

“My eyes are always on Hogwarts as I know that is a potential target, once again, for attack. A high potential. Flitwick is a wonderful man stepping into the large shoes of his predecessors. I'd expect nothing less from him and the faculty.”

“…What about the Stone, Kingsley?” Harry turned back into the conversation's progression. “What is it you need to know?”

I could feel he was tense.

I rubbed his arm to try and soothe him.

Try being key.

“I need to know everything you can remember.”

“I've told you everything!”

“Tell me again, Harry. Please,” Kingsley could see the remorse welling inside Harry, taking him down a path he so fought to never relive. “…For the country.”

Harry swallowed hard, and then said very calm and very firmly, “Tell me something before I go back there.”

“Anything Harry.”

“Are the pieces of the Elder Wand here?”

Kingsley sat up in his seat and leaned his head back, though never took his eyes from us. He drew in a breath, sighed and said with a resemblance of discontent, “Yes.”

Harry went stationary, rigid.

His eyes, the undamaged and damaged never ceasing to blink.

I kissed his shoulder, his pain crawling from his stance, to me, inside me, and slid in to give him a hug.

I heard him open his mouth to begin, his first words…

“…Headmaster Dumbledore requested the Stone be given to me inside a snitch after his death… I had no idea what was inside until…I finally understood…”

***

You'll be okay, Harry. You're a great wizard…

…There are more important things like friendship, and bravery…

…And Harry, just be careful.

He had to…endure a re-telling of his life from beginning to end. It was unfair, to say the least. His entire form, the fibre tense, his body struggling to cope with every loss he described up until the same revelation he'd given to me: the realisation of death, and death itself. The two entities were intertwined, and I could see him swallow when asked, again, what the Stone could do, and what it could reveal, and why it was sought after.

I understood Kingsley's plight, that the enemy wanted the three…but every single soul, beside me and Harry, never expressed any sort of emotion, be it remorse or others. All of them stuck to poker faces, including the Minister, when he told them about Remus and Sirius, his father, and especially his mother.

All of it was for “the country”…

…What about for Harry?

We were home, but something felt ripped from the innocence. The den felt colder, the hearth a void with only the ticking of time of the clock on the mantle. We were awake, Harry lying down upon me with his head on my chest. That's all I knew what to do: be there for him. I wanted to know how he felt, empathise, but I'd be lying to him if I told him I did. I had both of my parents, and that was the crux. The hole I tried to fill that could never be quite filled. If there were a way, I'd bring back what he missed the most. His mum, dad, Sirius, the Order—even Severus—who I wished, we both wished, to have gotten a chance to meet in normal terms instead of what we thought we perceived for years.

With my head on a pillow, propped by the armrest, I said in the striking silence, “…I've decided not to go to lesson tomorrow.”

The lull resumed, the clock keeping check, until, “…I wouldn't want you to do that…just because I've sent Madam Hooch a notice of absence…”

“It's already decided,” I breathed, my mind made up. “I'll be here.”

He tightened his hold around me, shifted and hid his face within the soft fabric of his shirt I wore.

My fingers sifted through his hair.

“…I'm sorry for…,” He was muffled, but became clear when he moved his from me to the side. “…I never meant to drag you into this.”

“When I say we are in this together, that I am in this with you, I mean it.”

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

“…Do you remember what I told you when we visited the Forest of Dean?”

Harry became so still that I thought he'd fallen asleep.

I went to rise to see him look up at me.

“That I wished to `grow old with you'?” I exclaimed.

Harry lay back down and kissed the very first spot of my chest where his lips met. He started to lift, pulling me with him by hand when he stepped from the sofa. It didn't take any effort at all. With one scoop, he took me in his arms and set off in the direction of the staircase, and bed. Early morning, and with lesson and work beneath my belt, the moment I was wrapped around him intimately I settled as calmly as he did on me. My arms about his neck, his hands supporting me underneath, I kissed him, feeling the jostle of his figure prodding the bedroom door behind to shut.

***

Fatigued after a love spell, after a beautiful Biblical communique, I lay aside Harry with no other care in the world but him. Facing each other, it took effort to keep my eyes open, his hand exploring the bare curves of my body, keeping the nerves excited, the only true way of elevating my mind from sleep to faintly awake. He kept at my throat, caressing in the crook of my neck, my eyes closed and lips in a tuckered grin. The sheets and Harry around me, I knew if he stopped I'd soon fall asleep.

With a proportionate array of sunlight filtering the room from a probable drowsy state of London's sky, morning arrived; he halted his kisses and was brought back down to level. He stared at me with a matching grin and stated, contently, competently, affirmed, “I love you.”

I clamored for him, my hands on his naked chest beneath a heavy comforter blocking out autumn.

He pushed from the bed a second to catch the alarm set for six o'clock, and then huddled back around me, and into a blessed drift to slumber.

-->

48. Dedication

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.

The world never stops: living, breathing, and changing…

***

Chapter Forty-Eight - Dedication

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

NOLPHO BANISHED, THIRTEEN ACCUSED OF TREASON

“After thorough investigations,” says Timothy Toulsen, Press Secretary to Minister Shacklebolt, “Several key figures ranging from inside the Wizenmagot to obscure occupations within the administration were banished from the Ministry. There have only been a few banishments before, and never on this level, but the administration's investigators have revealed some troubling news with these men and women. What the past has given us is that we cannot afford to let just the littlest of disproportionate nuances through. We are always on high alert. We wish there was some other way to conclude what we've seen and heard.”

So much for “high alert” when Minister Shacklebolt has set off, again, to another country. This time he's headed to Moscow, leaving behind crises in the homeland. Apparently, to the Minister, other countries are on a heightened rung of his priority ladder. The United Kingdom evidently comes last on the ladder. We've seen this on countless occasions. Not to mention it's your taxes that pay for these rendezvous to the States, or wherever the Minister and his crooks decide to go to next. I guess his lavish estate here in London isn't enough. Maybe he's procuring other vacancies for his holiday pleasures? I wouldn't be surprised, and neither should you.

When asked for specifics of the investigation, and upon what purpose these fourteen were kicked from office, the Press Secretary shrugged the questions off with, “Commenting will only cause apprehension within our security measures.”

Quincy Nolpho has been unjustly wronged, stomped over and wrung out to dry wet because he had a few words with Harry Potter at the trial where Harry Potter molested one of our dear reporters through filth and fisticuffs, something we'd only see in a lowly Neanderthals. The Ministry caters to Potter, or should I say, Potters, as no one in line with our Savior-boy can be discussed. Or, shall I say, discussed only if the Ministry deems the conversation worthy. Thus, when Mister Nolpho decided to engage Potter's past, his bi-polar outbursts, his tendencies to seek violence, he went straight onto Minister Shacklebolt's “Hit List”. Every single person fired from these “thorough investigations,” from Iaego to Muir, have been cited as using “disproportionate nuances”—QUESTIONING—the Ministry's involvement with Harry Potter and his pals, or Savior-boy himself.

It's a witch hunt unlike Salem. Most of these people have children and are now without their name. Being banished from Ministry follows you until death. Who will hire you with this scar on your forehead? Unless it's a lightning bolt, you're shit out of luck kids.

Angelica Teivel

Writer

Page 1 (cont. on pages 2 and 3)

***

The Quibbler

Memorialising the Past for our Future

Tomorrow, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, will be unveiling their long-term construction of their founded Memorial Gardens. Any alumni can picture looking across a lush green field, the blue sky, white clouds and mountains in the distance reflecting off the lake. A walk through courtyard, redone with beautiful red-earth brick, displays a shining example of architecture: a statue of Albus Dumbledore, a hand in the air as if to reach for the Heavens above. Surrounding him, gardens spread with pathways and benches leading down to the lake. Enchantments have been put on the flowers, their rich, vibrant colours to never be worn from weather.

Albus Dumbledore's resting place was redone to be with his silent loved ones. Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape, students too, given the right by their parents as an option, laid to rest within the hallowed Hogwarts grounds. The faculty of Hogwarts, then and now, loved ones, friends, colleagues from across nations will be there for the dedication with speeches to be given by Headmaster Flitwick, Rubeus Hagrid, Poppy Pomfrey, Sybil Trelawney, and Harry Potter. Various family members of students are also encouraged to speak at the ceremony. News agencies and the media have been barred from the event due in practice of privacy for the grieving members.

The staff here at The Quibbler would like to extend their prayers for everyone.

Meygan Brookes

Writer

P. 1

***

September 16, 2000

7:13 AM GMT

Hogwarts Castle, Memorial Gardens

A gentle drizzle, the murky England sky, a suffocating grey from horizon to horizon mourned with the witches and wizards sitting in the Memorial Gardens. Juxtaposed, the rich colour of the white lilies and pink carnations held against the emotional catharsis of the morning like accidental paint spots splattered graffiti on a stand-alone wall. White fold-up traveling chairs were lined in rows, an aisle down the middle showcasing a lush lawn taken to with absolute care.

Some bothered with umbrellas, synchronized with their remorseful black garb. Myself, on the other hand, accepted the pitter-pattering tear drops. Mine were washed baptismally down my cheeks. I sat in the front with others I knew, Ginny and most of the Weasleys, Molly not here, Lee, Dean, Oliver, the faculty at Hogwarts, current students and parents of children who lost their lives in the War.

The sobs were a reminder, mine, everyone's, that Life came with a cost greater than anything else. Ginny at my shoulder, she had her face in the wool of my black trench coat. A stage had been made, several voices to be heard with none other than my beloved as its centerpiece. He looked so striking compared to the dismal state. He was talking at a low podium, painted white, pure, like the marble statue of Dumbledore behind him. Flitwick stood aside him, his hands folded, listening with his head bowed at Harry delivering his speech.

“…I thought I knew Severus, like I did so many others: Headmaster Dumbledore, Hagrid, Professor Sinistra, Professor Trelawney…even those not of Hogwarts, needing to be remembered too: Moody, Remus and his wife, Nymphadora, my godfather… I wish I could go back, we could go back. The things I've said, we said to them taken back. I wished to have known Professor, Headmistress McGonagall, had her over for Christmas dinner… Had her see my future children…”

Harry grinned at me as he paused, the drizzling rain having pressed and pulled his hair down on his forehead.

I smiled, tears at their ducts, overflowing and cascading over my cheeks.

I was supporting him, always.

This was hard for me, hard for everyone.

But, I knew it was ten times more difficult for him, so bold in the face of fracturing psychologies.

“…I didn't know Professor Snape, Severus, like I'd wanted to. In the final hour of his life, he told me things that dramatically changed him as a person in my life. Beyond teaching Potions and teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, he secretly enjoyed a game of Quidditch. Who would have thought?”

Some in the crowd laughed a little at the revelation of someone so overwhelming could find relaxation in Quidditch.

“I would have liked to have tossed around a quaffle with him. Maybe race him around the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch… Looking back, he could have been someone I could, we could look up to…like a father, someone like Sirius was in my life, and in all our lives…”

“…But, what I'd like for everyone to remember when they leave the Memorial today is not the tears we weep for those we love and lost, but the happy, joyful memories. We all were dealt a great deal of hardships in our lives… But it's their essence, in our hearts and minds,” Harry patted his chest, and then touched his forehead. “Which will keep us strong and make us better people.”

***

The drizzling rain picked up in pace, but not by much. The drops became larger in their radius, now splotching wet the sleeves of my coat, the black trousers on my legs. Ginny was wrapped around my right arm, leading her wherever I went without so much of a word. She'd told me in whisper how much stability I gave her, even by proximity without actually talking her up. I guess I got that part from being around Harry. Truly, I wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind. I, too, sobbed. Maybe my tear ducts had dried, but my insides wrenched just as tightly in a knot as every other sad soul here.

My fingers easily slid across the alabaster masonry, the rain pooled on its sheen, white surface. The coffin mimicked so much of the Headmaster's beyond in the Gardens, but beneath this lay Severus. I felt Gin rub her face into my arm, squeeze my hand and hide in the material of the coat. I stood still, people coming up beside me, around me, as if in slow motion. The memory, in stills of a photography camera, all flipped forward in unison. I saw the past in a flash, seconds. For those seconds I wanted to keel over, if not for the staunchness in my knees, hurting when my mind reeled over them from how stiff I'd become. I could have been but another statue. With the rainwater making the marble glossy, the atmosphere so surreal, the fog a dreamscape…

I couldn't make heads nor tails of the matter. Up was down and left was right. This was a man I so readily hated, loathed. In one brief breath, the world changed; all that I knew vanished for a truth. The truth so drastically different I think I could have gotten whiplash. Severus had loved Harry. Surely, he hated him for his demeanor, but deep inside he protected him…protected him even from Dumbledore, where he could. To think I had more trust in the Headmaster than Severus…but, not even I, the know-it-all, the brains, could have concocted that conclusion. For the longest time, I thought Severus was the most obvious: a Death Eater, his target the embodiment of my heart.

I would have killed him without thought like any other Death Eater.

My, how change can cripple one's mind.

The pads of my fingers fell within the tiny indentations, ebony chipped into white:

Severus Snape

Strength to persevere and endure in the face of extraordinary obstacles

I laid my red rose at the foot of the coffin, Gin shuffling along with me into a nonpermanent partition. My eyes wandered the patronage, the individuals in groups by family, friends, faculty. I saw Luna with Alice, their hands, fingers intertwined. Alice had her back to me, softly chatting with people I'd never seen before. Walking by, Luna gave me one of her warm smiles. I'd always thought she was off, but I swear, the deeper I've gone into life, the more I realise she's been right. The pain I feel, the more I want to withdraw; Luna's taken her pain and returned from its depths for better.

None of the press was allowed for the event.

Luna had opted for The Quibbler to sit this out as well, even when the pressure fell heavily on the Prophet.

The Minister had been invited to show; but, I hadn't seen him in the crowd. If he did come, he came and went. No speeches. Typical, for the present's general malaise, he had enough of himself to share. I had no resentment other than his trifling with Harry's emotions. I was sure he didn't come off blank on purpose; though, I wish he'd show a little more feeling when extracting Harry's nightmares. It wasn't fair the slightest, and it hurt me in ways no one but Harry could ever see.

I smiled at Fleur, stepping my way around the Memorial with Gin still very attached. Fleur stood beside her love, Bill, with `ittle Dominique in her arms. It was quite incredible to see how she went from being obvious with pregnancy to her lithe figure once again. Dominique, the light ginger already appearing atop her tiny head, clasped at Fleur's blonde hair. She reminded me of Hope. Mister Weasley had his back to me, talking to a family.

The more I walked, the more everything went… Was I truly in a dream? I questioned every step. The last mile, would there be light at the end? The fog rolled in, like folding cloth, at the edges. I've had dreams about death, my death, and how it would be. The only concept concrete enough to keep me grounded was a certain pull, a gentle squeeze now and then by Ginny consciously or subconsciously. She had her head lying on my shoulder, eyes closed when I saw her from my right side.

“Ginny.”

Someone called out, removing my liquefied trance.

I hadn't even remembered where I was going, where I was for that matter.

I saw something in the fog, my eyes re-focusing, and noticed a slip of white cloak vanish back into dense obscurity.

I felt Gin lift from me and look over, like I did, to see Neville with beverage in hand. Gin looked from him, to me, and back to him. Slowly her fingers loosened from mine. She glanced back at me, gazed at me in brief, and then nudged at my shoulder with her nose as if the very smell of me could let her leave my aura. She did, unwillingly by another look back halfway to Neville.

This would be the first time they'd talked, at least in my presence.

Alone, my eyes swept the room to find… Harry.

I saw him with Flitwick, Hagrid, and Madam Hooch. Flitwick was talking, and I wished to hear if not for a buzzing in my ears. I floated, high, the catharsis nearly unbearable. I wished to do a lot of things: cry, yell, light something on fire with my wand; though, none of it would have made me feel engaged with reality. I could hear myself breathe, feel my chest rise and fall. It really was slow motion, his upwards gaze, our eyes locking, how his remorse lightened into grin. He held his arms open and I fell into him, arms about his neck, his arms around my middle. I embraced him, and embraced him tightly. My face, my nose, lips at the crook of his neck, aside his throat, I smiled, smelled the pumpkin, and melted into his form like sugar to water.

“…Did I do well?” He asked silently in my ear.

“Brilliantly…,” I confessed with ease.

***

September 19, 2000

8:36 AM GMT

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

Tuesday morning.

I didn't set my alarm. Lesson was in, but I decided not to go. With an emotional rollercoaster over the weekend, an emotional ride for the past several months, I just needed some time for me, and for me and Harry. I hadn't an exam, no essay to turn in… I knew it wasn't me, per se; acting selfish, and it was my birthday. It was my birthday and I could cry if I wanted to! I hadn't enough will to cry, relaxing, intensely, until I woke from a shift in the mattress.

I felt Harry get up, move to his side of the bed, the part in the centre where his weight would push down lifting. Knowing I'd sleep in today, no work, just us, I drifted back to sleep. He probably went for the loo, maybe a drink of water, maybe to catch the post, check the weather on television… I don't think he knew I was even awake. I lay still before going off again, my head hiding halfway into the sheets, the comforter, from the cold air. He could have gone to light a fire! And then, he came back, inching his way against me, the sheets being pulled up and cool air rousing me to fidget.

Something was inside the sheets, or…at my arm, the purple-and-black plaid shirt catching on what felt of pecks, until I realised Harry's kisses, my upper arm, shoulder… I grinned, though I faded in-and-out of consciousness. He nuzzled my neck, lightly rubbing the stubble at the exposed parts of skin beneath my jaw. I put my hand on his cheek to show I was there, an “Mm…,” moan, subtle, escaping. At my earlobe, in my hair, he explored by lip, taking me in. I could hear him breathe, hear him sniff, smell of me. He always enjoyed my smell, the natural vanilla for I hadn't perfume on. He found my hand beneath the sheets and brought it out, having to turn over, roll over, for him to caress the top, and then my palm, before placing a small, slender white-velvet box in my hand.

I blinked, unsure at first what was in my grasp. My eyes, squinted, stayed on what was given. Poised, I pushed up on my elbows and lay at an elevated angle on my pillow. Harry, scratching and massaging my head, combing my wild bed-hair with his fingers grinned on at the gift. His free hand, his arm, moved over and around me above the sheets as if I were his gift, too.

“What is it?” I exclaimed half-yawning, not fully attuned.

“Wouldn't possibly be fun to tell you what is in it now…,” he chuckled, kissing my cheek, leaving his nose to linger at the side of my softened flesh. “Open it up, silly.”

I did so, carefully, the box on a hinge. Inside, glittering gold on a pillow of ivory plush, strung out a necklace.

Its charm, its apex: a feather.

And, not just any feather…the feather, a cast in form of one of many a Hippogriff's plumage.

Buckbeak.

With contrast, and so like our Hippogriff, the gold was silvered, and white, to the small, golden chain.

In all the emotion, I couldn't help but shed tears.

“I love it…!” I threw my arms about Harry, hearing Harry laugh softly through his nose.

He tightened his arms around me, cradled me to him, saying with an emotional tinge himself, “Happy twenty-first birthday, my love.”

***

LOONY'S CHALLENGE TO WITCH WEEKLY

Lovegood's Quibbler knows they're in hot water. With the Prophet turning profits, our media strengthening internationally, and a growing number of subscriptions inside the homeland, Lovegood's falling enterprise has took shot at an appendage of the Prophet. Witch Weekly, owned by the Prophet, has seen a double in sales these past few months since Rita Skeeter has taken over. More skepticism over Lovegood media, her extreme rhetoric of support for the Order, and mistakes in Minister Shacklebolt's administration, as well as support for Harry Potter, an outlet she and her media has decided to explore is suspect to be put on shelves starting in 2001.

Entitled, Q, the magazine is to be marketed similarly in comparison to Witch Weekly, demographically and logistically, ranging from adolescents and middle-aged persons. Though, as Witch Weekly caters to their audience, the Prophet sees Lovegood's venture as following The Quibbler's example. The magazine, we're sure, will glorify the means and processes The Quibbler already rectifies necessary. Expect more Potter transcendence to immortality and expect more excuses and apologies for what is the Ministry's thumb in each and every citizen's eye.

Our assumptions are products of rumors that Loony is looking to debut Q with Harry and soon to be wife, Hermione Granger. Nevertheless, we cannot wait to read the expected comics of Lovegood's structuralizing the Potter's in great aptitude, ranging from the probable look back in time, the present and future stakes for the Potter family.

Miss Skeeter has said to, “Look out for several surprises,” around the time Q hits shop shelves.

Gus Perwinsky

Writer

Page 1

***

September 23, 2000

12:14 AM

Serendipity's, Violet Hill

A sandwich-board sign sits outside a pub, laughter and…awful lyrics coming from inside. Friday Night Karaoke is written in pink chalk within the black panel, with the winner(s) receiving a prize of 10 galleons.

Gin and I dragged Harry and Neville to the pub, a double-date. Gin and Neville had been having civilized conversations, at least; though, nothing as spontaneous as before. Gin seemed interested more in my and Harry's happenings as we ate. I'd bring Neville into our conversation if all else failed.

We were in a booth by ourselves, the homely bar warm from the cold. Harry and I shared a plate of chili cheese chips with butterbeer, my second. Harry had a glass of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. Gin ate some sort of fish sandwich, grilled tilapia, while Neville tore into spicy chicken wings.

Leaving obstacles behind, it was a dime a dozen to find time like this to see our friends. With me with school or part-time work, and Harry at Hogwarts, fitting in something after stumbling into Number Twelve took effort. If it weren't for my non-procrastination ways, studying early for next week's exam, I probably wouldn't have tallied Harry's remarks, strolling along with the plan for a get-together. Not that I, or we, didn't want too, of course.

Even after today, sitting back beside Harry, leaning against him and putting my head on his shoulder, I was a tad wilted. I wouldn't show it, putting on a smile, a face like Harry who was probably more in my boat than the talkative Ginny who had taken a temporary position at Flourish and Blotts. Neville took the night off.

Harry kissed the top of my head, and in listening to Ginny's description of new literature taken in by the bookshop, I heard her pause—we all did—but shook it off as if she were coughing.

She sneezed.

“Bless you,” said Neville, handing Gin an unused napkin.

Gin, glancing at Neville from the side briefly, took the napkin and blew her nose. “Thanks.”

“Blimey!” Gasped an astonished ginger-haired girl. She had a top hat in her hands, upside-down. The other pub patrons were putting their names in to participate. “It really is Harry Potter! And Hermione!”

“What! Where?!”

Neville, Gin and I laughed, Harry gazing about as if trying to find those the waitress spoke.

I wrapped my arms further around Harry, the table blocking the view of everyone.

And, Harry squeezed me in reply.

“My apologies! It's just…wow,” Her “wow” was more of a peep than a word. “W-will you all be joining in?”

“I don't know—“

“Yes!” Gin and I piped together.

I wrote down Harry's name on a napkin, making sure he couldn't see it.

Gin did the same with Neville.

This was planned from the beginning!

Folding the napkin, I threw the paper into the hat with Ginny's and sat back down aside Harry.

Neville looked confused and Harry eyed the suspicion.

“What are you two girl's up to now?” asked Neville, brow raised.

“Was that my name?” questioned Harry, his arms snaking back around me, captured. “My name you just threw in there?”

“Absolutely not!” I answered…in a smirk.

“You know we'll drag you two birds up on stage if we get called…,” Neville threatened in a glare. “I swear it. Right, Harry?”

“But it would be against the rules!” exclaimed Gin in a smirk of her own. She looked at me, then Harry, and then Neville on her left. “Our names aren't on there. And besides…”

She looked back at Harry. “Who else would be better than Harry Potter!”

She mimicked the same sort of exclamation as the waitress.

Harry picked up a peanut from the bowl in the middle of the round table and tossed it at Gin.

Gin ducked.

After so many…interesting…singles, and duets, Gin and I were overcome and doubled over when the pub owner, a wand to his throat, called out Harry and Neville's names. Gin prodded Neville to go, whereas I pushed Harry to get up. The crowd hooted and hollered, especially when the pub's owner rang aloud Harry's name once more, exalted in this society; though, tonight we made fun of it.

Maybe it was the butterbeer, or the dabble into Harry's stronger choice of drink.

Regardless, we got them from the table, giggling to ourselves as they wandered to the stage and stood like two deer caught in headlights. In front of them a prompter, a mix of Muggle and the wizarding world, the words appearing in the darkened atmosphere for the rest of us to sing along. They were given specialty wands, the sort made for amplification, microphones for “our kind”.

Harry and Neville took a shot at one another, laughing, pushing each other's shoulders. They were obviously nervous, the spotlight on them. Gin and I were loud with our own laughs, squeals, my own when I recognized the song first by the lead, and then the lyric.

Harry and Neville first shuffled into the first stanza together, the audience having a chuckle as they both looked at each other to find who would start first, and Harry took over:

Harry, eyes wide at the prompter, sung, “Just a small town girl…living in a lonely world. She took the midnight train,” He put his hand out and swept it across the room for dramatic emphasis. “Going anywhere!”

The party roared.

“Just a city boy…born in south Detroit. He took the midnight train,” Neville closed his eyes, scrunched up and shouted, “Going anywhere!”

I cried, laughing so hard.

Gin was holding her sides, hitting the table.

Both Harry and Neville carried together:

“It goes on and on and on and on!”

“Strangers waiting!”

Neville pushed on Harry, laughing, missing a line in the song, “—shadows searching in the night!”

Harry's eyes went wide, “Streetlights! People!”

He pointed at me and Ginny, “Living just to find emotion!”

Neville picked up, bobbing his head, his eyes watching the scroll, “Hiding, somewhere in the—“

Harry broke in, and in a shrill, “—In the niiiiiight!”

He fell to the floor on his knees, his fists in the air, trying his best to pull his vocals to that height.

Neville put a palm over his face.

I held myself, tears streaming down my face, feeling Gin bounce into me as she tried her best to settle, but couldn't at the sight of our crowd-pleasing, goofy men.

Gin and I wrapped our arms around each other, foreheads together, and sung along with the boys, the entire pub.

***

The Quibbler

EPSILON'S SCARE IN RIO

Shade Epsilon, as I'm sure everyone knows, has been traveling below the equator with her Messy Wet Tour. She's visited Australia, South Africa, and while taking her music to Rio de Janeiro was swiftly removed by her security teams when the Dark Mark appeared overhead. The Muggles at her concert, who had no idea what was happening, merely stared at the phenomenon, mouths opened. Those who knew what was going on quickly fled the scene, one Epsilon fan stating, “I was afraid for my life”.

Minister Shacklebolt and his administration have been in communication with Brazil's government, reports say. The Quibbler can also report that Aurors apprehended suspicious people for questioning and that Obliviators swept in to reassure the befuddled Muggle community. It was just another UFO conspiracy in the South American newspapers.

Shade Epsilon restored confidence in her fans by putting out a press release, quote: “I am fine and in great spirits, loves! Rio will experience what they've been waiting for! Viva Brazil!” Shade Epsilon's future concert dates have been changed under these new circumstances.

Worried fans worry not! Information given exclusively to The Quibbler, she will not be canceling any dates of her worldwide tour!

Rebecca Greene

Writer

P.1

***

October 1, 2000

10:07 PM GMT

Godric's Hollow

An unseemly cold and bitter night for west England, the earth sighing breaths of chill as the atmosphere raked softly, powder grains of light snow at our feet. The tiny wizard community was shut indoors by the temperature, by nightfall, with only a few crawlers resounding in the distance. The night was tremendously quiet, a swaying branch when the wind would blow the only commotion.

I could see our product, the synchronized white puffs from our distant lips, standing beside Harry with my arms wrapped around his left, my mitten-clad hands clutching his own mitten-clad hand. We were bundled, both in turtle-necks, both in coats and boots. The fringe of my salt-and-pepper coat would wave in the zephyr, longer than Harry's severely black which came just below his waist. His more thickly in comparison, I'd taken to be an Eskimo with my several layers, a forest-green beanie to match a forest-green jumper.

Standing in front of his mum and dad, I'd watch him stare on with a lack of emotion, a straight face, and tired. We'd come once a month, especially on holidays, to visit them. I'd listen to Harry talk to them as if they were here in the flesh, and I'd become so torn, heartbroken, and overwhelmed with tears. I'd come with him even when I was with Ronald after Hogwarts, after the War, before we were officially a pair. What was established never wavered, and in growing closer it never was an issue: I would be right there beside him no matter what. Any other circumstance took a backseat. He'd never do this alone unless he told me so.

He told me before we left, on a whim, really, as we were going to visit on the 31st in memorial, that:

“I need to see them.”

We were sitting and relaxing together on the sofa, watching some sitcom on television. We had eaten, showered, started on about “Monday mornings” when he suddenly became quiet. I remember looking at him seconds before he said those five words, and…I won't say it scared me. How he stated it, low, blank, flat…

It horrified me…

My intuition told me it had to do with Kingsley's inappropriate push. Something triggered, unlocked a hatch to the basement in Harry's mind where I knew he suppressed any sort of feeling that might depress me or others. As much as I willed and wanted him to open up, and he has… He'd never quite fully reach, even though I could feel him wanting to, but hid, relapsed into past mechanisms for defense.

I'd ask nothing further from him, and would try and lift his spirits by changing to subject to something lighter in flavour to his taste.

Quidditch was always a good standby.

I laid my head on his shoulder, some flecks of white melting when my warm cheek leaned against his dark coat. I closed my eyes and let the silence engross the moment, Harry having given his hellos and nothing more, just a vacantly empty gaze at his parent's graves, at the words:

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death

When we were about to leave, I broke free of Harry's hand, his fingers to step towards the immaculately etched stone. I let slip my wand from my coat and so carefully and so very cautiously murmured an enchantment at the earth below, having stooped down in kneeling. Closing my eyes, I recited what I knew by heart, circling my wand to perfection, and then opening my eyes to see a wreath of red roses, flawless.

“Good night, Missus and Mister Potter… We'll see you both again real soon, promise.”

I pushed from the knees and stood back up, dusting the frozen debris from my trousers. Turning around, I saw Harry having been watching me, his eyes never once looking away, a symbol of everything between us. I came to his front and waited to be apparated back to Number Twelve, my right hand joining his to see his hand slip to my cheek, beneath my eye where he…

I hadn't felt the tear I shed.

He kissed me, my eyes fluttering to a close…

…And we were gone; two souls of which no one in the small village would have ever known were there, the trace of our boot prints being faded away by sweeping powdered snow.

***

October 13, 2000

11:49 PM GMT

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

For such a day for everyone else, Friday the thirteenth came and went without much of any surprise. Thankfully. I went to school, Harry went to work. I went to work, Harry came home and fixed a dinner of hot soup and toasted sandwiches, something I so desperately needed after being caught in the freezing windstorm outside. It'd stopped snowing, but that didn't mean it hadn't stopped raining. Wet and cold, suffice to say that I hadn't come down with the flu was an understatement. Then again, I had one good friend looking out for me at school and work, and a lover keeping his eye on me as much as possible.

Having a mobile was a brilliant idea.

I'd come from the kitchen with parts of the home not finding the roaring fire consuming the hearth. The bottoms of my feet were frigid, even with socks on! I wished I would have put trousers on, but knew after the business in preparing hot chocolate I would be set up cozy, beneath the Gryffindor quilt, with Harry. I'd already stolen his old Quidditch jersey, which was mine now, not his. It hung or was put away folded on my side of the wardrobe, not his, to his laughter. I'd commandeered quite a number of his shirts, to which he'd very well tell me when I'd go snooping in his clothes.

Not that he ever minded.

He said I was sexy in his shirts, and I told him he'd be sexy in mine.

…He nearly tore one of my shirts trying to get it over his shoulders.

I pulled a muscle laughing that night.

Rinsing out the pan I mixed the cocoa and milk in over the stove, I placed it aside to dry in the rack and flipped the light off over the range. Both hands on the cup, one securely on the handle, I sipped as I trekked back into the living area where I left Harry. He was watching the Wizarding News Network when I left him, to come back to see him having changed the broadcast to the Magical Sports Channel, the package I'd given him for Christmas many months ago. He was obsessed, the station most popular on the telly.

I rolled my eyes in a grin, stepping down into the den.

Harry turned his head back towards me when he heard my footsteps and smiled, resting with an arm on the backside of the sofa.

Coming around the stand before the armrest, I asked with a bit of chuckle amidst, “So, what happened?”

“The blighters began some pathetic story about `us'. Rumors—so what's new, eh?”

“Ah, yes—another rousing conspiracy theory? Defamation? Or, am I pregnant again? Damn, I get pregnant every month it seems! At this rate I hope there's enough left for when we really want to get preggers,” I took the cup from my lips after another sip, Harry laughing, and handed it to him. “Sip, love? It's lovely.”

His uninjured eye glanced down at the steamy cup, the dimmed light of the den shadowing the already darkened, damaged eye. He could still see out of it, albeit through permanent squint…a portion of the Ministry and Kingsley I could commend after the rubbish they'd put Harry through.

“I love how you're so casual,” he mused.

“It'll be lovely,” He added, taking the hot cocoa from me. He looked up at me. “You made it.”

I smiled when he set it to his lips.

“I blew on it to cool it down a bit…,” I went to escape into the quilt on Harry, to stop, to see my kitty blending in with the red-and-orange colours on Harry's lap.

“What is this then?” I put my hands on my hips. “Has he taken my territory…again?!”

I was being highly sarcastic in tone.

Harry played it off. “I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about.”

Harry laid his hand on Crookshank's little head and scratched it. “What is she talking about?”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Absolutely.”

I smirked. “I see how it is then…”

“…I'll just be off,” I began as if to wander away. “Good ni—“

Harry caught hold of the back of his jersey, wrapped the cloth in his hands and systemically pulled me back to him. “You're not getting away that easily.”

“Oh?” I stood aside the sofa now, my leg at the armrest. “How will this work when he's taken to you so fondly?”

I crossed my arms and observed Harry set the cup of cocoa down on the sofa stand. “We'll make room for you.”

“Oh, is that it?” I snorted. “You'll `make room for me'? Is this how it goes now?”

“There will always be room for you.”

All smiles through the banter. “I don't believe he'll listen to mummy right now. I'm sure daddy on the other hand…”

“Crookshanks…,” Harry slid a hand beneath the orange fluff gently and picked him up. The lazy kitty merely meowed at him, a companion, something that if any other person besides him, and me, and Ginny, would have done would have easily found a feisty backhanded claw. Instead, Crookshanks just sort of eased into whatever Harry did. “Mum wants in.”

“Mummy needs daddy, hun,” I laughed through my nose.

Harry took up the quilt and I steadied myself, slipping onto his lap and getting into a comfortable spot for him to tug the quilt back over us. More of the fabric fell on me, his intention. I curled against him, cuddling, adjusting to his pockets. The telly low, our tiny laughs echoed over the volume. We nuzzled, a kiss or two, enveloping him those moments, feeling his hand slid over my bare legs, my knickers, stomach… He touched the necklace, the Hippogriff feather that will forever hang from my neck. I saw a bit of emotion spill from him, a quiver of his lip, a wetness in his eyes, and then a smile as he looked back into mine. Butterflies fluttered in my tummy, a chill ran up the length of my spine. I took him, kissed him with heat, all the while my ickle Kneazle climbed back atop, now, my lap upon the quilt.

“Aw…,” I could hear Crookshanks purring, warm and safe. I looked from my kitty to Harry who watched me.

“Look at this beautiful family,” I said rosy-cheeked with utmost delight.

The smile Harry carried double in size.

His focus never leaving me, he sighed, contently, and issued his happy reply, “Look at this beautiful family.”

***

The Quibbler

BERLIN'S DEATH EATERS

Troubling stories are being reported from the Ministry. According to sources inside the administration, several raids occurred in Germany after their Dark Mark scare. This isn't new information. However, now the media knows snippets of what was found. One source called it, “A frightening hindsight,” picking through the remains of newspapers, radio transcripts, television clips and literature detailing such important buildings as Hogwarts castle and Azkaban Prison. Included were Muggle sites like the Palace of Westminster, Buckingham Palace, and Tower Bridge. Rumors also have been floating around Ministry officials, but have not been confirmed, that Trafalgar Square and Violet Hill's Business District are targeted. Both of these see thousands a people pass through them on any given day. When told about the threat, Komli, the Violet Hill chief Gringott's Bank overseer, shrugged it off and said, “Human's are feebleminded creatures, but funny, nevertheless.”

The Ministry has been in contact with the Prime Minister about the details.

Articles were also recovered at these Death Eater hideouts. Among gut-wrenching portraits of past, random murders, the source said that they found, “stacks of old anti-Potter Ministry propaganda, `Undesirable No. 1: 10,000 galleons for his head'”.

Luna Lovegood

Writer

Chief Editor

P.1

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

QUINCY NOLPHO FOR MINISTER OF MAGIC

Rallied in the Ministry's atrium, in front of a glittering gold statue of magical creature and human, the Daily Prophet's Chief, owner, and lovely leader, Rita Skeeter, took Quincy Nolpho's hand to endorse Mister Nolpho's run to recall Kingsley Shacklebolt's position.

A mobile photograph is centred on the front page. Rita Skeeter, in her signature green pencil-skirt suit, is counter-balanced by Quincy Nolpho, in dress robes, a red tie, looking young and youthful in his late twenties. Surrounding them are people cheering, lenses flashing, a fresh gleam in the air.

“It is time for a new leader for our future!” said Miss Skeeter to the crowds. “It's time for us, the people, to take hold of the reins of our downtrodden land and seek new leadership! We have had enough, Minister Shacklebolt! And it is time for your holiday to end! It is time for you to step down!”

“Did you put him in?” Asked Mister Nolpho to the mass of media and Britons. “Who put him in? More cover-ups on cover-ups of cover-ups! I was inside! I can blow the whistle! The lies this Ministry and his admin have given you… I accept Miss Skeeter's endorsement for Minister of Magic and with you, and you, and you, and you, we all can take these liars and crooks out of office and put in decency and honesty—both of which this country so desperately needs in our time of catastrophe and economic crises!”

“The Minister has done nothing to create safety and to secure our countryside!” stated Miss Skeeter on Minister Shacklebolt's dismissive character. “Criminals—`demons'—run amuck with no soul stopping their antics! Albus Dumbledore, the Order, elevated this man, Kingsley Shacklebolt, to what he is today—what he is not! He is as false as the earth is flat! He must step down for our sake and our children's sake!”

“I will not sleep until I've taken it to the Minister, for you, and you, the children, and all of us!” Said Mister Nolpho, drowned out by the rousing applauses and chanting. “We can make a better future! I will make a better future! The recall of Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt and his administration is our first of many steps from a road to perdition!”

Fanfare music, the Ministry Court's anthem played at the end of Mister Nolpho's speech. The environment, ripe with moxie, felt like a page unfolding in the course of time. To bear witness to such an environment invigorated my very soul. I was left speechless and proud to be a part of our future.

Angelica Teivel

Writer

Rita Skeeter

Editor-in-Chief

Page 1 (cont. on pages 2, 3, and 4)

***

{Music Inspirations: lots, and lots, and lots of Audiomachine. Namely, Breath and Life, Final Hope, Out of Time, and one that was entitled, Death Eaters of all things. Also, for a bit of emotional relief, Journey}

-->

49. Oath

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.

Truth and deceit, success and failure, faith and disbelief: where is the line drawn?

***

Chapter Forty-Nine - Oath

***

The Quibbler

CHAMPIONING KINGSLEY SHACKLEBOLT

Minister Shacklebolt is a man of integrity, honor, and truth. He has come in and revitalized a painfully obvious state of corruption and evil amongst our governmental system. He has staved off numerous attacks against civilians, channeled support from magical creatures for the cause, and is humble during his successes. Walking down the streets of Diagon Alley, no one hears the outcry our counterpart suggests, throwing behind their endorsement for an individual who has been banished openly from the Ministry for his political ethics stated by Timothy Toulsen. Our counterpart is also being thoroughly investigated by means of harbouring Death Eaters, and Rita Skeeter has written book upon book glorifying Tom Riddle and demonizing heroes like Albus Dumbledore on the basis of his sexuality.

All of this added up sums to create a horrid potion of crookedness.

Do we really want to down this poison?

Luna Lovegood, as well as the rest of The Quibbler media, stands tall with sitting Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He is the best in decades.

Rebecca Greene

Writer

P.1

***

“What a riot, eh?”

“More than a riot…,” I answered Nathaniel, sitting on a bar stool slumped over the counter. “Madness. I swear there's something in the water for that crowd to come tonight. Ugh.”

I hadn't seen so many people at O'Brady's than in my first night working. The full employee base was there, and even so, we were all worn tirelessly to the bone. London's appetites were out, with or without a match on the telly. I think I could have skipped my waiting dinner and head straight to shower, and then to bed with my Harry-bear. I'd think about other things tomorrow, or whenever I'd get over the lag.

I put my hand to my forehead and just sat there a moment to breathe.

Thank goodness for closing!

I felt something at my shoulders, hands, and then a pressure. I opened my eyes to see Nathaniel having come around the bar behind me and was amidst giving me a shoulder massage. I sort of just laughed and shook my head. “I definitely need something,” I admitted.

He chuckled. “Always enjoy lending a hand where needed.”

“Well, I'm out for the night guys and gals!” Penny, bundled to her neck in layers, waved at us as she announced her departure from the door. “See you tomorrow!”

“See you!” I pushed myself to say, waving back.

“Later Pen,” addressed Nathaniel. “Good night.”

Others in varying degrees of exhaustion said their goodbyes to Penny from across the restaurant.

Nathaniel had found that little notch at the back of my neck with his thumb. I rotated my head, stating, eyes at a close once more, “You really should look into becoming a masseuse.”

“Think it's a calling?” He laughed, giving my spine a nice scratch. “Think I should call my literary dreams quits?”

“No,” I re-opened my eyes and turned to see him. “Don't you dare. The fiction you pursue is incredible.”

“I'm quite flattered as to be complimented by someone so intelligent.”

“Some might say I should permanently hang a book on my nose.”

“Don't you dare!” He retorted in a smile. “…Hide that pretty face.”

“You've caught me in a corner,” I laughed, slipping from the chair and finding an abrupt end to Nathan's rub. “Touche, sir, excellent jab.”

Nathan, leaning now on the side of the bar, watched me take up my bag. “I've been reading this new series analyzing Romeo and Juliet from traditional aesthetics to modern. You need to read it.”

“Bring it to class on Thursday.”

“Will do.”

“Well, now I've got to go,” I motioned towards the door, using Penny as voice of inspiration. “Long night, tired… Harry's waiting for me with dinner prepared.”

“That lucky mate.”

“I'm the lucky one.”

“Ha!” Nathan rolled his eyes. “Want me to hail another cab?” He asked, eyeing me as he took his apron off.

“I think I can handle this one…,” I grinned, moving onwards towards the door.

Nathanial made his way with me, behind me, putting his hand on a wall piece jutting out to make room for the entrance and exit of O'Brady's. He tilted beside it, looking at me, my hand on the doorknob, “Good night, Hermione.”

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” I quoted, seeing Nathaniel light up like the sun he was whilst pushing outwards the door. “Good night.”

***

I apparated right to the pathway to Number Twelve.

I opened the wrought-metal, waist-high gate and closed it behind me. The moment my feet stepped onto the pavement moving towards the Muggle apartments, a separate, sudden pathway came to life, concrete forming where there had been not. My feet, habitually and without thought, checking my purse to stop an annoying jingling sound within, continued onto this new route. Number Twelve shifted out, keeping watch of my pace, for pursuing a run would have it appear quicker.

I felt like any other Muggle coming home…sans the obvious. I'd gotten so into the steps, checking, looking, being vigilant of those who would see some fool running straight into a building's facade. I'd only a few steps up, my hand on the door handle. Another open, and another close into heat, a relief from a freezing element. I began, as always, my call out to Harry:

“Love, I'm home!”

In the hallway, I expected to hear the recall of my beloved by at least halfway down the corridor, per usual. Getting passed that threshold, however, my hands at the crimson-and-gold scarf around my neck, the Gryffindor emblem shown without a notion to what it was by any Londoner's soul, I stopped at the foot of the stairs and called back out into quietness.

I would have panicked if not for feeling, and hearing, a fire crackling in the hearth.

I would have panicked, not smelling food I'd come home to day in and day out.

“…Love?”

I did, however, pick up my feet, carrying them into the den where I saw first people of unknown origin sitting in my living space, and then others I had seen: Defense Secretary Eaton, Gregory from the Department of Mysteries, and then Kingsley in his plum robes. I halted my footsteps, scarf off and hanging in my hand. Every pair of eyes glanced towards me when I came in. Daresay I was, unnerved, wanting to reverse and come back in to a credible scene, something I'd see regularly. The Minister and his Defense admin…they certainly have never…I've never seen even Kingsley here since the Order.

I took in a breath.

No one talked.

The clock overpowered the silence.

I hated when that happened, in times like these.

Unhappy times, their faces not cheery, solemn as if someone had…

My eyes widened, flittering across the room to see…

“Hermione!”

“Harry!” I ran to him, adjacent to the other men. An invisible boundary I penetrated, slipping in-between Kingsley and his court to get to my beloved. Harry, in his chair, rose to meet me; though, I fell into him, with him, in embrace. He sat back on the chair by my force, aside him now and looking over at the eyes at our intimacy.

“What's going on?” It wasn't exactly a question. It was a demand. I looked back at Harry, and at a lesser distance could see him perturbed, angry, his jaw fixed. “Why are they here?”

When Harry couldn't look into my eyes anymore, I yelled, barking at Kingsley who also remained tight-lipped. “For crying out loud, can someone please say something?!”

“Show her, Harry,” Kingsley's voice offered no solace. He was firm in tone.

“I didn't ask any of you to come here! In my house!” Harry bit back. Something scarily profound had to have happened just seconds before I entered Number Twelve, each and every face displaying the intensity, including Harry's to whom I'd taken to gazing back into. “This is my house, Kingsley! Don't you dare—“

“Show me what?” My voice went into whisper, though all could hear. When my mouth opened and spoke, everyone shut theirs. My whispers came exhaustive, my chest heavy.

“So she can be frightened, Kingsley? So fear can grow?” Harry laughed sarcastically, glancing at the fire, beyond me, and then back to Kingsley. “What do you want me to do? Create more chaos in my life?”

“Hermione deserves to know.”

“Can we all quit playing mind games and tell me what the Hell is going on?!” I came at Kingsley, his choir behind him, and then to Harry. “Please?”

Harry's eyes pierced my own.

I knew he tried to forecast reasoning, to read me and what I'd do, how I'd respond.

I gave him no luck to dissuade my stance.

I wanted to know!

From the shadows, between his leg and the armrest, he pulled out a piece of parchment he'd hidden in the cushion. Knowing Harry, he'd put it there on purpose…probably when he heard me come in from work, when I called him, “Love,” and between, “I'm home”.

The parchment was enclosed, folded many times, and became my own Rubik's cube in unraveling. Carefully I went, seeing scrawled print here, disfigured, bits and pieces in the fire's light until…

Everything.

The words, crooked and red, the smell of the parchment's ink having me cover my nose:

thE MuDblOod's BlOod WilL FiLl THe STreEts

“Why does it—“

“Pig's blood,” Kingsley interjected, knowing where I'd go. “Harry's office at Hogwarts.”

Harry snatched the parchment from me, crumpled it up and threw it into the fire.

I watched the now-crinkled ball pop, heard the crackle, and saw how it burned to ash.

I looked back at Harry who kept his eyes at me, trying to figure my emotion; though, I lacked none than being worn. He saw something, I guess, pulling me to him, on him. I sat in his lap, his arms tight around me, protective, a shell. He kissed me, and with such fervor, taking me back at how physical he approached. I wasn't really… Well, at some level I was scared, but at another I forever saw the image of hatred bored into my arm by pocketknife. I lived with it, and everything of which occurred, desensitized me.

How could it not?

My lioness ways, seeing my lion's anger, fret to calm him, nuzzling him by tip of nose against his cheek.

He kissed me again.

“What about Xavier? Others?” I pulled away from Harry's cheek to see Kingsley. “What about—“

“I had a team trace their whereabouts after Harry sought Flit—“

“Will you let her speak for Christ's sake?!” Harry belted from his diaphragm.

“Don't speak to the Minister in such a tone!” sniped Gregory from Kingsley's shoulder.

Kingsley put up a hand, and Gregory stepped down from his defensive soapbox.

Kingsley's sight focused back on me, and then Harry. “I am merely answering her questions, Harry.”

“You're fucking interrupting her every fucking second. She starts in, you go barreling right head on like she's some doormat! I told you before, and I'll tell you again—“ Harry's entire body shook as he talk, and I swore he was going to hurt himself. “If you fucking interrupt her again, I swear I'll—!”

“Do you dare threaten the Minister, boy?!” Eaton jumped into the fray.

“Dennis!” bellowed Kingsley. “Hush this instant! Enough out of all of you!”

I caught him, my arms about his neck, cradling his head against my chest in aim to keep him cool. It helped, his shaking decreasing, the rate of his breath normalizing… He still shook, panting to which I could feel all over. His arms were locked vice-like around me. “Shh… It's okay…,” I wouldn't let him go either.

“No, it's not `okay', Hermione…,” My God, was he shaking. I started to rub him, his head, his shoulders, his arms… Nothing worked. “Nothing is `okay'. Nothing has been `okay'!”

The lights throughout Number Twelve flickered.

Crookshanks scurried from where he ran to aside the chair out of the room.

“Shh… Love, you're going to be in the hospital if you don't slow down…,” My massages continued, my hands back in his hair. “I really don't want to visit St. Mungo's tonight, so please…”

He withdrew his face into the crook of my neck. I could feel the tingle on my skin when he'd breathe strong, fast breaths. I felt him kiss the spot he conformed to, my figure wiggling to his insanely ticklish maneuvers, but being very serious in thought and action when peering back over at Kingsley.

I stared at him for the longest time, his choir a background of blurs. I couldn't care less about them. I cared about my frantic Harry, his health at the moment, firstly. Kingsley next, for he'd come to help… I knew it. The endeavor wasn't a spot for tea time. There was something far consuming than what anyone beside him knew, and I wanted him to chirp like a pretty bird.

“I fear I mustn't continue,” Kingsley shuffled his footing and began to stand. “I do not like how the direction is being digested. I swore principles, and I will not allow the words to cause affliction. Though, I must say—“

“Sit down,” My severely maternal demeanor, astute, calm, straight in tone caught all these older men off-guard. I didn't move for how I held Harry, how Harry rested at my throat. My eyes led them, as if they were my hands, pointing to the sofa, the chairs, to where I wanted them all to sit back down…now.

The charm wasn't broken even by Kingsley's formidable stature.

He sat right back down.

My eyes could puncture holes in the man, staring him down, feeling Harry smell of me and every other sensation combining into surrealism.

“Now tell me very peacefully, and very collectedly, what the Hell is going on,” I even went sarcastic at the end, peeking in speech. “It's that easy.”

Kingsley didn't respond quickly enough, and it made the hairs on my arm rise.

I'd become a very livid lioness, and they were in my den.

“Well!?”

“To put it bluntly,” Kingsley pressed his lips together, letting out. “From friend to friend… I don't know Hermione.”

“Are you telling me with all the power you have in the world,” I seethed. “That the Prophet is right? That you've become so incredibly incompetent? You can't find your arse from a hole in the ground?”

“Don't talk to the Minister like that!”

“GREGORY!” Kingsley swiped at him. “Did I motion you to speak, son? From now on, you're only to speak when I allow you to speak. Understand?”

He pointed to the rest of his crew. “And that goes for every one of you. Speak again and you will be punished!”

Kingsley came around and huffed. “It's not exactly black and white, Hermione. I work tirelessly to keep both you and Harry safe. But I also have an entire country to protect, lives to save. When I heard Minerva had been killed… Do you know what that did to me? How much it penetrated every, single security issue I've done?”

Harry started laughing, but I coaxed him to stop, pulling him into my neck, my bosom. I kept my eyes on Kingsley.

“I don't wish anything on anyone, sir. But saying that in the household held by my fiance is quite ironic, don't you think?”

“Maybe Rita is right then?” Continued Kingsley. “Maybe I've been over my head this entire time? Maybe there is someone out there better equipped to protect you, Harry, the world?”

“Sir,” piped Eaton. “With all due respect to what you said about talking, you are a fine gentleman and a respected gentleman. Your heart is ten times the size of anyone I've ever known and what you've done…”

Eaton sighed through his whitened beard and mustache. “Only a few have died on your watch. Millions of others are at home, tonight, sleeping soundly in their beds. The standard you've achieved is excellent.”

“Thank you for your words, Eaton,” replied Kingsley. I could see him vulnerable for the first time, eyes sunken in from the angle at which he looked at to the Defense Secretary. He looked back at me as if he knew I saw that vulnerability. “I try my best by all possible means. The child you speak of, this Xavier Hart and his family. Xavier wasn't in Hogwarts today.”

“He was,” chimed Harry from his hiding spot, muffled at my clavicle.

“That's true, but the moment Flitwick called for action, when I stopped my trip to Moscow to speak to their leaders after their own threats, the first report that I got in my hands stated that this boy skipped to Hogsmeade with a few other Slytherin. Doing what these few do, they were caught nicking sweets from shelves and taking Witch Parfait magazines. These acts don't warrant a spell from the Inquisition, and they've been put into their place by Hogwarts's faculty.”

“His mother was in Diagon Alley in these same, simultaneous seconds. She was window-shopping, walking the streets with friends, again, no warrant for arrest. When you, or Harry, give me this information I don't disregard it. I hold it highly credible, and I do send out Task Teams to investigate every possible lead.”

“Not enough,” Harry rumbled aside me. He'd gone so quiet I thought he had gone to sleep. I saw him look around me to Kingsley. “It's not enough!”

“Harry…”

“What do you want me to do, Harry?!” Kingsley shouted.

“Do you know how many of those parchments with pig's blood were in my office?! On the walls! On my desk! On the floor! It was like someone had gone in and slaughtered a pig right there in my room! And all the filth, disgusting, obscene language… Mudblood…”

He'd begun shaking once more.

“I already have teams specifically coordinated for your routes and Hermione's routes. Both of you are more covered by measures than my own personal security!”

“Then explain to me how this happened, hm?! Explain to me how hundreds of thousands of bloodied parchment with `Mudblood' smeared in pig's blood wandered into my office at Hogwarts, a place you've even said was being locked down by Aurors from the outside!”

“I cannot have my Aurors walking the halls, Harry. I can't have your team walking beside you,” Kingsley's arms and hands were waving dramatically after every other word it seemed, declaring he meant what he said. “That would go against the fundamental fact that they are secret! They are secret because if Death Eaters find out just how many they are, they can act accordingly! Any cracks they could see couldn't prevent them from attacking! Everything must be confidential! I will not let that happen! I am doing my—!”

“You're not doing shit!”

“Harry!”

“Get up, Hermione.”

“What?” I felt him moving me, picking me up.

“Get up!”

“What are you going to do?!”

Harry stood up and pointed directly at Kingsley. Slowly, he said in a very haunting way, “You promised me she'd be looked after while I was gone, Kingsley.”

He pointed back at me.

“You told me and promised me and looked me right into my fucking ugly eye,” He pointed to the blackish portion of his face. “That she wouldn't come to harm…”

I went to take Harry's arm, to take him back, but he shook me off.

“Nothing happened, Harry. She's fine.”

“You're a funny, funny man. Your next occupation should be in comedy.”

“Sir,” Mumbled Gregory. “He won't listen to you.”

Harry pointed at Gregory, told him to “Fuck off,” and then set his finger back on Kingsley.

“You lied to me, Kingsley. You lied to me. Death Eaters swarmed her parent's house…”

“Swarmed?” Harry's use of the word had me to repeat it. No one had ever told me how many were there beside the handful I saw.

Swarm definitely isn't a handful.

“Harry,” Spoke the Minister coolly. “Hermione would not have come to any harm. I promise—”

“And you come in here, knowing quite well what you see, the evidence, the word, `Mudblood,' `blood filling the streets,' `Mudblood cunt,' `Mudblood bitch,' and you tell me you're going to…increase…my security, the ones around me, and not around Hermione's?”

“Harry…,” Kingsley put his hand out, palm to Harry, as if he could feel the rise in what was coming. “…As I've said here tonight, both of your lives are protected more than my own. The bounty on your head, Harry… I'm afraid if I don't—“

Harry took hold of the lamp on the sofa's stand, ripped the chord from its socket creating a surge, an electrical jolt spark. I shrieked, Kingsley's troupe gathered around him instinctively…

…And Harry threw the lamp at the far wall, away from everybody, it smashing into millions of ceramic and glass pieces.

“DO YOU NOT SEE WHAT IS ON HER ARM?! DO YOU NOT SEE WHO THE TARGET IS?!” I had to cover my ears, pulled into a ball on the chair Harry had sat in. The shouting from Harry blasted my eardrums, and caused me to cry. I wanted it all over. He'd only gotten this way a few times…long ago…

“FUCK MY LIFE, KINGSLEY! FUCK YOUR LIFE! FUCK EVERYONE ELSE! SHE IS THE ONLY ONE THAT MATTERS!! DO YOUR GOD DAMN JOB AND DO IT RIGHT OR TAKE YOUR TEAMS AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR ARSE!!”

“YOU SELFISH ASSWIPE!” Gregory started in at Harry, but Kingsley plucked him off the floor by his shirt collar and thrust him towards the fireplace.

Gregory stumbled in the direction, looking back as if he didn't understand.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE! ALL OF YOU!!” Harry inhaled an audible breath to tear another, “GET THE FUCK OUT NOW!!!”

“Get back to my office, Gregory, and do it NOW! Eaton!” The elderly Secretary, and his cohorts stammered to Kingsley. “You and the others follow Gregory back to my office on the double, and do it with finesse, will you.”

“Yes, Minister…”

“Harry…,” said Minister Kingsley looking back from within the fireplace. Everything came to a rush after Harry had thrown the lamp, while I stayed bottled up on the chair, weeping, hands still over my ears.

“Curse me all you want, but nothing will change me from protecting you. I owe, we all owe you a national debt and I will do whatever it is to repay that debt to you.”

The green flash, familiar flames engulfed the lone Minister. “I hope to speak to you on easier terms.”

Harry found a cup.

I don't know where, as it sat on the other stand, far away and no one drank, and threw it into a hearth in the process of shrinking back into a normal fireplace.

He screamed, hoarse, something in his voice trembling and breaking.

I heard him begin to cry and he stormed into the kitchen from the den.

I shot up, tear-stained, following him when I heard more breaking, more shattering and got a scene of kitchenware being taken from the sink and thrown at the walls. He took his hands and raked plates clear off their shelves, upturned chairs at the dining table and began punching the table as hard as he could.

“Stop it!!”

I yelled from the door.

His punches swallowed my screams, his tears, his own weeping taking shape. He cried and pummeled and pummeled the same spot over and over again, yelping when he hit the hard wood, but pushing on as if the pain benefitted. I saw his fist, the knuckles split-opened and bloodied.

I ran over to him, repeating what I'd said, “Stop it! Stop it!!!” My shoes crunched the shards of plate on the floor.

I got behind him, yelled for him more, and more, and more which only seemed to fuel him farther.

I embraced him, took my hand and went to hold his punching back…only to feel my own hand crushed beneath his, between the table and his bone.

I screeched, wailed and shot back, removing completely from him and holding onto my hand.

Harry had stopped as suddenly as he felt, and saw, what he did, whispering expletives at a maddening rate now at himself than Kingsley, or the Ministry.

His tears fell for me, picking me from the floor and setting me on the kitchen counter where he turned the faucet on cold and ran my hand under it. My hand hurt badly, bruised I'm sure if not broken.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Oh God, I'm sorry…!”

I'd have told him to stop, it was okay, but he'd begun to move my fingers around, the pain racing up my arm.

“Can you move this on your own? This finger?” Through continuous sobs, he tried to soothe me, fix me. He brought my hand, my fingers to his lips where he kissed them, all five, and then the inside and outside of my palm when I gave him a nod, reassuring I could indeed move my fingers.

Nevertheless his own blood streaking from the flowing water to my skin beneath the faucet.

“Christ…,” He heaved, his body in that same state of shaking.

“Just please stop… Stop…,” He hugged me, grasped me to him, my hand numbing from the cold water. I didn't care, breathing in and set upon, within, Harry's embrace, his caresses, his apologies.

He broke down and literally fell into me, his face in my lap, his weep unrelenting and pure of heart-ache.

All I could was offer myself, what I knew, a rub, some words, a different beat before getting him from the kitchen and upstairs to bed where he, and I, so desperately needed to be.

***

Harry fell into bed. He didn't take the sheets with him, falling right atop in a heap of weakened body, an exasperated soul. I don't even think he realised I was there when I fetched a clean cloth and ointment for his self-inflicted wounds. I didn't so much as move as I moved him, lifting his hand, sterilizing his knuckles, his fingers, rounded bits of ripped flesh…the one at his middle finger actually had the skin clinging on. Readily, as I cleansed the portion the semi-attached epidermis, so thin it was transparent, severed.

I thought Harry would snap awake any second, but kept still instead without a flinch.

I hoped I hadn't hurt him, and caressed the side of his hand after applying the cream, putting a bandage on, and setting his hand down on the mattress.

I left him to discard the wrappers, the tube put back in the medicine cabinet, the cloth hung over the shower stall. I felt it urgent to get with him, to get in bed beside him, and hurried to do so promptly. I didn't pay much attention to myself: my hair after removing my work clothes and tossing them in the bin, my makeup, the black about my eyes in a flourish of water and soap, the towel getting the majority when dried. I raked a toothbrush over my teeth a few seconds, spat, and was out of the loo in a minute's time.

I took up something—a hoodie—placed over a desk chair on the way over. Harry had put this on this morning to go for a quick jog, weather permitting. I didn't care to go after anything else, the wardrobe, the drawers simply too much of a big deal when all I wanted to do was to get in bed and wrap myself around Harry. I slipped one arm in, and then the other, not bothering to zip up and slid into the sheets.

I maneuvered Harry. My poor baby would get cold lying above the quilt and comforter. I needed to feel him skin-to-skin. When he settled, coming in and going out of awareness, he instantly clutched to my form. He buried himself in me, beneath the sheets, directly beneath my chin. He tightened his secure grip, breathed a long breath and sighed into my chest.

I put my arm around him and held him just as tight.

***

I don't know what time it was, faced away from the clock. I knew it had to be hours later, as when things started I found myself opening my eyes sluggishly, unprepared for what I witnessed.

First he kicked, and then another, and another.

He hit me the second time, and by then I was wide awake.

He started shaking, fighting as if something unknown grappled with him.

“Harry?” I lifted to my side, my hand on him.

He grunted and pulled on me, then pushed me aside.

I saw his eyes weren't open.

“Harry!” I shook him, feeling when my hand touched him how rigid he'd become, and then silence.

He suddenly settled.

His abrupt stop came with tinges of terror.

My mind reeled with the definition of the situation and how wrong the pattern went when the spectrum hopped from extreme to a polar opposite. I'd taken my hand off when he drooped in the mattress, shoulders slumped, falling backwards as if he were to roll over on his back. I went to feel of him again, my hand on the side of his face to find him snap, ferociously grab the hand, yank me and spew this…unimaginable…unintelligible…

…I hadn't heard parseltongue in ages, and how I was now face to face with my…beloved? He sneered, his eyes remaining at a close, issuing phrases I couldn't comprehend…other than they were the most sinister of sort, lashing.

He laughed, a guffaw of evil, this stench unlike Harry developing in his breath.

I was…petrified…at a standstill and frozen, looking into the slit, pinched eyes and then he screamed, pushing me off him and tumbling from the mattress.

I watched him, heard him yell as he held his head, grasping at his forehead. He clawed at his scar, as if to scratch it clear off and gasped. I saw him look at me, look right into my behemoth-sized pupils, wide stare of horror. He fell straight down, down on his knees and vomited amidst pleas to “Stop!”

I leapt clear across the bed right to him and put my arms around him. He pulled away, kept me from his face until he saw me…

Like he'd never seen me before, and in revelation of who I was found the epiphany he needed.

“I can't go back to sleep…,” he heaved. His nose ran and his face was hot with a strong tint of red. “Don't make me go back to sleep…!”

“You don't have to go back to sleep, Love! You don't…,” I spoke fast, distinctly. I looked over the acidic puddle of sick and began to lift him under his arms. “But we've got to get you up, at least onto the bed!”

He said as we went, standing up, “…I'm sorry, sorry…”

“There's nothing to apologise about, everything's okay,” He sat on the edge of the bed. I made sure he was fine, sitting with him, until I acted again. “I must get something to get it off the floor.”

I went to my feet for a towel in the clothes bin, something already used from a previous shower, whatever, and found the first one. I could hear Harry crying, and when I turned around saw his hands covering his eyes. I let the towel do its thing, sitting back with him. Nothing in the depths of my mind came to me, Harry saying repeatedly, “…I don't want to fall asleep… Please don't let me fall asleep…!”

I'd begun rubbing his back, letting him lean into me, when I said, “Let's get you downstairs, then. Get you a drink or you'll dehydrate. I wouldn't want that.”

He stood up with me about him. Halfway across the bedroom he said, “I've got it…”

“You've got it?” I asked, supporting him.

“I can walk.”

“I'll be right behind you,” I let him go, watched him make it to the stair railing, and came back to the towel on the floor.

Depositing the towel in the sink, I raced downstairs to see Harry at the last few steps heading in the direction of the kitchen. “What do you want to drink?” I called out.

“I don't care…,” He still held his head, changing direction. He went towards the sofa, lights turning on by our movements.

In the kitchen, I knew what made my tummy feel better when it was upset. I took a can of cola out of the refrigerator, took out a glass, and poured the fizzy beverage among a mountain of crystal ice cubes. In a flash I was back beside Harry, my toes at the floor, my feet never hitting its surface for very long.

He sat bundled up in the Gryffindor quilt by the time I came back, sitting down where we touched at the hip, my foot slipping beneath my bum. I sat at the side, looking at Harry as he looked off at a blank telly…if his hand weren't in the way. “Thank you,” he said, feeling me there, accepting the glass of cola.

I let him drink in quiet.

I had a deluge of questions on my tongue, frightened as I was…he'd looked so…awful…

“Thank you,” he said, again, between gulps.

I smiled when he glanced at me from the side, but the smile faded when he turned back.

“…I haven't had an episode like that in a…,” He breathed as if he were still breathless. “…a while.”

I squeezed his arm. “Take your time,” I coaxed.

My hand on his bicep, I rubbed with my thumb in circles.

A third of the way through, he set the glass in his lap and leaned back on the sofa, the rounded incline at his arch. He stared at the ceiling briefly, and then shut closed his eyes.

I waited, peering in squint at the clock to see it passed four.

Class would start in less than five hours. I could easily skip if he needed me. The essay about Socrates's method of dialogue wasn't to be turned in until tomorrow, and it had been finished now for some weeks in advance. My algebra exam wasn't until Friday. Nothing stopped me from breaking allegiance from school, anyway; Harry was vastly more important than any literary or mathematical lesson.

I finally gave in, saying, “Was it…?”

“…A nightmare,” He ended. “An utter nightmare…”

I frowned, leaned in, nose squished against his shoulder and kissed him. I slid my hand over his navel, running my fingers over his abdomen.

“…You spoke parseltongue.”

“It felt very much like…,” He paused. “…like I was…I was…”

“You grabbed me…”

At those three words, Harry stopped, stopped breathing, stopped blinking, stopped everything and looked at me. He read the fright, the horror I'd felt and feel…though, more faint than those minutes ago.

“I'm a monster.”

His words, deliberate in sound, action, consciousness…

His eyes solid, fixed on me.

He truly meant what he said.

I shook my head. “You are not a monster.”

“I am a monster!” He yelled. “A ghastly being that brings nothing but the worst and—“

I halted his barrage, taking him into my arms and pulling him down with me. I cradled him at my breast, his grip tight, and hid in the softness that was me.

He rubbed his face into my chest, his voice suppressed at the skin and cloth of the hoodie. “...And I don't know why you put up with me. Why you've always put up with me. I'm nothing more than a—“

“Harry,” Interjecting, I knew it wasn't his fault. He knew it wasn't his fault, either. I couldn't demand him to relieve the constant bullying he'd do to himself. Like Tourette's, his motions were involuntary, his speech the same. I loved him, damn it, and I wished this all would go away—wished he wouldn't creep into this state of depressed mind.

All I could do, and all I knew how to do was to tell him: “You mean the world to me and I love you. I've always felt out of step…”

“I've never felt normal—I'm not normal, and I don't ever want to be,” He glanced from my chest. “I've faced death, and loss, and pain…but, I've never felt stronger—more real, myself—because it's my world, too. I belong with you.”

He kissed me where he lay.

“I'd be a right mess without you…”

“And, I'd be a right mess without you,” I replied in unison.

I could tell he smiled even without a visual.

We went quiet, the ticking clock our noise.

My hand on his head, my arm snug around his back, I kept him on me protectively, motherly to a point. I'd seen him like this, vulnerable, scared, innocent…like a child, almost. I couldn't tell if this was a retraction, as much as he missed his mum, his dad, everyone connected by blood—Sirius—gone. But, I didn't care. To my breast, something felt very right. The organ of life lay beneath his ear, his cheek, his mouth; the same organ a symbol of happiness, warmth, love. I found it greatly reassuring, affectionate, and those two were so very welcome in summaries like this.

“You truly are the woman of my dreams…”

I smiled and swore to myself I wouldn't choke up.

There'd been enough crying for the both of us.

“…Don't let me fall asleep, love,” He said, reliving the same statements. “Not, at least, for a little while…”

I took the cup of cola from his hands all the while reaching back, feeling for the telly controller. “Want the TV on, then?”

My orange furball came bounding into the den, having been left upstairs. He stretched at the side of the sofa and curled up between us and the coffee table.

“Yeah…”

“Anything particular?”

“…It should be on the Sports Channel.”

When I hit `On', sure enough an old game of Quidditch was playing.

I set the telly remote back on the stand.

Stroking his cheek, my fingers combing his hair, the more I fought to keep him awake the more I struggled to keep awake. After a while I remember closing my eyes. It wasn't on purpose. I tried to keep them open, eyelids heavy…the end all being a kiss, from Harry, on the centre of my chest where the two pieces of the sweater fell open. He tugged the quilt upwards, warmth inviting…lovely…

I did my best, seeing the day slowly light the windows of the den…

…But eventually gave out from such a day filled with one anxiety, and then the next…

…I didn't think I'd be seeing university today.

***

A group of magical kin and human huddle around televisions projected around Violet Hill's Business District, all in earnest to watch a momentous occasion unfolding and to keep warm as snow falls slowly from an overcast sky. A ticker of today's stocks and commodities stream below these screen displays showing a down day in the markets as most of the numbers are in the red with arrows pointing south. In frame, a yellowish-green goblin in dress attire stands beside a picturesquely vibrant figure of Quincy Nolpho behind a podium. Thousands of flashes are going off, each flash dazzling his pearly-white, toothy grin. In the bottom left corner turns the WNN logo.

“…My brothers and sisters, magical creatures of this great country of Britain, I am ecstatic and happily accept Master Szrixx Steelknuckles's endorsement for Minister of Magic. What better an endorsement than the Master Goblin himself, the Grand Overseer of Gringotts? Master Steelknuckles's previous words, detailing that I am the right man for the job, brings about a truth to our downtrodden nation. As Minister of Magic, I will turnaround this road to Hell and make our cities, our Ministry, prosperous once again! We must take it to Minister Kingsley—take it to his front door—and demand for him to step down this second!”

Quincy Nolpho slams his fist down on the podium, bringing on an uproar of cheers.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt: leave your throne now!”

The Ministry Court's anthem swells behind his words.

The flashes erupt in number once more as Quincy Nolpho shakes hands with Grand Overseer Szrixx Steelknuckles, the alabaster facade of Gringotts of Diagon Alley in the background.

***

I ended up not going to school, staying home with Harry for the afternoon instead. I'd still have work later on tonight, but allowed that to come when it did.

My Love was the subject now.

We had eaten, beef and vegetable stew and toast, something hot with the snow falling outside. Harry was in the kitchen, at the sink where he washed, rinsed and dried the utensils. I would have been in there with him, but knew he'd run me out. Conditioned, I stayed on a cushioned seat aside the windows. I chose to start some future school work, days and days ahead of schedule. Scripture's from Ovid's Metamorphoses, sectioned and subtracted from his fifteen complete books. Professor Prewitt would have been mad to have us read all fifteen. Even for me, the jumping around was thick.

I had a notepad in my lap and would first say what I wanted to write down, and then actually write it down.

A habit I picked up in Hogwarts and used to be demonized, shadowed with ridicule by the kids, in my youth.

Children could be so cruel.

Harry thought it was cute.

I sat crisscrossed between the half-hexagonal windows, the plush white pad in deep contrast to my black lounge trousers and grey, athletic tank top. The fire in the hearth was exceptionally warm, breaking what could have been cold seeping in from the panels. I never once felt disturbed by the weather around me. The overcast was light enough to show some natural sunlight, enough to assist my sight.

I went from the book, to the notepad, to placing the pen's top on my lip, to further sticking my nose in the book, to…

“…figurative transformations are subject to as much danger as literal trans—“

I felt something crawling on my foot and leapt, bringing my foot, my knee, and everything else towards my chest.

Harry, on the other hand, the culprit, laughed hard in front of me.

“That's not funny!” I chided, wagging my pen at him. “You nearly gave me a heart attack! Some spider or…”

“Hahaha… I'm sorry…,” He tried to stop, but continued laughing.

“You'll be sorry,” I tapped the tip of his nose with the tip of my pen.

He knelt in front of me, his size at my height.

“Why are you in here?” He slipped his hands to either side of my hips, his index fingers sliding up into the brim of my shirt. Hooked, he twisted the thin, ribbed fabric around in his fingers.

I felt the tightening of the shirt from the pull of the small shoulder straps. “Because if I was in there,” I pointed off towards the kitchen. “You'd shout at me. So, I took the chances and sought…”

I flashed the scripture book.

Harry bent down, and when he did, kissed the top of my foot just beneath a knee.

I'd gone back to sitting crisscrossed.

“How is it so far?”

I raised a brow, seeing and feeling him inch up my foot and onto my leg, “It's a lot less interesting than this.”

He chuckled.

I laughed through my nose, observing the trail he made of pecks, closing in on the knee as he zigzagged up my leg. “What are you doing?”

“Dunno,” He chuckled again, not so much as looking at me, concentrated on his business. “What am I doing?”

“It looks like you're caressing closer to my thigh.”

“It looks like I'm caressing closer to your thigh,” He glanced up at me. “Is that so bad?”

“Mm…,” I laughed. “Not at all.”

“Are you busy?”

“Depends.”

“I'll tear that book from your hands.”

“Haha…,” I smirked at his smile. “And why would you do that now?”

“Because I'd like a…,” His eyes went back to my thigh, kissing one peck-kiss to the inside.

He squeezed the grip of my hips.

“…Playmate, for a few minutes. If you can break away from that massively fantastic story or whatever…”

“For just a few minutes?”

Harry winked and smiled. “Minutes can go into hours, days, weeks…”

“Weeks, hm?” Grinning, I peered up as he rose from the floor. “That's quite a while…”

“Let's see how far we get.”

I tilted my head back and laughed before being taken and lifted, picked straight upward. I dropped the book on the cushion, having my legs wrap around his torso, my arms wrapped around his neck. I snogged him, and snogged him hard. He held my bum in support, giving it a bit of a rub the short distance from the windowsill to the sofa. He watched me adjust, move my legs to meet the new place, unwrapping to straddle.

His hands slid from beneath my arse, to my shirt, under, and north as the thin material was peeled from my figure than removed.

When he'd gotten the snug shirt to my breasts he stopped, pulled me to him by the shirt and kissed me whilst prying it off to exposure. I went to lift my arms, the normal action in taking the article of clothing off, only to see him take me up and take one nipple into his mouth, and then the other. I closed my eyes and placed my hand on the backside of his head, in his hair, where I firmly attached, gripped.

I sighed and instinctively arched my back, scratching his head, feeling his tongue…

He pulled away, slipped the shirt the rest of the way off, and sat back.

Confidently smug, he stared at me with one of those egoistic grins. I just rolled my eyes, leaned my head to the left side and let my mahogany and cinnamon curls, my Hippogriff feather and crucifix necklaces shift slowly to the left.

I blushed, fell forward and kissed him, both hands utter engrossed in his severely dark tufts.

He went to go, to attack them by lip, my breasts again…but I shot back an inch, to his surprise. He tried again, realising when I went back once more I'd done it on purpose. He growled, lifted me off the straddle and laid me down on the length of the sofa. I laughed, giggling, Harry crawling to my lips where he kissed me and down to my chin, my throat, my shoulder… I thought he would go back to my nipple, but strayed, to my surprise this time, to the centre between my two.

…Kisses down my stomach, my navel, he nudged the tip of his nose into the little hole, getting me ticklish…

…Down below, my abdomen contracting to his lightness, to the elastic of the lounge trousers…

I breathed a heavy sigh, to feel him take the elastic and peel them down, knickers and all, my legs up, and then down, feet flat on the sofa. He resumed from where he stopped, to the top, the mound…

I reached down and grabbed his hair, seeing his eyes, his smile.

I breathed another sigh, felt his heat, gentle, one quick…

I let out a moan, arched back, let my eyes roll backwards and bit my bottom lip…

***

THE EVENING PROPHET

POTTER FOR MINISTRY OF MAGIC???

This is beyond hilarious if it's true. A poll shown on the Wizarding News Network this morning during McCrady's Corner tells the majority when asked who should become the next Minister if Kingsley is tossed out onto the streets, is…Harry Potter? Thirty-four percent said, yes, Harry Potter would be their man. Thirty-four percent of WHO?! Who did this poll? The credibility is astounding—only those numbed by the Cruciatus could continue to point their finger at Potter as the end all, be all!

Listen, those who polled in that thirty-four percent… Mister Nolpho has been discussing this indicator. Kingsley Shacklebolt was put in by no one—ghosts—no one knows how we went to sleep one night and woke up to a brand new Ministry. He has no credentials, no experience—nothing! He has no wife, no kids, no one knows where his family is or even if he has a family! He could be anything! We know he was an Order member, set out by Albus Dumbledore to do his bidding. We all know how that worked out. Why are you thirty-four percent now repeating the same failed experience over again? Just because Savior-boy touts himself as a god among us does not represent Minister-material.

On the other hand, Mister Nolpho has worked in the Ministry, has experience running measures, has governed constituents, has a wife, has kids—he is the package WE WANT! Potter is some random twenty year old pubescent portrayed as something he is not. The only one's defending him are those people who are believe to be dishonest—Order members or those associated.

The whole point in relieving Kingsley from his golden throne is not to put back in Kingsley II.

We want someone better, someone who knows how to run Britain and not run our country into the ground!

A slap is deserved to those who spread this “Potter” garbage.

Wizarding News Network Poll (26/10/2000):

If the seat was open, who would you consider for Minister of Magic?

Harry Potter - 34%

Quincy Nolpho - 22%

Rita Skeeter - 13%

Lee Jordan - 9%

Samuel Voss - 8%

Charity Ashewater - 6%

Hermione Granger - 5%

Luna Lovegood - 3%

+/- 3% margin of error, 1,000 polled.

Angelica Teivel

Writer

Page 1

***

“Baby,” I announced, coming in from outside, coming in from work. The door shut behind me, my pink-and-black Converse trainers tapping the wood for a push. I saw a letter having been thrown into the hallway from the post slot in the door. I glanced at the envelope with confusion, the time an unfamiliar one at night. The post usually came in the morning.

Though, I immediately know who it was from, its rainbow-colour a dead giveaway. Not to mention the “Q” in the corner, and the signature Quibbler italics in white-gold cursive. In the centre read:

Missus and Mister Potter

I smiled, setting down my purse on the sofa stand, glancing around to see the television silent, the kitchen light off, everything rather…absent.

Weird.

“Harry?” I called out again, wriggling my pinky finger in-between the fold to open the letter from Luna. She hadn't contacted me by phone, so this came as a surprise.

Unrolling the parchment, it read:

Dear Mister and Missus Potter,

Luna Lovegood requests an engagement. As you may or may not be aware, The Quibbler is to announce a brand new endeavor entitled, Q. The magazine is set to be on shelves across the world next year, and will be presented in a way to showcase the goodness of people that goes unnoticed by many. Luna feels it a duty in a period like today that we put on a pedestal light against a lethargic woe. For our first issue we would like to portray the best of the best, a story like no other, of you and Harry. Others have been contacted to tell theirs as well, a sort of coming together of what Luna likes to consider, “our Angels”.

Please discuss this with Mister Potter and we hope to hear from you!

Sincerely,

Stephanie Shultz

Public Relations

Assistant Press Secretary

I smiled, looking from the letter, walking to the base of the stairs. Harry hadn't said anything, and craning my neck to see upstairs, I saw our bedroom door closed. My hand on the railing, I stepped on the first step, and then the next, ascending the stairs, calling, “Harry…?”

With each new step, my heart sunk until finally, throwing open the door and seeing pitch black did it want to leap straight from my mouth.

I had to cover it, wrenching.

Nightmares.

All I felt in my very soul was…

He was gone, and after today, yesterday…

He would have put a notice if he had just up and left!

To say I ran downstairs would be a lie.

I hurdled downstairs, tears already welling at the ducts in waiting. Taking up my purse, I sifted inside until I found the mobile phone turned off. I hopped in place, jittery, hands fumbling, not wanting this bloody thing to take its time. The screen lit and I instantly held the number one, speed-dialing, seeing “Harry-bear” appear on the screen.

I put the phone to my ear and heard…

Hey, this is Harry. But, I guess you knew that already… Hahaha… Well, you know what to do.

Beep.

“Harry!” I shouted into the receiver. “Harry! Please call me back! Please, baby—I'm worried! I'm home! Please…!”

I wasn't jumping to conclusions.

We all knew, everyone, especially me…that there were those who wished for Harry to not…

…Exist…

I pressed and held number two, speed-dialing, seeing “Weasel” appear on the screen. I held the phone to my ear, crying.

“Please be there, please pick up…”

“Hello?”

“Gin!”

It was obvious, the emotion pouring forth.

“What's wrong?!”

“Have—have you seen Harry?”

“No… What's going on? Where's Harry? He's not there?!”

“He's not at home!”

“I told that bastard not to pull this shit…”

“Gin…! He wouldn't do this on purpose!”

“…Any ideas on where to start looking?”

I ran my hand the length of my hair, starting from the front and going back, sniffling. My hip touched the stand, propped by the wood and the sofa. “Kingsley came to the house last night and told us they found ransom notes for Harry! There were also these horrible—”

Gin went silent.

I could hear something whistling…the wind?

Was she outside?

“Gin?” I cried, alone.

“I'm here! I'm here…,” she sounded distant, but came back with a clear, “Let me call Neville. He'll hunt down an Auror—have you already sent for the Ministry? Kingsley? Did Kingsley already leave? Did he leave today?”

“No—I don't know—I called you first—Neville—I thought maybe you—“

I frantically stumbled over my own words, spitting them out instead of actually delivering communicative strings.

“If I find him… I'll rip his nuts off! Let me call Nev… I told Harry to never—!”

A green flash lit behind me, displaying the entire atmosphere, the whole house a vivid shade of flickering lime. Whipping around, my hair in its entirety flipping from one side to the next with a snap, I saw…Harry, in suit and tie, stooping down to climb from the growing, transforming fireplace. Gin heard the roar of sound, the crackling, and said, “Is that him? Hermione? Was that him?”

“Hey! The M—” Issued Harry nonchalantly, as if he'd just wondered in the den from upstairs. No big deal. He then saw me, the state I was in. “What's—what's wrong? Who's on the phone?!”

“It's him!”

“I ought to come over and beat the living fuck out of—“

“I'll talk to you later, Gin.” My words flew fast, the pace setting up a fresh mindset of anger.

How dare he do such a thing!

Without telling me?!

Leaving, just like that?!

With all the…the…the…!

“Love you.”

“Love you.”

I flipped the mobile off and put it atop the letter Luna sent for us. Stomping towards him, my tears streaming, my teeth gritted, my jaw hurt from tension to sudden relief… I stormed to him in my furry and smacked into him—gave him a firm slap, where I gasped when he did at the resolution, and began crying once more.

He looked in a daze, slowly turning to gaze back from his face being jerked to the side, befuddled, seeing me coming at him with fists hitting his chest. He took them in a hurry and made me stationary, asking, “…Why did you slap me?!”

I looked at him, fixed, puffy-eyed, runny nose, my fists in his hands, “Do you know what time it is?! Do you know I came in and you weren't here?!?!!”

I screamed.

“Christ! Has it…,” He swiveled his head to see the clock, and I knew he now understood. The grip he had of me faded, and when he came back around to look at me he was confused no more. “I must have… I'm sorry. I know.”

I hugged him tight, staining his neck with tears.

“I know…,” He ran his hand down my back. “I know… I'm sorry. It'll never—“

“I tried calling you! No note! Nothing! Last night! Last! Night! You have been—!”

“I'm here…,” He pulled me closer, clinched, gripped, tight… He wasn't about to let me go. “I'm here… I'll never go.”

“You can't—“ Hesitating in breaths, I tried to settle, and in trying caught up in tears. “You can't—don't ever leave me—“

“I'll never leave you.”

“Just—Just don't do that—again.”

“I'll never leave you ever again.”

His tone felt that of a promise.

He lowered, bent down and lifted me up.

My arms secured around his neck, I never looked, my face within the crook, aside his throat.

“Have you eaten…?”

I felt the shift, the height, a repetition and knew he traveled, me, and him, upstairs.

***

Within a fragment of length, in bed, hunger sated, the delicate exploratory innocent ambience we went about bathing, reminiscent of the first few months where everything seemed so much easier… He'd told me why he'd gone to the Ministry, explained how during the day the vision of his affected eye begun to blur and needed those that helped him before to look at it…for if not, the fear of going blind… As much as I did care about this, him being here, me looking at him in our shortest of distance…that's what kept me sane.

He had an arm around me above the sheets, an arm beneath my head. Swallowed by his embrace, my hands on him, anywhere, chest, stomach, shoulder, arm, hand… I sighed as he pulled me to him, a small portion taken in bed by our bodies as one, breathed his therapeutic pumpkin scent in…

I lifted and caressed his eye, his forehead, the scar…

…slipping back to him, feeling him kiss the top of my head…

…I drifted to sleep.

Intervals in the night I would wake up. I'd wake up to know I could feel him, and with each waking moment I could feel that arm around me secure. Even when I pushed up and rolled over, spooning with Harry, he only lessened his squeeze of me by a margin, never removing his arm, to grab and pull me back to his body when I came down. His arm paralleled to my form, his hand at my chest, neck, shoulder, my arms twined about his arm like a teddy bear…

He never once left me…

…And I so desperately needed to feel that security, a rekindling of our bond.

The first image my eyes focused on, adjusting from new day's light, was the engagement ring upon my finger and Harry's fingers interlaced.

{Music inspirations: more from Audiomachine, lots and lots of Audiomachine with Sting's If I Ever Lose My Faith in You on loop in-between}

-->

50. Sentinel

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.

Then shalt thou walk in thy way safely, and thy foot shall not stumble. When thou liest down, thou shalt not be afraid: yea, thou shalt lie down, and thy sleep shall be sweet.

***

Chapter Fifty - Sentinel

***

The Quibbler

ADMINISTRATION FOILS SINISTER PLAN IN RUSSIA

Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt gave a little assistance to our comrades in Russia. Defense Secretary Eaton has called this a, “Certifiable right jab in the face of evil”. According to him at a private meeting at the Ministry held late last night, several key Russians, the President himself as well as the Russian commerce sector were all under scrutiny of attack from followers of Voldemort. Minister Shacklebolt gave the green light to a section of highly-trained Aurors to eradicate the blight perversion inside Moscow. Timothy Toulsen earlier today in an open conference to the press stated that, “Three dozen or more radicals were apprehended and taken into Russian and Britain Ministry custody. Protective measures have been established by our Aurors with the Russian government to prevent another uprising. Now their citizens, Muggle and magical alike, can sleep soundly knowing that these extremists are off their streets.”

When asked if why the Ministry was so heavily involved in Russia's affairs, Mister Toulsen said, “I cannot comment on specifics, but special means were used to take some into custody. Those means came from us.”

When asked why British Ministry would take any into their own hands, Toulsen stated, “Key members from these radicals were extracted for an investigative process.”

When asked if these “extracted key members” would be held in Britain, Mister Toulsen asked, “Next question?”

The buzz around town is Minister Kingsley has roped himself a few Undesirables, and therefore Toulsen's transition away from specifics proves this. Of course, the Ministry cannot tell our enemy our secrets. We're still very much in-conflict with what is left of Voldemort's brainwashed lackeys.

We congratulate the Minister and his administration if this is in fact true.

Meygan Brookes

Writer

P.1

***

Halloween.

Snow fell outside, the white flakes descending from grey overcast. Bitter cold, inside warmth was definitely felt. Morning, I sat beside Harry in the kitchen. Both over a bowl of oatmeal, mine with cinnamon, his with sugar. Our chairs together, the seat resembled one bench set for two. Our legs touched, our eyes over pieces of The Quibbler. I held the Arts and Leisure section. Harry had the Sports with the Business section taken out and put aside to read later. On its front, the multi-coloured print swirling and twirling looked cheerful, but further, the swirls came from changing stock numbers, the twirls were of various arrows pointed down.

The headline of the Business section read:

ECONOMISTS FORECAST STORMY FUTURE AMIDST ROCKY POST-WAR OUTLOOK

Even though the perils stared from stale pages, I couldn't live with them. I only want to live in the now…

I gazed with a smirk from my portion of Quibbler, the top curving down with gravity. I took up my cup of coffee by peripheral, seeing Harry in his dark-framed glasses, looking charismatic with a mulberry collared shirt behind a black tie. He kept his eyes on the newspaper, his profile at me, a beautiful silhouette in the mix of natural light.

I leaned into him as I set the cup down thinking he'd look back at me. He blinked, but stayed course, his sight following the scripted lines of some pre-game Quidditch match hysteria. I gave him an eye roll, being obvious, taking a finger and running it over his earlobe. He smiled in his profile, tilting into my touch, but took attention to his own hot coffee instead.

I huffed, my chest heaving, my mind reeling in the notion that he did all this on purpose. I sighed, slid my black legging-covered calf over his black trouser leg and watched him become aware. His eyebrows rose and he laughed, glancing from his left at the smirk I carried, my leg diving between his two. I brought my other leg up, crisscrossing and seeing, and then feeling Harry catch them as he held my thighs upon his lap.

He set his cup down, moved his left hand up the back of my neck, between the collar of the emerald velvet military coat I wore, and brought me to him carefully. I insisted, taking initiative to happily go to his waiting lips where I kissed him, my hands, and fingers upon his cheek. We smiled in caress, our noses pressed together, snickering at the tickling sensation—more his fingers dancing under the table on my thigh.

When fully content by our answer to the equation, we released, my head dropping to his shoulder.

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” he said, wrapping an arm about me.

I tapped the tip of his nose with a finger, “And, you're very handsome.”

“What a duo we make.”

I took my arms and slipped them around him, squeezing him in embrace, my forehead still on his shoulder.

“At the shop, we only need to buy a new mask, right? After I accidentally dropped the other?”

“Some sewing thread for your cape, too. That little bit of thread unraveling back there, remember?”

“Ah, yes,” Harry spoke with the coffee cup to his lips, among taking another spoonful of oatmeal. “You know, it's always nice when one of your lessons is canceled. I get to see more of you.”

He leaned in and kissed the top of my head.

“I can't wait to see the decorations tonight in the Great Hall. I'm sure Flitwick will try and liven things up after all the—“

“Are you sure you still want to chaperone the event with me tonight?” He looked at me from the newspaper, placing it on the table to take back up his cup. He set it down after, empty. “Just because I have to go—“

“You asked me—Flitwick gave the go—why wouldn't I? Seeing the castle will like having a reunion. I'm sure Hagrid will be pleased to see us two, together.”

“Well, for starters…,” He locked onto my gaze above his glasses, and I could read plainly without words.

“If I go about hiding, how am I going to live my life?” I asked this almost sarcastically, following it by statements he'd said before: “Isn't that something you've told me? Don't I sound just like you when you asked that same question?”

“Okay…,” He said, surrendering to the rebuttal. It was his words after all. He slipped from me, easing my legs from his lap and took up his bowl and cup. “We better go before the crowds come. You know how I—“

“I'm not some delicate flower,” I chided him, having stepped to the sink to put my bowl with his. He'd already rinsed what he used, taking mine.

“Hm…”

“Don't you `hm…' me!” I nudged him with my hip.

“HM…!”

I smacked his shoulder.

He poked my stomach.

In reflex, I jumped back.

In that signature smirk, I watched him through slits.

“You are,” he began, flipping the faucet off and flicking excess water from his hands before drying them off. He looked at me. “You are my delicate flower.”

“I'm older than you!”

“What has that got to do with anything? But yes, you have aged. I concur.”

I gasped. “Must I get rough with you after your…your deeply slanderous remarks, being birthed one year before you?”

“Rough?” Somehow I knew that would be the only word he chose from context. I knew that the millisecond after absorbing what I confessed. He thought a moment, in character. He put his hand to his chin, his focus at the ceiling.

I rolled my eyes at his horrible acting.

“Oh… I'd actually like that…,” his eyes grew wide, and that grin…

I shrieked when I saw him dart after me.

Fleeing, I made my way around the wall to the corridor leading outside. I heard his feet behind me in pursuit. At arm's length I saw him, looking back as I caught my black newsboy cap from a hook near the door. A twist of the knob, and I was thrust into a frozen London day…my Love bounding at an alarmingly monstrous rate. I saw some people walking along the pathway beyond the iron fence and hoped they hadn't seen us come from thin air, but hadn't enough time to recognize anything but Harry's few swipes at me

With an idea, I scooped up some snow along the way.

I reached back and threw it at Harry mid-step.

His trench coat went from black to white, and I went into a giggle-fit.

“Oh! You…”

He'd caught me, picking me straight from the ground and pirouetted, the world rotating, my long mahogany curls beneath the cap floating aimlessly in the wind we created.

We kissed whilst Harry carried me through the gateway to his parked chrome BMW, its hood, top, and tail with heaps of snow. He opened the passenger-side door and let me down, my boots hitting the cement.

He patted my bum, shuffling before I could get him back.

I leapt and swatted at him. He escaped both of my mitten-clad swipes, running around the side of the car to get to the driver's side, his hands relieving the hood from the snow along the way. “Hurry and get in the car,” he laughed.

“You `hurry and get in the car'!” I stuck my tongue out at him, the audience of an older couple watching us. Door ajar, I sat down, watching Harry move in and shut his as well. I pushed on him as I took control of the seatbelt, securing it while keeping Harry at bay. He'd gone into tickling-mode, a level I struggled with.

His BMW roared to life.

“Ready?” He questioned, knowing quite well he'd get only giggles in return.

His fingers deep into my side, all I could do was laugh.

I grabbed his tie and pulled him to me, kissing him when I could.

He spun the tires, causing quite the scene for our morning onlookers, and sped off down the street.

***

Standing in front of the vanity's mirror in our master bedroom, I watched as my hands went about teasing by brush and iron the curls cascading down. They needed to be extra-twined, extra-bouncy to coordinate, darkly brown, shiny, and exceptional to the white corset gown I wore beneath. Porcelain skin, black mascara, the gown growing in ruffle at me feet… Everything was marvelous. I smiled, giving myself a pat on the back, becoming Christine for the night.

From the corner of the room, our persona's spoke in song, my mouth whispering the lyrics:

“In sleep he sang to me… In dream he came,” Leaning towards the mirror, I applied the reddest of the red pigment to my lips. “And do I dream again? For now I find…”

Harry came from the lavatory, handsome in his cape and tail, a crimson-coloured shirt and vest. A white fluffy, pristine bonnet poured from his chest. An ebony shell, his mask hid that part of him, the scar and black mark of his face. His hair slicked back with mousse, dashing with an incredible smile when he saw me swiftly turn to his entrance and grin.

“…The Phantom of the Opera is there. Inside my mind!” I smirked.

He slipped to me, putting a hand on my lithe figure, thin waist and hip pulled together by matching bodice. He looked into my eyes, the low light making the eye, the partially hidden and revealed darker with that glinting light, “Sing once again with me our strange duet… My power over you grows stronger yet!”

“And though you turn from me to glance to behind…,” My face shifted downward, to be propped and leveled, his hand at my chin to see me again, “The Phantom of the Opera is there inside your mind!”

Reaching up, the pads of my fingers softly slid down his mask to the exposed skin, his cheek, his chin, my eyes wandering to those which I touched to be locked back to him, “Those who have seen your face draw back in fear… I am the mask you wear…”

“…It's me they hear,” He took my waist, my hips with his strength.

Together, focused on one another:

“Your spirit and my voice in one combined—the Phantom of the Opera is there—“

“Inside—“

“My—“

“Your mind!”

Silence filled the room, our vision but of its mate's until…

…We started snickering.

“Your chariot awaits, milady,” Harry lowered to plant a kiss on my hand. He glanced up at me to say, “If you're so ready to venture forth into this beastly night.”

“Willst thou defend me, o' protectorate?”

“Never doubt this hand,” He kissed my hand again, his hand with mine. “The hand of your esteemed protector. I will do anything for thee till my dying breath, by sentence and oath to my name, beloved mademoiselle.”

I became more than giddy, doing a little skip.

“Let us go!”

“Lead the way,” He motioned with a sweep of his hand the door. “My most cherished affection.”

As I led him from the bedroom, I stopped, suddenly to Harry, and kissed him without limit, carefully, and tenderly.

***

In Studio with Kelly Morgan, Wizarding News Network

“Hello,” says a lively Kelly Morgan behind her desk in front of a tinted windowed view outside of Violet Hill's main street. “And welcome back to In Studio with your host, Kelly Morgan. To today's fiery campaign headlines!”

A picture of a smiling Quincy Nolpho in profile waving to an audience of thousands is shown beside Kelly.

“As we all know by now, Senior Ministry Officer and member of the Wizengamot, Quincy Nolpho, has been catapulting himself amongst the people with a chance to win what has been touted as the `most momentous re-election in the history of the Ministry'. The doldrums of a post-War epidemic, a diving stock market and flat-lining base, coupled with real threats from rogue Death Eaters has made Minister Shacklebolt a mere punching bag for those who want in. Several others, Samuel Voss, another Senior Ministry member and Law advocate for the Liberty Rights group as well as Charity Ashewater, a People's advocate who has underlined the inability and passiveness of Minister Kingsley's administration have also thrown their hats into the ring.”

A moving picture of Quincy Nolpho shaking hands with Rita Skeeter, and then Szrixx Steelknuckles replaces the still-shot profile photograph from before.

“Though these others have not been singled out by the Daily Prophet's Chief Executive, Rita Skeeter, and Grand Overseer of Gringotts, Szrixx Steelknuckles, on their campaign for Minister of Magic. Quincy Nolpho has been featured several times now, given a great deal of advertising in the internationally-acclaimed newspaper. Full colour pages have been dedicated to him, transcribing his `Deal to Britain'. `With his leadership,' he announces. `Will bring upon a greater light and substance unforeseen by the British people in more than a decade.'”

Another shot of Quincy Nolpho moving in-and-out of groups, shaking hands with people, writing autographs, taking pictures with those with cameras, mobiles is shown aside Kelly delivering.

“When asked by one of our reporters on scene at a campaign rally in London what he thinks of the poll where Harry Potter overtakes him by double digits, Mister Nolpho found it highly amusing, stating, `True leadership comes from those who have served the people and have had true life wisdom. I wouldn't put in an eight year old to do a man's job.' Fighting words to those who wish Mister Potter would elect to throw his hat into the ring as well. As of yet, we haven't heard Harry Potter or associates surrounding him if he will even consider a run for office. Anonymous sources have pointed `yes,' fueling more fire over at Camp Potter.”

“Last night at a rally held in Dublin, Nolpho said this:”

The screen is filled with Nolpho, behind a podium, Union Jack in all its glory flowing in the wind behind him. Microphones are stationed, cluttered, on his desk. He points off into the camera, flashes dazzling from the sheer array of spectators.

“We can do this! We will do this! This is our chance! This is our time! This is our country!”

The audience is in tumultuous cheers.

“Minister Kingsley—leave your throne now!”

An uproar is heard, and then the television screen is back with Kelly.

“Advisors close to the Nolpho campaign have created their first, of many I'm sure, television ads. Britain's first look, here, only on WNN.”

Various snapshots of Minister Kingsley apologizing after a death here, another death, another citizen's death, more sorry's and more apologies since he was sworn in as Minister after the War. Statements are put up on screen, statements taken from the Post varying of more apologetic dialogue to other nations for their threats, and subsequent deaths. A noise behind the ad at first: a heartbeat. More quick shots showing shocked faces looking up at a falling stock market, a man's hand is over his mouth as he watches a stock tumble.

All the while, a voiceover, the apology Minister Kingsley offered after Minerva's death.

The word “REGRET” is displayed.

Images of Death Eaters swarm the screen, blood-curdling screams, hastened shots of Prophet Headlines streaming the failures of Kingsley, the people around him, his administration, Harry Potter…

The heart's beat stopped…

And then a light: Quincy Nolpho walking down an aisle of happy faces, exuberant crowds with signs supporting Quincy Nolpho for Minister of Magic.

The Ministry's Court anthem plays.

Text is written:

For a better future, Quincy Nolpho.

Paid for by We Want Change, Inc.

Kelly comes on screen again.

“Wow, that was…,” She sighs and shakes her head. “Well, we report and you decide. What do you think of the advertisement? Feel free to write us at…”

***

Starting with the door of the Great Hall, one would know the next few steps would take them into a whole different realm. The doors, which were non-decorative, normal hard oak, were now made to look decrepit and worn from weather, creaky and gnarled. The sort of door you'd see on an old, unkempt mansion. Fog dispersed out into the corridors, the ghosts of Hogwarts rampant, the Friar and kin scaring the young ones in shrill screams. You could hear the echoes of the ghost's laughs after they'd get someone.

Walking in, one would feel the crunch of grass, an in-door graveyard with gravestones littered where once stood seats and tables. The fog grew thicker the further you went, waist-high, with a thunder and lightning-filled smear of churning clouds overhead. The refreshments sat on coffin-like structures, skeletons and zombies watching over the food and drink—the faculty dressed for the occasion—competing with the students for best dressed. Only the Hogwarts's faculty would try and outdo their students in costume.

Live bats flew above, charmed to not bother a soul but produce the ambient feel alongside crooked trees and their twisted branches reaching towards the centre of the Hall. I met costumes ranging from Muggle-variety to Wizarding-kid, everything from superman and Madonna, to Viktor Krum and even a ferociously scary little blonde girl dressed as Rita Skeeter. I did laugh at another little girl bounding around her clique as Luna. Of course, a few of the boys, young and old, sported their best Harry look-a-like. I saw Madam Hooch, dressed as a hawk, a colourful plumage hanging from her arms, wings, her nose a beak. She escorted an older male student out of the Hall after trying to come in as Voldemort.

What child wouldn't try to push that boundary?

From afar, I saw five points leave Slytherin's hourglass on stage behind a band that played the atmosphere's music, a haunting melody, all five of the band members made from the living dead.

Harry was beside me for most of the night. He'd have to go, leave me to attend a conflict in the crowd. A fight broke out in the middle of the dance floor. As I looked on with Professor Binns, who I had been talking to about Oxford, saw Harry run to stop a mummy and Frankenstein from fighting over a princess. I returned to Professor Binns, an amusing picture of a ghost-Dracula, after seeing Harry return after tossing out the boys with Madam Hooch, the princess at their heels in defense for one or both.

Hagrid dressed as the Hunchback of Notre Dame, a clever costume I added in conversation. Harry, with his arm around me, listened on with pumpkin juice. Hagrid, not having seen me since my leave, asked question upon question about everything and anything. His history with the Muggle-world had been…limited…what with being part-giant. He was most interested in the Muggle professors, asking if there was a class identical to his.

I gave him a no, shaking my head.

To his reply, “Nothing could replace me!”

Harry and I laughed, with Harry saying, “Nothing can replace you, Hagrid.”

“Very true,” I ended.

Madam Hooch, who stood out as main faculty-chaperone, treaded the graveyard, maneuvering around the stones to get to Harry and me after wagging a finger at another group for trying to instigate conflict. She gave me a hug, for Madam Hooch felt more like family after Harry set to take her place in a year or two, their lives integrated and mine by proxy with all the stories he'd share when he got home. Stories about how he'd feel free on his broom. She complimented our couple's attire. She had to flee soon, however, flying to another potential problem near the punch bowl.

“I'm sorry,” he said to me after looking away. An objectionable situation had to be dealt with…a couple displaying a bit too much public display of affection.

“That's all right,” I nodded, his hands leaving me. “Go take of what needs to be taken care of. I'm fine.”

“Really?” he asked, this being repeated throughout the night when he'd have to perform his duties. I was, more or less, under his watchful eye.

“Go!” I laughed.

I had his hand at the end, our fingers slipping away.

“I love you,” he said, becoming one with the fog, the graveyard.

“I love you!” I saw him disappear, knowing he'd come back to me.

With a pumpkin pasty in hand, I wandered out of the Hall for some fresh air. I wouldn't be long at all. With all the bodies, the music… The faculty had put an enchantment for the evening so we wouldn't all catch a cold, so when I stepped out towards the Memorial Gardens I didn't freeze. Ornate railing beneath a tri-cornered roof, I stood looking off over the fields of flowers, the pebble stone pathways. I felt a breeze, it feeling like any ordinary breeze you'd feel on a summer's day… The enchantment put a halt to the snow, but I watched the ice crystals fall carelessly from a pitch-dark, clear sky. The moon, full, kept its watchful eye, the bluish-white tint shielding my pale skin and white gown.

People, students, went about behind me in patches, small groups. Couples went about in their gaiety within what was considered by many as the safest place in the country. The youthful spirits couldn't imagine what I saw now, compared to then, as corpses of enormous spiders, giants, human, friend… Now everything was bright and growing, rebuilt and put together.

A brand new era.

Wrapped in my own world, I instantly was startled. I'd heard a rough voice next to me. I swore it was Hagrid at my left, but when I swiftly flicked my head in that direction saw a muscular male, tall in height, wearing the costume of Batman. I could only see his bluest of vividly blue eyes. The hue bordered on the unreal. The black and grey, the cape, the mask hid him from his nostrils upward. I could see his mouth, a smile, a look of surprise when I jumped.

“Sorry `bout that,” he chuckled warmly. “Didn't mean to scare you. That was the last thing I'd want to do.”

I had my hand on my chest where it lay after I jumped. “It's okay,” the words fumbled as I tried to recollect. I questioned, “I thought I heard something. Did you say something?”

“I asked how you thought of this weather,” his hands carefully held a cup of pumpkin juice in front of him, held over the railing mimicking my stance. His eyes even roamed the distance similarly, gazing up towards the sky, and then across the fields of flowers and the moonlit-tinged alabaster statue of Dumbledore with his outreached hand towards the Heavens.

My eyes lingered on him.

I swore I…

He looked at me, and my head immediately left his focus.

I swallowed, my mind racing…

…Something so…familiar…his smile?

“Did I say something wrong?” I could hear the bewilderment in his tone, the smile faltering. “If I did…”

My mind wandered haphazardly into a helter-skelter mash of thought.

…Could they have…truly…?

Death Eaters?!...

…Harry's office…

…Harry!

My mind, a card-catalog, rifled until it chose one person in particular I stood vigilant to watch out for:

Xavier!

“I've got to go.” I said this quick, pivoting right around and left the caped crusader by his lonesome.

I nearly ran, my pace fast, my feet nearly stumbling over themselves.

I didn't want to cause a scene, and I didn't want to trip over myself, my gown now a hazard to my health. All I wanted to do was get to Harry… I shouldn't have left in that bit of time, even for the few minutes I did. Christ! Think next time, Hermione! I should have stayed in Harry's sight, around the vision of Madam Hooch and Hagrid, Headmaster Flitwick, even Professor Trelawney. The music swelled as I closed in, the doors of the Hall open.

“Have you seen Harry?” I asked of Nearly Headless Nick when he zoomed on by.

“Harry? My dear girl, no! I have not! Should I have?”

The room became a dizzying bellow of noise.

I felt something squeeze inside my chest.

Should I have stayed home?

No…

“Harry!” I screamed out. I could just feel those…eyes…on me.

Xavier, somewhere around the corner, Death Eaters…that night…his laughter…the swarm…swarm…death…

An image of a snarling Voldemort standing over Harry's dead body, his blood spilling like a ready fountain.

I held my head, the room spinning.

“Harry?” I felt someone touch me, grab onto me, hold me.

Their touch wasn't…

My vision blurred.

My head tinged in washes of white-hot flashes.

“Yeah,” His voice… Not his voice… It wasn't his voice! “I'm getting you out of here. It's… It's not safe here anymore, Hermione…”

I tried to push, fell backwards and stumbled drunkenly into a dancing pair.

The same hands went to take me again, their icy claws grasping anywhere they could, leading me out of the Hall as the Hall enveloped in fog and darkness. The world seemed to cave in on itself. I couldn't see a bastion of light, not a speck, not a glimmer of…

“Get off her!”

My vision returned, and in that moment, felt the warm aura, the smell of pumpkin. Harry, and beyond him, us, a rotting, bludgeoned lich. A sneer, and a laugh, the very walls echoed the sinister thrill in his voice over the confounded musical thrall.

“What are you going to do?!” He laughed again, the lich basking in his self-proclaimed righteousness, throwing his arms in the air. “You look to kill! Are you going to hit me, Potter?”

He laughed, people turning from all the commotion. “Is our Savior, our God, Potter going to hit poor, innocent ol' me? I'm sure the papers would like a photograph of a nice shiner brought upon by `Briton's finest', eh?”

“What is the meaning of this, Hart?!” Madam Hooch had swooped in behind us.

“Come on, Potter!” Xavier howled, pounding his chest. “Hit me! HIT ME!”

Harry balled his fist up, his arm around me snug.

I could feel him tighten, his feet firmly planted.

“I want to see your fucking arse in Azkaban, filthy Muggle-lover!”

“Month's detention and fifty points from Slytherin!”

“Oh sod off you stupid Muggle-loving whore,” Xavier, eyes rolling, seemed agitated that someone had stepped on the stage he set.

“YOU'VE JUST SEALED YOURSELF IN DETENTION UNTIL THE DAY YOU GRADUATE, BOY! ONE HUNDRED POINTS FROM SLYTHERIN!”

Some in the crowd surrounding us cheered.

I couldn't make out whom or for what, the cheering for the deductions of their fellow Slytherin for standing up to a teacher, everyone's face hidden in costume and masks.

“ALL RIGHT! ALL RIGHT!” Hagrid's monstrous boom began to shake up the onlookers. “YOU LOT—EVERYONE—MOVE OUT! GET TO BED!”

The crowd began to chant: “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”

“Come on you worthless half-breed!” Xavier smirked. “You've wanted to hit me! I know you've craved a moment to hit me! You dream of it!

“Well…,” Xavier taunted with a finger. “HERE I AM!”

“Harry…,” I began pulling him back, away, but he remained catatonic. His eyes bore holes into Xavier's wriggling body.

Xavier reached up, imitating a fist and punched himself in his left eye.

He mouthed, “POW!”

He smiled afterwards.

“YOU'RE EXPELLED, HART!!” declared Madam Hooch, pointing a finger at him, and then at the opened doors.

“Tell me, Potter,” Xavier breathed in with ease, smugness, and smirked. “Do Mudblood's like to lie on their back or do they prefer to…take it from behind?”

“Harry!” He bolted towards Xavier, leaving me behind. I went to grab him, but he left the grasp as if he'd changed from solid to liquid. Madam Hooch screeched, the crowd egging them on, bloodthirsty witnesses for Harry. His fist high, he coordinated his aim, drawing closer in distance.

Xavier stood waiting, never ceasing his smile…

…Xavier shut his eyes, portrayed further a toothy grin.

From neither side, nowhere, from anywhere, appeared Batman from the students. In a flash, his step was here to there, a whitish smoke-like trail his wake. He caught Harry's fist inches from Xavier's face, putting his other arm on Harry like a safety belt.

Xavier opened his eyes when he hadn't felt anything. Caught unawares, the slow motion of time as everything happened in seconds, Xavier's focus went from Harry—who went from completely set to completely dumbfounded—to the comic book hero.

“Allow me,” was all he said, ending Harry's speed and precision abruptly and Harry tripping into the staunchly-fibred costume.

Harry bounced back after slamming into the unaffected hero.

“…What?” I heard Harry say, my hands over my mouth, utterly mystified, struck dumb like my fiance—the man having saved Harry from the bait Xavier made no attempt to cover up.

A black hand rose, Batman's glove colliding with Xavier's chin.

The crowd drew their breaths, the actions happening in a minuscule timeframe.

Up rose Xavier, the sheer strength and whipping force having his feet leave the ground as he fell flat on his back. His makeup offset, the cloak twisted up about his neck where he toppled. I gasped, looking at Harry, the downed Xavier, gone, knocked out on the faux-earthen grounds of the Hall, and then to the hooded figure.

He turned to the stricken Harry, to the rattled form of me…

…He pulled from the mask's bottom edge, removing the fibrous black…

…To reveal a shiny-faced, ginger-haired long-lost stranger…

…resemblances like nothing from before…

…at first, he wasn't real…

…changed…

…his hair eclipsed his eyes until he swept the fringe back, stalwart, a fearless look in him, dexterous…

…he made one of those familiar awkward smiles at me, and then to Harry's perplexed reflection.

Ronald.

***

THE EVENING PROPHET

MINISTER AND HIS THUGS

I don't care who it is: Minister Shacklebolt, his admin, Aurors to hide their willingness to cause thuggery—a country should not stick their nose in another country's business! Highlights by a newspaper in Russia have statements from within their government that, in fact, our Ministry elbowed to get to the so-called, “enemy”. As much as we all know some of these people are misinformed, we should also point out that these are physiologically disturbed individuals that need counseling. Oppositely, the misinformed will not get one bit of counseling if our current Ministry has anything to do with it. These folks will ultimately be strung up by their feet, cut, beaten and bruised, have their heads submerged in water, and when things fail the usage of veritaserum—against Shacklebolt's own Law—in an attempt to get information. Dear followers of the Prophet, this is what we call: torture.

I want every Prophet reader, young and old, to go get a dictionary right now and read aloud the definition of TORTURE!

Torture isn't civilized. We have animals loose in our Ministry!

Remember to join the Prophet, as well as all of Britain, as we March on Ministry until they hear our voices!

No one should be subjected to this brutish, venomous treatment to our fellow man!

Angelica Teivel

Writer

Page 1

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51. Ronald

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.

The guardian angels of life fly so high as to be beyond our sight, but they are always looking down upon us.

***

Chapter Fifty-One - Ronald

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

DO NOT MESS WITH GOBLINS

“Time is money!” shouted an angered Steelknuckles, Grand Overseer of Gringotts. Enraged, with rivers of sweat appearing on his olive green forehead betwixt aged wrinkles, he bellowed into an open podium full of microphones, “I will not have this scum's hairy claws bloody my gold! Filthy humans stay away from Gringotts!” This was the result after the Grand Overseer was told that the Ministry would be holding investigations charging Gringotts was channeling currency into Nolpho's campaign without permission from its stockholders, essentially stealing coffers from those who would be for Minister Kingsley or the other individuals running for Minister of Magic. As Gringotts controls a large portion of the currency, one could see the ripple effect after threats of withholding the currency process by the Grand Overseer. That is, if Kingsley's admin goes ahead with their investigation.

Spokespeople for the Grand Overseer have come out and said that the Overseer's lawyers will hold their own investigations into complaints that, “Minister Kingsley is using Ministry coffers for fringe projects that will benefit him and the Order's wallets, not the People's”. Timothy Toulsen sent out a press release saying in part, “Not complying with Court's order should be reason enough to continue with the investigative process by the Kingsley Administration. If the Grand Overseer had nothing to hide, he wouldn't be counteracting our investigation with his own imaginary, deflective one. This is not a game to the shareholders of Gringotts who filed the complaints.”

In response, a spokesman from the Goblin Liaison Office inside the Ministry came out minutes later quoting the Grand Overseer again, “'Continue, and we'll throw all the red meat we have on your organization to the media sharks.'” Some lucrative investors are contemplating their removal of all assets from Gringotts after the Grand Overseer's fiery, anti-human rhetoric. Of course, these lucrative investors are also human. The magical kin, especially goblin, have actually invested more into Gringott's over the past month.

Stock gains across the board have become stationary or declined amidst the uncertainty brought upon by the Grand Overseer. Chief Executives inside Violet Hill's commerce sector have put blame squarely on the Ministry, exclaiming, “They [the Ministry] are provoking an already fragile post-War economy”. Some have also considered the implications that this is Minister Shacklebolt's way of creating a smoke screen where there shouldn't be fire. However, with the problems at Gringotts bank, banks like the Bank of England have seen a trend in interest. Goblins are crying out that this is the real ploy. By scaring the goblins from business, other banks will reap the rewards—“the banks controlled by humans”.

The Grand Overseer has said in the past that, “Ever since bargaining with the foul humankind, the chips have been stacked against us. If the Kingsley admin wants a financial war, we'll give them their financial war.”

The Department for Magical Creatures (once known as Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures or DRCMC) has stated, “a further strain has been put on the Ministry's Alliance with magical creature brethren globally”. Nevertheless, Quincy Nolpho's campaign has seen an uptick in goblin support. No one knows for sure what it means for others.

Gus Perwinsky

Writer

Page 1

***

Only those two boys would think to grill anything outside on a bitter cold day. But there they were, standing over hot coals, charring meats and vegetables. I couldn't believe it on Halloween. Ron appeared right where he needed to be. Xavier was a juvenile. Harry was an adult. Like with most laws in the Muggle society, the alternate world continued to press the condemnation of battery, and especially that of a child. Harry, with the efficient help of the Prophet, would have very well been victim of persecution.

Oddly, not a peep was spoken about Ron afterward.

I'd suspected something in the Prophet.

He was there, and here, and…he wouldn't venture too far.

Since his appearance back in our lives, he hadn't made so much of any attempt to contact Arthur and Molly. He was with Harry mostly, and when Gin and I went out earlier to do a little shopping, remained waiting at Cho's until we returned. Astonishingly, Harry had gotten him from inside the home after Cho went on her date to which, at first, was highly unlikely to happen. He'd cleverly create a tangent whenever Harry would bring up the conversation. After careful persuasion, and a few looks from those mysterious blue eyes at our atmosphere, he crept onto the grounds.

He wore white robes, the kind I'd seen on Aurors, except his was open. Much like a cloak than anything else, the exposed portion gave way to silver cloth and dark leather. A vest, an enormous belt, foreign pants I swore I'd seen the likes of in Eastern fashions, and these dark leather, pointed boots. A hybrid of multicultural, Auror, and sleekness emphasized fluidity? I didn't know, really; only pulling at straws.

One simple fact was made clear by my initial glance: Ronald Weasley was not the Ronald Weasley I'd known for years. He wasn't even the Ronald Weasley of months ago. Something had definitely changed; something I was sure we'd hear more of later. If not, I'd surely have my say so. The know-it-all in me shouted, “He wants to tell you something!”

Harry gained an extra leg. Like night and day, Harry looked loads better. There was this lackluster momentum he gained. I noticed, since the trial, since the attacks, since his bout with Kingsley that he just sort of trudged his way forward with his chin down. I couldn't rightly get inside his head, and he was good at hiding what he felt until he broke down. That was certain. So, without trouncing on his recollection with Ron, like they were those two best mates at Hogwarts, I let it go for now.

I took a sip from a warm mug of coffee in my hands and watched Harry and Ron become those youths from our past. They'd laugh, after Harry would push on Ron, and then Ron would fire back saying something to an inaudible statement from Harry and shove him. I grinned, standing at the sliding glass doors, at them on the patio. Drifts of snow clung to the cracks of the home and along the fence line. I set the mug from my lips and cradled it carefully, looking askance when I felt a hand on my bent arm.

“That's a really adorable jumper, `Mi,” Gin stepped beside me and lightly tugged on the white cashmere.

I smiled at her, my sight returning to Harry and Ron when they both let out a laugh I could hear through the glass.

“Has he said anything to you?” I asked after observing Harry, his gorgeous smile in context to his conversation with Ron. He looked happy, and that in turn made me happy.

“Who?” Gin had her own mug of coffee, the response muffled at first while she drank. “Ron?”

“Yeah—why hasn't he let your mum and dad know he's here?”

“Dunno,” Gin shrugged, motioning with her cup towards the two at their outdoor kitchen. “I'd suppose it has something to do with the Ministry. You know how they like to function better than I do. Maybe it's because Kingsley doesn't want some to be known?”

“Hm…”

“It's not like Aurors walk around freely.”

“Well, that could explain some of it, I guess. Kingsley had said weeks back how he liked to keep what is secret a secret. Ron becoming an Auror would add an indisputable layer in the conundrum.”

“Well, I know one thing.”

“What's that?” I turned to her.

Gin looked at me, and then away, gazing back outside. “I've come to believe mum's been obliviated.”

“She's been what?!” I could feel my eyes widen.

“She used to worry loads about Ron, and now,” Gin sipped her coffee, a finger through the handle. “She quit. I can't explain it, and it's not like I can go to the Ministry and demand an answer. They'll deny it even if she was. Hey—at least she's out of my hair.”

They are secret because if Death Eaters find out just how many they are they can act accordingly!

I could hear Kingsley's words echo.

“Do you think your mum knew about Ron all along?”

“I think,” Gin began, smiling in her silhouette at Ron and Harry's roughhousing. She then became solemn, “I think mum, as usual, stuck her nose where it shouldn't belong. It's not like Kingsley to obliviate at random, especially us, `the Order', the Order's family.”

“The sudden reappearance of my brother, and now mum thinks differently?” Gin shook her head, taking to her coffee again. “It's not complex in my mind. Mum was brash and probably got what she deserved in the end.”

“Gin…,” Even if Molly had become a bit…terse, blaming me for the end-all of their happy family, I still didn't wish her brains muddled. “He's done it for safety, then, you think? That's the only thing that makes sense. Like you said, he would never just obliviate.”

“It's not like my family was ever in the clear when it came to danger,” Gin wiped a bit of gloss left on the brim of the mug with her thumb. “Then mum uncovers Ron after all these months. He's certainly not in the loony bin as we thought—evidence A.”

She pointed off at Ron.

“Evidence B, those aren't typical Auror attire. If he were the usual, those openly shown in the newspaper, television, there wouldn't be a case. He's special. Maybe he's special because he's my brother? Maybe he's singled out because he was part of the Order? I haven't a clue—you're the know-it-all!”

She poked me.

“It's not like the Ministry wouldn't have hidden organizations at their disposal, but Ron? Why would he be chosen?”

“Maybe he volunteered? Maybe after all those years of wanting to do something with his life he finally got the chance and took it?” Gin shrugged. “He had become a lump on the sofa…”

I looked from Gin to Ron. He was practically a stranger.

My mind wrought in knots.

“They must inject them with steroids,” I mused.

Gin huffed. “He was living dad's legacy and eating morning, noon, and night. The only thing he lacked that dad had was direction. How many times did daddy demand for him to get off his bum and quit playing with the toys he'd bring home from the Joke Shop? You should remember.”

“Oh, how I very well remember…” I closed my eyes at the slight gesture of memory, actually hearing some of those annoying, whirling…hat contraptions… Or, how I was shocked by one of those hand buzzers. Or, how I was the guinea pig for a new kind of bean, “to rival Berty Botts,” only I found a variety of mucus-flavoured in my box. Etcetera, etcetera…

He needed to grow up.

Gin leaned into me and put her head on my shoulder.

“How's work?” I asked, my eyes returning their focus to Harry hugging himself outside.

“Management doesn't know if they can hold onto me after the holidays. But, I'm crossing my fingers about the Quibbler. I talked to Schultz, her Secretary, and asked if there were any openings. Maybe I could get a spot in their Quidditch editorials? Maybe I can finally get that apartment near Big Ben come next year?”

“That really sucks about Blotts, Gin,” I put an arm around her. “But, it was only temporary—right? I'm sure Luna will help you out. She's just the best. She'll make space for you. We should have never made fun of her, you know. She has our backs ten-fold and more.”

“You don't know how many times I've apologized to her and yet, she just smiles and goes on. But, I still got galleons coming in, hun,” she hugged me, carefully juggling her cup so she wouldn't pour any on my jumper, or my jeans. “So, it's all good. You'd absolutely adore it, Mi. I get to be around books all day…”

I grinned, taking a sip of coffee and saw as Harry took a pair of tongs to take the steaks from the grill.

“…Maybe I'd like it too if I was a nerd like you.”

“Nerd?” I exaggerated a scoff. “Offensive, completely.”

“A gaw-geous nerd.”

I laughed. “Gaw-geous?”

“Gaw-geous!”

“Less American television,” I chuckled into the last contents of the black drink. “More classical literature.”

“Pfft. Fuck that.”

I laughed which came out in a snort.

Gin snorted in spite of my accident and poked the side of my rib cage. “I left that back in Hogwarts. Thank Merlin we didn't have to go through an entire new year to `graduate'. That would have been disastrous, and hellish to my tastes. I'd have rather had a Brillo pad grated over my arms. I'd have had to escape like a prisoner.”

“And here I thought I could get you in with me at Oxford,” I snickered, rolling my eyes. “Oh, Gin, you and your theatrics, I swear.”

“Oh, Hermione, you and your theatrics…,” she imitated me, but in high-pitched tones. She then blew a raspberry into the sleeve of my jumper.

I chuckled and tried to shake her off.

She latched on.

My focus leaving Harry and Ron, fighting with Gin—I'd try to shake loose and she'd come right on back—that I hadn't seen them coming until I heard the sliding glass doors open. Then, I heard the “Brr!” of Harry, and laughs come from Ron. When I saw them Ron looked in his element, carrying the dinner tray. Harry, on the other hand, capitulated how cold it was with another, “Brr!”, rubbing the sides of his arms.

“'Bout freeze your testes off, eh?” I said, leaving Gin to go to Harry after his commotion.

“Almost,” he replied. “It's quite chilly out there.”

“Bloody well right,” I felt of him, and even through his coat I could feel the cold. “You're frozen. You're going to catch cold, and then what?”

“I'll be fine,” he added. “Get me some of that hot coffee.”

“Here,” I offered him any that was left of mine.

“Hey,” Ron interjected, having left the two of us on his way into Cho's kitchen. “What if we ate this by the fire, no? I'm a little chilled, too.”

“I think you're both dumbasses, frankly,” announced Gin, plucking the tray from Ron's hands. She waddled on into the kitchen.

“Oh, my sister,” Ron sighed, giving an eye roll. “Always the honest one. You've grown perfectly into mum.”

“Don't you dare say that again!” Harry and I heard something collide with Ron, making him yell:

“Hey, that's our food!”

“Well, that's what you get for—!“

“Ginny'll have our dinner on the walls,” whispered Harry quickly at my ear. “And unless you want to eat standing up…”

“We better get in there,” I chuckled, slipping away to grab Harry's hand as he led me off towards the tantrum in the kitchen.

***

“Gin,” Ron sat back in a recliner, the toasty fire roaring in the hearth. The fire gave off its orange hue, its light our light. Harry and I were on the sofa together, my legs and feet hiked up onto the cushions as I sat somewhat side-saddle into my Love. Gin had gone to take our plates away, shushing me when I wanted to help her.

“Hm?” She came back into the living quarters, bounding around in a skip and plopped down aside me. With Harry's arm around my shoulders, and a new appendage, Gin wiggling her arm around my waist, I was more than warm and comfortable.

“Tell Cho a thousand times thank you when she gets home.”

“And a thousand times, yes—I will. Though, she'll never know about this, eh?”

“Haha…,” Ron drew in a deep breath and let it all out, leaning backward, his face towards the ceiling. He spoke, resuming, “…It's been a while since I can recall stopping, sitting, and doing nothing in particular. It's refreshing.”

“…Not that I'm not doing anything now,” He glanced back at us. “Among friends.”

“What do you mean, mate?” Harry questioned, adjusting himself so I had an easier time fitting to his abstract puzzle piece outline. “What's the Ministry done to you?”

“Remember those days at Hogwarts when we'd talk up the night about wanting to be Aurors?”

“Well,” I piped in. “That's understood. But Gin, and me, and Harry… It's not like we don't want you here—“

“Ha!” shouted Gin.

Everyone turned to look at her.

Silence.

“…It was a joke, sheesh.”

Harry laughed through his nose and I gave a head shake, an eye roll. “Weasel…”

“What? …Psh—whatever,” She snuggled into me. “Shush it, `Mi.”

I stuck my tongue out.

“Kids.” Harry shook his head.

I gasped and prodded his stomach.

“Ugh!”

“I miss this,” Ron said in smiles, his eyes alight from the fireplace. A bandana, the same silvery thread and cloth, kept his Weasley-red from his sight. The choppy hair sprung out at random; though, together seemed whole.

“I don't understand, Ron,” Harry fell somber after tickling, attacking me for a seconds with his fingers. “You say things like that as if you aren't able to come home. You can come home. The Burrow is very much there. Your dad, your mum—“

Ron shook his head. “It's just not true, Harry. I'm not going to patronize you, because you don't know, but it's not as simple as packing and moving back in. I'll never be able to assimilate, nevertheless, assimilate elsewhere.”

“Ron—can we please quit all the psychology lessons and get to the point?” Gin sounded perturbed.

I rang in similarly, stating, “You're acting fairly dark, Ron… The words you choose aren't exactly the most uplifting. You're not disconnected for whatever it's worth.”

“I'm very proud of what I do, though.”

“You've got people who love you. But if it's your mum or dad, or Gin,” I nudged her with an elbow, and she poked me back. “That's the decision maker, I'm sure you can get an apartment, or we can lend a helping hand. You could stay at our house for a while—“

“—If it's all right with Harry, that is,” I diverted, glancing at Harry who had gazed down at me.

He looked up at Ron and nodded, “Absolutely, mate. You tell me what you need and I'll hook you up. Need a bed—we've got spares.”

One could see Ron's heart swell, a glimmer in his surrealistic blue swirling irises. “You don't know how much that means to me, hearing you all say those things. I'm touched.”

“Well, it's the truth,” Harry confided, honestly. “And, you wouldn't be a burden. Come and go as you please—I'd have to make arrangements, of course. I won't exactly be able to do this without the Ministry—“

“—The Ministry is my home…to an extent, at least.”

“Did you ever see a doctor after that night?” asked Gin. “You were depressed, drinking—“

“I did, and not to sound prophetic, but that night drastically changed my life. If it weren't for my actions, however horrible they were, I'd still be that prat living at home.”

I coaxed fromm beside Harry. “You're here for a reason—so tell us. What is going on? What has happened—to you—to everything, with everything?”

“I wouldn't want to bore you.”

“Just say anything,” Harry chuckled. “You've definitely got our attention.”

“Okay,” Ron sighed, bundling his arms, crisscrossing them at his chest. You could hear the pull of his dark leather gloves, his digits retracting into his fists. “Well…beyond the obvious, I am, in fact an Auror.”

“But not just any old Auror. A superior of mine, he came to me slightly after I was asked if I really did want to commit suicide. After the War, and so many deaths, my brother… He told me he could feel and see the turmoil inside me, inside here,” Ron patted his chest. “And how I wanted and waited for some sort of epiphany. You know I was troubled Hermione…”

He looked at me, and then to Harry. “And Harry.”

“But particularly you, Hermione,” His crystal blue stare returned to me. “And I must apologize for hurting you. I never meant to hurt you—ever. I was lost.”

“It's all right now, Ron,” I smiled and nodded to let him know I genuinely meant it. My place, my heart, my soul was attached to the lifeline I knew: my Love. That's where I knew I was meant to be, and knowing that changed my outlook. No more were the days of wallowing in bed wondering why…because I found him. “I know it was never your intent to hurt me.”

I stayed because leaving would have shattered you…

“We're all lost at some point, mate. It happens,” exclaimed Harry, and I could sense the words reverberating with the thoughts of having found a place in life. “Look at me—look at what I've done—“

“I'm going to go get a butterbeer,” announced Gin, breaking in the conversation, sliding from my form and off the sofa. She stood and turned to look at us three. “Anyone?”

She had the…malaise of a third-wheel across her drooped features.

“No thank you.

“Nah.

“No thanks, Gin.”

“I'll be right back…,” she left us for the kitchen.

Gin…

She gave me a look as if she read my thoughts.

Ron watched his sister intensely for a moment, and then peered from his linger to me. My sight locked with his and I swore I saw…something. A flash, in fast-forward…bits…images going by so fast… It was an odd feeling, almost like I'd blacked out for a second. He blinked which surrendered the uplifted feeling, and I had to find myself from that outer-body experience.

I took my hand and held my head, spying through my fingers at Ron who had taken to looking back at Harry.

The wooziness drifted away as fast as it came on.

“…My superior,” he continued. “He saw a driving passion in me. Not only did he see that I wanted to be something, someone, be an Auror, find a place—like you said—but encompass a greater good. I didn't just want to follow in my father's footsteps, join some office at the Ministry pushing papers. My brother's had their Joke Shop, and as much as I know he'd let me in as partners I'd still feel like I stepped on…”

“I trained, tirelessly, day in and day out. Sometimes for sixteen hours, twenty-four, grueling, and exhausting days. One time I swore I sweated an entire ocean. Harry—becoming an Auror…it's like nothing anyone will ever experience in their lives. No wonder the first part of Moody's nickname was Mad. I've seen guys like me go nuts in there, mate.”

“Damn,” Harry said in near-whisper, emphasized by how exhaustive Ron made it to be. “What do they have you do?”

“Let me show you something…,” Ron slipped his hands deep into his pockets hidden beneath the cloak and retrieved his wand. The bark was stiff, rigid glossy ebony. It certainly wasn't the flimsy kind he held at Hogwarts. “Here.”

He tossed it over to me, and I could feel weight beneath the slender stick.

I didn't know he'd do that, and I fumbled to catch his wand and finally did after some circus tricks. I looked up at him through mascara, tucking loosened strands of hair behind my ears. “…What do you want me to do with it?”

“Keep it a mo',” Ron's head swiveled, his eyes leaving mine. He focused on a stack of books piled on the floor by his feet, aside the recliner. He didn't move but his hand, raising it upwards, floating it feet above the binding. Slowly, the book lifted straight, turned and he caught it inside his gloved hand.

“Wandless magicks…?” I was utterly astounded. I think the little hairs on my arm rose.

I wasn't every day you saw wandless magic… Dumbledore grasped the potential, Voldemort grasped the potential, Moody, Minerva… I was sure Kingsley knew it… Ron…

“Christ!” Harry went from shock to awe, two verbs that surrounded my own current vocabulary. His look could explode from behind his glasses. “That's…”

Ron set the book down on a table between us, raised that hand, raised his index finger and asked, “May I have my wand back?”

Before I could even speak I felt this warmth envelope my opened hands. Slowly the wand left my palms, floated in a curve through the air and fell directly into Ron's waiting palm. He smirked and slipped the wand back into the pockets inside his cloak.

“I'm your Guardian, Hermione.”

“What?”

“The night when Death Eaters swarmed your mum and dad's home where you were babysitting your nephew…I wasn't there. That wasn't my team. But, when I ultimately heard about it—and I caught bloody hell for getting in the superior's face about it—Kingsley asked me one question and I answered it with one answer.”

Guardian…

“He asked me: Do you love her so much that you would swear to stand within her shadow? Nothing in my mind could deny that wasn't so. I gave an oath to be your trusted defense, to never leave you.”

“Harry,” Ron chuckled a little. “I'm not saying anything else, by the way, and congratulations are in order of your soon-to-be wedding.”

“I never took that meaning, mate,” Harry laughed along, too. “I'm very happy to know you are there to see my heart through. I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“But he doesn't have to do this, Harry,” I looked between him and Ron. “You don't have to do this, Ron. Look out for your—”

“It's been this way for months, Hermione. I'm bound to you by a promise to which cannot be severed. I think that's why I came out as I did. I guess I wanted to tell you, my friend, my friends. I do have a duty to remain confidential, being one of those `specialized' Aurors and all that pizzazz,” Ron waved it off. “This is what I wanted to do… And, I feel very proud.”

To have my own…

“Are they really after me, Ron?” I asked when it came right down to it. Needing an Auror to myself? Kingsley feeling the need to…ask Ron? Ron? He could have… He could have asked anyone. Ron. “Am I really in danger?”

Ron gave a grin. “You know I'm unable to give specifics, or risk of every one of us obliviated…but, I will ask you this in response:”

He dropped down in height, sitting in the chair, and whispered. “Have you been in a situation since then like that night?”

I thought, and…shook my head, “no”.

Ron smiled and nodded. “There's your answer.”

***

“Is she asleep?”

“Yeah,” Harry said silently, sitting next to a slumbering Hermione. He had an arm about her legs on his lap. Hermione's head on a pillow, she had one arm up over her head while the other lay across her abdomen. Her face went towards the sofa. “It doesn't take a whole lot to get her sleepy. She's a trooper.”

“Didn't she start to drift off the moment we started discussing Quidditch?” Ron sat back down in the recliner. He'd gone to toss an empty butterbeer bottle out, taken to one after Gin had left for bed.

Harry gently lifted the legs he carried and let Hermione sprawl across the second cushion. In squat, he knelt down beside her, took his fingers and softly swept her hair within them. He spoke whilst watching her chest rise and fall, completely at ease in her serenity. He only hoped she drifted to the sweetest of dreams.

“Isn't she the most beautiful creature you've ever seen?”

“She has quite the glorious aura about her—very warm.”

His thumb traced a line down her smooth cheek, creating a burst of movement, a breath of hers coming to and settling as she exhaled from his touch. He fixed his glasses, a habitual response when he could feel the cloudiness in his focus, an onset of tears. “Sorry, for the emotional spells tonight—“

He flicked his head around to see Ron, his hand cradling that farthest cheek in the background. “But I love her terribly, and to see, and hear, and see, and hear things—constantly—“

He turned his head towards Hermione again in time to see her rub against his hand. He smiled. “I'm glad to know you're there, Ron. I've thought of you as a trusted friend—“

“—Even at times when I thought you were incredibly thick,” Harry moved to see Ron, viewing the smirk he gave him by his statement.

“Young and naive—I only hope my apologies are enough. I wasn't sure she'd cast me aside, regardless,” Ron stood up and met Harry at Hermione's side. He chose to stand a bit further up, leaned on the sofa's armrest, his right arm his balance. “I'd have continued to defend her from afar, anyway. That I know. She could have berated me countless times and I would never stray.”

“I don't think `berating' is in her bones. She's too much of a giver to accept negativity,” Harry explained, transitioning to state: “I honestly wonder why she's even with me. I'm a magnet, for lack of a better term, for all this destruction. You'd think she would find me repulsive.”

“You may say that Harry, and in another life I'd probably find solace in your words; but in actuality, you're her match,” Ron's richly cerulean eyes followed Harry's posture, him, his arm, the attachment he placed, and then to Hermione herself. “There's a spectrum, like body temperature but on a spiritual layer. Some people describe it as that `aura,' and that's possibly the closest definition of the phenomenon I can see.”

Harry flashed back to Ron. “You can see…auras now? Don't discredit me after I say that tonight has been one mad twist after the next. Do I even know you anymore?”

Ron laughed at Harry's tart cantor. “I'm just a wee bit different.”

“Ha! That's putting it slightly to the left.”

Ron chuckled, his eyes leaving the slumbering Hermione to stare at the faded jade-green eyes of Harry. “Moody could see it. Kingsley can see it. It's a representation of us. There's colour from the blackest of black to the purest of whites. People shift, like hunger or thirst, and bend to these colours. It's a quick reference of character. A change will happen if someone chooses to go down a different path, and so on. It can get, well, complicated.”

“More like wind blowing over my head, rather.”

“Think of it as a map with a bunch of coordinates,” Ron concluded. “The closer people are with their coordinates, the closer they can become.”

“So, her and mine are similar, then?”

“You couldn't get a knife to slip through them,” Ron affirmed with precision in his tone. “But you didn't need me to tell you that, did I? Isn't it rather obvious?”

Harry looked back at Hermione and combed at her fringe.

“How many times did she come to find you? How many times did she stand up for you? Protect you? Be beside you? Help you? Advocate for your needs? I don't think there's been a day since you two met when you haven't been on her mind.”

“Can you read minds, too?” Harry asked with sarcasm.

“Haha… I'm still human. I can die, and I'm by no means immortal, though,” Ron looked onward smugly. “Kingsley certainly does spook the Death Eaters into thinking so. They scatter like roaches back to their holes when they realize we're on our way.”

“Maybe you shouldn't say that too loud, then.”

“I've also protection…while I'm here. I was given the OK to come out like this. Again, I'm only human after all.”

“I'm sorry to hear about Molly.”

Ron shrugged. “It isn't like she thinks I'm dead. Dad knows the truth, but he also knows to keep his mouth shut. She has protection. Dad's had protection ever since… Well, really ever since he aligned with the Order. Someone like me given an oath.”

“Do I have one, too?”

It didn't take but a breath for Ron to say: “I believe you have the whole damn army.”

“As much as that's flattering, I'd rather her,” Harry motioned to Hermione with his chin. “Have the `whole damn army' than me.”

“And don't think your shouting match with Kingsley didn't resonate with him.”

“You know about that, eh?”

“I was briefed that you may snap at me if I brought him up. I would have let you go if you did. It's not healthy leaving that bottled up—believe me. I let it out and got reprimanded when I talked down nearly the entire brigade that was supposed to be with Hermione that night. But, without my remarks maybe I wouldn't be in the position I'm in today. That's me: stumbling my way and getting somewhere.”

Harry laughed at the obvious.

“He does love you like a son, Harry,” confided Ron after sharing a laugh. “Kingsley. It's not like Dumbledore didn't carry down his sentiment about you to others. Not to mention how many lives you saved. Do you know how much clout you have? A lot of people in the Ministry care about you.”

“If I have so much clout, tell them to care about her, too.”

“That's why I'm here,” Ron gave a laugh through his nose. “I like to think I fill in the gaps.”

“Thank you, Ron,” Harry reached out the short distance with his hand.

Ron's eyes followed his best mate's reach and smiled, taking his glove to Harry's open palm and shook it. “I'd do this, in any event.”

“I still greatly appreciate everything you've done and are doing. You don't know how much weight has been taken off my shoulders now that I know someone who loves her as much as I do is looking out for her in areas my peripherals don't extend to. I won't keep her caged—she's not an animal—so I let her go, to school, to work, shopping with Gin, and whatever else makes her happy.”

“No harm will ever be done to her. I promise you.”

“That's all I need to know.”

Hermione started to squirm and fidget. With the conversation beside her, she blinked open those drowsy eyes and yawned. She stretched and peeked about, her arms above her head, to see Harry and Ron watching her from either side. She grinned, let escape a tiny moan when she'd found a sweet spot and let her arms and legs return forth to their positions. She went to roll over, comfy and carefree, her man and Guardian encapsulating her from life's other realities.

“Hey,” Harry said in a light laugh and smile. Hermione let drift an eye open to see him, yawning once more. “It's getting late and you've lesson tomorrow. Ready to head on home?”

She stretched, looked to ponder in her twilight, and then nodded. Closing her eyes in a flutter, she yawned again. Harry expressed an “Aw,” and started to scoop her up in his arms.

She instantly caught him around the neck as he stood.

“You two are so sweet… I'm sure I'll get sick come morning.”

Harry grinned first at Ron, and then said to Hermione, “Want to say good bye to Ron before we leave?”

“I don't know when the next time I can see you. But, I'll make my best effort to visit when I can. I'll be with you, though.” Ron held his hips as he looked on at Hermione in the crook of Harry's shoulder and throat, the perfect place to rest.

“Mmn…”

“I think that was her attempt at `bye'.”

Ron chuckled into his fist. “She's tired.”

“She is,” Harry glanced from her to him. “But she heard you. She'll remember. I'll remember.”

Ron smiled. “Thank you.”

“Take her home and get her in bed,” Ron ended as Harry turned to walk from the house, moving to the exit.

“And Gin?”

“I'll stay with my sister until Cho gets home from her late night date,” Ron peered upstairs when they'd crossed the living space. “I won't leave her here unattended.”

“All right,” Harry flipped back around in the hallway, his hand on the doorknob of the home's entrance. He looked beyond Hermione, her mahogany locks about his neck, tickling in the slight breeze he made, and said again to Ron. “Thank you.”

Ron grinned and nodded.

“And, you stay safe, mate. I don't want to hear from Kingsley that you've kicked the can.”

Ron tilted his head back and belted a laugh. “Oh… Harry, thank you. It helps right here.”

Ron patted his chest. “It does.”

Harry smiled and went to open the door, to be sidetracked by an interjection of, “And, Harry…!”

He turned to see Ron, the door cracked open. “Yeah?”

“Congratulations again, mate. I wish you two the best.”

“We won't be able to send you a wedding invitation, but you'll be there? As my honorary best man?”

“If you want me to,” Ron grinned from ear-to-ear. “Valentine's, right?”

“In the backyard of her mum and dad's home. It'll be in the morning.”

“Cool. I'll absolutely be there to give a toast to my best mates..”

“Cool,” Harry grinned. “Good night, Ron.”

“Good night, Harry,” Ron watched as Harry descended the steps wrapped tightly in Hermione. The snow had begun again to fall, but very lightly. The glow off the street lamps made each fleck glow in the darkness.

“Sweet dreams, Hermione,” Ron whispered, seeing, and then hearing Harry's distinct “POP!” as he disappeared.

***

A profoundly taxed bundle of limbs and hair beset Harry. Harry, laying up in bed with a pillow at his back, became Hermione's offer of security, her arm secure about him, her cheek positioned above his heart so she heard him live. Like raindrops hitting the roof, the sound of Harry's beat was that rhythmic drum. Having come home, they'd quickly changed and went to sleep…to have the light turn on with a motion from Harry's hand. He didn't wake Hermione, being aware and quiet as he placed his glasses upon his nose, took the newspaper from the same nightstand, and read this morning's Quibbler.

Below an article, the headline reading:

PROPHET DEMANDS PUBLIC APOLOGY FROM WNN AFTER MCCRADY SAYS SKEETER AN, “INCITER OF VIOLENCE” ON AIR

To a revolving and changing headline from this morning:

SKEETER, PROPHET GIVES PERWINSKY THE BOOT, STATING, “THE PROPHET DOES NOT THEORISE” AFTER PERWINSKY QUOTES STEELKNUCKLES' HUMAN HATRED

From:

SKEETER, PROPHET TO CHALLENGE PERWINSKY'S DECADE-LONG CONTRIBUTION TO PROPHET MEDIA

Another headline read:

CAMP POTTER REJOICES AFTER NEW POLLS SHOW HARRY POTTER LEADING NOLPHO BY 20%, UP FROM 12% LAST WEEK

Camp Potter, a newly-formed political rising whom support Harry Potter for Minister of Magic, have something to be excited about after a new WNN poll came out yesterday showing Harry Potter up eight percent from his twelve percent lead over Quincy Nolpho last week. Their spokeswoman, Leieh Daniels, says that, “Their volunteers are the ones that should receive credit. This boost in the polling shows that we're really getting our word to everyone.” Although Harry Potter hasn't blessed their movement, nor has he even chosen to run at all, he should know that there are many faces, young and old, behind him. What Camp Potter does acknowledge is Mister Potter's full support of Kingsley Shacklebolt's administration, but wishes that if the Minister is removed that someone like Harry Potter is put in his place.

When we asked Miss Daniels what she would describe Mister Nolpho as using one word, she answered, “Shady.” And, why wouldn't he be considered this way? Quincy Nolpho has been banished from the Ministry for “divulging confidential information to the public”, announced an inside Ministry investigator. With the Ministry conducting investigations into the Prophet and Rita Skeeter for harboring criminals, and Skeeter's endorsement to the Nolpho campaign, we're asking if it's all connected by one string. It's your voice. Can we connect the dots?

Feel free to write me your thoughts. Some letter may be featured in future Quibbler's.

Rebecca Greene

Writer

P.1

Hermione's cough woke Harry from zoning out. His eyes blurring, they refocused and went to the perfect face peeking forth from a curtain of perfect hair. She rubbed herself, her cheek, her nose into his bare chest and lifted in squint to see Harry peering down.

“…Something wrong?” She asked, looking at him, to the newspaper he held in the other hand, and back to him. She wasn't exactly awake, lying back down as if she hadn't said anything before Harry could reply:

“Nothing.” He scratched her back through the silky white sleep slip she wore.

His eyes kept on her, he couldn't help but see the irony.

In one hand held the Quibbler, the requests, the aches…

…His other, Hermione, happiness, and the Keeper of his heart.

I'm no politician… I'm nothing like Dumbledore or Kingsley… Hell, I'm not even like Ron… But, people…I give them hope…? If I need to go, could I…? He questioned in thought. If people needed me to be there, could I just up and leave…? Leave this all behind? My family…

Platform Nine and Three-Quarters bustled like any other day this time of the year. Parents coddled children, the children with their bags and books on trolleys peddling them towards the shiny red Hogwarts Express. Overhead, the glass-paneled ceiling showcased a blue sky, sunny day, albeit with cold weather. The adults, kids, new and returning students, rushed around with caps, mittens, and coats to their necks. The Hogwarts train conductors, in their navy-and-crimson tails, directed the lost to their destination.

Mothers and fathers kissed, hugged, and waved good-bye for a new school year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Among the crowds stood a much older, clean-shaven Harry and Hermione, her hair in a bun. Both dressed for business, Harry in a suit, Hermione's pencil-skirt cut to her calves. She'd bent down to a little girl's height in front of them, holding onto a trolley of her belongings, stamped with the initials A.S.P. atop the Hogwarts emblem. The little girl, her face bright with the busy, happy atmosphere, her hair curly, long and darkly brunette like her mother, her eyes a brilliant jade-green like her younger father, gazed oppositely into Hermione's tear-stained eyes.

Hermione extra-cautiously, extra-carefully made sure the little girl's hair was immaculate, her coat straight, her face clean with a bit of spit. Of course, when Hermione wiped her cheek off with mummy's spit did the little girl try and get away.

“Mummy!” wriggled the tiny image of Hermione

Hermione sniffed, puffy-eyed, and let out a snicker.

Harry, his hand on the trolley, smiled down at their exchange. At a glance, he double-checked the suitcases, examining them by size to their contents, and gave a snowy-white owl a finger-rub through the cage. The owl let out an affectionate chirp by the attention.

“Now, you've got everything?”

“Yes, mummy…”

“You're absolutely sure?”

All the while Hermione kept fidgeting with their daughter's clothes.

“Mummy!” The eleven year old shot looks around. “You're making me embarrassed…”

“Do you remember the nice, tall man that came over for dinner and brought with him rock cakes?”

“I think I still have a bit lodged in my teeth…”

Hermione laughed, seeing her daughter pick at her teeth.

Harry smiled, took the hand from the trolley and put it on his cheek.

“Yes, his name is Hagrid,” Hermione smoothed out the collar of the little girl's coat for the umpteenth time. “When you get off the train and you feel overwhelmed, he'll guide you. All the teachers there are nice, too, so if you ever have any questions—“

“Ask! I knooowww, mum… Gosh.”

“She's a big girl, mum,” poked Harry, his daughter smiling up at him in the sunlight.

Hermione stood up and huffed, “But…,” She turned to Harry and whispered. “She's my ickle Abbi…”

“ALL ABOARD!”

The Hogwarts Express's horn tooted, whistling.

“Do you see her?” Hermione was in a chase after their daughter climbed onto the train. She went from one window to the next in hopes of catching a glimpse with Harry, hand-in-hand. “Was that her? Did you see her walk by that compartment?”

“There she is, Love,” Harry stopped, his arm having a pull when Hermione didn't. He pointed. She shuffled on aside her mate and clamored for the adjacent window. There, innocent and eager, waved the tiny Hermione. “Right there—there she is, waving!”

Harry started to wave back only to have Hermione step towards the train and motion upwards. She prodded the window, where the latches were at in their bottom corners. The young Hermione undid the window and pushed it up. Parents around them started to do similar actions, talking to their kids from their windows, pushing Harry backwards until there was a breadth of bodies between him and his wife. He moved closer to Hermione, to his daughter, and caught them mid-conversation.

“…Remember what we discussed about Muggle Studies. It'll be a breeze. Daddy's notes on Potions will help you if you can't figure something out, and then you have Charms with—“

“I got it, mummy.”

Harry placed his hand upon the small of Hermione's back.

Hermione let out this incredible sigh, and Harry knew by the emotion driven behind it that she'd surely cry. He turned to watch her as she said, her hands with their daughter's, “Mummy loves you so very much, Abigail. Don't you ever forget that.”

Harry watched the first of many tears fall from his wife's big brown eyes.

“Mummy…,” Abigail began to tear up, her green eyes widening for the watery sheen now in her sight.

Hermione squeezed Abigail's hands. “Don't you ever forget that, do you hear me?”

Harry squeezed Hermione's waist.

Abbi cried.

Harry's heart broke, and he tried to remain composed amongst the test for paternal devotion. He'd kept this way for Hermione's sake, but she and he couldn't resist the chugging sound of the Hogwarts Express and the inevitable departure. The wheels on the tracks began to turn unbeknownst to Hermione.

“Love, before your feet get rolled over…”

Hermione's hands, her fingers, slowly slipped away from Abigail's greatly outstretched arms. She found Harry and hid her face in his coat.

“I love you, daddy…,” Abigail, stuttering breathes, reached out for Harry. The train inched forward ever-so-sluggishly, building.

Harry went to his daughter, stood on his toes, marched with the steady train, put his hand on her cheek and gave her forehead a kiss. When their eyes met, her large saucers to his, Harry couldn't help but let slip a tear. “Daddy loves you so much—and if you ever need us, ask Headmaster Flitwick. Mummy and I will be always checking the Post. You'll do so well. I know you'll do so well.”

A brief pause, to say at their end:

“You're daddy's little girl after all.”

He wiped away the tear streaks on Abigail's cheeks with his thumb.

The Hogwarts Expressed pressed on a tad further, making it difficult to hang onto Abbi.

Harry gave her one last embrace through the window before he knew he could no longer hold on.

He let go and watched Abbi, her face out the window like the sea of students saying good bye.

He put his hand to his lips and blew his daughter a kiss, waving as hard as he could…

Harry found himself back in bed with Hermione, the answers to the numerous questions swimming in the morass of his mind. People were counting on him… But, he knew what he wanted to do, for his sake and sanity, and knew it with sewn faith. He put the Quibbler back on the nightstand, gave a clap and settled around his sleeping Hermione.

The lamplight faded out.

-->

52. Partner

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.

Love is the emblem of eternity; it confounds all notion of time; effaces all memory of a beginning, all fear of an end.

***

Chapter Fifty-Two - Partner

***

Passerbies gave second-looks at this wispy figure out of her element. It was her hair, how it was blown backward as if she'd kept a fan running in front of her face; the cotton candy-like fullness not so much as moving in a frigid winter wind. Her eyes garnered the same, their bluest of blues twinkling in an abnormally sunny London morning. She carried a basket which she'd taken off her bicycle the moment the pale creature put on a stand and locked for safety outside her flat. Her hands, their precision and quickness, taking the rest of the onlooker's gazes as she moved with such fluidity it appeared so otherworldly.

With nonchalance she'd flash her perfectly symmetrical white gnashers at those hinting voyeurism. Her smile would seemingly change the curious ogling to that of a grin themselves as if people's mood uplifted by just looking at her whilst walking on by. A toddler of the age of two became giddy with just the fairy's presence, giving a wave to which Alice sang out, “Good morning!” A middle-aged man, not on notice of which way was which, ran into another bystander selling newspapers who also caught a glimpse of the extravagant white coat, thin black trousers, and how the tail of her white scarf floated in the street's swift zephyrs. Her attire made up her itsy-bitsy stature.

She'd gone by the time the middle-aged man stopped to help pick the newspapers fluttering around, returning to see nothing but her bicycle outside among others and the door to the apartments closed. He sighed audibly and went about purchasing his own paper, something he didn't do by day but instinctively did this morning in hopes of seeing another glimpse of Alice in those last seconds.

Before the lift, Alice halted her step at the compartments each assigned numerically by room. She slipped her finger over the latch, having taken to unlocking by key and put her set back into a coat pocket. The box had been stuffed: letters to the Editor, signed envelopes for the Quibbler, a bill or two, and something unusual from the week's typical breadth of decor. Her smile eclipsed her features, knowing by the intricately-woven golden cursive the event held within and put the flawless ivory envelope into a pocket within her coat. She knew, her heart frolicking beside said envelope, how much excitement this would bring to her one upstairs.

Gently stepping to one side to allow fellow tenants from the lift, she greeted them all “Good morning,” her exceptionally soft voice keeping the men in linger. She then took to the upper floor herself. She didn't so much as fixedly stare into the mirrored walls, a trap for those with a bit of ego. She waited, humming a tune in absence of sound, no birds chirping, no leaves waffling in the wind, the machines and dazzling lights creating an environment different than what she grew up in. She wasn't clueless nor homesick, but fell in habit by memory: the tall, inviting trees, the warmth of sunlight, the aromatically-colourful flora, and the shining stars in a cloudless sky…

Alice put her hands on the doorknob of apartment 317. She waited patiently and heard the chime of a beautiful bell. Softly she closed the door, noting how she left Luna working in the den. She turned from the door and into a picturesque view of that she hummed: flowers garnishing every speck of space, some hanging from walls, others hanging from the ceiling. From somewhere a trickling of water could be heard in the quietness, a clock and its pendulum tick-tocking in harmonious rhythm. She left the basket of groceries on a marbled island in the kitchen, seeing a soapy sponge clean what was left from breakfast on its own. A tea kettle she caught before it whistled, keeping the noise down and placed it aside but not before pouring some hot tea for her own.

In one hand she held the porcelain cup, in her other she unwound her scarf and put it folded neatly atop the sofa at the hearth. She did this by instinct, never once looking to see it land so squarely on the backside. Warmed by fire in a split-second of time, Alice lightly wandered the hall, following a paper trail unlike any Muggle had ever seen. Flapping like fowl, pieces the Quibbler led Alice towards the den where the flock grew overhead.

The trickling came from not one, but two identical waterfalls at each corner of the den. Circling at a rock pool at the bottom, the water cascaded over to levels, calmly folding like cloth against the earth. White carpeting brought upon vibrantly green stems at the far reaches of the room, a field of five petals: a yellow centre growing white with a flush of pink at their tips. The den faced the sky, between venetian blinds shone the sun askance along Luna's work place. The desk, a grain of light and dark browns, melded together in an oval shape. Many cupboards could be drawn out along the sides, a spot for your feet and legs in the middle. Atop the desk sat another level where framed pictures, some moving, faced whoever sat there. Among them were photographs from the past, from Hogwarts, Xenophilius, and Luna's childhood. Others printed most recent, namely a ball Luna and Alice had gone to, Alice's ebony gown complimenting Luna's ivory. Both of them ecstatically smiling into the camera, their temple's together.

Alice stayed at the doorway a moment just taking in the loveliness of Luna, the quirkiness as her salmon nightgown, mossy green tights, and bare feet. How meticulous she went about gathering the pieces of Quibbler, her mind in a daze, lofty in her eyes, how the work kept her from noticing Alice standing there watching her mix-and-match the slips of print and image. Alice sighed in smile, gave an eye roll and started over to Luna. Her boots gave no sound as she stepped, the carpet concealing the pirouette behind a hunched-over pile of golden curls.

The fragrance of fresh jasmine wafted coolly beneath Luna's nose even before Alice could lay a finger on her. She breathed in, and with a lingered sigh swiveled her head to see her beautiful mate in the sunlight, her alabaster skin aglow, and her cerulean irises sparkling. Alice was met with illuminated magnifying glasses, a microscopic appendage fastened to a pair of glittery-fuchsia spectacles. The magnification lessened, small gears rotating from Luna's view to the sides of her eyes. She smiled, a quill of large white plumage in her hand.

Alice lowered, wrapping her arms around Luna's chest and placed her head aside her lover's. She gave the cup of tea to Luna, putting it aside for her later and away from the mountain of paperwork. Alice's eyes gazed over the beginnings of Q, the forerunner for Luna's magazine being built.

“Tel' perma vians par ici vanima…” [The magazine is coming along marvelously…]

Alice ever-so-gently caressed Luna's neck.

“Eil sal o thys si si. Air'r caer si mesaer os tia jhael. Si'bi tysti ail sholi shi maer eil bestaer si vol” [Thank you… And thank you for the tea. It'll keep the snurggles off my legs. They've come in while we slept and messed up the prints.]

The words spoken fell lazily off Luna's tongue.

Alice laughed quietly through her nose.

“Ai'bi kyr mystaerol thys o, tia jhyli.” [I've got something for you, my love.]

Luna swept the blonde curls from her sight. “Vaelia? Oh!” [Really? Oh!]

She became increasingly excited, grasping the arms of Alice about her and giving them a pull. Alice gave her a tickle, reaching in with her free hand for the envelope she hid so well. As she lessened her dancing fingers, watching Luna settle, she reached around and showed Luna the immaculate envelope. The whites of Luna's eyes went to saucers when she stared at the front, the intricate cursive labeled:

To Miss Luna Lovegood and To Miss Alice Burton

Luna glanced from Alice to her left, and back down at the letter in all smiles. She slipped a nail beneath the fold and carefully pried open the letter to reveal a nearly-transparent piece of stationary, reading:

HERMIONE JANE GRANGER

AND

HAROLD JAMES POTTER

TOGETHER WITH FRIENDS AND FAMILY

REQUEST THE HONOR OF YOUR PRESENCE

AT THE CELEBRATION OF THEIR MARRIAGE

WEDNESDAY, THE FOURTEENTH OF FEBRUARY

TWO THOUSAND AND ONE

TEN O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING

PEDDINGTON LANE

BRIGHTON, ENGLAND

Luna was in the midst of reading the delicate invitation over and over for the seventh, eighth, ninth time when Alice whispered into her ear, “Ei shor os mystaerol sai sar eirdyr eir saes Christmas vasia?” [A bit of something for discussion at their Christmas party?]

Like a breath of fresh air, Alice's words resounded, shaking Luna from her trance-like, repetitive state of rereading the invitation. The sheen from her silvery eyes lit at remembering Hermione inviting them to a Christmas party being held at Number Twelve. Luna laid her head back into Alice, their gazes locked, and matched her coral lips to her mate's shade of natural crimson.

Gently, Luna lay down the invitation atop a photograph of Hermione and Harry, Hermione clinging to Harry's back, her hands over his eyes while Harry supported her under her legs. They were laughing, grinning, Hermione's eyes in slits by the ensuing giggles she produced. In the top right corner wrote, Q - the cover photo for the very first Q magazine, January 2001.

***

“Eisi o vaedia?” [Are you ready?]

“Mhm.”

“Cyr ol sol.” [Hold on tight.]

Snow plunged from the dark Heavens above. Receding into the crooks of the London street of which two small figures simply appeared on were met with streetlights lined with garland, Christmas lights, and far into the distance the sing-song of carolers. Holding prepared dishes, the left figure, one with an inflamed star upon her noggin juggled the glass covering the moment they landed on the curb. The agile the two individuals caught hold of the slipping glass with her cat-like reflexes, ushering in a “Phew” from the one made up like a Christmas tree, multi-coloured bulbs included.

“O'bi kyr air?” [You've got it?]

Alice's voice escaped in whisper for they weren't alone.

“Happy Christmas,” greeted a family coming from across the path quickly in the cold.

“Merry Christmas,” shined Alice, her perfectly sculpted face seemingly wanting to crack when she smiled under her black bow. The alabaster skin was striking in the blackness, leaving the same-styled stare from the family.

“Si Wrackspurts eisi eir air eindral. Sholi Ai pyjaer sor eiraesyl thys shys si'bi kyrael ail tia aes…” [The Wrackspurts are at it again. While I dozed this afternoon from work they've gotten in my ears…]

Alice chuckled at Luna's charming sensibility and locked arms with hers, Luna's Christmas tree jacket with faux-pine against her severely ebon chic coat. “Si mar sai shar vol iar sai si thyl pys?” [They said to walk right up to the front door?]

“Casia vaelazaer si maelesoria thys syri eiraelol.” [Harry relaxed the security for those attending.]

Alice and Luna pranced across the road, stopping once for an automobile—of which when seeing Alice put on the breaks—and then slipped through the wrought iron gate. Number Twelve began to reveal itself the half-step each woman took upon the brick pathway. They, of course, broke from the path, winding towards an area of shrubbery cut oddly away for Number Twelve's growing entrance.

“Sor air eirdelia ei jhyr sai pai. Ai shaer si car jhyr os thel shor si Ministry. [This is awfully a lot to do. I bet they had loads of fun with the Ministry.]

“Air'm oli bol eil si shalaer ei maelor Christmas. Ai't ceri vaeraer thys si ailorarol--tia thol.” [It's one night and they wanted a special Christmas. I'm quite pleased for the invitation--my friends.]

Alice glanced to her side to see the glimmer in Luna's excited face. From a Muggle's perspective, they were there, and then they were not; the proximity of being beside the doorway made them vanish. Alice had been very aware of their surroundings, peering from peripheral before breaking through the invisible threshold.

“Pai shi ber vol si pysaer?” [Do we just ring the doorbell?]

“Mhm,” Luna reached across Alice and pressed the glowing button.

An orchestral piece of O' Tannenbaum rung aloud.

Luna nearly jumped to her toes, giddy, while a smiling Alice bit her bottom lip at how adorable Luna acted and snuck in a caress just before the door to Number Twelve opened.

“Happy Christmas!” shouted Luna who abruptly realized she had shouted and responded with putting a finger over her lips.

Harry, who had opened the door, grinned and said, “Happy Christmas! Glad you two could make it!”

“I hope there's room for some apricot stuffing and Luna's best Christmas fruitcake,” expressed a content Alice when Luna, who hurried in, was greeted with a hug from Harry.

“Go on in, go on in…,” said Harry in happy haste, motioning onward with his hand. One could feel the warmth resonating inside. “Hermione and the others are waiting for you.”

Alice stepped on up and greeted Harry with a, “Thank you for all of this. Luna is just ecstatic. She wanted to get here so bad she accidentally put her shirt on backwards.”

Harry snickered smoothly, “Well, it wouldn't be the holidays without Luna and, now, with you. Come on in and welcome! How's it been going?”

Alice, in the middle of giving Harry an embrace, replied in a gracious grin, “It's going good, it's going good…”

***

Alice sat cross-legged on the sofa aside a roaring fireplace. A cup of eggnog in her hand, one could see the creamy liquid nearly finished through the transparent glass ornamented with little Santa Claus's. She mused over Luna, who sat on the floor, leaned against the one boot Alice had planted and watched the technological Muggle-gizmo given to her by Harry and Hermione: a cellular telephone. The Potter's, which Luna so dotted upon the two, had said at their gift-giving in the early hours of the Christmas party that the mobile would be, “a great asset to her business ventures. Muggle's use them to quickly communicate to their associates without the need for an owl or Floo.”

“And, you can hold and press this button and instantly call the person you categorized for that same number,” Alice reached across Luna's left shoulder to assist in her understanding the details.

Luna had the instruction booklets sprawled across the floor in front of her, a parade of English, French, German, and Japanese translation. She went to press one of the ten digits and gasped at the light coming on the panel, numbers across the screen. “Oh, that's a pretty blue light… Does it come with differently coloured lights? Can I choose another? You know how I love yellow.”

Alice laughed and smiled when Luna gazed back at her, unknowing to what she just did in return. Alice didn't take control of the mobile, but ended the call Luna made by mistake. “You may have been calling India, love.”

“Oh…,” Luna dazedly slid her eyes back to the mobile to watch Alice cancel out the call. She then said, twisting around to see Alice once more, “But the light was very pretty…”

Alice, feeling the same sort of hair-raising goose pimples on her arms as when she saw Luna for the first time, leaned forward and caressed the Goldilock-golden curls upon Luna's head. As she found her sight again, having closed them shortly the exact moment she kissed her lover, her eyes went across the inviting room, to the low-volumed Quidditch game on the telly, to the enormous Christmas tree with white bulbs dazzling silver garland, a shining Angel at its peak, to…a pair of eyes in the corner. She suspected the same were keeping his stare. She'd felt the stare for a while, but merely kept the feeling at a distance, letting the holiday experience hold superior and her attention given to Luna, to the host and hostess.

Alice, not one to find shame, never once looked down. Her accuser, for the stare bore into her as if she were some strange entity having broken into his territory, didn't let up. Stubborn, nor did she. The fire flicked the white glint in her surreal irises, her lips stuck mingled in Luna's hair. From the shadow at the far end of the room a white cloak twisted outward, a white boot and dark leather glove shifted as the man did. Red hair plunged over a dam, a bandanna of sorts to keep the length from his face, and those defining eyes…

What drove Alice from her trance was the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen, and the appearance of a bowled-over Ginny joking with Cho.

“I've never understood her at all!”

“You don't understand Skeeter—she's just here to take up oxygen. She's a nut, a hag.”

“Lovely moon goddess of mine,” Alice expressed in whisper close to Luna's left ear. She glanced up in tandem to see the man in white gone from his corner.

It left distaste in her mouth; a distaste one would sense if they were to suckle a lemon whole.

Luna acknowledged her with a brief look, immersed completely in the new fangled object of curiosity. She really did love playing with the mobile and watching it light up at her touch.

With Luna like a kid in a sweets shop, Alice smiled. “I'm going to go get some more eggnog. Would you care for a refill while I'm in there?”

Luna shook her head, raised her left arm and grazed the side of Alice's cheek. All the while she was attentive to the light changing of the mobile. Alice pushed into Luna, kissing her ear, and said in whisper, “Just don't hit send. This green button here. We wouldn't want to wake some family up in Australia this time of day…”

Alice was up and around Luna before Gin and Cho could find their seats on the floor. Her feet hadn't hit the floor an inch in her haste. Giving small talk, Alice gave a grin as she wandered passed the two and into the kitchen. She was halted, however, by an intimate scene below strung mistletoe.

“Oh!” She hid her face with her hand. “I'm terribly sorry for interrupting!”

Harry chuckled to Hermione's jump, and then as the blush rose in her cheeks. Quickly, and with a furtive look towards Alice on her way by, Hermione smiled, tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear and greeted in, “Hi! Hope you're having a wonderful time!”

Harry let out another guffaw at the bashful Hermione, and then in tow, stopped to ask Alice, “Having a good time?”

“By the looks of it, you are.”

Harry wiped his crow's nest from his forehead, sighed, and laughed quite audibly. “Love in action?”

Alice grinned, their distance growing as they stepped further apart in different directions. “You've a lovely home.”

“Thank you.”

Another grin between the pair, and then they broke off with Harry meeting back with Hermione in chase.

Stepping to the counter with food laid out buffet-style, Alice reached for the ladle in the eggnog and went to fill her cup. A cool breeze brushed against her, and a shadow crossed the otherwise brightly lit area adorned by hanging holiday decorations. The smell of peppermint liqueur encompassed a breath of white smoke. She stopped pouring the beige beverage and said calmly, “I knew you were there. No need for your theatrics.”

“How'd you know I was here?”

“Were you not here when we came in? I swore Harry and Hermione introduced you as Ginevra's brother.” Alice gave the Weasley a hasty look from her rightside, her eyes going back to her pouring. “And, if you're here to intimidate me you should know it won't be easy. Pack a lunch before you try. It'll be a very long night.”

“Should there be a reason to intimidate you?”

“Do you treat all the newcomers the same way, or am I special?”

“Sorry if I come off brash, but…who the Hell are you and why are you with Luna?”

“Excuse me? I could say the same to you, but with more tact: who might you be and why are you associated with the Potters?”

“But, I asked you first. For being so intimate with Luna, I've never once seen a photograph of you in The Quibbler, or the Prophet for that matter.”

“Do you think I care to answer anything at all after being so accosted?”

“…I'm just a concerned friend of the family.”

“You're an agent for the British Ministry, an Auror. Better yet, I bet you've got strong ties with Harry, and especially Hermione with as many looks you've given her way this Eve. I bet she's your “project”—and by your vast array of looks I've hit the nail directly.”

“Egads, you're an interesting one. You're acutely keen at deductions,” Ron thought to delve into a lighter tone, tweaking the subject at hand. “You've an American accent.”

“You speak the obvious.” Alice shuffled down the buffet line to take a napkin. She retrieved gingerbread cookies, one for her and another for Luna.

Ron kept with her like a dog on a leash. “I never thought I'd find someone paler than Hermione.”

“Weren't you abrasively cross-examining me or are you in here to fancy my physique?” Alice kept her eyes on what her hands were doing, only acknowledging Ron by sound.

“To get back on track I'd like to ask you a question.”

“What's stopping you now?”

“Aelael?” [Elven?],” The language brought Alice to cease breathing. Ron knew he captured some rope to cling on to. “'By your vast array of looks I've hit the nail'. Is Luna your `proj--'?”

“She is not a `project'!” Alice seethed underneath her breath.

Ronald had to bob his head backward, taken by the physical snap of Alice.

“You're certainly not the same as those I've seen.”

“'Those'?” Alice found disgust, finally turning to Ron with a sharpened bite and slits for eyes. “Typical crude Pure-blood response… I see the British Ministry still hasn't learned from the past.”

“I only meant—nevermind,” Ron roughly let out a sigh. “I never meant to confront you irrespectively.”

“You know, not everyone is the same,” Alice pointed at Ron with the gingerbread men in her hand, the cup of eggnog in the other as it sat still on the counter waiting to be picked up. “Couldn't that be said for humanity as well?”

“Touche, mate; though, you do come with the mystical aura. I wouldn't have noticed the slight point of the ears if I hadn't been trained to stave off Veelan emanation.”

Alice stood with her hip at the counter; her boots like her lips, tightly together, providing Ronald the sentimentality of having been offended through body language atop the vocal. “Are you quite done with the interrogation?”

Alice started off, not giving Ron enough time to formulate an answer.

“I truly apologize,” Ron called out to her, seeing only her backside and bouncy hair. The others would have heard him if it wasn't for a group laugh. Someone had changed the telly from Quidditch to a Christmas comedy show. “Luna always had an eye for those pure of heart.”

Alice flipped around so fast Ron had thought she'd always been walking backwards; but, he knew this was one of her many innate “characteristics”. Alice lifted her glass, as if to toast the Weasley's words, and stated in confirmation, “You should trust that bit of knowledge, friend. You see the rest of her company, what's different?”

***

Alice and Luna remained at the Christmas party long after Cho, Ron, and even Gin left. Having gotten into a riveting game of Wizard Chess, there wasn't one matter that would unseat neither Hermione nor Alice. After almost an hour, Alice admitted defeat when she could no longer hide her king, checkmated. All in good fun, all four enjoyed an extra-dose of eggnog which—when arriving back at their flat in London—saw a tipsy Lovegood.

Luna couldn't help but giggle at everything and anything, Alice finally giving in halfway upstairs at how daffy Luna had gone. She stumbled over her own feet, giggling with an intense “Whoa!” and hung onto Alice's arm as she had all along. Of course, Alice had her balanced, utterly aware of any misstep before Luna could fall on her face.

“You silly, silly girl…,” Alice teased, watching Luna walk heel-to-toe into their apartment ever-so-slowly. Luna caught hold of their sofa to keep balance, giggling at nothing but herself. Alice shook her head, closing the door behind and seeing a haphazardly strewn stack of envelopes piled at the door, “You've no tolerance for alcohol. You're going to have the biggest headache come tomorrow morning.”

Luna swirled around, and around, and around, laughing and then pointed at Alice as she grabbed the wall. She'd gone towards the hallway, “Then I'm…,” She stopped to giggle at Alice organizing the envelopes in her hands. She hiccupped, and laughed again.

She suddenly stopped, making Alice peer intently up at the now silent flat.

“I'm,” Luna announced loudly. “I'm going to bed!”

She burst out in giggles, shuffling onward with Alice gradually following her with an eye roll and a grin.

The grin subsided, however, when she tore open the first envelope with her nail addressed to Luna, and The Quibbler; one of many that could be considered top priority press just by the size and shape of the envelope. She absorbed the preface leading into details: “After news conference Friday afternoon throwing support behind Minister Kingsley, Epsilon was attacked exiting her Eve performance today in Mexico City; one guard dead from Killing Curse, Epsilon safe”.

Alice could hear the water running, the shower on. She had stopped in the middle of their living area, contemplating the pros and cons of divulging this information, and whatever else hid in these envelopes, tonight. Luna had had one of her best nights, she thought as she looked off down the hallway. She never really had friends, and now she's invited to parties, balls, soirees, the theatre…and not from my interference. Luna was asked on her own terms, by her personality and conduct. This was all Luna.

But this news would spread if it hadn't already—and most likely it had. Alice flicked her head in the direction of their television, the box blank and noiseless as it sat idle. WNN would surely have this, and the other news applications, not to mention the Prophet…but tonight, Christmas Eve, and a very happy Luna…

Alice swore she'd tell Luna in the morning after much needed coffee for her lover's future hangover.

Nothing would spoil Luna's high spirits.

***

By the time Alice had gotten out of the bath, Luna had drifted to sleep. She was met, brushing her hair as she left a steamy lavatory, Luna wrapped in the white sheets below a canopy of leaves. Branches acting as four posts kept the hanging forest above them. In the quietness, Alice could hear the waterfalls churning in the office.

She smiled warmly at the scene. Luna, in her favorite crocheted psychedelic vintage sleep dress, her golden curls across her arms about the pillow beneath her head. To say she wasn't, or didn't resemble, innocence would be a lie. Anyone could see the halo above the canary yellow. Softly Alice slid into bed with her, keeping a light on to see. The moment her knee hit the side of the bed, the slightest movement had Luna blink and yawn. In slipped Alice beside her, and Luna immediately attached.

Her head to the black lace of Alice's nightgown, she dazed in and out of awareness, and slurred something to Alice which had Alice ask, “…What was that, dear?”

After a bit of silence, Luna put forth a question so unlike herself, “…Do you believe what I do is for the best, Allie?”

Alice wrought with a smidgen of shock. It surely wasn't in the norm for Luna to doubt herself. It's not like this was commonplace, a rarity, but she'd had such a great night… It baffled Alice, and she even gave a sigh before stating with passion, “My lovely moon goddess, you're doing something so profoundly special that it is simply beyond words. You've shown hundreds of thousands of those who follow what you say the truth. Without you, there'd be only one monopolistic, evil voice. You've brought light to the people.”

Luna, with heavy eyes, smiled through her sleep and crawled the inch or two to lay a kiss upon Alice's lips. She smiled with Alice, and turned to retreat to her bosom and the heat emanating from within the sheets. Alice watched Luna about her, her cheek upon her breast, the sheets hiding her lover to her nostrils and smiled so greatly she could have easily broken her perfectly sculpted face.

She carefully reached across the bed, took hold of the pull string for the lamp, and clicked the last light off.

***

{Author's Note: Dear readers, please be aware that my updates are slowing down due to the holidays. I work in retail and the past two months have been, more or less, about Black Friday. After the holidays, I hope to get back to updating regularly weekly or biweekly.}

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53. Envy

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.

When Envy breeds unkind division: there comes the ruin, there begins the confusion - Shakespeare

***

Chapter Fifty-Three - Envy

***

I knew it was them.

Upstairs, in the bloody bedroom.

They were doing it on purpose, because of me.

“Where are you going?” said Cho in a very cautionary tone. I was sure she saw how white my knuckles were as I gripped the armrest of the sofa. Or, maybe it was the way I hadn't moved in an hour, staring blankly as I heard the duo knocking around; knocking around in my head. My jaw set affixed, my teeth gnashed together.

All of that, however, left my body when I lifted. Ghostly, by light-step, I sluggishly maneuvered those stairs. Up and up, I swayed, or my world swayed. I couldn't tell the difference. All I knew was that the walls of the vastly long corridor I walked became my best friend. I'd fall into them drunkenly. I stumbled more times than I wanted, hurriedly, in slow-motion, to reach for the wand stuck in my flaming-red hair. Once loosened, the strands of my hair cascaded as quickly as the tears which fell from the pits of my eyes.

I wrought in pain.

The corridor was dark, growing darker each passing second.

My face twisted, in agony.

I could hear them.

His laugh.

Her giggle.

Their…moans…

The door was open, and of course it was, his blatant defiance, disrespectful of my disclosed feelings.

But… I'd have the last laugh.

The knife had twisted far enough in my back.

I could bear it no longer.

I needed sweet release.

Gradually I turned, into a blazing light and sound. A lit and warm fireplace. A sickeningly sweet smell of pumpkin pie, of vanilla, of my vanilla, mixing in with an aroma from the rose petals on the floor, on the bed—where I locked eyes with him.

I met him in his precarious position atop her with a wry smile.

I could sense the very fibre of fear from him. He knew what would happen.

And, he should be scared…for my wand pointed directly at his head.

I almost ran into hysterics, really.

I relished when he began to scramble—what could he do?

Green light drowned out the ungodly colour from the hearth.

Blood combined with those forbidden rose petals.

And with that sickly smell came a sudden whiff of iron.

I heard Hermione scream.

My eyes settled on the blood that had, unfortunately, splattered on my clothes from across the room.

“Oops,” I said in a sneer. I shrugged at the wide-eyed Hermione in a state of flee. “Guess I don't know my own strength.”

I gasped to wake, shooting straight upon my bum on the sofa I'd laid on. The quilt, the blankets on my form fell to my lap, and I swore I couldn't find breath. In near-darkness I peered, looking left, right, and sideways. I put my hands anywhere, trying to find those wet spots of blood and finding nothing but the quick pace of a beating heart. I took a deep breath, my hand over my heart and swore under my breath. I knew after that profound minute I hadn't done any of what I witnessed in that vivid dream.

Dream.

I dropped backward, knowing where the pull-string to the lamp was above my head and clicked it on. The living space now illuminated, I found myself staring at my own shaking hand. Each digit had a mind of its own. I tried balling my fist and relaxing, but struggled to control the nerves.

I need a bloody smoke.

Reaching back behind me I took hold of the pack of fags I left on the stand after having a pre-sleep puff yesterday. It fell aimlessly out of my anxious hands, a single cigarette falling from the case. Swiftly, I'd taken the lighter and headed for the backyard of a wintery London suburban home. Cho didn't like the smell of smoke.

My coat on, I stood with bare feet just outside the sliding glass doors. I'd made note of the time. Three. Just in case I wanted the weather any colder… I bundled myself with an arm across the waist, my still-shaking hand trying to keep the end of the lit fag in my mouth as I'd breath in. I let the smoke escape from the side of my mouth, watching in the serenity of the night the twitch.

From the street I could first see the headlights over the fence, then the hum of an automobile. Cho's neighbors getting home late. The laughter from the male was like a shot to my heart. My breath literally stopped when I heard a female's giggle, and their inevitable chase towards their front door. In my absence of thought, struck with catatonia, the cigarette dropped from betwixt my index and middle fingers.

Before I could do a juggling act it landed in the wet snow below.

With everything…

“Oh, fucking hell—“ Retrieving the now soggy cig, I crushed the remains in my hand.”—God damn it! Is it not enough I have to be out in this fucking weather…!”

I needed to smoke.

It's one thing to bitch at me about drugs, take my alcohol away, Mary Jane, and then expect me to go about my life with a big fat fucking false smile on my face. She'd had me go over their wedding in phone calls and visits. The month being December, the last two months were critical with those phone calls and visits becoming more frequent. In my head I had them happy. I didn't want them happy. I wanted her happy. Her happy with me. Not with Harry. But…she didn't see me in that shade of light…and I wasn't about to lose her again. I nearly mucked it up once, twice, too many times.

“Friend.”

I'd gone to cigarettes now with my “crutch”.

I'd hear it from Hermione in the morning when she'll be over. I'm certain as the day is long. Though, on the bright side—I would be seeing Hermione—and that would certainly excite things. She's still my girl, even if I did want her to be my girl. I'd do anything for her, take a bullet even. The Killing Curse easily. Hands down. She really did put Lumos in my life.

I don't know what I'd do without her, I thought as I stood in front of Cho's bedroom door. The last time I'd just gone out on my own in the middle of the night I'd come back to a frantically worried witch. The hours following that morning felt like the good old days where mum would chastise me for missing curfew.

Gently, for I didn't want to wake lovable “Prince Charming,” her wanker of a boyfriend, I pushed open the door. It took all my strength to not say the truth about the bum Cho courted, and frankly dealing with my own drama was enough.

“Cho,” I called out in a little more than a whisper. “Cho.”

I thought I heard Cho answer, but asked again. “Cho?”

“For fucks sake,” grunted a disturbed Michael. “Get to bed, Gin. It's four fucking—“

“What's going on?” a drowsy tune from Cho's side.

“Oh, go blow yourself you nob.” I hissed at Michael coming from the bed to look at me.

“Isn't that why you're here—“

“Mike!” Cho cut him short. “Don't talk to my friend like that or go home!”

Michael huffed, turned over with his pillow and yanked the sheets over his head. I heard him murmur something, but my attention was averted to Cho wondering in her drowsy state, “What is it, hun?”

“Going out for smokes. Be back in a few.”

“All right. Be safe.”

I began to turn around, closing the door, but stopped in my tracks with an inch left. First I heard a thump, and then peeking in saw Cho take back up her pillow and whack Michael again with it.

I chuckled and closed the door as gently as I'd opened it.

***

“This is why I've come to not like shopping in Violet Hill.”

“Oh Mi,” I smiled when Hermione's beautiful brown eyes appeared from beneath her aviators. I turned from her sight, albeit in pause, to see the media paparazzi outside snapping pictures through the glass. Outside the snow had begun melting; though, in the corners of streets, its curbs, the cracks where the cement kept colder yielded some white.

Thankfully they were barred from entering and following us.

On the sidewalks, however…

“Doesn't get your heart pumping?” I asked with heavy sarcasm, turning back to see the backside of Hermione. She'd already begun looking around Affinity, a Muggle-related clothes store. Witches and wizards who regularly didn't go outside of magical districts could catch a glimpse at this world, or a world where Hermione, and Harry, thrived.

From my home, and how I was reared, rendered me odd at times when I'd actually wash the dishes…by hand.

“Muggle work”.

I think I did those things to impress Hermione.

However that may go.

At her heels, I kept behind her, halting when she'd choose an adorable shirt from the rack or some trousers off as shelf on the wall. She'd hold them to herself, ask how they looked—to say I was one hundred percent there would be a lie. I couldn't have been more in love, and it hurt. Bitter sweet, it was; I swear the moment I couldn't smell the aroma of vanilla my heart would stop beating.

One of Affinity's personal shoppers came rushing over the moment we stepped through the door. Of course, Hermione would turn to me nine out of ten times for an opinion over the other woman's. The personal shopper took Hermione's attention from me, and as I perused some jeans myself, took in blinks Hermione, her fashion, her personality, how she held herself, how she smiled and was super nice to the bloody attendant…even though we both wanted her gone.

From profile, how her mahogany locks and natural cinnamon highlights shined in the artificial lights of the shop. How her little red, white, and blue-striped Union Jack jacket fit to her form, her upper half, cut to her middle, to her skinny black trou—

“What do you think, Gin?”

“Hm?” I came from my trance, my hands grappling at the jeans in my hands as if nothing in particular happened.

I dropped the pair absentmindedly…and had to pick them off the floor.

Smooth.

Hermione held up a pair of dark brown, faux-leather calf-high boots; its trim a look-a-like to sheep's wool. “These `me'?”

“No,” I reached behind her, seeing this ghastly rubbish-green bowler cap and placed it on her head. She laughed, which gave me goosebumps across my covered arms. “That's better!”

“Really?” Hermione gave me a puckered lips pose.

She giggled, and I gave her a nudge. “Really.”

She took the bowler off and pushed the hat atop my head. “And, here I thought ugly hats were your forte!”

“Hey!” I exclaimed in a breath. Forget the nudge—I gave her a push.

Hermione lit up in laughter and came in to give me a hard poke, aiming for my stomach.

The shopping attendant stood between us looking utterly confused.

***

We thought we had outsmarted them, all of them. We went out a side door, Hermione carrying a shopping bag with the boots inside, and snuck around a back alley to a side street. We high-tailed it away from the commercial areas. We found this tiny family restaurant for lunch, escaped to the interior, ordered hot sandwiches with soup, and looked at the scenery from our window…

When we saw them.

All of them.

Hermione turned her head away, but I didn't.

I stared at them through my own sunglasses.

“You know, for the Prophet to hate us so much they sure do like to take our photographs. You'd think that would be a waste, right?”

“Maybe if we don't look at them they'll go away…,” Hermione placed her hand like a shield to cover the part of her face from all the camera flashes. “They're invisible.”

“But, they're not invisible.”

Hermione caught the sharpness in my voice. “Well, don't egg them on. They'll only use it for their own amusement.”

“I wonder if one of them is with the Quibbler…”

“Luna wouldn't send people to chase after us, and—Gin!”

I'd given them the finger.

Had enough of the harassment, and it was with the shouting, the lack of privacy and space… I merely held my hand out to them, waved, stopped, turned it upside-down, dropped all but my middle finger and told the lot through body language where they could all go.

Hermione gave a gasp of a laugh and watched as I stood from my seat and shut the curtains.

I sat back down casually and picked my half-eaten sandwich from the plate nonchalant, giving a yawn to top it off. “What?” I asked in a smirk when the toe of Hermione's shoe nudged my leg.

“Do I have something on my face?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Gin, you're so bad.”

I shrugged and sipped on some tea. “Shit happens.”

Hermione let out a snort, and I nearly choked on the tea.

With a smile, I nudged Hermione back with my foot under the table.

Unbeknownst to me, and through lunch, I hadn't noticed our other feet side-by-side. Only when we went to leave did I find out quickly, stepping on her trainers.

***

I've gone mad, I thought as I huddled outside with a fresh cigarette in hand. Completely mad. I need to unattach myself to her. She'll never think of me like that—never. So get over it. Get. Over. It. You're her friend or you're her lover. The second is…

Staring into the blackness, at the manufactured lawn and shrubbery, I shook my head and tapped the end of the fag. I set the end back between my lips and drew in a deep puff, subconsciously, for I went back to talking to myself.

He's such a pussy. Why the fuck would she want him? So he was fated to be `Harry'. That doesn't mean he gets whatever he wants. He—

I heard something from behind, inside the house, and saw a pink-and-white checkered figure bounce upon the sofa. Her brunette hair gave an extra bounce after she was settled, giving me that forever breathless stare. I was like this giddy school girl, and in honesty it pissed me off. Neville hadn't approached me. I approached him. And Harry—he didn't approach me at all. I did. Why couldn't I just approach her?

Oh, right—scar face.

I put my free hand over my face.

I'd gone mad…and just a bit ridiculous. I wasn't much of a jealous person. I'd always gone after and taken what I wanted, when I wanted it. Now… I couldn't and it really, really pissed me off.

But he made her…

…Happy.

Obliviously happy.

…If only she…

I tossed the cig into the dispenser and went into the living quarters I called my bedroom since the debacle with Neville. I made sure to wave off the smoke before coming in, went to brush off myself for she didn't enjoy the smell either. I came in to see her eyes glued to the movie we'd turned on the telly, a bowl of popcorn in her lap, and the quilt over her lap. Shrugging off the coat, I met with her on the sofa with a bounce in my own pyjamas.

“Give me some of that quilt!”

I slid my feet beneath it, to see her jump and push me back. “Really?! Your feet are freezing!”

I chuckled. “Fiiiine,” I took some of the loose mattress sheets I had around and curled up in the opposite corner. “Did you pause it?”

Hermione was looking at the telly intently when I turned my head to see, in fact, it was on pause.

“He just looks odd.”

“What?”

Hermione made a face, assuredly to imitate the cross-eyed, open-mouth action of Tom Cruise mid-sentence.

Wiggling my foot beneath her quilt, I made her jump again and crawl to her corner further. I laughed. “God, you're just silly. A silly, silly girl indeed.”

I put my hand out when she shared the bowl, placing the red plastic between us.

“You really shouldn't do that,” she said with her `Hermione'-tone. Jerry Maguire had been unfrozen, the film resuming.

I stopped with a piece of popcorn at my lips. “…Huh?”

She gave me the side-eye, and then a smirk. “Smoke.”

“Anything!” she added after, hurriedly, peering across the sofa at me now.

I gave a huff…and threw that piece of popcorn at her face.

It hit her cheek before she had time to notice. “Hey!”

“Hey what?” I acted innocent.

She stuck her hand in the popcorn bowl, took as much as she could handle, and threw it all on me.

I sat there with buttery popcorn in my Weasley-red, all over my sleep shirt, in my sleep shirt, in my blanket…

“You…,” Slowly I gazed from my surroundings. “…Are so going to get it!”

To say we made a mess of things would be an understatement.

***

As the night came to a rest, and me, my thoughts, consumed some theatrical play on the television Hermione wanted to watch after the movie finished, we curled together in the corner I'd sat in the whole night. She'd crawled across after putting her soda can down and laid her head on my chest like so many times before. I'd done equally over time. If there was one thing extremely girly I'd like to do it was cuddling.

Unfortunately I'd have to watch myself, my desire, and keep that budding emotion quelled. We're “friend's”, damn it! I'd have to continue telling myself this. It wasn't going to happen. Shut up, stay cool, do what you did the bazillion other times when you didn't fancy her for Christ's sake. My mind wandered into a realm where Michael, the absolute jackass, said something to my girl and where I never once looked back after putting it to his nose.

Maybe the groin for good measure.

“Gin.”

Hermione's voice came as a shock to me. She startled me, and I think she felt it. She had lifted to see me. “Are you all right?”

“Me? Oh—yeah!” I gave my best boisterous laugh…which came out flat in the end. “Eh…attention span of a thimble. You know, the usual.”

“Ah…,” Hermione put her head back on my chest. All those beautiful dark curls fell along me, and the arm for which I held her. “You'd gotten silent. I thought you were asleep. It is rather late.”

“Sleep is for the weak!” I flexed.

Hermione gave a half-attempted laugh through her nose.

“Thank you,” she said with passion behind it.

My brain went into the no-no zone, and I had to quickly ask, “For?”

“Everything—just everything. Listening to me, helping me, being there for me…,” she sighed, and my heart grew by the list she proclaimed. “…I can't wait for the wedding. It'll be…”

My inflated heart depleted rapidly.

“…So special.”

“W-Well,” I shuffled into a stutter, and had to clear my throat to continue. “I am your Maid of Honor, after all—of course I'd be there even if I wasn't—but with a little more fire under me…for I'd like to know why I wasn't…”

I heard Hermione breathe a content sigh.

“…You know the whole reason why I've nagged you about drinking and smoking is because I want you around—forever.”

“Forever?”

“Or, at least until I leave…”

“You'll never `leave'. Shush! You're `Hermione Granger'!”

I could feel Hermione smile.

I didn't have to look at her for it—I knew.

She rubbed her cheek against me and tightened her encircling grip. “Gin…”

“Yes?” Lightly, I placed my hand on her head.

She radiated pure warmth.

“…You're my best friend in the entire world.”

My smile was almost jeopardized by the term, “friend,” but I smiled big nonetheless.

“I just wanted you to know that in case you hadn't already for some reason.”

“And, you're my best friend in the entire world,” I adjoined to hers. I saw Hermione peer up at me in the dancing shadows of the telly. “And, I hope you know that.”

She grinned. “Thank you, Gin.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she sighed, and I watched her turn, that signature `Hermione' grin of hers never ceasing. She pulled with her the quilt she claimed over me, her other cheek now at my chest with her face from the flickering bluish light. I could feel her quietness, every inch, every centimetre of her body shutting down for sleep. I combed through her hair with my fingers and observed her slow drift to slumber…

I swallowed hard, so hard that if Cho were here and not at her “mate's” flat she could easily hear the swallow down the hall, through the wall and in her bedroom. I stopped the sifting of my fingers through her delicate wisps and placed my hand on my forehead. I could tell a migraine was coming, and better yet a need to smoke.

Honestly, I asked myself as I stared at the ceiling. What the fuck am I doing?

***

A rock intro picks up in volume followed by a male voice, made for radio, interweaved throughout the theme: “He's back and ready—are you? Our Patriot, Mister Lee…Jordan!”

“Hello mates, Patriots out there, kinsman and women of our beloved motherland—ten AM in the Kingdom, five AM to our friends state-side—it's Lee Jordan in with two of the most down to earth birds I've ever met in my life. I should know as I've known them for quite some time—two beautiful bombshells from Hogwarts—and names we should all know for what they've done for each and every one of us. But, enough of the logistics, let's just get back to our conversation with Missus Hermione Granger and Missus Ginevra Weasley, in-studio!”

“Hello.”

“Hey my brotha's and sista's!”

Jordan leads the laughter, followed by Hermione and Ginny.

“We were discussing before the commercial break how our lovely Luna Lovegood and her patriots over at the Quibbler are designing a new magazine entitled the infamous, Q, for which none of us have seen and have been kept in the dark for far too long.”

“Yep.”

“Mhm.”

“And they're here because these two bombshells will be featured, as well as the rest of the crew, including our handsome Potter, in its first edition in…January, correct?”

“That's correct. January.”

“Only a few more weeks to go.”

“So, the front will have you and Harry—“

“Because everyone hates gingers.”

“They do not!”

“Brilliant.” Jordan laughs. “So, the whole magazine is designed for anti-gingers?”

“Exactly.”

“No, it's a showcase into the everyday lives of people and current events outside of what you may see on the telly. An intimate view into the goodship of all of us instead of all that—“

“Shit.” Piped Gin.

The three give a laugh in tandem.

“Let it be heard, The Daily Prophet and Prophet paraphernalia is, in fact, `shit'. So it must be.”

“Who said that?” asked an innocent-sounding Gin.

“Welcome to the front page, Gin.”

Lee chuckles. “But, in all honesty folks, Luna's Quibbler assuredly will be staking claim, and I foresee a very lucrative and profitable venture into such avenues other than…smearing, or stalking, or anything of the foul Skeeter stench.”

The two girls laugh.

“On a lighter and much happier note, some listeners have sent in their questions via call board. We'd have them call in directly, but there were some…oddballs, to say the least; so, we've screened the better of the lot.”

“We appreciate that. It's already enough to have half the media on us day in and day out.”

“Do you mind answering them for the listeners?”

“Sure.”

“Absolutely.”

“You were both very quick at saying yes. What if I'd asked something like, `Boxers or briefs'?”

“Boxers!” proclaims Gin.

Hermione's distinct giggle rings through the radio waves.

“That was Ginevra, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Haha!”

“Okay to the questions. First one: what is the meaning of life?”

“To shag until you're numb.”

“But then, how would you feel the following time?”

“You wouldn't.”

“Wouldn't be much of a shag.”

“Hope you've got it out of your system, eh?”

Jordan laughs. “Next question, next question—and I think this is probably easy for Ginevra from what I know—what is your favourite sport?”

“Quidditch—is there anything else?”

“I would have thought so.”

“Harry would certainly kill me if I said anything other than Quidditch.”

“Before or after he snogged you for being so utterly adorable?”

“Before, definitely.”

Gin laughs.

“But, and I see these while at Oxford, the Muggle sports of rugby and cricket, especially rugby. I've a friend that plays rugby there—actually got me to try out for the girl's.”

“How'd that go?”

“It didn't.”

They let out a chuckle.

“What is the top characteristic when finding a mate?”

“Intimate?”

“Friendly.”

“Gingers.”

“Aww…,” one could see Gin pout through the radio at Hermione. “Brunettes! Really. Hot. Brunettes.”

“No skimping on `hot'?”

“Skimpy hot brunettes?”

The girls laugh.

“You two are amazing. Next question: your favorite type of food?”

“Anything homemade.”

“Anything not homemade,” shoots Gin.

“Always got to be against me.”

“Always.”

“Who do you idol?”

“My mum.”

“That's such a safe answer, Mi.”

“But it's true, though.”

“Say something original.”

“Psh. Okay—my mum, AND Joan Jett. Better?”

“Shade Epsilon, and NOT my mum.”

“Chunky or smooth peanut butter?”

“Smooth.”

“Psh.”

“What?”

“Chunky!”

“Gross.”

“It's all yours.”

“'Chunky' needs love, too.”

“So says Ginevra, ladies and gentlemen. So let it be fact.”

The girls laugh at the statement.

“What's your ideal perfect date?”

“I know what Mi will say.”

“What's that, Gin?”

“Mi's a traditionalist. Long walks on a sunset beach, wine or champagne, picnic in the park, roses—pick your poison.”

“And Gin's into whips and leather.”

“So says Hermione, ladies and gentlemen—“

Jordan couldn't finish, succumbing to laughter with the girls.

“Great, Mi. Now I'm going to get letters in the post. Thanks.”

“Aww.”

“What's your favourite flavour of ice cream?”

“Chocolate.”

“Vanilla,” Gin gasps. “It's like we're not meant to be!”

Hermione laughs into her microphone.

“What did you want to be when you grew up?”

“A ballerina!!”

From Hermione's microphone, again, came a not-so-subtle laugh; more of a burst.

“A pretty pink one, Gin?”

“Yes!”

“With frills?”

“Yes! EXACTLY!!”

“And one last question before our time is up, and as much as I don't want to ask it and have you guys go on your merry way—“

“Aw, do we have to go?”

“Oh, you very well don't have to go. My Producer is telling me that the lines are going mad with callers. I'm sure mostly the male base, too, for you ladies.”

Gin puts on her most seductive voice, “Why, hello there boys…”

Hermione sparks another set of addictive laughs, garnering Gin to crack from her seducing.

“The question is: who, if any, have you ever had a crush on? Well, this one I can answer, for it's easy: me! Right?”

“Oh yes, Lee. Absolutely. I fancied you—still do.”

Gin laughs, “It's true, Lee.”

“Harry wouldn't mind?”

“Oh, psh—no!”

“Hahaha… Brilliant. Harry's found a catch, he did.”

“George Clooney.”

“Really, Gin?”

“Yes, and King Kong.”

“Pfft—hahahaa…”

“Hey! Don't diss the Kong.”

“You don't know how many lads out there say they fancy you two. It's startling.”

“Startling?!”

Hermione gasps. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“I didn't—oh, you two—haha. You both have a set of admirers.”

“Oh how we know,” chides Gin. “The only thing I want to say for all the men out there is, if I see you look at my girl wrong I'll fly over there and kill you.”

“So violent!”

“Understanding the `whips and leather' more now.”

The three laugh.

“Harry—I think I've secretly crushed him since I met him on the Hogwarts Express.”

“So sweet…and sappy, and I've a toothache now. Thanks.”

“Anytime, love.”

“Sorry mates out there in Radioland. Looks like Hermione's quite taken, and—“

“And, I'm unavailable, so—at least for the time being.”

“So, they've a chance?”

“Sure. Why not?”

The three laugh once more.

Lee Jordan's rock outro starts.

***

“For Christ's sake,” I shouted from the lavatory and into Cho's bedroom. “Would you turn a different bloody song on?”

“Chill the fuck out, Gin,” answered an irritated Cho. I'd asked her this several times now, bordering on who really outweighed irritation. She had Savage Garden's Truly Madly Deeply on repeat, and it grew incessantly tiring. Her chorus wasn't exactly angelic, either, to the damn sappy music. And, I wasn't exactly in the mood.

I stepped back into the lavatory, eyeliner pencil in hand. I went to begin reapplying when I heard Cho start the song over again. “Really?” I had to compete with the volume. “Really? Are we being a bitch for a reason?”

“Oh, you're just mad because you're going to see Harry and Hermione snogging all night long.”

This…was an unfortunate truth.

Their Christmas Eve party.

Christmas Eve—any holiday—don't even get me started on Valentine's Day…

I was sure I'd see them all…sugary sweet, and about a damned annoying as this bloody song.

I didn't care about the makeup anymore. So what if it wasn't even in some areas? I just wanted to go. I'll see Hermione—fine—just keep my head centred and try not look their way…too much. And what was I going to do? Tell them “No”? After Hermione personally asked me face-to-face? I can see it now.

“I'd like for you to come to our Christmas Eve party, Gin.”

“No.”

“…What? Why?”

“Because I'd rather shove my wand in my eye than to see you two go at it as if you haven't seen each other in years.”

“Tell them I'll be running a little late,” called Cho. I could hear car keys jingling as she walked by the open bathroom door.

I glanced from the right as she went by, adjusting the crimson-and-black jumper hanging from my shoulders.

“Tell Hermione, `Hi,' for me,” Cho winked and proceeded to laugh hysterically.

“You're such a bitch sometimes…,” I think I could have yanked each individual hair out of her head if it wasn't for, you know, living under her roof. I merely huffed, patted to front of my black jeans, and flicked the light off.

She hadn't turned the God-forsaken music off.

My boots were beside the stereo, which assisted the killing of two birds with one stone.

I accidentally tipped the radio over, having it crash to the floor in the most awful noise. I didn't bother pulling it from the wall, gravity and tension helping me.

I put a finger to my lips as I went for my purse.

My… I hope it didn't break!

I laughed like all those evil witches portrayed in fairy tales, and apparated with a pop.

***

O' Tannenbaum rang forth after pressing the doorbell to Number Twelve. I stood in what seemed like bloody North Pole, rebounding to the tips of my toes to stay warm. Roast potatoes in Tupperware, I tried to coordinate with the turkey and gravy I knew they'd made, or she'd made.

I knew it'd only been a few seconds, but I couldn't stop staring at the wreath on the door. Everything was so cozy…too cozy. I heard myself swallow, and I felt like running. To say I didn't feel like dropping everything and apparating—“I got ill”—would that work? Probably not—not with her sixth sense, at least. Then again, it would be a very awful lie; not one worthy of even saying. “Sorry, Mi. But my heart was crushed” would probably be better. At least I wouldn't start shaking.

Of course, the door swung open and, lo and behold, my heart leapt—shaking included, but for another reason: Hermione, my beautiful girl, standing there with that absolutely gorgeous smile, perfect hair and bright eyes for me. She caught me off-guard, not that she noticed my inner turmoil, for the moment I saw her everything went to the wayside.

“Gin!” She squealed and literally leapt from the top step down, arms wide, and into the biggest, warmest embrace.

Shifting with precision the Tupperware, I made room for her and room for my arms around her.

Some of those cinnamon highlights swept beneath my nose, and she smelled divine, her vanilla at its maximum strength…or the swelling of my own senses from the sudden excitement.

This is what she could do to me.

The little hairs on my arms standing on in—if she could see them through the coat, that is.

…And, it was pure and utter torture.

I gazed passed her and at Harry, leaning just inside the hallway, watching us with that…smile of his. If I wanted to, and I wanted to…I'd have stuck my tongue out, or better yet, my middle finger. But, because of Hermione…and because it would just end disastrous, ruining the evening completely before it started, I just smiled through the wind swaying brunette hair over my face at him in the doorway.

He gave me a wave.

I nodded.

“Merry Christmas!!” exclaimed an ecstatic Granger.

“Happy Christmas…!” my tone found lukewarm when I locked eyes back with Harry's. He knew I'd tightened my grip, or I thought, unawares, subconsciously needing to and did so.

He had her—so what the Hell? He needed to quit being so damn nice. Be a prick, or something—be more like Ron.

No, I wished I hadn't said that. After what he'd done to her, and how I systematically helped her be…happy…

I hate feeling like this… I'm pathetic.

“Come on in out of the cold, love,” Hermione took me by hand and led me from the frigid winter air, and into faultless warm. Christ, if it weren't so flipping happy I'd swear I'd just stumbled into a scene straight from the front of some Family Magazine, holiday edition. Candles, and garland, and Christmas bulbs, a humongous tree with too many presents, a fire flickering joyfully in its hearth, Christmas music playing and savory aromas of everything yummy…

…And then, for her to turn towards me like that, in the shadows and orange casted hue of the fire, in her perfectly perfect, adorable way, and smile, and—are you kidding me? Really? Really?!

It really did take all of me to not snog her right then.

I think I understood how Harry couldn't fight it, as much as I didn't want to think about it. Really though, who the fuck could miss opportunities like that with a girl like this? Seriously. It hurts, hence the stare I gave him as we crossed paths at the doorway. A stare that read, “I swear if you fucking hurt her, your balls are mine, mate.”

She'd never know what was really going on, mind you.

I exchanged the roast potatoes with Harry as Hermione tugged on my arm. Being tugged in one direction, I captured by sight my brother in the kitchen briefly, or where Harry headed. His eyes went from Hermione, and then to me where he gave off this goofy smile. I rolled my eyes, threw up my hand and said, “Ron.”

“Ginny.” He tilted his head up in confirmation.

I wondered how long he'd been here, but couldn't have cared less when I was with Hermione on the sofa. I didn't, however, enjoy when that lock of hair dropped over that part of her face, covering her eye. I brushed it away, halting a breath when she went to talk. She smiled, side-saddle in her position, her madly-beautiful legs camouflaged black by tights, her knee pushed into the back of the cushion. She had her hands with mine, as they were since the doorway, and to which had my attention even after she began talking.

Though, when I saw how ethereal the tone of her skin was in the glow of the fire, her shirt off the shoulder and what looked like a sports bra strap exposed sought to win my vision. And it did, struggling when I knew she was talking to me, but I couldn't help but notice the golden flecks in that cinnamon-and-mahogany curl cascading from her flawlessly naked shoulder…

“Gin!” She picked up my hands in hers and shook them.

My eyes slowly moved.

She made her voice mimic as if it were robot, “Earth to Weasel. Earth to Weasel.”

I blinked, and managed a, “Hm?”

“What's wrong?” Her head dropped to my fleeting level. “You haven't been—“

“What?” I gasped, and then grinned to reflect anything happening. “Gods, Hermione—no!”

I purposely pushed her bare shoulder lightly, and I swore those tips of my fingers that felt that sheen of softened flesh electrified. I nearly lost it and had to retract into hastened laughter.

“I zoned out. I'm cool, really.”

“Okay…,” Hermione cocked her brow, but brushed the invisible off with another one of her signature smirks. She shook my hands again. “So, tell me!”

“Yes?”

“Your job, silly!”

So enraptured with her, I'd completely forgotten the bloody good news.

“The Quibbler! Right! Yeah—“

“You're such a dork,” Hermione sighed.

I squeezed her hands. “Says the total nerd,” I laughed.

“I'll take that as a compliment,” she stuck her tongue out.

And, I wanted to snatch it—until she squeezed my hands, and tightly.

“Tell me about your new position!”

Missionary, or…? I rolled my eyes at myself. I am a dork…just an extremely pathetic one.

“It's with Q—the sports section,” I watched those pretty eyes on me sparkle with energy. “Quidditch, really, but I'll be researching and watching Muggle sports, too, `to bring in another crowd'. Luna said she `knew not another soul who knows more about Quidditch than Gin', so—“

“I'm so very proud of you!” Hermione fought in her seat, wiggling on her bum.

“I start on the first.”

“Super, super—super awesome!” Hermione came in and gave me…such a wonderfully warm hug.

“I'm so proud and happy for you, Gin…after everything…”

She said this in whisper, by my ear, and I couldn't faze the chill running down my spine. So, I rode the wash of happiness, and smiled.

I closed my eyes, tightened the embrace, and said in the same whisper, “…Thank you, Mi.”

The doorbell broke our moment.

Hermione leaned from me, ushering in this empty cold.

I turned to face the direction of the door, and subsequently Harry coming out of the kitchen laughing with my brother at something.

“Yeah, I'll have to remember that one, mate…,” He said as he stepped around the corner, and to us, to Hermione where he smiled and said, “Don't worry, I'll get it. You two do your girl thing.”

Hermione chuckled, and I caught her rolling eyes. “It's probably Luna and Alice,” Hermione lifted from her bum a smidgen to see over the sofa, her eyes on Harry's backside.

“Cho's at her boyfriend's for a bit and will be here later!”

“Roger,” announced a muffling Harry from his distance.

I heard the door open, and the shrieking of Luna, “Happy Christmas!!”

Hermione and I both looked at each other and smiled.

“We better go greet them.”

I nodded.

Hermione took my hand, to my pleasure, and led the way once more.

***

I think—maybe—Harry turning an old Chudley Cannons exhibition match was his way of averting my attention. Why? Because, there they were, together, right there over on the sofa to which I'd gotten nauseated enough to leave and sit on the floor between Cho and Luna. Alice sat herself behind and above Luna, interested really on what Luna was doing even if Cho was talking to her about…something. I didn't know, not paying attention and trying to pay all of my attention to the bloody telly and not gaze to my left at the lovey-dovey scene.

They weren't eating each other.

Thank God.

They were just…holding hands, and she was leaning into him.

Gag-worthy.

Screaming to the whole room: “HEY! LOOK AT US!! WE'RE IN LOVE!!!! LOOOOOOOOOVE!!!!!”

I couldn't believe I did all this.

Why would I do this?

Because you wanted her at her happiest.

Quit being a bitch. Christ, woman.

That didn't keep me from watching them from askance, in slits, and grinding my teeth.

What angered me more came from the continued ogling of Hermione from my dear, red-headed brother. He was brooding in the corner away from everyone. Maybe he thought he was being “mysterious and cool”—Hell if I knew what rummaged in his brain; but, the staring pissed me off. I wanted to shout, “Hey, buddy! Take a picture! It would last longer!” Seriously… Brood in another fucking corner. Damn.

I didn't know which I could stand more:

The ever-so-slight peck-kiss from Hermione to Harry.

Or.

The way Ronald kept his eyes intently on Hermione, Hermione's body, or wherever he looked.

I swore if he was trying to get a glimpse down her damn shirt…

I waited, patiently, impatiently, for the moment when he'd go get a drink. Or, food. Something. Anything. Go to the loo—I'd follow your arse. Make it casual-looking.

“Hey, what's up?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, you know you can go to Hell?”

“What…?”

Just like that.

He got her these pink-and-black headphones.

Headphones.

The fuck? Headphones?

Who does that?

Mine was personal, something I knew she'd outright enjoy more than silly headphones: CDs of her favorite classical rock bands.

So direct and personal I'd actually overlapped one she already had.

Ah, ha, you little bastard. I win.

Walk away.

My eyes were still in slits as I watched Ronald watch Hermione, and then Harry, who I lifted Hermione's hand and caressed her knuckles.

I rolled my eyes, frustrated, sickened.

If steam or smoke could come from my nose…

SMOKE! Fucking hell… I need a God damn smoke!

I want to throw up.

She smiled at him after he kissed her hand.

Big. Fucking. Deal.

Ron hadn't noticed me—if at all—during the whole Eve get-together; so, when he slipped away finally, he didn't notice me again as I got up. I pushed off the floor with one hand, brushed myself off with another and stepped across Cho's out-stretched legs. I saw Hermione turn her head to me when I got up; but, I had my target set.

Ron wandered into the kitchen, presumably to fill his cup up with eggnog, stuff his face.

As I entered I kept an eye on the mistletoe hanging above…and I wanted to tear it down.

So many little…occurrences…

I shuddered.

My eyes lit when I saw he had his back turned, and a sinister smile crept upon my face; though, it faded as I approached the buffet of food and drink. Aside him, towering over me, buffed from the growing weight he had been putting on before his trip to the Ministry. In anyone's opinion he could very well have been compared to someone who could take out this frail ginger.

Guess again.

I went about as if I were pouring more eggnog from the punch bowl.

I think I even whistled a tune—a Christmasy tune.

I looked at him from the side, at him taking a fork and adding more turkey, more of my roast potatoes and more stuffing on his plate. He wasn't aware, at all, of all the devices I had him in—wanted him in—for being so “Ronald” all over again.

“She's not yours.” I said, short and scathingly.

He stopped a second, but continued after the pause, cutting a piece of fruitcake.

“She's Harry's.”

“What is your problem, Ginny?” He curtly, and abruptly, shot at me, turning towards me as he did. “You've been staring at me all fucking night long. Let's hear it. What did I do that's gotten your knickers in a knot now?”

“Quit staring at her or I'll break your fucking nose.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Hermione, dumb arse.”

“You're mad, I say,” He laughed it off. “You've taken squarely after mum, you know that?”

“I'm telling you now, and I won't tell you again—“ I pushed his arm hard enough to make him shuffle a bit.

He swatted me back and pushed me as I did, having me stumble. “Come off it, woman! Do you think I'm so daft to not know Hermione is with Harry? No shit.”

“Well quit fucking staring at her like she's some piece of fucking meat, wanker.”

“Good Lord…,” Ron ran his hand from the length of his Weasley-red stalks shooting forth from a bandana, and down his face, exaggerating his facial features. “What…is…”

“…With you—” He shot at me, to my level of height and saw it. The passion, the affection, the…more than obvious attraction. “—Oh Christ… Christ!”

He started laughing, and loudly.

I was sure the others could hear us now.

I stopped talking, breathing even.

He stopped, looked me over once, and started laughing again.

“You're hysterical! You're a clown! A freak!” He laughed, paused, and laughed some more. He held his sides as if it hurt—I wanted to hurt him.

My eyes kept flicking towards the den, and then back to the horse's arse.

“She's not gay—Hermione,” He started up laughing again, a burst.

“You're such a fucking arse face,” I seethed, biting. “Get out of my sight.”

“With pleasure! Hahahaa!!” He all but fell over trying to climb from the kitchen. He looked back, saw me and started up again.

One swift punch to the nose…

I bore holes through the back of this bobbing head.

…Just like before.

I stayed calm, or tried, for the sake of the evening.

I enveloped myself with Cho for the rest of the night, staying with her and away from everyone else. Hermione knew something had happened—I'm sure everyone did. Ron did make the loudest fuss he could, and I, stupidly, let the door open for him to take full advantage of the weakness. He had nothing to lose. I had everything to lose. He knew it.

I cut the night short, or shorter than I'd wanted.

I ended up believing I could stomach Hermione and Harry's loving bouts; though, Hermione knew afterwards with my withdrawal with Ron, the whole spiel, and took considerable caution is…displaying public affection in front of me. It got weird, and awkward, and I just wanted to leave.

“I love you,” she said to me when we hugged before I left.

I hugged her, and hugged her tight. “Love you too, Mi.”

We were by ourselves at the door, Cho waiting outside.

I'd tell her everything later.

Let the consoling begin: rocky road ice cream and cigarettes.

Hermione took my hands in each of hers when we released and smiled her smile, that lock of hair covering up that part of her face. “We'll do something tomorrow after we're done at my parents. Just you and me, all right?”

She sort of swung my hands around.

Her effort to console me, too.

“You don't have to if it'll be—“

She shushed me. “It'll be no bother.”

She tilted her head to the side and smirked. “Trust me. Anywhere you want. A movie?”

I slipped my hands away.

I could feel the emotional rollercoaster within my soul, and I couldn't help but take her back into my arms and hug her tight.

She patted my head and gently gave it a rub, my face in her bare, soft shoulder.

“I'll call you straight away when we've come home.”

I wanted to say, “I love you” again…but I couldn't for fear of crying.

She, however…

“Love you,” she smiled at me when we broke apart. “Tomorrow.”

She nodded.

“Tomorrow,” I peeped.

“And, I hope you really did love my gift.”

I let out this puff, a groan, and gave an eye roll into blinking, to look at her and look at her intently, “I'll cherish it.”

And, I did.

Walking from Number Twelve, through apparation and at Cho's I couldn't help but play with the tiny charms on the silver bracelet Hermione had given me, each charm representing something we'd been through, together.

I couldn't keep my eyes off a bitty heart, the only charm with a colour, rosy pink, as the centrepiece.

Maybe I jumped to conclusions.

Maybe not.

I was biased, wanted to be biased.

I'll embrace denial.

***

{Author Note: Ginevra really regrets what she's pieced together, eh? Hindsight is twenty-twenty. Because I haven't had the time I wish I had to write, here was a rather lengthy chapter. I hope to have another chapter uploaded soon.}

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54. Dreams

Life and Times

Rating: R

Ship: HHr (main emphasis)

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

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

***

Chapter Fifty-Four - Dreams

***

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

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

Nathaniel was like a breath of fresh air.

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

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

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

“That sounds so brutal. No foul?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Catching up on some of the reading.”

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

“What?” I asked with my own smirk.

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

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

“Thomas is throwing a bash Saturday night.”

“Thomas is a witless drunk.”

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

I smiled. “I'll think about it.”

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

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

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

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

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

Harry remained asleep, unawares in dreamland.

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

This was a travesty.

Blasphemous!

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

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

Congratulations!

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

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

Gods, why now?

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

Accepted it.

And, more importantly…wanted it.

Oh, I'm going to be sick…

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

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

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

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

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

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

He happily stretched himself and found his way over.

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

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

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

“Why on earth are you up this early, baby?”

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

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

My heart had sunk.

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

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

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

He was in front of me when I looked up.

He understood the obvious lies.

I was never a good liar, anyway.

“It's for the blood sugar. I think it may have caused the headache—“

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

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

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

Crookshanks let out a pleasurable purr.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…I had a nightmare,” my voice came muffled.

“You shouldn't have nightmares—ever.” He began rubbing my back.

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

“Was it what I think it was…?”

I couldn't hurt him.

He thought it was Voldemort.

I lied, and went with it.

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

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

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

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

I breathed in his skin, that pumpkin scent.

“I love you, Harry.”

“I love you, too, `Mione.”

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

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

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

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

“We should name our first child `Hugo'.”

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

My giggles were stifled by my closeness to Harry.

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

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

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

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

“Making babies…,” He chuckled lightly and kissed me.

He squeezed my figure in his hands.

I tilted my head back and laughed quite loudly.

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

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

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

“Mm…,” He kissed in haste. “Your man…”

“My man…,” I exclaimed between our sexy whispers.

Harry nodded back towards the staircase. “Want to…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Glad we're both on holiday…”

“Indeed!”

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

***

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

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

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

Faintly, I closed my eyes and smiled.

This really is Heaven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A truly good morning…,” he'd say.

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

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

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

The breakfast was set, the table prepared.

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

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

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

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

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

I had to blink back to reality.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

“So, what shall we do today?”

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

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

“Which is?”

“Being lazy couch potatoes.”

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

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

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

“No—no,” Harry all but fell over, stuttering. “I like your idea better. Much, much better.”

My eyes lit and I laughed.

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

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

“You work tonight?”

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

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

I wanted more of it.

“My working girl,” he squeezed me.

And, I got it.

I smiled.

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

“The pictures Luna sent over from the photoshoot were stunning.”

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

“—And me in the tuxedo robe?”

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

He gladly took it.

“So handsome.”

“You took that photograph and made it effortlessly spectacular.”

“Says my ravishingly beautiful man.”

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

I shifted up to him.

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

“Skeeter will take the Mickey out of me for sure.”

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

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

I lay my forehead against his cheek, eyes closed.

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

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

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

“Mm…,” I smirked, sliding back to his chest.

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

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

“Stop—stop!”

“What?”

“Back up a few channels.”

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

“No, it was—“

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

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

I did.

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

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

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

“That's an outrage! Undesirables in our backyard?!?!!”

“Ludicrous!”

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

“But breakouts of Azkaban have been few and far between!”

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

“Kingsley Shacklebolt is a scam! A madman!”

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

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

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

“After the holidays. They wish it not weigh on us.”

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

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

I hated it, anyway.

Always something bad.

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

He'd turned from me.

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

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

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

“…Am I making the right choice, though?”

“Yes,” I exclaimed with validity, confidence. “Yes, absolutely.”

Silence ensued until…

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

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

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

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

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

SOUND THE ALARM: CRIMINALS LOOSE

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

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

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

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

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

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

Angelica Teivel

Writer

Page 1

***

“The movie was lovely.”

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

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

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

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

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

“HARRY!!!”

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

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

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

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

“I've wanted to meet you so badly!”

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

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

I heard a “Heh” from him.

“Can we get a photo?!”

“Um…,” Harry glanced over at me.

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

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

“Thank you very much!”

“…I'll never wash this dress again.”

“…He's so much hotter in person…”

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

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

“Oh, quiet Hermione.”

I laughed, picking at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

“And, ta-da!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

“Dance with me?”

He put his hand out, and I grinned.

I gently laid my hand with his.

“Thought you'd never ask.”

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

Continued focus, he beamed, and I smiled.

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

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

I felt him stroke my back.

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

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

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

“Want to go home?”

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shuddered with delight.

Every nerve, every sensation in my body charged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I could feel my heart beating.

I could feel my form shake as I breathed.

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

I had had enough.

I loved it, and really did…

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

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

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

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

***

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

The fragility, the innocence, how we can love…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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55. Love

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.

Love conquers all - Virgil

***

Chapter Fifty-Five - Love

***

“So, how does it feel to be one of `Briton's greatest'?”

“Well, um,” Pulling a leg up onto a sofa, beneath the lights and cameras of McCrady's Corner to advertise Luna's Q, I sifted a hand, my fingers through the fringe of my hair from anxiousness. I was just there—I never saw myself as this bastion of light. I was just a normal person; but, I knew Erin from other interviews, even before she'd gotten her big hit morning show on WNN, so I knew she said this for humour.

“Well, I mean, I have a lovely new bodyguard to help me walk around the streets,” With a tense laugh and restlessness, I peered across the set to see a fairly muscular man in a suit. I gave a wave towards Marcus and he smiled and waved back.

“Where's Harry at?”

I'd taken up a cup of coffee an intern left me aside a potted plant, some roses, centred on a round wooden table. I looked towards Erin as she continued, asking, “With all the pictures the media takes of you, he's usually with you. It's almost like you've both joined at the hip!”

I swallowed the sweetened liquid with just a hint of cinnamon. “I left him in bed this morning. We've got quite a busy day planned, and I hope he remembered to take the turkey out of the refrigerator.”

Erin laughed, putting a hand to her off-white-coloured business jacket. “The husbands never do seem to remember that, do they? A frozen turkey straight into the oven!”

Behind the sofa Erin and I sat, a huge glass window displayed showing what should have been main street Violet Hill, but instead showed one body to the next, to the next and on it went. The group mobilized maybe two, three, or four people thick. They waved signs which read, “We love you, from Madrid!” to “Marry me, Hermione???” to “Harry + Hermione = 4ever!”

It was all quite flattering, and a little scary.

I waved my hand at them and they all seemed to shout at me; the shout I'd gotten used to over the months, years.

“You have quite the boisterous fans.”

“It's sweet,” I turned away from them after giving, with what I could humanly do, each of them their own part of my attention. At least with a smile.

I grasped at my grey skinny jeans, wearing a black, short-sleeved tee to accommodate black rubber bracelets, the black eyeliner, and of course, black nail polish.

“The public hasn't seen this sort of attire in a while, love. Is this a statement?”

I shrugged, “Sometimes you just feel like doing something different. The other day I wore heels and a dress. The next some lounge trousers. I say whatever makes you feel good, do it; if it doesn't hurt someone or yourself.”

“That's a beautiful way to frame it.”

I nodded and looked down at my fingers playing with a bit of fabric.

I glanced up when Erin went onto ask, “So, tell me what happens in the daily life that we don't already know outside of what we'll read in Q.”

My eyes shifted from side-to-side. “Quite frankly, I'm boring.”

Erin laughed as if she didn't believe me.

“No, really. I'm not joking. The Queen has more interesting days than me.”

“So, you don't go anywhere or do anything?”

“Oh, well, me—and Harry—and the rest, we try and live an ordinary life. We do what any other normal people try to do our age when we can afford it and are able; but, it's sometimes hard when we aren't allowed to have just a miniscule amount of intimacy. Like, just the other day, right, Ginny and I are trying to shop downtown here and the bloody media was in our face the entire time. I bet if they could they'd follow us right in the loo.”

“I understand some—I mean, I'm not you, so—“

“That's the really odd thing, though. Harry and I, or Ginny and I, or just me, we're really all utterly boring people. We meet our friends and family on weekends. Stop and get fast food once in a while. Maybe catch the cinema when we have nothing else better to do. What of all those bring us to any other height than anyone else?”

“I'm not trying to be rude or anything,” I put my hands out to Erin.

“Oh, hun, you're not being the slightest rude to me. I know how it feels.”

“We just get asked these same questions over and over again.”

“Have you heard about the rumors that you and Ginevra are secretly courting?”

I laugh into my hand. “Oh! But, I thought I was pregnant with Harry's child, or even Ronald's child, or Neville's child! Then again, I was asked if I was anorexic the other day… Wrap your head around that. Is that actually the new `breaking news' of the week for me?”

“There are actual fans of you two out there who say they have factual proof that you and Ginevra are courting.”

“Yeah…as much as I love each and everyone one of them,” I lift my hand to show the camera the engagement ring on my finger. I would have also showed the cameras the Hippogriff necklace under my shirt, said it a lovely gift for my birthday, but the rumor mill would just continue. “Sorry, guys…”

“Oh… So many hearts dashed.”

I gave Erin a light push. “Don't say that! It'll make me feel bad.”

“So, what is the one thing Hermione Granger would love to do if she weren't being followed by the paparazzi everywhere?”

I put my hand up. “Wait—are we speaking in third person now?”

Erin laughed. “Oh, just answer the silly question.”

“'What is the one thing Erin McCrady would love to do'… Umm,” Combing my fingers back through my hair and looking away at some nondescript area, I heard Erin laugh again. I let the brunette locks fall where they may, and then looked back at her with a smile. “I don't know—well, to be honest, nothing. Just absolutely nothing.”

“Absolutely nothing?”

“Yeah—just a day where it's me with a good book with no worries, maybe some coffee, a soda, some lemonade.”

“And Harry is nowhere to be seen?”

“Exactly,” I exaggeratingly nodded. “No! Of course not. He'd be right there, right along with me.”

I put my hand to my lips and kissed towards the camera. “Love you!”

I looked again at Erin. “He's most certainly watching. Thanks for putting me on the spot.”

“Hahaha…,” Erin shifted her note cards, and glanced up to question, “From the portion of your interview with Q we were sent over with, you said the persons you adored more than your mother was Joan Jett and Shade Epsilon?”

“Yeah… Joan, and Shade!” I laughed, looking up at the ceiling. “After everyone puts this `holier-than-thou' stigma on us, me, I for one can say that when I see Shade walk by I am instantly star-struck. We were on the red carpet together and I was nearly frozen stiff. She is absolutely amazing.”

“And you wish to imitate?”

“Yes—or something like that. I couldn't do what Shade does. Shade's in a whole other realm than what I could do, just like Jett; but, I can play the electric guitar pretty well. I'm going to Oxford to study music, on holiday right now or I'd be in lesson.”

“At this hour?”

“Oh, come on! This is,” I put both my hands up and gave them a dazzling shake. “'Hermione Granger'! I can do anything! Remember? Eight AM lessons? Psh—too easy. Mountain trolls? That'll take a while…”

I even got some of the cameramen to laugh.

“There was an article I read somewhere that said that you said you could curl your tongue into a three-leaf clover?”

I pointed at Erin, my arm on the backside of the leather sofa. “You know they say that's a higher step of evolution!”

“I was just about to say that!”

“Now, I'm guessing, everyone wants to see me roll my tongue.”

“You don't have to do anything you don't want to do, love.”

“Oh, this is nothing compared to the type of circus acts people wish I could perform in front of them.”

We both laughed in-synchronization.

I showcased my tongue prowess to the camera.

“And, there you have it.” I snickered into my hand.

“Can I just say before we go into a commercial break, for I have a Producer shouting in my ear…”

I laughed, looking away and into the direction I knew held the Producer's box, biting a nail.

“That,” Erin picked up. “You are simply the coolest witch I've ever had the pleasure to meet in my years here at WNN.”

“Aww…,” I went in and gave Erin a hug, and then congratulated her on her success. “McCrady's Corner is doing so well. I remember when you first started here! We were like your second interview…?”

“Hahaha… Somewhat of awkward memories, indeed.”

I shared her laughter.

“We should go out for a drink sometime.”

I pointed outside. “Want to go now?”

Erin laughed.

I gave my smirk.

“Miss Hermione Granger, everybody!”

I heard some actual clapping in the background, and gave a nervously short laugh, fidgeting.

“I know it's Christmas Eve and all, but could you stay for another commercial break? Will Harry get mad?”

“Yeah—let's do it. He's probably wanted me to stay because the minute I get back I'm going to try and kick him out of the kitchen.”

The entire set chuckled.

“Plus, it's ridiculously frigid and wet out there.”

“That's not stopping all those adoring people out there.”

I smiled, and turned to give the group another wave.

A multitude of screams came and went like a crest along a beach.

Camera A settled on Erin.

“Well folks, we'll be right back with our lovely leading lady after the short break.”

Before fading to commercials, the McCrady's Corner theme plays out, a simple, contemporary musical beat, where a camera stays on Hermione as she takes another sip of her coffee, laughs at something Erin says and gives Erin another embrace.

***

“Did you see it all?”

I'd come home to see Harry in control of Christmas Eve dinner. The turkey was basting in the oven, its golden-brown skin vibrant between the black decor of the oven door. For anyone who didn't want turkey slices, he'd begun preparing pigs in a blanket, croissant batter rolled out on a pan in equal length. He'd done the shopping, gotten the knickknacks, some sweets, the ingredients for traditional eggnog including a bottle of Irish rum which sat inside the refrigerator door. Soda and sparkling water were also purchased for anyone who wanted to stay sober.

After setting down the purse, and whatever appendages I could discard, including my shoes, I crept up behind Harry whilst he bent over the oven to check the cooking turkey and embraced him.

“Yes, I did,” He motioned over at the silent, black-faced telly with his shoulder. “Turned it off when the show went off because they began talking about rubbish. Thought it better the stereo was on.”

In fact, I'd come in hearing 80's hits, namely Madness's single, Our House, to which I'd given a little head bob dance.

“You were hilarious,” He said as I observed him carefully rolling the miniature sausages and cheddar cheese slices into the croissant bread.

I smiled, my chin on his right shoulder.

“And, might I add, spot on in a few instances. Couldn't have said it better myself.”

The smile growing, I gave a subtle, content moan into a kiss, caressing said shoulder and rubbing my face in his lovely scent.

“Can I try and persuade you to allow me to finish what you've got started there?”

“Oh, you can very well try,” mused Harry to himself, chuckling. “But, you'll very well be disappointed.”

“Aren't you supposed to wear the trousers in the family?” I asked with a smirk, a snigger.

“Oh! Ouch…,” He nudged me with his backside. “If it keeps you from doing these mundane activities, I'll gladly wear the skirt.”

I laughed at his irrational banter, and then gave him a swift swat on his bum through his dark jeans. “That's my boy!”

He leapt, not seeing where I had been headed, to his toes. I had given him a hard smack, and I was sure I'd left a mark on his left buttock…and, I was sure he was going to get me for it, too. It didn't take but a half a second for him to stop, to chase me, to capture me in his arms to my struggles, and to begin playfully biting, gnawing wherever he could. He tickled me to death, tossed me to the sofa cushions where he'd brought me and pulled me to him.

I was in tears with laughter. I think, if given a second chance, he'd have taken my jeans down to spank me in retrospect. But instead, put me across his lap, fighting all the way through, and swatted my bum once, twice, a third time. He pushed me down when I tried to get up and swatted me a fourth time. “I'm still stronger than you,” he exclaimed, with his smirk, having finally been allowed to turn to my side to see him.

He kept his hand on my bum.

I gave him a curious eye, brow raised. “Are you quite finished?”

“Never,” he replied, slipping down to kiss me.

And, when he did, I grabbed him around his neck and wrestled him with every ounce of muscle I had, to be promptly pounced upon. Thrown backwards on the sofa with a soft thump, hands, arms above my head where he held them down, he sniggered, hovering above me.

I struggled to get away.

He smiled at my obvious flailing, failing.

…I finally let out one, generous huff and fell back to the sofa top, the Hippogriff necklace and crucifix chain jingling to an abrupt stop.

“Admit defeat?”

I scowled, albeit through a smile I wished to keep from view. “Not the slightest!”

I snapped at him, playfully.

“Rawr…”

He laughed and lowered, snapping at me just as playful.

I felt his hands around my wrists, like handcuffs, gradually release, his removal, and his shift down. I lay there, in submission, and instantly felt the rush of cool followed by a rush of pure warmth. Harry, taking my tee from the bottom, hiked it upward to unveil my stomach and proceeded to caress its velvety touch. I felt his warm breath on my nude skin, giving me a go, a chill, having to close my eyes and let my hands feel around in his soft chaos of hair.

“So, what are you going to do?” Inquired Harry, lifting from his love.

“Well, I would—“

“You're not going to cook.”

“But, I want—“

“End of discussion.”

I pouted.

He smiled.

“Then, I'll just go…”

“Go…?” He gave my belly another kiss.

“Take a nap.”

“Oh really?”

I shrugged. “You won't let me cook—“

“Nope!”

“Oh, hush…”

He snickered against my stomach.

“I wasn't even going there.”

“You won't.”

I let out a very tiresome sigh…to hear his laugh.

“Quiet.”

“So…,” He said, consuming his hysterics. “A nap, you say?”

“Better to be awake for the party. I wouldn't want to be `the hostess that fell asleep before midnight'.”

“You did wake up quite early for the interview,” Harry agreed.

“Then, it's settled.”

“Going upstairs?” He moved with me, moving up to sit.

“Yeah, you don't have to put a stop to the stereo.”

He reached for me and I took his hand.

He assisted in my stand.

“Want me to send the butler up with soup and sandwich?” He said in a fairly haughty tone.

I rolled my eyes, acting, “Yes, the butler.”

I went to leave him, to meet with the cool mattress sheets, to turn around at the stairs and say, “…The butler does have nice six-pack abs.”

Harry gasped, and went to chase me from the dining entryway. “I'll be the `abs' around here!”

“Hahahaa!” Screaming with laughter, I made it to the bedroom with Harry at my heels.

***

I awoke to this drumming noise, albeit in a haze. I really didn't want to get out of bed. I really wanted to keep sleeping. I really wasn't awake, my head deep in the recesses of what could be considered “Harry's” pillow, on “his” side of the bed. Covered in heaps of sheets, quilts, layers of warmth I was so very happily cosy, and happily where I wanted to be.

I remember raising straight from facing down in the pillow, hair affixed to my face, arms wrapped around the pushiness and the rest of me buried in ivory. My eyes squinted, looking around in more light than what I received whilst dozing. The rapping continued, and when my brain finally turned on I plainly noticed the rapping came upon the closed bedroom door. It wasn't a hard progression of knocks, nor was it loud; it was just enough to gently wake someone up, me, however much I didn't want to leave the bed.

I made a grunt. Yes, I was slightly annoyed. Harry rarely—rarely—knocked on the bloody door. Hell—it was our house, our bedroom! He could very well do as he pleased, and did so, but not this time. Or, something. I sat on the side of the bed for the longest time, eyes closed, head down, and when I heard the tap-tap-tapping on the door, I let out, “Honestly! Come in! You don't have to stand there outside the bloody door like a madman!”

I held my head, fingers to my forehead, wiping away loose strands of brown from sticking to my face, my cheek, around my mouth.

I waited for him to open the door…but, he never did.

I let out an exhaustive groan, again, thinking maybe I was a bit harsh, maybe he was a bit stubborn, maybe he was acting odd and I wished he'd just come in and did whatever he needed to do. Bother me, for Christ's sake. If that's what you wanted—come right on in and curl under the sheets with me. You've done it several hundred times before, why the Hell not now?

I got up, the white sheets falling from my form, descending for the left edge towards the floor. I caught my physique in a mirror as I went around, not knowing why I didn't just climb across and step off there. A form of habit from getting off the left side, sleeping on the left side…but, sleeping on the right side. A slight headache formed. I saw me, messy, strewn hair, the collar of the shirt I hadn't taken off slanted, and me, in these hiphugger knickers coloured black with white trim.

I didn't look that bad…besides the hair, the face, how I had this indent along my cheek from the notch in the pillow…

I huffed, seeing, again, the closed door as I went up to it.

Gods Harry… Why close it when we never close it? The door is always open! Why the bloody…

My hand gripping the knob, I turned the cold metal to see within the crack, and just as I went to let loose a scold, primed with a finger pointed and words on the tip of my tongue, a not-so-red-headed stranger appeared.

“Why didn't you ju—Ronald!”

I hid myself.

Not that he had ever seen me in knickers.

Christ, he and Harry probably caught a peek all through Hogwarts.

Men.

But, the simple fact that one, the habitual human reflex, and two, I never just wore knickers around people whether mates or not. I wouldn't approve, and Harry—he really wouldn't approve.

Ron hid his face when he saw me—his act of respect—and turned away as quickly as I closed the door till an inch.

“Sorry—Harry said maybe—“

“It's quite all right. Just got startled,” I cut him off, looking at him with a smile through the crack. It's not like he did it on purpose.

“When did you get here?” I asked.

“Well, with you here, and nothing to watch, knowing you were in here waiting for me—I just thought, `Why not go in?'”

“I apologise for not being out there causing a ruckus for you.”

He laughed. “It's warmer in here than outside, anyway.”

“Yes, let's not have Ronald sick shall we?”

“I'm not going to get ill. Were you asleep?”

“I was—until someone knocked about a thousand times,” I snickered, opening the door slightly more when he left my view. He'd backed towards the railing, I presume to give me space.

“I only knocked four times, silly. Little less than a thousand.”

“Really?” I scratched my head through the fringe, over the round curvature and let all the capture strands fall about my face. “I could have sworn I heard exactly one thousand.”

“Harry said you might be awake. Something around the words of, `She's been in there for a few hours. Might as well check'.”

“Where is he?”

“Downstairs.”

“Still cooking?”

“I think he's got it all out and is in the process of making everything look pretty.”

I let out a chuckle.

“'Look pretty,'” I repeated with another short laugh.

I heard Ronald laugh, too.

“Well, I'll be downstairs to amuse—tell him that, too.”

“So, you're the entertainment for tonight, eh?”

I smirked. “I suppose so. Don't know if I'll be any good at it. I'm rather mundane.”

“Pfft,” I thought I caught an eye roll underneath the curtain of Weasley-red hanging forth from an achromatic handkerchief.

“Got to get changed.”

“I saw that. I'll thank Harry later.”

“Ha—“ Now, I gave the eye roll and sighed. “Just tell him I'll be down in a mo', please.”

“By the way,” Ronald announced just as I'd shut-closed the bedroom door.

“Yes?” I answered through the wooden structure.

“I hope you like the gift.”

***

Prancing downstairs two steps at a time, I arrived at the bottom floor to see one Ronald Weasley and one Harry Potter watching some Quidditch match on the telly. The one Ronald Weasley waved at me, while the other, more guilty, Harry Potter, tried to give it off with one of those innocent looks. Narrowing my eyes, he wasn't going to get away with it.

Bounding across the den, in a direct line passed our magnificently silver-lit living tree, I merely…jumped on him, like a tiger, pounced on him and wrestled him in his chair.

“Oomph!”

I barraged him with stiff pokes. “Don't you `oomph' me! I'm all of a hundred pounds!”

“Oomph!” he said, deliberately doing it again.

I gasped, and pushed on him.

Only to get wound by his arms, securing me tightly and keeping me from moving. The more I struggled, the tighter he became. I hated how he could do this…but, not really. I smirked when he did, and I came in to kiss him. I tilted my head against his and turned to see Ronald. He'd made some sort of noise, like a hacking cough.

“Need a drink, mate? We've got plenty.”

“You've got to warn people before you publically display like that. It's gag-worthy.”

Harry and I laughed.

“Share some of her with the rest of the world!”

“Nah,” Harry looked at me, and then back at Ron. “I just can't do it. She's un-shareable; all mine.”

“Aw…,” I snuggled up against him, to hear Ronald hack again.

I chuckled into a snort, and then they were laughing at me.

“I'm glad you came, mate.”

“Well, I wasn't exactly going to tell you two, `no'.”

“I'm glad you've come out of the snow!” I added with Harry's statement.

Ron patted his cloak. “It's rather insulated…but I was growing restless. I didn't want to seem like a big git coming in after your interview this morning, taking away time, being that bugger, the third-wheel. But, I couldn't take it any longer, so—“

“You wouldn't have hurt my feelings.”

“Nor mine, and if you need one of us, Ron, just say something.”

“It's just…,” Ron looked between us, at me, then Harry, and then me without blinking. “Nevermind.”

My brow rose, and I shot a glance at Harry.

He shrugged and tightened his hold of me.

I looked back at Ron, saw him look at me askance, and I realised…

…Awkward.

“So!” I went to change the subject…immediately. It's Christmas Eve—no sulking, brooding nonsense. Not right now. “You said you've gotten me a gift?”

Ronald motioned with his leather-gloved hand towards the mountain of presents under the tree. I knew which ones were Harry's, having wrapped them myself; and, I knew those of which Harry was giving me. I saw the one that stood out unlike the others, darker coloured paper and earthier than the gift-giving kind. The paper reminded me of something Hagrid would wrap his gifts with to give to us.

I pried Harry's hands off me, but that didn't stop him from hanging onto my over-sized white shirt. The shirt pulled, the sleeve that hung lower, showing my shoulder, gave tension with the tug and I looked behind to see Harry wink at me. I swatted his hand away, and off, and I heard him chuckle as I skipped over to the Christmas tree. I lowered to the floor and sat Indian-style with Ronald's gift in my hands.

Something went off in the kitchen, a beep from the oven, and Harry left us when I went to ask Ron, “May I?”

“You want to open it now?”

“Can I?”

“You've always been the curious one.”

“I want to know what you got me!”

“Fine, fine…,” He relaxed on his glove, his hand beneath his chin. He leaned over the armrest to watch me tear open the paper, the tape.

“I can't very well go into a shop and buy something…that's why the paper's crummy.”

“Why can't you?”

“It's strictly against protocol,” Ron laughed. “How many Aurors do you see shopping for groceries, Hermione?”

I stopped to think. “…I don't actually recall. I'm usually too busy finding what's on my list.”

“Haha… You're still `Hermione'.”

“I'd like to think so,” I grinned. “Wouldn't want to be anyone else.”

Ron chuckled.

“How much paper…,” Finally, after three sheets of brownish colour, I pulled out…

“I saw when you stepped on your headphones at school and thought you might like these to replace them—if you haven't already, that is. I kept an eye on you with Gin shopping the other day, so if—“

I shut him up—I think he wished to be when he started stumbling over himself. “They're gorgeous.”

Pink and black, a new, free-style ear buds; not the staunchly, thick version I'd had. These I could carry around without risk of breaking them. I could even carry them in my pocket!

“You really like them?”

He started doubting me.

Like usual…

“Yes, of course I do!” I climbed off the floor and dusted my black leggings off. “I'd have said if they were horrid.”

“No you wouldn't have,” He chuckled. “You would have played happy either way.”

“You've been around me too long—“

“Years.”

I smiled and went to hug him.

He met me halfway.

“Thank you, and I really do like them.”

“Well, just—Happy Christmas, Hermione.”

“Merry Christmas, Ronald. I'm so very glad you're here with me and Harry for the holidays.”

I went to pull away, and I felt him hesitate.

I felt him wanting to…keep me there, not let go, but he did.

And, he knew I felt his want.

“Sorry, I…”

“No, it's—“ I felt kind of…bad. I mean, I loved Harry; so, when it happened, I'd almost felt guilty. Guilty of being happy, and Ron—was Ron happy? Was it even my place to do anything? Ask? No…the memories, however slight and compacted they were after Harry changed my life, were there. I just—well, I couldn't deal with it right then. Probably not, ever. Just move along. “Harry.”

“What?”

I put my hand over my mouth and stifled a laugh. “He's probably going crazy in the kitchen, what with having so much to do. I haven't been in there since early this morning!”

“Ah…,” Ron looked away from me, to the kitchen, and back.

“I think I'm going to go help him,” I took hold of the remote control for the television which sat on Harry's chair and offered it to him. “Feel free to watch whatever. We've got everything—unless you wanted to watch Quidditch—to which there's the volume button.”

He just sort of…stared blankly at me.

Now I really did feel bad.

I didn't just want to…leave…but, I wanted, and needed, to leave.

He took the remote from my hands. “Thanks, I suppose.”

“Don't mention it.”

“Want me to come in there and help you two?” He called out after me.

“No, you're the guest! Relax! You're always working! Chill!”

“If you say so…!”

I wiped my brow with the backside of my hand and entered the kitchen. I saw Harry doing something with his back turned to me, stirring with a whisk biscuit batter for the sugar biscuits. I came up beside him and placed my hand on his back to tell him I was there so I didn't startle him. He looked at me and started to say, “No… Go back in there and—“

“I'm in here to help you.” My voice came out low, and I annunciated every syllable with precision. I kept my eyes on him steadily…so he could read me.

And he did, like so many other times.

Harry nodded, and asked me to, “Hand me the Christmas cutter patterns and the baking sheet, please?”

“Of course,” I replied. But, before walking over to the drawer they were in, I placed my hand once more on his lower back and tip-toed in to peck-kiss him. He smiled at me, knowing all too well what had happened in the den.

***

“Do you think she'll be okay?”

Harry and I watched as Alice held onto Luna, and their synchronized vanish right as they came off the last step before hitting the cemented earth. A cold draft entered in, and I hurriedly crossed my arms. Harry saw this, my action to keep warm, and put his arm around me. He shut us from the outside, and instantly I became that warm.

“Yeah, she'll be fine,” I made a small laugh. “I don't think she drinks, Luna.”

“You say that like you're better,” Harry squeezed me with that arm, walking down the hallway together.

I nudged him with my hip. “I was only saying she got awfully tipsy awfully fast.”

“How's that eggnog going with you?”

“I'm still there,” I laughed as we turned the corner into the kitchen.

The Christmas music was still going on low, the television off, a fire crackling in the hearth.

I looked over at the Christmas tree aglow, the garland twinkling with the thousand crystal-clear white miniature bulbs.

“She was nice,” Harry begun to unwind the buffet.

I went for containers to hold the remaining contents. Everyone seemed to have rather enjoyed a bit of everything, the turkey nearly finished, the pigs in blanket gone, the bowls of sweets gone, and the eggnog sitting empty. Bottles of pop sat at random, a sweet bread roll finished, the pudding but mere scrapings in a plate.

“Who?” We exchanged what we had, giving Harry the Tupperware, and Harry giving me sheets of aluminum foil.

“Alice.”

“She's perfect for Luna. Very…aware of Luna.”

Harry laughed through his nose, re-organizing the fridge as he knelt inside. “Did you ever find out what happened with Ginny?”

“No,” I stood behind Harry with foiled plates, and handed them to him one at a time. “But, I'm sure it had to do with Ronald. The whole `brother-sister' mentality. I don't think they'll ever not fight.”

“But, about what though?”

“Do they need a reason?”

Harry shrugged, bending back into the fridge. I'd begun handing him the extra bottles of soda to store. “She went quiet. Hope she's okay.”

“I told her we'd go to the cinema tomorrow after seeing mum and dad. She needs it—she's been through a lot—and she got the job at Q.”

“Oh really?” Harry stepped out of the fridge and gave me a kiss. I had to stop, to think, to blink, and I smiled. “But, you haven't told me the one thing I wanted to hear from tonight.”

He had his fingers under my chin, our eyes as one. “What's that?” I asked, enthralled.

“Was tonight everything you wanted it to be?”

“I was with everyone, my loves, and you—“ I kissed him softly, having to stand on toes. “The Love.”

“Merry Christmas,” he said, giving me shivers.

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

I grinned that all knowing grin. I knew I had one more gift upstairs, one that wanted to be revealed, one that wished to be opened tonight before all the rest. One that couldn't sit under the tree.

“You've got this?” I questioned as innocently as I could. Typically I fought to help, so I didn't want any anomaly to present itself on his radar.

“You tired?”

“A little,” I caressed him with the lightest of touch. “I'm going to go take a shower.”

“I'll be upstairs soon,” he kissed me back, just as light, giving me those shivers again. “Take your time.”

I smiled and gave him the biggest, most impassionate hug I could.

***

It took all of me not to laugh at myself in the mirror. I'd gone into a nervous habit, brushing and re-brushing my hair for the umpteenth time. I'd come from the shower, a very hot, steamy one. I had to wipe off the remnants to gaze at my reflection, the lingerie I had on and what wasn't there. I couldn't believe how bashful I was making this out to be—it wasn't like Harry hadn't ever seen me naked. Hell, we mated like rabbits. But, I suppose my tomboy ways gave me rosy cheeks, glancing at the flirtatious white babydoll.

The sheer number wasn't lewd by any means. I'd found several items greater in…exposure in my days. I wasn't one to roam the stores to look for something super-sexy. I'd always been the one to just throw anything on that made me feel comfortable. Harry, of course, loved just about anything I had on—or hadn't; so, when I did break the barrier at times, I flustered. I had this… I don't know. Reservations. I wasn't necessarily one of those girls who thought of themselves not pretty; but, I wasn't the one to flaunt it. I was “one of the guys” for so long that maybe, just maybe, that concept drilled itself into my head so much that when I saw myself indisposed on purpose…

Get a hold of yourself! He'll bloody love it if you wore a paper sack!

I gripped the sides of the sink and over analyzed like usual: a flaw in wanting everything to be perfect—perfectionism—the breadth of my neurotic personality. I dried and redid my hair. I fixed and re-fixed the lacey straps, the pleated cups, and the little black bowtie between them. I saw my navel through the transparent wisp of material. I saw my knickers, a string and possibly some cloth; possibly, because there wasn't much there. I saw myself gripping the sides of the sink again and breathed in an incredible sigh.

I think…

I think the pressure of being perfect—

The pressure of being perfect, I think I needed it this way.

I would be Missus Potter in two months.

No, a few weeks.

February fourteenth wasn't so far away from the early hours of December twenty-fifth.

I think I thought that if I somehow mucked everything—

I sighed another long, drawn breath, my eyes passably dilated.

I think he wouldn't love me anymore.

For Christ's sake, Hermione… Right. He'll stop the wedding because you wore lingerie.

Really?

I only want this to be special—maybe he likes me the other way? Maybe he doesn't want—

Just quit thinking…

I shook my head, lock after lock falling as I combed my fingers through my hair. I stared at myself, adjusting, re-adjusting… Maybe I should have told him I was doing this?

And spoil the entire surprise?

I rubbed the spot between my eyes.

Maybe you should have thought about this all before you bought the bloody thing?

I had more than one voice shouting at me in my head.

You're going to get a headache and sabotage the lovely idea.

He probably thinks I've lost it—or sick.

I looked towards the door.

I've been in here for God knows how long.

I'm usually not one of those people who stay in the lavatory for days on end.

He's probably looking at the door.

He's probably coming to the door.

I tensed, waiting for the second when I heard the knock.

“Hermione?” He'd say, concerned.

“Yes?” I'd say, because if I'd so anymore I'd pass out.

“You okay?”

“No, I've literally gone mad because I put on a sexy gift of lingerie to show you.”

Really, Hermione?

Gods, quit being so pathetic.

I sighed, lowering my head on my shoulders whilst peering back into the mirror. I saw the Hippogriff necklace. I saw the engagement ring on my finger. I saw everyone—everyone—watching, waiting, holding their breaths for me in a white wedding gown. I was glad daddy was holding me up, walking me down the aisle. I would, absolutely, keel over, swoon. But…Harry… I'd see him. I'd see him smile—his stunning smile, his kind, caring smile, his smile. I saw him—and no other—and I was there, right there with him. Him. Me. He'd take me, forever…

Why am I acting this way?

I shook my head and laughed at myself.

I really am something.

Harry didn't know what he was stepping into—

I smiled at my reflection.

A perfectly imperfect wreck.

I turned and flipped the light off, exiting, opening the door into the bedroom.

His wreck.

I leaned just inside the entryway. I found that curl cover that side of my face, the ying and yang of everything me, as I raised my right arm, my hand above me. Paralleling the straight edge of the frame, I looked across the room, to our bed where Harry lay. A light was on, and he was reading the Quibbler—just where I'd left him. He was already beneath the sheets waiting for me, his glasses on as he gazed through them, flipping to the next crisp page.

The pause was unbearable. I knew it was mere seconds I stood there, but after everything, my mind wrapping like ribbon around the fight of flight defense mechanism, I was on pins and needles. I could feel my heart race, off-rhythm. I could feel each breath, each inhale and exhale, each rise and fall of my chest beneath not much else.

I saw him look over, curious as to why I hadn't left his peripheral from the door. I'd surely join him by now, the alcohol having a sleepy hex from the night. Harry hadn't drunk much—maybe that was my problem? My mind started wandering, quickly removed and altered when our eyes locked, my eyes widening at his. He looked down a second, only to give a second round—really seeing, or trying to see, understand, contemplate, and find his faculties, with what he saw.

The newspaper fell to his lap, and I could see in my fixed peripheral all the scrolling, coloured text. He peered closely in the next second, followed by the tearing off of his glasses in haste.

“Hey,” was all I could get out. Not the most alluring comment, but nevertheless gave notion for Harry to smile…that smile.

I smiled, and everything, everything—all worries, the future—melted away.

I was in the moment.

And, in that moment, saw steps, a closing distance, a bounding for the bed he lay on. I crawled to him. He threw the Quibbler to the floor and tossed his glasses from his hand. He took me by my waist when he could, having him immobile, me mobile, agile, feline-esque. He caught me through the unclouded fabric, an opening down the centre, his warm hands clasped to my soft middle. He lifted me with ease, strength, and kicked the sheets down for me to meet him. He sat up with me around him, legs, and knees at his side.

I had his face in my hands, our bodies meshed as one, his support as he held me to him from behind. Our lips melded together. I saw nothing, felt it all, the intensity, the fervor, the passion. I felt him lift me once more, a roll, where he lay me gently back into the mattress softly. I had my legs at his hips loosely, my thigh, my calf running itself down his side. He hovered over me with a kiss, twice, another, scooping me up in his arms to never leave the pink, unyielding flesh.

I had my hands, my fingers, clawing in his hair, his back, his muscles. He lowered, at my neck, my head tilted where I let out this wonderful breath, a sigh, serenity. I had to close my eyes, felt them roll backward, and felt his sensual exploration blind.

***

I lay aside him, satiated, satisfied, gratified—in love, and exhausted in the best possible way. I watched him through heavy eyelids, and Harry not helping me at all, struggling to keep awake if not just to see him one more time before waking up from this all-to-real dream. The sheets were in disarray, sideways, off me in layered piles. Most of me kept indisposed, naked to him. I could smell us. I could taste him. I could feel him, how he lay on his side beside me, his hand rubbing circles on my abdomen.

His eyes would leave mine, to other parts of me, downward, northward, everywhere. I'd close my eyes when he'd do so, only to open them, to see him back with me—and that smile. He made me smile, lazily, groggily, the eggnog catching up with me and my sexual high.

“I love you,” he told me. “I'll always love you.”

My eyes were closed, but I heard him nonetheless.

I grinned, reopened them but a half-centimetre, and replied with induced sleep, “…I can't wait to…”

I yawned.

“…Be with you, like this, forever.” I finished.

He stopped his rub, and when he did, I could sense, feel, and see his heart swell. He maneuvered, carefully, and planted his lips upon my forehead, strands collected every which way from light sweat. He kissed my brow, my cheek, the tip of my nose where I giggled, and then, tenderly, my mouth.

I felt him, his hand, stroke the centre of my stomach, and I sighed, so content, so enamored.

I found him at my throat, at my shoulder, where he caressed…and I found myself falling asleep.

***

This was it.

I couldn't see them. My friends. My family.

“Daddy…”

I said in one breath, having to close my eyes.

…Today was the day.

The day.

“Yes, baby girl?”

I glanced to my left, feeling uneasy, sick to my stomach. “Just don't let me fall.”

Daddy had me, arm-in-arm, and I could see tears well up in his eyes for he would be giving me, his daughter, in a beautiful crepe satin and lace wedding dress, away in moments. We were indoors, in our home, just inside so no one, no one could see me, especially Harry.

“Wouldn't ever dream of it,” he said, his strength failing to keep a tear from breaching a duct. He made it so he coughed and looked away.

“Are you ready?” he asked, the swell of bells ascending in tune.

I nodded, in a spell, an utterly, awful spell.

“I love you,” daddy said as we walked through the curtained doorway and out into the yard.

“I love you, too, daddy,” I answered, and turned, to be greeted by hundreds of eyes, a sea of well-dressed forms, of everyone I knew and ever known.

From one side of the aisle to the other, I saw Dean and Oliver, the Weasleys, Mister Weasley, Missus Weasley, George and Angelina, Bill and Fleur Weasley and their tiny ginger, Victoire, in her tiny dress. My eyes fell on the girls, Katie, leaving Quidditch for the day, and Cho with Michael. To a ravishing Alice and Luna Lovegood, her lovely smile falling upon me. To my mother in the front row, first chair, who had been crying, puffy-eyed, and made me start, but willed not to. To Neville, who stood proudly aside Ronald, Harry's best mate, at the front. Ron made a face at me and smirked when our eyes met. I grinned. To Ginny, my girl, my best friend in the entire universe. She flashed me a smile, so happy, so bright, awaiting me as my Maid of Honour opposite the men.

And then…to Harry.

My beloved.

All worries, all—washed away.

My eyes kept on him the rest of the way.

He gave me structure, confidence, love.

Looking at him—there wasn't any other care in the world.

I could take on anything.

His gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous smile…led me to my own, like his, bringing a wave of fresh air, happiness to my unsettled core.

I stepped once more in the lush green grass, blue skies overhead, white rose petals at my feet.

Daddy let go of me…but not before kissing my cheek, giving me one last embrace before I, Hermione Jane Granger, stepped up to Harold James Potter.

“Please repeat after me.”

That was the Ministry's Minister.

He was there, but all I could see was Harry.

He took my breath away.

“I, Harold Potter.”

“I, Harold Potter.”

“Take you, Hermione Granger.”

“Take you, Hermione Granger.”

“To have and to hold…”

“To have and to hold,” he said.

“For better or for worse,” I said.

“For richer, for poorer,” he said.

“In sickness and in health,” I said.

“To love,” he said.

“To cherish as long as we both shall live,” I said.

“I do.”

“I do.”

“I love you, Hermione.”

“I love you, Harry…”

Reaching for him, I enclosed my arms, closed my eyes, wrapped around him as he wrapped around me and…

We kissed.

I heard the uproar, the applause, but it was background, white noise.

I was smiling, he smiled, as we kissed.

The sun was warm.

The birds were chirping.

And, when I opened my eyes once more…

…He wasn't there.

The sun wasn't shining.

Thunder clapped in a dark, churning sky.

Rain soaked me to the bone and around me, all around me…

…My friends, family, everyone…

…Lay lifeless…

…Dead…

…And Harry, his body lacerated, blood pouring from gaping wounds…

…Lay at my feet.

He will die.

I heard a voice… My voice?

I was gone.

To say I was shocked, disturbed, out of it…

You know he will die.

The storm didn't hide me, another me, at the opposite end of the wedding aisle, between bodies of family members, those of whom I love.

The other me bore wings of darkest black, eyes and hair of deepest ebon, and skin of palest white.

She stood emotionless, and uttered those words again…

“He will die.”

A menacing, serpent-like male—Voldemort—stood obscure behind this…lightless doppelganger; though, I could see his face…

…And, he was grinning.

***

The Quibbler

Prophet Writer, Gus Perwinsky, Dead

Gus Perwinsky, age 57, was found dead this morning in his Newbury flat. A long-time veteran for the Daily Prophet, Prophet Media declined to comment on terms of “severe remorse” over their recently terminated, famed journalist. Mr. Perwinsky took fire over his last article about Steelknuckles, Gringott's Overseer, and the goblin's open hatred of humankind. He'd forewarned in private-gone-public interviews how it wasn't so much coincidence that Mr. Nolpho was being funded by Steelknuckles, and the fact that the Ministry is currently investigating Prophet Media over their assumed status with Death Eaters. The equation doesn't look good for Skeeter and possibly Mr. Nolpho. The Ministry police and Auror team who initially found Mr. Perwinsky concluded that he'd been first tortured with the Cruciatus Curse, apparent nerve damage from medical scans of his body, and then murdered soon after.

As word spread of the deceased journalist, Prophet Media stock fell, but not by a significant amount to warrant worry by shareholders. A spokesperson from the Prophet put out a press release stating, quote, “Prophet Media will bounce back from any loss created by the Kingsley Administration's false accusations”. Looks as if Prophet Media is already doing cleanup work without causation. No one has pointed a definitive finger at them…yet.

Meygan Brookes

Writer

P.1

{Author Note: Hello, readers! I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Just a small footnote, the wedding scene was heavily written with Breaking Dawn: Part 1 in mind. I loved the scene in the movie, and as I've hinted at Twilight through this fiction, wanted to display possibly my favourite scene in the entire installment via HHr. Also, for musical inspirations, I listened to a lot of Apologize by One Republic (also with Ginny's chapter). The song is so incredibly real, the lyrics. Flightless Bird, American Mouth - Wedding version, too, as well as some miscellaneous 80's songs (Our House by Madness) and a bit of Christmas tunes to settle the mood}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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56. Numb

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.

Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation - Khalil Gibran

***

Chapter Fifty-Six - Numb

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

HARRY POTTER AND THE RAPID RETREAT

To say that I'm sorry to see our Potter-boy back down from the recall of Kingsley Shacklebolt would be a positively devilish lie. Many souls squealed with glee here at Prophet Media when the story crossed the wand whereas Harry Potter would crush so many eager hearts for him to be the next Minister of Magic. Suffice to say, Potter-boy wasn't cut from the cloth meant for such a high standard. Sure, he defeated He Who Must Not Be Named, but the leader of the Magical World deserves someone with merit, not luck.

Quincy Nolpho's team ought to be wickedly happy. In updated polls, his numbers have surged above any other challenger, placing him at the top with no one near him where he should be. When the general election begins in May, if I were a betting person I'd surely place all galleons on Quincy Nolpho. He is for everyone and not just for his elitist comrades. He'll stand up for you and your cause, and will help in the cleanup brought on by the Kingsley Admin. His first stop on the agenda, discussed by his interview with WNN's Morgan: the complete halt of Azkaban Prison's destruction and the re-evaluation of Ministry orders to secure our lives from the menace Kingsley Shacklebolt promised to unleash.

Our votes are for Nolpho and so should yours!

Angelica Teivel

Writer

Page 1

***

The population huddled around the Ministry's Atrium came half-man, half-machine. The congregation of news cameras couldn't compare to the assemblage of news journalists, simple patrons, Ministry workers, Ministry officers and white-cloaked Aurors. The Ministry gave no escape from security, the deluge of team members set strategically as the majority on the foldable, makeshift stage used usually by Toulson's daily press conferences stood ranking officials and other prominent figures of Wizarding society.

Faces the public knew well like Defense Secretary Eaton and the Minister's Squire, Gregory, kept to the back with others, namely those who helped control the Ministry and its environs outside of public eye. The Minister himself wasn't there, but those there waiting for the man of the hour to speak knew quite well his presence and the consequence to be given in the following minutes.

Some of those from that fateful day at Hogwarts were there to witness the momentous occasion. Predominantly, Mister Weasley's ginger hair highlighted the rather drab, dark suits and trousers of those surrounding him. Neville was there in his Ministry robes aside Mister Weasley, and Ginevra, she planted herself opposite Longbottom.

A podium with the Ministry crest, a wand positioned in the middle of a broad “M” with the phrase Ignorantia Legis Neminem Excusat encircling the black-and-gold emblem, sat centre stage. The position beside the one to speak belonged to Hermione, fitted in white-and-black business attire with a peppery coat to keep the cold out. She was there for him, for his statement that could ultimately reset the chess pieces, on this rainy of mornings.

The one to speak, of course, was Harry.

He had approached the podium to many a photography flash.

Stunned for seconds, he lowered towards the microphone to acknowledge those who loved him, and to recount all that he had ever thought for the gathered company. He had not a wink of sleep leading up to this day in January, but realised he must put himself there. With great council from Kingsley Shacklebolt's administration, Kingsley himself and his beloved Hermione, he went on to say…

“…Before I say anything else,” He shouted a bit, ringing in his ears. “I must recognise the one woman who helped me process this difficult decision.”

He glanced at Hermione, and she smiled.

“Many nights did I lay awake in bed trying my best to digest everything,” He peered back into the vast snapshots of camera flashes. “And she kept me grounded during the trial I endured because I've always had this need to be there—for everyone. I've always found myself going out of my way, to bend over backward, for strangers, to help them however possible.”

Harry placed his hand upon his suit-clad heart.

“I know here and out there,” He stared without blinking into the news cameras. “People have hope for me to become the next Minister of Magic.”

Some in the crowd cheered.

“But, I realised…,” Harry sighed into the microphone, the sigh humbly vocal. “It took a lot of thought for me to come to the conclusion that I need what is best for me and for my future. I've come all this way, and I haven't had the best of lives; but now, now I see something I've never had before and I cannot pass that happiness up.”

“To say that I won't break many hearts today…,” Harry looked down at the podium stand and drew a heavy breath. “It really gives me warmth to know that so many of you would want me in that position. And, if I could—I would.”

Hermione put a hand on Harry's slouching shoulder.

He had been burdened every day of his life…now was the time to lift the weight off.

“I apologise to everyone, to Camp Potter, when I say this…”

The camera flashes rose in their speed.

“But I will not be running for the office of Minister of Magic.”

Alleviated gasps settled across the room.

Rumblings of chatter came with them.

“Instead, I am endorsing with every might of my being our current Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He stands for us and will be there in the darkest of our hours. I've trusted Kingsley Shacklebolt with my life, our lives, and he has never let me down. A man of honesty and an honorable man—he deserves to have the Chair, again. He has done great things after the War, and he'll never let harm come to any one of us.”

The shouting began when Harry finished, the British and Ministry flags behind him shifting in man-made breezes.

“Harry! Harry Potter—Patricia Bartlett from Prophet Media…”

When the barrage of questions went quiet by Press Secretary Toulson, diverting the various news organizations to other aspects of their daily conference routine with hand gestures, Hermione leaned over and gave a tired Harry a peck-kiss. She then took his hand, and supported him by her other, and slowly led her emotionally defeated fiance off-stage.

They disappeared via Auror escort and up a lift from the crowd still consuming those intimate shots of them.

***

I'd left Harry early one Sunday morning. I told him where I was going, of course, and when I'd be back. Sometimes I just wanted to get out of the flat, just away to concentrate on me, myself, and I. I had so much on my mind. Ginny and I had gone over everything about the wedding. The wedding dress was chosen, that one I'd always dreamed about, those alike princesses in Disney films: of satin and lace, the purest of white colour.

The morning was a bit chilly, but with a jumper on I kept warm. The London Library was one of my escapes, and my escape today. I loved perusing its large selection of the most intriguing titles, wandering aisle after aisle of old, musty-smelling books. I'd take a few that poked out, interesting volumes, the ancient of ancient texts. I carried them to a lonely table aside a window. I'd sit down and pour over the words, get caught up in some adventure, some other adventure than my own.

Not that I wished for another.

Sometimes I just needed to get out of my shell, experience vicariously something else than all I had witnessed. I couldn't suppress the images that I always toted whether I wanted them or not. I remembered all the suffering, the pain, and especially, the death. I don't think I'd ever lose them, and feared, really, to lose them if I could, as much as it tortured me. I wanted to remember, and remember always, those that sacrificed themselves for us—for me—to live onward, to be free, and to be happy.

No one could ever really rid of the scorched trauma.

I pulled on the yellow strings coming from the collar of my maroon jumper.

I fidgeted in my seat, adjusting my light brown corduroy trousers as I crossed and re-crossed my legs, tapping my Converse trainers on a leg of the sturdy, oak table.

I had a hand in my hair, playing, subconsciously, with a curl, hunched over a dusty old tome forgotten from everyone's view.

Hermione Granger, the know-it-all, all over again…

…In the library, same as always…

…I hadn't noticed anyone, anyone at all, especially someone so intent at watching me, boring into me, until I heard him:

“Hey.”

He came in a wisp of white smoke, having pulled a chair up to mine without making a sound. He startled me, and I shook from the trance, the same trance I'd go into throughout those years at Hogwarts. I nearly toppled over in my chair, having to steady myself and the pages I crumpled, my body becoming defensive.

“Don't do that!” I said beneath a breath, scolding that Weasley-red, my life-long guardian.

“Sorry…,” He smiled, and it drew me back.

I'd never seen him like…that.

Something so incredibly different.

“I had to see you.”

“Don't you see me every day?” I mused, giving a grin and turning back to my book.

Ronald made a laugh, scratching the backside of his head, his Weasley-red tufts shaking forth from this white handkerchief. “You got me there.”

He didn't say anything else, and for the longest time it was quiet. I thought he left it was so silent, and when I turned back to where he sat saw him staring at me. “What…?”

It wasn't so much staring, though… It was like his eyes were going right through me, in me, as if he were reading every miniscule detail, every bit of language I expressed down to the number of tiny breaths I took.

“Hermione…,” he said, placing a leather-gloved hand to his face where he exaggerated his features, running his hand across his face.

“What is it?”

He was obviously troubled.

I went to coax him when he looked away.

I thought he were about to vanish from sight, but his troubles, so deep they were by the amount of anguish on his face, I needed to know. That type of response, from raw sensation, feelings, only came to fruit when something…

“Is something wrong?” My mind raced to several different conclusions, each more disastrous than the next.

“No… No!” He repented in hushes. “It's just…”

He groaned and took a hand, my hand, into his. He looked at me, gazed into my big brown irises with his crystal-clear cerulean ones and said slowly, and with certainty, “Promise you'll do this for me.”

“Do what, Ron?” My eyes were searching his face. Something wanted to speak from his tongue, but he willed it back. “You're scaring me…”

“Just promise me.”

“I won't promise anything until you tell me what is going on!”

Thankfully I sat in a secluded area for my voice wanted to go higher.

He stared.

“…Tell Harry that I cannot be his Best Mate for your wedding—“

“What?!” That octave rose. “Why?!”

He tensed, and I could feel it through his hands with mine. “I'm sorry, Hermione… I'm sorry I've let you down, again…”

“Tell me what the Hell is going on…!”

He watched me in silence.

He watched me turn livid.

He watched how I struck, how he, Harry—how Harry would react when he'd find out that his best mate wouldn't be there for him.

The day, our wedding—it wasn't just about me.

It was as much about me as it was for Harry.

And I wanted everything, everything to be…

Perfect.

“I don't think I've ever not loved you, Hermione.”

I went numb.

“I'm sorry…”

And, Ron vanished, leaving white cloud to intertwine betwixt my fingers.

“…I'll always be there for you,” I heard in echoes.

***

“Love, you don't have to do that…”

I glanced up from my bent position, standing at the dryer with a load of wet coloured clothes in my grasp.

I nudged the opened washer door with the side of my thigh and heard it shut whilst looking at my gorgeous man in the doorway. “I've got it.”

Harry leaned in from the entry, his arm on the doorframe. “But—“

“Shh…,” I tossed the clothes in for round two, swishing a hand back and forth at Harry. “Just run along now, run along.”

He smiled that handsome smile. “You'll be over at Gin's new apartment while I'm gone?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, turning the knobs on the dryer for low spin, medium heat, wrinkle-free. “To try the dress on.”

Harry made a chuckle.

“What?” I smirked, leaning on the top of the now rotating machine.

“Ah, it's nothing… Just thinking…”

“Mm…,” I walked on over to him and placed my hands on his stomach, and then his waist. I watched me touch him, my fingers, their pads, feeling him beneath his shirt. I gazed up at him. “She won't bite if you come over after you're little trip to the bank.”

“You just can't see the dress!” I pointed at him. “It's bad luck, and we've already the best luck in the world.”

He tilted his head back and laughed.

“I suppose we do…,” He leaned forward and kissed me, his hand at my cheek and my cheek rubbing into him. “I suppose we do.”

“Hermione.”

“Mmm…?” He had me in a daze, and when my sight returned I saw him smiling at me.

“I love you.”

I wrapped my arms around him and felt him cradle me to his chest.

***

“You really like the apartment? Been getting paid enough, so I told myself, `I think it's about time to get out on your own'.”

Gin squatted beside me, pinning pieces of fabric together.

She wanted it just right…for me.

“Yes, it's absolutely lovely. I positively adore the contemporary-meets-Art Deco ambience. Was Cho devastated when you left her?” I went to turn towards the mirror, to see me, and she shook me back in place.

“I'm not finished!” she snipped, laughing with a pin in her teeth. “And, no, not really. I really wanted to escape Michael, anyway, the git.”

I glanced down. “From here, you look like your mum.”

Gradually, her eyes met mine.

“Don't you ever say that again to me… Ever!”

I laughed. “And you even sound like her!”

Ginny groaned. “Oh, shush up…,” and she went back to work.

I stood, patiently, still.

I could see my backside in the mirror. The reflection gave me the direct view of the subtle, transparent fabric as my skin shone through. Down the centre, beads, dozens upon dozens of them like pearls along my spine. I'd be wearing mummy's hairclip, something old and something blue, handed down from her mother and now, to me. But at the moment, my curtain of mahogany and cinnamon cascaded loosely and swayed whenever Gin tugged.

“So, where'd Harry wander off to again?”

“He won daddy over after insisting to pay for the majority of the wedding for months on end,” I watched as Gin tightened a loose thread at a seam, being very cautious and kind towards the fragile satin fabric.

Gin looked at me, the pin out of her mouth. “Well, that's awfully nice of him. Your father's about as stubborn as Harry is.”

I lit in laughter. “Yeah… I'm afraid so. So, Harry's making a withdrawal from Gringott's. You know, we still haven't decided on if we want a live band for the reception.”

Gin nodded in acknowledgement, her eyes keenly on the seam she'd sewn up.

“There we are!” She went to stand up, pushing from the floor with her hands and dusted off.

“May I look in the mirror now?” I asked if I were talking to my own mummy.

Gin smirked. “I mean, if you really want to…”

I gasped when I saw…me.

I didn't look real.

Everything was so…

I had to touch, to feel, the elegant fabric at my sides, on my stomach…the intricately patterned lace on my back. I felt every niche, every rise and fall of delicate material. I felt the silkiness of my sleeves, the cuff, till I… I felt the engagement ring on my finger.

I quickly drew in a breath, and held a shaking hand over my quivering lips.

To actually have it on…

I could feel the flood of tears building at their ducts.

I felt Gin put her hand on my back and come into the reflection.

“You're beautiful, Mi,” She smiled and rubbed my back. She put her head on my shoulder and smiled some more. “Harry's certainly being given a gift…”

Her smile then changed to her more normal features.

She pointed sternly at my reflection. “…And, if he ever does anything!”

I laughed into my hand, tears having stained my cheeks.

I enveloped Gin in an embrace and she held me.

I couldn't hide it any longer.

My excitement.

My worries.

My fears.

The happiness.

All at once, mixed, and poured forth as I wept on Ginny's shoulder.

“Aww…,” she patted my back, and resumed her rub. “I know, I know…”

It hit me.

And, it was so, very…

Real.

When I finally released her, she took a tissue and wiped my cheeks, dabbed my eyes of their tears of…joy.

I stuttered a breath, and made it into a laugh.

“I apologise for being so…,” I fanned my face. “Gushy all of a sudden. I don't know what's become of me. I'm an emotional wreck.”

Gin laughed. “There's nothing wrong with being gushy… It's your wedding, Mi!”

She took my arms, in which she held, and embraced me once more.

I hugged her, too.

“You're just so beautiful…,” she whispered into my ear.

I smiled.

After all this…after everything…

The time was finally here.

***

I remembered looking out across the River Thames, at the water, the view from Ginny's flat. The sky was overcast. A chill hung in the air. Another average day in London… But, within me, it was everything but average. I smiled when the wind picked up, and I could smell the sea. I could hear Ginny somewhere from her bedroom, where I was. I was sure she was finding something for us to eat. I'd given word, of course, that Harry might be joining us soon. And, knowing her, she wanted to be prepared, to make everything special.

I sighed, contently, into a breeze.

My back was leaned against the windowsill as I sat inside it.

I ran the picture of me, of me in my stunning, simply stunning wedding dress in my mind over, and over, and over again.

I put myself there, with my family, my friends, with…Harry, at the wedding.

I couldn't get enough of the feeling.

I couldn't keep from smiling.

I tilted my head back against the wooden frame and watched some toddlers in the streets below with their parents; so innocent, so carefree.

A bit of that, now, within me.

I gazed back over the river, along the banks at the other side, to see Britain's Parliament building, and Big Ben.

Another breeze blew those strands of hair away from my eyes, that part of me that always seemed to be hidden…

…And, I never felt more alive than what I felt right at that moment.

Right when I saw them, my eyes fixed on the face of Big Ben…an explosion rocked main street London.

I had to steady myself on the sill, the room trembling.

A trail of black smoke collided with him, and then Parliament, fire and plumes of smoke billowing now from a gaping hole.

With great fright, my head twisted toward terrifying snapping noises filling the air. The supports for the Tower Bridge were coming apart, long cries from cut steel cables, and down went the two monoliths as if they were made of matchsticks.

Buildings at random were set aflame, that smoke now cluttering the skyline in a bat of an eye.

I heard the screams from the children, their parents below.

People had stopped; one car after the next, climbing out of their seats to see the chaos and commotion beyond us—coming closer.

I heard the Muggle police, explosion after explosion striking the horror-filled environment.

Gin's apartment building shuttered after each successive blow, pictures of her family, friends, of me, and Harry, and Neville and—everyone—falling off her walls.

The atmosphere groaned as parts of buildings tumbled to the streets.

The public on the streets began to run.

I went to run, to run and get Gin, only to smack straight into her.

“We've got to go!” she shouted through the world's wails. I was blank. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be real. What I had been feeling—that was real.

She shook me. “We've got to get out of here!”

I was stuck.

She took my hand…

…And…

…When I looked back, from where I had been sitting seconds ago, mere seconds, a breath's time, so innocent, so carefree…

…I saw, not one, but several dozen Dark Marks churning in the cloudy skies above London.

Sirens and car alarms were all I could hear.

No talking.

No laughing.

Not a breath.

Happiness ceased.

A picture of Harry raced through my mind…

…And, I was numb again.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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57. Death

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.

Unable are the loved to die for love is immortality - Emily Dickinson

***

Chapter Fifty-Seven - Death

***

Harry unfastened the first few buttons of his trench coat. Dodging the media crowd he left on the streets behind him, he took note of their cameras flashing through Gringott's tall windows looking out towards Violet Hill's commercial district. He made a laugh, witches and wizards, magical creatures alike, all disturbed by the frantic, fanatical media. They'd grown to dislike the fact that, when Harry arrived anywhere, the whole town would stop. Some, as he heard closely, spat on the photographers, cursing the paparazzi in their native tongues for disrupting their businesses.

In a sadistic appeal, Harry genuinely enjoyed feeling like everyone else when someone would give him an angry eye for disrupting the peace. It didn't make him feel like he was someone everything else made him out to be. So, when he stood there just inside the doorway, shaking off the cold, he smiled as rows of goblins gave him a sneer.

“Good afternoon,” he tipped his cap to one goblin in standard Gringott's attire, a black suit just like the rest, with each and every one of them counting stacks of gold. One goblin, the smarmiest looking of them all, gave a chuckle, dismissing Harry even before he could greet the goblin with another, “How do you do?”

He had to wait when he'd gotten to the main desk centred on the lengthy aisle. The two goblins acknowledged him with a glance, but continued whispering in Gobbledygook. Harry lifted his sleeve to check the time, to hear one goblin say, “…Rubbish…” beneath his breath.

He gave Harry a sneer, sized him up, and laughed as he climbed down from the Head Banker's desk steps. The goblin, pale-yellow with a hint of brown, gazed over the desk at the handsome Harry Potter with his beady black eyes. The tuft of one might call hair stuck sideways from atop his mostly-bald head. He grinned—if one would call it that—and intertwined his slender claws together, his nails fairly sharp-looking and able to pierce.

“Mister Potter…,” the goblin heaved.

“Good afternoon, sir,” Harry nodded to the Head, and the goblin, albeit slowly, nodded as well. “I've come for a withdrawal.”

“You've come for a withdrawal, you say?” The goblin made note of Harry's statement with ink and quill. The goblin wheezed, and Harry thought he could hear him laugh through his wheeze.

“Yes, sir,” Although Hermione, his love, held his mind's attention, he couldn't help but feel a draft at his backside. The draft brought a chill up his spine, and he suddenly felt as if he were being watched.

“A simple withdrawal,” Harry said with a bit of haste, and as he retrieved the note for the amount in his coat pocket, he looked askance at a nearby goblin watching him curiously and rubbing his scraggly-bearded chin.

“I've dinner plans, sir,” Harry gave the note to the Head. “If you could possibly be—“

“Your key please, Mister Potter…,” The Head grinned a fang-toothed grin and offered out his hand.

Harry placed the key atop the note for the withdrawal amount.

The moment the key dropped into the goblin's hand, the floor of Gringott's shook. Harry immediately looked at his feet, and then back up to the goblin. “Did you just feel that…?”

“I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about, Mister Potter,” The Head had leaned far back in his chair. He had a devilish smile upon his face and motioned over for an assistant, calling for him in Gobbledygook.

Gringott's shook again, the walls trembling, the ornate glass above Harry swaying with each shock.

Harry's eyes went wide when he re-appeared within the goblin's dark ones. The goblin didn't struggle to curl his lips.

Not caring about his blasted galleons, Harry legged it.

Every, single goblin had their eyes on him, and when Harry breached the entrance, stumbling outside, he saw the crowds lined up in the streets. None of them, including the photographers who made their life following his every lead, took notice. All eyes, human and creature, set themselves on a streaming live broadcast from WNN. Dead silent, news anchor Kelly Morgan's voice sounded as if she'd been charmed to speak over intercom, louder than normal. The several televisions showed pictures of current events happening now. A ticker above, which typically read stock numbers, now read:

“REPORTS SAY LONDON HAS BEEN ATTACKED BY DEATH EATERS”

The picture on screen shows a rather large hole in Parliament, and beside it, a devastated Big Ben. The top of the clock tower looked to have been cleared away, chopped in half.

“…Looks as if, yes, the British Parliament has been hit as well as London's Big Ben, an attraction for tourists and a symbol for British solidarity. I cannot fathom why—why anyone would do this—and now new reports are coming in off the wand whereas the Tower Bridge has also been targeted…”

“…the Ministry itself has not been attacked, confirms some reports. People are pouring in from everywhere to escape…”

“…Minister Shacklebolt, who was discussing with United States agencies on how to disrupt these groups before they attacked, has been notified by Defense Secretary Eaton and his cabinet. Defense Secretary Eaton has also called for all able-bodied Aurors and Ministry police anywhere in the country to the site…

“…the United States Ministry, as well as other European Ministries, has condemned the attacks, calling them, `Cowards' for going after Muggle civilians…”

“…Defense Secretary Eaton has also called for Code Black for every Wizarding society within Britain…”

Morgan's words fell forth in a heartbeat.

Sirens went off and, suddenly, the mass huddled around the screens dispersed into madness.

Harry was caught up by the sea of fleeing bodies.

People tried to apparate, but they couldn't—Harry tried to apparate, only receiving the pop, but shorting out with a fizzled noise. The cement shuddered, like an earthquake, the windows Harry passed shaking so violently that some merely broke and shattered onto people as they ran. Harry could hear the shouts of mercy, the cries of confusion, but couldn't make sense from one or the other. People held their hands over their ears, and Harry had to, as well, the sirens drilling into his skull.

Something fell from the sky, with more rocking, an explosion…and a piece of a building tumbled down, squashing innocence as it rolled carelessly down the avenue.

Screams of terror, anguish—people crying all around him—and all he could think about was Hermione…in London.

The transportation to the Ministry would be bottle-necked.

He had to get to the outskirts of Violet Hill, outside Code Black.

Some people stumbled, falling helplessly to the asphalt.

Harry had to shut his eyes as one individual was tossed like a rag doll and left to die, stampeded over.

If he were to stop, he'd be the one dead, the bodies pushing him onward.

Another explosion had Harry look up.

He saw the Dark Mark, he saw the trails of black.

He saw one person taken by the black smoke, and then another.

He wanted to see the white, the Aurors—where were they?!

Bright flashes of spells sprung in a rainbow of colour as citizen fought off their murderer as best they could…though, the evil had their upper hand: one deathly strike could take out more than one individual in the tightly compacted environs.

Blood spilt on Harry, managing to run down an alley with others, to get off the main strip and back around to a side street.

It didn't matter; the number of those wishing to kill appearing to grow.

A white-hot flash of pain hit his forehead.

Harry, dazed, resisted the pain, a hand to his scar…

…When he felt himself stop.

His legs flailed as he was plucked from the crowd.

He heard a voice, a familiar one at his ear.

He fought within the ebon cloud, knowing with each passing second he went further and further up.

“She will die…” The Death Eater whispered. “Like a delicacy, though; we will bide our time…”

“You've lost already!” yelled Harry, twisting and turning, throwing punches, struggling to find his wand in the smoke.

His coat pocket had been emptied of his wand.

“Kingsley is such a pitiful man…the Order is pathetic…”

“She's protected—she will always be protected!!”

“…Like…”

He heard the deep groan of glee from the Death Eater.

“…You?”

Harry's vision succumbed to a vile green.

He was released from the clutches of the Death Eater, his body feeling free as he fell so many miles above earth.

He felt nothing, no nerves, no breaths; but, he did feel the last thump of his beating heart…

~~~

“…Tell me, again, the plan Kingsley…”

“…There's too many of them, Harry, and they've decided that they can't come after you; so, they're going after—“

“Make it happen, Kingsley!” Harry slammed his fist down on Kingsley's desk.

They were in his office down deep within the Ministry hold, the same office Harry had been in before…and now, several times…

“I promised Albus—“

“Albus isn't here!” Harry rose from his chair, and as he did, pointed nerve-stricken finger at the Minister. “No more promise!”

“Promise me, Kingsley!” Harry patted his chest, his heart. “Promise me!”

“You'll die—“

“She will live if it's on my dying breath!”

Kingsley put his elbows on his desk and slowly rubbed his eyes. Muffled, he resounded, “We're thinned, but I will keep you both—“

“Her, Kingsley! We've been over this!” demanded a reddened-faced Harry. “You'll keep HER safe!!”

Kingsley's hands dropped from his eyes to his mouth.

He stared, motionless, tired, at Harry.

He paused, the silence deafening, and answered in a withheld breath, “…She will be safe, Harry. You have my full cooperation, and trust.”

Harry fell back in his seat…pleased, but ultimately defeated.

…He had chosen his path.

…

“I can't do it anymore.”

“…What can't you do anymore, Harry?”

Harry looked into the slowly enraging fiery red-head. It didn't take a brain surgeon to realize just what route he fled down.

Gin traipsed with caution for the scenario triggered… “Is this about—?”

Harry's eyes, which had gone to the floor, shot up to hers again.

“You fucking wanker,” Gin swiftly lifted from the cushioned seat of Cho's sofa. They were alone when Harry came looking for her. Alone, however, could get very bad for Harry if he so enticed that Weasley woman's touch. She'd become Ginevra, the daughter of Molly, and wholly alike in the situational personality. “Did you actually think you could—?!”

Ginevra's voice overcame Harry's. If not for Harry's mouth moving, she'd have easily not heard him at all. “Repeat what you said this instant!” she ordered. “Loud and clear for me.”

She tapped her right ear, flipping that Weasley-red around.

“I said,” Harry spoke firm, his sight square with hers as he glanced upward now. “I am the target. They want me. In proximity, she'd be a bystander to—“

Harry, instantly clocked, fell to his right and shortly stopped by his hand before he fully landed on the sofa's armrest. He held the side of his face, his head jerked the way he went down. He shot back, seeing Ginevra shake her stinging hand. She certainly had the right-hook down. Harry went about rotating his now jarred jaw. He'd hoped there wouldn't be a bruise, or Hermione would surely ask questions.

“Want to say what you wanted to say again?” Gin asked sarcastically, flushed marks on each of her knuckles from the collision she caused. “Say it again, Harry. I didn't get it all out last time I got my hands on you for fucking screwing her over. The Hell do you think you're doing, hm? The plans you guys have! Your future! You're about to get married!”

She poked at her head. “You've gone mental? I swear, I—“

“Damn it, Gin—listen to me for a fucking second and drop that fist, eh?” Harry's calm had gone. He remained firm, but increased his tone. “They're after me. The god damn Death Eater's are after me—the whole god damn fleet of them! How many will try and get me with the Killing Curse? How many of that will miss and hit Hermione?! If I'm gone—“

“If you're gone it'll fucking kill her, Harry!” Gin threw her hands up in the air. “What happened when you came from the Ministry? How was she, Harry? Multiply that emotion you saw by infinity. She'd attempt something, at worst—I don't even want to think about it. She loves you—as painful that is for me to admit—especially to some pathetic wanker—“

“Gin,” Harry interrupted Gin's rant. “If anything happens to me, I want you to take care of her.”

Gin abruptly stopped her tirade.

She stared intently, her hands dropping down to her hips.

Harry gazed into the unblinking saucers, Gin's golden-brown eyes flickering in the firelight. “Promise me. Promise me that if I die—“

“You're not going to die.”

“Promise me, Gin.”

“You're not going to die! Period!” she shouted at him.

Harry stared back just as fixed, silent.

He finally broke the quietness after a few seconds between the motionless bodies. “Gin…,” he whispered faintly.

“You're not going to die,” Gin said with a tinge of hopelessness. “She'd go—“

“With you,” Harry ended. “I want you to look out for her when I'm gone.”

Gin stood still, but with the quickness of a feline rose a claw and swiped across Harry's cheek. The slap rang and echoed in the household, Harry's head being jerked once more to the right. He jolted back to his original position, eyeing her down.

“Hurt her, you bastard…and you'll have to deal with me…” She pointed to herself.

“I know you love her too much to let her go.”

Gin pivoted on her heel and left Harry, waving from behind, “You know where the exit is. Don't let the door hit your arse on the way out.”

…

“Ron.”

Harry sat on the last step of Number Twelve. His trainers lay flat on the cobblestone, and beyond that, the magic that made Grimmauld Place impenetrable. He had a cup of hot tea in his hands when he called for his best mate, knowing he'd appear before his eyes.

And Ron did, his Auror cloak billowing in a fresh, cool, wintery breeze.

“Where's Hermione?” Ron asked, kneeling down aside Harry.

He kept a distance in which Harry grinned, looking down inside the cup to see the black-brownish liquid immerse his face with heat. “She's fast asleep.”

Ron was gazing up at the stars when Harry met back with him.

“It is rather late.”

“Past midnight, and she's got—“

“Lessons tomorrow morning,” Ron nodded. “I know her schedule by heart.”

Harry smiled and swirled the tea, swishing the cup in small circles. “You care a lot about her.”

“And, so do you,” Ron ended. “Or, you better.”

Ron never took his eyes off the stars.

Harry glanced upwards, too. “She is my life.”

Quietness ensued, and Harry broke it, saying in a sip, “…She told me what you said.”

“What did I say?”

“That you loved her.”

“She did, did she?” Ron coughed into the backside of his leather glove and retracted his sight back to the millions of twinkling stars. “I've always loved her. I was just too much of a bastard to realise what I had, and then it was too late. She'd found a better mate, someone who treated her the way she should have been treated.”

Harry smiled.

“You know Ginny fancies her?” Ron finally looked over at Harry.

“Oh…,” Harry stayed with the stars. He took another sip. “…I've known that for some time. She'll take good care of Hermione.”

“Just like that, huh? You're finished? Done?”

“Any other word from Kingsley then?”

Ron sighed, sharing Harry's gaze with the midnight sky. “…No.”

“…Then between Gin—and you—“

“I'll protect her if they come.”

Harry's eyes lowered and met Ron.

Ron's came unglued from the sky.

“I know you will, mate. You've yet to let me down.”

“I won't let her down,” He gave Harry's shoulder a nudge with his fist. “…And, I'd fight for you if I weren't—“

“I know, mate. I know…,” Harry went back to the stars. “Just keep an eye on her…when I'm not around…”

“She'll never gain a scratch.”

The silence caught on, again, until…

“Can you feel her—Hermione?”

“…I feel her every day.” Ron breathed.

“Is she…,” Harry stopped, suppressing an urge to…to feel the raw, wrought emotions he kept carefully closed. “…Is she happy?”

Ron gave a look to Harry, his cerulean irises flicking here, and there, at Harry's stifled features, his retired expression. He gave an exasperated sigh, a laugh with no humour, more of bursted, pent-up air than a chuckle, and patted Harry's tensed shoulder.

“…She's never been happier, Harry…”

~~~

His mind went blank, plummeting, his appendages, legs, arms, grasping at air.

In a blink, his final visage, he saw him…

The blonde-haired Slytherin grinned, waving goodbye to Harry James Potter.

A white light took Harry…

…And the image of dark skies, Dark Marks, and Xavier were no more.

***

The Pentagon, Arlington, Virginia

US Ministry, Central Intelligence Agency-branch, in conjunction with the Federal Bureau of Investigation

The word of the attack on London has just been given to Kingsley Shacklebolt whilst discussing Magical-Muggle tactics with US Defense Secretary Cohen in circumventing targeted attacks within the States. Along with the meeting stood an Elven ambassador and his aides, stunned alongside the magical might of the West.

Kingsley Shacklebolt kept to a monitor in the lower recesses of the Pentagon, remaining…calm…trying to stay in control as his own Defense Secretary, Eaton, communicated in detail exactly what had happened.

“—Sir, we believe someone tipped them off.”

“Who do you believe tipped them off, Eaton? The individuals we have discussed with great emphasis, or—“

“We're not entirely sure, sir. The Auror teams have been asked to capture, not kill, for intelligence reasons.”

“Give them all the tools necessary to stop them at any cost, Eaton!”

“They've been ordered to kill if necessary, of course, sir. Have they prepared the Floo? We need you here.”

“I'll be there in minutes—give me the current run down of casualties. How is London? How are the Muggles?”

“We haven't gotten an exact number, but I fear hundreds, maybe thousands of Muggles.”

Kingsley slams his hand down upon a desk, gazing up towards the picture of Eaton, and behind him the lower-level Ministry, flickering in-and-out. “Damn it to Hell!”

“Our teams have shut down London, and they're currently working to shut down all major cities within our walls. Prime Minister Blair and the Queen have been moved to their designated safety bunkers. Code Black has been initiated to keep the Death Eaters from retreating.”

“The Obliviators are going to be having a field day…”

“The Obliviators are already on the scene.”

“Damn it! There shouldn't have been any deaths on my watch, Eaton! None!”

“What could we do, sir? The information we gather didn't show us their ranks. We weren't expecting this many—they've caught us with our pants down.”

“Everything was going to plan…why…,” Kingsley blurred out of reality listlessly. A fire sparked within him. “Send out every person in our Reconstruction teams now!”

“They're prepped and ready to go when the cities are properly secure, sir.”

“I want them out there now, Eaton! These aren't a few houses we're dealing with here!”

Eaton is shown turning away, but just for a second, to shout orders at someone behind him.

“How is Beta—is she safe? Is she safe?!”

“Beta has been moved by Gamma—they're at the Ministry and are under our watch.”

“How many others are there?”

“Tons, sir. Too many to count. They've blocked the Floo portals and have overrun the Atrium. The police are trying to accommodate everyone by re-locating them to different levels. Their training has given them enough fortitude to take on the hundreds Flooing in.”

“Is Alpha with them?”

Eaton went quiet, his eyes away from his side of the monitor.

“Is Alpha there?!”

More silence.

“For Christ's sake, Eaton! Is Alpha among the survivors?!”

Eaton looks back into the monitor with evident bags beneath his eyes.

“…Alpha has been…eliminated.”

Kingsley clutched his chest.

“…Albus…I couldn't keep him safe…I…”

The promise undone, his soul crushed… Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt doubled over in defeat. The Elven ambassador, who had stood by and heard it all, caught him with great finesse before Shacklebolt could crumble to the cold floor. Staring with determination into the flashing picture of the old, worn English Secretary, the fearless human-like creature stated with courage:

“We vow with undying rest to help you find resolution for this day.”

***

When he landed he was awake.

He found no pain, no broken bones, no blood.

“Harry, my gracious, wonderful boy…”

He knew who cried out for him.

Enveloped in white, Harry heard a whistle of a train entering King's Cross station.

He turned to see…

Professor Albus Dumbledore, the same as before.

He had his hand out for Harry.

The train behind Dumbledore slowed to a stop, its doors opening.

Harry took Professor Dumbledore's hand, a warm, familiar grip.

Harry looked into Albus's kind eyes as he heard him say:

“It is all right, my son,” Albus nodded, knowing Harry had left it all…behind. “…It is time, now, for you to be at peace here at home. People are waiting for you. Your family is waiting for you…”

The thought hit him.

To see his father…

…His mother…

…Again.

Harry stepped onto the train.

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58. Retribution

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.

If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge? - William Shakespeare

***

Chapter Fifty-Eight - Retribution

***

Two hours after Harry's death

Trafalgar Square

The call to arms for all able-bodied Aurors in the country has taken its toll on the Death Eaters. A war zone, Trafalgar Square has seen better days. The once busy destination now lay practically in ruins with not a soul aside from a high-pitched scream or an explosion. Clung to the overcast, dark sky laid still the Dark Marks, their serpent-tongues lashing down upon London as if to mock him.

Down one lonely alley a Death Eater has surrendered, but not given his chance. The Auror, more sophisticatedly skilled and with his prowess, takes advantage of the amateur enemy. By hands only, the white cloak tosses the Death Eater as if he isn't human, but a puppet and slams him against the alley's brick wall.

The sound of bone crunching echoes, and some of the brick chips off.

“…Disgusting, repulsive…!” The Auror picks the crumpled black robe off the ground, having him dangle freely in the air by his throat.

The Death Eater, still alive, but barely, fights, struggles to find air as he's choked. His eyes bulge profusely as he claws at the invisible force, the Auror's power suppressing his pipes. The Death Eater can't yell, even if he could, and gasps once, a second time, kicking his legs as tears stream down his dirty cheeks.

“Witness our strength—have the fear crawl through your murderous veins like marching ants to feast on your cold, unforgiving heart!”

A sound is heard in the stillness, resounding, like a sharp pebble skipping along the hard cement.

The Auror turns in haste, his other hand, his palm at the ready, feeling the force of his training relinquish from his fingers when—

“…That'll be quite enough…”

The sound comes from a wobbling, though rigid and sturdy, black cane. Clad in Ministry ensemble, though out of the environ's norm with suit and tie, the crippled man hobbles unhurriedly towards the prepped Auror. The Auror, feeling the might at his finger tips, that could easily snap a man's neck with just a flick of his wrist, lowers his waited hand.

“Sir?”

The uniform wearing male leans on his crutch, the cane, silvery at its peak within his own fingers, and places a hand on the apprehensively tensed Auror. “It's all right, son. Let him go.”

He nods with care towards the Auror's perplexed expression.

The Auror, looking back at his captured enemy, still fighting, still clawing at the nonexistent hands enclosed about his throat, descends the hand and drops the black robes in its heap. One can hear the Death Eater panting, spitting up, and sucking in as much air to satisfy what he lacked.

“Sir!” The Auror goes down on one knee, bowing his head with respect.

The suited man pats the Auror's hood, his head, as he hobbles forward to the once-asphyxiated Follower of Voldemort. The man walks with ease, as much as he hobbles, his right leg culprit. The man gazes down at the crumpled figure in black, and the Death Eater meets him with fright in his wide eyes.

“Have mercy!” The Death Eater throws himself at the venerated man's boots.

The man finds pity, and empathy…for the poor, misinformed, child he sees before him.

The man glances toward the sky, at the Dark Mark hovering in its fanatical, menacing stare, and then back down at the lone Death Eater. He shifts with his cane to look behind him, at the Auror watching his every lead.

“Take the boy to my office at once.”

“Yes sir!” The Auror, still on bended knee, salutes the man from the Ministry by bowing, putting an arm to his chest, and then quickly moves with smoke to catch the Death Eater in his arms.

The Death Eater, seeing his last vision of the man, pleads in his distress, utmost terror, “I beg of you, don't—“

And, in a blink, the Auror and his enemy vanishes.

The man sighs, glancing back at the formidable skies, the darkness, the skull hissing at him. He puts his black, leather-gloved hand to his forehead, seeing…visions…

“…Why are they always children?”

He sighs again.

His hand instantly becomes his shield as raindrops begin to fall.

He checks his pocket watch.

The bells of Westminster Abbey ring on cue.

“If only he lived just a few hours more…”

The man, himself, vanishes…smokeless, without sound.

***

Seven hours after Harry's death

Somewhere in Britain

In a field far from civilization, no paved roads, trees abound, sits an abandoned shack. The commotion inside can be heard, felt and seen as laughter unsettles the rather calm night; calmer, as the cities of Britain are still trying to recuperate from the unsuspected attack. Music can be heard, or the sounds of music, metal-shredding noises, drowning out whenever there wasn't exceptional glee.

The occupants inside were having quite a riot. The windows, however broken they were, shed light in a variety of colour from their panes. The landscape, the trees, the grass, turned from orange, to purple, to the blue of blues in rapid succession. When drawing closer, one could smell, taste the pungent odor of alcohol…

Inside, Potter paraphernalia plasters the walls: Undesirable No.1 with Harry looking rather distressed. A colour would light up the room, and laughter, and one scroll piece would burn to ashes, to another, and another. The interior lacked much in the way of furniture, spacious, and for the dozens upon dozens of inhabitants, merry-goers, riled men and women in black robes, they needed the space to…stumble about, break things, and be incredibly obnoxious. Each Death Eater, their skull masks removed, had drinks in their hands. Wine, vodka, and rum bottles dotted the floor, or that of their shattered glass, having fallen from one of the few tables scattered around.

One such table sat in the middle, and one Death Eater, a prominent figure amongst the rest, his build, his stature, and his confidence making those who were more sober gaze up from the rave.

He whistled to gather everyone's attention, and when that didn't work shouted the Killing Curse, his wand pointed at the ceiling. The room, aware of that certain green colour, was instantly captured by the man.

He glanced around, smiling, reveling in the heightened atmosphere, his comrades of action, the believers of fate, the heroes of history.

A gentle breeze blew through the now quieted room.

“I just wanted to say…!”

The Death Eater raised his hands, palms up, a grin widening. The bit of cloak that hung from his arms wafted in another warm breeze.

“…Harry Potter is dead!”

The uproar of laughter and shouts were unbearably loud; but, for his ego, he found it flavourful. The Death Eater licked his lips, his long, black hair shifting right to left in another breath of the world around him.

“Absorb this glorious moment, my brothers—sisters! Take it in!”

The sounds of people falling over drunk, their bottles, squeals of joy and curses towards Potter began once more.

“Tonight we shall revel as one, His legion!”

The Death Eater held up a bottle of whiskey, some of its contents spilling.

“Praise be to Lord Voldemort!”

“Praise be to Lord Voldemort!” cheered the riots, engaged and slurring in their individual festivities.

A zephyr blew, bringing the Death Eater atop the table, his head tilted back, thirsting on the neck of whiskey, a shudder; something, something he hadn't felt before.

A chill ran up his spine.

He'd heard in the wind…

“Quiet!” he demanded.

The noise had grown, the gala of drugs and sexual fancy ripe.

He put his wand to his throat.

“QUIET YOU IGNORANT FOOLS!!”

The revelers all but stopped.

In the far reaches, in the shadows, still some grunts were heard as background.

“What's this then?!” screamed one from the mass, a blonde, blue-eyed female trying to kiss him, but missing.

“Yeah, what's the problem?!”

“Fuck you! We killed Potter! We're having a—“

The Death Eater had leapt from the table and gone closer to the wall.

“Shut the fuck up! All of you!” He'd turned from the peeling, faded wallpaper, the severely aged wood.

“All hail Lord Voldemort!” yelled someone else, a female, and shrilly.

The Death Eater, confused, befuddled as to what he had heard drew in closer. He held his ear to the wall, wanting to hear again…

…Sevig chur?…

The crowd began its frivolity, and the Death Eater, again, placed his wand to his throat to shout, “ONE MORE WORD AND I'LL HAVE ALL YOUR HEADS!!”

…Ve Thorthol…

The Death Eater's eyes went wide, he'd heard it…

He knew he had, inching closer, looking at the walls surrounding him…everywhere.

…Avo dheo enni…

The curses now came at the one Death Eater, verbally, for halting their fun.

He knew he hadn't gone…mad.

He'd heard it!

He went to turn…

…Maybe it had been on the other side…

…The other wall?

When something reached out, at his ear, and took him by surprised. Surprised, though wasn't enough. In one easy, agile twist, the arms that had wound about his neck swiftly popped back his skull and snapped his backbone in two. His limp form fell straight to the floor.

Lacho calad! Drego morn!

Bodies, appearing as if from thin air, came from the walls—everywhere—the Death Eaters shrieking, fleeing, unable to grasp for their wands in time before one was struck, and then another, the pointy-eared creatures pulling forth their bows and releasing one arrow, a second, multiplying quickly and with precision.

Arrows, embellished with their own hues, whistled swiftly through the air…

…hitting the carotid of one.

…stabbing the heart of another.

…shooting through an eye of a third.

Some arrows, when finding their targets, imploded upon impact, causing blood-curdling screams where an appendage would be torn off and blown back.

Others caught their target in flames, boiling not only their skin to the bone, but boiling the cloth directly to their liquidized flesh.

Some Elves dove, catching those that made it through the forest of bolts and took them out with an array of unrestricted flurry, feeling their own forms like water. One leapt on a Death Eater's backside, his knee into the back of the black robe which collided with the dirt. He pulled from his boot a knife and slit the murderer's throat. With care, with no muscle frayed nor imperfect incision, nothing but fresh blood poured. The Death Eater saw the Elven face, pure white and beautifully sculpted, as his mouth filled with his chilling fluids. The Death Eater clung to the form-fitted dark garb on the Elf. She spat her blood she suffocated on, saliva and sanguine dripping from the Elf's perfect face. The elf never once looked away, watching the Death Eater die.

Her grip loosened, her arm falling unnaturally to the dirt, her blonde now wet with red.

Screams of horror rung out, and with each, silence abruptly came. All was left was the metal-thrashing music from the radio. The smell of alcohol mixed, now, with an abundant stench. And when the batteries ran out of power all was…still.

A Muggle could have walked by without ever knowing anyone or anything was ever there.

The abandoned shack was cleared of the Followers' demise, and for the odor the winds took with them.

***

Twelve hours after Harry's death

Deep in the British Ministry's underground, The Minister's Second Office

“…How are my men, Eaton?” The lights out, Kingsley spoke to a shadow in the doorway. “Tell me their progress.”

“Sir…?” Eaton went to step further in, but was brandished by a shout from Kingsley.

“That's quite enough! Do not step any closer than you are or I will dismiss you immediately!” Kingsley, clutching at his chest, withdrew further in his corner of the pitch black room. “Tell me of my men, now!”

Eaton took a backwards step, bowing. “Sir, I apologize for my insolence… Some men are wounded, some have…perished; but, London has been taken back. All Muggle cities are becoming secure.”

“Ours?”

“Violet Hill took the severity of the damage…”

Kingsley, wrought with pain, felt his heart skip, his muscles tighten.

Eaton couldn't see him in the lightless room, but the Minister was hunched over, looking to vomit. He heaved a dry breath. “Go on…”

“Sir—shall I call for aid—“

“GO ON, I SAID!”

“…All other cities took minimal damage. The team sent to Hogwarts has reported in. Hogwarts wasn't targeted. The children are safe.

The darkened room filled with silence.

“…Sir?” Eaton asked after a quiet while. “Minister?”

“…Where did they move his body, Eaton?”

“A team is currently moving his body here, Sir, for investigation—“

“For what?!”

“By protocol—“

“To Hell with protocols!” Kingsley banged his fist against the wall and spat up something foul. “No investigation!”

“But, sir—“

“DO NOT TOUCH HIS BODY, EATON! TELL OUR MEDICAL TEAM THEY WILL BE TERMINATED IF THEY DEFILE HIS BODY!!”

Eaton bowed. “Yes, Minister. I apologise, again, for my words…”

The room went quiet, deathly still.

“Minister…?”

Kingsley coughed, wrenching, grasping claw-like at the rock-hard wall. “Issue an order for me, Eaton… Tell Toulson and Gregory to set up… There will be…”

“Sir—you're not yourself—I must persuade you otherwise. You had to do what you did. You had to tell her—your decision—his decision—it wasn't your fault—“

Eaton knew Kingsley's direction.

“Tell them now, Eaton.” Kingsley shouted. “NOW!”

“I cannot—“

“You're either with me or against me!”

“Sir—“

“NOW!!”

“…Yes…,” The older man bowed out of the entry. “…Minister. Your will is my command.”

“…Thank you, Eaton,” Kingsley coughed and finally released his emotion, vomiting. He breathed heavily. “You've been a good friend to me…”

“…I'll be sending a medical expert to prescribe a potion on the way…”

“…Thank you…”

Kingsley, without an ounce of self left, falls to his knees.

White robes can be seen in the corridor looking in on Kingsley's dishevelment. One of them goes in, but is stopped by another, a gloved-hand to their arm. The one who halted shakes its head, the cloak's hood concealing all who bear witness to the Minister's grovel. The Auror, his or her shoulders reacting to its sigh, steps away and down the hallway with a cohort following quickly at the white robe's heels.

***

Fourteen hours after Harry's death

From The Minister's First Office

“…My brothers and sisters, Muggle and magical…,” A single camera records from a distance. Kingsley, sickened and pale, resides in the Chair, the highest position in the entire magical universe, slouched over his desk. Behind the camera, Eaton, Gregory, and the rest of his council watch the stricken man of youth having aged from mere hours ago. Harry's death, the deaths of his people, has taken a considerable price on him; a price that not even Kingsley prepared to endure.

As much as his cabinet praised his senses, his decisions, Kingsley insisted…

“…It is on this day, not but a few passing hours ago, our people were attacked. People have been…killed, murdered in our streets…and as much as we were prepared…people still died…”

“…I take full responsibility. I will carry this weight forever. Though, by assessment of my ability as your Minister of Magic, I've found that I lack…the fortitude needed to continue. I have found no solace in my actions, and have found no courage in the inaction…”

“…Our military prowess, the servicemen of my cabinet, is the best of the best. They are not to be shamed by this, of many, solutions… They are to be commended by their performance during this blackest of days. They've patched the hole of which I've left by my incompetence…”

“…As of this final moment in time, do not call me your Minister. I have chosen to leave the Chair in hopes of a new, better leader in my place; someone who will manage control and take heed where I have faltered. Someone who is attuned to the protection and well-being of you and our Muggle-kin…”

“…I am sorry for the suffering I have created…”

The camera lingers on the conquered, shriveled husk of a mortal.

“Turn the camera off…” whispers Gregory in haste to the worker. “At least let the man have what's left of his dignity!”

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59. Support

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.

To the world you may be just one person, but to one person you may be the world.

***

Chapter Fifty-Nine - Support

***

“…Tell me all about it, Harry.”

A gentle breeze blows across a field of lavender, of poppies, of white roses. A crystal-clear blue sky, cloudless, hangs overhead. The trees, the grass, down to the individual leaves upon each flower is vibrant with definition, colour. The entire meadow seems painted, unreal, and perfect as just a hint of all aromas churning as one, single breath of life.

In the centre of the meadow two bodies lie.

Hermione, gazing toward the bright blue sky, lay relaxed on her back. Wearing what she wore, of black and white, on that fateful, terrifying day. The day she had been taken to the Ministry by Ginevra, and Ronald, her guardian, and given the news…that the one she lay beside had passed away.

Harry, in purest of ivory cloth, watches Hermione, his love, her eyes lively in the sun-filled environment. He has an arm around her, holding her, feeling her breathe, the lifts and descent of her form, alive. He smiles at the gift she bears him, herself, the miniscule detail of living, the zephyr taking loose strands of her hair and wafting them in the breeze, the quirk of her brow, and how she tried…desperately…not to break down.

“Dad is quite the joker. He's…just like what I dreamt of him to be. He's found it comical how I've grown up to be just like him in every way possible. Stubborn—mum calls it.”

Harry chuckles.

Hermione glances from the sky to Harry, to see him laugh, to smile so gorgeously.

“Mum is…beautiful. She's everything like the picture's I've kept, the letter's she wrote, and all the things those who knew her told me about her. She was the first one I saw from the train, and the first embrace when I leapt off…”

Harry brushes some tufts of brunette shifting across Hermione's lovely features, his hand feeling her skin, his fingertips sliding down to her cheek where he cradled her.

She rubs into him.

“Severus was with mum and dad, and Minerva.”

Hermione smiles, the whites of her eyes dancing.

“Seamus showed me around…it's so…no words can describe it.”

“…I want to be with you…”

Harry saw the first tear trickle down Hermione's cheek.

“…You are with me…”

He wipes the tear away.

“I'll never leave you,” he ended, watching another tear drop and cross her flawless skin.

“…You left me…”

Harry takes Hermione's hand, and with his, places both upon Hermione's heart. “I will always be with you.”

“…I want to go with you…to Heaven…”

Harry lowers, caressing her forehead softly, to breathe in her smell. He lowers further to kiss her lips and carefully wipes away more tears cascading freely from her ducts.

“…One day your loving soul will meet with mine, again, here…,” He looks back into her big brown eyes, enlarged and filled with those tears. “…I've given you everything…”

“Live for me now…,” he kisses her lips.

Her heart skips a beat. “…I love you,” she whispers.

“I'll always love you,” she adds, stuttering breaths, her chest heaving with wrought emotion.

He caresses her forehead once more, closing his eyes, and says with kindness, “…Just remember that I'll always be there with you here…”

He places his hand upon her heart.

“…Always…”

And, she squeezes it tightly, never wanting to let go…

Hermione lay rigid, unmoving. Covered up to her neck, a pillow beneath her head, her hair in chaotic tassels, she lay looking at nothing, gone, with the visions in her head. She was there with Harry, and not inside, in the present, having heard of her beloved's tragic murder a week ago. She'd been kept to Ginny's apartment, taken Ginny's bedroom, since coming back from the Ministry.

The world had changed and gone back to a bit of the every day, thanks heavily to the Aurors, the Obliviators, and that of the Ministry's Reconstruction teams. No one in that world knew; but, within Hermione, within all those surrounding her—they knew.

Raindrops struck the window panes, streaking sideways in the shuddering gusts. Once hot tea and sandwich now lay temperate liquid and hardened bread. She hadn't eaten, stricken to the bed, and would only really move to breathe.

She wished she were there with him when it happened. To fight the Death Eaters off, to try and save him—or at least hold him, to tell him that she forever loved him, in her arms as he died. He died alone—and she couldn't do anything about it. Helplessness and hopelessness, she stared coldly at the wall, rarely blinking, utterly unconscious to the world and dead within.

She didn't change when people showed up, her friends, to go to Harry's funeral in a few short hours. Luna and Alice, and Ronald, had been there now for a while. They'd showed up every day to check on Hermione, and Gin, with Ronald stuck to Hermione's side like a watchdog. He never slept. Gin would rotate every so often with Ron, but after getting sore took to her sofa not too far away in the living space. Not that Gin ever had enough sleep, waking up every hour, on the hour, to check on Hermione.

Ronald would place a hand on Hermione just to feel her breathe in her catatonia. Gin would talk to Hermione without ever getting a response, no good mornings, good afternoons, or good nights. When Luna was there she also tried to talk to Hermione, and would carry on quite the conversation about everything and anything to the silent body tight in the sheets. Alice, on this day, had brought with her a dream catcher and had placed the round-webbed wooden device above Hermione's head on the headboard. She bent down, leaned over to Hermione, squatting, and ran her fingers through Hermione's hair.

She gazed into Hermione's cold stare and merely shook her head, sighing. She gave as much love as she could to the lacerated witch, a shell of a human. She drew closer and kissed Hermione's warm temple…

“…Ile ier raen melad…” she whispered into Hermione's ear.

…And, gave her the warmest of embraces.

When Alice stood back up she noticed Ronald behind her, at the wall, in the corner. She passed him and he gave a nod of recognition, emotionless. Alice smiled and reached for him, taking his shoulder where she squeezed, and gave him an affectionate pat as she walked back into the living quarters where Luna and Gin spoke quietly.

Ronald, overcome with emotion but treated and trained to never express truth, rubbed his face with his leather-gloved hands. He took a step towards the lifeless Hermione, all glow pattered out, all happiness gone, the very rose in her cheeks diminished to nothing. He lowered, bending, his chin on the mattress, his arm underneath to watch his Hermione…and all her deep suffering. He longed to take it away, to take it all away, to change everything. He put his hand on hers, the shape of her limp fingers held within his, and attempted to soothe her…

To get what he'd always got: the emptiness.

He looked over at the decaying sandwich, the cooling tea…the fresh bouquet of flowers he'd brought for her this morning. He took note to take the food away, to bring her back something new…in case…

He looked back at her, into her, and felt the pain…but nothing close to hers, he knew. He'd lost a brother…he knew her sorrow…but to lose someone so close, intertwined, soul mate…that he'd never felt, and never wanted to ever feel—ever. Seeing Hermione the way she was…brought a certain…distaste…a visage, a nightmare he shoved far back into his mind. She'd never be hurt…and she was hurting. He kept her safe…but she needed…more…

“Hey…”

Ronald turned his head towards the soft voice and saw Ginny, puffy-eyed, clad in dark in the doorway. He tilted his head up to show she'd gotten his attention, but never once let go of Hermione.

“…Has she…,” Gin squeaked, wiping a tear from her eye. “…Has she?”

Ron shook his head gravely.

“…I've got to go…,” Ginny whispered, trying not to have Hermione hear…if she could hear her…because she didn't want to go.

But, with Ronald there, and…Hermione…someone ought to go pay their respects.

Gin had offered, however distraught by the decision, wanting dearly to stay by Hermione.

Luna and Alice became her support.

Ronald nodded toward Gin.

Gin looked at Hermione through her transparent black veil hanging from her hat. “…I'll be back soon, love!”

She squeaked again, her voice fluctuating, ever-changing with the emotions. She put her hand to her chest and cleared her throat. “…I'll be back before you know it!…”

Gin waited…eagerly…to hear Hermione's voice…

…and silence…

…And, Gin dropped her shoulders.

She reached out to Hermione, her black-gloved fingers grasping the air while she covered her mouth, gasping and hesitating breaths, feeling another weep coming on… “…I love you so much…”

Ron heard his sister crying, and then the door to the flat shutting. He heard their pops, apparating to the undisclosed location. He got up, pushing himself up and took the plate of old sandwich and tea. In quick step, with taught speed, he was in and out of the kitchen with a bowl of chicken noodle and another cup of hot tea from the kettle. He placed it back on the side table, aside the bouquet in its vase, and lowered once more to Hermione.

He pressed gently his lips atop her head and gave her a kiss, combing tenderly those locks of hair…and then quietly sat back down in the chair. He glanced outside, at the pouring rain, the raindrops like teardrops upon the window panes, and back at the frozen figure of once was an incredibly free-spirited…Hermione Granger.

***

The rain shower didn't let up, continuous weeping from the storm above. They all stood in puddles, his friends, his loved ones. The Ministry didn't show. The faculty from Hogwarts had come, though. Dean, Oliver, Lee Jordan—Neville who stood close to Ginny between Luna and Alice. Each of them, Lovegood and Burton, had their hands around Ginny, or the one who cried out the loudest. Her boots an inch-thick in muddy water, she gripped at the wet, black sheen casing of Harry's casket. Powerless, she shouted, screaming the words the other wide-eyed occupants wanted to say.

“Why?!”

Neville thought she'd fallen over. She had tried to embrace the top, slipping in the rain. He caught her, as well as Alice, and then Luna. Gin held her cheek to the casket, and her friends held on. She pressed her lips upon the case, howling in mourning, the raindrops mixing with the fluid from her eyes.

***

The group huddled beneath a tent when the ceremony was over. Barriers were set to keep the rain out, as well as for safety measures alongside the obvious Auror company present for Harry's funeral. Somber, the chatter kept to a minimum, low volume. Someone would get a little loud, maybe a laugh, and eyes would follow. Having exchanged greetings, the groups divvied off into smaller cliques. The boys, Dean, Oliver, and Lee stood together. The faculty, Hagrid standing out, shuffled in their own corner. One could still hear him bawling, something very surreal and odd from the nurturing bear.

Alice and Luna sat in provided chairs for those not wanting to stand. Beverages were made available, a cup of juice in their hands. They'd left Gin when Neville asked if he could look after her. Of course, they weren't far away, but knew Neville would dutifully keep his word. Gin had leaned into him from her right and Neville, an arm around her, held her against him. Her hat in her lap and a hand clutching the veil, Neville brushed her flaming-red hair, the Weasley-red sifting through his fingers.

Gin stared tiredly at the ground, the sodden grass, the tracks of clotted mud. She heard the drops hitting the tent like steel filings. She looked towards a wisp, white smoke moving around the outer band of the tent, and as much as she wanted to scream—scream at them, at everyone there—she hadn't an ounce of anything left. Listless, if it not for Neville holding her up she would very well be in the flood herself.

She'd brought ammunition, however…

…After minutes, a half hour, an hour of feeling numb…

…She pulled out a tiny silver bottle from her coat pocket to much of Neville's dismay.

“Gin… I don't think…” He went to snatch it away from her…

…To hear her snap at him in fury. “Fuck off.”

She let the clear liquid fall happily into the strawberry-flavoured concoction she'd sipped on, a sweet aroma of vodka making Neville place a hand on his nose.

“Gin—“

She pushed off of him, staggering to the side, cradling like a protective mother her cup. She glanced at Neville in slits, hissing, pointing at him, “You fuck off—now.”

“I'm only—“

“Don't you dare say anything to me,” She tilted her head back and took a lingered drink, consuming as much of the alcohol she could before—or if—it were to be taken away. This was her first drink in months—she deserved it. “Don't you fucking say anything to me—do you hear me?”

Having not eaten anything at all…she could already feel the buzz, or the best feeling she'd had in a while, exceptionally light-headed.

Neville went to grab the cup and toss its remaining contents to be slapped, the sound echoing. Everyone turned their heads, and everyone saw Gin, stumbling backward as she went to stand up, to get away. Neville held his cheek, a fiery hand-print developed, and looked around at all those eyes. Gin felt them, too, gazing around, the world in a spin and her vision becoming murky.

“What?!” She yelled. Her eyes went from one pair to the next until she'd had enough of their punishment, to her, to berate her actions, what she did. She pointed at them, circling about, and said: “Fuck you…”

She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and stomped up and down, “Fuck you all!!”

The drink began to spill, and in her protective nature went to retrieve the leak only to fall backward, smacking bum-first into the muddy floor.

“Fucking hell…!”

Alice came to her rescue first, the crowd seemingly unaware at her quickness, followed by Neville, and then Luna. She fought their grasp, as much as they helped her stand, and cussed them all again. Luna looked towards Neville, to see him take precedent in the assistance and supported Gin with an arm to keep her from swaggering.

“That's quite the strength…,” Alice whispered, keeping a hand on Gin and catching a whiff.

“I don't think she's eaten…,” mentioned Neville, having Ginny stand when all her legs wanted to do was buckle.

“What the fuck are you all staring at?!”

“A marmalade, kiwi, and ham sandwich will help her get over the wooziness,” stated Luna in her whimsical way.

***

Ginny teetered into the kitchen. Fairly familiar, Neville had taken her to his home—or once was their home. Every inch Ginevra could move in, with or without the alcohol, having done this intoxicated before on several different occasions. She felt of the doorway, the wall, stumbling into the dining area and catching a chair, she reached for the counter. She laughed when she knocked into the ledge, knocking some jar away and grasped the cabinet's brass knobs.

She turned to see Neville—always Neville—having followed her. He went to take her hand, her arm, but Ginny violently pushed him away. He took a step back, but caught her middle to brace.

“Don't hold out on me, Longbottom!” She started laughing, having taken the refrigerator's handle. “I know you got some somewhere—fucking Firewhiskey—I can smell it!”

“No, no—no Gin,” Neville began to tug on her, to get her from the kitchen, only to be slapped. He took it in stride, capturing her and swiftly pried her from the door.

“The fuck are you doing?!” She was tossed over a shoulder where she smacked his back once, twice, a third time. He never flinched, carrying her off.

“You're going to bed,” he answered sternly. “I'm turning the shower on. You're getting in. You're sobering up, and then you're going to bed.”

She bobbed on his shoulder with each stair, the house being cavernous and deep, swaying. “I want that fucking bottle! I know you have that fucking bottle of Firewhiskey in the fridge!”

“Thanks to you,” He rounded the banister and headed towards what used to be their bedroom. “There's no alcohol in this house nor will there ever be any at all in this home. No more, Gin. I'm tired of it.”

“Quit your bitchin'!” She was tossed on the bed, discarded, as Neville went to the master lavatory's closed door. Furious, Gin shot up, stood up and started a run out.

Neville, used to this sort of drama, instantly read her and pulled her back into the room. He threw her back on the bed, pulled his wand from his dress robes and said an enchantment on the door knob. “There,” He said, traveling back to the bathroom. “Now, for Christ's sake stay still for a bloody second while I get the shower started. Damn!”

He was in the bath when she called out, “I'm not sleeping here! Fuck no!”

“You're staying here until you're sober, damn it! You're not going to be out there doing God knows what!”

“What—Neville? Is this your plan?!”

Neville's head appeared from the bath. “Excuse me?”

“Fuck me.”

Neville put his palm to his face, shook his head, and went back into the bath. The shower flipped on and one could hear Neville checking the temperature with his hand, the water pressure stopping and starting as it hit the shower floor every so often.

“You've got me here—just like you want—and now you're going to fuck me!”

“God damn it, Gin,” Neville walked out just in time to see Gin stripping down, her shirt off, bra exposed, having a go at the button of her trousers, trying desperately to shuffle them down. “For fuck's sake—“

Neville, with heavy-footing, trudged over and began swatting Gin's hands from their actions. He pried them away only to find Gin fight him, push his hands away and continue her removal. Neville finally, in a fit of anger, grabbed both of her hands, overpowering her, and pressed them into the mattress. He jostled her, shaking her, lowering to meet her eye-to-eye:

“Stop! Stop this! Stop this RIGHT NOW!”

“Don't fucking yell at me!”

“I'm going to continue to yell at you if you're going to act like a child!”

“Watch your fucking mouth!” She bore into him, her eyes to his, but utterly faltered, finding it all very, very amusing. She started laughing, falling back into the bed.

Neville started to pull her upward by a trouser-leg and Gin shouted, “See! You do want them off!”

Ignoring Gin's drunken wit, Neville went about lifting his once-engaged fiance off the bed as he'd done…too many times to count.

Gin went to grab on, to look at him, his clothes, and pushed him away. “Fuck! You know I hate these fucking robes!”

“Come on, Gin…,” Neville tiredly bent back down and tried to lift the Weasley up.

“Why do all the fucking guys have to wear these fucking stupid fucking robes?” She began to use her feet, her legs to prod Neville away—and gone hysterics over his huffing and puffing, his resentment and exhaustion. “Why can't you all wear fucking normal clothes—like Muggles! Now those are hot!”

“Because I worked the whole fucking day, Gin—not like some of us.”

Neville sighed, looked towards the lavatory, the running water, and then back to Gin. He really hadn't gotten anywhere. He ran a hand through his hair, gaining a ripe head throb after everything.

Gin hopped onto her elbows, and in squints, lowered her voice to say, “Now what the fuck does that mean? You think you're better than me, Longbottom?”

“No, Gin—“

“Because you're NOT better than me!”

Neville grazed every portion of his face, raking a hand down slowly across his skull. “Ffffuck… Gin, okay—you obviously don't want the shower—“

“You want to get me naked.”

Neville stopped at her interruption and shook his head inside a breath. “…I'm going to turn the shower off, and then I'm going back downstairs while you—“

He poked her stomach. “You're going to get comfortable and slip into the sheets.”

He left the side of the bed and quickly the shower head was turned off, the light in the lavatory darkened.

“What?” Gin asked, offended, by his sudden dismissal. She watched him walk from the bath to the bedroom door, unlocking the knob with a counter charm. “You used to want me. You used to want this!”

Gin grabbed her breasts.

Neville did a second-take and groaned. He head-planted his face into the door and banged his head against the wood. “I'm going,” He smacked his forehead again against the door. “Downstairs,” And again, “To warm up a meal where I'm going to bring it back up here—“

He sharply flicked his head to her. “Where you're going to get fucking sober. I'm tired of this, Gin—and frankly, I'm getting fucking tired of you.”

“Fuck you!” She shouted, and said it again, and louder, just to wake up the neighbourhood. “FUCK YOU!”

“Fuck you!” Neville shouted back, giving Gin a jump.

He trounced to the foot of the bed in a leap than a walk. He pointed at her, “I loved you, God damn it—and you fucking fucked with my head, and—I'm just fucking tired of this, Gin!”

“Well, I'm fucking tired of everything—EVERYTHING!”

“You can't come into my house, look at me, and ask me if I ever wanted you. You know I fucking wanted you—I wanted you forever—I wanted to grow old with you and you fucking took off and left me standing there like a FOOL!”

A tear slipped out of Neville's eye to which he hastily banished by hand, but not prior to Ginevra seeing the genuine pain. She felt…absolutely drunk, getting up, sitting up on her legs, her bum on the mattress where she ushered him over with open arms. Neville watched her for the longest time, not knowing what to do or how to handle the scene, with his crumbled marriage, his best mate's death, the world in a fit…

He stumbled over to her, if not for wanting, for solace. He fell directly in her arms. Gin took him, cradled him, embraced him with all her might. She nudged him with her nose, smelling him, tasting him when she'd caress inside his hair, his temple, his cheek…to his mouth where she led him.

It didn't take a moment for Neville to shrug off his dress robes with a little help from his fiery ginger, and to feel her for the first time skin-to-skin. She lay back, with him on top, her legs interlocked about his hips. His brain had quit, his emotions in charge, his sense of gratification taken over. He'd rock steadily, chasing her zipper, and then his, bracing the bed, the headboard.

She gasped when she felt him, smiled, and moaned at his ear, his lips at her throat.

***

The warmth of the sun basked heavenly down upon the two. Hermione had her head in Harry's lap, the cool breezes licking at loose strands cascading off his snowy-white clothes. She laid on her back, the meadow of flowers their aroma, her head tilted towards her lover as he soothingly, kindly brushed through her silky strands by fingertips. She sighed one pleasant sigh, her eyes opening and closing to his touch, his hand casually exploring her cheek, her lips, her chin, to her throat and back again.

She grinned in the sunlight, her eyes closed, just taking everything by feel.

“…I've never seen a more angelic creature…,” Harry was smiling when Hermione met him. She smiled, too, grazing her cheek along his trouser, her hands feeling his shirt, the grass…

“I never want to leave…”

“I'll be here…,” Harry lowered to caress her lips. “Always.”

“I want…,” She said in a breath betwixt another caress from Harry. “…To be here. I want to…”

Harry shook his head side-to-side, nudging the tip of his nose against her. He made a light laugh from his throat when she smiled at him, leaning back to give his angel another kiss. “…Enjoy life…”

“Not without you… I want to d—“

Harry halted her next word, a dreaded word, with a kiss.

“When have you eaten last…?”

Hermione shrugged. “…I don't care.”

Harry leaned back, and for a moment was inaudible, invisible to Hermione. Her mind raced, anxiety hit, and she began to hyperventilate until he came back within her vision. She'd sat straight up, and Harry, his hand, soothed her cheek knowing quite well her emotion.

“I'm right here…,” He'd found a plate, a floral pattern around the edges, and navy in colour to the stark white porcelain. “Shh…”

She wrapped her arms around him. “Don't leave me…”

“Hermione…”

“Hm…?” She'd escaped to his neck.

“Love…”

“Yes…?”

“Here…”

He put his arm around her, and with his other, seeing her peek from the crevice she'd created, offered her a piece of cut apple from several cut on the plate. “…You need to eat.”

She stared at the bite, a listless gaze, and slowly placed her hand effortlessly, limply on Harry's. He led the piece of apple to her mouth where she opened and bit down, Harry watching her cautiously…for she hadn't eaten since…

She chewed hungrily, and with a bit of strength willed Harry's hand back to her mouth where she finished the bite. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder, her forehead at his neck. She swallowed the fruit, and Harry smiled.

He rubbed her cheek and gave her forehead a soft kiss. “That's my girl…”

She smiled.

“…Think you can finish it all for me?”

She nodded, albeit tired.

“…Wonderful, Love…,” He plucked another cut half and Hermione, placing her hand back on Harry's, opened again to allow Harry to feed her. He smiled when she bit forcefully, eager. He hugged her tight, kept her close, and grinned whilst saying, “…So beautiful…”

Ron stood at the window.

He didn't so much as watch the rain pelting the panes nor at anything else in particular. His mind reeled over the anguish, the sadness he could feel just feet away from him, the figure lying so helplessly statuesque in his sister's bed. He could feel her heartbeat, or what was left of it, a slow thump, a very abnormal beat as if in reality, physically her heart actually had broken.

He maintained vigilance, her guardian…so close, and yet so far without words…in protecting her from harm.

And, from his sister…of whom hadn't come home.

He gritted his teeth at the sentiment.

Even though she was ill and emotionally unresponsive, her form would at least respond in ways one unlike him couldn't see. Her eyes wouldn't glaze over, and she wouldn't look like death warmed over. Her body would become a bit spirited…of which only he could see. Something he wished he could do to her, at least to console her from sadness, because…

Ron glanced at Hermione, her form in a fetal position, crumpled in the middle of the mattress.

She was asleep.

…Because something so happy and carefree, so beautiful should not be burdened with such sadness…

He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him.

He hadn't gotten sleep—not that he needed of once was him—but still, he bordered edgy. Hermione had moved, had gotten up, lifted from the bed and began crawling to the side he stood by. With speed he was there, her lifeless body, her eyes closed, clamored and shook the stand aside the bed. She was feeling for something…and when she almost toppled over the plate of apples he'd cut for her, took hold of the plate himself and sat beside Hermione on the bed.

“I've got it… I've got it…,” He spoke low, quietly, thunder erupting the atmosphere as flecks of rain splattered against the window.

She leaned into Ron, laid inside the pocket his tunic created, the friendly ginger supporting Hermione with his wrapped-around arm. Her eyes were closed, her fingers feeling of the slice of fruit on the plate and Ron noted, “…You want the apple?”

She didn't move much, no nod, but her hand rested atop Ron's with Ron picking the slice from the floral-patterned plate.

Ron led, with Hermione's fingertips lightly pressed into his hand, the apple to her mouth. “Open…,” he whispered.

She did, and Ron, ever-vigilant, observed the two front teeth bite down on a third, and then her chew.

He smiled…something he hadn't done in quite a while.

She had the side of her head against his neck when she was fed another third of the slice, propped against him, and chewed slowly until Ron placed the last bit on her tongue. While she finished, he reached back for the glass of water and waited on her swallow.

She went for another slice of apple, and Ron slightly laughed. “Here,” He said, holding the glass up for her. “It's water. Drink some so you won't get choked.”

He steadied the glass, seeing her wind that hand which once held atop Ron's at the bottom of the cup. He grinned, seeing her slow swallow, and hearing her thirst become quenched. He made a light laugh through his nose, leaned in and kissed Hermione's temple. He let his forehead rest against the side of her head and breathed one, happy sigh, “…You don't know how glad I am to see you eating again…”

He caressed her cheek and combed some of that bushy-brown Hermione bed-head back while she took up another apple slice and methodically chewed and swallowed. When she got the hang of it without Ron's assistance, he watched her, smiling…ecstatic at what could be considered the most mundane of every day activity for a person. But, there Hermione was…eating…

And, she finished the entire plate.

And, two full glasses of cold water.

She had to be walked to the loo, her legs, her body stiff and the water going right through her. She'd lean on him there and back when she was done, climbed back into bed by herself and curled in a comfortable way so opposite from the worrisome fetal position. Ron, head over heels at the improvement in so little time, stayed at her side. He kicked off his boots so the sheets wouldn't become dirty and lay so he could keep a close eye on her, a gloved hand rubbing her back, her side as her body formed that lovely slope to her hip.

She faced him, arms, hands to her chest, her face towards Ron an inch from his tunic.

He watched her…her eyes closed, asleep…

…And, he was so proud of her.

***

Ron awoke to the feeling of stirring.

I hadn't realized he went to sleep—and wished he hadn't—for the fact of protocol. He had a spare energy shot in one of his boots, but hadn't enacted on it. Instead, he awoke with an arm around Hermione, Hermione close and moving aside him. She was trying to get up, he supposed, but fell so helpless without enough energy.

“What's wrong?” he spoke in whisper.

She said something that even he couldn't understand, her voice severely low and hoarse.

“Say that again for me, lovely…” Ron leaned in closer, his ear to her lips.

She tried to clear her throat.

“…Pee…”

“Loo?”

She attempted a nod.

“Do you want me to help you there or would you like me to carry you?”

She went to say something, but he stopped her.

“Here,” He took her hand and spread her index and middle. “Wiggle the first for help or your middle to be carried.”

He thought she wiggled the index at first, but the wiggle from her middle finger was quite evident.

“All right,” He got up slowly, as if not to rock the boat to sicken her, and went around to her side.

She hadn't moved when he came around, sifting his hands, and then arms beneath her flaccid form. Gently, he walked the few steps to the loo entrance and set her down. He had her feel the sink counter for balance, and then continue the trek to the toilet.

“You've got it?” He watched her step, wobble, step, wobble.

She gave a weak nod.

“All right, I'll be just outside the door,” He went to back out when he heard the button to her jeans unsnap, and then closed the door for privacy.

He waited, looking at the clock, at how it was just before five, and knocked on the door when a few minutes passed. “Okay in there?”

He heard something bump, and slowly he cracked the door open. “Need me to come in…?”

He heard the thump at the counter and realized she'd gotten from the toilet and began that track back to the door by herself. He pushed the door open all the way, gave a small smirk at her persistence, stubbornness, albeit the good kind, and reached around her to flush.

She had her jeans in her hands when he closed in to pick her back up, just in her knickers. He didn't know what to do… He hesitated…well, he did when he thought about it within the hesitation…but, pushed himself beyond his…attraction, to that of Hermione in desperate need.

“Did you want them back on?”

He leaned in close so he could hear her.

She just shook her head.

“Okay…,” He took the jeans from her and began to fold them. “I'll set these on the stand when we get back in there.”

She nodded.

“Ready to go?”

She nodded.

“All right…,” He lowered to pick her up, Hermione's arms out. Gently, he lifted her lithe form and she attached herself around his neck. She rested her tired head against his chest.

On their way back to the bed, he heard her say something.

“Hmm?” He lay her down and began covering her up, her beautiful legs, her flawless skin in contrast to the dark blankets. He lowered his ear.

“…Smell…”

“Smell?”

“…Do…I…”

He smiled and rolled his eyes.

Of all the things… Hahaha…

He'd taken to her scent, being around her…

…But, he made sure she knew, face-to-face.

He leaned to Hermione, just below her chin, at her throat and sniffed…her warm vanilla scent…

…He had to close his eyes…and remember…

“You smell great…”

She smiled weakly, her eyes remaining closed.

She mouthed, “Thank you.”

“You're quite welcome.”

She was exquisite, amazing… He couldn't help but keep his eyes from her.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“…Water…,” she mouthed.

It wasn't but seconds when Ron came back with a full glass of cold water.

He helped her sit up, an arm around her.

He smiled when she took the glass on her own with just a little help now from him and drank.

“Whoa…,” He laughed. “Slow down there.”

He was grinning when he took it away, setting what was left on the stand aside her jeans.

“…Sorry…,” she smiled, relaxing back on the bed.

If nothing had happened…he'd appreciate this time.

But everything had happened…and even just looking at her that way caused him…guilt.

He went to move, to get up…but was stopped when Hermione held onto his tunic.

She released with her slackened grip.

“What…?” He asked.

Slowly, she rolled over towards him and lightly patted the area in front.

“I…don't know, Hermione…”

Completely enervated, her motion for Ron to get closer wasn't much of an action than a stiff movement of her curling finger.

Ron hesitated again, but was drawn to her.

She mouthed, “Ron…”

“Yes?”

“It's okay,” she mouthed, gave a slight nod and smiled.

“…Are you sure?”

She sighed, closing what little of her eyes held open.

He shuffled to her, to her drowsy smile, and slowly, she reached for him and placed her hand on his chest.

Ron, above the sheets, slipped carefully in…as if not to scare…or do anything wrong…and wrapped an arm around a very warm Hermione.

***

When Gin came to, the sound of thunder shuddering the walls of the bedroom, the wind whistling against the glass panes, and the storm wailing outside, she the sudden shock of migraine…as well as not knowing what the Hell she did. She knew she lay in a bed, but didn't know what bed. She knew she felt warmth, and an arm, but didn't know whose it was. She remembered, fleetingly, Harry—Harry's funeral—and…

She hurriedly got up and cursed herself for doing so, her equilibrium off-balance, driving that headache to spike. “Fucking hell…,” She sat up with two fingers between her eyes. Her tone was low, the headache bordering on overbearing. She spoke in a rasp, “…The fuck did I do?”

She turned slowly to her right to see…

…Neville, twisting and turning himself, wiping away the sleep from his eyes and seeing him, and then her, in their birthday suits.

It hit her.

“Fucking Christ—!”

“What…?” Neville had an arm across his eyes. “It's seven o'clock in the morning, Gin. Go back to sleep already… I'll fix you breakfast in a few hours…”

“For fuck's sake did you use protection?!” She hit him.

“What the Hell?!” Not taken to being beaten in the wee hours, Neville pushed on Gin's side. “Of course I did… I'm not as stupid as you might think I am…” He yawned and pointed on over at the stand.

Gin swiveled, gently, to see an open box of condoms with some having been left out with all the commotion.

“Fucking hell…,” She fell back to the bed, her head on the pillow. She hid her eyes, covering them, her nose, her mouth, with her hands. Her voice came muffled, “I haven't used birth control since the last time…”

“Well then count your lucky stars I'm not a dumbarse…,” Neville yawned once more and threw his arm back around Gin…

…Only for Gin to throw it back off.

She got up, staggering to the side.

“What the Hell?” Was Neville's first response, and then a, “What are you doing now?”

“I'm leaving—“ She murmured, feeling around with her feet in the dark. “Where the fuck are my knickers?”

“You're leaving…?” He elongated those words. “Wait—what?”

“Neville…,” She sighed, and Neville felt her push off the bed.

He pushed up himself, hearing her stumble about the floor to find her knickers.

“…Shut the fuck up,” she ended. “And, help me find my clothes!”

Neville, above the influence and its consequence, intelligently flipped the lamp at the bed on.

“For fuck's sake!” groaned Gin, turning her head away. “Warn a girl before you fucking do that… Damn…”

“I'm not helping you find your clothes,” he watched a very exposed Gin crawl about the room scraping together bits and pieces of the night before.

“Fuck you, then.”

“I want you back in bed.”

“I need to get back to Hermione,” Gin stopped to groan, her headache pounding. “The fuck did I drink last night?”

“Who the fuck knows, Gin. I think I smelled vodka and it was probably one hundred percent,” He shook his head and got up, to see her point up at him and turn away.

“Don't help me…,” She carefully pulled herself up onto a chair. “Just leave me the fuck alone…”

She slipped her knickers on one leg at a time.

“What was all that then, huh?” Neville put his hands on his hips and continued to observe a very dazed, very self-inflicted Weasley sluggishly put her funeral wardrobe on. “What was all that you said last night?”

Gin squinted up at him in the lamplight, her bra on backwards as she clasped it in the front. “…Do you actually expect me to remember what the fuck I said?”

She lowered her head to rotate the band and slip on the bra. “God damn…you really are fucking daft…”

Neville threw his hands up in the air and turned towards the bed. “Un-fucking-believable!”

“What?!” Gin said it a bit loud, having her to stop a moment to catch whatever thoughts slurred in her mind. “Ffffuck…”

Neville sat down on the bed. “You don't remember what you said at all?”

“What do I look like to you?” The sound of metal clinked together as Gin slid on her trousers, the belt buckle jingling. “A fucking liar? Have I ever been a liar?”

“No,” Neville mused, sarcastically. “But you've been a fucking drunk.”

Gin pointed, and then wagged her finger at him. “You're fucking brilliant—you know that? You should be a clown in the circus one day. Yep!”

“You told me you still loved me—wanted to be with me!”

“Quiet the fuck down, will you…?” Gin clutched her head and waited for the pressure to pass. “Ffffuck…”

“…I'm sorry,” he apologized quietly.

She held up a finger, and slowly, but surely, elevated her head to see him in squinted eyes. “…I think…”

The room all but went silent what with Gin shifting about with her attire. She sat still with her shirt in her lap and slouched over a bit, feeling a tad sickly and hot. “…I don't know what to think…fuck thinking…”

“Whatever, Gin,” Neville grunted, jerking the sheets back and climbing back in bed. He went on his side and stretched to find the button and instantly the room went dark again. “I'm done—I'm done. You know your way out. Just don't vomit on my carpet, will you? I just had it cleaned.”

Neville mumbled something in the void that lingered.

Gin, unmoving, spoke quietly to add, “…I do love you…”

The light clicked back on, and Neville was on his side staring at Gin across the room.

“The fuck mate!” Gin held her eyes, her head, climbing in the chair to hide her face. “Fucking hell…”

“I love you too, Gin,” Neville breathed. “I've loved you for a long time—and I hate, hate seeing you this way…”

Gin glanced up, a hand blocking the light. “But…Hermione needs me—“

“No, she doesn't.”

“Watch your fucking mouth!” Gin yelled, and it didn't faze her the slightest.

Neville caught what he said and quickly found himself misunderstood, the words wrought wrong, “I didn't—I've been through a lot Gin.”

“We all have,” Gin replied. “She's been through the worst of all of us, so just watch your fucking mouth next time or you'll have me to deal with—hangover or no hangover.”

“I love you.”

Gin, holding the side of her head, whispered with her conclusion, “…I love her more.”

Neville, feeling like his heart just fell to his stomach, physically fell back to the bed awkwardly. “You don't—“

“I do…,” Gin shook her head gently. “I so, terribly…do…”

“I'm sorry…,” she ended within the quietness.

“I don't want to lose you…”

“You're not going to lose me,” he answered firmly. “All the bullshit…it's just that. I love you too damn much to throw it all away.”

“I'm sorry…,” Gin closed her eyes, feeling some…comfort…or something… “…If…in another time, another place… I'd be your—“

“Don't,” Neville hushed her. “Just don't.”

She looked and saw him put a hand up.

“Don't say anything else… Just…,” He waved his hand. “Just go along…whatever…”

“Aw…,” She saw Neville turn away from her and gradually, with what strength she had left, pushed from the chair.

He heard her get up and rolled over in time to see the Weasley-red envelope him. Ginny wrapped her arms about his bare chest, his shoulders, his neck, where she hugged him so very tight. She felt him reciprocate, tighter, with his full strength and fervor. She felt him approach and let him: a kiss on the forehead, the cheek, the jaw line, and lower where he nuzzled into her throat and beyond to her breasts. She combed through his hair, her face, her nose, her mouth planted at the side of his as she breathed in sighs, Neville lovingly caressing every inch of her bosom.

His arms crisscrossed her back, winding themselves to never let go. “Stay with me…,” he groaned, muddled where he was.

“I can't—“

“You can!” He held her, running his hands up and down her back, his head still hidden at her chest. “You don't have to do anything—just lie here with me, sleep…”

“…Please…” He pleaded.

“I want to…” Gin went to lift up, and Neville unwillingly let her.

“I want you to!”

“…But, the longer I stay—if I stayed—the more painful it would be when I left tomorrow…”

“Then, stay with me here and never leave!”

Gin smiled and leaned down, nose-to-nose, and kissed Neville's lips. She held his face and softly ran her fingers down his cheek. “…You'll always have a special place in my heart… I want you to know that…”

Neville, after watching her, hearing her speak, took the back of her head, cradling it, and caressed her rough. She was caught off-guard, but happily grinned within the kiss, and within her drunken sway.

“…I love you, Ginevra…”

Gin lifted away, ran a hand down the front of his bare abdomen, and finally lifted from the bed. She shrugged her shirt back on and went to step away, to get her bag, but was stopped by Neville. He'd shot from the bed and took her hand.

He didn't have to say anything…

…She knew.

Slowly, she let her fingers slip away from him and headed for the door…

“Ginny!” He called out for her, and by the time she could peer back into the bedroom he'd come racing to her side.

He picked her straight off the floor, in such an enormous hug, and said at her throat, Ginny having re-wrapped her arms about his neck: “I love you! I love you…! It'll get better, baby…”

Gin, in smiles, rubbed his back and let his shoulder become her pillow.

She was excessively exhausted.

“Please…just honour a promise…”

“…Sure,” she whispered.

“…Please stop drinking…stop smoking…I love you too much to see you sick…to see you…”

She grinned, eyes closed, and softly peck-kissed Neville's cheek.

***

With an acute pop, Gin appeared at the door of her apartment. She groaned, peeking at the annoyance that was London's stormy skies, the lightning clapping, the rolling thunder…and her searing headache. She re-arranged her bag to get to her sunglasses even though there wasn't a trace of sunlight. It helped her ease off the throb behind her eyes, between them. She put her hand on the door itself, inhaled slowly, exhaled just as slow, and took hold of the doorknob.

Gently she was in and softly she closed it behind her.

She first heard noises, people talking, muffled speech, and then got a full picture of Weasley-red.

“Where have you been?”

Her head hanging low, she tilted it to the side to see her brother, arms crossed, boring into her with those stark-cerulean irises. She waved him off and begun her hundred mile walk towards her bedroom, and towards Hermione…although, she didn't make it far, a hand grabbing hold of hers.

“Answer me.”

Gin shook him off and pushed Ron the side.

He didn't budge.

“The fuck do you think you are? Father?” She laughed at him and started off again, only to be grabbed in the same area and jerked backward.

She threw a punch and missed, Ron easily dodging, swatting the hand down.

“Don't do this to me, mate…,” she threatened, sizing Ron up through her tinted glasses. “I'm fucking tired, I have a headache, and—“

“Little miss drunk!” Ron wanted to shout, but didn't. Something stopped him. “What a friend you are…”

“Fuck you.”

“She ate this morning—but, you wouldn't know that because you were out getting shit-faced. You're pathetic…”

Gin sort of just stared at him, not knowing how to retort after, “…She ate? She actually ate? What did she eat? You didn't feed her fucking junk shit, did you?”

“Look who's talking,” Ron huffed and pushed Gin the way she was walking, down the hallway. Gin stumbled in that direction, flicking her head back and wishing she hadn't. “You're fucking pathetic. Don't talk to me.”

Ron swished his hand. “Go fucking pretend to love her.”

Gin's middle finger rose. “Read this!”

“Can you handle her and you at the same time?” Ron's sarcasm lay thick. “Or, do I need to babysit your sorry arse?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I haven't reported in to my superior—“

“You go fucking do that.”

“The sausage for her protein is ready to be fried, the toast for her carbs is ready in the toaster, and the fruit has already been chopped bite-sized so she won't get choked,“ He motioned off to the kitchen, and then eyed his sister with disdain. “I'll be back to treat Hermione like she should be treated, and not left alone all fucking night.”

Gin reached back and threw her bag at Ron…

…Though, Ron had vanished without a pop.

Only wisps of white cloud remained, for a second or two, until that disappeared without a trace.

Gin's bag smacked into the far wall near the door.

She turned and continued going towards her bedroom, towards the voices she began to familiarize herself with, the card catalog in her head picking out the resemblance and affinity in each of the female and male tonalities. She braced the hallway's wall with her hand, muttering, “Fucking wanker…,” and then turned the corner to see…

Emilie Granger sitting on the bed and Frederick Granger standing in a lab coat.

Hermione lay snoozing, her head, her face clouded with plushy pillow.

Gin covered her mouth to stop a burp of whatever she drank last night. She felt horrible, needing to eat, to drink, to recycle her system from the vodka. To her unfortunate query, she ended up coming in and hearing Emilie in whispers to Frederick, not so much for Ginevra, but because Hermione was in dreamland. They hadn't even noticed Ginny there until…

“…We really should seek the family psychologist, Freddie.”

“Hun, she's lost Harry…she's going to be sad. I don't want her to be sad. No father wants their daughter said, but what will the psychologist do? Give her pills?”

“She needs to come home—“

“She is home,” interrupted Gin. Both Granger's turned their head to the owner of the flat, the fiery red-head. “She's home here.”

Emilie put her hands on her knees, having turned from her daughter's side towards Gin. “She needs to actually be home, with the family—“

“This is her family.”

Both Emilie and Frederick glanced at each other.

Gin began again, “And no silly doctor is going to fix what happened, and the last thing she needs is to be popping pills to feel better.”

Gin, her hand supporting herself on the doorframe, stumbled into her bedroom when she went to go in. She caught the stand, the bed, the sheets, with Mister Granger stating the obvious, “You look awful, Gin. Have you been drinking?”

Gin held her head, slowly crawling towards Hermione. She fell beside the sleeping Granger and looked off at Hermione's father. “It's been a long…long…night…”

“You shouldn't drink, love,” replied Emilie. “It can lead into—“

“I drink, I smoke, I've done pot—what's next? Heroine?” Gin laughed.

Emilie didn't. “That's not at all funny. You've always been a good kid.”

“I don't need another mother…,” mused Gin. “I've already got one on my arse as is, and she can go jump in a lake for all I care.”

Emilie shot up. “We're taking Hermione home.”

Gin glared through slits, her arm over Hermione. “You've got to get through me first…”

“You're in no shape to take care of anything!”

“Em…,” Frederick tried to calm an assured volatile environ.

“Popping pills is so motherly…,” Gin coughed, holding her head. “Take her to a shrink! Her fucking love just died!”

“Don't you use that language and tone with me!”

“Get out of my apartment…”

Emilie bore into Gin, the maternal instinct on fire mixed with the disrespect coming from Ginevra. She was about to yank the little red-head off her daughter's body…and Frederick knew it, could feel it. “Em!” He said, coming up beside his wife.

“This is Ginny—we know Ginny. She's been Hermione's best friend for ages…”

“She's drunk, Freddie—and did you hear her?!”

“Em… We're going to be late for work. Come on, dear. We'll call later.”

“I want my daughter!”

“Em!” Frederick was at the door, his hand out to Emilie. “We'll call later and we'll stop by when baby girl's awake.”

Emilie wagged her finger at Gin. “I'm warning you…,” she pointed at Hermione. “That's my one and only. If you get her hurt—“

Gin rolled her eyes beneath the sunglasses, her hand covering her mouth.

She felt any moment now she'd vomit…so she didn't speak up, to her displeasure.

“Em, let's go. She'll be absolutely fine.”

“You'll have a mother grizzly on your bum in a heart beat…,” she pointed a stern finger at Gin. “Do you hear me young lady?”

Gin went in and out of reality, her eyes opening and closing as she tried to hold everything back.

Emilie took Frederick's hand…

…And the moment Gin heard the door of her flat slam shut…

…Took off into the loo and threw up everything but her trainers.

{Author Note: If anyone's ever tried to write “sad” when they're feeling pretty good, it just doesn't turn out right. When you're sad and write “happy,” same. I've been feeling damn good these few weeks what with my 25th birthday bash, chicks, and clubbing. Hell, one week was just one big club crawl. The last thing I felt like doing was write post-death anything. Haha. That, and I'm in the medical field now. Lots of things going on at once! But, I'm still here and this will be finished how I envisioned it one way or another!}

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60. Kill

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.

Maybe we like the pain. Maybe we're wired that way. Because without it, I don't know; maybe we just wouldn't feel real - Anonymous

***

Chapter Sixty - Kill

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

PROPHET MEDIA PURCHASES WIZARDING NEWS NETWORK

Prophet Media's new venture into the realm of television comes with a buy out and merger of the existing WNN. To procure new viewership in the wizarding world, Prophet Media will surely assist with their already broad, international subscription. Rita Skeeter, Head of Prophet Media, was absolutely thrilled after negotiations with WNN's senior advisor, Jeffrey Cobb, in the movement to a brighter, more lucrative future for the new media industry. With televisions in every Muggle household, Prophet Media is hoping to reach out to those witches and wizards into subscribing to a quicker, more to-the-minute news broadcast. The Daily Prophet is by no means going anywhere with its audience increasing every day. Miss Skeeter has told the press how Prophet Media has reached to an even greater distance, showcasing in parts of Africa, South America, and even the Arctic Circle where Prophet Media had never gone before her time as Head.

“With the Wizarding News Network now part of Prophet Media,” said Miss Rita Skeeter in her daily press briefing. “The future is exceptionally bright!”

In up-coming days, the Wizarding News Network's logo will change to display its affinity and workmanship with Prophet Media. Instead of “WNN”, the logo will now display as a rotating “PM” in conjunction to News Network. Miss Skeeter has a host of new projects she would like to achieve and present to a greater audience! Watch out for them in the coming months!

Here at Prophet Media we are ecstatically head over heels about our venture!

Kara Roslen

Writer

Page 1

***

I raised from the sink, having splashed hot water on my face, the water from the upper parts of my features, down around my eyes, my cheeks, to my chin. Some suds from the facial wash still clung helplessly on as my focus lay on my tired reflection. At least I was up, but nevertheless, my heart still ached. I couldn't believe it—I wouldn't believe it. My warmth gone. That one person I lived to wake up to, to eat with, to travel with, to sleep with…

I dunked my head back down for another handful of hot water, splashing my face once more before shutting, turning the nozzle to hush the faucet from freely flowing.

I'd been crying. I couldn't help it. It may have been better than lying in bed, but it still hurt…and it hurt like Hell. I had chest pains, and I was terribly afraid with my heart how it was that I'd have complications even with my medication. I'd slow down whatever I was doing and dutifully observed myself with any action I'd do. It helped, however, to have something on my mind…albeit a thought I never wanted to have…ever.

I'd clothed myself, a simple tee shirt and jeans, nothing special. I had socks on to keep extra warm…that warmth being figurative, and literal. The v-neck of my shirt tee drooped low, as my shoulders did, seeing myself pick up again and witness the rather deathly “me” in the mirror. I closed my eyes, reopened them, and wished for it to go away. “It”, being…

I wanted Harry to rush in, lift me up, and embrace me.

Just like he'd do when he wanted to bother me in the best way possible.

I smiled when I thought I could feel him…in his white clothes…straight from the meadow…behind me, arms locked around my waist…and his head on my shoulder, looking at me, my reflection, and smiling that…simply handsome smile.

I blinked.

And, it was all gone.

I was in a semi-lit bath, having commandeered Ginny's bedroom…which I felt bad about.

I had a…tiny argument with her from the whole ordeal, but didn't get anywhere. She insisted in her Weasley way that I'd get the bed and she'd sleep on the sofa in the living space.

And, that's where I met her, having softly stepped down the hallway, my hand every-so-often touching the wall. She heard something, me, at the very last moment and shook upward from her sprawled-out position on the sofa. The telly was on, Prophet Media now in the corner with some new news anchor this morning. Not McCrady's Corner.

“Hermione!” called out Gin when she saw me turn the corner towards the kitchen.

I stopped my progression, a hand on the wall, and I smiled in her direction. “Hey…” My speech, raspy in the beginning, spoke out rather normally now. I did have to clear my throat.

She tossed the sheets off her legs. “Did I wake you when I came in to get my slippers?”

I shook my head. “No… I just got up.”

She looked between me and the kitchen. “You want something in there?”

“Water…”

“I'll get it,” She shuffled from the sofa, catching her slippers by her toes on the way around. She told me to, “Come to the sofa and relax. It'll just take a second.”

I just nodded and headed for the sofa, not in the mood to defy the Weasley in her.

My hand on the armrest, carefully I twisted and fell into the cushiony plush of the sofa. I sighed and ran my hands from my forehead through my hair. I was so glad to have showered… It felt good, my hair not absolutely mad, bushy… Yuck.

Outside the rain continued to pour. I don't think the weather had stopped raining. I heard lightning snap, and its twin, rolling thunder, the lamp aside me flickering a bit from the electric discharge. My eyes followed the pattern of Gin's form from the sheet I now sat on, and plucked whatever held underneath my bum from beneath me out of courtesy. If she wanted to lie back down, that is.

My eyes went to the TV and saw a devilishly bizarre, bird-like woman behind a desk. Very stale, her posture was starkly erect and very…abnormal. Long raven hair hung toward starched black business attire, her rather bright pale skin sticking out like a sore thumb.

I sickly up-turned my nose at her and swallowed hard.

She looked like a piece of work straight from the Prophet Media shelf.

Underneath the frightening woman read a strolling ticker, explaining in repeat:

MINISTRY ELECTIONS PUSHED UP TO FEBRUARY

I couldn't bear to look at the date, looking away from the TV at just the moment Gin came around with the glass of water.

“Here,” she offered the cold aqua, ice cubes clinking inside. “Nice and chilled.”

I grinned and retrieved it.

Gin flopped down beside me, the sofa slightly bouncing by her light weight. She crossed her legs and looked at me. “How are we feeling this morning, love?”

I couldn't answer that second, eyes closed, lips to the rim of the cup where I drank my thirst away. I set the glass down in my lap when I could, and said, “A bit better… I can feel my toes today. So, that's something.”

Gin laughed. “Yes, feeling your toes is a good sign things are looking up.”

She played a bit with a strand of my hair.

I coughed a little when I went for another sip. My hand to my chest, I could feel both necklaces I'd kept on: the crucifix given by my parents, and…the Hippogriff feather.

“Don't choke now…,” Gin laughed a little through her nose. I felt her hand at my back, rubbing it.

I held the back of my hand over my mouth and laughed a little, too. “Just trying to make up for all those days…”

Her back-rubbing felt good, and she remained doing it even after my cough.

“Did you want anything else? Are you hungry?”

I closed my eyes, grinning some at actually feeling something other than weight on me, and shook my head in reply. “Maybe a bit later. I'm fine right now…”

“Aww…,” Gin absolutely enjoyed playing with my hair. “We need to get you out of the house soon… Fresh air…”

I smiled, asking, “Where's Ron?”

Gin paused.

I felt the silence, and then heard her say, “…He's gone back to his `superior' for updates. I'm sure he…won't be gone long.”

To open them again, and witness the flashing images on the television screen.

LIVE FEED brandished the bottom of the screen, whoever or whatever capturing the photos becoming extremely fidgety, the camera shaking everywhere as each shot tried to get…

NUMEROUS DEATH EATERS TO BE SENTENCED TODAY AT THE MINISTRY

The shot…the picture…him…

Xavier.

In black robes, his black robes, Death Eater robes.

He smiled into the lens, and it felt like…

…He was smiling at…

…Me.

And, only me.

“'Mi?...?” I heard Gin becoming frantic. “Hermione! What's wrong?! Why are you shaking?!”

My eyes were dead-set on the picture, that picture, of him smiling, of the wicked, murderous grin… I didn't know, but I knew…

…Him…

The lights in the apartment began to flicker on and off violently.

I couldn't feel myself anymore.

I wasn't thinking, or at least, of one thought…

…To kill.

The bulb of the lamp aside me burst, having Gin shout, yelp.

The TV's glass blew out.

A groan began to sound, the very floor of the flat trembling.

The entire building began to shake.

Gin was blown backward from the sheer energy pulsating from Hermione, unbeknown to Hermione herself, her veins having come clear to the surface, pure magicks emanating from what once was a flawless, feminine form. Her skin crawled, the feeling literal, a wind storm ripping most of what was in the room in a tornado.

I stood up, and all I could remember was hearing Ginny yelling, pinned up against the wall as hard and as difficult she tried to get to me.

She'd try to reach out, but her arm was automatically pushed back to the wall.

I didn't quite understand everything.

But, the one thing I did understand…

…I was at the Ministry, the atrium in no time, having apparated without knowing I had.

The atrium patrons, the everyday business men and women, the security, whoever happened to be in Hermione's proximity was utterly thrown back and pinned wherever they happened to land. A beat, a throb, like a heartbeat, raced inside her head, shuddering the atmosphere with shocks, and…

…the water from the Atrium's fountain gushed and flooded.

…the Atrium's famous statue of humankind and magical creature cracked…

…and every, single glass object shattered at once, raining dust like snow.

She was at the lift, without the lift, and shot down to the Ministry's underbelly…to her target, creeping evermore in her run down the hallway, blowing back a person, and another, the security batted back like flies. Even the Aurors in her vicinity hadn't a chance, pinned to the walls as well.

Each door she passed flew open, locked or unlocked.

The very tiles on the walls would begin to tear apart, peel off and drop to the floor, being picked up with the whirlwind she created behind her.

Hermione couldn't see herself, how her hair streamed in the winds, how her delicate brown eyes had gone to a terrifyingly crimson red.

Her breath exaggerated, each inhale and exhale out of proportion, as if he body was trying to compensate between mortality and immortality.

Her speed unearthly, unreal, something the Ministry had never witnessed before…even its most veteran Auror.

Blue veins crisscrossed at the apex of her flesh, in even greater detail than before, as if someone had taken a marker and coloured lines with blue ink.

Whitish sparks would release from her fingertips, the very ground breaking when her feet would scrape against its cement-like makeup.

The door ahead of her teetered on its hinges, a group of Aurors at her heels…though greatly struggling to catch the enflamed Granger.

The door to the Hearing imploded from the inside, causing a stir from the sitting witnesses, the Ministry parliament and Wizengamot. The men and women all stood from their seats, their parchment blowing in the rush of wind now entering the room. At the entrance of the rotunda stood Hermione, her eyes darting around with laser precision, to find, to seek out…

…Xavier, chained and locked in the centre of the courtroom.

When he saw her, Hermione seeing him…

…It brought great pleasure, a smirk, a sinister laugh…

…When she felt the fear within him, his face, his withdrawing body, and the gleeful sparkle in his eyes vanishing.

She could feel, see his blood churn.

She was at him, the cage, where he pleaded desperately to be saved by all those…who had been shoved to the side by Hermione's force, pinned backward. Chairs were kicked up, benches were overturned, the very tabletops being unhinged by the pressure reverberating from the…severely maddened, angry…murderous…witch.

Hermione, her hands on each of two bars, found a strength she never had.

Slowly, so extremely slowly to Xavier, he saw this tiny, lithe girl bend the bars back…her eyes wild, keeping at him, her smirk…her brilliantly evil smirk, smelling…that blood…

“Please God, no!”

Xavier screamed, his screams being drowned out by sirens filling the air.

Aurors from every corner of the Ministry had been called the Ministry High Court, many of them inside now, but unable to do much of anything.

Spells shot an array of colour throughout the room at Hermione to tame her, to restrain her, to calm her down.

The spells merely ricocheted off and hit the rotunda's walls, ceiling.

“Please! Someone help me!” Xavier, himself, tried to open the bars, too, but was scorched by the containment charm.

The bars, close they had been, were opening to a breadth Hermione could easily begin to get at Xavier, the rat now huddling himself farthest from her in the cage.

Hermione flashed a smile and swiped at Xavier, missing, and began again to bend back the metal bars.

“I was under His will! I was under His will—I swear!!”

The magicks to keep Xavier, and anyone, from getting at him had failed to do so, the power, the mastery, the ferocity of magic oozing, sparking forth from Hermione's figure, brightening the room with shocks unseen to anyone before overcoming what should have pushed her backward. In opposition, the very magicks had her eagerly licking her chops at the scared Xavier now in tears, his ego crushed back to that of a simple child, a teenage adolescent like he really was.

Her hand, her nails were claw-like.

She almost had him that time, catching his robe sleeve by her middle finger's nail and tearing the cotton, and the flesh underneath, like paper.

She grunted, yelled at how close she'd gotten, and pulled on the bars as if they were licorice.

Xavier fell to his knees, holding his bleeding wound.

With nowhere to run or hide…all he had was his prayers, knowing, down deep, that his life was about to be snuffed out.

“I'm sorry, Hermione! I'm sorry! Please! Don't kill me! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!!”

His incessant, weak apologies didn't so much as faze her, but rather, made her almost giddy, happy—happy to get rid of him once and for all…

…What I should have done so long ago…

…Then maybe…he would be…

…Alive…

…Harry…

Xavier caught the intent, the gleam in her eyes…

…She reached out, the bars separated enough now to get him…

…A hand length of hers away…

…She finally felt something.

A skip.

Like a hiccup, she held herself, her hand at her chest.

Another skip…like a crushing weight set on her chest.

She winced, the weight crushing straight to her bone, the ribs, breaking them.

She screamed out, crumbling to the floor at the cage…

…To be caught by arms around her middle, an embrace, crossed arms, secure…

…Warmth…

…The pumpkin pie scent she forever knew…

She turned in her sudden pain, her nails clasping her shirt, her chest, to look directly into Harry's kind eyes.

“Love…,” He whispered to her.

The world around her ripped to shreds.

He shook his head.

She stared, wide-eyed, and in tears.

“…It'll be okay.”

She fell back into Harry, weightless, without breath, a heartbeat, and…

“…I've got you…”

Everything went black.

***

The Quibbler

THE COUNTRY WILL MISS ITS SUNRISE

Erin McCrady, the youngest Muggle-born news anchor on WNN at the age of 24, was found murdered in her Violet Hill flat the day after the Death Eater attacks. When asked why her death has remained confidential for more than a week now, the Desk of Defense Secretary Eaton commented, “The Ministry was taking cautious measures necessary to track down the one or those associated with the death of Missus McCrady. The fugitive has been caught and is awaiting sentencing”.

Her television program, McCrady's Corner, held WNN's highest viewer rank since its introduction. Fans of Erin have sent flowers and cards to her office in hopes of giving a little something back to their early morning friend. Erin McCrady will leave behind a legacy of helping to fight cancer. She sponsored events throughout her schooling since she was 14 with the help of St. Mungo's Hospital after her mother was diagnosed with cervical cancer and later passed before her daughter's 16th birthday.

Erin McCrady also leaves behind a newlywed husband of three months, Preston McCrady. Mister McCrady has asked the press for solitude while he and his family grieve, his attorney said.

We all are praying with the McCrady family.

Meygan Brookes

Writer

P.1

{Inspiration: `Dark Willow' after Tara dies from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. She gets quite pissed, and I hoped to show that thoroughly through similar imagery via Hermione who has bottled the hefty price of deep sorrow. Hermione's a talented witch after all, and pressed to the brink of insanity…}

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61. Miracle

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.

Love works in miracles every day: such as weakening the strong, and strengthening the weak; making fools of the wise, and wise men of fools; favouring the passions, destroying reason, and in a word, turning everything topsy-turvy. - Marguerite de Valois

***

Chapter Sixty-One - Miracle

***

It was as if I'd been here…

…But, hadn't.

A strange feeling, lying on something cold, something hard as I stared—or so I thought I did—into whiteness. I couldn't see upwards or downwards. I could have been going sideways or diagonal. I think I tried to see myself, my feet, my legs, my arms, hands, my body, and I couldn't. I think I began to go mad—the logical sense of not seeing oneself, being there, somewhere, without the sense of floating, but by all means feeling like I floated.

A light shone in the distance. The light, brightening ever-so-softly, continued its saturation, increasing its shine, in what I thought were seconds. My mind tried to wrap itself around what was happening, what I saw before me, and just how this was supposed to be. I didn't feel right…but, on the other hand, it felt so very right. I began to get angry, mentally exhausted, one added to one not in summation to two. I absolutely loathed not knowing…until the light engulfed me, and I felt the freefall.

All my memories, all of them, of birth, to family, of friends, of Hogwarts, the ones most important to me, past and present, mum and dad, the Gryffindor crew, the Weasley's, Professors, of Neville and Ron, of Ginny…and, of my beloved. I could see him most clearly, nearly life-like. So life-like I felt as if I could touch him—tried to touch him—and ended up backwards, laying on something smooth within an essence of pure quietness.

Whatever had happened…

…Had stopped.

I lay wherever a moment, taking all I'd witnessed…in.

A fleeting second, I retained every bit of what resembled a film strip…of life, of love, of…

Blank.

I rose, and when I did, I could see the tips of my toes in black socks, my jeans, and the white tee I'd been wearing.

I felt of them, my skin, my hands, arms, legs, stomach, throat, forehead.

I felt myself… Cold… I felt myself…

Had I died…?

Harry had told me about his time at King's Cross, the first and the last time…

…My eyes adjusted to the brilliance that surrounded me, and withheld behind the clutter, the fog that carried in my sight…

…I saw the white pillars, the white benches, the white aisles, the white rails.

At once I was frightened—scared.

I hopped up to my feet…

…And, felt alone.

I began to walk a silent trek one way, looking back every-so-often, wishing and wanting…wanting…

…Harry to appear…

Nothing, and the longer the nothing resumed, the more frantic I became.

I began a trot, a jog, a run—until I was running with all my might down the platform.

I thought I heard a voice, and almost stumbled, tripping over two left feet.

I slowed down to a stop, the voice having come from behind me…down where I thought I'd come from…the environs patterned similarly for days as it stretched onward from platform to infinite platform.

I heard it…a whisper…

…The whisper encroaching, drawing near…

In the back of my mind I tried relying on what he told me, the picture Harry had painted in my head…but my reaction, that flight-or-fight instinct wanted desperately to kick into overdrive.

The whisper…now low enough to hear…

…Wasn't him.

I took a step back…to fall against something.

Spinning around, I swore I gazed into a mirror—a double, standing before me, although not very…”me”.

I fell backwards to my bum and stared up at the doppelganger, the void of her eyes, the blackness of her hair, the colourless skin and…ebon wings. She crouched down to my level…not breathing…not blinking…and…

…Smiled.

“…Who are—“

“You.” I replied—it replied.

Crawling on my hands, I withdrew an inch from the winged “me”. “How'd you—“

The girl—me—sighed and merely shook her head. “He's not here.”

She laughed.

My eyes widened.

Was she…?

“'Is she…?'” She laughed again, mockingly. “God you're useless.”

I heard a train's whistle from behind me.

I couldn't see anything beyond misty light when I had turned around, needing to, feeling obliged. When I faced forward, to take note, again, of that horrific “me,” I was faced with…nothingness.

I stood up when I heard the whistle blow once more, coming towards me, an ever-increasing crescendo alongside the slight nuance of a chugging engine. My head flicked around, and then my body, to hear another whistle…and the picturesque, full-formed version of…

…Albus Dumbledore.

He nodded and smiled warmly underneath half-moon spectacles. “Miss Granger…”

“…Professor?”

“Kill him…,” whispered a hauntingly familiar voice in my ear.

“Surprise, it is, to see you here.”

I stared at him, his speech like an echo hovering just beneath more whispers of, “…You've wanted to kill him…”

“Look what's he's done…”

“…He's helped kill him…”

“…Your soul…”

“…He could have saved Harry…”

“…But he chose not to…”

“…You've asked yourself why…”

“…Why didn't he save Harry from his burden…?”

“…Why didn't he save Harry from his strife…?”

“…The pain you felt every day…”

“…Do it…”

“Miss Granger…,” Dumbledore offered his ancient, wrinkled hand. “Walk with me—we've much to discuss before…”

“…Kill him…”

I found myself reaching into my pocket…

I didn't envision myself doing this.

I wasn't aware enough to feel my hand, or the object I went to dig for hastily within my trousers.

…And, I pulled out my wand.

“…He's caused you…so much…pain…”

The whispers grew, swallowing whole the sense of hearing.

The Professor said something, but I heard nothing.

Only the whispers.

My hand rose, pointing the wand's tip towards the fragile, old man. The whispers were right… The pain… My pain… He knew what would happen. Dumbledore knew it—everything. He knew Harry would sacrifice himself… The most powerful wizard, the most knowledgeable wizard, the craftiest of all wizards in history… He'd had plans—“plans”… He knew Harry would die… And, he died…for me to pick up the empty pieces…to be left alone…to rot in an unforgiving world with everything turned upside down and inside out.

“…Do it!…”

“…Say those two words you've wanted to say!…”

“…That one spell!…”

“…To never feel hurt…again!…”

I felt a pressure on my shoulders, a weight as if I were pushed forward. Wretched claws clung onto me, a serpent's tongue lashing at my cheek as…I…spoke out…

…My revenge.

I bore into those ancient eyes…

I could tear him apart!

Rip him to shreds!

Turn him to dust!

“…Avada Kedavra!…”

“…Do it!…”

I could feel my grip of the wand tighten.

I could feel my muscles tense.

I could feel those words on my tongue.

…But, all at once, my hand fell into his.

I felt a sensation I hadn't felt for a while: warmth.

It shot straight into my arm, straight to my toes, and embraced the coldness surrounding my heart.

I heard a faint scream inside my head…

…The whispers stopped.

And, I was there, at King's Cross station, my palm in Dumbledore's out-stretched hand…with no wand.

“…This isn't your time…,” He spoke as he led me down the platform, his hand now on my shoulder. “…And, I am sorry for…”

He sat down on a bench and sighed quite audibly.

I fell beside the elderly bones.

“…Miss Granger, you are the smartest witch I've ever met. Truly, a gift that can be rewarding and terrifying…”

“…I've meant only to give and never to take. Sometimes, even I take a step back and re-evaluate at my old age. Time does render ones soul…”

“…I am no super being, Miss Granger. I am only human. I make mistakes…”

“I know…,” I replied to him, having not the urge to speak before now. The Professor approaching as if he were a frail shell of what he was… I understood, but chills ran themselves up and down my spine. Sure, he wasn't some deity… But, he was the most masterfully talented and supremely intelligent person I'd ever gotten to know. I'd looked up to him…and, I thought I still did. I wanted to believe… Frazzled and confused, bewildered at my surroundings, the indications of what may or may not come, the speech I was receiving so…delicately… I couldn't process but a speck of the whole.

We sat still, neither of us moving, looking at each other, the sound of the moving train coming closer.

My eyes were on the opening, the train's entrance, awaiting an inevitable… But, if it wasn't “my time”… As much as I longed for it to be… I couldn't help but be wrought, rigid, tears appearing at their ducts. I felt…taunted…as morbid as that may be. To be here, so close to him…

“…Miss Granger…”

“Professor?”

“…Do you recall a certain phrase I said during your second year at Hogwarts?…”

“You taught us—me—a lot of things that year.”

“…'Help will always be given…to those who ask for it'…”

I wanted to smile… But, I couldn't.

“…I told Harry when he first appeared here so long ago that words are our most inexhaustible source of magic…capable of both inflicting injury…and remedying it…”

“…Help, Miss Granger…will always be given to those who deserve it…”

He gazed at me through those half-moon spectacles and smiled warmly.

He put his hand on mine.

A train pulled into the station, its whistle jolting me from my attention to Dumbledore. I watched as the wheels slowed down to a stop, the train so alike the Hogwarts Express, blowing another high-pitched whistle before halting at the platform in front of us. I went to turn, to see Dumbledore, to ask again—“if it wasn't my time”—how come…?

Dumbledore had vanished.

I sat by myself, alone, on the bench.

I saw something move within the cabin, the door at the platform opening, the red paint shining against the extremely bright lights. A golden staircase unraveled beneath, and I saw a foot…a white trainer, another, its twin, and two white trouser cuffs. I stood up…not believing what I saw in front of me.

A visage…my imagination…

“…This can't be real…,” I said aloud, loud enough for the handsome being in front of me to smile that gorgeous smile.

Harry.

I started crying, falling when my knees buckled straight to the floor…

…Or, would have, if not caught, Harry's warm arms embracing me to his chest.

I could feel him.

Smell his pumpkin pie scent.

He wiped away the tears streaming down my cheeks, combed his fingers through my hair…and gave me the lightest, most affectionate kiss—I'd thought I'd melt away.

“…I've missed you so much…”

He squeezed me, saying as he brushed away the fringe from my eyes, “…There will never be a day where I don't wish to feel you beside me…like this…”

His words…fell on me like an anvil, the understatement from his precise verbiage. “…After all this…I can't let you go…”

“Your time is far from over…”

“Please!…” I pushed myself against him, my face into his chest.

“Here… I still don't really understand why things happen… But, they happen for a reason… Everything happens for a reason.”

“I don't care!…”

“It'll get better… Trust me when I say that. It's hard…it really is… But, in the end…everything happens for a reason. I wish I could tell you more. Trust in your heart—“

At the moment, I felt a thud in my chest.

I could feel my very heartbeat, as if the very blood pumping through each individual vein held the reverberation.

I held my chest, what felt like a vice constricted around my heart. I could feel myself leaving, blacking out, the light being consumed by blackness. I called out for Harry, to hear him, to see him in blinks…

“There isn't much time left…”

“I don't want to leave you!”

I felt his hand on my chest, over my heart.

“…You'll be okay… Everything will be okay… Trust me… Trust in yourself…”

I felt the constriction gradually release, as if the very grasp was being pried apart, lifted. I blinked once, and saw Harry, his hand having disappeared…his hand within me, inside me, through the ribcage, the organs beneath, with only his arm visible. The strange vision didn't frighten me…as it probably should have…but, it being Harry…my love…

He was saving me.

…Again.

“Live…Hermione…”

I blinked, a shadow of light caressing that final image of King's Cross, the train, and Harry…

“…Live!”

***

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

From darkness, my eyes shot open to a bright light. As they focused, I saw not the station, not the mists, the reflection, Harry…but a lamp, some flowers on the stand, a clock that read 12:17 PM. My nose picked up on ammonia. I blinked, wishing, wanting to go back, but found myself opening to a room in St. Mungo's…a place I knew so much about…having been here for the umpteenth time.

My whole body ached.

Drained…

My head pounded…but, I could move.

I shifted my feet, my legs, rolling to my back from the side and found myself stuck on wires. I plucked whatever hung from my ears, and up my nose, off me and tossed it aside. I felt…alone again…and cold…with no noise but a heart monitor jumping every so often.

I discarded the rest of those connections and slowly sat to my bum.

It suddenly hit me…as much as it was real, reality…the fact:

I wasn't there.

I was here.

I crowded my face with my hands and began to sob.

***

X-Ray and Laboratory, Cardio-Level, St. Mungo's Hospital

Dr. Stevens and some of his associate Healers stand around and stare at pictures hanging on the wall in front of them. Each picture shows different angles of one's heart, Hermione's heart, with something peculiar…particular…odd to all those standing around, including an astounded Dr. Stevens.

“In all my years…”

“Doctor…can this happen?”

“I never read anything like this in any medical literature in school,” said another associate. “It doesn't make sense.”

“Remarkable…,” gasps a jaw-dropped Stevens. “Absolutely remarkable.”

“Doctor?”

“…Her heart…”

“Can it really be, Dr. Stevens?”

Dr. Stevens rubs his eyes and stares bewildered, once more, at the photographs in front of him. “…Her heart has…”

He makes a little laugh, taken back…

“…It's healed itself completely.”

He was left scratching his head.

“After all that stress her body took, she should be dead! It's nothing short of a miracle…”

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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62. Hangover

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.

I hate remembering…but, I can't stand to forget - Anonymous

***

Chapter Sixty-Two - Hangover

***

THE DAILY PROPHET

QUINCY NOLPHO WINS!!!

***

9:38 PM, February 14th, 2001

The Daily Prophet Amphitheatre, Violet Hill

“…To those who say things cannot be done, I say to them: we will get them done—today! Anything can happen!”

A wild cacophony of voices shout and scream, the amphitheatre at its maximum, one hundred thousand strong leap to their feet and cheer at the dot down below. Quincy Nolpho, in stylish, chic dress attire gazes upwards—seemingly towards the Heavens—the people reaching towards the cloudless, star-filled night. Camera bulb flashes streak the landscape, Quincy grinning and waving from behind a Ministry-embellished podium. He'd walked down a red carpet, the family, his tall, thin dark-haired wife behind him with their two dark-haired little girls.

“From this moment, as your Minister, I will change the policies that our previous Minister put in place to dynamically change our way of life for the better! You! You deserve better!”

The crowd cheers.

“For every, single one of you deserve to live in a world without fear! Without the hardship you all now carry every day! The past will finally be behind us! Forward to our future!”

A rousing “Nolpho! Nolpho!” chant is heard throughout the arena.

Enormous banners displaying the Ministry crest billow in the winds swirling within the bottom of the oval bowl.

“I will—we will—together—make this nation the best of what best can be again! The glory days of British Wizarding Society!”

Nolpho puts his hand in the air, “Yes we will!”

An uproar, with every able-bodied person jumping in their confined spots, chanting louder Quincy's name.

“Thank you, Britain, for believing in me!”

Two-story high magical screens show the handsome smile of the new, youngest Minister waving from one end of the amphitheatre to the other.

“Good night! Tomorrow will be a brand new day!”

The commotion could be heard miles away.

The Ministry anthem booms to life. Quincy takes his wife's hand in his left, and takes his youngest daughter up in his arms. He bounces her to the beat of the anthem, having her wave at the crowd, his white smile shining for all to see.

***

The Daily Prophet Amphitheatre, Violet Hill

In a heavily guarded annex and room established by the Nolpho Election team and financiers just after his winning speech…

“Hun,” says Nolpho, stepping away from the door he'd just opened where people waited, stood by for him. He gives his youngest daughter's hand to his wife. “Take you and those two to the Ministry. My men will come for our things at home shortly. I'll be there soon after a little business meeting.”

His wife nods, and after given a kiss leads her daughters down the hallway by black-robed escort.

Nolpho watches his lovelies exit and slips into the room, his charming smile catching on when his team of magical and human-alike begin their applause. He elongates a ravishing bow just before being bombarded with praise, especially of one Rita Skeeter and some of her elite Prophet Media cohorts.

“Just like magic…,” Rita gives Nolpho a wink, snapping her fingers.

“All with your help, doll,” He pats Rita's back within their hug, and stands with her to the side, his arm still draped about her shoulder. He leans in quietly and whispers, “Check with me tomorrow morning…”

Nolpho lowers to Rita's ear and says something inaudible amongst the riled party. The something's so good it sends a shiver and a produces a sly smirk on Rita's lips. “Hehe… Always the charmer, Quincy!”

“I do what I can.” Nolpho smiles, giving Rita another shiver.

She clears her throat and motions towards the crowded room.

“A toast!” Rita announces, champagne high in the air. “To Quincy!”

“To Quincy!” they all exclaim.

“May our future be as lucrative as ever! And remember,” She exclaims with an excited shrill. “There are just two rules in life! Rule number one: never lose! Rule two: never forget rule number one!”

The Nolpho members cackle at the sentiment and cheer, clinking their glasses together with partners.

Quincy toasts, and as he begins to take a swig back with everyone is pulled to the side. “Sir…,” says a black cloak, a hooded figure. “…They've been…dealt with.”

“All Kingsley's bastards gone? Every last one of them?” Quincy shoots back in whisper. “If I even smell their stench in my halls…”

“All have been…alleviated from their posts.”

“Perfect,” Quincy smirks and takes the champagne in one gulp. “What of those in the so-called `Order'?”

“Excommunicated from the Ministry the moment you started talking to the ignorant masses, the fools…”

“Too bad it'll cause a stir if we went after them now…,” Quincy gives the black cloak a stiff pat on the back. “Tell the boys to take it easy tonight. You've all done superb—it's on Britain!”

He toothily grins.

“In time, sir,” The cloak bows his head. “Thank you.”

“If Kingsley or any of his men dare enter the proximity, see to it that under our `new protocol' they are…terminated…shall you?”

“Yes, sir…and the lesser ones? The ones that follow `Potter'? Granger? The pathetic Weasleys?”

“Tax them a bit more, raise their rate a bit… Remind me to write a law stating how their… What is it? A wheat field? That their field isn't under…'permit'.” Quincy lets out a howling laugh.

The cloak chuckles. “As you wish, sir…”

“And, have Miss Granger be billed for the mess she made of my Ministry… Say…,” Quincy wanders off with his eyes as if to really ponder the equation. “…We'll take all of what she'd earn from Potter's will. Seize his Gringotts vault and all that's inside it…”

“…Shouldn't be a problem with the goblins in our pocket…”

Quincy holds his stomach, laughing heartily. “…See to it that we retrieve that book Kingsley insisted on protecting for the Vatican… Now that he's been taken out.”

“Yes, sir…”

He gives the hooded figure another pat on the back. “Well, mate, I've a party to attend!”

***

9:21 PM, February 14th, 2001

Fourth floor, Visitor's Waiting Room, St. Mungo's Hospital

Huddled around a newly acquired television anchored into the corner of the waiting room, Ginevra sits with a large group of visitors and night-shift Healers watching the live feed of Quincy Nolpho's winning speech. She's left shaking her head, mouth slightly ajar, at how easily Kingsley was removed…to be placed with someone so…unknown, and frightfully so. After witnessing Voldemort…what he could do, how he could use, the power…

Quincy Nolpho looked exactly like the cover, and beautifully put as a politician.

The camera would show the crowds cheering wildly on their feet…

…And, Gin, her Weasley-red swaying with the subtle shake of her noggin, just stared.

Some in the room with her applauded, and she'd gaze over at them with…disgust.

“Do you even know anything about this guy?!” she finally yelled over someone's clap.

“What's your problem lady?” shouted back a sharply offended woman.

“Name me one damn thing this shithole has ever done besides, you know, being excommunicated from the Ministry!”

“Lady—this is a hospital, not a bar! We don't use that language in this facility.”

“You'd think a Weasley would know.”

“She's a Weasley? Ha! No wonder! With that Potter trash…”

For a second Gin thought to shoot over and snap the poor woman's head off…

…But, thought of Hermione.

“When you've come from your knees, hun, be sure to tell me how much you love this guy.” Gin thumbed towards the TV.

“Excuse me,” A Healer tapped on Gin's shoulder causing her to flick to that side, her hair and all swirling. “I'm going to have to ask you to leave the waiting room.”

Some in the room began to applaud for the Healer's actions.

Gin stood up, taking a sip of her coffee. She eyed the Healer curiously, “Maybe everyone shouldn't forget what happened a few years ago…”

Gin began to walk out, but caught the side of the doorframe. She inclined her head back into the waiting room and smiled at the offended woman. “Ignorant bitch.”

“Ma'am! Leave!”

“My pleasure!” Gin winked at the Healer, gave a shake of her hips, and gave a sort of Elizabethan wave to all those who clamored for Nolpho.

When she turned around, she ran straight into something, spilling some of her coffee down her front.

“For fuck's sake…,” She whispered, a bit happy the coffee wasn't steaming hot, but annoyed that on top of everything else, of Hermione, and Harry, and Neville, and her apartment, the Ministry…everything…she just had to…

She glanced up, seeing black, and then black robes.

She instantly went rigid, feeling for her wand in her jean pocket.

The hooded cloak reached into his robe…

…Gin slowly eased her wand outward by fingertip…

…And, gave Gin two envelopes, each stamped with a Ministry wax seal.

She stared into the blackness that was the robe's face before he vanished in a poof of vile, choke-inducing smoke.

She held her breath and swished her hands to air the area around her out.

It was like he wasn't there, the hallway she stood in and the people walking around, going about their business per usual. Though, now, within her grasp held an envelope addressed to her, slightly off-white. She caught her nail in its sleeve, broke the seal carefully and watched as the parchment unraveled:

From the Chair of Quincy Nolpho, Ministry of Magic,

We are informing you that upon this day, at this hour, February 14th, 2001, you, Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley, are hereby banished from the Ministry of Magic. All privileges and special interests you have used in the past have been permanently revoked. You have been removed from Ministry watch and are now considered against the Ministry for requisite wrongdoings. All securities, including and involved with all monies and land will be reviewed and you will be held to any and all consequences for your actions.

This action, given to and affirmed by me, the Minister of Magic, cannot be tried on the act of repeal.

Sincerely,

Quincy Nolpho, Ministry of Magic

The other envelope, as she went from the parchment, was address to a Miss Hermione Jane Granger.

The parchment addressed to, as she held it so listlessly in her hand, began to catch fire and as she dropped it turned to ash before it could hit the floor.

***

9:07 PM February 14th, 2001

Undisclosed location outside of London suburbs

The sound of a cane echoes throughout an empty World War II bunker. The clink-clink sound sobers those watching the man pacing between them, the pitch-black tail from his fitted cloak flowing behind him. He'd been talking to those men, in white cloaks themselves, mostly, with others in once Ministry-owned attire, the golden “M” emblem evident on their breasts. The rest, in civilian-style clothing, look on, but are nevertheless important to the clique's whole.

A man, a white cloak, rushes in which abruptly halts the cane. “Sir,” she exclaims, putting a fist to her chest. “The Hogwarts children will be safe. They're attempting a succession from the inside out all thanks to you.”

“…His plan is working…,” he murmurs to himself.

“Excellent,” The cane begins to walk, wobbling over to the white cloak and gives the woman's shoulder a squeeze. “Your team has done wondrous work. I wish you to commend them for me.”

“Thank you, sir.” The white hood lowers in slight bow.

The cane swivels, the hand, the black cloak, the white-blonde hair and stone-grey eyes encircle the crowd before him. “This will not be a repeat of what happened before.”

“But, sir—we've been removed from the Ministry!” shouts one from his audience.

“The people have spoken. To hush them would be against our honour,” The cane begins its walk again. “We can only protect them now.”

“But, they've been misled! We should attack now!”

“The Death Eater's will use the people's will against us. We have to be craftier and more cunning than them. They've the entire media behind them. A frontal attack would truly be our demise. We've only begun playing their game of chess—to weed out their pawns, go for their king—“

“If Kingsley had only—!”

The white-blonde male cuts into what would have been a dismissal of the previous Minister. “Kingsley was a man of integrity! He fought on and off the field for our backs!”

He turns towards the rest of the sweeping crowd in the bunker. “While every family slept, he was on the front line for us! I'll hear no more of that insolence from you, the greatest of gentlemen and women! Is that understood?!”

A rousing, “Yes, sir!” concluded.

“Sir!” A man had come in from one of the side hallways, standing near a board of drawn tactics.

“What news do you bring us from the Ministry?”

“Everything has been burned, sir!”

The stone-grey eyes light with the slightest of grins. “It'll be like we were never there… Can we still get inside?”

“They've locked down the entrances, including the more…unknown networks.”

The cane leans on a table, the blueprint of the Ministry's various levels strewn out for all to see. Those grey eyes peer over the structures, its openings. “The more…valuable…objects removed?”

“Yes, sir!”

“…Just when you thought you had them all…,” whispers the blonde, staring at the spot where the drawn lines move, Quincy's teams redoing the Ministry to their desires. The blonde states a hint above whisper, “…The invisibility cloak will certainly be of worth to us, as will….”

“The departments deemed…confidential…are in a bit of smolder…it'll take them ages to sort it all out.”

“Excellent!” The blonde looks up with a curl at his lips. “Tell the White Knights they've done a superlative job. Any news on Azkaban?”

“The Death Eaters have taken complete control over Azkaban,” announces a white hood, having the grey eyes flick to his left.

“When did the Rose Brigade come in?” The blonde smiles a wicked smile.

Under the hood one can hear a smug guffaw, leading to the unraveling of amateur prints drawn up of Azkaban's interior and exterior. A torn glove, leather-clad finger points to, and around, the outer edges. “They've begun setting perimeters here, here, and here… They're hiding something from us they don't want us to know about.”

“Are you able to still get in there?” answers the exquisitely-garbed chief.

“Underneath the cloud of…jubilation they've received by civilians, the dementors have been…obtained, once more.”

“Maintain disruption of the Ministry…,” The blonde taps the drawn blueprint of the offices of the Minister. “This'll surely be where they funnel all their resources be it human or non-human.”

“Understood, sir.”

“And,” The blonde replies with a haughty tone. “Do give them Hell.”

“I want every able-bodied person on top of espionage from here on out—help your comrades above you do their work with proficiency,” shouts the man back on his cane. “Be prepared for lots of sleepless nights!”

A familiar red-head appears beside the blonde commander, his hood down as it hangs about his tunic. “Sir, your orders?”

The stone-grey eyes go to him, “Weasley, your services have just stepped up a notch. You trained hard with me for this day. Are you ready?”

“I am, sir. I am ready for anything.”

“You've changed into a fine Auror, Weasley.”

“A bit ironic, coming from…”

The blonde commander smirks. “I never leave a promise unfinished.”

“Weasley,” states an astute director. “I am as sure as my family's name that the new `Minister' will banish Granger, your sister, and all the rest who are adjunct to the Order. He may even go so far as to excommunicate them, make them enemies of the country. If that happens you must go with her.”

“I am hers.”

The cane steps forward and wobbles. The man raises his gloved hand and places it on Ronald's shoulder. “Promise me you won't get yourself killed out there.”

“Again…,” Ron laughs a bit. “Hearing that for you.”

“Weasley!” The commander sharply injects, but with twitch from the side of his mouth. “Remember: I am your commander now. Do as you are told and we'll be fine.”

Ronald nods, hiding a smirk. “Understood.”

His commander gives him a brotherly shove. “Now get on out of here!”

Ron salutes, a hand to his chest, before vanishing from once he stood…

“Weasley!”

“Sir?”

“Trust your instincts. Granger will pull through like Potter, as usual.”

Ronald nods as his image slowly dissipates into a thinly-veiled mist of white.

***

9:27 PM February 14th, 2001

Fourth floor, Room 447, St. Mungo's Hospital

I can't be here anymore.

I can't.

It feels like I'm suffocating…

I stared at the ceiling, the tear stains mere dried riverbeds now amongst the flawless porcelain skin. My throat, having clenched whilst weeping, now ached. My jaw, having tightened, felt sore. My mind raced, traveling through images of what I could remember. The more I remembered, the more those memories began to escape me. I remembered Albus…his words…echoing as if he whispered them to me presently… And, Harry, the last image of him, his hand on my chest, in my chest…

I placed my hand where I knew he touched me above my heart…my heart…

I could feel a pace, albeit a bit unsteady from crying, but I knew…without any doctor telling me…

…I'd changed.

The change didn't help.

I still was without Harry.

I swore up and down I'd given this change to bring back him.

Swap my illness for his life, keep me sickly, just to smell of him, taste of him, feel of him once more.

I sat up in the hospital bed. Looking at the back of my hand, I watched as I turned at my wrist to rotate the cuff, the IV stuck into the back of my hand. The plastic shone when it hit the light. I heard the various calls outside my room, and people…

Nothing mattered.

I couldn't be here.

I was alone.

I remember taking the backside of my hand and, with one hard pull, a tear shedding, ripping the IV from the back of my hand. I held my palm over the top, put pressure down on it, feeling wetness underneath. I closed my eyes, found Number Twelve, and in the moment before the picture of my room blinked out, I saw Gin—her Weasley-red swaying to and fro. She had crept into the room, and her eyes instantly lighted when she saw me vanish.

I'd appeared in the hallway entrance.

Number Twelve in a deathly silence, the bottoms of my trainers all its noise alongside an ever-ticking clock.

I stood in the den.

I looked over the sofa, the Gryffindor quilt still laying out where we had cuddled before I left for Ginny's that day. A tea kettle sat still on the range, waiting for us to have its beverage that night after trying on my wedding dress. The mail had come and cluttered up the windowsill. The meat I had laid in the sink, to which gave an interesting odor, continued to wait for that meal which never came.

Crookshanks met me from around a corner, feeling against my leg as I wandered upstairs. The pictures of us clouded my brain, as if they were mocking, every smile, every laugh, every bit of happiness in each frame—mobile or immobile—sought to tear me up. I fought the urge, needing to, wanting to…

I found myself in our lavatory, washing and re-washing where I'd yanked out the IV. I looked over the sink as I did, seeing his razor, his cologne…the towel he used to dry off after showering still hung over the rail…

After applying a bandage, some ointment, I trekked back into a darkened bedroom, a silent apartment. Crookshanks nuzzled me… But, I was lost in another place, another time. I'd been washing clothes before leaving… Harry had taken them out of the drier, the basket and some contents still on our dresser drawer, the closet slightly opened where he surely hung garments up. My vanity, the mirror's edges stuck with pictures of us… My reflection in contrast, as I moved on by dazedly, somber…

I fell onto the bed, the bed having never been made… I would have made it with the new linen, but was too excited, too nervous about the dress…

I fell right on my side, his side untouched, my head towards…nothing.

I could smell his scent, the ripe pumpkin spice, still lingering in his place…and the closer I moved, the more…Harry…until I had bundled myself in sheets and all, my hands, arms bound about his pillow…

…And, cried myself to sleep.

***

9:31 PM February 14th, 2001

On the streets outside of St. Mungo's Hospital

“Ronald!”

The Weasley-red cried out, soaked to the bone as sheets of rain flooded the streets of London, the water like dirty streams as it poured into the sewers. Automobiles honked, Ginny nearly racing out into on-coming traffic, her mind pre-occupied, elsewhere. The Muggles surrounding the mad ginger stopped with their umbrellas to stare, gazing about as she'd appeared from practically nowhere.

“Ronald!” she shouted through thunder. “She's gone!”

A mother and father, unnerved, grabbed hold of their son's hand and dragged him off down the sidewalk.

Others motioned over at Gin, rolling their eyes and giggling.

A man actually laughed out loud at the hilarity of the scene.

“She's left the hospital!” Gin sifted her hands through the front of her hair, gripping it as she wrecked her brain as to where Hermione might have gone. She shouted again, in a shrill, losing her voice in the tainted element, “She could be anywhere!”

And in a flash, Gin popped from sight…leaving the bystanders in utter shock and disbelief.

***

11:14 PM February 14th, 2001

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

Languidly, fixed intently at nothing in particular, I peered through the kitchen window at the dark, rolling clouds, the rain splattering heavily against the panes. The lightning that struck in front of my eyes, lighting up the atmosphere, didn't as much as have me flinch. My mind was gone. I was gone. I didn't even remember getting up, nor did I remember drinking not one, but two bottles of wine…

…The last bottle left in the fridge, the only bottle left…Harry's favourite…at the counter aside me.

Firewhiskey.

I didn't care for it… But, drunk… I didn't care much for anything.

Senseless.

I breathed only to retain life.

I didn't see much of anything, hear, nor taste, smell… But, I could feel the cold, the loneliness, my withdrawal, the frankness of getting absolutely arse-faced plastered. Something to numb the pain, and there was lots of pain.

Staggering to my right, I'd grabbed the neck of the Firewhiskey bottle and led myself, stumbling and stuttering, hitting a wall here, the backside of the sofa there, into the only semi-lit room in the home. The television was on, I'd somehow managed to find the DVDs I recorded of us…on holidays, on our side-trips, of our everyday lives…together…

The only remaining bastion of sanity.

To see him, and hear him, speak.

As if he was right there with me.

When I fell atop the sofa, I spilt some of the Firewhiskey on me… But, my attention wasn't on my present visage, that numbness never causing the stir, the reaction of what one would do when he or she spilt something on themselves. No, I saw Harry, and my past, his smiling face as we were bundled up on the very sofa I sat on, in the Gryffindor quilt, laughing and…singing a little tune…Harry out of tune…but, altogether…perfect…

I put the bottle to my mouth and fought a choke, the liquid burning me, my tongue, the sensitive flesh, and downward as it scorched my throat swollen.

I had tears come to fruition, amongst the ones already there.

“Say, `Good night,' Harry.”

“'Good night, Harry.'”

“No… Hahaha… You're silly.”

“You're silly.”

And, he tickled me, my laughter like knives now, deep lacerations to my soul, cutting straight to the heart.

The telephone woke me from my trance.

A ring, and then another, and the next.

I rolled to one side, lost the bottle and had it pour across the carpet.

“Fucking hell…”

I'd only made it halfway within my drunken stupor when the ringing stopped.

I cursed, of course, at the confounded thing…the ruse in which kept me from entering that part of me, dark, depressing…alone, helpless, fragile…when the telephone rang again. I caught it this time, having a cough, a stumble as I landed hip-first atop the counter.

I knew it had to be Gin…or Ronald…or mum, who knew.

All I knew at the moment was I didn't want to speak to any of them—no one.

I wanted to be here, but gone, gone so very far away.

Maybe so far away that I'd end up…

“Hermione…?”

The voice caught me bewildered, and at first I didn't know how to respond.

“…Nathaniel?”

“Christ! I've been trying to call your mobile forever, girl… Where have you been? Are you all right?”

I put my hand to my forehead, a pounding beginning between my eyes.

I had to shut them.

“Nathan…”

“You sound awful—what's wrong? Tell me what's happened. Can I—“

“…I don't want to be alone…,” I cut in, having him abruptly stop.

“Okay,” he started. “Well, I can—“

“I want to come over. I don't want to be here. I need you.”

The phone went silent a beat, for Nathan to pick back up. I could hear a jingling of keys in the background.

“Where are you? Do you want me to come pick you up?”

“No—no,” I shook my head, even though he couldn't see me. “…I'm coming over right away…”

“Okay, but just realise that if you're not here in a half hour, I'm calling the po—“

I dropped the phone, it falling and hitting the floor with a hard thump, the plastic breaking…but, I'd gone, apparated.

…To the front door of his halls of residence, and as I appeared, gave a fright to a man with a heap of laundry in his grasps.

“GODS!” He jumped. “You scared me shitless!”

Not so much ignoring the man, than… I knocked on Nathaniel's door.

I leaned my head on the cool wood a second…it felt good…heard other university-minded people wander passed me, behind me, when the door swung open…

…And, there was Nathaniel.

He looked astounded, wide-eyed. “Hey! Wow… That was fast—“

“Hermione!” His concern grew, sizing me up, my physical droopiness, bent over…feeling…out of place…removed. “What in Christ's—“

“I don't want to be alone…”

“You're not alone—come inside.”

“I—I don't…,” I took Nathaniel's hand, his arm, pushing inside, on him. He hadn't a chance to say a thing, my lips on his, my arms around his neck. I literally crawled on him standing erect. He had his hands on me, feeling of me, taking me, and then letting me go as if he didn't know how to debate this new concept.

I knew the ending, leading him somewhere, anywhere—his sofa where I pushed his body down on with all my strength; oddly, with his form more than double the size of mine. I climbed on him, straddling, our lips moving as one, our breaths thick and heavy, and my hands in his Oxford tee from underneath.

I tore it from him, over his head, across his arms, and pressed myself against his muscular figure, my fingers, the pads feeling his abdominals, his pectorals, and his enormous shoulders.

I could hear him say my name… I didn't know if he meant it one way, or its opposite…but I continued on, needing, wanting this—wanting to feel that connection, that passion, that love I missed.

When I stopped.

And, he stopped.

I felt it.

Everything.

My eyes bulged from their sockets, acidity taking form of taste in my mouth.

He knew the signs, the signals of what was to come—and soon. He lifted me straight from him and carried me off into his bedroom, to his bathroom, where I unattached myself and shoved him away just in time to lift the lid and violently vomit into the bowl.

It hurt so bad I held myself, my stomach, gripping the bowl so hard my knuckles were white. My whole body would tense, every fibre, every muscle when it'd come again, and tears, too.

I felt my hair being taken away, my back being rubbed.

Between one heave, I demanded, “Don't you dare look!”

“I'm not looking,” he answered back, and quick, only my ears catching the sound for my eyes tensed right alongside my body with another twisted retch.

I lay my forehead against the bowl when I thought I was finished, to spit, keeping my eyes closed and nose far from what I'd done. I found Nathaniel, when my eyes blinked open once, having held back my hair, and his soothing run down my spine. I wish I could have smiled, but thought none of it, sick, and hurting.

I heard the toilet flush, and I could feel the water pressure.

I closed my eyes, opened them again to see Nathaniel behind me.

“You look severely dehydrated…and when's the last time you've eaten?”

When he spoke of food, I held myself, praying I wouldn't go again…and said in whisper, “Please…don't talk about…that…”

He just looked at me, my parts, my slumped over body, and then back to me. He hadn't ceased his back rub and he still had my hair. “…You going to be all right now? Got it out?”

I gradually closed my eyes…to feel myself being picked up slowly, and kindly, cautious Nathaniel was as he lifted me from the tiled bathroom floor and into his arms. I was a bundle of structure and skin, not moving…just there. He laid me in bed, his bed…for I knew he lived in his university flat alone as he had described so many times before.

I took to moving as little as possible, and thankfully, I noted, the room was dark besides the light coming from the bathroom behind me and the living space beyond. He cared enough to lay me away from the light prior to him turning it off. He left me but only for seconds, to come back in and sit beside me.

“Come,” he slid an arm gently about my shoulder, propping me up.

“…I don't want to move…,” my head throbbed…well, everything throbbed, ached, and…the sickness…

“You've got to drink, eat.”

I'd been sat up, my head on his shoulder. “…No…”

“Yes, it'll help—trust me,” He made a silent laugh. “Being a bartender for years, and being drunk once or twice myself, I've learned to get as much fluids and carbs in me to stave off a hangover—which you'll rightfully have soon if you don't drink and eat this toast.”

I lurched when he said “toast,” to hear him say, “Nah, nah…no, none of that. Get your mind away. Come on, the Coke first. I've even put a straw in the cup with ice.”

He put the straw to my lips. “It's for the best, love. Honestly.”

I hesitated…to open my lips that smidgen of length and suckle at the straw. The sugary sweet soda tasted good and cold.

“Drink as much as you can get down, and then the toast.”

I'd curled up with him, to lurch back when he spoke of the toast again.

“No…come on, Hermione. The toast. There's nothing on it—it's plain.”

“I can't…”

“Yes you can. It'll help you not get sick—sicker—more sick than you already are.”

“Uhnn…,” I groaned and bit down on what he offered, a small bite, and chewed the tasteless wheat bread.

I made a face Nathan grinned at. “That was cute.”

I covered my face with my hand and hid myself.

Nathan laughed. “All right…all right… Now, it's time for some sleep.”

“…I can't stay here. What about—“

“You're my friend, Hermione. She can get over it. She's a big girl.”

He let me down easy, and I, for whatever reason, subconsciously stated in rebuttal, “…But, I don't want to take your bed…”

My head hit the pillow, and I gazed through slits up at him.

My head was swimming; so, as quick as my sight held, the quicker I shut that vision off.

“Don't worry about it at all—the sofa pulls out into a comfortable bed.”

I think I said, “Okay.”

I could have said, “All right.”

Whichever I said, of all the options…I said in sleep.

***

12:47 AM February 15th, 2001

Near Reading, England, just south of Oxford

A silhouette of a figure crouches atop a building looking towards the halls of residence of one, Nathaniel Blake. Between air vents and fire escapes, he sits, watching, waiting, neither emotional nor emotionless, completely in-tune with whichever action best suits the situation…

…So, he continues to wait, to care, to be there for her, her Guardian.

His Weasley-red matted down from the drenching weather and harsh gusts, the white cloak on his tunic flittering in the winds.

He peers up towards the blackened sky.

***

{Musical inspirations: Linkin Park - In the End, Staind - It's Been a While, One Republic - Apologize, and, oddly enough from that happy bunch, Carly Simon - Nobody Does it Better}

{Author's note: Been bogged down offline as of late; so, if things seem somewhat disjointed it's because I've written the chapter in pieces since the last upload. I wanted to get a chapter up since it's been a while}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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63. Rapport

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.

A true friend never gets in your way unless you're going down - Arnold H. Glasow

***

Chapter Sixty-Three - Rapport

***

Thankful for lucent curtains, what little light that tried to come in came in only where the cloth didn't protect. For, I had a headache, a pressure between my eyes and a throb near the backside of my head. I woke in the most awkward position, with a leg bent one way, my other going directly opposite, and my hand over my head. My back was stiff when I moved, slowly, covered in sheets I didn't recognize when my vision gradually formed. Dark, they were, from white, or Gin's forest green.

On the sheets embroidered some sort of animal…a lion, I thought, and I closed my eyes…thinking of Harry, when I realized where I was. In a rush, bits of memory began to convey until… Nathaniel!

I shot up, and wished I hadn't.

I held my head.

My head felt like a bowling ball, an anvil atop my neck, and I fell right back into the pillow.

My eyes caught the image of a digital clock, its red numbers aglow in the semi-darkness.

1:24 PM.

I'd slept for ages; but, I could believe it.

I remembered the drink, and I remembered…

Oh Christ…

I put my hand over my forehead.

I made a fool out of myself.

Damn it, Hermione…

That's when I could smell myself, the ripe stench of alcohol, of that whiskey I spilt all over my shirt. I'd laid right in it. Wonderful. Amazing. Brilliant. Alongside these comfortable jeans…

I just lay there a minute, gathering whatever faculties still clung to whichever brain cells I had left.

The irony? I still wanted it. I wanted to feel broken from this world, already broken, in dismay, wanting nothing more than to forget. A part of me was happy that I'd left home…for whatever it was worth. To be away from that portion of life, of the heartache, the mindless chaos, the cold loneliness. I needed to be around someone who understood me, but was so unlike me… I thought, at least, to myself. Maybe it was an excuse? Maybe I had other intentions… So warped, I couldn't gather upwards or downwards, let alone what was right or wrong. My life had turned into one big shade of grey, and it looked as if it would be staying there for a while.

I pushed myself up finally, feeling obligated even if I had that damned hangover. I held my head, my eyes closed for the longest time. I think I fell asleep, coming to again to see the clock a few minutes passed. The correct action would have been to lie back down. I was safe, Nathaniel always gave me that sense, but…

What would Trisha say? Some strange woman…well, not that strange as I'd met her once…but nonetheless, in his bed, and having been liquored up.

I tossed the sheet to the side and swung my legs carefully over the bed. I pushed up, my arms at either side of my hips and softly padded for the closed door of the bedroom. I could hear a television, what sounded like sports, an announcer calling out names of players, the score, what was happening now.

When I opened the door, expecting Nathaniel… I shouldn't expect things.

From the sofa, a man I had never seen before looked back at me.

“Well, hello there!”

He was a bit loud, having me hold my head again.

“…Who are—“ I stopped, being in whisper, to change the question. “…Where is Nathan?”

“My apologies,” the man said, gazing behind glasses, a sleeveless sports jersey over his shoulders of the local British rugby team. His dirty blonde hair, slightly in a mess, and of length, shifted as he did to see me. “I'm Donald, best mate of Nathan since practically nursery school.”

I nodded, feeling a bit relieved, to hear him add, “Nate's at school still, and he told me to give you a message that he may be late, if you're still here, as he goes to the gym on Sundays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays.”

“School…,” I murmured to myself… I hadn't gone back since… I pushed what I could out of my mind, Donald helping me as he spoke up again.

“He also left you a note on the kitchen counter over there,” he motioned over towards where the carpeting ended and the linoleum floor began, bluish counter tops along the walls with a gas range and oven. “It's near the telephone, the notepad on the wall.”

I looked towards the white telephone on the wall, the notepad near a fire extinguisher.

I went over, as kindly to my eyes, the sunlight, however dim it lit the room from the windows, still had me in squints. I stood at the wall, my eyes level with the notepad, the writing, when Donald asked, “Wait—are you `Hermione'?”

I glanced over at him.

“Did I say it right?”

“Yeah…,” I paused, ran a hand through the fringe of my hair. “Yeah… Why?”

“Ahh…,” Donald smiled behind his glasses. “So, you're the Hermione.”

“Excuse me…?”

“I've heard a lot about you from Nate—too bad I didn't apply to Oxford or I'd have met you sooner.”

A bit flattered, a merely smiled back and began the read:

Hermione,

If you get this, I just want to say that you're welcome here. I don't know what happened; but, if you need to talk, I'll be back around five tonight. I'm writing this at eight in the morning, so I don't know if the breakfast I cooked you will still be edible. It's the dish covered in the yellow-plastic wrap on the stove. I didn't know what you liked, so I made a bit of everything. Remember to eat and drink. If you decide to leave, please either write something below this note or call me so I know you're safe and sound.

- N

Peeking from the scribbled note, my focus went to the dish centered squarely between the two farthest eyes. I wandered over, taking the white plastic in-hand and unwrapped the citrine-coloured cellophane, the food barely noticeable. In sections, the Tupperware plate held bacon, a fried egg, sausage, some tomatoes, and slice, buttered bread. Delighted, I beamed, to jump when I heard a voice from behind me.

On the other side of a bar jutting out from the main countertops, towards the living space, Donald had begun to say, “There's—“ when he stopped, and apologized. “Pardon.”

“You scared me…!” A hand to my chest, I spoke with a shudder.

“Sorry,” he apologized again. “I only meant to say that there was OJ in the fridge, and milk—or beer if that's your sort of thing.”

I made a face. “OJ.”

Donald laughed. “Do you like rugby?”

I shrugged. “I sometimes watched it with my dad when I was younger. I know Nathan plays for Oxford.”

Donald's mouth gaped.

“What…?” I suggested, a hand on the fridge handle. I cocked a brow. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“A friend of Nate's not loving rugby?!” He laughed a bit loud, and I flinched, poking into the fridge to find the orange juice in the door.

“He's losing his touch.”

“We've discussed literature,” I closed the fridge with my hip. “The glasses?”

Donald let out a “blech” noise. “…Literature,” he shivered. “Odd people… Third cupboard from your left.”

Finding said cupboard, I reached in and began pouring a glass half-full. I snuck a peek around at Donald, the bit of toast in my mouth. “Literature is amazing—you can learn so much. Try it sometime.”

“'Learning,' Donald acted as if he sunk. He made a retching sound. “No, no—that won't do. Come on.”

He motioned for me with a hand to the living space, the sofa, and the rather large screen television. “I'll do Nathan's job. Teach you all there is to know about this lovable sport. Then, you'll be hooked like us.”

“Hooked, eh?” I laughed, turning around with the plate taken from the microwave and set on into the quarters.

“Absolutely addicted by the time Nate gets back.”

“We'll just have to see about that.”

“I like you already!”

“Hahaha…,” I fell to the sofa with a bounce.

With a wiggle, Donald sat, too, and hit the mute off.

He pointed to the screen, the players, “So, you see…”

***

“Hey—could I get your phone number?”

“Get on out of here, Don!” Nathan chuckled and pushed Don who had already stepped halfway out the door.

Donald had been looking over Nathan's shoulder and gave a wave at Hermione who still sat on the sofa, another game of rugby on the television, its volume condensing the atmosphere to just an announcers voice.

“At least I gave it a try, mate!”

I silently laughed to myself, gave an eye roll, and studied the chaos of the sport.

“Go hit up Steph. She called me after gym wondering where you were.”

“Steph, you say? Hm…” Donald gave a maniacal laugh to which Hermione's brows rose. “I'm on it!”

The door was shut, the noise having me turn to see Nathan coming on over. The sofa gave a bounce when he sat down, grabbed the remote control, and turned the sound down. “Sorry `bout that. He only does it because he likes you.”

I laughed. “I got that notion…”

I shuffled around my legs, having them pulled underneath me. “Nathaniel.”

“Hermione.” He mused, setting the controller beside him on a stand and stretched, putting an arm on the backside of the sofa. “So, what's up?”

He glanced over at me.

“I'm sorry about yesterday—“

He put a hand up. “Eh… It's not like I didn't enjoy it.”

I smirked, another eye roll.

“I saw that…,” He peered at me as I peeked at him. He smiled. “But seriously, no need to let your mind worry. I get it. But you've got to tell me what's going on. What happened? And, why haven't you gone back to school?”

I fidgeted, elevating an arm, my hand, to bite on my nail. I thought, quickly, between truths and lies, what I could tell him and what I should and would tell him.

“Let's start at the beginning.” He offered.

“Okay,” I replied behind my hand, my eyes wandering off to come back to him.

He shifted in his spot, crossing a leg. “So, you got drunk because…?”

“Long story…”

“I've lots of free time. Try me.”

My eyes widened, and I shook my head.

“Harry hasn't done anything to you, has he?” Nathan grew concerned, giving me that look over, the same look over I remembered him giving me while I was over the toilet.

“What?!” I snapped. “OH! No! No…”

“Well, it's not like I've seen the guy beyond pictures, Hermione. He could be the violent-type for all I know.”

“How many times have I told you that I'm reminded of him around you? And, you're not the violent-type.”

“Only on the field,” Nathan gave a laugh. “But, I'd like to know if he hit you or—“

“He didn't hit me.” I declared. “Harry wouldn't dare do something so outrageous… It'd be against his very soul.”

“Then,” Nathan's brow rose curiously. “What then? I don't understand. Did your friends do something? That `Ginevra'…?”

In a sudden burst of mindless thought, images of Harry, and Harry, and Harry… Of death, of blood-shed, of Voldemort, of those years of trial and strife, of loneliness, of confusion, of madness… Of all my innocence stripped away in seconds. I wasn't there when he died. I didn't go to his funeral. I'd given up on him. I felt worthless, and…

I threw myself on Nathaniel to his surprise as he was taken back, shocked. Crying, I couldn't help myself, my arms around him, having leapt a distance. I dug my face into his chest, hiding as I wept uncontrollably. I felt him put an arm around me and demand from me, “Damn it, Hermione. Tell me what's happened!”

“He died!”

Silence.

“…What? Who died?”

Intractable, I couldn't stop sobbing, the sleeveless exercise shirt of Nathan's my new home.

“Hermione—tell me who died.” He slightly increased his tone, just to get over me.

I knew he knew.

I wished I hadn't said it.

But, did.

“…Harry!”

***

“So, it's official, yes?” Nathaniel looked over his shoulder, hunched over the stove as he cooked some vegetable and beef stew. “You're wanting to stay?”

Leaning on the bar opposite him, I gave a nod he saw, saying back, “If…that's all right with you. Just until I…”

“You know you're welcome here. I've got a little space, but you're welcome to it.”

“And, Patricia…?”

“I'll handle Trish,” He turned back around, stirring a rather large pot. The aroma alone had me salivating. My eyes would go to the pot, and to him, and back again.

“I don't want to be a burden or—“

“You? A burden?” He chuckled and turned around to see me. “Friends are never a burden, at least mine. Do you want me to go with you to gather your things?”

“No…,” I sighed, not really wanting to go back to… But, had to, if not just to get these clothes off. I couldn't understand how the stench of alcohol hadn't turned Donald's or Nathaniel's heads yet. Then again, Nathan did have quite the stash of liquors and spirits lining the bar. I had guessed due in part of his work, and the university setting, parties… I'd never been to one, always with… Our own “parties”.

I pushed from the counter.

“Are you sure?” He asked. “I can always turn the stove off and pick up when we get back.”

“I've got it.” I tried to sound as positive as I could.

I don't think Nathaniel bought it, but went along with it, giving me a stare. “All right then… I'll be here when you get back.”

“Here,” He had me look up. He went over to the belongings he'd come back with from the gym, to a sports bag in which he unzipped. Reaching in, he retrieved a black-and-grey mobile and tossed it towards me. I caught it. “Take my phone, and please, please call me if anything happens between now and when you get back.”

I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and flipped the mobile open, the light coming on, its wallpaper the American flag.

“How do you think you'll be gone? `Bout a half hour?”

I shrugged, closing the mobile and slipping it into my pocket. “Sounds about right…”

“All right then,” He gave me another one of his caring stares. He went over and watched me from the other side of the bar counter, his hands set atop. “I'll be watching the clock.”

“I'll be okay, Nathan.”

He nodded and gave a smile. “Call me protective. And, take my coat on the way out. Even though the sun poked its head out today, the forecasters said to expect a cold rain tonight.”

I smiled.

Just like another person I knew…

***

I had my things packed, or what I could throw together. The more time I spent within Number Twelve, the more I cried, the memories too raw. So, in a rush I tossed whatever my hands came across, mismatched or matching, it didn't matter. Clothes were clothes at this point. Oddly surreal, as I stood in the hallway looking down towards the den, the lights out, upstairs quiet, Crookshanks purring in my arms… It felt like just yesterday I saw Harry wander downstairs, asking me what my hold up was, seeing me with another book huddled on the sofa completely lost for time. Then, he'd pick me up, take me into his arms and we'd be off to bed. Or, I'd come home from school and work, and we'd sit up talking, chatting about all the adventures his day took and mine. Or, discussing what we were going to do on the weekend, maybe the cinemas, a day at the park, or just a drive around the countryside.

The lone ticking of the grandfather clock was all that was left; that, and the darkness.

Wiping those wet lines from my eyes, I disappeared for the final time, saying a quiet goodbye to Number Twelve.

***

On the sidewalks outside Number Twelve, the streetlamps turned on all at once, nighttime resounding in London. Although Muggles went about their walks, not a soul could see the hidden apartment sans one: a white cloak and tunic in the shadows of a tree. He could feel her, looking towards the lot, the laughter of a few, the running around of small children unbeknownst to the sadness none could witness.

From beneath his hood he wiped away a tear with his cracked leather-gloved hand, the feeling of all the weight in the world fell to the pit of his stomach, his throat clenched… He could hear Hermione's thoughts loud and clear, and when she said her silent farewell, it nearly broke his titanium will. No training could shelter him from consuming her heartbreak, and the death of his partner in crime.

He disappeared when the first raindrops splattered against the cold asphalt and wrought iron gates leading to numbers eleven and thirteen.

***

“Hey…”

Nathaniel had left the door to his residence open. So, when I popped back to an area just outside and trekked the staircase up to the second floor, I was met with his eyes, Donald's, and… an alarmingly beautiful Trisha Carmichael.

“Hey!” Nathan came up from the sofa when he saw me, or heard me struggling with the two suitcases I brought with me alongside a fidgety orange fur ball. “Welcome back!”

I smiled at him when he went to meet me, only to see the blonde bombshell's vibrant blue eyes go into squints. My eyes broke from hers, to Nathan's, asking, “I hope you don't mind I brought along a friend. He's really no trouble, but—“

“Aw…come here,” I was surprised at how well Crookshanks took to Nathan, a strange person plucking him from my grasps without getting swiped by a claw. The Kneazle just blinked his beady little black eyes at me and went ahead purring at Nathan's chin. “What's his name?”

“Crookshanks.”

Donald grabbed my suitcases, shuffling in around Nathan who stepped away, petting a very stretched-out and relaxed kitty on his shoulder. “Pretty ladies shouldn't have to carry these heavy things!”

“Thanks,” I grinned at Donald.

“While you were gone, Don brought over a nicely-sized cot so you wouldn't have to sleep on the sofa. So you wouldn't wake up with body aches.”

“It's my pleasure, madam,” nodded Donald from beyond the sofa. “Where do you want these?”

“Just set them off where they're not in the way.”

“They won't be in the way,” Nathan replied. He turned, saying to Don, “Put them on her cot.”

“Come in, come in!” added Nathan, shutting the door behind me. The hallway was getting quite noisy with girls and guys running up and down the corridors, playing cat and mouse.

“Hi,” I gave a wave towards Trisha when Nathan wandered off with Crookshanks, mumbling in some sort of child-speak. He went to the kitchen, alleviating the boundary from my view.

I noticed Friends was on television when Trisha, pausing, her eyes still on me, finally said, “Hello.”

I came to the backside of the sofa, stopping on my way to where Donald was and the cot. I glanced at Trisha, her eyes forever stuck on me. “Oh… I've seen this one! Do you like this show?”

“Mm…,” Trisha acted as if she pondered the meaning to life, but with me, and shifted around to look into the kitchen where she asked Nathaniel, “Isn't that your rugby coat, Nathan?”

I raised my brow at how…strong-headed, she was.

I peeked at Nathan who was in the middle of filling up a small Tupperware dish with milk. “Yes, Trish,” he looked up from a hungry kitty at his feet. “I won't send Hermione out into the cold without a coat on.”

“Mm…,” She gave me a once over.

I tilted away from her, and edged on from the sofa to Donald.

I could tell this was going to work out swimmingly… When Donald could see, kneeling aside him with the suitcases, tucking a strand of loose hair behind my ear.

“Don't mind her…,” Don nudged me with his shoulder.

I gave a faintly smile at Don, and he nudged me again. I could hear whispers coming from the living space, of her, and then Nathan, but I couldn't make heads nor tails of the words spoken. That's when I was brought back to reality, Donald making a laugh, saying, “Er… I'll let you handle it from here.”

He'd flipped open the suitcase to find my knickers on top.

I busted out laughing when his face went from white to a ripe shade of cherry red.

I knew right away Donald was genuine.

***

The rest of the night I got to know more of Donald thanks to any effort of my part to get to know Trisha smashed down. Not to mention, trying to talk to Nathaniel felt more or less like running out into a firing zone. I buried myself in the trenches and talked about a little bit of everything with Donald, of Crookshanks, my family, what my hobbies and interests were, what I wished to study at university—

“You know I'm going to harass you as long as you're around here,” Nathaniel winked. The one time Trisha left us to go to the loo, the soda being a vestige in which I could actually converse openly with my handsome friend.

“Harass me?” I had my legs bundled up beneath my bum, sitting on one cushion whilst Donald sat to my left. Whereas I had one serving of the vegetable beef stew, the guys had two or three with half a serving still in Donald's bowl.

“Yep,” Nathan stretched out his legs, patted his full stomach through a tee. A contestant on a game show had won, the woman jumping up and down, screaming, as she was told the value of her prizes beneath our voices. “Get you back in school.”

My right hand in the dense forest of brunette hair, I scratched the back of my head and laughed, yawning, my pink-and-white striped pyjama shirt synchronized as a set with coupled drawstring pyjama trousers; though, a blanket held from my waist down. A tidbit of chill could be felt…even though the heater in the apartment was on, especially when navy blue boyshorts came bumbling back from Nathaniel's bedroom.

She hopped on his lap and curled about him, Nathaniel giving a huff at her leap. She took the blanket she left behind on Nathan's leg and bundled him along inside. She laid her head on his chest, his shoulder, her white cami pushed against him…affectionately, as if to tell the whole world—or her new enemy—that he was all hers.

“What were you all talking about?”

“Hm? Oh, Hermione and—“

“Ah,” She cut in. Her eyes went to the telly. “So, who won?”

I was feeling more and more isolated until…

“Don't act like that, Trish.”

“Excuse me?” she sounded offended, picking her head up to look at him inches away.

He gazed right back her, sternly, “Hermione's my friend. Don't talk to my friend like that.”

“And, I'm your girlfriend. You shouldn't talk down to your girlfriend. I'm not a child.”

“Then quit acting like one.”

They both bore into each other, and I swore Trisha was about to slap him. Instead, and shockingly, she didn't, throwing her sheet from herself. “Okay—fine—I'm going to bed.”

“Go to bed, then.”

She gasped and shot upward. “What's gotten into you tonight?”

“What's gotten into you tonight?”

She took the sheets up into her hands and threw it over his head. Nathan jerked it off, watching her storm off towards his bedroom. I heard her whisper on the way, as well as, I'm sure, the rest in the room, “Fucking arsehole…”

I jumped when she slammed the door.

“You'll hear about that all day tomorrow, mate.”

“When don't I hear about it?” Nathan laughed, albeit sarcastically. “I'll hear it the second I walk in there.”

“I apologise on her behalf, Hermione,” ended Nathan. “She's just had…a long day at work.”

“It's not me?”

Both Donald and Nathaniel looked in my direction, the lights of the TV flickering off our whitish skin tones.

“Never,” answered Nathan.

Donald gave me a smile and gave the universal “crazy” mime-impression, drawing circles around his temple with the point of his finger.

Nathaniel threw the sheets at him in which Donald laughed. “It's true, mate. All women are mad.”

He turned to me and offered alliance with a, “No offense.”

I chuckled. “Men make us that way.”

“Regardless…,” said Nathan quickly, lifting from his bum to catch the remote from the table in front of all of us. “It's only nine. Anyone up for a late night movie on cable?”

***

“Do you want me to keep the light on over the stove?” asked Nathaniel, standing cot-side.

I could see him near his bedroom door, his hand on the knob. It was as if he anticipated the Kraken inside, waiting, not so much as turning the knob, just holding the spherical faux-golden metal. Patting down the pillow, and adjusting another beside me, I glanced up in the semi-darkness to see him, and answered, “Nah, it'll be fine.”

The pitter-pattering of freezing rain could be heard at the window, on the ceiling.

“All right,” he hesitated a bit, turning the knob ever-so-slowly. “Good night, Hermione. Sweet dreams.”

“Sweet dreams.”

He cleared his throat, and stalled. “I'll see you in the morning.”

I grinned at his delay; but, tried to give him condolence. Swallowing when I knew it was because…

“Harry…,” I breathed within his caress. I'd taken him, when he'd taken me, having straddled him in the driver's seat. We'd been watching some crime movie in a drive-in theatre. Harry had put up a charm to tint further the windows, and, as much as our money was put towards screening this new film, our bodies couldn't help themselves. Or, I couldn't help myself.

And, Harry couldn't help it, either.

His strong hands grabbed at my thighs, my hips, sliding over my curved, thin torso, his thumbs stroking the breadth of my soft abdomen. I reacted like anyone who was obsessed, head over heels, with the love of their life—their soul mate. Harry had flipped on the radio, to drown out any of our happy-go-lucky noises, the giggles, the chuckles, how he'd tickle me with the slightest of his touches, how he'd, I'd, moan when we'd hit those sweet spots of ours.

Being with a person for so long was a perk, finding exactly where he or she desired to be touched, massaged, pressed, and held.

This wasn't the first time we'd gotten frisky in his automobile. At first, it was hilarious to see me, us, twist and turn to find room for both in his seat. But now, the leather seat and opposite, the roof, was just a thing of the past. Less head bumps, more kissing, teasing, and…

He had my blouse unbuttoned, the pale flesh at his fingertips. My mouth heavily on his, I could hear the Beatles' Something playing in the background. My hands at the nape of his neck, in his hair, I hung on as I slid myself until I could slide no more, pushed against him, laughing when he caught me and began attacking me with more caresses, now upon my neck, leading himself down between my breasts.

He grabbed my bum and lifted me straight up, causing a shocked gasp at how aggressive he was, manly, I grinned, feeling him lean his seat back…

I remember waking to someone shouting, muffled, but loud enough to drive over the falling rain. On my side, an arm curled around a pillow, I felt it go to lay the back of my hand on my forehead. I inhaled, and then exhaled, slowly, blinking in-and-out of darkness…and nowhere near that drive-in cinema. I lay on the cot in Nathaniel's residence… I closed my eyes, retraced that memory of him, of me, our time, and let out another pent-up breath of air.

I heard the shouting again, and this time, heard the door to Nathan's bedroom swing open.

“Why I came over, I don't even know!”

“Don't talk like that towards me and we'll be fine, Trish. That's all I ask.”

“I'm leaving!”

I flipped over on my stomach and leaned up, poking my head to see the shadows moving about the living quarters.

“Fine, go home! No sweat on me. I'm putting my foot down. You treat people like people and we'll be fine.”

“Oh, go to Hell!”

“Uh huh—I'll see you tomorrow, Trish.”

And, SLAM—the front door of the apartment opened and then closed.

I heard Nathan huff, the refrigerator door light come on, brightening the room just a smidgen. I heard the sound of glass, bottles, and the door closing. I heard him mumble something, the television come on, weight coming down upon a chair as the old university chair creaked beneath his weight.

Gently, not being able to sleep…I got up, wandered around the corner to see the backside of Nathan's head, his hair, and him holding a bottle of beer to his lips. I guess he heard me, noting my silent steps, he must have had sonar hearing.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Did I wake you up? Did—we—wake you up?”

I shook my head. “I was up already. Couldn't sleep.”

I came around, further into the living room, and sat down. Before sitting, he asked, “Not comfortable enough? Want me to—“

“No, it's lovely.”

He went quiet, as I did, both staring at the low volume, the television flickering with pictures, their colours creating a rainbow across our faces, night clothes.

“Well, if I did wake you,” He spoke. “I apologize.”

“It's fine, really.” I sat with my legs bent on the sofa, my hands in my lap. I watched him look at the telly, the beer half-empty. I took a risk, saying, “…Want to talk about it?”

He looked as if he thought about it in those seconds, and then asked, “Do you want to go get something to eat? I need to get out of here for a while.”

“After midnight?”

“McDonalds is open right down the street. They're open all the time. That is, if you feel like it.”

I shrugged. “I'm game. Just got to change out this. What about school in the morning?”

He sipped on his beer before replying, “No problem. Sometimes I get a craving for a Big Mac at two.”

“I'll give you some company. Sure.” After all, he did open his home to me.

“Great,” He smiled in the flashing lights. “I'll give you all the time you need.”

***

11:03 PM

Neville's flat, just north of London

A pitch owl flies lonesome in the rainy night. In its beak, a letter, the parchment rolled and tied with a white ribbon. Its direction of flight, the target, an opened window in the distance. Gracefully, the fowl flies in and takes aim around the spot beside a waiting Weasley. She pets the crown of the owl's peak, the bird stretching its wings as it drops the paper in her palm. The parchment untouched by the rain, a charm placed upon it, is unraveled as the owl takes flight once more into the storm.

In the kitchen, she studies the letter, reading its words as if her life depended on its very ink:

She's safe. With Muggle friends. - Delta

She gazed up, knowing if the post couldn't be intercepted by the newly-formed Ministry he would have said more, the drippings of ink just outside the last sentence showcasing his hesitation for writing in detail. The parchment caught on fire, and as she watched the scroll burn to ash heard a male voice come in behind her.

“Was it from him?”

She nodded, allowing the ash to sift through her fingers.

“Is Hermione—“

“She's fine…”

He could see her remorse…her on-the-brink emotion… slouched over the pile of ash with her eyes glued to the tiny grey mountain. He put an arm around her, and his other, embracing her from behind the chair she sat in at the dining table. She put a hand on his arm to let him know of her appreciation.

“If Ron says she's fine, then it must be true.”

“I miss her so much, Neville…”

“I know you do, Gin…”

The Weasley-red dropped her head back, tilted on Neville's shoulder.

He placed his cheek alongside her. “You know, you can stay here for as long as you like. It's safe here. I like knowing you're safe and not alone in that apartment of yours.”

She ran her hands across his arms and said, still her eyes on the pile of soot, “…Thank you.”

***

“You always wear the most interesting clothes.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” My brow perked, as well as my ears, to hear an answer from his curious question. I sat with my legs crossed across the table in the dining area in McDonalds. The only ones in the joint aside from the third-shift employees. My Converse trainers on, one set parallel to the floor whilst the other I'd snuck my heel out, my toes dangling the weightless shoe.

I didn't quite understand, besides dark-washed blue jeans and a white belt, I wore a lightly pink collared tee with a lightly pink, a shade of green, and a darker shade of green-striped vest. A newsboy cap, olive green, set atop scrunchied hair. Short-sleeved, beneath his coat, the air-conditioned room felt cool to my skin, and even cooler when my lips sipped on the iced Coke through a straw. I picked up a chicken McNugget, dipped in mustard, and bit into it…all the while Nathan smirked behind a handful of chips.

“I only meant you've got original taste. Everyone else seems so…”

“'Normal'?” I mused with a smile, finding the irony.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he sighed.

I laughed. “I'm only kidding you. Take it easy.”

“I apologize for Trisha's behavior, again.”

“And, I apologize for having to pay for me,” I felt the plastic card in my pants pocket between my wand and my thigh. “I swear, it's never ever been denied. It's worked since I've gotten it years ago.”

“Maybe you should call your bank and have them close your card out. You may have been victim to theft.”

Gringotts had always been secure…

“…Maybe,” I threw up a hand to say with body language how I didn't know. “So, how long have you two been going out? When I met her briefly at school you weren't.”

“Just prior to Christmas holiday. It's only been a few months.”

“And…you fight like that?”

“No—and before you look at me like that—just like that—yep, right there—it's not you.”

“It certainly sounds and feels like it. I've got other friends—“

“Everyone likes you—Donald likes you.”

“He does,” my eyes widened, looking down at my bag of chips to get a few.

Nathan chuckled into his hand. “He's… He's friendly. He's been on-and-off with this girl, Stephanie. They're off right now…but they'll be back on next week.”

“Ah… He's cool, but not my type. Very…uhm, sporadic.”

“I'll let him know that.”

“No!”

Nathan laughed at how fast I said “no”.

“Don't you dare… You'll hurt his feelings. He's the type of guy I want to be around right now.”

“What type is that?”

“Happy.”

“Am I that way?”

I nodded, chips in my mouth. “I need to be around…happy.”

“Well, I'm glad I make you happy,” He grinned.

And, I did too.

“You make me happy, too.” He added.

“Maybe that's why Trisha hates every fibre of my being.”

“She gets…,” Nathan's eyes wandered to the ceiling, but came back to me. “'Protective'—“

“Like you?”

“Sort of—but, more along the lines of… Needy.”

“I'm going to bite my tongue.”

“Don't do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you've a lovely tongue and I wouldn't want you to bite into it.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh Lord…”

He smiled. “Actually, I like it when you say what's on your mind.”

“I'm not going to get into your personal life. I've already got enough on my plate…”

He sat back in his chair. “Okay, okay… Let's talk about something more fun like—“

“Do you know this song?” I pointed towards the ceiling, the song playing just beneath our whispers.

“No, who is it?”

“Are you serious?” I gasped. “The next time the Dandy Warhols come to London we'll have to get tickets! You're too virgin to music…have to get rid of that.”

His smirk was addictive, smirking too.

“I rather like that idea.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

***

He held an umbrella over my head on the way out, the cold rain having slowed, being gentlemanly—or Nathaniel.

“Mademoiselle,” He opened the door to his car for me. “Your ride awaits.”

I looked up at him as I sunk into the seat, always keeping the water from me, and I'd assume the cold if he could. I smiled, Nathaniel shutting the door and making a job to the other side. He slipped in, shook his umbrella off and tossed it in the back.

“I was thinking, too,” I began.

“Hm?” He ran the defrost, igniting the engine. “What are you thinking?”

“Do you think I could get my old job back at the pub?”

He glanced at me and made a laugh, sliding a hand behind my seat to see where he was as he drove in reverse. “I'm sure I could put in a good word for you.”

“Something to get my mind off of…” I gazed out the rain-splattered passenger window, at the streaks of streetlights, of the multicoloured street signs, at what few amount of people there were at this hour. “And, to pay you back.”

“You won't have to pay me back for anything,” He slid to a stop, the light red and looked over at me. “As they say, `It's on the house'.”

“I'm at least going to pay for groceries, if not part of the rent.”

“If you insist; but, I won't force you.” The light went green and we were off.

“Wow.”

“Hm?”

Slightly taken back, I always was used to… “Just like that?”

“Like what?” He chuckled. “What are you going on about?”

“Oh, it's…,” My eyes went towards the smearing world outside my window. “It's nothing.”

My lip gave a slight curl.

***

1:14 AM, February 16th, 2001

American Task Force Team 414, Magical Unit from the DOD

Isle of Skye, Scotland

Camouflaged into the highlands, the tall grassy fields and the dead of night, a cell of three await orders from the distance. All three are dug into the ground. All three have what could be considered the resemblance of firepower to Muggles, which wasn't far from the truth. The US military using their sophisticated knowledge to…rewrite their munitions, stabilizing what could be considered an ordinary bullet into pure magical prowess.

The sniper in the middle holds his breath, his brothers beside him backups in case he missed…which had never been documented. His mark: an old gas tank outside a forgotten cliffside home, looking inconspicuous, a part of the environs. The elves had prepared the tank earlier, staying in cover until the men of the hour came…and come they did.

The espionage given wasn't at all difficult to be taken. The Death Eaters, or the amateurs, now flooded the Ministry…the new Nolpho government too big for their trousers, letting loose vital information such as this meeting here in Scotland's more out-of-the-way destinations.

A single blink of light from a mirror yards away was all that was needed, the plan in place, the visitors at the ready.

One of the soldiers said in whisper to the sniper, “Make it count.”

The sniper held his breath, pulled the trigger, and a flash of vibrant lime-green light shot through the air and into the disheveled home. On impact, the house caught immediately to blaze, flames and smoke engulfing the night's sky. Cries from inside fled outside, and as the Death Eaters and non-human cohorts took shelter around the exterior's perimeter to watch the fire burn, the Elves in-waiting picked them off one, by one, by one.

Each cry would abruptly be hushed, until…silence.

By the last kill, those few Elves and their American comrades were there no more, the rickety house collapsing onto itself and smoldering to glowing embers.

***

“Good night.”

“Good morning,” I insisted with a tiny laugh. With a motion, I bobbed my head towards the clock on the stove with the time, the time being just a few hours until the sun rose.

He laughed, scratching the fringe of his hair. “I guess you're right.”

He wandered over to me, unbeknownst to my peripherals, setting my bag down on the bar counter. When I turned around I was met with a hug, a warm one. My eyes widened slightly, but in turn smiled with an “Oh! Hey there.”

“It'll get better,” was all he said.

A chill ran up my spine, and those slightly widened eyes actually widened.

I heard Harry's voice in Nathaniel's, and then what heard like an echo throughout my mind.

Pulling me from my sudden haze, I felt him unwind, taking my newsboy cap and put it on backwards. He smiled. “Good ni—morning.”

I sighed when he left me, stepping around to watch him go into his bedroom. Slipping a hand to my forehead, I brushed back those locks, the brunette curls falling away from me and around my shoulders as I took out the olive-green scrunchie. I blew out some pent-up air and made a laugh.

As I went to turn the last light off in the flat, I glanced down at my engagement ring upon my finger, felt the chain, the Hippogriff feather about my chest and gave a tiny smile. I slid into bed, bothering only to relieve myself of the newsboy cap and fell back into dreamland, and back with Harry.

***

5:27 AM, February 16th, 2001

Department of Mysteries, Ministry of Magic

“Avada Kedavra!”

What was once white wisp of smoke tumbled forth, a human being, crumpled as its lifeless body hit the rumbled floor. Fire consumed every corner, every room, dense smoke clouding the eyes of those, both the aggressors and the defense. Shouts of spells, chants, colours streaking in-and-out of the thick smog found the only light aside from the violently bright white of those in chase, and being chased, by even blacker clouds.

“Tell me!!”

“Never!” coughed a white tunic, a billowing white cloak.

The claws of a Death Eater sunk ever-deeper into the soft flesh, cutting off the Auror's breathing, leaving only gasps of poisonous exhaust. “Tell me who the one is behind these feeble attempts!”

The Auror spat into the Death Eater's raging face, a massively off-colour stain now dripping from his eye socket.

The Death Eater, never flinching, put his wand to the most centre spot atop the Auror's unveiled forehead, the hood shaken away to reveal the cerulean eyes of a distinguishingly young woman, her short, straight hair swaying to her struggles against the wall.

Her struggles didn't last, the Death Eater grinning devilishly, as if he were feeding on the most delectable morsel… A green light enveloped the Auror's sight, and her body jumped when the Killing Curse struck, blowing away her skull, instantly killing her.

The limp carcass was dropped in a heap of white and red on the floor, and then kicked once, twice, a third time before the dark smoke fled into the smoke to chase after another from the White Knight's resistance.

***

{Author Note: To distinguish country affiliation, I wanted the US, Elven, and the British weaponry to all be a bit different. I once wrote a fic where HHr were led to the United States and the warlocks and witches over in the States used guns over wands, but projected the same results. It all comes from the mindset of us Americans and our gunmanship since years ago; therefore, I used that part of a past fic to show the US magical government's military as using devices similar to “Muggle” gunnery. The Elves use bows tipped with magicks and the Brits tend to stick to the traditional wand}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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64. Wounding

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.

***

Chapter Sixty-Four - Wounding

***

Around two months later…

***

April 6, 2001

7:47 AM

The Quibbler HQ, London, England

“Thank you,” expressed the soft naturally-red lips of Alice, her dark hair tied back in a white ribbon. Her slate grey business dress, a typical colour to that of the one she glanced over to, Luna, who wore an orchid-and-goldenrod-coloured business pants suit. Luna, her goldilocks in-sway whilst dutifully transcribing by word and quill the daily news of tomorrow's forecast. Alice smiled through the hall she stood within, and within her proximity as she turned to look back at two ivory cloaks and one blonde tilted on a silvery cane.

“The Order is more than willing to step in where the Elves cannot. After all your kin has done for us in these months…,” The grey eyes of the blonde could see Alice so readily defendsive by an oncoming emotional burst. But, she held her head high as she watched him, heard his words. “On my father's name, no harm will come of her.”

“I trust you,” Alice looks back at Luna, her love so heavily involved in her work. She wondered if it all a ruse. Luna had always been perceptive of what was to come…and, this had all the signs of the worst. She knew this day would arrive sooner than later. She blinked back tears, her eyes like saucers when she resumed her watch of the grey eyes in control of the resistance. “She's adamant to stay here, `to give the real news to the people'…”

Alice looked back at Luna once more, adding, “…Just like her father.”

In her vision, gazing back at the leaning cane, she could see the white wisps forming, and from those, brilliantly white cloaks.

As member after member filed into the Quibbler, she made note to the one, “I want full, detailed reports every day—and if anything happens, I'll be back to take her away from this poisoned land.”

The blonde nodded, “With our full protective escort, of course. Nothing less.”

After Luna's ex-communication from the Ministry…after the Ministry has leaned its full weight upon the Quibbler and those associated, employees, their families… Alice kept her smile on as she returned to her lover. Her lover caught up beautifully, elegant and graceful as she went about charming Quick-Quills to maintain news reporting. She crept behind Luna's desk, pictures of their escapades, their lives surrounding her between clocks and calendars, snippets of Daily Prophet articles and especially those absorbed in the Ministry, the people, and her friends…

She wrapped herself around that of Luna's warm body from beneath her arms. Without a second of thought, Luna, never surprised, leaned back into Alice, a quill still in-hand and speaking to the dozen quills scribing above her golden curls.

Alice laid her chin upon Luna's mobile shoulder, her lover so insistent in writing those words atop parchment. She caressed behind the blonde curtain, her neck, her shoulder, before closing her eyes and stating those three meaningful words: “I love you.”

Luna, her hand and mouth still in work, just like the mumblings of all the associates, interns and secretaries surrounding them, smiled and leaned her head on the side of Alice's face.

***

The hot shower invigorated my senses, the perfect temperature for this cold London eve sublime, electrical, really, as it raised me from the work shift. I'd come home, or back to Nathaniel's from the pub, having gotten my waitress position back. The day being a Friday, and the frigid weather, both brought in customers ready for their warm spirits and cider. Nearly at a sprint the whole night through, and with a little banter about it with Mister Sarcastic behind the bar between wandering from the kitchen to tables, I'd grown a tad tired. But, tonight was one of our weekly group get-togethers, the cinemas, a showing of Blow, followed by a drink at a sports pub we frequented due in part of Nathan and Donald's rugby fascination.

Stepping from the hidden compartment, the shower doors steamed, and into a sultry, near-tropical mist, I pulled from the waited hanger the white towel and draped the cotton around myself after patting dry. I gave the mirror a swipe, and then another, revealing my reflection, and I found myself closing my eyes, to feel…

Him…

I could smell his therapeutic aroma.

I could feel his warmth, his arms as they wound around my middle.

I could feel the slight-scruff of his dusting of beard.

He tightened his light squeeze of me, my cheek, the side of my head leaning right and into him as he held me. He'd crept up behind me like so, so many times before…and, I'd smile, like those many of times. He supported me, catching me under my arms with his left, his right arm at my stomach. I felt his first kiss, soft, upon my bare shoulder, and another, bringing those goosebumps to surface, a chill up my spine.

He didn't care about getting wet, if only slightly, having me, embracing me, loving me as he went about caressing a line from the rounded portion near my arm upwards, following the curve to my neck, my throat. Squeezing the expanse of his forearm across my chest, I grinned, tilting with him, allowing all the access in the world for him to come further north, to the beginnings of my jaw, beneath my jaw, causing a melting sigh from the deepest part of my diaphragm to reverberate throughout the airwaves, the silence.

Reopening the brilliant cinnamon-coloured irises, seeing me briefly, in a blink, through the new reflection in the mirror, through those abstract shapes cut from the white residue on the glass…

I saw him.

Mine.

Harry… Bare-chested, he'd come home, too, from work, his black suit trousers still hitched to his hips, albeit off them a bit, beltless as the pitch-black fabric sagged ever-so-slightly downward. I could see that beautiful cut, the muscle-to-muscle, adjoined, from his right hip and abdomen. I could see his toned arms, how his biceps, his arms conveyed that strength, paralleled to my own as he hugged me, erect. I could see the shag of his messy hair, his smile beneath…and, I'd gone, completely lost in his passionate contact, his lips grazing the absolutely smooth, flawless porcelain.

I heard him laugh so softly when he felt me shudder at his whim, his nose, that smile as I blinked again to see him, pressed into my lightly wet mahogany curls. My own pink lips curled, turning, our foreheads together, noses touching, a kiss… His hands, fingers, gripping into that white cotton towel. Part of me wanted him to tear the damn thing from me; but, I loved the feeling, that tease, the emotional leaps, and how my heart raced.

Sliding a hand into the depths of that messy black of his, I brought him again to my lips from that smile…

To be brought back to reality when I heard a knock on the lavatory door.

I opened my eyes, saw that reflection…my hand, the pads of my fingers feeling of that part of my neck, the curve, my jaw, and those pink lips.

I heard the knock again, Stephanie's voice…though, muddled, my mind crawling to stay in the lands of where I'd been. I sighed, closed my eyes…sifted a hand through the fringe of my semi-moistened hair, its twin holding the towel pieces together…and called out after the third knock:

“…Yeah?”

“You all right in there? It's been a while—the boys are getting antsy.”

“Yeah…,” I said low, but said again louder, in repeat, “Yeah—sorry, tell them I'll be right out.”

“Okay,” replied Steph through the door. “Just making sure.”

“Thanks,” I said, pausing to hear nothing once more…and let out a breath of pent-up air, wiping more the residue from the mirror and picked up my hairbrush. As I set about straightening out my tangled mess, I closed my eyes and smiled when I could still smell his spicy pumpkin pie scent on me…

My engagement ring and my Hippogriff feather necklace lay on the lavatory sink.

***

April 6, 2001

10:17 PM

A small intimate restaurant within the suburbs of London

“What is it, Gin?”

The flaming-red ginger sits across an ornately-etched oak dining table built for two. The purplish cushions of their seats complemented the decor, the darkly green dress and that of Neville's suit attire. They'd been chatting casually when, in a sudden flash, Gin's mind switched lanes. Funny how in one second you could be thinking about one thing, only to begin thinking about another; and, that “other” usually being something awful. To Gin, the something awful…

She shivered, peering down at her half-eaten Caesar salad.

“It's nothing,” she answered, peeking back up and throwing on a noticeable false grin.

“Uh huh,” added Neville with a sigh. “This is your night Gin. You've been sober going on three months—that's an accomplishment. Don't let anything spoil—“

“She wouldn't spoil anything,” struck the sharp-tongued freckles, her eyes narrowing. “'I'm sorry that I miss her.' Is that what you want me to say? Apologize for how I feel?”

Neville shook his head and stared down at his own Caesar salad. “Ronald would've mentioned something by now if all were not well, Gin. Look at the glass half full for a change.”

Gin scowled. “I love how you so nonchalantly dismiss the piece of my missing heart. You haven't changed.”

“You need to realize that Hermione's moved on. It hurts me, too—she was a good friend. But, we can't drag her back. She's a big girl.”

Scrunching her face as if she'd eaten a lemon, she stared down Neville only to push up from the table. She put her hands on the flat surface, got to his level and said with astute precision, “I got you a job at the Quibbler, and this is how you repay me? By mocking me?”

“I'm not mocking you,” Neville leaned into her perch. “I'm trying to say that we shouldn't worry about things we cannot control. We can't control her. She left us—remember? She left us without a single word. What does that say to you?”

“It says I should walk up to her bloody door and demand why.”

“Yeah—you go and do that, and she tells you to bugger off. What then?” Neville gazed into her golden brown eyes, the light from the single candle dancing madly in her sight. “I'm trying to protect you. I'm trying to show you how much I love you, and how proud I am that you've been off—“

“Oh, go to Hell!” Gin struck within whisper, pivoting about, the frill of her skirt billowing and away she went.

“For Christ's sake…! This woman will be the death of me!” Neville pushed out of their booth and tossed money down on the table to cover their meal plus tip. He shoved his wallet back inside his trouser's pocket and made off in a jog after Gin.

***

“A toast!”

We were the largest group in the pub, taking up the entire bar with Nathaniel and me, Trisha, Donald and Stephanie, their friends, and friends of their friends. The women, myself included, sat on the swirly bar stools whilst the majority of the men stood behind their respective girls, acquaintance or companionship. Nathaniel stood between Trisha and me, me on the left and her on the right. He had his hand on the backside of my chair with Trisha's arm wrapped around his other.

We all held up our frothy pints of beer, the cold condensation dripping from my mug and down along my fingers grasping the glass handle.

“To the most awesome fucking people in the world!”

To say Donald wasn't a bit gone would be an understatement.

To say we weren't all a bit tipsy would be an even bigger understatement. A severe lightweight, after my third pint I was feeling pretty damn good overall. I could even bear the strict dialogue given off by Trisha's piercing stare. She'd do it when she knew she could, for Nathaniel would get in the way one way or another. She'd been overly-protective of him since I'd been around, starting back those months when I first arrived. I'd almost grown accustomed to the treatment, but Nathaniel still wouldn't allow her to push me away. As if there was something between us, wearing my engagement ring, a blatant sign that I wasn't exactly in the market to be picked up.

“Cheers!” We all resounded, taking up the trophy as the noisiest bunch in the building. But, the noise was all right—what with our group throwing tips left and right at every, single mixed drink or beer refill. So as long as we were dropping those, the manager remained happy.

“Ohhhh fuck! Manchester! Come on!” yelled one of those friend of a friend's. How the bar was set up, the oval-like counter housed the patrons, us, with their liquors displayed between propped television sets facing outwards. And, every screen showcased the football game between Manchester and some other team. I didn't really know, just being there in the moment with good friends.

I'd had an argument with Nathaniel over tonight, and nearly every night when we'd go out like this. He'd suggest some place, with or without everyone, and I'd go—and we'd have the same argument over money. The end result: he won, and paid. He had this head-strong mentality that his close friends, especially women, shouldn't have to pay every meal. He'd drop the chivalry card, tell me once again about how he grew up in the country, on a farm where his mum and dad drilled into him about “being a man” and “how ladies should be treated”. Not that I didn't mind, or did, a bit, when Trisha would give me that cold stare. He paid for every one of her meals, drinks, clothes… I never did understand. And, I never did understand why they didn't move in together.

Nathaniel once told me it was because she had commitment issues. That she'd been in an abusive relationship prior to him. I could…empathize, but remembered all those times when women would run to…and I never blinked an eye about it. I knew…he'd always be there; a trust, genuine love where I didn't need to worry about…fooling around with another woman.

I wore this blue number, with specks and flecks of different shades and hues of blues interspersed. These grey tights, my black boots came close to my knees, something comfortable, something fashionable. A black scarf, super-long, hung about my neck. I didn't much care when I felt of it being played with, noting as I spoke to one of the other females in our group about this guy across the room—an unbiased opinion—that Nathan had a finger twirled within the edge of the falling fabric. So innocent, I smiled at him when he grinned at me from behind the mug of his sixth beer.

When I went to turn around back to the dark-haired woman, friends of Donald and Stephanie, I caught the closed glimpsed of Trisha, her lightly tanned face in opposition with the black coat she wore. Nathan talked to her, but her attention set on me per usual. I never got the problem…it was obvious he was into her. I was his friend. At least… And, even when our scenario was intensifying, I'd move out of the way. He'd come back. We were comfortable with each other—and we didn't fight. She fought.

We were so bloody comfortable with each other that our primary thoughts were on the same bloody wavelength.

I wanted to screen some new film, seeing the trailer on the telly, and that night when he came back from school asked if I wanted to see the same damn film, same interest. I never had a brother, or sister, or—and even then, Trisha was brought. So, he was a bit open. Was that a threat? Nathan had a habit of putting an arm around the back of things, like chairs, the sofa, whatever, and that night, as with the majority of our times out, he put an arm around both my theatre seat and hers.

She kissed him.

She rubbed herself against him.

She practically shagged him in the seat that night.

What did I do? Sat with my feet up, letting them do their thing…however awkward the scene got. Or, I'd leave for the loo to allow them their privacy…to come back to an open Nathaniel, a happy Nathaniel, a comfortable environment and atmosphere. I didn't have to negate myself around him. I didn't guard. I didn't put up a shield. I never had to worry about my damn health. My heart never raced. My brain never reeled. We laughed, we did our banter, we joked, we did our thing—he wanted a girls' opinion on clothes, he wanted to grab a bite, he wanted to hit up a bar—we did it.

We gave our fair share of hugs; but, I never once laid my lips on him…sans the first night. But, that was history, and as far as I knew was never spoken nor was it ever brought up since the day after the occurrence happened. I never slept in his bed. I never cuddled up to him. I never, ever rubbed against him the way Trish did…in front of everyone.

I was just comfortable. Finally.

And, it felt pretty bloody good.

So, as I turned from Trisha, I merely gave a smile. What else was there to do?

By the end of our time at the pub, I felt Nathan's hand on the backside of my chair, the pad of his thumbs resting on my back while I more or less rooted on with the rest of the group. Whatever. So what? He had his full attention on Trisha, and Trish…she kept her full attention directed at me.

***

April 7, 2001

12:04 AM

Memorial Gardens, Hogwarts Castle

Darkness, and then light. Within the freezing rain appeared two figures from the white wisps, a thin veil of fog now encompassing the flowers, the cobblestone pathways, and the great white tomb of one, Albus Dumbledore.

Of these two, the first, a female, her short coal-coloured hair moved in the cold English zephyrs. The winds blew from behind them, pushing each tassel towards the marbled casket. In a black pants suit, black leather gloves and that of a black collar, all that was shown, and shown indeed by her wardrobe choice, came from an alliteration of pale features from the pitch environs.

In her arm, secured, elbow-to-elbow, wobbled the blonde, his grey eyes hung with absolute exhaustion. How he hobbled on his cane, what the public saw became evidently false. Without his mate with him, he would have surely fallen over. Beneath his own Ministry-prescribed business attire, now extinct as Nolpho has insisted in “renovating” the image of the letter “M” to accommodate change, he throws his right leg forward, his left leg the stabilizer, his balance upon the silvered-serpent head cane. With his bounce, his walk within hers shifts erratically.

The blonde offers an escape, a huff and a smile, at his own handicap.

“I should have gotten to know Mad-Eye better,” he laughs with a large dose of sarcasm.

“You're almost there, my love,” says the thin frame, the dark eyes and midnight painted about her face. She had turned to watch him, safely escort his route up towards the carved words of the beloved Dumbledore. Her head matte with the chilled deluge, suit and skin included, she protects, ever vigilant, to her mate's step.

“For this bloody ol' git, you'd think I could manage by myself,” he grins, wincing when he steps off his good foot and onto its metal partner. His sharp nose flared in that step, but managed a wry smirk, noting as he observed his slowing trek, “Karma's certainly a cold-hearted bitch.”

The woman aside him smirked just as aslant, finding it difficult indeed to not at his dry humor. “You've grown into a brilliant man, my love. Try not to think of the past.”

“I had this coming several hundred miles away,” his grey eyes, so warmed since leaving Hogwarts, wandered to his familiar. “I couldn't have done so without you by my side. After the death of father…mother… You helped me see another way out, and now…”

He had stepped close to Albus's casket, the torches of Hogwarts lighting the windows in the distance, a fountain their noise in the sleet. “…Here I am.”

The black leather-gloved hand, so perfectly fitted to the woman's slender cuff, stroked the arm of her mate as she peered at him, his eyes looking downward.

“Albus…,” he began, his eyes centred on the spot above where Dumbledore's head had been placed on the silkiest of white pillows. “I've come again…”

From stroking his arm, the darkly-haired female leaned against him, her head at his, and closed her eyes.

“…We've gained some traction, but it's slow,” he spoke as if Albus was there. “…We've lost so many of our own, Albus. Sometimes, I don't know what to think. I don't tell the men; but, in the darkest parts of my mind I think we're in for a losing battle. My only hope lies with your instructions…your leads…what you left for us, the Order.”

“I think you knew I'd eventually get here, Albus,” the blonde upturned the depression. “I only wish I would have listened to you then.”

The bit of humor faded, his voice coming somber, “I only wish this would end now. I know you're here with us, protecting us from your side…”

“My strength wanes with every story of another of my men dying on the battlefield. Please keep watch over them, I beseech of you. Keep them safe.”

The blonde, his own black leather-clad hand placed atop the casket, closes his eyes and listens to the wails of the storm, the howls of the wind. His suit effectively blanketed by water, and that of his other, turns to his mate and states, “I'm ready.”

She nods, finding his hand beside him and grasps…but, not before coming in and planting a softened kiss upon his lips. He smiles, squeezes her hand with his and—POP!—they were gone.

***

The main group, Donald and Stephanie, Nathan, Trish, and me, made our way—however sloppily we wandered the streets—Nathan, the drinking powerhouse included. Though, he did quickly become the “adult” when Donald decided to accost some folks across the road. He stopped, screamed something at them, and whatever that something was made the man angry. Having been led, like Trisha, and her friend, by Nathan, an arm wrapped about both our backs, he had to leave us to pry Donald away from a confrontation.

Donald seemed unfazed, laughing giddily, tugging Stephanie with him down the street to the Oxford Halls of Residence. Because of the proximity, Donald and Stephanie, as well as Trisha's blonde friend, were going to bunk at Nathan's tonight for obvious reasons. However…by the time we'd gotten in, Donald decided a game of beer pong was in order. And, as much as Nathan pushed for Don to settle down, the more the intoxicatedly happy drunk continued to triangulate the red solo cups.

Two teams:

Donald and Stephanie.

Nathan and me.

Nathan wouldn't allow me to play one on one with Donald, surely I'd lose, and surely I'd get sick after chugging cup after cup. No handicap, Nathan's beer pong prowess kept Donald's expertise at bay; though, Stephanie got me, and I drank one, two, and by the third my head, my world, spun. I had to keep my hands on the foldable card table to balance, shrugging Nathan off when he offered to assist. We were winning, and I was stubborn enough—drunk enough—to want that win. It was a rare win, normally horrible, especially against Nathan. I was horrible.

Trisha and the friend kept to themselves on the sofa. I could hear them talking, in discussion. The telly was on, the volume loud, and a radio even louder. The music wasn't at all what I'd turn on. The group rather enjoyed the more, new modern music including rap and metal. I went along with it, now knowing who Jay-Z and Ludicris were.

I had the ping pong ball in hand, blowing a huff to get some of the hair of which hung in my face from my face with a laugh, and went to toss the orange sphere into Donald and Stephanie's last cup when I heard something, someone, Trisha:

“Hermione.”

I had momentum, about to toss the plastic, when I stopped.

Everyone stopped and stared back around at the two blondes above the sofa. Trisha's friend was beside herself, giggling. Trisha, daggers for me, had a grin that I knew meant she was up to know good.

“What is it, Trish?” Nathan took the bullet. He could see, through drink or envy, or whatever her problem was, that she was going to say something fairly stupid and become the arse of the party. “Shouldn't you and Nikki be in bed? It's late, and you've got work later today. The sheets are made on the bed.”

None of what Nathan said she listened to, keeping her squinted eyes at me. “Why do you still wear your gaudy engagement ring all the time? Isn't it about time you—“

My heart immediately sunk.

She found that one…sensitive…button.

Only a real witch would press it, and…

Nathan went off.

“The Hell's your problem, Trish?!” I'd never heard him so loud, and specifically at Trish—but, she had it coming, and in front of everyone.

“Fuck you, Trish,” Stephanie hopped into the ring. “Go to bed.”

“Not cool, little T,” stated Donald through tsk tsk's. “Really not cool.”

Nathan was at the sofa, his arm out. He pointed towards his bedroom, and demanded in a firm, curse-filled shout, “I'm tired of your fucking jabs, Trish—go to fucking bed, God damn it!”

She sort of stared blankly up at him.

“NOW!”

“Don't talk to Trish that way, Nathan!” stepped in Nikki. “I see what you mean now, Trish. It all makes sense now. He'd rather have the slut.”

“'Slut'?” spoke Nathan boisterously, and with a sarcastic laugh. “This is coming from the same girl who blew half the rugby team? You fucking hypocrite.”

Nikki gave him the finger.

That heart ache turned about face, and immediately I felt rage build…she should have never have…and her friend…both… I'd had enough. Stephanie, I guessed in hindsight, had saw my shaking, the boring holes I stared into Trisha and that of her friend, and chased me down before I could leap on them. She caught me around the middle in a halfway jump, having run the small distance towards the sofa.

“You fucking bitch!” I screamed, claws at the sofa's leathery material. Every light on began flickering on-and-off in haste, creating a nauseating strobe for those witnessing the odd phenomenon. “Bitch!”

She shouldn't… I saw images of his face…so…gone…flashes…my mind liquidated, it was difficult to keep everything together.

“Breathe,” Donald was at my side with Stephanie urging me to do as he said, watching the lights going on-and-off to his left and right with an elevated brow. Stephanie's grasp loosened, probably because she too watched the otherworldly scene. My nostrils flared, and by the heat on my cheeks I knew my face had to be reddened by the violent anger.

I would have ripped that perfectly straight blonde hair right from her pretty little head!

“We're done, Nathan.” Trisha's words were clear. “You can go about this like you don't have a thing for her. You can walk mindlessly blind. I'm tired of your fucking shit.”

Neither her nor Nathan seemed at all bothered by the flickering lights, in their own universe for now.

“Get out.”

“What?”

“Get out!” Nathan shouted again, now his finger at the door. “Leave! I'll call you a fucking taxi—just leave—now!”

Trisha's friend answered, saying in distress, “I've got you, baby—let's get out of here!”

She was looking at Trisha, her car keys jingling in her hands.

Nathan had to step out of the way when Trish made a scene on the way out, trying to step on his toes.

Donald could see something in Nathan as he watched Trish walk out the door, and even when he slammed it behind her stated with a bit of concern, “I'll run on after her. Make sure she's going to be all right.”

Nathan was silent.

I was silent, too…

The electricity went out.

***

The in-house electricians had no trouble finding the blown fuse, and with a half hour after the lights went out in the residence halls did they all come back on.

Hermione lay curled in one corner of Nathaniel's sofa when the lights finally came back on. She shared a blanket with Stephanie who lay in the other corner. In opposing chairs, Nathan close to Hermione's side with Donald at Steph, they'd been in the middle of talking in the darkness when the bulbs burned back bright, making them stop mid-sentence, Nathan addressing the beer bottle at his lips.

“There they are,” Nathan stated, glancing around when the atmosphere came from the black.

“Quick,” replied Donald. “They're on the ball tonight. How weird was that?”

“One of England's famous brownouts, I'm sure,” Nathan chuckled, setting his now emptied beer bottle on the side table. He stood up and stretched towards the ceiling. “I swear, tomorrow morning you'll hear on the news broadcast that some old bird turned her blender on too fast.”

Donald laughed, standing too, scratching his abdomen as he looked down at first Stephanie, and then Hermione. He glanced at Nathan. “Need help?”

Nathan had already bent down to Hermione and caught her arm. He had her slid it about his neck, slipping an arm under her knees and up he went without much effort by her slight weight, easily able to bench two or more Hermione's. The sheet slipped from the feet of Hermione and fell back around Steph, making Hermione move just enough in the cradle of Nathan's arms. He smiled at her, looking up at Donald. “Nah, I've got it. The poor thing is rather exhausted.”

He went to move, a step, and another, turning around to tell Donald looking back, “I'll come back to help you with the sofa after I've got her in bed.”

As Nathan turned back around, a few more feet until Hermione's refugee spot in his flat…he had a thought, that memory, the sudden anger…and sadness, of his…mate to Hermione. He never questioned why she wore her ring, none of it being his business…but, to take a stab…Trisha…

He looked down at the cot and had an instant idea.

She should get the best…tonight. She deserves the best.

And, with that thought, he turned back around and pulled opened the door with the tip of his sock-covered toe. Backwards he went in, clicking on the light switch for the desk lamp on the way, and lay Hermione down gently on his bed. Her head hit the midnight-coloured hue of his pillow case, the flawless pale skin and brunette locks so very surreal against the charcoal.

She immediately began to snuggle in.

Nathan smirked.

He went to those extremely uncomfortable boots, he noted as they looked awful—how did they walk in these?—and took the sole. Wiggling one of her foot, he did the other, the grey tights covering her feet, her legs, as Nathan went to move again, stretching out with her little toes wriggling.

He went to pull the sheet over her form and stopped to watch her move. Her tiny movements brought on a chill, goosebumps to his forearms… A dreadfully perfect woman, he thought to himself, should never be treated or hurt as much as she's been through. He chuckled a bit at a cute little sneeze she made, sniffling afterwards, her right cheek now at the pillow she grasped. He heard her yawn, smiled at her yawn, and lifted when he had tucked her in.

At the door, a finger to the light switch, he gazed back in and said quietly, “Sweet dreams, Hermione…” before turning the light off. He closed the door and turned back around in making his way back to the living quarters. His visage came to see, the small hallway not much distance, Donald rearranging Stephanie in the chair he'd been sitting in and the mattress cushions off.

“Is she okay?” he asked when Nathan walked in, his mate going for the pull-out bed.

“Yeah,” Nathan said kneeling at the floor. He pried the level out and began lifting the bed from the sofa. “She's sound asleep.”

Donald helped Nathan on the other side, adjusting the lever at his end to secure the mattress stand to prevent the mattress from buckling inward later on in the night. “Trish was a real bitch tonight. Not like that's new.”

“Hey,” Nathan silenced Donald. He eyed him. “You're talking about my girl.”

“'Your girl'?” Donald laughed, in genuine hysterics. “'Your girl'?! When are you going to get it into your thick skull that Trisha is a mean, ungrateful—witch!”

Nathaniel went about securing his side, straightening the lever.

“Sure, she has a nice set of ti—“

“Enough.” Nathaniel looked up at Donald to his left, his lips pressed together. He pushed off from the floor. “Drop it.”

“Nathan, mate—“

“I said drop it.”

Donald raised his hands in surrender. “Whatever you say, mate.”

Nathaniel looked over the made mattress, Donald throwing some pillows upon it. “This good enough? I've got some bigger pillows and an extra blanket in the laundry room.”

“Nah, it'll be fine,” Donald was in the process of lifting Stephanie similarly to how Nathan had picked up Hermione with an arm about his neck and shoulder. Only all he had to do was to turn a hundred eighty degrees and lay her down. “We appreciate it. She's pretty gone, and I'm still got a little left in me.”

“Well, you know how I think about drinking and driving. And, it's not like this is your first time. You know you can stay here for as long as you like tomorrow—today. You know what I mean.”

Donald reached out and Nathan took hold of his hand. “Thanks for helping a mate out.”

“Not a problem,” issued Nathan. “Well, I'm heading for the sack.”

Or the floor…thinking it would be a wrong to just sleep in Hermione's “bedroom,” what with her privacy and all…

“Hey.”

Nathan turned back around midway from his trek. “Yeah?”

Donald was sitting on the side of the sofa bed. “Can I ask you a question, mate?”

“If it's anything about Trisha, I'm going to come over there and punch you in the shoulder.”

Donald snorted. “Like I want to go there… She's going to kick your arse tomorrow. I'd put your phone on silent or turn the damn thing off. She'll be firing it up with texts come whenever-the-fuck she wakes up.”

“Whatever,” Nathan shrugged, sifting a hand through his hair and blew a sigh from his lips. Donald wasn't far from the truth. “Your question?”

“How come you've got a really good girl by your side and you've done nothing in the way of furthering that relationship?”

“Excuse me?”

Donald pointed off towards Nathan's bedroom. “The girl you just put to bed in your bed—she has to be the most fucking majestic creature I've ever met. She's gorgeous, smart, she cares about you—you care about her—and you guys are always together. You guys talk about the same shit and you're interested in the same stuff.”

“Now I'm understanding why Trisha—“

“Fuck Trisha for a second, listen to me.”

“Donald, don't talk like that about Trish I said, damn it.”

Donald growled in frustration. “Mate, you've got a fucking brilliant woman in your midst. Now, I know you've told me her situation—and I've never brought it up until now—but damn it, man, pursue her!”

“It's not that simple. Her fiance was murdered. You just don't do that sort of thing, mate. And, she still wears the ring. We're friends.”

“'Friends'? HA!” Donald scoffed. “I get it, mate. I do. Look—I'm not really a religious man; but, I swear, if there was anything at all I learned from my mum and dad it was that God, or Fate, or whatever you want to believe in—when He or She or It gives you an opportunity like this for fuck's sake take that fucking risk! A girl like that deserves to be treated like the treasure she is—and you've been doing it pretty damn well.”

Nathan glanced back at his shut bedroom door, and then back to Donald. “If only life were that simple. She's a friend. She needs to be around people that care about her and make her happy, and if I can provide that—“

“And more!” interrupted Don. “You two move together, mate. Get your head out of your arse a second… I'm not saying go in there and sleep with her—“

“Donald!” Nathan's eyes widened, and it appeared, to Donald, that his mate suddenly grew. He went to raise his fist. “I swear I'm going to—“

He did a step back. “I didn't mean it like that… I mean, this is a gift. Hell, Stephanie has even asked me why you hadn't begun dating Hermione. Hermione's a sweet girl. You don't want to pass this up, I'm telling you! You two are made for each other! Pull that Casanova shit you know that makes the girls swoon.”

“Good night, Donald!” Nathan left him to go find that extra blanket and pillows in the laundry room. He waved without looking. “I'll see you later on today.”

“Think about what I said, mate! It all makes bloody sense!”

To say that Nathaniel got any sleep that morning would be a lie. As he came back into the living area, setting camp on the floor, he stared at the ceiling for what felt like hours, or even days, before—thankfully—the alcohol kicked in and took over. When he closed his eyes the one and only time, he passed out.

***

April 7, 2001

8:17 AM

Prophet Media News Network

Lilith De Val, Morning News

Brightly pale, and slits for eyes, Lilith De Val sits disturbingly still. Her posture, her appearance rather bird-like, a raven, straight down to purplish-black feather tufts on her shoulders and a serpent-like pattern of her business dress. From her black lips, a hiss as she spoke:

“…In conjunction with new Ministry protocol, the names of those bearing violence against his name shall be listed, posted on every corner, and a significant reward given to those who find the perpetrators. These on the list will include names you've already know, now named Undesirables. Kingsley Shacklebolt, previous Minister of Magic who has secretly vowed to take down the Nolpho Ministry. Previous Defense Secretary Dennis Eaton, who is in collaboration with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Various previous employees of the Kingsley administration including his Press Secretary and other such close associates.”

“There is an underground war amidst us, viewers. The Aurors of the past have vowed to undermine Minister Nolpho, an act of villainy. The Aurors within the new Nolpho admin have accepted the bounty, but we wish every one of you to take the Ministry call to arms and help us track down these criminals. Evidence seen here:”

A moving image beside Lilith appears showing a part of the Ministry under desperate attack from those in white against the newly changed black-color of Nolpho's new defense brigades. The change, of course, to separate them from ancient days, for a “brighter future”.

“Shows that they do wish to cause us harm. This is war, and a war we can win with your help. Please contact your local Ministry agent office if you see anyone on the list.”

***

Sometime later that day…

Deep in the underbelly of the new Ministry

The stench of burned flesh and ripe iron fills the obsidian, lightless room. Torches, all but burnt out, settle for the absence of illumination. On a chair in the centre of the room, crowded with black-robed figures, sits a hunched over old man. Nothing more than rags hang from him, his shirt ripped and torn, the same with his trousers, displaying several hundred lacerations about his body. His shirt could have been another colour, but now lay stained with red.

A pool of liquid at his feet, dark and cold, saliva, dried and wet, drips from his mouth.

“…You won't…,” He spits blood when he's bludgeoned atop his head. Ropes around his arms, tied to the chair, he falls over and into the mixture of sweat, saliva and other bodily fluids. He wheezes, his age and the beatings…

“…You won't get anything out of me…,” finally comes out in a half-cough.

A pair of stylish, fancy leather dress shoes appears in his sight on the floor. How the shoes step, not only do they stain at the sole, but splash human stock upon the old man's wrinkled face.

A pin-striped trouser leg, pleated, bends down and he hears him, the man who has been at the forefront of these…”interrogations”:

“You've lost, fool!” The man is picked up by what little strands of graying hair he has left, having had his hair torn out…manually. The human fluids drip from the man's face, his face contorting and eyes shut at a wince. “I've made you eat your own fingernails…toenails…your skin has been flayed off your backside… I've even made you drink your own blood—and somehow you've been able to stave off the veritaserum injections—what will it be for you to open up? Should I allow the dementors to feed on you again, or should we just skip all that and open you up…forcefully…”

Something sharp is shoved into the shoulder of the man who screams out loud, the gash oozing.

“…You made my wife and children suffer when you had us excommunicated from the Ministry. Fools, the lot of you—the Death Eaters have risen in each hole you've been unable to fill—“

“…Like a cancer!” The man yells through his screams of pain.

Before Nolpho stands up, he takes with him, pulling the knife out, ripping the muscle and flesh open. He wipes it rather casually on his pin-striped vest, his white collared undershirt's sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He does this without flinching, no remorse, coldly as the elder shouts below him.

“Tsk tsk…,” Nolpho shakes his head, other Death Eaters, Ministry “associates” around him. Dementors loom above him, waiting patiently to strike when called…so eager from their last meal of the strangled victim. “And here, Dennis, I thought we were friends. Best friends… Old chaps. How does it feel when you know someone you trusted betrays you? Hm? Feel good when your life is traded for galleons? Money talks, the people are pathetically stupid…”

“Can someone, please, take this from me?” he adds, dangling the sharp, now cleaned, knife between two fingers.

A dark cloak, amongst others, hurries to retrieve the knife as if it were their last dying wish.

Nolpho audibly sighs, the sigh echoing in the basalt-stone room. “I've grown increasingly tired of you, Dennis… At your age, I'd hoped you'd answer my questions. Your family…”

Nolpho shakes his head. “Poor things… Such a shame they're dead…”

“No!” cries out Eaton, but is hushed with the heel of Nolpho's dress shoe.

“Silence!” He demands, pulling his crooked, willow-carved wand from his vest pocket. His foot remains suffocating Eaton. “If only you would have talked sooner, Eaton, your lovely wife and children, grandchildren, and their children would not have been harmed! I don't enjoy killing people, Eaton… It's a messy job, and I rather hate mucking up my new suits…and these shoes…they were my favourite…”

Nolpho's eyes twitch with the madness behind them. “I only wanted some cooperation! Cooperation, Eaton! Cooperate with me!!”

Nolpho's shoe, his weight pushes down, crushing now Eaton's throat, his bobbing Adam's apple. He looks around at his cohorts, “Be sure, when this is done, that we've tidied up the place for the next?”

A resounding, “Yes sir!” was said.

“Excellent,” Nolpho sighs once more, slicking back his hair whilst pointing down at Eaton's head. “Such a shame… Such a shame… With your knowledge and tactics, those secrets you keep bottled up in that big brain of yours, you would have been an excellent asset to my Ministry…”

“You… Will… Lose!” coughs Eaton, struggling to breathe, gasping, flooded with his own liquids.

Nolpho's frozen stare watches the old man fight for a moment, almost curiously observing, like a painting, a sculpture in a museum…until he says those two words, the green flash emanating from the tip of his wand, and then he watches Eaton's dead body flail those last few seconds.

***

{Author Note: I'd like to know if the changing scenes trip up anyone. I try to separate the stories not following Hermione's POV from her first person story; but, because there's so many cuts in this chapter I nearly put a title on hers, too. Just some clarification would help on my end. Thanks.}

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65. Loss

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Sixty-Five - Loss

***

April 12, 2001

11:44 PM

Godric's Hollow Graveyard

The winds in the quiet neighbourhood gently begin to pick up. On the concrete pathways, the lawn, dry leaves dance across the flat surfaces and into the grass. The breaths of earth move with a fog, ever-increasing within the graveyard, lingering slowly, surrounding one prominent headstone amongst others. From the fog forms take shape, a female first, her feet, legs, torso, to the top of her straight, short black hair. Beside her, the cane appears first, following like her from feet to the top of his blonde head.

He hobbles with consistency, an unhurried pace towards that headstone. The first, as they pass, with his lady the equilibrium, one James Potter. The next, Lily Potter, with their step at the tomb on the far side of his parents. The cane stops, the tips of his boots pointing to the name, the phrase:

Harold James Potter

Greater love hath no man than this, than a man lay down his life for his friends.

31 July 1980 - 31 January 2001

“Hello, again, Harry…” The grey eyes glance over at his mate, her arm with his. “Dear, my cane?”

He holds the silvery-serpent's head out for her, now standing lonesome on his right.

“Are you sure, my love?” She peers at his attempt, a hand out.

He nods. “I'll be fine. I'm not a vegetable yet.”

He smirks.

She takes the cane and carefully loosens her grip, letting the blonde fall smoothly to the grass. In his kneel, he lets his good knee be the tripod stand whilst his other bends. He winces away from her, to lay his hand upon the land covering Harry. He closes his eyes and says a little prayer.

“…We will not forget. I will not forget my promise,” His eyes reopen to gaze at his name etched into the stone. “You truly are the greatest hero. I'm sorry this all had to happen the way it did… I only trust Albus is teaching you well. I know we will meet again—we will meet again even if it's on my life.”

“The greatest sacrifice a man can give will not be lost. The men of courage will be rewarded in the end. The prophecy…,” the blonde's words get lost in the howling wind.

The mists take over, the fog strengthening with ever-so-soft pops here and there. From the white come cloaks of snow, their hoods hiding their faces, standing with mettle and poise, heads held high. “Sir,” one of them calls from the dozen that have shown themselves.

“I know…,” He goes to look at the Auror behind him, but stops. He lifts his cuff, the business attire, the black shirtsleeve to show the scar, the tattoo of a lifetime passed: a skull with a snake for its tongue, wriggling and striking on the inside of his forearm. “I've felt the burning… They're closer. The men?”

“We're severely outnumbered, sir,” testifies a female voice. “They'll take the Vatican if we don't surrender the tome.”

“The Vatican won't allow us to move it until it's wrought from their cold, dead hands…,” he breathes, letting a sigh settle. “Pansy?”

He lifts his left hand and the black leather glove is caught by the pale woman, the lover, bending down to pull him from his knelt position. She dusts the knees of her mate's trousers off and helps him balance back on his cane.

“They're fools!” shouts an Auror. “They'd rather die than to do what is right!”

“It's not in their blood. They live by His name,” the grey eyes peer at his army of dozen, having stepped once in a turn to see them with his cane. “Centuries they've protected over the tome, and within those centuries the knowledge has been to keep it within the halls of the Vatican. The tome is theirs, not ours to confiscate.”

“We will surely die, sir!”

“The atmosphere brings security…,” He takes Pansy's hand. “The sacrifice Harry has given all of us is a sign that we, too, must sacrifice in order to succeed. It is our duty.”

“My apologies, sir…,” renounces the aggressive Auror.

The blonde, in his hobble, walks towards him and places a hand upon the cloak's shoulder. “Your wife and newborn are safe. They've gone out of the country, yes?”

“Yes, and I miss them—I have yet to see my new baby boy.”

His warm grey eyes stare blinkless at the hood and the shadowy features of the man in question. “…Take tonight off. Have a drink. Regroup and come find me tomorrow… I'll see to it you'll be beside your wife and child.”

“Thank you, sir,” he bows and puts a hand to his chest. “You don't know how much that means to me.”

The blonde gently pats the Auror's shoulder. “I know how it feels to miss the ones you love so gravely…”

“Pansy,” the commander adds, looking at his mate on his right.

“Yes, my love?”

“Might you give Harry a fresh bouquet of flowers?”

She nods after a beat, and then paces from him to the gravestone. She kneels softly to the misty field and by wand enchants first a crystal vase, beautifully sculpted with the prettiest display of perfect red roses to any floral connoisseur. She gazes at Harry's name, the ground below her, places her index and middle fingers to her lips and trades a kiss. The caress, by movement, is brought to the cold stone, her black leather-clad digits grazing over the inlaid nomenclature.

“You are missed…,” she whispers, standing up. She walks back beside her mate and takes his hand, the blonde having a speech with his reconnaissance. “Ready, my love?”

“I need to speak to the Weasley's,” he states, promptly ending his conversation with the Aurors.

One Auror, and then another, vanish from sight, the fog rolling over where they once stood, bright flashes of light illuminating the environs with each departure.

Pansy nods. “As you wish, my love.”

And, as the last, both her and the blonde—POP!—from sight, leaving nothing but the favour requested upon Harry's site.

***

April 13, 2001

5:13 AM

Prophet Media HQ, London, England

Behind closed doors, Rita Skeeter reports with a shrill of laughter to her interns, clerks, the day-to-day employees shilling out page after page of Prophet material. Set high on her throne, without a care in the world, she goes about her business with a swagger. Dozens of Quick-Quills retain to her stride, busying between desks and their writers, sniggling at the most ostentatiously absurd trail they've found on the previous admin, their followers, and the Order. She snatches up a page, gazes at the parchment behind half-spectacles, puts an obscenely red nail to her lips and lets out a boisterous chuckle.

“Teival…,” she snickers, holding her signature emerald-green sequined gown, in-place with all the over-the-top decor of the excessive superstructure. And, why not? The Ministry had them protected. After Rita threw the full weight of Prophet Media in Nolpho election, the plan would have only concluded the way it did. She had everything—has everything—and with that bit of a smirk, she handed Miss Teivel, newly appointed head writer, the parchment back. “That bit about Dumbledore and Shacklebolt is priceless… They'll certainly grovel over the last remark, and hate them even more!”

“Thank you, Miss Skeeter,” expresses the starkly blonde, black accentuating her eyes, lips, and brow. She gives her workmanship a kiss before leaping straight from her seat.

Beyond two large wooden doors, charmed and built to sustain magicks, a popping noise like firecrackers shot off, followed closely behind a wail between a BOOM!

The establishment shuddered, the very coffee in Teival's cup rippling.

Several of Skeeter's security started to file from the outskirts surrounding the desks, making their way towards the double doors when those, too, blew, their hinges blown off. The doors all but melted to the floor, and within dust, a cloud of black smoke came hooded figures, dark cloaks, wands at the ready.

One shot a security officer to the floor, the green light appearing and vanishing quickly.

Another produced a flame, setting another officer on fire, burning him alive.

Skeeter, in utmost shock, began to step backward with the rest of her A-team of writers and editors. Their wands were at the ready, but… Death Eaters?

“What is the meaning of this?!” she screeched.

Rita held her wand out…only to see a man, clad in business attire, suspenders upon a white collared shirt and pin-striped trousers, step over some debris and out of the dusty smoke.

“Quincy!” Rita's hand dropped momentarily, her mouth gapping, to throw her wand up again in an act of self-preservation. That bit of id turning on.

Nolpho, playing cool and seemingly unaware of the destruction, nor Rita Skeeter and her crew with their wands, rolled up his sleeves and patted himself of the dust. He turned to a cloak beside him, the cloak's wand pointing at the Media crowd, and said rather bored, “Get on with it, will you?”

All at once, every employee including the emerald-green sequins dropped to the floor. Agonizing and writhing in pain, each face contorted beneath a Death Eater's Cruciatus, the one Death Eater following Nolpho's feet aimed directly at Skeeter.

Nolpho yawned when he went to bend down to the flailing Rita, struggling against the pain, her fingers claw-like as she gripped the hardwood floor, breaking a nail as she peeled back the stain. He waved the Death Eater off with his hand, and gave a smirk when Rita came up for air.

She gasped in time to spit out, “You promised me!”

“What was that, my dear?” he hissed.

“You promised me that if I helped you win the election, my empire would be safely guarded! Why are you—?!”

“I don't recall confiding in any such `promise',” Nolpho grinned, giving another motion with his hand.

The Death Eater shocked Skeeter, her body recoiling from what could only be defined as torture.

Skeeter screamed alongside her employees, who had endured the weight of the Curse far more than she until Nolpho waved off the Death Eater beside him.

“Would this be considered a `hostile takeover'?” he had a laugh with the Death Eater aside him, waiting on Skeeter to breathe normally, and to come back from the brink of passing out.

Her vision went in and out. “…I did so much for you. Why are you doing this, Quincy?!”

“Because I can,” he jested. “You work for me now, hun.”

“Never!”

Nolpho sighed, and then yelled out, “Can someone kill something? Anything?”

A green flash of light engulfed the room, a groan dispersed over the screams of Cruciatus, and then dissipated back to the ambient lighting of Prophet Media headquarters.

Rita glanced over at where the green light had faded, at a still corpse of one of her editors, only to come back to the maddening face of Quincy Nolpho. He had his wand to her forehead, the tip of the crooked willow piercing her thin flesh. “Now, dear—you work with us and no harm will come of that little family of yours, and especially that nice singing niece.”

“You swore—!”

“I swear, now, that I'll hurt her in the best possible way imaginable,” He smiled. He padded the tip of his index finger atop Rita's pointy nose. “Honestly.”

Nolpho slapped Rita's when she grimaced angrily. “Tsk tsk… Smile! I'm giving you what you've always wanted!”

Backhanded, all Rita could do was to take it. Her thoughts ran from her mother, her father, her sister…Shade…

“Now, it wouldn't be…business-friendly if I were to take you out. Oh! Realize I want to…”

Rita stared into the sparkling black sockets of Nolpho peering at her.

“I just… I don't like you, and if I could without repercussion…”

He went as if to strangle her with his hand…only to stop and pull unwillingly away. He stroked a messy curl cascading down Rita's cheek. “…You are the face the people know. It wouldn't be prudent for the Ministry to…replace you so suddenly. They would begin to talk, and talking can get me in trouble…”

“Just don't hurt them…Shade…”

Nolpho went as if he were to slap her again, but gave her cheek a tap-tapping instead. “Then, we have a deal, love? Excellent!”

He pushed up with his knees and announced aloud, a flourishing hand in the air, “On with the show!”

***

April 13, 2001

9:15 AM

Within a tiny pet shop, Oxford, England

He tossed and turned those several nights after Donald had so heavy-handedly pressed into his brain the thought of pursuing her. They both had the morning off, Nathan, his classes rescheduled, and Hermione hadn't work until much later at the pub. After a bit of tea and breakfast, Nathan had asked to go riding in his car. And, so they did, stopping to meander about the shops downtown, the windows of one particularly interesting shop catching her attention. Or, should one say, the puppies facing towards the street.

With an overly-excited rejoice, the mahogany curls bounced her way indoors, the sun just slightly breaking through the morning overcast of a typical London day. She wore a pink hoodie jumper, the hood traveling along with that jog, the skip she made through the door. Nathan made a laugh at her squeal the moment he stepped through, too, seeing Hermione bending over the compartment where all the little beagles frolicked at her cooing.

He paid close attention to that of the ring still upon her finger. Never once judging, he continued to go over, and over, in his head the consequences. He could lose her completely…but to never risk it gave a lump in his throat so constricting that he wished only to shout out. He leaned just inside, on the crib meant for the puppies whilst watching Hermione lift one of the beagle puppies into her grasp, and up into her arms.

She turned to him, that chipmunk-style face and button nose, how her smile killed him within those rosy cheeks. She giggled, laughing when the beagle began affectionately licking that cheek. He was so happy, and the beagle, too. She really was one of a kind, with an extra something special he couldn't quite pin down… She had this way of lightening the mood, bringing this warm fuzzy feeling, and allowing his heart to skip a beat. He could hear Donald egging him on, his voice rolling onward at how “this felt right”. But, the ring…

He didn't want to lose her as a friend.

Actually, he didn't want to lose her at all.

To take the chance…

Her extremely addictive, adorable squeal shook him out of his thoughts, the trance, Donald's booming voice to “go for it”. The beagle, so insistent on attention had wanted to climb on her shoulder and in her hair, the lapping of his tongue never ceasing. Nathan chuckled, stepping forward to help the poor Hermione and the attacking puppy, the delightful scene of guiltlessness.

On his hands, his arms, and now the licking upon his face, he laughed out to her, “Wouldn't Crookshanks be a bit offended?”

“I'll have to change quickly when we get back.”

Nathan laughed, the beagle wetting his face. He scrunched up his nose, “Certainly is an affectionate fella.”

“He likes you!”

“I can certainly see that!” He laughed once more, the beagle all but climbing atop his head.

She put her hand to cover her mouth, holding her centre with its twin while she laughed at the unbearably charming scene.

***

12:24 PM

An open field park venue in Oxford

“Come on, Donald!” barked Hermione from the stands. Amidst her and Stephanie, a few groups of people, mostly girls sat together watching the rugby scrimmage play out. Both she and Stephanie had on a wrapped, quilted blanket. Although the sun was out, a cool breeze among a crisp day blew through easily without any obstacle. The trees, buildings surrounding them on the outskirts of the cleared grassy spot.

Hermione had her hands around her mouth, acting to amplify her voice. And she did, causing a stir from the other groups around them. “Hit the guy!”

“Is that ickle-sweet Hermione I hear badgering me over there?” Playing sport in skins-and-shirts, Donald's and Nathaniel's team were shirtless. So, when Donald raised his hand over his eyes to block out the sun, to see the group on the benches, Hermione could hear the wooing of Stephanie beside her.

“You could have taken Marwick!” added Steph. “You let him get that goal!”

“You think you could do better, missy?!” yelled Donald as he jogged off after the ball.

“Quit being a pansy and hit the guy next time!” called out Hermione in a smirk. “We didn't come here to see you try to hug them!”

Stephanie was balled over laughing.

“If you think you could do better, come on down here!” one could hear the huffing of Donald as he chased the guy with the ball.

I smiled when I caught sight of Nathaniel running by. He gave me a wave as he sidestepped, shuffling in to make a dive for the shirt with the sphere. I waved back, to see him turn about and lift the ball-carrier off the ground.

“Now that's a hit!” hollered Stephanie.

“Ohh, shush it!” came faintly from the piled bodies all going for the loose ball.

Stephanie and I lit with laughter.

Stephanie peered down at Hermione's hand whilst looking towards her. She saw the engagement ring still on her finger, the ring she kept so close to her wherever she was. She smiled when she saw her gazing out over the field, aligned with the target of the built shirtless male having captured the ball. She watched Hermione follow him going for the goal, and eased into her, giving her a push off her shoulder.

Hermione looked over.

“You've changed,” stated Steph with a grin.

“Nah…,” smiled Hermione, looking back at the field. “I just like giving the guy's a hard time.”

She looked back at Steph, her brunette strands blowing in her face. She pried them back, pushing them behind an ear. “If it's annoying—“

“It's hilarious—he gets so riled up!”

Hermione laughed, leaning against Steph.

“But, I meant with N—“

“Are you kidding me…?”

Interrupted by Hermione, Stephanie's eyes shot off towards the right and down below. Her eyes went to a blonde, and to her clique of friends. They'd seen them up in the seats, standing near the sidelines of the field. Trish gazed in their vicinity, a hand over her eyes; but, didn't linger for long. Her sight went back to the field.

“The fuck is she doing here…?” growled Steph. She went to get up, to say something, when Hermione's hand held her back.

“Wait!” I said in a hushed voice. “Look—they're leaving.”

Sure enough, they'd turned and left the moment they'd come on the field.

Steph sat back down. “…Probably scoping out what she can't have…”

“That was weird…” added Hermione, feeling Steph hug her beneath the enclosed blanket. “What do you think that was all about?”

“Dunno, really…,” Both her and Hermione's eyes continued to watch Trisha's clique move on and out of sight. “But, I'm not afraid to fight a bitch.”

***

1:54 PM

“I think I could have done better.”

“Oh, really?” Nathan slipped his arm around my neck and pulled me into a headlock.

“Oi!” I fought between laughs, our group of Steph and Donald walking back towards the parking garage.

“I rather like my girls all damsel-like,” I caught his ticklish spot, and he let go.

My hair a mess, I blew those wild curls away from my sight. I mimicked as if enraged, my hands on my hips and all, but smiled when he grinned. “You're all sweaty and gross, and—“

“Oi then, come `ere!” He went to grab me, but I was off.

Rushing by Steph and Donald in front of us, I leapt over a parking curb and fled across the pavement. I looked back to see Nathan on the approach. I was in a fit, an absolute fit when he lassoed me, plucking me from the asphalt and lifting me into his arms.

“Ack! Gross!” Scrunching up my face, I set to get away, slipping on the sweat upon his skin all the while he chuckled at my fight.

“Hahaha…!”

“Set me down! Set me down this instant!”

“Oh, have it your way…”

He put the bottoms of my Ugg boots back on the ground, and I went about wiping away as much of Nathaniel as I could. “Christ, you're mean to me…”

“Here,” He rummaged about in his duffel bag and tossed me a clean towel. “I didn't realize you'd get so—“

I threw the towel back at him when finished, the navy blue cotton landing on his head.

He yanked it off, saying in slits for eyes, “Why you little…”

“Eek!” And, I was off again, my laughter and his resounding now between concrete supports and walls, garage A.

I hustled, only to hear Nathaniel on the way back to his car, “What are you going to do without…?”

He jingled his keys…

…The door, as I tried to open it, was locked.

“Haha!” He leapt across the hood and was after me again.

The two witnesses, Steph and Donald, grinned at each other.

“I swear they're adorable,” Steph said at the car door, having watched Hermione climb up on Nathaniel's back and was currently being walked back.

“He swears they're `platonic,'” Donald looked at Steph at his left. “I call bullshit.”

“You always were one to spot the obvious.”

***

9:34 PM

Oxford Halls of Residence

“Honestly, Hermione—I can't stand you.”

Lifting from my bend, having just rinsed my skin of face wash, I glanced into the reflection and saw Stephanie applying foundation to her skin. I took the unsoiled cloth from where I'd put it on the rack aside me and patted my face dry.

“What?”

“Your skin is flawless,” Steph went from me, and then back to her application. “You don't know how many girls would kill for your complexion. You don't have to sit here for an hour putting makeup on—have you ever?”

I shook my head. “Never saw the meaning. Well, maybe if I was feeling creative.”

Steph laughed. “Have you ever tried modeling?”

In a matter of seconds, memories hit me…

“Oh! Oh—that's cute!”

In the middle of this golden field, a cloudless, clear blue sky hung overhead. The sunlight dazzled the stalks of vegetation, the bronzed hue so powerful as our background. Besides us three, Harry, me, and the Q magazine photographer's crew, a lone tree sat in the distance, creating a picturesque horizon.

Harry had on these grayish trousers with silvery lining and a black tee shirt. I had on this white little number with a wide tan belt covering my centre, a metal frame as the buckle. I'd leapt onto Harry's backside when the blonde photographer announced the “cute”-factor, hanging on around his neck with my knees hitched up. Harry had caught me underneath them, secured, enjoying with giggles my piggy-back ride.

I tossed my head to one side, allowing the wind to catch those mahogany curls sparkling in the emblazoned atmosphere. He made it seem for a moment that I weighed a ton, lowering when I tapped him on the shoulder and gasped. He leaned back, and within that gorgeous smile, brighter than the illumination, the odd day of sunshine in England, I kissed him…

“Hey!” Donald's face appeared in the mirror from the opened door giving us both a fright.

“Fucking hell!” Steph pushed Don back out the door.

“Why does it take a whole day for you to get ready?” He stood in the doorway. “Hermione looks like she's finished.”

“Well, Hermione's special.”

I rolled my eyes, fixing the oversized-white shirt that had this neat, almost spray-painted-like black peace symbol on the front. Black tights and blackish Ugg boots, I was definitely on the side of ready. But, I wouldn't say it in front of Steph, having our girl's moment, chatting.

“Hurry up! The club's probably poppin' as of now! We'll be there after ten at this rate—happy hour ends at midnight for us guys!”

“Hold your fucking arse,” spat Steph. “Christ!”

She looked at me through the mirror. “It's like the guy hasn't had a single drop in weeks!”

Donald came inside the lavatory, and about that time I heard the smacking sound. Steph's eyes widened, and then her image was gone. I snickered, Donald having slapped her bum, telling her, again, to, “Hurry up!”

When Steph was eventually allowed to finish, I walked out behind her and Donald fussing away to see Nathan leaning on the counter with the silver chinking metal in his hands. He smiled when he saw me, wearing faded black denim trousers, and a white shirt with a bit of black design with his top two buttons undone. He'd put some gel in his hair, made up in the front and slicked in the back.

He reached out for me, and I took his hand.

Gently, he turned and I followed him at arm's length through the door. I grinned at some partiers in the Halls, having to move to the side as some guy in a lampshade bumbled down the corridor half-drunk with his mates. Nathan squeezed my hand, and by slackened grip, by light fingertips, he led me down the staircase and out into his car.

When he ignited the engine, the music, its bass trembled the doors, the floor. Donald was in front of us with Steph, his Honda no match for Nathan's Ford Mustang. When we got to the first stop light, both cars at the ready, Nathan casually said to, “Hold on” as he revved the engine with a smirk in profile. The light flicked to green, and we were off, burning rubber as the tires squealed.

***

10:17 PM

The Ministry of Sound nightclub, London

“Oh my God!” cheeped Angelique, DJ Bliss, one of several DJs scratching House music tonight. She was one of Nathaniel's friends from bartending at the pub, a frequent acquaintance for their cheeseburgers, chips, and of course, low calorie drinks. At only half its volume capacity, the walls reverberated between the sounds of hopping feet and chatter. The lithe, tanned woman, about the same age as Hermione, scurried from the massive crowd and nearly leapt on the brunette. “It's the Fabulous Four at it again!”

Hermione embraced Angelique, the squirming figure all locked up around her. She came in and grabbed Nathan, and then Donald and Steph for a group hug. She flicked around and yelled at the bartender tossing bottles in his display of show. “Five Johnny Vegas's!”

The bartender nodded through the beat he kept with the bottles, plucking Patron and watermelon schnapps from the wired rack behind him.

“Starting hard, Angel?” mused Donald. “I love it!”

“Of course you do!”

Strobe lighting made Angelique's tiny frame resemble snapshots on her way to the bar, pulling along Hermione with Nathaniel in tow. “Come along, Baby Doll!”

“She's going to get you hammered again,” noted Nathaniel with a bit of a curve of a lip. “Watch out.”

Hermione looked back, being pulled to the counter where sat four “shots” that could be considered drinks as tall as they were. The brownish liquid fizzed with bubbles alit by the various coloured lights behind the bar. “I don't care.”

Nathan smirked, and was then smacked on the shoulder by Donald. “Such a downer!”

“I just don't want her to get sick like the last time, mate.”

I looked back at Nathan, having picked up the shot and turned around. Leaning against the bar's ledge, my left elbow atop, I merely rolled my eyes. I saw him reach around me for his, giving my stomach a little prod. I prodded him back, making him laugh. He stepped beside me, on my left with Angelique on my right. Donald and Stephanie had theirs, too, on the far side of Nathan. Angelique held on her shot, and we followed.

“To a fucking fantastic night with friends!”

“Cheers!” we said in-sync.

I tilted my head back, and when I felt the tequila strike immediately shut my eyes. I wanted to cough, but held it back, too damn stubborn to allow myself to do so. I felt Nathan at my shoulder, and Angelique squeeze my hand. I set the glass down, swallowing nothing but just to get the strong taste down and was rightfully tugged into the direction of the dance floor.

I smiled and happily skipped behind Angelique.

Nathan's hand ran across my arm, from the shoulder as I left him. When I looked back he was already ordering another drink with Donald, and gave me a wave, a smirk. I smiled, the direction blocked by the closing-in image of Stephanie behind me, holding onto my shirt as we weaved in-and-out of groups of people.

***

“This is DJ Defected, here at Ministry of Sound live on the radio this Friday night!” From the station centre-stage, DJ Defected, a shaved-haired man in his mid-twenties with schoolboy-framed glasses put his fist in the air as he spoke in real-time over the radio. From the listener's perspective, one could hear the bass, the people, the music. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is your duty to get down here and come live the night up with us! Ladies—you drink free until 1 AM, and men…there's some fit looking ladies down here. I tell you what… We've got DJ Bliss and DJ Sweet hooking it all up for you—so come on down and get to it!”

Some of Stephanie's friends had come, too, girls that I'd hung out with before on many an occasion. Angelique, discounting her DJing for fun, had taken all of us on one of many stages to dance. This wasn't a first time, and why we came to this welcoming venue. Her dark grey short sleeve shirt, dark jeans and chain swayed as I did, and the rest. The hippogriff feather danced at my chest, caught up in the pulse, the flicker of lights, the colours that would pop and change the club to red, to violet, to ochre.

Only women allowed, a sea of men, cups in hand, ogled on the floor at our feet. I think that bothered me our first night; but after being hit on, and hit on, and hit on…even with the engagement ring on my finger…I'd gotten used to it. Sometimes it became an inconvenience; though, the bouncers at both ends of the stage kept the more untamed at bay. One odd move and they'd be thrown out.

Of course, my attention wasn't on them. Actually, my attention, however slurred and blurred the attention as a whole was, was divided between dancing and…

I caught myself staring at Nathaniel from across the room. Well, he was near us, but farther behind the wide-eyed men watching us. In every light he looked like… Every time I saw him, his hair, his confidence, his sense of protecting me… The subjects we discussed, his intelligence, his hobbies… His attire, his hair, and I swore if he wore glasses…

Distraught, I fought with myself…versions of me, voices in my head. A voice, as clear as day, found solace in meeting him. That voice urged me, wanted me to “go for it,” to started anew with this…so very similar, Harry look-a-like. Parts of me wished to do things I never wanted to do with any other man. And in that came the second voice, a voice which told me… Nathaniel wasn't Harry.

He'd never be Harry.

That, Nathaniel would always and forever be…Nathaniel.

That, I was…abandoning…my love…

The other voice would scream, shouting the question, “But, would you rather be alone all your life?”

And, the second would yell back, “But, she can't change him to be Harry!”

I wanted to kiss Nathaniel.

I wanted to be with Nathaniel.

I wanted to…make love…

…With Harry.

“Don't do it…!” One voice. “You'll regret it for the rest of your life!”

“Throw caution into the wind!” The other. “Harry is…it's not coming back!”

My world spun between the gyrating tone, that pounding I could feel from the bottoms of my feet to the tip-top of my head. I put a hand to my forehead and held onto Angelique's arm a moment…to stabilize myself, turning away from the vision of Nathaniel and the sea of club-goers.

“Are you—,” began Angelique, stopping the sway of her hips against mine. She lowered her head to my height, holding my sides with her hands as if to catch me. I think she thought I was passing out. “Are you okay…?”

“Yeah…,” I shook my head. “…Yeah.”

She took me in her arms and cradled me against her front whilst leaning in to speak to those girlfriends behind me, “Oi! Hermione's not feeling well!”

“Is she okay?” asked one girl in our group, an acquaintance and friends of Stephanie.

“Yeah—,” Angelique had me, my hands in hers now, leading me down off the stage. She looked back at our clan. “She just needs some cold, cold water.”

“Another drink is what I need…,” I said, removing my right hand from Angelique's to sift through the fringe of my hair. If anything, alcohol filled the void and casted out the negatives… And when that happened, I didn't think anymore. I could be happy when I felt alone again.

“No, no…,” Angelique retook my hand, and once we were off the stage replied in haste. “You need something other than vodka and liqueur. What you need is some really cold water and some fresh air—come on!”

***

Minutes before…

“Where'd Donald run off to this time?”

Nathaniel, ever-focused on Hermione from across the room, turned around from his lean on the bar counter. He lifted his plastic cup of beer to Stephanie whom crept behind him, and then set to take a sip.

“He's gone for his second time to the loo.”

Stephanie, standing beside Nathan with her own mixed drink, took her lips from the brim of her own plastic cup to say, with a shake of her head, “I swear he pisses like a race horse.”

Nathaniel nearly spat out his drink of beer. “Too true!”

She smiled at Nathan, and motioned over towards his line of sight with a bob of her head. “Does she know?”

“Who are we talking about now?”

“Oh, don't play stupid…”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he shrugged, giving his beer a bit of a swirl.

“You've been staring at Hermione—I've watched you.”

“A tad creepy…”

“Oh, bugger off…,” she rolled her eyes. “Sometimes you men are so…just terrible.”

“What?”

Stephanie's eyes glittered in the multicolours. “Are you afraid of something, Nathan? You've never been afraid of anything since I've known you, so don't start now.”

“What are you going on about? Seriously.”

Stephanie gave another motion over to the stage, to the gaggle of girls, Hermione included. “She's looking at you—you've got to man up and take initiative! Don't be such a pus—“

“I know she likes me—or, I think so. Who's to say when she wears her ring? I don't want to be that guy who makes everything worse.”

“So, you're afraid you're not going to be a great guy—and treat her right? Is that it?”

“The ring can only mean she longs for her dead fiance—you know what happened.”

Paused a beat, Stephanie concluded, “That right there—what you just said—that's what makes you so great, Nathan. And, Hermione… I mean, I've never lost anyone so special to me…but, she will need to choose to move on or stay put, and I don't see her choosing to spend the rest of her life in mourning. You can be that guy she always wanted—in fact, I think you already are and are just too thick to see what's in front of you.”

She gave Nathan a push.

“It's not like I don't want to kiss her—“

“Kiss her!” Steph's eyes were lit. “Damn it, mate, kiss the girl!”

“This is DJ Defected, here at Ministry of Sound live on the radio this Friday night!” From the station centre-stage, DJ Defected, a shaved-haired man in his mid-twenties with schoolboy-framed glasses put his fist in the air as he spoke in real-time over the radio. From the listener's perspective, one could hear the bass, the people, the music. “Ladies and gentlemen, it is your duty to get down here and come live the night up with us! Ladies—you drink free until 2 AM, and men…there's some fit looking ladies down here. I tell you what… We've got DJ Bliss and DJ Sweet hooking it all up for you—so come on down and get to it!”

“We're already like one big happy family… Me and Don, you and Hermione…”

Nathan gave his eyes a roll, but smile nonetheless.

“Do it tonight,” Steph gave Nathan another push on his shoulder, seeing Nathan peer back in longing for the twirling brunette on stage. “Grab her, kiss her—we love that sort of spontaneity.”

“So,” Nathan smirked into his drink. “If she maims me, cuts off my balls, do I have you and Donald to thank?”

Stephanie's laugh was thoroughly drowned out by a bass beat.

Nathan's eyes went from Stephanie holding herself, back to Hermione—or where she once stood, an empty spot now. He immediately straightened, looking around, side-to-side, his drink down from his mouth. He went to move, but found her, Hermione, interlocked around Angelique heading towards them.

“What's wrong with Hermione?” Obviously, Steph had seen her, too.

“I'm not sure, but I don't like the look of her…,” Nathaniel set off to meet them, their distance still apart, but closing in slowly.

Stephanie followed. “Do you think she's gone overboard again?”

“Shut up, Steph!” Nathan bit, to Steph's recoil.

“Sorry…?”

When he turned his head back around, having snapped so suddenly at Steph's remark, he saw Hermione pulled down from the crowd by her hair. Another girl grabbed Angelique when she started in to defend her, and in abrupt succession, Nathan was in the middle of a cat fight.

He saw her…and couldn't believe it, but believed it all the same.

Trisha, and her posse.

“YOU FUCKING BITCH! YOU STOLE HIM!!”

Security from every corner began to rush in and claw their way towards the conflicting mass of girls just as Nathan was. Nathan grabbed hold of one of Trisha's friends and pulled her off Angelique in time to reach around and take Hermione. Trisha's hands, her fingers, clung to Hermione's hair. Steph had come in to help, taking Hermione when Nathan let her go to accompany Trish. He grabbed her around the waist, lifted her from the floor and systematically unlocked each of her digits from Hermione's crown.

He tossed her aside and she stumbled on the floor.

He went to go back, seeing Steph with Hermione only to feel a weight on his back, being pushed on as he, too, fell on the floor. One bouncer had grabbed him, put him in a stiff headlock and began escorting him and the rabble from the premises.

***

“Take her home, Steph. She's not feeling well.”

Nathan had his back turned to the police, having given Hermione to his mate's girl, issuing his demand. Hermione had already given her statement, or what there was of it, intoxicated and bruised, not to mention the migraines. She sheltered her face into Steph's chest, a hand over her eyes to escape from the flickering blues lights surrounding them outside the Ministry of Sound.

Off in one corner sat Angelique speaking to the police, and more with the bouncers…and Trisha, and her group off on the opposite side of the road.

“Here,” Nathan shimmied off a key from his set. “For the front door. Get her some water, something to eat and get her to bed. I'll be there in a moment.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go I said!”

Donald nodded when he saw his mate's eyes go to him, and with an arm wrapped around both Hermione and Steph, made their way to his car.

Nathan pivoted back to the police where he stated quite astutely, an eye toward the pathway away from him…at Trish, “Yes, I'd like to press charges on her, officer…”

***

April 14, 2001

2:11 AM

Oxford Halls of Residence

It was like I was through the looking glass, in Wonderland…a dreadful sort of Wonderland, and I was Alice. Alice, sitting at Mad Hatter's tea party and everyone and everything was turned upside-down and inside-out. I sat, so hopelessly, so tuned off from life with each passing blow. I was a refugee—that was it—having lost my homeland, or home, and the warmth that lay inside. Now, I went between worlds, that and this, reality and imagination, false and truth.

I made up my mind to leave Nathaniel, and Donald and Stephanie, my pseudo-family. I felt I'd gotten too close to Nathan, and that sense of betrayal hung over me like a plague. It may have been all in my head…but it seemed the longer I stayed, the more trouble I'd cause…within their lives, and within mine. Distraught, utterly gone, psychologically, physically, my only crux was alcohol, or in the arms of…

And, I thought I didn't want that.

I wanted Harry.

I want Harry.

I want Harry back… I want everything back, however lopsided and absurd that life had gotten. I didn't care. I wanted to see him, smell him, feel him. I wanted to hear his laugh, see that brow upturn when he grew confused, and especially his smile. I felt I had betrayed so many by leaving as is… Gin, she probably hadn't a wink of sleep in these few months.

But, I didn't want to go back there…quite yet

I needed some time for myself.

I wanted some time alone…just not that alone.

With the most unbiased of friends…people who wouldn't drown me in affection nor wouldn't isolate me. A simple balance of privacy and publicity on all fronts. I wanted to feel safe, and yet, lay in my own bed with no strings attached…and I knew just who to go to in this time of need. One person who would welcome me with open arms and was that kind of friend… I'd get to Gin, and that world in due time…just…for the meantime…

Me.

To sort me out.

To do me things.

And, live with me.

Nathan,

I'm sorry for leaving like this, in the middle of the night, with all that we've been through. Please don't think the reason I left was because of you. That's far from the truth. I just need space after… I wouldn't be the person I am if I wasn't honest with you; but, I believe in an alternate time, I could have truly loved you. You are everything, everything that I ever wanted in my life. You are very special to me. I had this feeling once…and you helped me see it through. Thank you for being so sweet to me and allowing me into your home.

Always,

Hermione

I left the note where he had first left me mine.

Quietly, I used a bit of wand-work to carry one suitcase instead of a dozen. Handle in-hand, I took up a tired Crookshanks lazily purring at my feet. I looked back at the slightly-opened door of Nathan's bedroom where I knew he lay, said a silent goodbye…held back a tear…

And vanished.

{Author's Note: kudos to anyone who can figure out who Hermione will be going to in the next chapter!}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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66. Prelude

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Sixty-Six - Prelude

***

Diagon Alley

The Vaults, Gringotts Bank

“Mister Nolpho's patience is wearing thin…,” One goblin created a hologram, magicks sparking from the tips of his hands. An image of a Death Eater, a spokesperson for the Minister, demanded answers from the team of goblins struggling to open vault 687. “It's your magic, these are your depositories! Why haven't you been able to open it?!”

“It's been charmed, it has, sir,” says one goblin apologetically, its head in a submissive bow. “The key—his key we managed to take—it's been tampered with and—“

“You good for nothing maggots! You've let mudblood and half-breeds do as they please beneath your crooked noses! Shave out your hair-ridden ears and listen to me closely…,” The Death Eater kept a beat, his face, his gnashers snapping at the air. One could see the image of him look as if to crawl from the void they had created and strangle the goblin. “Mister Nolpho has informed me that, in case you haven't opened his vault by midnight, he will provide invitation to your deaths—every last one of you worthless maggots!”

“We own you!” Belted the Death Eater. “Your very lives hang in the balance—respect that right or have it be broken!”

“Steelknuckles, sir!” shouted a goblin from the vault door. Its hands, like the dozen plus at the enchanted metal, worked the magicks defending the latches. With one latch undone, a fire would belch, squelching the fingers of the goblin currently reworking their own measures of security.

Fortunately for Steelknuckles, the goblin in front of the speaking void, a cold sweat dripping from his forehead, the goblin who shouted gave good news. “We've almost got it, sir!”

“You can say nothing as to why it has taken you so long to open one, little vault!”

“My apologies, again, sir… But, it is Harry Potter's. This isn't an ordinary vault. We should have seen this coming and—“

“Worthless! We will kill a goblin for your insolence and sheer stupidity!”

A sharp zapping noise, followed by a yelp and a KABOOM! shortly after felt the very crags they stood upon tremble. Steelknuckles looked over, and as he did, a flashing, blinding light appearing in the form of a serpent came goblins in flight. On fire, and in midair, the few who made it out alive fell to the rocky surface; those who didn't plummeted off the supported railways, and into the darkness below.

“What was that?! What was that noise, you witless goblin!!?”

“Get back to it, men!” Steelknuckles spoke, and when speaking again yelled in gobbledygook, pointing towards the single latch waiting to be reworked.

The survivors, severely burned and blackened by the explosion, crawled their way back to the vault, and—

“We've done it, sir!”

“You've done it?!” reiterated the Overseer, wringing his hands as the Death Eater listened intently, and stared ever-quietly into the hairy goblin. “You say, you've done it?!”

“The vault—it's open, sir!”

“About bloody time, fools!” spat the Death Eater's head. “Its contents are the sole property of Mister Nolpho and the Ministry—if we catch a slimy handprint on the gold and whatever else lie inside, your heads we will—“

A gasp overcame the cheerful ambience, and Steelknuckles, taking heat, glanced over at his kin and the freed vault 687.

“What is it?!”

“What is it?!” repeated Steelknuckles, stepping away a moment from the void only to be rung in again.

“Don't you go away from my sight, goblin—tell me what has happened now, you maggot!”

“I don't know—“

“Tell me!”

The Overseer spoke in Gobbledygook once more, having gone back by the Death Eater's will, and the workers, injured so deeply by burns that the very skin of their faces had begun to peel in layers, returned in Gobbledygook, and then common speak:

“The fortune! It's not here!”

“What do you mean, “it's not here”?! The Potter fortune is greatly—“

“I swear, Steelknuckles, if this is goblin trickery at work, your spewing lies… You all will die by our hands! If we find not one single galleon in that sea of galleons Potter had—“

The Overseer's ears perked up at the sound of what sounded like a pin drop, so subtle. He realized at that moment…

His eyes darted back to his workers, his face flicking to his left. The vault had been rigged on the inside as well! A trap! The fools, they'd gone inside! “You fools! Get out of there—NOW!”

“Sir—?!”

The sheer force of the explosion rocked within the vault knocked both the Overseer and his warlock cohort off their feet. The mirror into the realm of the Ministry vanished without the warlock's catalyst, his vision and the Overseer's taken by a light of an engulfing flame, a visage of a phoenix. The Overseer could have prayed that the phoenix didn't catch him, his body flung from the rock on which he stood like a limp doll, but realized soon after how far he had traveled…now falling into the unknown depths of the carved out chasm, and into the darkness below.

***

Sofia, Bulgaria

The Krum Estate

When I appeared, baggage in-hand and a restless kitty in my grasps, I was at beginning of his winding pathway. As I shushed Crookshanks, the orange fur ball not enjoying the apparation trip at all and giving such a fit, I trekked the lengthy track. Ascending, encircling upwards, I passed fountains, statues of fauns pouring buckets of water in intricate lines, hopping from one pool to the next, gardens of flowers and coloured vegetation, creeping vines on graying cobblestone walls, until I found the oversized doors just big enough to fit the burly owner.

Steps lined the walkway as I trekked ever-increasingly up between ionic columns, and between them, large half-oval, half-rectangle wood-framed windows. Looking to my left, I could see a field cleared out, hoops constructed at its ends lifted high in the sky. His personal practicing field, a broom which had seen better days lay propped at the doors. Bludgers and quaffles of different hues lay at its end, arranged so that visitors—or he—wouldn't trip over the equipment.

I could hear voices through the doors before I even aligned myself with the knocker. I had to finally set Crookshanks down, the stinker in such discontent. He stretched at my feet, and I made sure with the point of my finger that he stayed in my sight.

When I began to reach for the knocker, an impish-resembling head holding the actual brass ring in its mouth, I stopped. In that second, I could feel myself break down. I scolded myself, demanded I got myself together—but, the hopping, the grieving, the finding my place, the destruction, and now, I'd face that true friend…

I held a breath, straightened up, and took hold of the ring.

I knocked once, and another, the sounds behind the door quickly halting and the fixture being relieved. In my midst I saw a lady I hadn't seen in a gown of black with an apron of white. She had her hair tied back in a bun, and she looked more like a mother, much older than the person I searched for behind her.

She said something in Romanian, and I just stood there like a lump on a log.

“Va pot ajuta, domnisoara?” [Can I help you, miss?]

“…Pardon?”

“Ce doriti?” [What is it?]

I heard mumbling, and then voices, crystal clear voices approaching, but still in Romanian.

“Cine este la usa?” [Who is at the door?]

“O frica fie ele satene, se pare…” [A frightened brunette, by the looks of it…] She answered, retreating from view when the warm bear of a man became visible. He looked so much like last time, so much like our fourth year—right down to his shaved, black hair and that bit of sculpted beard on his chin. He glanced from what I guessed was a maid from her wardrobe to Viktor, his eyes alit when he saw me standing there looking… I assumed in the most dreadful of states by my wrought emotion so on the brink.

I could feel the tears so readily on the horizon when I saw him, his smile which grew increasingly concerned when I stood, stoic in the archway.

“'Ermione! How I have worried sick about you! The papers—“ He halted all but his breath, and reproached, stating with that familiar kindness. “…Hermione?”

I broke down, and I began apologizing, feeling like an utter fool with a damn overgrown handbag, sobbing profusely.

He wrapped his gigantic arms around me and gave me the warmest, tightest hug I'd had in a while. He called out to the maid, “Spune-le celorlalti sa faca mai mult spatiu!” [Tell the others to make more room!]

“What iz it, Viktor?” I heard the distinguished, sweet tone of a woman, Zuzanna, traipsing down the grand staircase, red velvet carpeting from the entryway leading to her bounding toes. “Who iz there?”

“Hermione,” he replied, taking me inside and telling the butler to close the door behind him. I looked up to see Zuzanna, bright-eyed and happy fall for the same sort of concern which had crept on Viktor's face so suddenly.

She reached for me and my puffy-eyed face, and cradled me to her form. She gave my forehead a caress and gently stroked my hair. “Ze poor thing—and what they've done to her! Ze monsters!”

I could feel someone rubbing my back, my spine, and I knew it was Viktor. “What shall we do? We were packing and—“

“Packing…?” My voice came out muffled, and higher-pitched. I realized I barged my way into people's lives—friends or not. I started to back away, only for Zuzanna to pull me back into her arms.

“We're taking you vith us vether you `ike it or not!”

“We were packing to go to my villa in Athens for holiday—I wish for you to join us `Ermione. Please?”

“I didn't—,” Zuzanna's stroking felt so very comforting, maternal, something I would have done…have done…her similarity strikingly real. Though, my brain made excuses, and my mouth followed. “I didn't mean to come in and—what I mean is—“

“You're coming!” Zuzanna kept me close. “No more talking!”

“Vhen Zuzanna means it…,” chuckled Viktor a bit from aside me and his mate. He shouted, as he pivoted to the maid, “Ia lucrurile si le-a pus cu ale noastre!” [Take her things and put them with ours!]

The maid gave a nod and took my one suitcase from my hand. I had no feeling in my fingers; so, from bag to bag-less, I never felt a thing. And, I didn't have to—Viktor and Zuzanna were sincere. I let them do what they did without argument. I was done thinking about the pros and cons, the outcomes of every, little detail. I wanted to be with that unbiased, no strings attached support—and that's what I was getting in droves.

“Viktor's on holiday and I am on holiday. We are going to his villa in Greece and you are coming along vit us.”

I hesitated a nod and stuttered a breath.

“Ve will give you all time needed and privacy. But, we want you with us. You need a holiday, too, vhat with the pigs, the swine!”

She spat. “Monsters!”

“Okay?” she took me beneath the chin by fingertip, and wiped away a tear streak on my cheek with her other. She gave a smile when I looked at her, and I hesitated that nod again, being brought back to her shoulder when I gave the affirmation.

“Good!” My body, with its lack of sleep, its distraught nature, and Zuzanna's rhythmic stroking…I could have fallen asleep in her arms. I think I was, her voice like an echo. “Now let us give your face a wash and be on our way then!”

***

The Vatican, Vatican City

“They've taken the Piazza! They've broken our defensive barriers!” One Auror yelled at his sister-in-arms, a stretch away.

Both had dodged in-coming fire, literally, with shots of green light. With each hit, the columns they had fled behind chipped more and more away, the marble crumbling to dust before it hit the mosaics. The female, her cloak scorched, her skin burned horribly in places, shook a glance at her brother-in-arms, his wand at his side as he fought the reply back with his own magicks in the fight.

Both could hear wails and screams at the Vatican's busted doors. The team destined to secure the defense were surely taken, and with each abrupt shout, and the light, came silence as its conclusion. The whole building shook, the ancient archways crumbling as the conflict pressed on.

She glanced, or tried, being pushed back by light—a bolt of violet zipping by her nose, singeing the sculpted rock she sheltered herself with. Her eyes, her vision saw over the Son, his halo of thorns, crucified to the cross. And in that moment, she knew…

“Are you a religious man, Leighton?”

The male Auror, his face hidden behind his hood, looked across the blown-to-bits room, parts of who knows what displaced between their distances. His cerulean-coloured irises met hers a brief moment, and he smiled of which she saw. “Devoted Catholic, you?”

She smiled, her own cerulean irises leaving him as if to edge around the corner. Her sight went back to him, and she nodded. “Ready for one last hurrah?”

He nodded. “What better way to end it all?”

The blonde woman, her hair slightly breached from her hood, her strands flittering whenever a blow of magic would hit the sanctuary, shimmied her white-clothed hand inside her cloak to retrieve…a cross dangling from a silver chain. She gave a kiss, giving her brother-in-arms a smile. “I'll be seeing you.”

“We'll go for a drink—I'm sure they'll give allowance just this once. On me.”

Her grin left as her eyes went to peek around, giving the male Auror a finger, and then two, and when her ring digit joined her index and middle did they both withdraw from their shelter…

…Only to see a swarm of black without much light.

Never the bother, they took aim, and with their lessened brothers and sister took one, two, a third before the male was hit by a flash of green…and then the blonde, watching her brother-in-arms go down aside her, succumb, too, to the green. She dropped immediately, dead, to the rubble of what once was a beautifully coloured floor.

***

Athens, Greece

My life now fit around two things: the betterment of myself, and long nights in the Krum study. When we first got to Athens, I couldn't believe how large Viktor's library was—or his parent's as this was their previous holiday manor until they built another off the coast of the Pacific in Spain. The library was enumerable and vast with Krum's father being a magical physicist. Loads of medical books, past and present, and some more devious collections in which I became more aware of…the closer I looked, and the longer I stayed in the study.

I had seen manuscripts like these in Hogwarts's Forbidden section. Surely, though, as I read through them, finely combing every word, every detail in pyjamas and a single lamp for light, I found them thematically speculation with hints of amateurism. Especially, the studies of transmutation, and the thought of bringing a soul back from the death. I sat one night, in silence but for a clock somewhere hidden behind the aisles of bookshelves, reading Paracelsus documents, spiritual alchemy to cure disease and to retain one's soul. And, Newton's descriptions of deviate mathematics bearing on the process of unattainable means and attainable means. And, of course, the reoccurring equations of Nicolas Flamel, a man I'd grown to know greatly. If by means of the philosopher's stone he could live, surely, I thought, immortality could be formed to return that from the dead.

Honestly, it was all a pipe-dream. Any chance of getting my hands on something so rare as the philosopher's stone or that of magicks creating life were… I mean, Dumbledore had seen to it the destruction of the stone so many years ago. Too worrisome, he had said. In the wrong hands the tool could be used for evil. I kept hearing Dumbledore, and seeing him. I swore one time I saw him in the study—but, it was also my seventeenth hour awake, and without caffeine, and the fact that I kept myself busy when I hadn't locked myself in the library for hours on end.

Between events with Viktor and Zuzanna, outings, rendezvous of the sites—especially the history of Greek culture surrounding the venue, disheveled heaps of the ancients our skyline—and books, I exercised. Exercise kept my body busy alongside my mind; and, I'd intentionally push the past, and the current past aside for some sort of flashing statistical number on my elliptical machine or treadmill. Or, maybe I counted the number of times I did pushups or situps—something just so mind-numbingly boring. On the treadmill now, and in a light sweat—going on a half hour now of constant jogging—I took up the bottle of water from its holder latched onto the side of the machine and quenched my thirst while seeing I had burned a few hundred calories represented by the red digital numeric screen.

Slowing the treadmill down to a stop, I rested my left hand on the support beam on that side when drinking. I closed my eyes, classical music near-blaring in my ears. Two small speakers set in my ears so I wouldn't offend the quietness of the manor, and that of the two, Viktor and Zuzanna, sleeping this morning. I hadn't slept, gazing out over my room when I reopened my cinnamon irises. High, vaulted windows grew vertical with the vaulted ceiling, golden-brown curtains pulled back and drawn to let the sunrise in. Wooden floors, without a hint of scratch or wear and decorative walls, ornately sculpted Victorian-style mimicked the overall architecture of Krum manor. The guest bed itself, or mine, was done so similarly, four-posts and tall with hanging drapery for privacy if I needed it.

I closed my eyes again, feeling when I stopped the pressure and stress building back into my mind. That left hand gripped the beam, and I shook my head, hanging it down with my shoulders slightly slumped. I had all these…definitions and solutions, these combinations, these theories…theories, and that's what had me at a standstill, and angry. Stubborn, I'd continue to find some way…

I could feel the subtle sweat I'd achieved begin to chill as I stood there inactive. I remember standing back up and seeing that bit of me drip down my fit stomach, bare between two pieces of goldenrod-and-pink striped exercise gear. I took my hand, and with a swipe, wiped that bit of me off, feeling the slight ridges of my abdominals. I scrunched my nose, and knew I needed a shower. To plan ahead also got my mind off…

When I turned I saw the bedroom door open and the maid standing there. She looked to have been standing there a while, a hand on her hip, and I guessed she had to have called for me. But, with the ear pieces drowning everything out…

I pulled the left one out, and then the right. “Yes?”

“Master Krum is awake and wishes you attend breakfast with him and the Mistress,” she annunciated the words, trying in a thick Romanian accent to control the English language.

I smiled at her accommodations for me for I knew portions of other languages…just not Romanian. “Please tell Viktor that I accept his invitation.”

“The Master wishes you meet him on the east balcony at nine o'clock.”

“I'll be there,” I nodded, my tied-back ponytail swaying with the acceptance.

***

Neville's flat, London

What had been considered a typically “normal” day immediately came to a halt when a pitch owl, tiny it was, flew through an open window and dropped a piece of rolled parchment on Ginevra's handbag. Amidst removing heels from her day of work at the Quibbler, she wasn't so startled, but surprised, when the owl came and went, the imprinted wax seal of “Delta” in red with a flittering red ribbon holding the paper together.

It was but a slip, nothing more in length than an inch or two.

Neville had seen the owl hover in and take off again, coming from the dining area where the window lay open. He had a cup of tea, having put a pot on for relaxation from transcribing Muggle to Magic for his job, or that of introducing Muggle technology within the status of Quibbler media. With the forwarding of the Internet, he became in-charge of instating the tool necessary for international Quibbler consumption…after the Ministry threw him out.

He still had on his dress attire, shoes off and black socks padding the floor as he watched on at his on-again, off-again, woman of desire plucked the rolled parchment from the counter she balanced upon with a hand in removing those heels. She didn't care to look at him, or acknowledge him—of that surprise… Ronald hadn't written in weeks, and now this appeared out of nowhere. To think, to dwell on the situation, imagination running wild, Gin's heart leapt when she saw his insignia, and the information of which was scribbled in short inside:

37' 58' N

23' 43' E

Parthenon.

- Delta

She examined and re-examined the numbers…the hint: Parthenon? She knew she heard this “Parthenon” somewhere…something in Hogwarts… Magical studies? Muggle studies? Some “studies” she probably dozed off in, and now fully regretted not paying attention in class. She wracked her brain, biting a nail in habit, as she read, and read, and read the numbers…coordinates?

What is he saying… Did he get my message of how worried sick I'd become being kept so much in the dark? He must have…

“What is it this time?” piped Neville.

He'd come around to read the note from behind Gin, resting a hand on her waist, securing a grasp to her curve. She brushed his hand away and walked forward, only to swiftly turn about and ask, “What do these numbers mean…?”

Neville shrugged. “Who'd know? It's a bit cryptic—runes, maybe? I haven't the foggiest, but—“

“What is `Parthenon'?”

Neville hesitated, and took a sip of his tea. “Why,” he began with an incredible sigh. “Why do you have to worry about what she's doing all the bloody time? We—us—this is what we should be worrying about, and—“

“You're right,” she said with confidence, and sarcasm. “It's about to get worrisome if you don't tell me what it means—or, I'll just find the answers to myself if you're so much of a bastard to leave the known unknown to your `lover'.”

“Promise me, Gin—“

“After that little stunt there—I'm not promising I won't relieve you of what you so very much enjoy.”

“The Parthenon is in Athens. It's practically the most notable place from ancient Greece—didn't you listen in school?”

“I'm going.” She declared, taking up her bag.

“Excuse me?” Neville coughed in his tea, watching Gin breeze passed him.

“I'm going,” she reiterated. “I'm packing some things and I'm going to find her. It's been far too long without seeing her face and I miss her dearly—horrifically so.”

She was up the stairs and in the bedroom, clothes flying haphazardly from the closet and wardrobe and onto the bed by the time Neville caught up with her actions. He stood there a moment, but then took initiative. He took those things so carefully flying towards an open suitcase and folding neatly by themselves. He took them and started to put them back, her shirts, her trousers, her knickers—everything in a mishmash in his arms.

“The Hell do you think you're doing?”

“You're not leaving me anymore!”

She pushed him, snatching what she could from his arms. “You don't own me!”

“I love you too much to let you go again—you're staying and that's final.”

“You realize,” she said cautiously and cold, her eyes narrowing as she saw him opening and close shelves to place her things back. “That I don't need any of this, right? That I can go right now if I pleased and never came back?”

“Your threats don't faze me any longer, Gin. I'm willing to take that consequence. If you truly wanted to leave you would have already left by now. That said—“

“The only reason we have sex—“

“It's not only about the sex, Gin,” he played the part of the adult, and her the child. He continued removing those articles of clothing, a shirt of hers in his hand and shifted a hanger back inside to then hang the blouse back in the closet. “I can do without the sex—what I can't do is be without you.”

She stopped.

All the anger, the resentment, the pain… It left her but for a second, to come crashing down when she saw Hermione, and Harry, and all the rest in her life that had died, or gone away and left her. She gritted her teeth, took out her wand, and…

“You've left me no choice, then.”

Neville stopped, too, a handful of socks being sorted in at his fingertips. “Which is?”

“Goodbye, Neville.”

POP!

And, Neville was left in his stance, now looking at a spot where the flaming ginger once stood. He closed his eyes, sifted a hand through the front of his hair and said aloud, “…What the Hell did I just do?”

***

Athens, Greece

“That was lovely, Hermione.”

The night had settled. In the den, a spacious sweep, imitating the Victorian-style alongside and complementary expansive hearth. The orange flames crackled, the bluish embers burning as the logs burned to ash. I'd been sitting in a violet jumper, a grey undershirt and jeans, playing a tune, my fingers on ivory keys of their grand, antique piano. We'd had a bit of tea, a talk, relaxing after an eventful day of sightseeing and hiking the countryside. The weather a lovely twenty-four centigrade, staying inside was for the unfortunate.

And namely, Viktor and his adventurous ways lured me out with Zuzanna with tales of the magical properties of Greek culture, ancient and modern, a spoil so fit for my craving mind. It helped me that tiny centimeter more, laughing and joking, breathing in fresh, crisp air with none, not one chain keeping me down. We even stopped off at a “little place” Viktor knew, a gorgeous dinner on a veranda overlooking the sites strung on the sunset horizon.

Growing ever later, and the silence but of our breaths and sighs, a possible tidbit of low chatter amongst the two lovebirds on the sofa… I knew it be time for them to get to bed. But, I played on—even when I felt a caress upon my head, a stroke of my hair. I glanced up, though I didn't have too. The similarly-coloured mahogany tassels fell over my own, and I knew the person of choice.

“Sweet dreams, love,” Her comfort was inviting, and so very familiar… To say we weren't alike in so many ways would be an absolute lie. And, it never bothered me. Viktor found his, and I—

“Breakfast on the balcony, Hermione?”

Viktor had asked, and I stopped my play to see Zuzanna peering from the door and Viktor still within the lounge. “Of course,” I answered with a smile so genuine.

“See you in the morning.”

“Good night.”

I didn't stop playing, even when the fire dulled and smothered to but a tenth of the light it had shown. The shadows in the room evolved, enlarged, that silhouette of me still on the piano seat. I played Beethoven, thanking but in my head my parents for opening up these experiences for me to create, and love. My mind wandered, and I led it this time, in control. I thought about the manuscripts, the literature I had read until I had every sentence, every word as concrete. I couldn't stop thinking… Magical could do anything, but magic couldn't do everything… I tried cross-examining the notes photographed and cataloged in my brain about any minute detail, a tangent I could follow which led me to some new…

Any, and every, summation I totaled led to an assumption, an assumption that this of what I dabbled in found itself in the…darker of the magical arts…and if I wanted to truly throw myself into that web. Could I find myself once more after that investment? I'd lose something… If not, again, Harry. And that, that fell like an anvil to the bottom of my gut. I'd surely give myself for him, and alike… I knew he had done what he did for me.

“Miss Granger,” called the butler at one time. My mind and vision so focused on those ivory keys and the devoted harmony, I had not heard him. “You've a visitor let in by Master Krum.”

Until…

I felt a warmth, enveloping and akin to…my life…

I closed my eyes when I felt soft hands on my shoulders, and a gentle squeeze. I wanted them to be…but, I knew it illogical. It couldn't be Harry as much as I wanted those hands to be, and that kiss to my temple, the embrace I now felt as she wrapped herself around me.

“I've missed you so much, `Mi…”

I smiled within those closed eyes, and said after a beat, “I've missed you, too.”

My fingers broke from the piano and rested on those arms which hugged me.

***

Just outside the Weasley Residence

“Get off my property or I'll call the Ministry!”

The matriarch of the Weasley household, with all her furor and might, bore holes from the entryway of an opened door looking out into their fields. Above the Burrow, thunderous clouds loomed in the distance, the smell of humidity in the hot air. She had her hands deep into her hips, those claws. The saber-tooth look-a-like puckered into a scowl. Her shawl hung over her shoulders and blew easily in the growing howls, the vegetation surrounding the home lying to its side.

The blonde hobbled on his cane, gently saying to his attentive mate's grasp to let go. He moved forward when Pansy let slip her fingers, clinging on to him as far as her hands could reach until she no longer felt him. She stood silent in the cleared brush before the Burrow, the wind blowing her straw-like, thin dark hair into her eyes.

“One more step and they'll have to look for another leg for you!” Molly had her wand out, pointed directly at the business-clad man's shined shoes.

The blonde stopped, his grey eyes studying her. “Where's Arthur?”

“That is none of your business!”

The shallow skinned man propped his head in his free hand, giving a tilt to his cane as his fingers filed through his hair. His brows furrowed. “Look, you need to pack and leave the country. It's not safe—“

“Stow your words, you vile scum! You and your parents—the whole lot of you are evil, evil people! You've done no more than taint our lives! Why should anyone believe your lies and slander now?! I'm counting to ten, and if you're not off my property by then I'm sending up the signal—you are a criminal, an Undesirable! The only reason why I haven't is because Harry found sympathy in—“

“You insolent fool!” The blonde shouted, his anger rising, red in his pale cheeks. She knew nothing but what the newspaper told her… After all these years, and now she believe them. “Come off it! You believe the same lies you fought against!”

“Five seconds!” She raised her wand towards the churning skies.

With a grunt, a struggle to get his jacket and shirtsleeve down, he showed her the scar—his tattoo—it writhing, emboldened on his arm. “Look—you mindless witch—you know as well as I do what this means! Pray you leave tomorrow—leave! Rationalize why I would put myself here in your presence if I were some criminal asking you to save yourself and your family!”

“One!”

Up shot red sparks from Molly's wand, and he knew in a matter of seconds a Ministry team would press upon them all.

His grey eyes widened, narrowing when he saw her again, “Stupid bird! What have you done?! I'm trying to save your life!”

The atmosphere around them grew terribly cold.

Pansy saw her breath, a white, visual cloud escape from her warm lips. “Love…,” she uttered with a bit of a “time to go” heighted tonality. She shook, the coldness giving her a shiver through her own business jacket. She hissed, gazing up at the sky. “…Dementors.”

The blonde quickly jerked his head towards Pansy, and stated, “At least tell them to save the repugnant sore they call home. When this is all over, they'll want to move back in.”

Pansy nodded at his declaration, and then set her own signal: white sparks shooting from her wand.

“What was that?!” demanded Molly, rushing the cripple. “I have no choice—they'll be late as usual! Stupe—!”

The blonde, with one downward hand reflex, casted his own magicks to ward off the ignorant woman. Molly's wand shot from her hand backward, and in the same second was taken, too, from her feet. Whatever wandless power the blonde created made her rigid like stone, falling straight to the ground.

“Honestly, we could have done this the easy way…,” The blonde's rough voice grunted once more as he hitched himself to flee to the disadvantaged woman, now stunned. He took light of his step, or tried, gritting his teeth when he fell down on his favored leg. He bent down in haste, as if he weren't handicapped, grunted at an inhuman pop his body made, and placed his gloved hand atop Molly's hand.

“If it weren't for Albus, and all he's done for me, I wouldn't be saving your worthless arse…,” His grey eyes shot towards Pansy. “Pansy!”

He reached out for her with his other hand. “Time to go, love!”

Pansy, stilled, saw them forming in the skies, about the blackened clouds, their tattered mass flying with speed towards the Burrow. The grass had grown ice, and with each hastened step Pansy's shoes crunched down on what could only be described as gravel.

She reached out for him, and just as their fingers touched they were gone.

***

Athens, Greece

She asked everything.

I told her everything.

We stayed in the lounge for the longest time before moving into my guest bedroom. Another guest bedroom had been rolled out by the service, but she declared her right to stay with me. Which was fine, having no qualms whatsoever about Gin staying with me. It was nice, feeling the warmth of my best friend again. Donning a sleep slip nightgown, and Gin a top and shorts, something from my collection as she hadn't brought anything herself, we were in bed. After hearing that I'd come here with Viktor, she said she had a fight with Neville and up-and-left.

She noted the immersion of books piled high in every corner, upon tables and desks throughout the room. “Going back to the ol' know-it-all Granger, I see.”

I had security in telling her, as she supported me and I hoped I supported her, too. “I'm researching how to bring someone back to life.”

She was playing with my hair, an arm around me as I lay leveled with shoulders, but stopped at my words. “Hermione…,” she issued. “That can be…disastrous… Do you know what that means? You'd be going into something only imaginable by—“

“I know quite well what I'm doing and where it could take me.”

We went silent, her fingers back in my hair as I slowly opened and closed my eyes. Her combing, that playing, and the readied sleep within me gave reason to shut my eyes. But, I wouldn't…not right now. She was here: my confidant. Without Harry… I hadn't really a person I could truly rely on, and keep secret so much of my personal life. And besides, having her here and seeing her brought back times of happiness for me…a time when I could breathe normally without repercussion.

Of course, with Harry so ripe in my mind, and that of one subject still crossing the realm of me…and that betrayal I spoke of with Nathaniel, with myself, about…

“…How was it?”

I fought back the welling of tears in those ducts.

I could tell Ginny did the same when our eyes met, mine flicking to her ever-intent stare.

She had her hand, her fingers combing the brown bushiness when she finally spoke after a pause, “…It was…”

She paused, again, her focus relieving from mine to look me over, my face its features, and gave a sigh when she came back to my own gaze. “…Wonderful, `Mi. Really wonderful. I mean, without my bit of crying withholding…”

When I laughed it was a sort of snort, half in tears, half with a small portion of happiness to hear something hadn't interrupted…that he was laid to rest peacefully…but…

My vision went from her a beat, and then back, letting out an enormous breath of pent-up air. My chest heaved, curled and cuddled into the body and bosom of the fiery red-head. My hands fidgeted, and I really wanted to break, felt I could at any moment… Stubborn, like Harry—his personality with me—I fought it, and fought it hard, with difficulty. “I wish to go see him…sometime…”

Those words fell slower, and with more weight than I intended. I hid my face when I knew I'd break after the first of many tears stained my cheeks, flowing down the crevice of my nose and down, tasting the salty saline upon my lips. Gin hugged me tight, and said without restraint, “He'd like that… He'd love that very much.”

“I feel so bad…” My voice went muffled, into the shirt, the pyjamas of Gin.

“Why?”

“Because…I've left him…”

“You've never left him—ever,” she became fairly firm, authoritative even. “And if I were of the betting sort, I'd say he's always with you, every minute, of every hour, of every day.”

“Have you seen him…?” My voice went strained, climbing just slightly from the cave I created in Gin's grip, embrace. “Is it…is he all right?”

“It's a beautiful spot, Godric's Hollow…,” she wiped the tears from beneath my eyes with her thumb, and then cradled me to her. “You're not what you think you are—you've never betrayed him, `Mi. What he did—“

“I would have protected him!”

“I know—he knows…,” she ran fingers down my spine, rubbing my back as my frame shook with my crying. I hadn't as much let out my remorse…other than finding ways and means of distracting myself, leaping from one disconnection to another in hopes of shadowing the inevitable. I wish I hadn't, and now…I wanted to find redemption in my actions, whether or not they were “good” or “bad”. I still felt like I'd left him, with or without Gin's kind and caring words…

He'd always been there for me, his sacrifice… I wasn't stupid.

And now… I'd turned my back on him.

No more.

“You know…”

I heard a light laugh from Gin between huffs.

“…'Mi, I don't like what you've done to your hair. I can't believe you've cut it shorter!”

I knew what she was doing, and… I loved it.

“…Oh, Gin,” With a half-grin, and a hug, I finally allowed that eager essence to succumb. I closed my eyes and fell asleep beside my best friend.

***

Wrapped up and bundled in the throes of mahogany curls, white silk, and porcelain skin, Ginevra continued to stroke the serene figure within her arms. She'd reached back and waved her wand, letting the lamp's light simmer until the filament went out for the night. In the glimpse of moonlight, she could not but feel the innocence she held become the butt of some cruel joke. She didn't understand, brushing loose strands from Hermione's hidden face. Hermione had instinctively attached herself to her shirt, a grasp of the material as if to know when and if Gin left her.

She wouldn't leave her.

But, she thought…as she noticed not only the silver Hippogriff feather necklace about beauty's neck, but the crucifix her Catholic mother and father gave her so long ago as a birthday present. She hadn't grown up in a family as so…but knew the framework, the causalities and consequences for doing good or doing bad—like karma, or what she believed in.

The thing was… Hermione hadn't done anything to deserve what she was going through. In fact, the complete opposite.

Darkened flames alongside her face, the golden-brown irises now blackened in the midnight room gazed upwards at the ceiling. She found it humourous at first, having a conversation with the ceiling…but…

“Hi,” she began, speaking softly. “I don't know what I'm doing, or if I'm just talking to a wall here, but I don't get it. I mean, what has she done to get the short end? If this is a joke, I don't find it amusing at all.”

“Look, you and I—you know I don't believe in you, and for that I'm probably going to Hell. But, Hermione—she doesn't deserve this. Me—put it all on me, I can take it. I'm the sinner. I use and abuse, hurt people… I don't mean to. And, I bet you absolutely love how I adore her.”

“Hermione—she's never hurt a soul. I thought you were supposed to be the sort of person who rewards, not tortures; but if you are the opposite, then I truly wouldn't care for you ever and I'll know why my parent's never instilled the knowledge within me.”

“Just—I don't know what to think. I'm saying a lot of `I don't knows' because I don't. This, here, in my arms—this is one of those golden souls you breathed life into. I swear, she's an angel—but she gets punishment, for…?”

“I get it—I do. Harry doing what he did for all of us, her… But, they're still out there, and you let them run free causing havoc. You know they're there. You could stop them—what's stopping you? You know what power they hold now. And that's with everything—the hunger, the murders, whatever entrapment some madman unfolds on his victim.”

“Just—punish me, damn it. Quit taking it out on her. Not a moment's rest have I seen her smile long enough until something horrific happens. Let her go, I say. I want all her pain to go away—I want everything to go back to the way it was before Harry died. He was my friend—and you took him away, too. I don't get it… I just don't.”

“Maybe this is why I have no faith. None at all. Why put yourself there when all you'll get in return is unhappiness and death?”

She turned and gave a caress to the top of Hermione's head.

“I apologize for sounding…unreasonable, and discontent. But, that's what you've made me…,” she ended, closing her eyes.

***

“Don't tease me, Harry…”

Lazily, I drew by fingertip that smidgen of pectoral, his clavicle prominent from two unbuttoned buttons at the top of his white-collared shirt. His skin, so flawless and beautiful, I gazed back up when he spoke, into his healed features—the splotchy dark bruise gone and those jade green eyes dazzling in moonlight.

He had me, held me, holding me in his arms as we both lay on our sides facing each other. My height a tad lower, he had opportune to feel of my hair, my face, and he took full advantage of it. We weren't in the field, we weren't in King's Cross… We were together, in Viktor's manor, in the guest bedroom I accompanied.

“…This can be as real as you want it to be.”

“But, it's not,” I continued to draw on him, hiding my sight. “And, to say it will ever be—“

“Look at me, Hermione.”

I did as instructed.

I did because I couldn't leave him—not ever—again.

The fact that my eyes did leave him for those seconds already struck a chord at my heart-strings. I sighed heavily in my chest when I'd come back. He never left me, waiting for me…even when I chose not to come…alcohol…

“Can you feel this?” He leaned towards me, and like magnets, our lips were as one. He kissed me so carefully, with tenderness so light that my toes literally curled. Thousands upon thousands of those jolts, that feeling when you're surrounded, utterly surrounded—encompassed—by the one you love… Such a simple feeling, but so incredibly wonderful.

When he released, my hand immediately went to his and I had him touch me, his palm placed above my heart. “…Can you feel this?”

I smiled, however tearfully.

He smiled, too, that fantastically gorgeous of smiles. His eyes never left mine, even when I moved him, his hand now flat atop my chest. “Stronger than ever before.”

“My dream…”

“It doesn't have to be.”

“I'm sorry…”

“Shh… Shh… It's all right, really.”

I lifted with my elbow upward, pushing off the expensive Egyptian thread-count, and watched him watch me do so. He lay back, and as he did, so instinctively wound myself around him. I climbed his jungle gym, right atop his lap. He felt of me again, his hands at my hips, at my sides, until I took his hands once more and had him cradle me, hold my breasts through the white silk night gown I wore.

I closed my eyes when I felt his instant warmth, so dire to me.

When I reopened them, I grinned, a bit of curve to my lips and said in a raspy tone, “…Can you feel this?”

He pushed off the bed, too, sitting as I had but in opposition. He took my face, having left my breasts and kissed me, and kissed me hard. Taken by breath, I wrapped my arms, my hands where I could and felt him lift me from my straddle and back against the bed.

The clothes couldn't come off quicker.

We even laughed when a trouser leg wouldn't remove from his foot.

But, in the end, when I felt that part of him, on my back against the cooled sheets, my hands in his hair, my legs like a vice at his own hips…his hot breath at my throat…

…After consummation, I didn't want to shut my eyes…not yet. I knew, eventually, this would terminate…only to find him, again, whenever I shut closed my eyes and fled to dreamland. I pressed myself to stay awake, and I did…and we talked for what seemed like mortal hours, his lioness, bare to him as he was to her, only half covered by the Egyptian cotton.

“…I'm coming to see you,” I said, a finger at his cheek, rubbing the smoothness of his freshly shaved jaw line. On my back, I'd twisted to tilt against him, to touch him so inadvertently, and on purpose, having wanted to remain like this.

Harry, back on his side, alongside me, feeling his nude flesh aside mine, ran the flatness of his palm in circular motions atop my stomach. He kissed my forehead, bringing closure to my eyes, my temple, the tip-top of my nose, ending with a brief, but passionate kiss to my mouth. He smiled when I purred, easing back up on his elbow as he looked down on me. His hand, rested when he took to caressing, began once more its journey along my nakedness.

“I'd love that.”

I smiled, my hands, its fingers still grazing his cheek, his face, southward, and as much as I could, to his neckline. “…Someone else told me you'd say that.”

He laughed through a smile, those jades in a contented gaze.

The atmosphere grew somber as I did, leaving my smile for seriousness, an abrupt stop for me…a lingering smile for Harry as he watched me, those gears in my mind a-twirling. “I'm going to get you back…”

He lowered the moment my words ended and kissed me with length. We rubbed noses, meshing them together in smiles. He nudged me, the side of my face as he outlined my cheekbone, my cheek with kisses, ending up in my hair where he breathed deeply.

“…I'm going to get you back one way or another.”

***

“'Mi,” They were on the balcony overlooking the vast Greek skyline dotted with all those ancient markings. In the far distance alit the Parthenon, various statues, and the rubble of what once was civilization. A breeze blew through, catching not only her Weasley-red, but that of Hermione's chocolate brown in the rising sun.

She stood side-by-side with her best friend who, even after calling her nickname, continued to gaze that bit more into the creamsicle overhead, the darkness turning to light ever-so-gradually as time passed. The winds blew again, this time Ginevra having to flick away strands catching on her features, tickling her freckled nose.

“Hm?” Hermione briefly, and only briefly, looked away from the skies. Ginevra knew she concentrated, that look of determination set in stone and so very familiar to her friend's disposition after all these years. Gin went about scratching her back lightly with a hand, her other on the balcony's barricade, one slender column after the next.

“If there is one thing you should know it's,” Ginny knew, with or without the revelation of her desire for Hermione, that she wasn't going anywhere. She wouldn't abandon Hermione, her sister in so many ways, even if she confined a broken heart. Her dedication to keeping Hermione sane, for the lack of a better term, far outweighed her own sanity. She voluntarily gave up the notion of ever truly knowing Hermione that way, the way she forever-longed to want to know. “I have your back one hundred percent. I'll never leave you.”

Hermione's sight went from the dynamically changing nature to the Weasley, the Weasley's golden-brown irises set and focused on her every move. “Ginny…,” she reached out and embraced Gin tightly about the neck, and felt Gin return in reply times two.

“Hey—“ spoke from behind them, and as Ginny turned to see Zuzanna coming from the balcony's only entry so did Hermione. Even after their release did Ginny take Hermione's hand and squeezed it, an action to emphasize she was in this for the long haul.

Viktor was behind Zuzanna, the lost twin of Hermione carrying a bag wrapped in clear plastic to show a collection of goodies and things, sweets and the like. She handed it to Hermione, Gin's hand leaving hers to give her both to retrieve the welcomed package. She smiled when she saw Zuzanna hug Hermione, and say in a breath, “If you ever need us again, you know where to find us.”

She released, but only to hang onto Hermione's shoulders, her upper arms, giving her a squeeze. “And never, ever, let zat rubbish get you down. You are special and talented, and a gift. You are better than them.”

Zuzanna hugged her again, planting a caress on Hermione's forehead. She wiped away the print which remained on the porcelain skin, and Hermione and Zuzanna both laughed from their nose. “Sorry.”

Hermione shook her head. “Thank you, both of you, for everything. Just everything, for letting me stay.”

Zuzanna came in to give me a hug as well, and I heard Viktor from behind her to Hermione, “Please contact us when you've come home. We vill worry sick if you do not.”

Viktor had all but lifted Hermione from the balcony floor in his embrace, stating in a firmer tone, “And, you stay safe—do you hear me? You can come back and be with us any time, any day—open doors for all of my friends.”

Viktor looked towards me then, and I smiled, sifting ginger back as the winds blew at us.

“Are you ready?” I said to Hermione, reaching out a hand.

She looked to me, and within a beat, nodded. She tilted to her side and picked the one enchanted suitcase up by its handle, and then took my hand.

“Ve love you—both of you.”

From Zuzanna's words, the world around us started to spin.

Zuzanna's teary wave with Viktor, and Viktor's arm around her waist was the last image of Athens before we were both ripped from that part of the world…and onto the next.

***

I didn't care that I was asleep in Gin's apartment

Well, I did—but only because I knew this bordered on reality. I could very well feel him, and smell him, and taste him; but, I knew once my eyes opened, I'd be back in that dreary world without him. The very real fact that I'd be visiting his grave soon, and for the first time… I was afraid. I didn't know how I'd react, and I believe—no, I knew—Harry came to me to stow those nerves.

We were in this grand ballroom. Tiled, the designed wooden, shiny panels below my heels drew together floral patterns. On the walls, windows with tall, hanging drapes of crimson velvet to complement the original colour and stain of the grain. One giant chandelier hung overhead giving ample light, romantic, and subtle, a yellowed-orange glow the ambience, like candlelight.

I wore this powder blue evening gown, backless with one strap over my right shoulder, revealing the paleness of my skin to him. Ruffled at the top, about the height of my hips the gown relaxed, the sheen, light silk straightening to the floor. A slit in the fabric kept one leg visible, intimate, for my one and only one. My hair, all those locks and curls were tied back and gorgeously put, arranged to accentuate the natural beauty of my frame, and the frame of my face, a few loose strands swaying gently to my trot.

And, I did trot—as best I could in heels.

Seeing Harry in the centre of the ballroom, wearing a handsome suit and jacket, his vest matching my periwinkle gown beneath the unfastened threads… I don't know what kept me from tossing aside those dastardly heels and running, jumping into his arms. But, he had this smirk…his knowing smile, his pretty jades looking up at me when those heels hit the hardwood.

He looked to have been gazing at his pocket watch, the long, golden chain he placed back into his jacket pocket…as if he knew I'd arrive, and on time.

We were alone, and at once, when Harry accepted me, retrieved my hands, and we kissed…a melody… I could hear a piano, an acoustic guitar… I couldn't make all the instruments out, but there were no words. Just the whole, the complete harmony, and us.

I slid my hands about his neck, the smoothness of my skin running against simply perfection of all man. He gave me that smirk, and bashfully, I lowered my head and set it upon his shoulder as he took my waist.

I smiled, utterly content…as much as I could, allowing the heartbreak to leave me but for that moment in his arms, swaying to the slow, harmonious pulse.

“Still feels like the first night together…”

That smile crept further, widening, a chill running down my spine.

“…Feels like the first kiss, it's getting better, baby…”

I felt him, his hands graze the lowest portion of my opened backside, along the beginnings of that indentation, my spine. Another chill of delight rode me, and I shivered.

“…No one can better this. Still holding on, you're still the one…”

By just fingertips, he traced the indent, and I swore I don't know how I could handle that and keep my footing.

“…First time our eyes met, same feeling I get… Only feels much stronger, I want to love you longer…”

My cheek left his shoulder, and I caressed him, kissed his cheek.

“Still feels like our best times are together…”

I smiled into the cheek as he continued to serenade me so sweetly, my heart leaping on every one of his words.

“…Feels like the first touch. We're still getting closer, baby—can't get close enough…”

He supported me, leaning into him to kiss that beautiful mouth a second, another, a peck-up for a follow-up, and a grin. The tips of our noses touched.

“…I'm still holding on, you're still my number one…”

I kissed him once more, never getting enough, through our smiles, so close together, less than inches, centimetres, nanometres apart.

“…I remember the smell of your skin. I remember everything. I remember all your moves… I remember the nights, you know I still do…”

“I love you, Harry…,” I said this low, and raspy, trying not to break from this wondrous feeling when leaks of…everything…tried coming through. “…With all my heart.”

He kissed me when he saw my bottom lip trembling, even so close. Enclosing around him, and he around me, our lips intertwined, never leaving, never escaping the truth and reality above and beyond. I could feel the warmth, the softness, the smell of his pumpkin pie scent.

When finally releasing… I lay my forehead to his, and heard him say:

“If you're feeling lonely, don't—you're the only one I ever want.”

***

In the Minister's Private Limousine

“Pardon my brazenness, sir. But I must ask why we just don't kill them—they're all filth! Below our superiority!”

Nolpho looked from his pocket watch, disenchanted. His eyes flicked down at the watch again, and this time he left the gold to his coat pocket. He glanced out the window and smiled at the torrential downpour. “Isn't the weather magnificent?”

Surrounding him sat two others, a man and a woman, his most specialized team, accompanied by his Press Minister of who spoke with question about the absurdity. “Minister?”

“Montblanc,” The sharpness of Nolpho's eyes settled upon him, and his Press Minister slunk in his seat. “Ask yourself this question: what would we get out of killing Muggles? You're absolutely correct—they've nothing. They are rats, and we guide them to the cheese—you see. We shape and mould them to our own desires, and this desire of mine is to keep the peace with our stupid masses… They feast on the fake, pictures for the media and poison for their minds.”

“Do you know how easy it is to wipe them all out?” Nolpho leaned forward, making the seat of Montague uneasy. “Look at what we did in seconds? Look out the window—look at Trafalgar Square—remember the devastation?”

Nolpho leaned back in his seat, giving breathing space to his Press Minister. “Why place your cards on a simple bet when we can stack them against our greater foes? Look at them, Montblanc—look at them all.”

“They know nothing, and will never know anything. They are like cows, they are—their ignorant smiling faces and happy thoughts, all moving as one to their designated trough…”

A mobile phone ringtone crashed the ensuing silence. As Nolpho and his Press Minister gazed onward outside the limo with smirks at the unsuspecting, Nolpho turned at the cue of vibration, halted now against his Defense Minister's ear. Strands darker than midnight draped against her white-as-snow skin. Supple lips of pure sanguine-colour spoke in hush. She said a few agreeable words into the receiver, never once looking at anything in particular and stayed course for what was said on the other end.

She shut it back just as nonchalant and placed it in her business coat's pocket, having to relieve a side to stick the device upon her breast. Her black eyes set to Quincy, and she spoke frighteningly steady. “They've obtained the Grimoire.”

Nolpho's canines, perfectly white in the dark ambience, were shown clearly as he smiled. “Excellent, Sarilda. May I ask you, how does it feel to give back to our…community after your mother's charitable work?”

Sarilda grinned, her high cheek bones pointed out. “You'll also like to know they've captured some of Kingsley's men.”

“Today just keeps getting better,” Nolpho lifted his hand and felt of the line, the curve of Sarilda's jaw. He left her with the poke of the tiptop of her nose. “The Order doesn't know what they've let unleashed all these years. I've carved you into a fabulous creature of revenge. You'll go to the depths with me?”

Sarilda nodded. “Always.”

“Your mother is very proud of you.”

“May I question you?”

“Of course, my pet.”

“Could we take the next step and move towards…removing…the Order now? Starting with mother Weasley…”

“Your wish comes true—we have what we need to continue the…ritual,” Nolpho brushed back some of Sarilda's loose hair from her face. “Tell my men to hunt down the remains…starting with the oh-so-plump Molly Weasley.”

“I want her severed head as trophy.”

Nolpho smiled. “As you wish, Miss Lestrange.”

“Minister!” called the limousine driver. “We've arrived! 10 Downing Street!”

“Wonderful!” Nolpho clapped with excitement. “The show continues!”

The door was opened by the security motorcade which had followed the Minister to his destination. Nolpho stepped out, and as he did, buttoned his coat and waved to the crowd of media photographers swarming his exit of the vehicle. He looked over, a black umbrella over his head to keep off the rain by a security member, and saw Prime Minister Blair greeting him with an outreached hand.

“Minister Nolpho!”

“Prime Minister Blair! It has been ages since we last spoke!”

They shook hands and stood a bit, the cavalcade of cameras bulbs popping, taking picture after picture of the staged photo event.

***

Godric's Hollow Graveyard

“I've always admired your courage…”

I lay my hand on his burial plot, his gravestone. My fingers, their pads, fell into and out of the defined, imprinted letters, words, that made up his name, his birth date and his…and, the loving description given to him, “Greater love hath no man than this that he lay down his life for his friends”…

I had smiled at the phrase…the perfect phrase.

My voice kept low, only the winds through the trees for sound.

“…You knew I'd go with you. I'd go with you to the ends of the earth, no question. You've always been difficult…”

My fingers lingered on the crystal vase, the delicate red rose petals. I wish I knew who these were from… I'd thank him or her, grateful, truly…for I'd left him with nothing, and he… He left me with life, my bastion of genuine hope that all was not lost. That, I had a chance to get him back. I knew the world changed around me for the worse…but this, this was the beacon of light in the cruel darkness ahead.

“I love you…,” My tone waivered, and I could feel the tears well readily in their ducts, flooding my eyes until I blinked. My hand, still reached out, and me in my knelt position at his tomb… I let my hand rest on the cold granite and closed my eyes. A wind blew through, blew on me, and…tickled my nose…played with my hair…brought goose pimples to my exposed neck, a caress.

I knew this was him.

I knew Harry was here with me.

The wind swirled where I sat, and…that was his embrace. I smiled.

I heard the crunching of leaves from behind me, from the direction I knew Ginny stood patiently. She gave me all the time in the world, and all the privacy I needed, but kept close…in case, for whatever reason… And, when my eyes opened, glancing behind me in her direction did I see a figure in white, his hood from his head, and that head full of Weasley-red.

I smiled at him, my hand still attached to the granite.

He smiled in reply, and warmly, standing so still aside his sister who had gazed up at him when he appeared brightly from the shadows.

My head lowered once more, my fingers grazing those letters as I closed my eyes…and felt him again, licking at those loose strands, making me smile with such a small, subtle giggle.

I stayed like that for the longest time, the warm winds wrapping and re-wrapping themselves around my stilled form. I took my hand, those fingers away for just a second…to kiss, exchange the affection, and plant it back upon the granite.

“…I love you,” I said in that moment, eyes opening and reopening to the twirl of leaves at my jean-clad knees. “I'll never give up loving you…and, I'll never give up on bringing you back to me…”

The winds gently dissipated as I pushed up, stood up, and brushed my knees off. Running my hand down the smooth, sloping angle of the granite's top, I said in whisper, “…I'll be back soon. I won't leave you again, never.”

A wind blew along my cheek, and… I knew.

I smiled, and finally let go…

…And, back to my friends.

To Gin, first, and within her open arms. I hugged her tight, and I felt her squeeze me in our embrace.

I went to Ron, a smile he gave me. I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach him, but hugged him about his neck. He all but lifted me from the ground, and I laughed a bit, smiling. I felt him kiss atop my head, cradling him to me in my hour of vulnerability. I could break as easily as fine china at a pin-drop's notice, and I swore to myself, promised, I would not. I would remain, restrain, and contain…be strong for myself, and Harry.

I had this.

Everything was here… Harry left me the best gift a person could give you.

And, I was more than willing to take full and complete advantage of his final gift.

A mist began to form within the site, now settling at our feet. As I left from Ronald's embrace, releasing my aching soul from his, I saw first the feet, then legs, followed by two torsos in tandem, and at the last, their faces. My brow perked. I stood, stunned, surprised. I mean, of all times…

“…Draco?”

The grey eyes warmly set on me. He had an arm with Pansy's as he stepped with a smidgen of caution from apparation to Mother Earth.

“Draco?” reiterated a baffled Ginevra beside me. “…Fancy seeing you here.”

What she said.

“I apologise, beforehand, for making short our greeting, Granger…Weasley…,” He stepped with what, I assumed, was an artificial leg and onto his good one as he approached. From what little of him I'd seen since leaving Hogwarts, this was the first time I'd seen him up-close, for all three of us.

“Have you told them, Ronald?”

“Ronald?” stated Ginny sharply.

My face swung to Ron, and then back to Draco. “Excuse me…what? What is going on?”

“Hermione, I apologise for this…”

“Apologise for what, exactly?” I'd become defensive, backing away from the so-called “Ronald,” when in fact the honor of calling him a “friend” slowly subsided to “foe”. I could feel my wand within my jean pocket, poking out the shape firmly on my thigh.

I was now with Gin on this, and I could feel her need, too.

My peripheral saw her edge her hand to her own pocket.

“Sleep—“ and that was all that had to be said.

Ron never did go for a wand.

He merely waved a hand in front of my face, and I could feel myself falling.

Gin, with a bit more luck than I, had retrieved her wand; but alas, the quickness of the handicapped Malfoy bettered her. He, too, gave a wave from his black leather-gloved hand, leaving his cane to do so, and had Gin buckle at the knees.

Ron, who had caught Hermione with ease, let out his free arm and caught his sister with the same sort of keen prowess…as if he knew the exact motions and actions both girl's would literally tumble through.

“You've the potion…administer it by teaspoon once before you venture overseas, and then once when you're seen by the Elves. They will know what to do from there. I've also taken care to remove Harry's valuables… Granger will be set in her secure position.”

Ron looked between the slumbering brunette and ginger. His eyes, one could see the dutiful pain inside them. His rigid stance, he knew… His set of ethics, he knew he had led Hermione… Gin… And, it hurt him greatly: his love for Hermione, and that of his kinship with Ginevra. Both, he hoped, grew with his redefined redemption into this other world…now, in essence, dashed…be it solely from him, as with the two…

They'd soon forget much of everything.

“Thank you for curbing your stake in obliviation, and caring for her,” stated the tensed red-head. He glanced, again, between the two. “I hope they remember a bit of something, if anything, from this…”

“In time, they will remember all,” Draco explained, his lean now on Pansy. “Harry saved me from my life. I am indebted to him. Hermione's utmost safety and defense is my repayment. He sought me, knowing what Albus had told him…their numbers, the rebirth of Him.”

“Why didn't you tell me…?”

“Because, Ronald…your fascination of Granger would be our undoing…you would have told her, and she would have bounded off with that Savior-complex of his. The darkest conclusion being, she would have died.” Draco shifted from his bad leg and winced.

Pansy saw and coerced her lover with, “You've missed your pain medication now for the umpteenth day—when will you put yourself—“

“You know how much of an obstinate git I am,” he chided.

“But, you must—“

Draco left her gaze and pointed at Ron. What none could see was the lashing Draco felt beneath his right jacket and shirtsleeve, his former occupation reeling. “They're coming—time is precious!”

“I trust you, Draco…” Ronald, of “that” Ron from ages ago resumed his persona in that moment…to see his commander as that foul boy in the schoolyard. Taking all his will, and all that Draco had taught him in the Arts… He had to keep stock in the bastard, for he had nowhere else to go.

“Keep the faith,” Draco affirmed, pointing, again, at Ron. “We must always keep the faith—and take care of her, and your sister. Take care of her—for Harry. I'm putting my trust in you.”

In the scene, and with his words, Ronald saw Draco unguarded—human. He was lending his trust to him…he had been, with her, Hermione, all along…for Harry. His epiphany cleared his disease, the past years, the watchful query of Draco's movements…and power. Reared by Lucius, ranked by Voldemort, slain by the very hands of those when his family turned their back on them… Draco was a new man.

And what he saw, which had left him for his worried vigilance, was heart behind that stare.

Ronald cradled those two warm bodies to him and fled into the white mists, swirling and twirling amongst the winds blowing through the graveyard.

Alone now, Draco's eyes went towards the sky, and Pansy, too. She could feel them, being so close to Draco, and her family as well, former employees of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. He saw them, streaks of clouded smoke impure against the virgin night. He counted but a handful, and smirked as he did.

“They will never learn.”

He turned to Pansy, only to hear her utter:

“I'm ready, my love.”

Draco, tilting his head to the side to crack his neck, kept his smirk on as he said as if riled up for sport, “For mother, and father.”

Mists gathered, and robes of the brightest white came from them.

TO BE CONTINUED

{Author's Note: The longest chapter written to date, and an information overload! Haha. Hopefully it was well worth the read, and I hope those who have reviewed my fiction with confusion now see things a bit more clearly. And again, it certainly is a chore when you don't feel the emotions your characters feel and have to put yourself there on purpose.}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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67. Asylum

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.

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PART THREE: REBIRTH

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…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Sixty-Seven - Asylum

***

The Quibbler

SPECIAL REPORT: QUINCY NOLPHO, DEATH EATER

Here at the Quibbler, we've seen countless numbers of people and magical creatures fleeing the country after Quincy Nolpho's ascension to Minister role. It started with the Elven populous, leaving shops and offices within Violet Hill's commerce district bare and silent. Then came the Centaurs, of what little we had roaming the cities, leaving back for the forests. Even goblins have exited the scene albeit quietly and in the night. One after the other, with the winds of change Quincy Nolpho advocated for, each portion of our civilization has fled to the far corners of the earth.

Now with Quincy Nolpho's mandate for “marking” each individual, the next mass exodus should be us. This is beyond frightening. The Ministry, Quincy Nolpho himself, will know exactly where you are any time of the day. We've called him for what he is, a Death Eater, systematically misleading our own and destroying the fabric, and the betterment of Britain, Kingsley Shacklebolt laid down Post-War. We're done talking or writing with political correctness. Quincy Nolpho and his administration are evil. Please, do not bury your heads under the sand. This is very true and very real. Take every precaution and get yourselves to safety.

For those who don't believe, the rest of the paper will feature all evidence supporting his connection with the Death Eaters and Tom Riddle, including his new trophy we've seen on television: Sarilda Lestrange, daughter of Bellatrix Lestrange and second in command for Tom Riddle.

We will continue fighting for you and keeping you up to date.

For those who listen to Lee Jordan's Wizard Watch on 211.7, we will keep you updated on any new news throughout the day, every day.

Rebecca Greene

Co-Writer

Luna Lovegood

Co-Writer, Chief Editor

P.1

***

The Atrium, Ministry of Magic

Minister Nolpho, rather soberly restrained looks over the abundant press core lined within the Ministry's heart. Behind him, the golden statues of human and magical creature in smiles, laughter, resonates the polarity of his features and thereafter the reality unforeseen. His eyes mere squints focus and re-focus as camera bulb after camera bulb flash in tandem. In his business attire, with his businessmen and women his background, he tries resting his hands upon the Ministry podium, stamped with his newly crafted Ministry emblem, but instead grips its sides.

He looks maddeningly out at those who watch him as if he were holding back a multitude of emotions.

On his right stand his family, his two children and his wife.

On his left stands his Defense Minister, Sarilda, who is the most calm of the whole. Her poise is without question, very erect, very confident with her chin hoisted and nose up. Her demeanor, though, incredibly out-of-place. Far from her Minister's animalistic composure, his slumped body, his almost-growling presentation on his face.

“…I'll say it once more to everyone. This isn't politics. This is safety. I'm not playing games. If you want to live, if you want the freedom of knowing that we will be there for your defense morning, noon, and night, every citizen in this country must abide by Ministry rule—my rule. The magicks we will put on you will help us track you down quicker if you're in danger. This will be going mandatory starting today. After what you've seen yesterday, how the Order, Kingsley's men, how they come out and kill in cold blood—they have no code. They come, they murder. It is all there, black and white. You've seen it, we've seen it on television.”

“Should you be scared, you ask? Yes—this is why we're implementing the magicks, for your own benefit. Think about it—no more need to worry about your spouse, your children, and your family. My own children will be getting magically scanned into the Ministry for our watchful eye. I will know where they are. We all will know where my children are all day, every day. This isn't a witch hunt, this is reality. This is what my government does to defend our citizens.”

“How many do you know died while Kingsley Shacklebolt was in office before me? Why didn't he begin a mandatory program where he has constant watch over those he said he loved as brothers and sisters? You are all my brothers and sisters, and together we can be as one and stop these endless murders. My men will be vigilant for you so you can go on with your lives and do as you please.”

“My question to you all here is: how many Death Eater attacks have there been while I've been Minister? The answer is: none. Not a single death, not one Death Eater. I know what I am doing, folks. I know what has to be done. You all voted for me, trust in me as you have.”

“The article from Lovegood's Quibbler is an over-exaggeration. Look, I don't usually bring up media outside of what is considered mainstream, or what we all know is true, but they've taken lies to a whole new level against my administration. My Ministry works very closely with the goblins, first and foremost. We are kin. We also work hand-and-hand with the Elves, and we have worked and are working with other countries to secure the world. This is a step we must take in order to move forward and progress.”

“No more questions,” Minister Nolpho raises hand a gives a wave. “You all have a pleasant day.”

A flock of protection, Nolpho's security men group around him immediately as well as his family behind him and Sarilda at his side. His Press Minister, Montblanc, takes the stage after the Minister's swift leave towards the Minister's private lift. One can hear the chatter of the press core as they begin to deluge Montblanc with questions over and above the normal chatter in the Atrium.

On the lift, having positioned his family in one as he and Sarilda on another, Sarilda looks at Nolpho and says plainly, “They're coming from the underground.”

“How ironic—like rats from the sewer.”

“They seem to want to overtake the Department of Mysteries, and up. Most of the Department has been destroyed.”

“We're moving all of our resources now to Azkaban—not a worry. Let them have their victories. We will certainly have ours when that day comes. The Manuscript taken from the Vatican is invaluable to our next step—and you—with the resurrection of Him.”

“My blood is His.”

Nolpho smirks. “It truly is.”

“What will you have us do if citizens fight the new mandate in tagging them all?”

“Round them up, bring them in and rid of the roaches. Leave no evidence if the Order drops in. By then, it will be too late. Their ignorance is brilliant. They might as well be all Muggles!”

“Marking them is most clever.”

Nolpho smiles. “It'll be easier to find those and exterminate them when the time comes, starting with the Mudbloods.”

“My Father will be most pleased when he is back on his rightful throne.”

“He will, and when the smoke clears no one—not even the glorious Order—will be able to do anything about it.”

From her stoic, robotic stance, Sarilda's ruby-red lips twitch to produce the most evil of grins.

***

A YEAR LATER…

July 30th, 2002

New York City, New York

A MTV media van sits outside a vibrantly pink and black painted bus. One can hear a generator's buzz going keeping the contents of the bus comfortable from the blistering heat outside. A lithe female form, using her hands with excitement as she directs a cameraman towards the homely vehicle, speaks in front of the bus. Her hair is shortened from once was, her bushiness straight and voluminous, airy, the winds playing with loose strands. With a bit more colour to her skin, her vivid cinnamon eyes twinkle onward at the crowd behind MTV, and waves with grace towards the screaming crowd looking onward.

Her shirt of cotton, crimson with gold stripes, falls far passed her hips. The edge collides with a frilly skirt, and southward with black tights. One higher than its other, mismatched socks of darkly colours find their way into low-top Converse trainers. A brownish, rope-like belt holds the pieces together above her hips.

“Tell us a little about what is going on.”

The camera's lens keeps stoic on the lively brunette after her wave towards the crowds.

“We love you!” is shouted clearly across the road, the barricade and police holding the fans back.

“Aw…,” the brunette blows them a kiss. “I love you guys!”

The crowd erupts in an enormous cheer.

The brunette, a hand upon the bus's door, gives it a tapping. The door opens at her cue, and as she takes a step inside motions for the camera crew to follow her. “Come on inside where the brilliance takes place!”

“Welcome to the Punk Fiction tour bus, lads!” She turns around and begins to walk backwards through what can be considered their living quarters of the interior. A black leather sofa resides on the right of the MTV crew while the left holds a television and a kitchen space with sink. Far beyond that appears a refrigerator.

She motions towards the driver getting out of his seat before explaining in detail the blueprints. A large, muscular man gives a wave as he steps in leaving the bus a moment. “This is our bus driver, as well as one of our security members—bodyguard—and quite a good one at that. He's a part of the family, been around forever and a day!”

“You're all like my girls—so, don't be too hard on them,” says the bodyguard, giving a smile and another wave before stepping off the bus, blonde hair of length unnaturally keeping still in the rush of wind. His final step can be heard, and then felt as his frame shakes the proximity.

“This,” The brunette shows with her hands in circles. “This is like our lounge-slash-kitchen area—with satellite television, thank goodness. And here, here—“

She bends down to handles below the sofa and pulls out two matching compartments. “This is our snack area.”

She looks up and into the camera. “As much as I believe we should all eat healthier, there just comes a time when we need to indulge a little. So, I have my salt and vinegar crisps, Gin has her Snickers bars and gummy bears…”

“Here are Val's spicy hot Cheetos and Toni's Jolly Ranchers bag,” As the brunette rifles through the compartments, a swish of fiery red was seen in her peripherals. She stands up and calls, “Gin! Was that you?”

“No!”

“Come out here!”

“I've no make-up on and they've a camera!”

“Oh, Christ…,” The brunette chuckles with a hand to her forehead, and then looks towards the roaming cameraman. “She can be a bit shy around strangers. Guess I'll show you the bunks now—and Gin!”

The brunette's giggle peaks as she tosses back the privacy curtain to see the fiery red-head pull a pillow over her face.

“Oh, come out beautiful.”

Ever so slowly, the ginger peaks out and finally succumbs to a wave, a greeting, “…Hello. I've just bloody woken up. What time is it?”

“Nearly nine o'clock.”

“Oh, bloody hell…it's too early!”

The brunette laughs and turns back to the camera. “This is the lovely Ginny Ross, otherwise known to everyone as Ginger. She is—absolutely—my rock.”

“Aw…,” Ginny, wriggling over, sets her arm around the smiling brunette. She sets her chin on the brunette's shoulder.

“We've been best friends and have worked together practically forever—since we could walk, really—growing up in a little suburb outside of London. Went to school together, university where we learned our talents, and all that fun stuff.”

The brunette gives Gin a pat on the head. “But, we'll be quiet and let her sleep in this morning. Our rehearsal yesterday went a bit over, and into the night. We want to give the expected twenty thousand fans tomorrow night what they want.”

The brunette begins to lead the camera crew down the aisle, leaving Gin alone where she pulls back the privacy curtain.

“And, of course, most of the profits on our tour go to help those families who were affected by the horrific event that happened last September—may we never forget.”

“This, here,” she pulls back a privacy curtain on the last top bunk on the right side. “This is mine—it's very comfortable even if it looks a little cramped. You see here all my pictures on the walls, special letters from fans—this right here is a particularly beautiful letter I keep from my mum back in Australia. After leaving for the States, they up and left the UK and settled near Sydney, the hometown of my mum and family.”

A polite “excuse me” was heard from behind them, and as the brunette and the cameraman turns do they see another woman, in jeans and a simple t-shirt, dark curls of length swaying, as she shuffles to get by.

“Hey! You're not getting away that easily…” The brunette grabs hold of the woman's hand and pulls her into the frame. “We've a lot of shyness this morning!”

“I've just come from bed and I'm hungry!” The woman tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, revealing an earring of size covering the top-most portion of her left ear.

“Say `hello' to the world, Isabella!”

“We're on television…?”

“Yes!”

“Christ, Jane—you know I'm no early bird!” Isabella ducks from frame and back behind the cameraman, scampering off.

“Isabella is our `mad scientist with a violin', as we say around here,” Jane motions further inside the bus, brushing passed a shower, some cupboards, and another sink. “She's been teaching me since April how to play the violin as cleverly as she does. I'm hoping tomorrow night I can show off some of what she's taught me—of course, with the scientist herself there with me!”

At the back of the bus sits a black leather sofa in the half-rectangle, U-shape. Jane flops down and kicks up her feet. “And this here is my favourite spot on the bus. It's where we all gather and think of new songs, new melodies, new harmonies with the guitars, the violins, the keyboarding done by my lovely Gin, and consider the bands we'll be playing with to create the best experience for our fans. It's also my second-bed.”

She laughs, rose settling in her porcelain cheeks. “After a long night on the road working on the new album, I'll curl up with a few pillows, a blanket, flip on the TV—look at this!”

She picks up and clicks the remote control.

A flat screen television rises from a hidden area inside the faux-wood wall.

“That's just the coolest thing ever,” She presses a button on the remote again and the television descends. “And, yeah—we go city to city, playing our bleeding heart out and having a brilliant good time doing it. Pretty cool, right?”

“That is pretty damn cool, yeah,” the cameraman finally speaks, his authorized MTV cap on. “May I ask you a few questions? Or, some questions given from fans?”

“Sure!” Jane lays her hands in her lap, a grin on her face.

“How does it feel to be one of the youngest groups to tour the US? Any hopes in going International in the future.”

“Hoes does it feel? It feels wonderful! And, to share that feeling with my posse of girls, doing what we do best and loving every minute of it—what's not to feel other than pure happiness? We've all toiled away here and there, and we're finally here—we're in New York City, some far, far away from our hometowns—Isabella's from Oregon, Val's from South Africa—and we're about to play in Madison Square Garden.”

Jane reiterates, using her hands to break up the words, “Madison. Square. Garden.”

She laughs, the lights shining in her eyes. “It's amazing. And, yes, we've absolutely debated and decided to go International. We don't have dedicated plans yet; but, Virgin Records as well as my agent, Magnus, are in the midst of sorting a schedule for the fans. Maybe in a few short months we'll have it together and put up on our website, www.punkfictionrecords.com.”

“One question asks, `how does Tonic stay so chipper all the time?' A bit bluntly put, I say, but nevertheless after all that has happened, especially here.”

“We, and a whole collaboration of bands and musical minds, have taken arms to help the victims. Anything we could possibly do, we're trying. As said, the majority of our concert proceeds go into a September 11th fund,” Jane squirms, raising a leg to place it under her bum. Her right arm crawls across the top of the leather sofa. “As to my happiness—or our happiness, as we're all very happy to do what we're doing—it's the bond. We're really close. Gin and I are best friends, and now I've got three more. I wake up every morning knowing that God gave us life not to spurn, but to enjoy. I try not to scowl, or frown—I try and see the best things in life, however difficult it may be right now. I love my family. I love my extended family—“

Jane motions off behind the cameraman.

“I'm just extremely pleased and honoured to have been given privilege, and opportunity, to do what I can and have fun. That's a philosophy of mine. You've got to really enjoy what you do in life, and this is it for me. And, always keep your chin up.”

“Well said.”

“Thank you,” smiles Jane, her brightly-white teeth showing between naturally pink lips. “Accentuate the positive!”

“Exactly,” answers the cameraman. “And, there are rumours in the rumour mill that there might be a surprise in the works for tomorrow night's concert? Can this be verified?”

“Hm…,” Jane puts a digit to her cheek. “I don't want to just come out and spoil anything…but, when haven't we given surprises to our fans at every concert? This time, a certain guy we know—and an idol of mine, really—just so happened to be in the neighbourhood. A man who very much supports the cause, and has supported great causes throughout the world. So…”

“Yes,” Jane winks. “Surprise indeed.”

The cameraman laughs. “We'll just have to let the audience stew with that reaction.”

Jane, her cute, little button nose scrunching with a laugh, says with a bit of a shrug, “Sorry guys and gals!”

She then points at the camera. “But, we'll definitely be seeing you tomorrow night!”

***

In the shadows of an advertising billboard atop Madison Square Garden

Within a sharp draft blew in a brilliant white cloak. The winds, however, didn't stop so suddenly afterwards. A gust, and then another blew against the backside of a tiny form clad in a black tunic , white tights upon her legs and arms, and two very used, and very worn leather boots. On her back, the winds shifting her dancing locks in a sway, held a quiver of coloured bolts aside a heavy crossbow. In fact, the crossbow hung the length of the tunic, and the weight, one could say, should have overwhelmed the small woman. Several odd gadgets and gizmos, a tool belt of sorts with a satchel hooked to her hip, wavered at her tilt.

She didn't much care for who stood, now, behind her. She stared almost trance-like down below at the crowd, the bus, and the commotion carried by the surroundings.

The white cloak and tunic behind her, the loose parts blowing forward to showcase his frame three-times the size of her, noted her isolation, how she stood alone. “I see you've declined to conceal your lobes now.”

Her cerulean eyes affixed to the situation at ground level twinkled in the breaking sunlight between overcast skies. She merely scoffed at his abrasiveness, replying with sarcasm, “Always the clever one, you are.”

“Why are you here?” The white cloak now stood aside the woman, her face, her features perfectly sculpted and severely out-of-place in what could only be considered the norm.

She stood with a lean against the billboard's supports, a foot across the other so her alabaster tights looked as if joined as one if not for the break of cracked leather. Her arms, though, assumed their togetherness, crisscrossed at her chest as she looked onwards. “Funny, I was about to inquire the same from you.”

“You rightly know why I'm here.”

“As you should with me, for it not the obvious I'd be elsewhere.” She peered briefly at the Auror, his shaggy-red mess blowing easily in the swift breeze.

“You're desperately in need of a haircut,” she noted in banter.

“For an Elf, you certainly know how to bite back. I thought your kind as always serious.”

“And, I thought most humans were daft. I've nearly concluded that notion.”

“I'm in hysterics, just on the inside, so bear no heed in me not doubling over in laughter.”

The red lips upon the starkly bleached skin twitched with a curl.

“All joking aside,” The Weasley-red, his hands on his hips, offered his gaze downward as well alongside the Elf's. “I'm here. You can exit stage left. I've got it.”

“Have you heard from London, human?”

“Have you?” the ginger snapped back, seeing her gaze continue to dismiss him for yonder distance.

Quietness ensued, another cool breeze with the fresh scent of rain in the atmosphere swished through, between them. Only until the Auror could no longer take the noiselessness did he finally interject with, “…No, I have yet to hear from the commander. It's been months. But, the objective is Hermione—she'll be safe no matter the cost.”

“And, I, too, have pledged her safety.”

“I don't need you.” He glared at her nonchalant ways.

“I would think, if safety is your concern that more offers for her protection would be greatly appreciated and accepted indefinitely,” She turned, and without a blink, stared at him. “Unless you've some ulterior motive?”

The red-head left her stare with a gruff.

“Some advice from ally-to-ally,” She resumed her watch over Hermione. “…Put your past fancies aside or realize the cost.”

“I've already a mother,” The Auror snapped. “I don't need another. And, what about Luna? Hm?”

He seemed to have struck a sensitive chord, the Elf becoming rigid at Luna's name. “…What of her?”

“You haven't seen her in months.”

“…Genius. You're a genius.”

“'Put your past fancies aside'—“ retorted the ginger, mimicking her highly feminine tone.

The Elf's eyes widened, and then narrowed as her head swung to see the baiting freckle-nose, his shaggy red in his eyes. “She is my lover! I will not have you slander her name, nor use her as a tool to craft nonsense!”

“I don't see a difference.”

“You don't see what difference, exactly? The difference being crystal—the fact that we're bargaining between my love for Luna and your schoolboy fancy for Hermione! Therein lies the difference, friend—surely your commander has driven into your thick skull the consequence of placing that in front of your mission!”

“Luna and I are intertwined!” the Elf barked. “Hermione's heart lay with Harry! Don't you see?!”

The red-head faded from her sight, looking away.

A quick pause, the Elf straightening her posture after the reaming she gave, issuing words she didn't wish to, and now wished she could take away the slap he received. “…Pardon my outburst, but—“

“No, you're quite right, indeed… I only wish…”

“I am truly sorry for—“

“No, I apologise for my stupidity.”

“You're not stupid; it's just the times we live in, strained our beating hearts are to the brink of insanity. You don't know how I crave to be back in London with Luna, my heart, my moon goddess. She is the half that completes my whole.”

“I'm sorry,” the ginger ran his hands through his hair to get those strands from his eyes. “I really didn't mean to put Luna—you—she's—“

The Elf placed a warm hand upon the Auror's protected, padded shoulder. “It's quite all right, Ronald.”

Ronald shivered at her warmth, and offered a smile in return. “Wow—you've certainly a golden touch there.”

“It's not magic, either,” she smiled, and then set her sight back towards the bus, and Hermione.

“You know…,” The black material so alike her tunic, the pointed cap upon her head held to her crown by a braided leather band flapped with the heavenly blow along them. “I think we're just going to have to be friends whether you enjoy it or not.”

The ginger gave a laugh, a snort, and said through an honest smile, his hands still on his hips, “I don't think I'd have it any other way.”

“When do you think she'll remember…?”

The Elf's eyes went to Ronald, watching him a beat. “When the time comes.”

“I was afraid of that open-ended answer.” Ronald looked as if stunned when he saw her hand out to him, a bit of leather for friction wrapped about her palm connected to her wrist.

“It's Aedirwen if we're to be partners.”

Ronald shook her hand firmly. “Aedirwen? What about—“

“'Tis my Hume name.” She looked to know his next question, and abruptly stopped him. “She knows.”

“Partners.” He let go of her hand. “I like that.”

Alice—Aedirwen—nodded.

***

July 31st, 2002

Madison Square Garden

Jane, in a black corset, her creamy white skin shown through a webbed mesh of lace across her shoulders and arms, a black, frilly skirt fluttering behind her, comes bounding out of the blackness on stage. The twenty thousand stand up and cheer as she waves towards the crowd around her, above her and below her. She stands in the middle, having run straight down a partition out from the main stage. She gives everyone a kiss, their cheering drowning out her words at first.

You can hear her giggling, a microphone hooked to her ear.

She waves again, frantically, giggling at how lively the crowd is—butterflies in her stomach, the excitement of the audience growing within her, too.

“Good evening, New York City!”

The crowds scream, and all she can do is give one of her highly affectionate giggles.

“How are you all doing this evening?!”

She's caught again with an uproar, and she does a little jump, like all the others. She laughs, in smiles, and gives another kiss to the crowds.

She places her hands on her hips, black rubber bracelets and other bobbles jingling at her wrists. “I'll take that as a `Good'! Hehe… I'm so glad you all came to see us tonight!”

“I've only one question: raise your hand if you've never seen us perform before!”

Some in the crowd, as she peers out, a hand over her eyes as a spotlight has affixed to her position, raise their hands.

She puts her hands back on her hips, and she acts as if stern. “…And, why haven't you?”

The audience members laugh, cheering again.

“We certainly have a treat for you all tonight!”

“But first,” she breathes. “I'd like to thank the city of New York, and of you all—we've raised more than one million dollars which will be given to charities around New York City to help the victims of September 11th! So, give yourselves a huge round of applause for that! What a beautiful feat!”

Jane claps along with the audience, giving her signature grin of utter giddiness.

“Shall we meet the rest of the band, now?!”

The crowd jumps to their feet.

Jane does a swift turn about and makes a run towards the main stage, shouting, “Ladies, are we ready?!”

The stage is set with a keyboard on the far right, a rather large drum set in the middle, several microphone stands on the left, and various platforms ranging from short to tall with stairways up to them. Jane comes back towards the crowd as she makes her way back to the starting area, issuing the crowd a, “I think they're ready!”

“Our lovely, with me, on guitar, Miss Val Craelin!”

A tall blonde runs on stage, waving to the crowd, in similar attire like that of Jane. She does a bow when she gets to the edge. When she stands back, gives another wave to the right, and then to her left when she turns about and heads over toward Jane. They give each other a hug, and with another cheer, Val waves off into the semi-darkness of the theatre.

“Our passionate drummer, a bit mad with her sticks, and the only one that can keep up with our madness—Toni Rose!”

Neon pink strands with the same getup as Jane runs out on stage with two sticks in-hand, pointing up towards the ceiling. A tumultuous wave of exuberance befalls the crowd as they cheer on for the notable drummer, a true powerhouse who has emulated the best of the best, setting the pace for many of Punk Fiction's songs.

“The finest violinist! Our `scientist'! Isabella! Come on out here and meet our NYC fans!”

Isabella traipses out from black curtains and onto the stage.

She gives a girlish curtsey to the crowd, waving at their cheering and applause, and bounds with a skip towards the line beside Jane.

“And last, but definitely not least—my best friend in the entire world—Miss Ginny Ross, our fanatical keyboardist!”

Ginny dashes from the curtains, and onto centre stage. With both of her hands at her lips, she gives a kiss to the crowd. With matching attire, a bit of personality in each, she joins her clique, the line which has formed towards the audience. Each of them so humbly echo their pleasure, waving and thanking the warm welcome.

The cast of girls run off stage and into black curtains, leaving Jane alone.

“Can I hear a hurrah for the American Symphony Orchestra, as well, who will be joining us on tonight's journey?!”

The accolades of the theatre could be heard even outside the building.

“Are you all ready to see and hear the chaos in which we've brewed for you tonight?!”

The crowds cheer wildly, Jane with a hand to her ear and a scrunched up nose. “I couldn't hear you out there—“

She points out and up. “I said, `Are you ready'?!”

The crowd's cheer grows deafening, and Jane with her loving smirk, nods. “That's what I like to hear!”

“Lights please, Mister Special Effects guy, wherever you are!”

And, all the lights go out inside Madison Square Garden.

***

Lead guitar, Jane, through severely black mascara making her cinnamon brown eyes electrifying in the semi-bright spotlights smiles out at the crowd. Smoke and multi-coloured lights broadcasted to the audience in-beat with the rhythm she struck along with Gin in the darkened background, and Toni who transformed the Beethoven-rock piece into the modern world. She transitioned, Jane now at a standing microphone far out in the crowd, pointed out towards the blackness that was her audience and got a rousing cheer as her vibrantly pink-and-black guitar swung on her shoulder.

“How are you liking the concert so far?!” Jane said throughout Toni's drum evolution, pulsing her very being, the melodies shaking the stage. Jane garnered a rousing cheer from the crowd that set her eyes aflame, her mouth with a grin.

Val on one of the platforms and Isabella on her opposite kept the far sides of the concert hall alight and cheering, interacting with the people in their seats by getting them to their feet.

“Here's a little number that we've added to our next album, originally sang by The Cranberries, and truly holds certain warmth within our hearts here. Love can move mountains, lovelies—love conquers all—remember that!”

She struck chords, and the audience embellished Jane with another cheer over the trembling, paced beat.

With only a single light on Jane, and a constant light on the American Symphony Orchestra behind either side of Toni's enormous electrically-lit drum setup, she inched to the silvery, metallic head of the mic and pointed up towards the ceiling with a finger.

The Orchestra began with Val, Isabella's violin creating a harmoniously romantic and upbeat sound. Gin, in constant operation of the music synthesizing output, controlled that heightened lightness of the creation in hopes of producing that emotion so ripe within Jane's heart to everyone.

Jane's eyes closed slowly, and then opened with her first words, her Hippogriff and crucifix necklaces in-swing at her chest, “…All my life is changing every day in every possible way…”

“And, oh, my dreams—it's never quite as it seems. Never quite as it seems,” Jane's hand went down, and with a strum alongside Val, her group and the orchestra, the piece of the puzzle fit all together. “I know I've felt like this before, and now I'm feeling it even more, because it came from you.”

“And then I open up and see the person falling here is me—a different way to be,” Jane pointed out towards her audience and smiled when an uproar of happiness happened, everyone in the theatre as one with feeling. She squealed with a giggle, stating with her own joy amongst her band and the Orchestra's continuous play between stanzas: “I love you guys! Best fans ever!”

The audience screamed ecstatically.

“I want more—impossible to ignore, impossible to ignore,” She put her hand on her heart, the smile never ceasing as she heard those around her, and at her feet, singing with her. “And they'll come true—they'll come true loves!—impossible not to do. Impossible not to do!”

“And now I tell you openly: you have my heart, so don't hurt me! You're what I couldn't find!” On her hand, her ring finger digit kept a ring—the ring—even if it was unknown to her, thinking it something from her mum and dad, maybe a family signet handed down. Her head tilted, her hair over a portion of her face kept an eye hidden. She smirked, keeping beautiful pace with the rest with her guitar. “A totally amazing mind—so understanding and so kind—you're everything to me.”

“All my life—this is for anyone who doesn't believe!—is changing every day in every possible way!” she giggled, the cuteness bringing chills to some of those immersed completely into Jane's performance, singing with her, and dancing. “And, oh, my dreams—is never quite as it seems, cause you're a dream to me—you're a dream to me!”

“Hehe!” she squeaked, scrunching her nose up at those around the stage's appendage she stood on waving at her and smiling, hopping on their feet, a multitude of female and male faces. She turned around, giving them all waves alongside keeping up with her band, skipping the length of the catwalk back to get back together with everyone. The spotlight followed her, gradually increasing in size until the whole stage caught its brightness.

Projected words of inspiration, quotes of hope strung along behind them on tall screens. Val from her side of the theatre, and Isabella from hers, met in the middle with Jane. Their backs to Jane, and everyone in smiles, carried on their melodies until the end where a flash of red, then white, and then blue exploded with heart-shaped glitter from designated spouts on-stage out over the fans.

The three girls were left breathlessly beaming.

***

Jane sat on a stool centre-stage, having been given a violin in which she held by Isabella, the rest of her girls waiting in the wings with much anticipation for what was to come: the surprise. In the subtle silence, some yelling out how much they “loved” Jane, to see her smile, to be asked by shout what the violin was about—what with the guitar her specialty.

“Oh, this little thing?” She held up a pink with black-stringed violin to the crowd, garnering praise. She held a microphone in her hand to her lips, giving a laugh when the crowd cheered with her action. “This—this is part of the surprise. You all know Isabella has been teaching me how to play? Well, tonight I'll get to show off—”

“Or, she hopes,” replied Isabella in the background.

“Hey!” snapped Jane with her smile, the crowd laughing.

“So, how has the concert been so far?” asked Jane to the audience. She sat with her legs crossed comfortably in front of the thousands, in her element, talking as if everyone of them were like old friends. Her black tights kept to the environment, the dark back, with an over-sized white shirt on. The shirt had a smiley face on it, as if spray painted, with the words “Have a great day!” written above it. Her hair, her signature shoulder-length wisps, airy, and voluminous kept with her slight movements. “Good? Bad? Indifferent?”

The response, especially those in ear-sight, was a rounding “Good!”

She curled her naturally pink lips into a grin. “Awesome! That's great to hear! But, it's not over yet—nope. Before we begin, though, I've a little story to tell you. Some of you may have heard about my past—the difficulties I've had to endure, we all—“

Jane pointed behind her. “What we've all had endure. It takes time, and patience, and endurance, really, stability, sanity, and definitely loads of hard-work to get to where we all are here doing what we love to do. If it weren't for my family, my friends—my best friends behind me—I wouldn't be where I am today.”

“And I've said before, but I feel the need to reiterate and emphasize in a world we live in today: it's difficult, but with trust, and faith, and hope, and love, we all—every one of you—“

Jane pointed towards the crowd with a sweeping motion.

“All of us will endure if we accept who we are, where we come from, and realize we are only human. We're definitely not superwoman or superman. We can only do what we can do, and we have to say to everything else to—well, if you believe in God, or something else, he'll take care with those things we have no control over. It is to believe in our own humanity the secret weapon of evil.”

She laughed. “I know that may be a bit heavy for some; but, it's a truth I like to promote when I'm on the road, and in our albums. We shine the light on goodness because it's too easy to feel helpless. We're not helpless. We are all beautifully flawed human beings who should cherish the gift of life.”

Applause was given in droves, and Jane smiled. “And, you know, being that youngster, that amateur listening and trying to emulate the best—I never thought in my wildest dreams I could be on stage and help create the same kind of atmosphere those legends can. But, I am happy to say that a certain individual heard our story, heard what we do with charity and how we're working hand-in-hand with those charities for the 9/11 families, and he wanted to help us help them.”

“Have any of you heard of a little obscure band by the name of…U2?”

The audience leapt to their feet with tumultuous thrill and frenzy.

Jane grinned, the slightest of dimples appearing.

“Punk Fiction would like to think we're philanthropists helping the public, fighting world hunger, assisting the needy, giving back to those who give their lives for us every day—Mister Bono's band has been doing just that for years. He may not like to hear this, but I remember being in my room listening to U2 on the radio or on cassette… Haha… And, now, you all will be hearing, and experiencing, one of their most successful, most inspirational and feel-good songs—along with the best symphony orchestra ever! Give it up for these folks one more time!”

Jane hopped from the stool, giving a flamboyant swish of her hand towards the waiting group of instrumental prowess behind her. The members of the American Symphony Orchestra waved at the crowd, and between transitions, a man clothed in black jeans and a black shirt appeared to remove the stool from centre-stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my friends,” began an enthusiastic Jane on spirited toes. “A beloved member of the music community, and a beloved member of humanity—Mister Bono!”

Bono, clad in a black leather jacket, a black tee and dress trousers came from ebon curtains. He had his own microphone in his left hand at his side, his right hand giving a rousing wave to the left side of the room to his right, and back again. Through violet-tinted sunglasses, he grinned towards the fury he made, of those jumping in their seats to get a better look at him on stage. He glanced over at Jane and the rest of Punk Fiction, put his silvery microphone to his mouth and said clearly through the cheers, “Aren't they a lovely group of girls?”

The cheering grew, and Bono, as well as Jane, laughed a little at each other's looks.

“If I mess up, it's because I'm still a little star-struck,” Jane jested into her microphone, the violin propped on her shoulder.

“Nah, you'll do great—everyone here is great! A beautiful audience!”

The lead-up beat began for Beautiful Day, its evident popularity noticeable when the audience immediately knew the song before the first lyrics could be said. All smiles were on stage. Jane was in position to start with Isabella and the Orchestra, the bow at the strings. She looked back at Val, who had the biggest smile, on her guitar, and then to Gin who had the greatest of all smiles sans Jane's. Jane could be awarded with most enormous and most cheerful smile with the feeling of being at the peak of perfect, loved, and loving, giving her all and getting the best reward possible.

Goose pimples could be seen on her skin if one were close enough.

“The heart is a-bloom, shoots up from the stony ground! There's no room, no space to rent in this town! Come on, NYC—on your feet!!” Bono was at the edge of the stage, having run the catwalk down to the centre of the audience where he knelt to touch the hands of those clamoring for him. “You're out of luck—and the reason you had to care. The traffic is stuck, and you're not moving anywhere! You thought you found a friend to take you out of this place—someone you could lend a hand in return for grace—NYC it's a beautiful day! On your feet!”

“It's a beautiful day! Sky falls, you feel like—it's a beautiful day! Don't let it get away!”

Jane's smile couldn't be greater, looking at Isabella aside her while she showed off her new skill with the string instruments of the American Symphony Orchestra behind her. She turned to see Val, Toni, all in smiles—and Gin, her best friend, working the keyboard, her own eyes sparkling with happiness.

She had achieved it.

She had achieved it all, on top of the world.

***

Madison Square Garden, after the concert

Punk Fiction, always the ones to give, came from nowhere to surprise their fans after the concert. While the audience filed out and into the streets in leaving, they had all, by security escort of course, came by emptied passageway to meet-and-greet. And, they were met—with screams from their adoring fans, like a wave from one side of the street to the other.

Children with their parents were chosen from the rest at first, Jane and the band with treats in their hands, memorabilia in the form of their personal guitar picks and pink-and-black wrist covers, with one child in a wheelchair receiving an entire guitar signed by all the girls on the spot after their gift. The little paraplegic girl, teary-eyed, was given incredible hugs, the last with Jane who stopped to pose pictures with her and hug her over and over again.

Hand-over-feet, fans climbed atop another to have what they brought or bought after the concert, t-shirts, booklets, pamphlets—anything to do with the band including whole CDs—signed by the band. The girls happily scribbled away, having small chats with whomever's object they held. One guy told Jane, after giving her the jewel case of their album for her to sign, “I came all the way from India to see you in New York!”

“Did you have fun tonight?!” said a smiling Jane, two bulky security men at her side behind her, their lengthy, straw-like blonde hair falling over their black suit shoulders.

“We had a blast! My wife, and my two daughters! You girls are great!”

“Lovely! Thank you!”

“Hermione!” shouted someone in the crowd.

Jane's ears perked at the name, and became most confused. Cocking her brow, she looked around at who called as if she knew someone by the name, a long-lost sister she never quite got to know.

“Hermione!”

Jane turned to see a man, quite muscular, with short dark hair, tanned skin, arms locked with another tanned person, a woman, her golden curls dancing as they clawed they way towards her. They were looking at her in such a way…like they knew her, and she felt in the moment like she should know them, an empty void, a plummeting feeling in her stomach.

“Hermione!” he was at her now, just outside that space the security guards created where the fans knew not to break for fear of repercussion. Jane stood there with her mouth unhinged, her mind toiling at the situation, grasping, really, the name, the people she looked at and how her body wanted to move—to hug them, to say, “I haven't seen you guys in ages!”

Like family, but they were…

She'd never seen them in her life.

“Are you just going to stare at us like that?” the man laughed, glancing at the blonde he held onto as the crowds pushed to get a better look at Punk Fiction, calling Jane's name and the rest in order to gather their individual attentions.

“I'm sorry,” she laughed a little. Jane eyes left them briefly, only to gaze at them again to study them carefully. “It's like I know you two—have we met somewhere before? I've been on the road now for ages. I apologize for not knowing who I see here and—“

The dark-haired male laughed loudly, as if this was the biggest joke in the world and he just got it. “Are you serious? With all the fame and everything, you've forgotten about me—Nathan, and Angelique? We went to Oxford together! You stayed at my house…?”

Jane's brain instantly turned to mush.

Her sight went hazy, and it felt like she could fall straight through the ground.

She put her hand to her forward, closed her eyes and heard what was a million chattering mouths become one, dull drone. She nearly toppled towards them.

This “Nathan and Angelique”…

“Just wanted to show our support, and say that you're invited to Angelique and my wedding, we're getting married—“ Nathan noticed Jane's bobble, her waver, how she looked to trip atop him.

The security noticed, too, having looked away when a fan had gotten too close to the band, and pushed Nathan back as if he were the definitive enemy—that he'd done the worst.

Jane instantly felt sick, holding her stomach, trying to steady her breath as her headache gained strength.

“Hey!” yelled Nathan as he was pushed backward with ease. The two men, their cerulean eyes glancing back at him without care, kept their eyes on Jane. One took her while the other raised his hand to catch the attention of the other security members surrounding the rest of the girls. Each of them immediately addressed the crowd and hurried the band out with Jane in the front, carried by her security team members.

“What's wrong with, Jane?!” Ginny said as she hurriedly caught up with the men who clung to Jane, assisting her walk back toward the bus. “She looks sick! What happened?!”

“Nothing to be concerned about, Miss Ross…,” said one of the men coolly, and with a gentle smile. “She's been complaining about having headaches as of late, has she not?”

“Yes—but she hasn't looked this bad!”

“We'll be getting you girls back onto the bus and into a private hotel room. I believe you girls deserve that, and not be cramped in your bunks after tonight's' brilliant performance.”

“She'll need lots of rest, Miss Ross,” said another of the security team, his cerulean eyes affixed to her. “Make sure she takes her medicine, and this time the correct dose. Okay? Doctor's orders.”

Ginny, albeit with a quizzical look, nodded with acceptance.

She suddenly felt a whole lot better after just seeing and hearing the men speak.

***

Inside the Ministry Underground, London

“Commander! We've taken back the Ministry! It is ours!”

“But, we've found bodies—corpses—of innocent civilians. Tons. Nolpho's mark of death…we were too late. May God present peace to all their souls. We must stop him at any cost—and now with the Manuscript—it will be Tom they seek.”

Draco, kept to his cane without Pansy at his side, hobbles the burning hallway corridors alongside the numerous white bodies flowing in-and-out of doors and room in search for any remains of Death Eaters. Those Death Eaters that were resistant could be heard, having been taken into Auror custody with one such Death Eater sputtering obscenities at Draco as he is pressed on by, bound by the magicks of the two Aurors who carry his immobile body.

“And, to you to, sir,” Draco acts to tip his hat, hatless, and continues on with the group of Aurors at his side. “How have the Rose Brigade faired?”

Draco's eyes were set on the lift in front of him, his men having established connection to get it running again. He steps onto it as his scout answers, “Three are gravely wounded, six are injured.”

“Have someone from the White Knights escort those men and women out and back to our Healers without a moment's notice. That's an official demand, tell them.”

“Of course, sir.”

The gold inlaid lift creaks as it moves upwards swiftly, and then bounds backward as it streams passed inferno after inferno deep beneath the Ministry, an all out warzone now kept under control by Draco's resistance.

Draco hangs onto a strap on the ceiling, as does his scout, his opposite hand gripping the silvery snake head atop his cane. “Where have they fled? Is it Azkaban?”

“Yes, sir. We have teams rerouted in chase; but, observational information obtained by espionage detail significant risks including a barrier they've placed around the prison and dragons about the perimeter.”

“Dragons,” Draco shook his head and scoffed. “They may be big and bad on the outside; but, they fall faster than a Muggle tank out of the sky.”

“And the Dementors, sir?”

“Those may be a greater threat. Have a team designated specifically for Expecto Patronum. Shield the men and women at first breach. Surely the Dementor's will be first line of defense, usable pawns.”

“We've gotten word, also, of the Elves having their sights aligned with ours towards Azkaban.”

“Remind me later to thank them for their solidarity.”

“The Americans have pledged allegiance in this fight; however, with their circumstance of late their numbers have dwindled significantly to fight their own war.”

“Understandable, and I have no lesser appreciation for their commendations. Please issue a statement to the States of that appreciation, and how I have their utmost respect in these trying times.”

“Ground level, Atrium,” rang out the feminine voice from the lift.

The wrought iron gates swung open, and out stepped Draco, his scout to yet another destroyed scene. With much of the end-fighting happening here, the majority of the damage and casualties resound inside the Atrium. Flames still flicked in the far corners of the rotunda, the many glass windows shattered with their shards blown all over the flooded floor. The fountain had been ruin, demolished, a crater now where it once stood with water running freely from once it stood.

The injured, and those Aurors who tended the injured, stopped all actions when they saw Draco and saluted him, to congratulate him. Draco humbly bowed to each of them as he passed by, observing the state of the Ministry to the very last speck of cobblestone and burnt metal spread about the core of the magical government headquarters.

“Has a team closed the Floo networks?”

“Yes sir.”

Draco, now at the far end of the Atrium, between all the cold and lifeless fireplaces, turned back around to see the destruction from the entrance and sighed. “It is an accomplishment, but we're far from done. Far from it…”

“Make an announcement that I want the leaders of every team up here of those teams who are inside the Ministry. They will be praised for what we have done; but now, we take it to their doorstep. They've nowhere left to go, cornered, our final stand—this will go down in history…” Draco's eyes gloss over for a moment as he thinks, ponders outcome after outcome, the pros and cons, the consequences of actions.

As quick as his eyes remained steady did they ignite back with life.

“Expect the worse,” he spoke to the scout man-to-man, no authority, like a friend. “Tell your family that you love them. I don't know what we'll find within the Hell I know we'll be diving into.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Draco patted his scout on the shoulder, and then motioned him off and away to do as told…

…To be left shaking his head alone at what he saw, and what he could see in the future.

***

Just outside the New York City limits

“An unforeseen circumstance.”

“She's waking up!”

“It can't be prevented. Will power will always overcome magicks, and her soul rejects what has been given to her. It's an instinct, a reflex, rather than conscious thought.”

Ronald, with Aedirwen, stand amongst the manufactured forest, the park outside of the hotel the security team and bus driver led the band to in a more desolate part of the New York City suburbs. Both of them knew where their rooms would be, her room would be, their eyes in constant vigilance at the lightless window in the night.

“What do you think will happen when she comes out of it?”

“She will most likely go back—to finish what she started—“

“And be pissed off at me,” interjected Ronald.

Aedirwen glanced at his interruption, and merely grinned. “In time, she'll understand everything. You are her great friend, a friend that has gone the lengths to keep her safe—that is admirable, and she will know it.”

A breeze blew at their silence when Aedirwen said softly, “She won't leave you.”

“I'll help her get Harry back.”

Aedirwen's smile grew, and she nodded. “Exactly—we all will.”

“It feels like the more we fight the change, we're only going to have to accept it.”

“I'm not following.”

Ron looked over at Aedirwen's focus. “Death—the Death Eaters, us, more bloodshed.”

“The righteous will always prevail, my friend,” nodded Aedirwen again with her smile. “Cast aside your fears and listen to the winds. He is with us. We will be triumphant—good will always triumph over evil.”

Ron's hands climbed from the pockets of his Auror tunic and onto his hips. “Elves are nothing short than positive, eh?”

Aedirwen laughed with a sigh. “We are born with our Fate's already written. It's just a matter of our acceptance to do what is right, and allow Him to carry the rest. That's why we are how we are.”

“Admirable,” Ronald turned to the dark window of Jane—Hermione's—room, and said in a quieted voice. “…Very admirable.”

***

From an undisclosed location within England

Minister Nolpho and Overseer Steelknuckles have just held a discussion with the Magical citizens via the Prophet Media News Network. In his broadcast, he has shown the people, the world, those responsible for the chaos and death that surround the new government—his government: the Aurors. Captured video has the bright white cloaks flinging spell after consuming spell wrecking not only the inside of the Atrium, but killing his men, those that “protect everyone”—the black cloaks.

“…As you've witnessed here, ladies and gentlemen, we are under attack. The Ministry has been taken by those who seek to kill us all. Between now and when we take back the Ministry, we want all of you to remain calm and to note how the goblins, and other magical creatures, are securing the volatile situation. We will change this for a better future—but, we are in desperate need of your help.”

“Anyone seeing Kingsley men, you are advised to take them down. Restrain them by any means, or if in the case of killing them, please advise us with the Ministry's red sparks and we will come relieve you of the scene. All Curse bans have been lifted. Unforgiveable Curses, Cruciatus, Imperius, and the Killing Curse can be used and are urged to be used under these troubling days we have in front of us. With each capture or body your Ministry receives, we will be giving rewards in galleons. Your Ministry needs you once again to rid of these miscreants once and for all.”

A black cloak from behind the camera, holding still on the Minister, raises his hand. He holds three fingers, and then two, with finally his last as the red light turns off and the camera is put down. “We're off.”

From off frame, a black cloak's wand is pulled down to his side. In that moment, Steelknuckles's body falls to the floor, limp. Flies immediately attack his body, and Nolpho, as he steps away from the Ministry-insignia podium, steps on him with his clean business shoes.

“He smells awful,” issues Nolpho, his nose in the air.

A black cloak replies from the darkness, “We found maggots in the corpse yesterday. It's been quite a while since we've killed him, sir. His body will begin decomposing, and no Imperius Curse will be able to stop it.”

“Find formaldehyde and put him in a jar or something,” Nolpho waves his hand around as if he hasn't the time, taking with his other hand Sarilda Lestrange who waited for him. With the hand on her lower back, he smiled, and said with a chivalrous tone, “Are you ready, my pet? The day soon cometh.”

“And what a glorious day it will be!”

“Come—we must get to Azkaban for the final—“

“Sir!” A black cloak barged in, halting Nolpho's smirk, his words as he reels at whom so irrespectively infringed upon his delight.

His hand went to a pocket inside his jacket as the black cloaks states in a huff, clearly out of breath, “They've taken your wife and children! The Order has them!”

“And if they kill them, no bother,” He shrugged, rummaging in his coat until he showed a separate grin. Having retrieved his wand, he pointed it at the floating obsidian and out sparked a hard, green light.

The cloak fell straight to the ground.

“And,” he pointed his wand around at those black cloaks surrounding him. “That goes for all who dare interrupt me while I speak to Miss Lestrange. Understand? Or, do I have to kill another to get my point across?”

“Your `wife and children',” Sarilda mocks with a laugh, a hand at her lips, her eyes alight.

Nolph turned to her and grinned. “Even my own stupid mob cannot discern fakery and reality. I've never proposed to anyone in my life!”

Sarilda's evil smirk crept upon her mouth with just a small twitch at the corner of her lips. “But, of me?”

“You, my pet, are the treasure—my treasure…,” Nolpho took Sarilda's hand and ever-so-carefully caressed atop it, never once looking from her gorgeously dark eyes smiling at him.

***

{Author's Note: I will be breaking the entire story into parts—as shown at the beginning—after the story is written in its entirety for better fluidity. I started doing this at one point in the past, but decided then as I do now to write everything out first. The story is still very much in progress. Constructive criticism is always appreciated. Flames are shared with friends for a good laugh.}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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68. Awaken

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Sixty-Eight - Awaken

***

Something tickled at my nose, and instantly I woke, staring at the blinding light of the sun. The intense rays had me squint. Without obstruction, the air felt warm, and what tickled me I gathered was the cool breeze I now felt along my arms. I remember sitting up, looking around and noticing I was in a field, upon a hill, with one beautifully vibrant tree of the lushest green close by. The sunlight would ever-so-gently pass through the leaves, creating the different hues, from the most lucent of yellow-greens to the darkest of emerald.

I remember lifting from the perfect lawn, of flowers here and there, their beauty nearly surpassing that of the tree. I looked at myself, and I noticed I was in this…unusual clothing, like a uniform, crimson-and-gold tie and all. The tie blew with the breeze, the white-collared shirtsleeves rolled up to my elbows and a black skirt and tights. I hadn't a clue why I was in this, or where I was for that matter. At one time I was lying in bed—that I knew—but now…

I must be dreaming, I told myself. This must be all but a dream.

As I peered around at my surroundings, standing up to get a better view of the horizon, the hilly fields going on and on forever, noting how serene the environs were, I heard a crunch from behind me. I shot around, turning to see someone step from behind the tree. He wore robes, which I found odd, of white fitted to his form with a bit of a flared descent from his knees, black trousers to boots at the ground. He didn't smile at me, remaining cautious as I was, and for some reason I felt…

I felt as if I knew this person, albeit in a different light. A thin man of sallow skin, he looked like a bat, hooked nose, and better, I thought, he would be in black. Actually, the more I saw of him, stepping further from the tree, I thought I'd seen him in black…so many years ago. But, none of it made sense. Nothing at all. I knew not of this man, having never seen him!

“…By your look you've no idea who I am.”

“Should I…?” I felt a longing to say something more, something intimate—from friend to a friend—and the more I quizzically stared, furrowing my brow, did I yearn to calculate those feelings. “Where am I?”

“The question should be: who are you?”

“I'm Jane.”

The man laughed under his breath, and shook his head. “…Draco did learn a thing or two from me after all.”

“Draco…?” I suddenly began to get agitated, in the dark. I grew furious, demanding, “Tell me what is going on! Why am I here?!”

“Miss Granger.”

A thump, as I felt, heard my own heart beat, struck my body.

My head began to hurt, and my hand fled to my forehead.

“Miss Hermione Granger.”

The thump within me echoed, as if the pressure would have me erupt, literally rupturing from the inside-out.

I held my head in my hands, memories I tried to see—grasped to see-swimming in my head. I didn't recognize anything, but recognized everything. I saw things I didn't wish to see, things I knew I had, things I knew I'd seen before but couldn't remember. The more these memories deluged my senses, the more I crumbled, finally falling to the grassy bottom where I screamed out, “Stop it! Please! You're hurting me!”

“I'm not hurting you, Miss Granger—you're waking up.”

I gazed from my threshold of pain, reddened, puffy eyes creeping from their hiding spots behind my palms and saw him through tears, “…I—I don't understand!”

He had approached me, the man I knew—or had known—the memories of him now reaching me in the washed out flood. I could almost say his name—I could almost say my own—but my mind, my brain wanted me to shutdown, as if needed to shut those advances down like a defense mechanism.

“Take my hand, Miss Granger.”

“Who—Who are you…?”

His dark eyes peered down at my crumpled state, his white sleeve and pale hand out to me. His palm was open, his fingers just slightly apart. “…Severus Snape.”

A tear trickled down my face, dripped from my cheek, down along my nose.

“I'm here for you,” His words felt incredibly warm outside his stale demeanor, his abnormally erected stance. “Now—take my hand. We haven't time for tea. You will come to understand if you take the leap and follow me.”

“'Hermione'…,” I breathed in a huff, as if I no breath left. I looked down at his feet, at the vibrantly green grass dazzling in the pure light, and then back up at him.

“Yes,” He nodded. “Take my hand.”

I reached up and instantly those swirls of colour, the vivid blues, the greens, and the beautiful tree splotched together. Swirls were made of them, and I could feel myself in freefall. I held onto Snape's hand as if my last protector, with strength, and caught his fitted robe in my other hand. The cloth I gathered paid him no mind, Snape looking off in the distance.

We dropped into the dead of night, with the horizon lit in the background, beyond hills, beyond a black lake, a castle. We pay audience to a man in silver robes, a white beard of length, and a man—Snape—in black pleading on his knees.

“The prophecy did not refer to a woman—it spoke of a boy born at the end of July!”

“Yes, but He thinks it's her son! He intends to hunt them down now—to kill them! Hide her! Hide them all! I beg you!”

“What will you give me in exchange, Severus?”

“…Anything…”

…Thick, white smoke envelopes the scene

“…Dumbledore…Albus Dumbledore…” stated Hermione softly.

They were in Dumbledore's office, rain stinging the coloured window panes behind the elder.

“You said! You said you would keep her safe!”

The tears stream down the face of Severus, the pain emanating from the wrinkles of his face, the sheer torment wrought within his tightened features.

“Lily and James put their faith in the wrong person, Severus! Rather like you! The boy survives—“

“He doesn't need protection! The Dark Lord is gone!”

“The Dark Lord will return! When He does, the boy will be in incredible danger—he has her eyes! If you truly loved her…”

“…So, when the time comes…the boy must die?”

“Yes… Yes, he must die…”

“You've kept him alive so he can die at the proper moment… You've been raising him like a pig for slaughter!”

“Don't tell me now that you've grown to care for the boy…”

Snape chants, giving a swish from his wand, “Expecto Patronum!”

What he produces is the most radiant, most brightly translucent figure of a sparkling, bluish-white doe. Dumbledore looks baffled, turning quickly to Snape. Snape's eyes never leave the prancing doe, his image, his faith until it leaves through the coloured-pane window and into the night.

…Thick, white smoke envelopes the scene…

Hermione and Snape stand together in the pouring rain. She notes how the rain doesn't fall on them, not a drop wetting her uniform as she looks up at the torrential downpour from a suffocating black sky. In front of them lay an adolescent, not yet a man, but not a child, across a grey stone tomb.

He's alone underneath the shadow of a lightless manor Hermione had never seen before. The graveyard she stood in adjacent to the manor's plot, behind cold stone statues of gargoyles, cold iron gates. Snape lets her go, relieving his hand from hers as he could feel her gathering interest, her personality. Hermione stepped forward, keeping her cinnamon eyes upon the boy lay sobbing in the rain.

The boy she knew… Draco Malfoy, curled atop the lonesome burial.

She felt sympathy, wanting to at least console him…only to see her hand go through him.

Her eyes go to the headstone…

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy

13 October 1954 - 4 May 1998

In his hand a letter, the ink smearing from the rain droplets.

Hermione could only make out the first part, Draco's hand having blotted the rest…

Dearest Draco,

There will come a time when you must preserve what we fought against. Seek McGonagall. The vial I left contains my memories. Learn from them and gr—

A hand is placed upon Hermione's shoulder, and when she looks up to see Snape overhead…

…Thick, white smoke envelopes the scene…

Hermione and Snape now stand in a spacious room, gadgets and other bits and bobs whirling and spinning around them. Lines are attached to herself on a bed connecting to various coloured numbers ticking every second. Clear tubes of oxygen appear to be in her nose, and Hermione remembers…with Harry on her side, and…

Draco on the other.

“…Bellatrix Lestrange had a daughter, Potter.”

Harry, his hand stroking Hermione's face as she slept, gazes continuously at the projection of her heart on the monitor.

He listens without so much of a look at Draco, his attention squarely on his beloved.

“Have you heard of Sarilda Lestrange?”

“No,” Harry answered, glancing at Draco briefly. His eyes went back to the monitor, and to Hermione. “How worried should I be?”

“To be honest, I haven't a clue. We've only just caught wind of her existence after our raid in Moscow. The DNA she left behind—we couldn't believe it! They seemed to be hiding her; though, by the time we figured out who she was she went quiet. She's unlike the brood she follows.”

Harry's eyes flicked to Malfoy.

“Wonderful,” said Harry, emphasizing dense sarcasm. His fingers grazed Hermione's cheek, her sleeping form tilted towards him, her face at him.

“She lay with Tom.”

Harry's sight went straight to Draco. “You don't mean…?”

“Sarilda is a product of Bellatrix and Riddle.”

“How can—“

“Voldemort was human—at one time. Dumbledore would have surely given us time, and the tools he's given me until now. Dumbledore never knew—no one ever knew—with his reach of power, I'm sure even Tom and Bellatrix kept her in whispers. He may have even threatened her life—lives. There are only hypotheses, no facts. To say it startled us… We're on our own; but, we're not alone. He's given us hope, Potter.”

Harry's eyes went from Hermione, and then back to Draco.

Draco knew his terrible concern before he asked the question, expressing, “She'll be in no danger. You have my word.”

“What can I do?”

“We've no idea where she is. We've feelers out as we speak on any leads, anything at all. Whenever she does poke her head from the ground there will be a grand orgy on their side, and a shortening of nails from ours.”

Harry, his sight returning to Hermione, resumed his caress by hand, leaning forward to join his digits with a kiss of her cheek. “I trust you, Draco,” the words falling off his tongue were genuine.

“I'll be contacting the Weasley.”

Harry's eyes shot back at Draco. “Why? Why Ginny? She's nothing to do with this. This is between us, the Order, and Kingsley.”

Draco, his hand out to Harry to settle him, states plainly, “She is a great asset… Use her love, Harry, for your benefit. She will protect Hermione—“

“I can't do that!” Harry's voice utters at a higher octave above whisper. “I can't use Ginny like that—it's not fair—it won't be fair to her!”

“Harry—“

“She cares too much about Hermione! I'm already sacrificing—”

“Use it, Harry—you know she won't allow Hermione to die.”

…Thick, white smoke envelopes them…

Hermione finds herself inside the mirrored corridors so ripe in her dreams. Now, though, she stands with Snape behind her, his hand on hers. He leaves her, again, when he can feel her waking. She turns, to say, “I've been here… I've been here before—many times.”

“Look again, Hermione. Open your eyes. See what is in front of you for its truth. Learn…”

She glances at her side, at herself—at Hermione, and at the other side, at herself, and again at Hermione, her reflection, her being, her soul.

The mirrors crack, having her jump, having her withdraw back with Snape. He puts a hand on her shoulder to stow her fear, to keep her focus on the hall they stand in. The mirrors fall to show a ravaged hallway, a carpeted floor with broken picture frames fallen from hooks upon the walls.

She goes closer, to see a picture of…

A smiling family photo of Lily and James Potter with baby Harry—she knew them from pictures Harry had shown her so many times before.

She turned to ask, in desperate struggle to remain calm, shaky, “We're in—?”

Snape nods, lifting his hand to have her continue on.

“I don't want to—I don't want to go further! I want to go back! I want to return home!”

“Go—Hermione! Go! Before it is too late!”

Hermione hears a scream, sees the green flash and by her instinct flees. She bounds inside, stepping on mulch of once was wooden panels and beams, hoping in her heart, the feeling in the pit of her stomach, that she isn't too late. She sees, a trembling hand to her mouth, the dark red curls of Lily Potter blending with a fresh pool of blood surrounding her motionless form. She sees Lily's cold jade-green eyes, so much like Harry's, staring at nothing. She breaks, her emotions pushed from their edge.

She weeps, to see Snape press against the wall as he, his past self, steps into the room. His very being breaks, falling against the wall in tears, seeing his lifeless heart. He moves to her slowly, reeling in his wails, Snape so different than that she knew until the end—full of emotion, full of love. He crumples to the floor and stays with Lily, holding her empty shell in his arms as his saline-wet lips kiss her chilled forehead.

Hermione sees Lily—sees her, herself, Hermione, Lily having changed to that of her reflection, and Snape…

…Holding her, crying for her, giving her everything he has left…

He was Harry.

He had turned into Harry.

They were gone from the Potter's cottage in Godric's Hollow.

They were beneath a blanket of rain, and as Harry looks up from the dead corpse of Hermione in his arms did he see a wand pointed at him.

…Voldemort, his white skin inching out from his black robe sleeve reaches down towards Harry with a smirk so evil, his pointed teeth and tongue lashing with glee…

A green light peaks at the tip of his wand…

…And, Harry lay dead, his arms still wrapped around his perished lover.

Hermione's hands, her fingers became claw-like as she rakes her nails across her face. She felt torment boiling in her blood; that tremble in her hands now within the very bones of her body. She turned to Snape, his remorseful eyes leaving the corpses of her and Harry. A crack of lightning makes his shallow features haunting in the frozen atmosphere.

She cries out, “Why?! Why are you showing me this?!”

…Thick, white smoke envelopes them…

“Sarilda Lestrange murdered Harry.”

“What can I do Professor—what can I do?!”

“You are the most powerful and most ingenious witch, Hermione—your power, however, lay in your giving heart. You must listen to what you've heard—remember what you've seen. You must wake up, and I will show you the way.”

“Show me the way…?”

“To the end.”

“The end—Harry—“

“Voldemort will return.”

“Voldemort is dead!” she spits in disdain, denial.

“Voldemort is more than what you witnessed in flesh. He is much more.”

“I don't understand!”

“Will you choose to continue to dream?”

Hermione shook her head.

“You will wake up?”

“Yes—please—just stop!”

Her head felt on the verge of exploding.

“It is time, Miss Granger.”

She watched him through tears, having witnessed all those memories, and those in her head, again—reliving the happiness overshadowed by the hatred, and the deaths.

“Why do you live?”

“Because I have something worth living for!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

“Then, WAKE UP!”

I shot from sleep in an instant between a sharp strike of lightning and its brother, rolling thunder. The lightning lit the room I lay in, shifting from the mattress I now sat upon. I looked around at my environment, the silent television on the wall, the homely pictures hanging about, the dresser drawer hinges and closet door knobs. I examined my bed, my fingers, the sense of touch illuminating as if I hadn't touched anything before this first contact. I looked at myself, the clothes I wore. No tie, no white-collared shirt, and no skirt—no Hogwarts uniform to be seen.

I looked over at where Ginny was in her own bed, and over across her and into the moonlight drifting in. I saw a flash of light, and the thunderstorm stopped. I saw the flash again, communication, telling me to get up. I wanted to get up, the feeling hitting me before the thought could process, and I was on my bare feet.

I took hold of a pair of jeans and slid them on one leg at a time, having only knickers to sleep in. Something tugged at me to prepare for what was to come. I grabbed some trainers and socks from a drawer, that feeling urging me to press closer, and when I did—at the window now—I saw it: a bluish-white light moving in-and-out of the trees.

“I'm sorry, Gin…,” I said on the way, giving the sleeping ginger a kiss on her forehead. Quietly I tiptoed out and silently opened, and then closed behind the door. I gave a deep breath, readying myself for the unknown in which lie ahead and started my trek down the stairwell.

***

“Lights! Did you see that light, Aedirwen?!”

“What light?” Aedirwen looked behind her, peering into the darkness.

“There in the distance—what is that?” Ron had bent at the waist in order to try and get a better look, his curiosity peaking as well as his responsibility in safety. “It looks like…”

“Ron don't! It may be a—!” the Elf outreached her hand to grab him, but Ronald had already started his sprint.

He faded into mists as his feet picked up in pace, traveling at inhuman speeds to catch what he thought were—

Death Eaters, he thought while he ran, dodging trees and going further into that created forest. The more he ran, the more he found himself in the thick of trees, the forest growing before him. It's been far too long! You're not getting her—not on my watch, you fucking arseholes!

Aedirwen heard something in the winds, something pressing her to move out—something she desperately fought against. She looked back at the lightless window where Hermione lay, and then back in the direction of where Ronald fled. The mists began to dissipate, and that's when her worry set in.

The lights she had seen were far in number than Ronald, and she knew not of her kin who saw them. She tried listening to the wind, but found nothing to cling onto hope for backup. The wind blew at her back as she peered, again, into the vast forest. She'd begun to care for Ronald as a friend, having chatted about his family and hers, how they both expressed their hopes and dreams for the future, and what they wished they'd done in the past. Being partnered by Fate, he had grown on her and she couldn't let him defend himself on his own.

Another strong wind hit her, and then she was off, leaping into the trees and in the direction of the thinly veiled, disappearing fog.

***

I stood at the curb of the street a moment in earnest to catch the light again and saw the blue tint streak through the trees. I thought I could make out what it was from here, but followed the light anyways. The light, I felt in my heart, was helping me. Stepping beyond the street and into the beginnings of the forest, I followed it, walking at a fast pace at first, and then when the light knew I was in chase, in an all-out run.

It never stopped, darting in-and-out, around trees.

After a while I wondered if I could find my way back, having neither the stars nor sign to guide me back. I trusted the light, if only briefly stopping, that part of my logical sense telling me in whisper how crazy I'd become—following a light that could be anything. But, something greater than reality, spiritually led me down a hill, across a trickling brook and into a clearing.

At the clearing I stopped, holding onto a tree as I saw in the distance the light halt in the centre.

The light, as my eyes affixed to it, gave shape as it turned to see me as if to tell me:

We've arrived.

I stepped closer, the leaves crunching at my feet.

Lessening the distance, I could see the shape—a doe, frolicking around something I saw lying on the ground.

When I had gotten close enough, close enough to touch—as I tried to, a hand out, fingers just missing the doe's head to pet it—the doe leaped off and into the forest…

…Only this time, the light vanished completely.

I was left alone, a cloudless pitch sky and darkness my surrounding.

I couldn't see where the darkness ended and the trees began anymore.

I could hear nothing but me, my breaths, my heart beat, and I could neither find my other four senses.

It was if I was at the point at the beginning of a book, waiting to read the first word, to finish the first page.

I bent down, knelt to the grass to gather a better look at the yellowish something at my feet. At first glance I noticed my wand having been placed aside parchment. I looked around before retrieving it, noting the breadcrumb trail that led me here and the warm wind of which blew across my cheek. My knees at the ground, I carefully slid my wand into my pocket. I squinted to see that something before I touched it, the yellowed paper, when I noticed the words:

THE DAILY PROPHET

The headline:

A CRY FOR HELP

I couldn't comprehend heads nor tails of it.

What now? Read the contents?

The headline vanished for a new one, having me jump back en route to retrieve it:

HERMIONE

…Is it speaking to me?

And another:

PICK UP THE PAPER

…Is it imploring me—can a newspaper beseech someone?

To another:

PLEASE

My mind cluttered, I was left puzzled, my features imitating my befuddlement with an upturned brow.

I reached out ever-so-slowly, and as my fingers took the newspaper up by its edge did I find myself falling, a feeling of a hook behind my navel pulling me in and downward.

I screamed, but no one heard me.

The Daily Prophet had swallowed me whole.

***

{Author's Note: Firstly, I'd like to say that Severus Snape is very close to being my favorite character of the series, the number one spot taken by Hermione. And, his decisions and actions, his words, portrayed during his memories where his character is shown new dimensions to the audience is what tips the scale over others. The obvious was he wasn't a Death Eater; but, what wasn't as obvious was the truth in his love for Lily and the unsurpassed way he taught, or dare I say, loved like his own, her son.

This may be controversial in a way, but I see Harry more like Severus than I do his father. Not to say Harry's exterior isn't similar. Of course it is; but, his interior, and his actions mimic those of Severus. Maybe not so directly blatant in JK's work, but I wanted to emphasize that parallel in mine. The sacrifice he gives spans far from mortal touch. He lessens his own infatuation to allow her choices to grow, even if in the dark corner he truly loves Lily.

The bond isn't closed, however, as I see Severus and Lily's connection similar to HHr—or maybe identical in ways—even in JK's work. Run a comparison to how he interacted with Lily, or even to say how he interacted with her without her knowledge. I find the actions of James Potter more the lines of Ronald; and with that, I can say this could be arguable as to a link for RHr. I think that makes sense. Not to say Harry doesn't act up; he does, but he's far more mature and he knows himself by the end of the book. Ronald, if he does find himself, is hard pressed to find himself by author's hand rather than a gradual fleshing out throughout the books, which is why I find his character seeking redemption within every niche of his life.

Of course, this is an opinion, and is reflective when I chose to swap Severus with Harry holding Lily transforming into Hermione.

Secondly, as much as I wanted Severus to be warmer, or even happy, with Hermione, as he's taken the role as her guardian angel, I just couldn't. His hardened personality is what drove the character, and what drove his character into setting Harry for the final confrontation. I couldn't see Severus, even on the “other side,” be anything more than “himself”. He tells Hermione her choices, and he's precise, telling it like it is in as few words as possible, affectively.

And yes, before anyone says to me what JK said about Voldemort and children, realize this fiction (as well as other fiction on here) a thought on what could have happened. Even the most evil of persons crave biological needs. To say Voldemort never ate or drank, too… The chapter underwent numerous reads to make sure I was giving you, the reader, enough information to draw your own conclusions.}

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69. Storm

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Sixty-Nine - Storm

***

August 1, 2002

London, England

3:21 AM

10 Downing Street

“Right… Right. Chief, keep me updated. Anything else happens call me straight away. All right. Thank you very much, yes—I'm fine. Okay. Good bye.”

Tony Blair hangs up the telephone, sitting at his desk. He places his elbows atop it and looks out the nearest window at the pouring rain and thunder outside. Lightning strikes, sending a shiver down his spine. His eyes detract when he hears the coming of footsteps on the carpet, the soft pitter-patter of shoes, his Minister's door open. He gazes at a man of dark skin in plum robes, his broad shoulder nearly equaling that of the distance between the doorframes.

One can see the single-loop earring in his ear, even in the darkness, a single-lit lamp on Blair's face.

“Everything check out, Royal? I want the truth.”

“The Muggles will be safe and secure, Minister.”

Royal's deep voice reassures Minister Blair who doesn't reply, his eyes moving back towards the panes of the bludgeoned window, to the chaotic thunderstorm outside.

***

August 1, 2002

London, England

3:29 AM

During a BBC newscast

“Fiona, what is going on there? Do you have any word on what caused the fiery explosion minutes ago?”

A blonde with an umbrella and raingear on stands in front of a chain-linked fenced off area of what used to be a coal factory, now abandoned. A sign, tilted off its fastened hinge, behind her reads, “KEEP OUT!” The winds pick up, delivering the raindrops sideways as she tries to keep the water from her face, an umbrella in her hand with a microphone in her other. One can see from her incessant blinking the sheer blows of the zephyrs.

“Fire crews and police are ensuring us that they have the flames, which are spewing the blackest of clouds I've ever seen into the night's sky, contained and that this incident is under control. Prime Minister Blair has released a public statement addressing, again, the swift actions of the rescue crews on scene and how there will be a full-length investigation into the matter.”

“The flames look brutal!” announces the news anchor, split-feed from BBC headquarters.

The camera zooms in at the fire, an evident hole in the top most right side of the building showing, the orange-and-black giving outline to its enormity. The camera zooms back out to Fiona.

“They do indeed, and the residence in-and-around the neighbourhood are wondering why this happened. The factory has been abandoned for quite some time. There were no warning signs, nothing at all according to some; though, Missus Wilkerson stands to my side, her home not too far from here. She's with me to shed at least some light as to how this occurred.”

Missus Wilkerson, an elderly lady with a shawl and a yellowed, off-white rain slicker on, hugs herself in the strong winds and rain. Fiona, as they draw closer together, shares her umbrella as the old woman chimes in.

Missus Wilkerson points over yonder at the factory, stating in an aged tone, trembling vocals, “I'd just taken the last of the laundry from the line before the rain set in when suddenly the factory wall over there blew up.”

“Blew up, you say? Like a bomb?”

“It could have been, and with all the terrorist attacks happening—but, the factory hasn't been used in ages. My late husband worked there, and when the plant shut down two decades ago he had to look for other work.”

“How long has the factory been closed?”

“Maybe 22, or 23 years ago. And it was a travesty to see it let go. The government wanted to change from coal to cleaner electricity—but what they don't see is my husband and our friends in this neighbourhood who were left without work for some time.”

“I'm sorry to hear that, Missus Wilkerson.”

“Sometimes, though, we see lights shining at night around the factory. Maybe it's the spirits of those wanting to return to work.”

Fiona and Missus Wilkerson chuckle.

“They're probably squatters. I hope no one got hurt.”

“The fire and police squads have yet to find any bodies.”

“That's great news, dear. I'd hate to hear those poor, lonely souls have died—whoever was in there trying to survive.”

“You said you saw something before the explosion? We were talking before going live.”

“Yes, love. I saw what looked like purple smoke trails. I thought I'd gone mad, and in a blink they were gone. So, I gathered up the rest of my whites and then that's when the ground shook. That's when the fires erupted.”

“Could this have been a terrorist attack?” asks the BBC anchor, splitting, once again, the feed between Fiona's live commentaries. “Is that why Prime Minister Blair has been said to have called the London police chief?”

“Nothing adds up, Grace,” says Fiona into her microphone, turning to look at the camera lens. She gives the umbrella to Missus Wilkerson to hold as she readjusts the receiver in her ear, drenched from head-to-toe. “The question is: why would anyone want to bomb—if that's what it turns out to be—an old factory?”

***

August 1, 2002

London, England

3:13 AM

The Quibbler Headquarters

A man of obsidian skin, and thick, almost scale-like, followed Luna Lovegood throughout the wings she traverses. Talking briefly, she received updates on the news her fellow reporters and journalists, her intellectuals have gotten inside and about the Death Eaters and their present objectives. He'd stop, his tattered cloak shifting as he did, ever-vigilant of the golden locks in his red-eyed sight. Hair of purest white gave framework to his youthful, yet war-ridden face, and his armor, more than that of the brethren around him, gave precedence to a higher, skillful position among his kin.

On her way back to her office, desk after desk in a flurry of speeches and Quick Quills, did the Dark Elf say in silent whisper, “I sense something in the wind, Miss Lovegood.”

He stops, and as he does, Luna turned to meet him, his rosewood irises flicking to the ceiling, to the wall aside them.

His sixth sense.

“Balthier,” she stated in her signature sweet and innocent lofty Luna way, and with a brilliant smile. She placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “Everything's going to be o—“

…Egyl tol…

Balthier heard Him in the winds; but, his reaction not in time. He saw first the brick and mortar, the wall press in, each individual rock blown weightlessly across them. He went to reach out, to see the stone hit her. She went down, unable by the surprise attack, to go for her wand. As if in slow motion he stepped above her allowing each shattering brick to pummel him. He fell atop her, covering her form, cradling her to him until another powerful explosion rocked aside them. He was cast in the opposite direction, a hand out as Luna was flown, too, against a surviving wall within the headquarters.

Balthier, grunting, gritting his teeth, pushed from the hard rubble he landed on. He saw as he pressed forward, inching from his knees off the disastrous floor, fire, thick, black smoke clouding his site. He saw beings, black forms, reaching the lifeless innocence of what had been a chipper Luna Lovegood from the now gaping hole in the roof. They flew in, the Quibbler employees beginning to fight back, colours of the rainbow lighting the night which drew forever inside, the lamps shorting out.

He felt the coldness they brought, the dastardly masks of which covered their face as one looked at him, and then found Luna yards away.

He saw the Death Eater's wand, and with every ounce of strength he had lifted himself. In seconds, and with a shout, he unsheathed his bow and let loose a fiery arrow, the arrow inflamed by only his touch. The bolt sailed in an instant towards its target, and with precision, the green death glowing at the tip of the Death Eater's wand went out. The arrow had struck his skull, backside-in, cracking the mask he wore to mere dust of what it was.

Balthier let loose another, seeing his arrow through the man's head, through his eye socket, turn to him, his wand at the ready. A purplish shield didn't protect him, the arrow penetrating evil's intentions and struck, this time, his heart. He heard the man scream, saw his one eye now unveiled behind the mask look at him before succumbing to the Maker. The Death Eater fell to the ground beside Luna, starkly contrasted to the faultlessness in which he had so readily wanted to take.

Balthier climbed over large portions of what once was the perimeter of Quibbler HQ, pushing them away to get at the one he put his life on the line to defend. At her, he saw her eyes closed, the cut across her face and where the first brick had landed on impact, a splotch of red oozing from her golden crown. He shed a tear as he hastily reached for her jugular to feel of her pulse, to her chest to feel her heart still in beat. He heard his brethren in fight, his beautiful language intermixed with the deathly chants spewing forth from the malevolent.

He had to get her out, to get Luna out as much as he found remorse in leaving his brothers and sisters behind.

He scooped up the delicate, listless form in his arms and leapt from one of the many holes having cratered the rooftop.

***

Commercial District, Violet Hill

A thinly, bird-like woman plays itself on the various screens throughout the city, on every road, on the buildings, anything the Prophet Media News Network could control—did.

“This is a warning to anyone who goes against Minister Nolpho's Word and the Ministry itself. Lay down your wands and come peacefully. If you do not accept this decision, then you surely seek death. Anyone not abiding by the Laws will be arrested, their last rites given, and killed. I repeat, this is a warning to anyone who goes against Minister Nolpho's Word and the Ministry itself. Lay down your wands and come peace—“

“Reducto!” A man had had enough, taking liberty as he runs by, fires ablaze—the only lights left in the Commercial District main square—to relinquish the droning noise repeated on every corner. The screen fizzles, short-circuits and explodes, raining down slivers of light.

Voices shout and screams are heard amongst shadows. Magical citizens and creature alike have taken up their wands. They fight in the streets, shielded behind magic and concrete, wood, whatever they can find as terror rains down upon them. Death Eaters in droves circle the skies, dropping in, within their black smoke, to chase a person or people as they counter and cast their spells in tandem.

A Hungarian Horn-tail swoops down from betwixt buildings, raking and clawing his way southward. He latches onto a fleeing group, chanting spell after spell towards the dragon as he breathes flame in defense. Having grabbed a hold of a few, he begins his ascent into the sky only to have an assault of arrows after him. They strike his thick hide, and he belches fire in anger, ripping backward with the flailing creature and kin in his grasps. Elves descend from atop roofs, anchors at the ready as they use hooks to secure themselves from falling off. Tearing the Horn-tail's flesh, they try in struggle to get at its head.

The dragon falls, a thunderous boom echoing when it lands on its side. Elves have already gotten to its underbelly, sawing off his talons, freeing those still alive. Others have plucked out his eyes, tactically bled the monster until its fight slows, and then stops.

A goblin, running for his life is caught between a dead-end and an ogre unleashed into the frenzied masses. His beady black eyes widen, sensing only death upon him when a traveling group of vigilantes, humans, hear him, and then see the wailing goblin.

“Avada Kedavra!” shouts a woman in the crowd, striking the backside of the ogre's head. The ogres head is lopped off, rolling down from his shoulder as blood spews against the stone alley. It buckles at the knees, dead, and lands with a thud.

“Thank you!” cried the goblin. “Thank you!”

“No time!” The same woman reached for the goblin. “We've got to move!”

“Watch out!”

Black smoke appears behind the clique, miniscule in size of three, family even. Behind their backs, only the goblin witnesses the Death Eater's forming shape. He says something in gobbledygook before the humans realize, raising his tiny hands and blasting back the Death Eater before he could aim his wand.

White cloaks push back the larger groups of black, chasing them in midair. Those on the ground can only look up to see trails of black screeching in the sky, and not too far behind a trail of white. Some, as they zip by, release such an enormous spout of magicks the screens, the droll from the repetitious pointed-nose woman are drowned out, suffocated, and one by one burst with a sea of light.

An Elf stood at the ready, setting himself and his bow aligned with a rampaging mountain troll tearing through the downtown. He aimed, and just as he was to fire came barreling from behind, and then atop him, a werewolf. He struggled, trying to find his dagger in his tunic, but is a lost cause, even when his kin see him. They take down the werewolf, and more as they come, smelling fresh blood, but it is too late. The elf is left without much of a throat and shoulder left.

On the outskirts of the city, the Auror resistance takes the advantage, pincer attacking a collective of Death Eaters between them and Centaurs. When the Death Eaters retreat, running wildly for the hills, they are faced with the half man-half horse creatures. One of the Centaurs even smiles when he sees the soul in a Death Eater's eye fade. After the battle, those Centaurs and Aurors look back at the horizon engulfed in flames; and, although exhausted physically and mentally, charge right back into the Violet Hill limits.

Hundreds, if not thousands, of Dark Marks litter the skies above the city.

***

When I landed, I landed on my backside, and to say the landing didn't hurt would be an understatement. I fell on a concrete floor tiled with what looked like marble, and the pain shot from the end of my spine and upwards. I made a gasp for air, and began to get up, my olfactory senses immediately sensing the smell of sulfur and gaseous fumes. I took my shirt and had it act as a buffer between the stench of iron and the heavy smog carrying the room between flame and smoke.

I couldn't see straight ahead of me, my vision impaired. I looked at the decaying ceiling, burnt as much as those walls around me. I saw what looked like desks, chairs—offices of some kind? The Daily Prophet newspaper was still in my grasps, and as I went to sit up did I see something amongst the upturned, inside-out room…and to say it were a familiar face…

A mask of horror, built of skeleton loomed at my side.

He had a wand pointed at me, as if waiting for me all this time to appear here, wherever I was.

A trap? Was this all a trap?

The doe…Severus…

I couldn't think, the wand glowing green at its tip.

My very pupils grew in size.

It's over.

I closed my eyes.

No way around it, there was no way I could get to my wand fast enough.

Death had found me, and I waited, the promise of seeing Harry on the other side my only relief.

Every fibre in my being tensed, gathering what I only dreamt would be the minute of distress before leaving mortality. I hoped it would be quick, hearing Sirius through Harry how death was but a sleep into the next life. I hoped it true.

I could see the viridian through my closed eyes, and I saw it like a light at the end of a long and arduous journey, a tunnel.

Kings Cross station, the Hogwarts Express and Harry's outreached hand to receive its new passenger…

“Avada Kedavra!”

Frozen, I flinched…

And, the light was gone, darkness my sight once again.

I opened my eyes…

…Wishing to see the brightness of the otherworld, and Harry's lovely face…

…To see, still, the flames, the soot, the acrid odor burning the inside of my throat and nostrils.

Water in my eyes, I flipped around to see where the voice had come from…to see…

A mishmash of a disheveled woman, and unlike I've ever seen before… Her locks of blonde a mess, hanging from her shoulders rather than up and rigid. Her spectacles hung far from the bridge of her nose, so far they've set to fall off her face. Her cheeks were ashen, her dress far from beautiful, scorched at places and whatever colour left in the material now fell victim to the thick blackish environ. Her talons, or lack thereof, more human now, gripped the sides of what used to be an office cubical, a side panel of broken, burned wood.

She leaned her weight atop the panel, and looked as if to topple in any moment…her wand still pointed in my direction, but downwards and at the fallen Death Eater. Her wand lay still on the Death Eater for fear the corpse would somehow bound back and strike again. She was breathless…a shell of her former self, shown to have been through Hell and back.

Rita Skeeter.

I realized…

We were inside Prophet Media, inside the heart of the Daily Prophet.

The newspaper…a portkey…here…

“Rita…?” Climbing from the floor, I watched her eyes, her glazed over sight remain on the dead Death Eater a moment, and then look at me…as if I were some ghost from the past, too.

Her body finally slid down, powerless and without strength, and me, my arms, hands, helped—or tried to—stabilize her woeful release.

“It's not safe here…,” she gasped with me on my knees aside her. She wouldn't look at me, she only looked about her, the destruction, her kingdom fallen. “…I knew no one else who would understand.”

“The portkey—“

Her dark eyes looked at me, and she was frail, old, she looked nothing like the Rita we all knew and loved. She nodded at me. She raised her trembling hand to touch me, and I took her into my own. She smiled, feeling my cheek. “…I'm sorry…for everything…”

Tears appeared from my ducts and fell, running and ruining the ebon colour which subsided on my pale cheeks. I couldn't hate her…after everything… Her remorse was honest, and I felt her calling repentance for her past… I couldn't hate her any longer. It was not the time for that.

I just shook my head, my brunette tangles shifting. I allowed her to feel of me, her fingers, as if she knew not of why I answered…nor if I were truly there. “…I'm sorry…Harry…you…the Ord—“

She sputtered into a coughing fit.

My head flicked around when I heard something go off, an explosion having me jolt. I couldn't see passed where we were, the distance clouded by the black smoke and falling, burning debris.

I turned back to her. “I've got to get you out of here—it's not safe—“

She shook her head and let her head fall back to the wood panel. “My only children dead…they abused them, and now they lay here…gone…I can't leave them—“

“There's a cottage on the outskirts of Cornwall, by the sea—it's a safe home to lay low—“

“Hermione…,” Rita breathed in that awful air, coughing. She shook her head. “…I've nothing left to fight for…Quincy killed what remained of my family…to exact revenge on my insolence…when we fought back, they killed Shade…she's dead…me—“

“…I helped do that,” she whispered, her enlarged eyes never leaving mine. “I've blood on my hands.”

A lengthy pause came as we both stared at one another, the epitome of what once considered enemy-and-enemy now sharing humanity, commonality and confession.

“I can't leave you here…,” I replied. The revelation of Shade, of her family… I tried to put it aside, my open heart readily wanting Rita to live. I could see her pain, feel the pain from her very fingertips…and I could feel, if I were not there, that she really would give herself up.

“A portkey—“ Rita coughed, and I patted her back, tried to get her to put something over her face like me so she wouldn't continue to breathe the horrid air in. She refused, swatting my hand back. “No—“

“You must!”

She dismissed me. “There's a portkey…in my office…down the hall…chocolate frog card on my desk…”

“Use it,” she wheezed. “Use it.”

She gripped my hands, shook my hands as if to emphasize the dire need.

“Where will it take me?”

“To him.”

“Him?”

“Draco.”

“What are you doing?” she insisted.

I told her again, as I began helping her to her feet, “I'm not leaving you here!”

I had her arm about my shoulder, and we walked ever-so-slowly down the hallway. She wanted to sway, but I wouldn't let her fall, keeping easy pace. The state she was in, the lacerations on her body, the limpness of her form… Death had nearly found her. I was grateful she didn't struggle; though, with any strength left I could see her doing so.

“I've got you,” I said when I could feel her losing grip. “I've got you.”

“Leave me!”

“No!” I lashed out. We hadn't time for this.

We had made it into her office, a golden plaque above the door having a blurred burnt mark across her elaborately cursive-written name. One couldn't see what used to be a gorgeously stained wooden floor. Great wooden beams and concrete block fallen everywhere. With her, I took step first and helped her along step by gentle step.

“Hang onto me!” I retorted when I could feel her letting go. “Hang onto me, damn it! Don't you dare let go of me!”

I grabbed a fistful of her sooty dress, attaching myself, and I saw a little bit of Rita's signature wry smirk…albeit more sincere. She looked at me as I reached for the chocolate frog card of Albus Dumbledore on her scrap-ridden desk. I didn't even recognize the irony, someone so equivocally against Albus now having set a portkey through one of the last remaining entities of him.

“Hermione…,” Rita said through a cough.

My eyes went to her, and I could see warmth behind them.

“You—the Order—,” My fingers took hold of the chocolate frog card, and we were instantly pulled in; but, not before Rita echoed with:

“You truly are our last hope.”

***

August 1, 2002

London, England

2:58 AM

From a secured position within the Department of Mysteries

Draco, on his father's cane, peers upwards at a blank portrait of what used to be Albus Dumbledore sleeping in a chair. Now, the chair laid bare—and having been since last year after Harry's death. Draco stared in wait, his focus intent, anticipating something that never came. He was alone with his intimate stance, his unblinking eyes carefully set and stayed.

He swallowed hard, his makeshift sanctuary reiterating the swallow. The candlelight led a glow against his face, against the golden frame of the portrait which imitated the same hue upon Draco.

“I hope you've prepared them well,” He spoke to the painting, solicitation readily in his voice. The portrait remained silent. “Hear me; we need your guidance now more than ever, Albus.”

The door to the office swung open, and with it came a white cloak, a scout, “We've initiated first attack against them, sir!”

Draco had swung around on his cane.

His gaze remained on the adrenaline-pumped scout a while before he gave the ultimate statement, “It has begun.”

***

{Author's Note: I went back to the soundtrack of both part one and two of Deathly Hallows and really tried to absorb the dual emotions of helplessness and hopefulness from the pieces. And after many Southern Comfort commercials on Youtube, I believe I've succeeded in showcasing those two strong feelings with this chapter and the past consecutive chapters. Also, of course, our dancing scene in DH1 and the powerful lyrics of Nick Cave inspired.}

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70. Beast

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Seventy - Beast

***

“I'm sorry, Hermione.”

“What?!” How I could see her, and that of her wand, through the melting world of light and colour… She held the tip at my attachment, my grip of her dress when her eyes went to mine.

She smiled contentedly, a genuine, freed grin, an image I'd bet in any past life no one would ever see on Rita. A small jolt burst from the wand's tip, and it struck me like a white-hot fire, but only a second—a second for my hand to release Rita. I went to grab at her, take her back again in any shape my grasp could hold, but as I was sucked one way she shot off in another. The spell she had chanted evidently had momentum, propelling her away from me as well as the liberation.

“I've done enough damage…,” I heard her in echoes, fighting as I may the force that drew me backward. Her figure began to fade into the fast lights enwrapped about us, taken to some other destination than that of her portkey—or, should I say, mine.

“Give `em Hell for me,” she winked, and then she was gone, my flailing arms still outreached to grasp at nothing.

Drumfire, I could hear the thunderous barrage, breaking through churning, dark clouds in freefall. I tried to return my equilibrium, having left any trace of balance when I went for Rita. Alas, struggling, I kept in my turn, and at this rate I'd fall straight on my neck. I fought hard against the acceleration, seeing magical discharge, flumes of thick, black smoke and that of white. I gave it my all, flinging myself upward like a swing so I'd better prepare to land on my feet rather than my head.

I put too much effort into it, now seeing the ground closing in and one of the three-pointed basalt brick walls of Azkaban Prison. Dropping by Dementors in the fray, they immediately picked up my scent, in chase and behind me. I made an effort, again, to turn back rightside-up, seeing spells zoom around me. The colours were intangible, tangled, like webs connected to fire, bullets homing in on their targets.

I could see a dragon in flight, a Common Welsh Green, swoop down. Its great wings, its claws sunk themselves into the side the prison wall. It scraped the brick, cobblestone cascading with ease down towards the jagged rocks and sea below, pelting anyone dare close enough. The Welsh Green in frenzy, snapped and spewed forth flame at anything, swatting Death Eater and Auror from the air like flies. A particularly daft Death Eater gave brunt to the most gruesome of swipes, the dragon's claw tearing his body in two as he tried to best the Auror's heels he followed after thinking he'd found a quicker way: beneath the dragon itself.

I looked back and saw the trail of Dementors in pursuit. I saw what looked like gunfire, magicks in straight lines rather than the slightly curved partner of ours. They would strike, tearing the tattered hate like paper. My hand for my wand, my feet facing the ground of which I'd land, I peered up and readied the incantation on my tongue. A strikingly brilliant blue light rose from below me, pushed upwards, like a bubble, never fazing me but when struck the flying gaggle came screams. The Dementors turned back and fled towards the skies, consuming whatever Auror or Death Eater flying by.

I fell through another bubble, transparent and of green hue which settled my fall and immediately slowed me down. I could hear voices, people in chaos, maddening calls and other languages I'd never heard of—all speaking as one, and none differentiated.

“I've had a habit of underestimating you, Granger!” I saw Draco, his blonde hair starkly white within a sharp bolt of lightning. He yelled through the deluge of rain, or at least its noise, as I came down through what appeared to be some sort of shield. It wasn't protego, in fact the barrier felt organic…an odd feeling, and as I searched the corners did I find Elves. They maintained the globe with a vigilant chant, never looking in any other direction than forward.

I caught the black, leather-gloved hand of Draco at the conclusion of my descent. My feet hit the sturdy, yet shaking ground. We were dry, and I could see Draco clearly as he spoke, his grey eyes studying me over. “The old fossil put more stock in you, but I sure didn't.”

“Did you happen to leave your calling card?” his banter and mine, betwixt my index and middle fingers held the chocolate frog card. The sheen gave light with another bolt of lightning, Albus Dumbledore's face smiling at Draco, unbeknownst to me.

He plucked the card from me and immediately placed it secure in his coat pocket. “Every obstacle you've faced you've overcome.”

He kept his eyes to the sky, the swarm of death above us.

I looked, too, and saw Death Eaters, try as they may, sweep down in their blackest of smoke and bounce off the Elven magicks dispersed from their hands.

“Will they get in?”

“We're hoping for the best, Granger—keep your head on, and keep it down. I gave Harry a promise after he saved my arse in that fire. I'd keep you safe, and that is thusly my intention.”

“What?!” I swung back around. “It was you! I knew not of why I was placed in such a state—a draught of some kind—you, Severus—“

“All that time brewing wasted… I could have done other things if I knew just how stubborn you really were. I'll remember that next time.”

“There won't be a next time! I'm done running!”

Draco seemed to loosen from himself, his sight escaping the skies to me. His pupils, from our closeness, dilated at my very words. He seemed to know my final conclusion, the absolute answer. I was not to be crossed. I was Hermione Jane Granger, the steadfast thinker, the lover, the woman to be wedded to the most courageous of men in the history of the wizarding world. And he, Harry, his soul ran within mine.

I was going into the fray—and I'd fight Malfoy to get to the end.

“She's here.”

“Who?” He asked, and I found it almost amusingly rhetoric.

He knew exactly.

“Sarilda.”

He paused, his eyes never quite stopped studying me, soaking the furrowed brow, the traversed madness of my mind, and the revenge in my heart.

“I fear we're up against something far greater than Sarilda, Granger.”

“I want her—!”

He grabbed my shoulders, and how quick and strong his jerk of me abated my sentence. “Stow your hatred, I plea! Remove it—now! Your vengeance will surely be our downfall!”

“She killed him!”

“They're attempting a complete resurrection of Voldemort! We haven't time for such animus!”

My eyes grew wide.

“They've stolen a work shed only from the deepest pits of Hell. They've taken it—the Tome of Blood—Muerte Grimoire—Liber Mortuorum. They've all the same meaning…”

I had mouthed each titled description for the same tome after he said them…

“The Book of Death.”

“The Book of the Dead.”

“But history! I—I read it…,” I couldn't think. My words were all jumbled in my head. “I know what it is! It was said it never existed—that Egyptians, the Mesopotamians, the—historians and philosophers said the book but a ruse! The infamous Holy Grail! Pandora's Box!”

“Nothing is certain and everything is certain, Granger! Look around us! Muggles don't believe in magic—say magic doesn't exist!”

“We've got to get up there! We've got to stop—!”

“Down—we're fighting downward, not up—into certain abyss of Azkaban's belly.”

“Come on! No time to waste!”

“Granger!”

“Draco!”

“I want you to stay right beside me—right beside me, do you hear me?! The moment you run off I swear I'll body-bind curse you from here till next week!”

“Same for you, Malfoy—I've about as much trust in your word as does a mouse to a snake!”

“Who would have thought—you and me—a team?”

“Current situations do find time for irony these days.”

Draco chuckled, but became serious in haste. He withdrew his wand and shot a spark of white from its tip. By the time the white sparks faded dozens of white cloaks had appeared until we were surrounded in a circle with us two the centre. He let the lightning, and then thunder die before initiating his next speech:

“Our brothers and sisters inside have pushed to the middle rung! Our victory won't come easily as the final press will be the hardest! They'll surely find ways and means—search for traps, do not go into rooms and fight alone! Our goal is the bottom, the basement, Hell itself. This is where we'll find Quincy Nolpho and Sarilda Lestrange. This is where we'll find the most powerful of powerful of their lot! Anything goes and watch your backsides. I want all of us alive at the end of this—I want to see the thousands of my men's faces when we are triumphant over evil and have taken back liberty and freedom, what is truly ours!”

“Sir!” They saluted, a fist to their chests.

“All right men!” Draco pivoted on his cane towards a large, gaping hole in the side of Azkaban. I hadn't noticed, the dark brick blending with the dull colour of the island, the barren, lifeless grounds. I guessed they hadn't guessed to go through the front door. He raised his arm, pointed onwards and shouted: “For the future! Our families! Our children!”

The shine from the Aurors glowed to such intensity that I had to close my eyes, and in that split second we were left alone but for a dozen white cloaks at Draco's side. A beat passed, the residual mists dispersing into the side of the opened all. Inside came flashes of light, of chants, screams, and I hoped not of ours. I saw blurriness in my vision as dozens of Elves raced in behind the resistance, leaping headlong into the broken wall and down into the black depths. Other men, of all ethnicities, of robes and clothing not unlike ours, tip what could be their hats towards Draco as teams of them repeated the Elven footsteps.

“Stay with me.”

Draco reached for me with his black leather-gloved hand.

He turned to me with those warm grey eyes of his.

“Stay with me.”

I nodded and took his hand, the very warmth of his eyes seeping through the leather.

“Catch my coat sleeve with your other hand and hold tight.”

I followed his word, shuffling to stand now in front of him. Something in the back of my mind found this awkward, and it came to conscious. My hand in Draco's, my other hand on clasp to his far sleeve, and we so incredibly close… Draco sensed the feeling, too, and huffed.

“Don't get any crafty ideas, Granger. I'm a happily married man.”

I rolled my eyes, and gave a huff, too. “And, I'm happily engaged.”

He chuckled, and went to put his left arm around my right shoulder. He tucked his right underneath my left. For all intensive purposes…we were in embrace. I heard him chuckle, again, at my tensed sigh, and I blew a huff again from my diaphragm.

“Keep your head down—keep your head on my coat—and try not to look. You might get sick.”

“I'm tougher than you know.”

“Women.”

I gave his arm the tightest squeeze I could give.

He laughed and readied the call. His arm moved, and I saw him motion with his hand the go. “Hold on,” he said in my ear.

I felt my feet leave the ground.

I felt a whoosh of air, a feeling as if I were traversing quickly through a stream of water. I heard the noise coming, and I became rigid. The noise was more like a wall, and we were heading towards it, about to break through. When we did the sound overwhelmed me. I hadn't ever in my wildest dreams heard the kind of buzzing I heard blaring in my ears. For a moment I thought to cover them, but when Draco felt the slightest of my movement he hugged me further, keeping me in position.

I found his arm move from my shoulder, down my back, to across the back of my head. He knew of my plight, the deafening banging, like shots, bullets, a gun fight. The sound was snuffed greatly by Draco's change; but, with the change came my own.

I had opened my eyes, a blink really, to have them fully open and see the horror I was being flown through. What resembled fangs, a claw, a wretched hand separated the irony stone and pitch overhead, the torrential rains pouring forth through a broken chasm at the top of Azkaban. About us, the stench of decay and death, of pain, and the foul smell of human excrement. I buried my nose deep within Draco, the odor having me gag. The warmer environment grew increasingly cold, and colder still as icicles hung to the wall, the rain turning to hard sleet.

We had to have been floors deep by now. I knew of stories about Azkaban, the horrors of which kept the place. The stories never came close to the repugnance, the dominion that could only be described in something like Dante's Inferno with each rung of Azkaban gaining distress and despair. Only the blasphemous of humanity, those of evil could ever reach these depths, and as my eyes flittered to the lightning-wrought skies once more did I see the visage drawing dimmer. Darkness dutifully suffocated the light.

I closed my eyes and found again my strength and will. Easily detachable, true happiness and love could never survive this bottomless pit. Even my skin, so evident with care, nearly illuminated against its opposition. My eyes opened at the encroachment of another barrier of sound, louder than the feet, miles from where we began. My very fibre shook, a chill surrendering my spine. I found myself lacking, and thought retrospectively a coat would have helped, only a simple shirt and jeans to my name. But, only fleeting the simple thought came and went.

Something had hit us—or somethings.

I smelled the smoke, saw the fire on Draco.

I dropped from him, his grasp, unattended consequence after the flame had struck him. He struggled to find help, and had let me go. I fell without wings, falling quick as I reached out to air to see Draco alit with fire. Closing in our troupe, Death Eaters had broken through his Aurors, the white overcome with black. I saw him, his grey eyes watch me fall, his black leather-gloved out for me.

I felt hundreds of pounds heavier, dropping fast, seeing only blackness under my feet. Stairways wrapping the inside perimeter of Azkaban I saw the fighting, zipping by Auror and Death Eater alike. If I were to die, I thought. I might as well take some of the bastards out! I pointed my wand, tossing, casting spell after spell at each sight of Death Eater, in the flesh or through their purplish-black contrails. A spell of mine hit one in-chase with an Auror, and I saw him, or her, fall right along with me. I started again, trying my best, trying everything—anything my mind could come up with—to help, fight back, however helpless I'd become.

I felt something wrap around me, a chain, rope-like and I was ripped from my fall. My fall slowed, and I noticed an ever-so-slight blur beneath my shoes as if I were on some invisible, floating cloud. Pulled towards a side wall, something leapt to me and I was taken from flight, my sight went back as the rogue Death Eater I'd taken continued his descent into the darkness. I felt a body, and nothing truer than warmth as he, or she—it—had brought me down with them and into a dank, darkly corridor of Azkaban.

I went to rebel, chant, cast a spell, but was immediately hushed. The something, a hand, their hand was placed over my mouth.

“Shh!” It said. In the pitch I couldn't see anything; though, I could feel more leather and that of fingers at my mouth. I heard a language I hadn't heard—and beautiful—Elven?—whisper silently to something… Someone?

“Lumos,” called another whisper, a familiar whisper, and I saw in the light Weasley-red.

Ronald!

My eyes widened, and I wanted to shout his name excitedly.

My eyes went to the one holding shut my mouth, and I saw between limited light and shadow the perfectly carved features of Alice. She didn't look like herself, though; serious, and more stoic. We had left the fight, the calls, shouts, wails seen through an archway around the corner from where we stood hidden in the wet stone corridor.

“Nox…,” whispered Ronald, hearing footsteps, seeing blackened masses of Death Eaters charge their way in from the main shaft.

In the darkness, Alice embraced me, pulled me down with her as we pressed ourselves steadily back into the corner.

“Draco's out there!” my whispers were silenced.

“Quiet!” announced immediately Alice. “They'll hear you!”

I nodded, but couldn't tell of where to nod.

“Where'd they scurry off to?! I saw those fucking Elves go this way!” said one Death Eater, filing into the open room next door.

They were closing in.

“Check every corner and watch your arses! You get caught in ambush it's your fault!

I could see the lights dancing in the corridor's hallway, and I could see them—one—flashing inside our tiny area. A wand's tip, and then its light quickly lit our room—which I saw to be one of Azkaban's many cells we crouched in—and instantly knew… This was it. I gripped my wand, and Alice stowed the twitch. I saw her form clearly now, a finger over her lips for me to be quiet. Ronald was aside her and behind, covering us with something translucent…a material…

The Invisibility cloak! Genius!

The masked intruder stood within the cell door, looked to his right, and then to his left. I saw him look straight at us. My heart pounded, my adrenaline raced. I tried to steady the pace of my breath, the wisp of white which expelled from my lips. I wondered if the cold cloud could be seen, and decided better to hold it. I closed my eyes, just seeing the disembodied skull brought me to tremble. I wasn't so much frightened than overly ready…wanting to fight.

“Any luck idiots?”

“Nothing in here!” yelled the Death Eater in our midst back towards his leader.

“What's the hold up? Keep moving then!”

The Death Eater vanished, jumping from the cell door and back into the corridor. The light from their wands trailed off with their footsteps, and soon we were alone once more. I let my breath out when Alice and Ronald moved, and I was so overjoyed to see them. I gave her the biggest hug, a release of emotions, so needed; and then one for Ron, embracing him like I hadn't seen him in ages. I kissed them both and hugged them again.

Alice and Ron smiled.

“You two are together now?” I mused.

“A very long story…,” Ronald lifted from his kneel, shedding the invisibility cloak from us.

“We make quite the duo,” said Alice with a bit of snark, a smirk.

“I've made every effort of protecting you, Hermione—why are you here?” The greetings were done. Ronald looked pissed. “This isn't where you want to be!”

“I'm done running, Ron—I'm done,” I shot back. “Harry sacrificed everything for me—for us—it's time we all, me, I pay him back in return.”

“He wouldn't have wanted you here!”

“I would have told him exactly how I felt, too.”

“You cannot deny Fate,” interjected Alice, her eyes on Ronald. His, so intent on Hermione as he stared her down, straight-faced, went back to Alice. “She is here for a reason—reasons beyond what we could ever control. You should know this. Look at the vast ocean Hermione crossed. She's here, and it's time to end this.”

Ron's eyes went to Hermione's. “I'm never done protecting you. I will continue to do so.”

“And, I'll be saving your arse time and time again.”

Ron and I bore into each other in our pause, one face as stern as the other.

“We'll take the corridor down—“ Alice grabbed my hand and we eased from the cell, peeking around the corner before setting off from the centre of Azkaban. She looked back at me when her hand released from mine. “Ready your wand, love.”

Alice reached for her bow, a bolt in wait.

My wand was in hand, firmly gripped, my index finger aligned with its rigidness. I looked back, too, to see Ron. He kept behind, watching our backs.

“Draco—“

“Draco can carry his own…” replied Ron, and when I looked at him he nodded. “Keep your eyes forward.”

Alice put her hand in the air and closed it, signaling to wait. “People are coming…,” she announced.

A felt a hand go to mine, to see it Ronald as he pulled me with Alice into a holding cell. The decrepit rock that was Azkaban shook, the stone ceiling chipping bits of cobble off. Ron had the invisibility cloak in hand and tossed it over all three of us. We sat down, huddled together, with Alice the elected lookout. We heard the shouting, people in a run, and then the dreaded colour of green.

I heard the Elven dialect, their beautifully language against the chants of death. They were in the corridor, the casters in flee, backtracking the length they had trekked. I heard arrows fly, its piercing whistle strike someone and their cry. Alice perked up, vigilant as the bodies drew closer—the Death Eaters in flight, their black smoke fuming into our cell and disappearing quickly. The visage of many a pointed ear, their multi-coloured tunics and white stretch-cloth in pursuit could be seen against the nebulous ambience, a hint of blue hue against the somber backdrop.

Alice softly said something I couldn't understand; a muted, inaudible something that caught one Elf's attention. He stopped at our door, the others rushing by, and stuck his head in. He looked right at us, and in that moment Alice ushered Ron to reveal ourselves. The invisibility cloak came off.

“Selli!” [Sister!] the Elf of darkest black skin opened his arms in greeting. “Mammen heru lende?!” [Where have you been?]

“Laume yaara, lo maure assira!” [No time, brother! We're in need of dire assistance!]

The Elf nodded, turned to shout, “Faerassein!” [Kin of Her!], and noted as he spoke, again, to Alice, “Tanelo assira, lo assira.” [Anything—we will help.]

The Elf's redden-sight gazed over at me while some of his kin flew to his side, breaking in a third to stand by him. As I looked back and into him, I could actually feel myself calming, the very heightened sense of awareness, of grief and sadness, subsiding tremendously. His eyes went back to Alice.

She spoke in English, maybe so I could understand, too. “Have we breeched the cover we blew?”

They began in haste moving back towards the way we were going, leaving the rest of the Elves in pressing back the Death Eaters. I took off after them, Alice and the Dark Elf's lead with Ron always at my side. We were in jog, turning down bleak hall after bleak hall. Candles stood in old, brass holders, unlit. Water dripped from the shaking ceiling, our foundation. One shock made us stop a second, to look around, to make positive our situation wasn't going to cave in, and begun when the eroded blocks sustained the damage from above.

“The resistance has plundered into the depths. We were about to dive in ourselves, but took defense when the Death Eaters rushed us from behind.”

“How many were there?”

“Too many—our unit has been broken into two, and now halved.”

“I'd wondered why we were so few.”

“By their desperation, this is their final stand. The revival of Evil itself is their persisted goal. We should have acted years ago to help prevent this from happening again. Here we are now.”

“Stop!” In mid-run, I halted and bumped into the back of Alice, and Ron into the back of me. He took my hand, and I squeezed his in return.

Alice's eyes went to the ceiling, and I could see her heaving chest. “I sense it…”

“I sense it now, too, sister.”

“Back up…,” she turned to us and yelled. “Back up—all of you!!”

The ceiling collapsed in front of us, stone raining down. Ron grabbed me and pulled me with him. I had my wand out, and aimed, being thoroughly dragged backwards by my Weasley friend. A head of translucent scales, of the smallest of black eyes and a round snout busted through: a Chinese Fireball, and an angry one, belched fire upon us. We began our sprint, retreating from the onslaught unbeknownst to the dragon. Death Eater had taken control of him, and as I looked back saw their lead.

The dragon, cramped, continued its clawing stalk, snapping at our heels and breathing breath after breath of rolling flame. The Death Eaters who had crawled their way inside from the hole in the ceiling gave barrage of spells, casting them around the Fireball at us. The dragon our largest problem, I threw counter-curses back, tossing up shields for protection and blowing down stone obstacles when we'd round a corner to impede their travel. The obstacles slowed them down, but the dragon barreled through the fallen cobble.

The Fireball would scream when the Death Eater's would shoot violently a spell to carry him on.

I heard their chants, the Killing Curse over the dragon's wails. “Avada Kedavra! Avada Kedavra! AVADA KEDAVRA!!”

Bullets of green sparked from their wand's tips, but would fade at mine, the Elves and Ron's anti-magic.

“Everyone left!”

I'd been too busy concentrating on hindering those that hunted us, between circumventing their spells back and creating destruction to halt their steps, did I never see the fork in the road. Ron literally picked me up and yanked me around the corner. My Expelliarmus went off just as he tugged me, snapping back the hand of one, followed by my Stupefy which knocked him back towards the opened, furious mouth of the Chinese Fireball.

“Keep running! Keep running!”

“Dementors!”

Farther down the length of our new corridor came those tattered robes, mindless bodies in search of content souls. Even from here could we hear the sucking sound, the perpetual inhale. They were coming, and coming fast. What little flesh still clung to their boney fingers scabbed over and scrapped at the walls, a screech, constant nails raking against stone. Another fork closed in, but the distance would be close, too close, and behind us the dragon loomed in follow.

“Right or left?!” barked Ron towards the Elves, towards Alice now behind us.

“Take the next right!” yelled the dark-skinned Elf. “We'll hold off the Fireball behind us—use your Patronus!”

“They're too close! Dodge—lower your heads and keep running! Don't stop!”

Ron waved his hand, light, like electricity run between and through his fingers. A flash of light enveloped our sight, and suddenly we had a little Jack Russell terrier nipping with our stride.

“Here they come—go, go, GO! QUICK!”

Their frigid breath was upon me, us, and as I gave a final zap from my wand at the dragon did I feel the suck of a Dementor. The Dementor only slowed me down, my feet still in frantic run. Ron still had my hand, a body shield between me and the darkness. I didn't have time to see the Dementors flee, but heard their cries, the growls of the Jack Russell terrier tearing into them.

I looked back, hearing the wailing of men and fire pour into the cobbled hall. My eyes widened, the fire, its flicker evident in my sight. I saw Elves running ahead of the flames. The fire spread, wall-to-wall, branching easily into the cells we went by and swallowed them with its intense heat.

“Ron!” I screamed out, followed by, “Aguamenti!”

The jet of water shot from my wand's tip was immediately devoured by a grinning skull, a familiar face appearing within the beginning of the licking, rolling flames. Voldemort, his wicked smile, opened his mouth and ingurgitated the spout.

“Fiendfyre!”

Ron did a swift turnabout, and in sprint ran right by him. He released me from his grasp. I went to stop, only to be taken by Alice and the rest of her Elves. She had picked me up, my arm, my hand reaching, trying to get at Ronald's planted form. He stopped, and I screamed. My body bobbed in Alice's arms, her spring juggling me as I fought hard to have her release me. Ron had been left behind!

“Alice! Let me go! Please! Ron!”

She ignored me.

Tears welled in my eyes, my sight seeking the decreasing figure of Weasley-red growing smaller in size the faster we fled.

“Ron! RON!!” The vehement wails lambasted my throat sore.

I saw him look back, his body a mere silhouette against the fiery background.

He had his arms out, a white light keeping the flames at bay.

“I love you,” I heard him say. In my panicked state, in my cry, I fought to go back and rescue him. “I love you, Hermione.”

“Ron!!!”

We had turned another corner, and the atmosphere grew deathly quiet, still, the blackness consuming all but a flitter of light from once we were.

“We have to go back!” I pleaded to Alice, the Elves around me. “We have to go! He can't—“

“He can,” Alice had found her voice. “And he will. His character is strong, his will stronger. He made a choice that can save us all.”

“He `made a choice'?! We have to go back! I need to go back!”

“Hermione!” She sounded like mum which brought me back, grounded from my cry. “Come out of it—this isn't about one, it's about us. Us—we all will finish this. Ronald will come out this, and with his sacrifice we must continue—to finish this once and for all!”

“Don't act as if he's dead!”

“He's not dead—we feel him—a soul as caring as his.”

“I just don't—“

We stopped, and I was placed on the ground.

Alice grabbed me by my shoulders and our faces were mere inches apart. She gazed at me, stared straight into my eyes. The sound of fighting became white noise as we engaged each other without words.

“We'll go scout ahead, Aedirwen,” said a few Elves, leaping off in the direction in which we stopped.

“What is it that you want?!” She shook me with exhaustion in her voice. “What is it that you feel?!”

“I don't want another person to die!” My own voice teetered. I could have begun bawling, but at that moment, in her eyes, something far more spiritual kept me sane. Support like I never had before filtered within my veins. “Just no more—no more…!”

My voice grew in softness.

“We're going to stop this—everything—listen to me, Hermione,” The conviction in Alice's eyes was a look of sheer determination, and honesty, and love. Warmth, like the warmth seeping from her hands on me, stayed as she spoke slowly. “The love Harry has for you is infinite. The love he gave definite. Look inside your heart. We will end this.”

“When this is all over,” she said, sisterly, more than an acquaintance, a friend. “We'll see our loved ones again. You've convinced me of this.”

She smiled, tears in my eyes at her strengthened hope, and when I went to smile to…

An explosion rocked the hall in which we stood, giving both me and Alice a jolted look. The Elves that were to scout ahead, we heard their plight, heard their zipping arrows. The cold chill that emanated hushed. Alice, with her arms still attached to my shoulders, gave me a push into the cell we stood by and jumped out of the way backward into an opposite cell.

“Hermione!” Alice shouted over the tumultuous casting, the colours changing in seconds from red, to blue, to green against us. I had crept close to the corner of the cell so I could see Alice, her hand movements, her address. “On the count of three we're going—“

A spell whipped by Alice's head and struck the cobblestone, breaking a portion of it off to dust.

“Back up!”

I heard the Elves drawing closer, the lisp of death, the Death Eaters firing away by tongue casts and counters.

I looked back again, to see Alice talking to her kin beside her and motioned to some Elves who had gone in the cell with me.

“Hermione!” she yelled out again. The shattering noise was at our walls. “On the count of three I want you to get in line behind us—and keep your head down!”

“I want to fight!”

Alice shook her head. “We're close to the end. We can't act reckless—“

“They killed Harry—they killed him! I can't sit back anymore! I won't be that woman! I've still fight in me left!”

Alice could see the heart in my words.

“On the count of three!”

I nodded, wand at the ready.

She held up her index finger, and then her middle.

Our cell shook, and immediately the Elf behind me grabbed me and pulled me down on the ground. I felt the pummeling, even if I weren't getting hit, as parts of the ceiling crumbled. I could feel the Elf's strength, so opposed to how delicate he held me. Something dropped that felt like a ton and squashed me along with it.

I was safe when the clouds of old masonry cleared, but realized…a corpse now laid on me. As I crawled out from the Elf's bravery, what had hit us was a severely large chunk of the stone ceiling. A hole the size of a queen-sized mattress displayed itself above me.

Water was brought to my eyes, the Elf had been crushed.

I could have…he…

“Hermione!”

My eyes shot back to Alice, her beautiful voice so disproportionate against all the death.

She made in quick succession her fingers, and when the third was up did she barge into the corridor. I filed in line along with her, casting anything and everything—everything that came to mind including spells I'd never thought in my wildest dreams would ever fall from my virgin tongue. We were met by Death Eaters, the Elven scouts still in-conflict.

I had never used my wand so much, the coloured lights, my aim not perfect—like theirs—bouncing off walls with more of the murky, smothered remnants of Azkaban billowing our way. Alice shielded herself with her arm when cobble came crashing down.

“We need the upper ground, sister!”

I saw her take something off her belt, grip it with her teeth and tossed the spherical object at them. The sphere stuck to the far wall closest to them, and I could see the Death Eaters fall back in retreat.

“Everyone—brace yourself!”

I threw up a final protego, being pulled down and away from the blast.

Azkaban could no longer hold the hostility, the support underneath us withered down to its breaking point. I lost Alice's grasp as we fell through one level after the next and into a darkening abyss.

With the light nearly extinguished, falling slowly, I continued to try and touch what remaining light. Futile, the tunnel grew dim, the light vanquished, and I was left in the dark. The freefall, bitter and cold, the darkness surrounding me led me to believe death had already found me. I could neither hear nor see myself, my pleas, my screams, my tears. If not for my thoughts…

A flash of light came before me, behind me, growing. I tried to turn—if I were turning—to see the light which was so brilliant, so intensely pleasant. Could a light be as amiable, as friendly, as loving as this? The light felt more like a gateway into another realm, of warmth and sunlight.

The light wrapped around me, in an embrace, and when I looked back…

The chaotic mess of raven, his gorgeous smile and jade-green eyes. He had me. Harry had me in his arms again. He hugged me, and I felt him. My hands went to him, to his hands, his flesh, his bone, each digits and knuckle. I felt those arms, how strong he was and the passion behind his embrace. He was at my cheek, in my wide eyes. He leaned in and kissed me, my mouth, and I was taken by breath.

I could still feel myself falling, and Harry…but he said in whisper in my ear, “Never fear, my love… Be strong.”

He left me with his beautiful smile.

The falling slowed, and then stopped all of a sudden.

I gasped and heard people around me do the same, in different pitches, squeaks.

I rose from what felt like the ground, a hard, smooth floor.

“Hello?” I called out. The voices…

“Hello?” said someone, and I turned my head in that direction only to hear from my opposite side:

“Hermione!”

“Ronald!”

“Lumos!” My wand alit first, followed by his.

I could see my breath, the white cloud in the frigid air. I held myself, shaking, as I got up and ran over to my beloved Weasley-red.

I started crying, my emotions bottled up and pouring over.

He hugged me tight, caressed by hand my hair and ushered, “Shh… Shh… It's all right.”

“Lumos!” said another.

“Lumos!” and yet another.

Lighted wand tips appeared from the darkness, and one after the other did I see familiar faces: Alice and the Elves, Draco with a significant number of Aurors at his side…and Neville!

“Neville!”

“Hermione!”

“How—?”

“Just like old times, eh? Dumbledore's Army at it again.”

A myriad of friendly faces stood behind him.

I didn't see some of the more prominent ones… Ginny, Luna, Lee, Dean, and George were missing. I had a heavy weight drop in the pit of my stomach.

“They've been training under Kingsley as Aurors for quite sometime…,” I heard Ronald say beneath his breath to me.

My eyes went from Neville, to Ron, and back to Neville.

I could see the white cloak on him, now, better in the popping lights.

“How many more—?”

“We like to keep things mum,” Ronald answered before I could finish.

“Everyone!” bellowed Draco in a hoarse tone. “Get back!”

“Ilya yerya lo!” barked Alice, ordering her own to back up as well. “Saura…”

“The smell!”

“Don't breathe it in!”

I smelled it, too; the odor…something rotten, something so burnt, sulfur, brimstone… Ron put his leather-glove over my face and led me to step back in his arms. I placed my own hands over his, too; the odor swelling tears in my eyes, and I gagged.

Rows of candles instantly lit, the flames of one met flames of another, and down the line, candelabras meeting in the centre. Torches lit to life, and I could see more and more of the room…and more and more of death. Bodies hung from the ceiling, their mouths gaped open, their entrails out and gutted. Corpses were scattered about the smooth stone floor, and flies, maggots ate away at their carcasses.

A frigid wind blew at us, and I shivered to the bone.

I had to look away, the stench of foul blood in the air, of blood literally dripping from the rotunda-like room in which we stood. Our backs against the wall, and the room without doors, we had no other place to go.

A spotlight landed on us, and I squinted to see through it.

I heard footsteps, hollow they were, clomping down a stairway, an altar at the back. I held a hand over my forehead, but the light blinded still.

“The players are all here—your roles have been set!”

“Nolpho!” Draco called through the intense brightness. “You're done! It's over!”

“Oh child, perish the thought…,” a laugh reverberated against the coldness, and I began to shiver. Ron had wrapped his cloak around me as he held onto me.

“Stay calm…,” he said to me quietly into my ear. “Keep strong.”

I wanted to nod, but was instantly fixated on the being—no longer human—the man in the handsome business suit. A woman behind him, or once was, her anatomy there but an amalgamation of beastly flesh. She looked hungry, thirsty, her crimson sight staring at us like food in the shadows.

“You've all arrived on time—it is nigh, the birth of a God.”

“Everyone!” cried Draco, raising his wand. I looked over at him, at his grey eyes when they landed on me and he nodded. The grip of my wand tightened, my knuckles white.

“Now!” Draco's hand swiftly aimed down and out shot the Aurors, the Elves, my own wand firing a shot of the Killing Curse aimed at Nolpho. Others had their target the shadowy beast in the back, colours sailing across the room. At the call, we charged, Ron never leaving my side with Draco leading the way. Our light broke through the darkness, a radiant brilliance, one of a kind. I found as we drove closer, my feet in haste, the light growing until…

Draco flew back, flailing in mid-air as his spells ricocheted off an invisible barrier and hit the ceiling. My body, too, and Ron, the Elves, our resistance were effortlessly flown backward. Like limp dolls, we were carried weightless through the air. I hit the wall where we had been, yards away, my upper back feeling the impact first. The pain seared from head to toe, and when the backside of my head nailed the wall did I nearly blackout.

White-hot waves flashed through my mind, coursing throughout my body.

I screamed, and I wasn't the only one.

I heard Ron struggling to maintain his will, grunting through gritted teeth and dusting himself as if he were on fire.

Nolpho's wicked laugh echoed throughout the chamber. “Mere humans and your magicks… You've nothing left! Nothing! We are triumphant!”

“I'm bleeding, Ron!” I screamed. I looked down at my arm, where “Mudblood” had been carved into my forearm and had healed into scars overtime, began to etch itself back. Sanguine oozed from the cuts that were there, fresh.

Ron, on his hands and knees, pain evident in his face, tore a part of his white cloak and pulled me to him. He wrapped the white cloth around that arm, and the blood bled through, turning its purity pink.

The blood that dripped from my arm slowly drained towards Nolpho, gathering in a puddle beneath his clean, shiny dress shoes.

Steadily we rose.

My wand readied again.

Nolpho saw our defiance and yelled, “You are ignorant! Disgraceful! Do you dare deface a God by your insolence?! Bow before Him!”

He swatted his hand in the air and we all fell flat on our hands and knees.

“Learn your place!”

I gasped, weak and shaking. My nails clawed into the stone, the pain surpassing my threshold.

“I can see your hopes—your dreams—your fears…” began Nolpho, his voice larger, more grand in the chamber. “Sin feeds off them, envelope yourself in the fear, cower in it. Stand in the darkness and be purged!”

“Draco—your father, your poor mother. After we ravaged her body, he had nothing left to give. We reveled in his tears, his breaking heart, his broken will. We killed her and taunted him with her corpse—we made him watch, and when it was over…we took his life.”

“Aedirwen—you wish only to stand with your beloved Luna. Have you yet heard that her place of occupation has been destroyed? That she is near death? You will be saved from death only until you see her die before our hands, drained of life, and then we will kill you.”

“Ronald—your love of Hermione. You've never loved anything more. But, you know you will never have her. I see your dreams, wet they are and craving—have you not told her what you've dreamed before? How incredulous you place her? How you want to have her…almost enjoying that you've nothing in front of you with Harry gone.”

“Hermione—you've run and hid, you're frightened. You try and be strong, your mind always reeling, your willpower, your heart so caring and affectionate… How does it feel that we mocked the lifeless body of Harold Potter? As he lay dead, we abused him—“

My breathing raced, my chest heaved.

I looked up at Nolpho with madness in my eyes.

“Yes—yes, feed off your revenge—hate. Hate! Let hate gather in your heart! Let it crystallize, have the warmth leave and let it be cold and barren!”

Winds encapsulated me, whipping my bushy brown locks in frenzy. I felt the very blood in my body boil. One knee left the muddied, sodden ground, and shakily I went to stand up.

“Yes!” Clapped Nolpho, laughing. “Yes! Fill yourself with hatred! Let hate devour you whole!”

“Hermione!” I heard Ron yell after me.

I was up, the magicks holding us back merely a tickle against my hot, pale skin. I charged in, wandless, gathering the heat that pulsed through me, discharge like electricity flickering at the end of my fingers. When I went to raise my arms, at the invisible barrier, Nolpho just a few feet behind the shield, did I see my vessels appear clearly on my unveiled arms.

Never did I scare myself, my eyes, my mind set on Nolpho's contented stare.

I found myself gripping, pulling back, breaching the barrier between me, him, and the shadowed demon.

By unsteady heaves, I groaned, inching back the rupture I split. The very chamber began to tear, the walls set to tremble, the rocks falling, the candles dancing wildly with the anarchic winds.

I let out a blood-curdling scream and took a swipe at him, inches away from his face.

His smirk subsided. Nolpho had felt the power within my close wallop.

He swatted me down with the palm of my hand, a flitter of scarlet in his eyes, his irises clouding darkly.

“Your audacity! Your insubordination!”

I flew back, but this time was caught on the wall.

Something or someone had their hands around my throat, and I gasped for air, clawing where those hands were to be and feeling nothing but the hollow of my throat.

I heard the choking sounds of others, and in my peripherals did I see the rest thrashing, beating the unseen hands about their throats.

I heard the coughing, the deep, guttural wheezing.

“Your deaths will come swiftly…,” Nolpho boomed loud and clear. He lowered, bent down to the puddle at his feet and slathered his hand in the cooling redness. He stood back up, enjoying our last moments, our pounding, seeking any breath, hung by our necks.

“The mindless mobs…seeking happiness, but fearing everything…”

“…How easy it is to break humanity…to hear their cries in the emptiness of their hearts…”

Nolpho stood straight again, leaning his head sideways. He slathered his off-white, revealed throat with the blood of the dead, and that of the still-living.

“Why do you live if you are only to die? Give yourself to the Sovereign—the Prince, the Star who will set you free!”

The beast, cased in the shell of a naked woman, stalked from the shadows. She walked carefully towards Nolpho as he bore happily into our struggles. From the outside she had nothing of flesh, more of muscle, and tainted black whenever not wine. Hair of obsidian swung within her step. Her face, half herself, the other half serpent-like, Voldemort, his forked-tongue lapped the frozen air between fangs instead of teeth. Her red eyes were surrounded by black as she stared at the backside of the waiting sacrifice. Horns stuck crookedly from her skull.

Her hands ensnared Nolpho's neck, and she—he—it snatched down in posthaste the hollow of his throat. It took the chunk and spat it out, draining him, drinking him and the blood he washed himself of from the floor.

The creature let Nolpho fall, his frame striking the ground with a bounce, dead.

It set its eyes on us, and with a devilish smirk began a run in our direction—starting with me.

“Al—!” Draco hacked, murmuring as he tugged helplessly at those invisible tentacles tight on his throat. He let a breath, and with all his might shouted, “ALBUS!!”

A resplendent light, radiant, illuminated our sights.

In the clear, my eyes adjusting, the glow of figures so ethereal… I saw him before me—and those others before the resistance, the Elves, and what was of Dumbledore's Army.

A man adorned with shining armor, his dazzling brightness a breath of fresh air, lowered me down, his hands beneath my arms. At his level, without a helmet, his messy tassels blowing in the warm breeze about him…and wonderful…I saw Harry. On his chestplate decorated a lion, the emblem of Gryffindor, the very metal golden. He smiled at me, his burning aura stunning, a sight to see.

He had never been more beautiful.

His face of perfection, healed, the bruise he had worn for so long gone; his lightning bolt scar vanished.

“Harry…!” And it was if time had stopped.

White light had engulfed my surroundings.

Me and Harry: one again.

I leapt into his arms and he caressed me so gently, holding me with him, cradling me. My fingers were taught in his hair where I grabbed him, my heart fluttering. When our lips drew apart, our forehead lingered, our noses, the tips of them dwelling together. I closed my eyes and kissed him once more, the taste of him, the smell of him… He brought me back, my weakness dissipated, and I was whole again.

He saw my arm.

He saw the blood leaked through.

He reached for it, kindly putting the bandaged cloth to his lips and gave it a soft caress. He watched me as I felt his warmth seep through me, and watched me as I saw the bandage lighten to its pureness. The splotch disappeared.

“You've done brilliantly, my love…,” His voice was heard in reflection, reiteration. He caressed the top of my hand and he led me to brush my fingers against his lovely, warm cheek.

The light relaxed, and at once I saw around me all who had died amongst us, the living, each with their own glowing radiance. Severus was with Draco, and among him Alastor Moody and even Sir Nicholas. Cedric, Remus and Tonks encircled the demon with a list of others including those I had only seen in photographs: Gideon and Fabian Prewett, Amelia Bones, Dumbledore's girls, Kendra and Ariana, and at lead, Albus himself. Sirius stood behind Harry with his hand on Harry's shoulder. He smiled at me, as well did James and Lily, watching over me, too. Fred stood with his brother, having released him from the clutches of the demon. They were saying something, something I couldn't hear, a slight ringing developing in my ears.

But, whatever it was, Ronald was beaming. And, Fred—Fred was laughing, alit like so many times before, giving his brother a hug.

“…Now, it's our turn,” ended Harry with his signature, gorgeous smile. He leaned forward and planted his warm lips along my forehead. I closed my eyes instinctively and smiled, feeling his fingers comb through my hair.

“I love you,” he gazed with the smile.

“I love you,” my hand went to reach for him, but he had turned, as they all did, towards the lashing demon.

Albus suppressed it with his wand.

The brilliant light grew with strength.

It never blinded me, crystal clear; clear enough for me to see the vivid figures of friends, and family, my love…

Harry unsheathed a long, thin, glistening object from his waist.

The metal gleamed, and at once I knew the sword he carried.

The Sword of Godric Gryffindor, never more ablaze.

They flew at the demon, and with a charging yell, smothered him with their light.

The demon belted a cry, a scream so loud I lowered and covered my ears.

And, all at once…

Silence.

What was left was the candlelight from the candelabras, the torches, the altar of which sat a tome.

I went to stand up, to stand with my friends, my brothers and sisters, to find the ground in agitation, quivering.

Azkaban began to cave in, the floor crumbling to dust as it crept fast, closing in. The Aurors, the Elves, went to jump. Ronald grabbed hold of me, and began to ascend within the mist that gathered. The pit that opened up glowed dusk-red, and hot. A whirl of pressure started to suck those of us in, and as difficult Ron's flight was to maintain did the pull drag us farther in.

I looked back, and instantly wished I hadn't.

From the fiery abyss crawled hellish forces, of corpses reanimated, grasping for us. They crawled on their bellies, crawled on the wall like insects and tore one after the other down. Far greater in number, our casted spells only halted the inevitable. I felt the cold hand of one grab my ankle. Another grabbed my foot. I tried to shake them off, tried to kick my feet up. They took my shoe, it falling carefree into the hole and down, gone.

I could hear Draco and the others yelling, impeding them, but Aurors were sunk, pulled in.

I stomped on a flesh-eaten skull, its boney hand wrought on my calf. I screamed as I found myself losing hold of Ronald by their incredible strength. “Ronald!!”

“Hermione!”

I heard the taunting, evil chuckle of the demon, the fires in the pit building.

I heard a yell and saw the Elves far worse, most of them swallowed by the mass of corpses, and then I saw—

“Alice!” I shouted, seeing her dive head first into the sea of rotting bodies.

She had leapt in after the final of her kin was yanked down below.

She looked at me in her descent and smiled sweetly before succumbing to her fall in chase for her family.

My grip left Ronald's hand, and I fell, too.

Hundreds of frigid, ossified fingers were on me—the darkness consuming me. I fought to scream, the hands pulling at me—pulling so hard I thought they were to pull me apart, my arms and legs from their sockets. I saw beneath me, the depths of what looked like Hell, the all-engulfing frozen fire. I coughed, breathing in the acrid atmosphere between the Inferi's suffocation.

I saw lights below and above.

I heard the shouts, the fighting—I heard Elves, those Aurors who had been pulled in or jumped, leaving their lives to precarious hope.

I heard the whistling of arrows.

The colours of magic.

“Lumos Maxima!”

A white light came from above, and a hand reached out for me when the Inferi fled to the sides, crawling still to the surface.

My dilated sight gave fruition to a white cloak, an Auror, Ronald, as he pulled me back up.

“Ron!” I cried with tears. “Ron!!”

“I'm going to toss you upwards with all my might, Hermione,” His tone stern, he kept ever-vigilant, never wavering from my tearful streams. “I'm going to toss you upwards. When I do, use your wand and cast Windgardium Leviosa on yourself.”

“What about you?!”

“Don't' worry about me—“ He grew frustrated, without time. “Do as I say, damn it! Do it!”

“I don't want to leave you!”

“Don't say that as if I'm dead already—we'll see each other again,” He struggled a smile, but was forced to yell at me again. “Get ready! It may hurt a little!”

“I love you, Ronald,” I said, my lips trembling with tears.

I could feel the Inferi pulling at my legs and feet again.

He smiled. “Tighten your muscles!”

He could feel me do so, tensing, prepared.

“Don't look back!” He dragged me out of the Inferi, groaning as he did, pulling me backward with everything he had until I was thrown upwards.

I winced when my socket popped, gritting my teeth.

My wand penetrated my shirt, poked against my stomach.

I let out a loud, “Windgardium Leviosa!” and found myself floating, flying ever-higher thanks to Ronald.

I barreled quickly through the Inferi, wanting to, and wishing when I looked back he was there.

He wasn't.

I felt a hand on me, plucked and gathered from my flow north.

I gasped, of all the effort, the sacrifice…to have the Inferi on me again. I jerked around and was met with Draco having caught me as I flashed by him.

He pressed an object against my chest and tore my necklace off, the Hippogriff feather that Harry had bought me for my birthday and I'd never taken off. The silver chain broke immediately in his hand.

He pointed his wand at me, my form apparating, departing from visible and let a word fall from his tongue:

“Obliviate!”

A bluish-green light hit me as I fell back into a void and vanished from the Hell I had witnessed.

***

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

A swirl of bluish-green lights swam like a circling whirlpool in the ceiling above the Master bed. Enlarging, the spot evolved, spreading to the length of two average humans. Magical dispersion jotted spider-like across the wood grain, sending sparkles of what looked like electricity throughout the bedroom.

Hermione's form started with her backside, funneling out from the centre, her listless appendages sprawled-out heedlessly. Her contingent fall was steady, calculated. She hit the bed with a slightest of bounce, her head upon the pillow.

The old, musty tome of which Draco shoved into her arms dropped off her abdomen and lay haphazardly aside her on the mattress sheets. The cover was sewn together bits of flesh with no title.

The book opened deliberately to a page of loose folded parchment. Ink displayed in hasty scrawl, as if the person knew time was precious.

The words:

Your Directions

Were written.

---

{Author's Note: remember that reviews help the author! My only gauge at how successful the fiction is comes from a cold hit number. This is another end and another beginning. Pros? Cons?}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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71. Ritual

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Seventy-one - Ritual

***

Berlin, Germany

“…Heute morgen Top-Schlagzeilen: Burger rund um Berlin sind helle Lichter am Himmel zu sehen. Einige Leute nennen sie UFOs, andere betrachten sie Engel. Eine Person sagte ein Journalist, dass sie tatsachlich aus ihrer Heimat einen Mann Panik erlebt und dann plotzlich in Flammen aufging.“

***

Rome, Italy

“...Gruppi di persone nei pressi del Vaticano questa mattina hanno riferito di aver visto le luci che appaiono nel cielo. Alcuni pensavano che era stato un tuono, ma abbiamo ancora avuto una tempesta in giorni e questa mattina senza pioggia e stato previsto. Un aiuto di persone che hanno visto una donna con le luci provenienti dagli occhi, urlando, con il braccio che era in fiamme. Ma in un batter d'occhio, la donna non c'era piu frenetico.”

***

Paris, France

“…Un homme a ete capture sur bande video ce matin par un voyageur de l'exterieur du pays. Qu'est-ce deplie est devenu plus propre. L'homme, apparemment decontractee, tout a coup a ete prise par le feu. Les cris, le voyageur a dit. Est la chose la plus horrible qu'il ait jamais entendu. Les memes lumieres ont ete vus au-dessus de Paris ce matin, la documentation phenomene aujourd'hui dans le monde entier de ces lumieres etranges dans le ciel. L'armee est invesitagating actuelle.”

***

Madrid, Spain

“…Luces ilumino el cielo hoy, con lo que los coches a un punto muerto en la autopista. La gente aqui en Madrid, levantarse para ir al trabajo, se quedaron de pie, con los ojos hacia arriba. Algunos periodistas han dicho que los ciudadanos han visto a la gente en el fuego con luces brillantes que vienen de ellos. La gente ha estado llamando a los extranos, extranjeros del espacio exterior, con un resplandor de fuego antes de que se queme a cenizas. Lo que esta pasando el gobierno esta poniendo fin a la misma. Tienen una investigacion sobre la forma y estan diciendo a la gente a mantener la calma.”

***

Atlanta, Georgia, USA

“…Strange events have been happening worldwide. The FBI and CIA have called on an immediate investigation. The military has been scrambled to high-populated hotspots. In New York City, people have seen lights appearing in the skies and on the ground. One man, a tourist, captured a video on his cellular phone when a man and woman in Times Square instantly burst into light, and then caught on fire. The bizarre occurrences happened all at once, calls recorded coming in at the same time on every continent. President Bush is set to speak in a few hours after he is briefed, some citing a possible terrorist attack gone awry after the events unfolded last September.”

***

London, England

“…Unidentified flying objects? Space creatures? An attack? No one really knows what is going up there. The military is taken flight and Prime Minister Blair has been in communication with our friends overseas. Almost every major city in the world has seen these lights. A passenger in a car captured this on his mobile phone driving into work this morning. What looks like several balls of light explode in the air, and then vanish. They were visible even as the sun rose causing quite the stir, making the drive a long and arduous one for everyone. People in London also saw people explode into lights and disappear from sight. This has caused a bit of a ruckus in the more populated areas and local police are on the scene. Prime Minister Blair has asked everyone to be on the lookout for any suspicious activities.”

***

Violet Hill

A group of wizards and witches run, throwing back hexes, curses at the Death Eaters at their heels. Above them, the war isn't over. Purplish-black contrails zoom in and out of the hundreds of Dark Marks licking the skies. Aurors continue their fight, as well as their allies, and the Goblins, too, on the ground.

One of the witches stumbles on debris, having been running backward as she threw a counter-curse, defending herself against yet another Avada Kedavra. She falls to the ground, her eyes enlarging as the Death Eaters bear down on her ready to strike. The group notice and run back to save the lone woman, not forgotten, and in time to see the most curious of things happen.

One Death Eater, his arm raised, wand poised to strike again with green at its tip, suddenly stops. They all stop, the sooty, foul smoke flowing forward by its momentum. The group is stunned, hastily gathering the woman and her robes up as they watch the Death Eater's eyes grow. They begin to hack like their choking, grasping at their throats, their bodies, their arms.

One tears clean his robe sleeve, and they see the Dark Mark on the Death Eater's arm clear as day. The tattoo writhes, the veins in the arm pulse at the surface. The Death Eater holds it, squeezes it as she screams like the rest in tandem. One falls to the rubble ground, and the next, the next, like dominos. A pure white light breaks from their eyes, their mouths, cracking their skin like glass where even more light pours forth from their black cloaks.

Around them the group watches Death Eaters fall from the skies, their wails, the blood-curdling yells as bright lights pop where once Death Eater's stood. They watch their very flesh burn away like fire to paper, the light suffocating them from breath.

In mere seconds nothing is left but their robes, dark robes falling from rooftops and the sky, floating down empty.

The witch who fell gazes up towards the sky, at the sound of silence filling her ears, the scene of Dark Marks fading. The swirling ebon clouds break, canyons of sunlight open as those surrounding her witness the dawn.

A dawn of a brand new day.

***

Within the Auror-hospital wing of the Ministry

Luna awoke in a low wheeze, a gasp.

Her silvery grey eyes went wide as she adjusted to the barely lit room. Her eyes went to a fan overhead, and lights scarcely lit. Just heard beeping, a noise at her ear, a chiming, a buzzing, until she looked over and saw the crimson sight of a dark-skinned man. He was at her side, knelt down to her height on the hospital bed, her golden crown on a pillow.

She went to move, but was stopped not only the tubes connected to her, but by her head. She let out a weak breath.

“Vaeri ply tyli…,” He placed his cool hand atop her forehead. Only then did she feel the tight bandage. He looked from her, to the bandage, and back again. “Don't move, sister. You've been injured.”

“What happened…?” Luna went to strain her neck. She'd been lying still for a while, her muscles stiff. “The Quibbler—“

“We were attacked, sister.”

“Balthier…”

Balthier frowned, his face sullen, his eyes tired.

Luna lifted her hand and placed it on the Elf's cheek.

His sight was instantly brought back by her warmth.

“I apologize for not doing my duty in protecting you.”

Luna shook her head, the pull of her IV tugging on her hand as she stroked the Elf's cheek.

“Sister…?” Balthier's gaze went to her cheek.

A single tear fell.

“Let me cry for you, sister. I failed you—“

Luna took her hand from Balthier's cheek and wiped the tear from her eyes. She rotated her hand, the tear sparkling in what little light kept in the room. Her eyes grew wide.

Alice, her smile, appeared from the glinting tear, but then her affectionate image dissolved, fragmenting.

The tear dropped from her hand and struck her chest.

She instantly felt something—a hurt in her heart.

“Sister!”

The beeping grew louder and faster.

Her heart raced.

She looked at Balthier from her side.

Her lips trembled.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Balthier leapt backward when the Healers swept into the room, Luna's drastic change bringing flashing lights and sirens for them to come to her aid.

“Balthier!” her form shook, jerking, jolting.

The Healer's were talking, but nothing made sense, their confounded speech coming off as one, single monotonous voice.

Her eyes kept on the Dark Elf as the medical teams were frantically trying to calm her down.

“Alice—Aedi—where is she?!”

Luna didn't even see the syringe being prepped.

“Hold her still—hold her down firm!”

The hospital bed shook violently.

“I'm trying! She's struggling too hard!”

“I can't keep her arm down!”

“Shh… Miss Lovegood, Miss Lovegood…”

“The needle's primed!”

The syringe was injected into her arm, a thick, white liquid delivered slowly and steady. One Healer held her shoulder down, another her forearm facing up. Seven Healers together fought to stabilize this one, lithe little girl and all the unknown strength she brought.

“Where is she, Balthier?!” Luna's outcry could be heard down several hallways.

Balthier suddenly felt it, too, hearing a sharp howl in the winds. He put his hand to his heart and stumbled backwards, falling against the wall and tripping over instruments, chairs. Balthier could hear the saddened cries of Mother Earth in deep remorse, like a wolf crying over her killed pup.

***

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

I saw Harry in the distance.

I could almost feel him, touch him, in slow motion with my hand out.

I could see around myself, at the destruction of some place. A bluish hint of light, and darkness. Harry emboldened the light, his tint, a halo above his head. I've got to reach him, I thought. He can't be dead—he isn't dead. I see him!

And, just as I was about to touch him…

I awoke in bed.

A ringing in my head, I couldn't figure out what it was—where I was. My sight blurry, my vision flittered, zooming out and then back in as I looked about the room. Something didn't feel right, and as hard as I tried to remember… I was home? How did I get home? I'd been over at Gin's new apartment… Harry… Harry!

I sat straight up, and as I pushed up felt something under my hand.

My eyes focused, going down to a rather ugly and gross mismatch of sewn together leather. Or was it skin…? I quickly took my hand from it, the piece of folded parchment dropping atop the horrible surface. The parchment had been stuck to the palm of my hand. Just as I was about to open it, curious as to what, when, how…? I heard the telephone ring again.

That was the blasted ringing I'd been hearing!

I leaned over against the bed and inched my hand to the phone. Quickly I picked it up. Between my confusion and disorientation, I'd grown quite the headache. I held my head with one hand while the other held the phone to my ear.

Quietly, I asked, “…Hello?”

“Hermione?”

“Ginny?”

“Thank Merlin!”

“Don't shout…,” I closed my eyes, the headache pounding after Gin's excitement.

“Sorry `Mi,” Gin's voice settled. “…That's odd, I woke with a searing headache too just now.”

“You just woke up?”

“Yeah—and I don't feel right. Like I'm missing something; like I've forgotten a lot. But, in a way…it's like we—“

“Have never left,” I said as she said, too.

“Odd,” we both said in tandem.

“Did you still need to go to the library?”

“Library…?” The headache caught right between the eyes. “No—not anymore. I think I found the book I've wished to find.”

“You did? When? Why'd you leave me alone in my apartment? I told you to call me before you left! You weren't in great shape when you left here yesterday! You just stormed off without saying anything! You could've been hurt!”

“Yeah, sorry…,” I looked over at the disgusting tome, filthy, and was that…blood? “Christ! I think I'm bleeding somewhere!”

“'Mi! You're bleeding?! I told you—!”

Gin's voice trailed off as I checked myself over.

My jeans had no splotches.

My shirt wasn't discoloured.

I felt in my hair for something wet, my face, looked over my arms—my feet where I had only one shoe on…? Nothing.

“I'm fine—I'm fine.” Gin had gone berserk on the other end.

“I'm either coming over there or you're coming here, `Mi. That's final.”

“Come over…,” I went to get out of bed and looked at the time. It was morning. I guessed I had a long night… Maybe the red stain on the sheets wasn't blood, I thought, looking back. Maybe it was wine? But, where's the glass? The more I pondered, the more the inside of my head throbbed.

“I'll open the Floo.” I whispered.

“All right, love. I'll grab some pain medicine on the way out. Be there in a minute.”

***

“Isn't it a little weird how the Floo network is down?”

Gin and I sat on the floor in the den. The telly was on giving us light, but all we could find were the Muggle channels. All of the wizarding world's stations held a static black screen stating, “We apologize for technical difficulties! Your current broadcast will convene shortly!” On the news station a time-lapse for the weather repeated itself and nothing else. Crookshanks was in my Indian-style lap, purring, my hand on his head. Whenever I had left him he went after me, rubbing on me wherever he could as if he hadn't seen me for a while.

I kept saying, “Crookshanks, love! Give mommy a rest!”

But, he continued rubbing against me.

I finally addressed Gin when I calmed the tiny furball's anxiousness. “And, the Quibbler hasn't arrived this morning. At least Nolpho's gone, eh? There's some good news from yesterday.”

“'Bout time we recalled the rat. I didn't like him.”

“Everyone thought he was a Death Eater—the lot.”

“Now he's scurried back in his hole somewhere…”

“Serves him right.”

Gin had the tome in her lap, perusing the sickly, old pages. Each page would crinkle if not turned by light touch; and, at anytime we thought the pages would crumble in her hands. After a while Gin just set the tome down and went to the parchment. “'Mi…”

“Hm?” I glanced up from my frenzied Kneazle turning around and around in my lap to sit down.

“…From what I understand…and please tell me if I'm wrong, you are smarter than me…”

“Gin…don't say things like that. You know I hate it when you put yourself down. You're just as smart as everyone else.”

She went from the opened parchment and back to me where she stared our distance apart. “…Isn't this considered Dark Arts? I keep reading things about necromancy in the—“

“I don't need to be told what I already know,” I bit at her. This wasn't the time; and in that flash my wants and needs were traipsed upon. I knew she didn't mean it that way…it only came that way from me because I was too close. Too close in seeing Harry. “I know exactly what it is—and the consequences of the ritual.”

“You've written here… Ingredients… A portion of yourself—your blood, love? A ritual involving…your blood? That doesn't seem at all—“

“Enough, Gin.” I stood up, and at my heels carried Crookshanks. I folded my arms.

Gin's eyes set upwards. “What if he turns into one of those things—Inferi? A demon?”

“He won't.”

“What if he—“

“He won't!”

We stared down each other, my ferocity versus her worry.

In a beat, she looked down, and then back up again. She whispered into the silence, “…Are you really willing to kill him if he's risen as a monster?”

“Name me another way! Name me another way and we can go from there! Can you name me another way!?”

Gin just stared.

“Well, can you!” I further hugged myself, peeved.

I wanted her support—that was all I asked.

So when she spoke up again, I side-stepped, my mind frozen.

“'Mi…,” she began. “You know I'd give you the moon. You know I'd help you in any way I can. I will help you. You're my girl.”

After a pause, after the buzzing settled in my ears, the headache's pulse lowering a notch, did I say in another whisper, “Thank you. That's all I ask.”

“I'm just concerned, love…,” Gin went to stand, dusting herself off.

“Why? Because `if it fails—`?”

“Because if it fails and you do nothing—I'll have to take him down myself. I won't let you get killed over this. I will intervene.”

I kept quiet, my eyes planted on hers. She was my best friend. I knew where she was coming from… But, the fact that she'd… He… He may… He could very well be resurrected as that—an Inferi—built to destroy, to kill… To kill me. I wished it not; but knew all magicks, especially the Dark Arts, could irrevocably backfire… And, that would be the end. Harry would be…

“You won't have to.”

“Hermione…”

“If something happens…,” I blinked away forming tears. “I'll take care of it.”

***

What I didn't tell her was the truth.

Telling the truth… She wouldn't allow me. She'd do everything in her power to stop me. I couldn't be interrupted. I couldn't destabilize the cleansed area atop Harry's earthly plot. I'd already told her too much, and telling her… She mustn't stop me.

For Harry wouldn't be the one who was on the receiving end of the Dark Magic.

No, I would be the one taken control of if by any consequence.

I'd become that demon Ginny described, and she would have to kill me.

I was willing to sacrifice myself.

I'd already lost so much.

I didn't know how exactly I'd come of this knowledge. I remember… Did I go to the library? I went to…something dark, the smell of death… I recall petitioning Hogwarts. There, I knew the Forbidden Section would ultimately have what I needed. But…would it have this? Would it have the means of creating life? Wouldn't Dumbledore… Did Ron go with me? Alice…?

I held my head in my hands. The headache took precedence again.

“How many crystals?”

I peeked from between two fingers, my hand shielding away the light of our apothecary cupboard.

I held up my hand and Ginny counted five.

“The medicine hasn't kicked in yet?” she asked whilst pulling varying sized crystals from the shelves and putting them in a cloth sack.

I went to get salt, and handed it to her as I shook my head. “I'm trying to think—“

“Well, there's your problem!” She laughed a little, retrieving the glass container of salt from me.

I smiled. “In all my years, you'd think I'd realize that I was only hurting myself!”

Ginny laughed again, but became stationary, resolved when she saw me take the knife I would be using. She looked at the silvery shine in my hands, the ebony grip, the carved bit of a lion's head between the metals. I went to give the knife to her like everything else on the grocery list…but, stopped when she did.

We gazed at each other in our pauses.

I knew she wanted to tell me how much of a fool I was and how foolish this endeavor would be.

“Resurrecting the dead”—how nonsensically irrational. Right?

My eyes left her drawn stare. “Hand me the bag,” I demanded listlessly.

Her grip of the cloth bag continued just as her quiet stare did.

“Please?” I asked, looking back up at her through that bit of loosened strands across my face.

Hesitantly, she did so, and in went the knife.

Silence kept while we resumed our gatherings, Ginny less attuned now than ever.

I went to cheer the mood a little, a bit of light-hearted quip. “How mad is it that we can find everything we need for such a ritual on any ordinary apothecary shelf? It's—”

“Not,” Gin cut off my jesting, our eyes furtively meeting. She spoke with astuteness. “Everything.”

I felt the coldest of chills from her, but shook them off.

My sight went back to the jars in the cupboards. “We've got to get to Godric's Hollow before the predicted rain.”

“Isn't a storm a sign, `Mi?”

I glanced at her a moment, but stubbornly withdrew away from her gaze.

***

“Isn't it a bit ironic?”

Gin stood off to the side of where Harry lay at rest. She looked between his tombstone, and that of the church and the merriment we heard far down the road from a pub. I didn't bother as much to identify her awareness. My mind was set upon lining the outskirts in a circle with the salt, the white remnant pouring like snow against the dark, crisp grass.

A cold breeze blew through the graveyard, and Ginny rubbed the sides of her jumper. She looked up at the sky, at the bare trees, all but sticks of what was left of them. She looked beyond that at a clouded sky, the moonlight just seen through a crack. She heard a dog bark and she jumped at the loud noise. “For the love of Merlin!”

I glanced at her when the salt had run out, and then in direction of the howling.

“I can do this alone if it's causing you this much distress.”

“Yeah, sure—let me get right on that, Hermione.”

“Then get a hold of yourself!” That bit of old-fashioned Granger let herself out.

“Sorry,” I said, passing her planted form. I gave her a smile, but the smile faded. I had to concentrate. I couldn't babysit her.

“What do you want me to do now?” she asked.

I had my hands in the cloth sack. “Here—the crystals. Make a star out of the five, one in the farthest corners.”

When I left her with pieces of wood in my hands did she notice how I took precaution in not stepping on the hallowed spot of my beloved.

“I'll work around the perimeter.”

As I knelt at his gravestone I glanced up at Ginny and how meticulous she went about not stepping on him. I smiled, however slightly, and went about piling the bundle at the foot of his name. I withdrew my wand, closed my eyes and besought a flame. Instantly, the tiny pyre lit, and when I opened my eyes did I see his name in the dancing flicker. Shadows were brought to the indentations, the imprint of “Harold James Potter” and that of his birth and date of death.

“Tell me if I'm going about this all wrong…” I whispered low enough so Ginny couldn't hear.

In the back of my mind I had that small voice screaming at how wrong this could all become and quickly. I placed my hand upon his stone and waited for a sign. I closed my eyes again and listened. The sounds of Ginny's shoes and the breaking of frigid grass become my audio. I tried to block her out, tried to hone in on Harry, maybe his voice, something…

And, nothing came.

The wind had died down.

The dog quit barking.

And the joyous spirits had closed.

“Hermione?”

My eyes went open, and I looked over at Ginny.

“I've been calling you now for a while.”

I looked back at the stone, and then stood from kneeling. I brushed my knees off and carried away with the next task.

“The crystals are in place.”

I took the book from the cloth sack and reexamined the area. My eyes went towards the image I had crudely drawn, and back to my present atmosphere. I noted all but the final ingredient prepared, and that of the glinting knife still in the bag.

“I still don't like this, Hermione…”

I took the knife from the bag and walked over to his tombstone trancelike. My mind meditated, clearing oneself from the horrors, the stress, and the negativity. Or, I tried, that scream inside my head there still, but weaker.

I knelt down and sat at the flame.

Gin watched me from a distance first, but when she saw me digging up the earth with my hands did she follow.

“Is this part of the ritual?”

I didn't ignore her, but I didn't respond.

The fire shined in my sight, giving me enough light to see. I ran my hand across the knife's blade, rubbing the black, muddy dirt along its mirrored sheen. I saw myself in reflection, but the soil tarnished the double.

“The phial of water, Gin—from the bag.”

Gin fished through the sack and obtained the crystal clear container not but two inches high and a centimeter in width.

The glow brandished against her skin, having it aglow like mine, as she uncorked the phial and reached across the site. I took it from her and let drip the contents empty, the blade thoroughly sodden of mire.

My eyes set on the blade and what was to come, I reached back out my hand and Ginny took the emptied phial.

“Hermione.”

I didn't answer, hovering the blade now over the pyre's small flame. I watched how the flames licked the blade, catching bits of what could have been foliage on fire and leaving the rest to cake, dry. The dirt shed itself and fell, bringing sudden life to the miniature fire.

“Hermione!”

Ginny's whispered shout had me look at her finally.

The fire's bloom gave way to shadows where the afterglow was too frightened to stray.

Her features were concerned, her hands fighting to contain themselves in her lap.

“We're nearly there…,” I had the book between us, spread open to the page of the chant.

“…What part of this feels right?”

I didn't respond, Harry's stubbornness fairly captured in my own personality.

“Stand with me, Ginny—I need you,” I went on my knees.

Ginny shuddered at my mention of “need,” and followed suit, standing on her knees.

“Open your hands out, palms facing me.”

She did as told, but cried in a hushed tone, “…Shouldn't we be seeking others to help?”

“No one else would understand,” I gazed into her sight, and she, too. “No one would understand how I feel—how I feel right now after coming so far, being so close.”

A wind blew between us, my hand lowering, the point of the knife just below my left hand's index finger. I held myself to watch, the unwavering, slow line I made diagonally across the centre. Ginny winced for me, her eyes wide when the first spot of blood was seen and then its drip down and around my jumper's cuff.

I let out a pent-up huff, a sigh, seeing myself flowing freely from my cut flesh.

“You're going to have to do my other hand.”

“What?!”

I went to try and close my left hand but gasped at just how painful, and deep, I had cut myself.

“We have to stop—we have to get you back—“

“No!”

The winds between us picked up.

The strands beneath my knitted cap blew freely along my shoulders.

“Do it!” I had tears in my eyes when I looked at Gin. The pain washed my senses, the majority of my hand now red, the sleeve of my jumper wet with blood. I pleaded to her. “Do it for Harry—for me—or I'll—!”

I went to do it myself, the knife closing into my right hand, my left shaking and slippery—when it was dutifully taken from me.

“I love you, Hermione…,” she cut me open, my right hand like my left. I held back my tears, trying not to let it overcome her let alone me.

I let out another sharp gasp, and Gin threw the blade on the ground. “It's done!” she said, angry. “It's done—let's do it! I need to get you back home and healed! Why I even—!“

Through welled tears did I say, “I love you, Gin.”

Gin's rant halted, her sight back on me.

“Don't…don't look at me like that…say things like that…”

“Take my hands—please.”

Hesitant, Gin lightly grasped me, sliding her fingers between mine and resting securely on the webbings.

I closed my eyes and began. Only the image of my Love in my mind's eye:

Shaeraer shi sai cos!

Si Tharaes!

Cys!

Salyl!

Cycael os mael!

Gin, her eyes opened, witnessed the winds ripping around us. The trees ached, and wailed, branches falling off its appendages and down. A light formed our surroundings, where I had laid down the salt became a shell, a white, transparent barrier between us and them. A shot of lightning got her attention overhead, and when she looked saw a swirling mass of grey clouds above our position.

Shol ialai ti shar ai cali jhyr!

Tia jhyli!

Tia myr!

Tia aelaeseirol!

Shol ialai ti oli tysi!

Another flash of lightning began the rain. A light between her and Hermione drew Ginny's gaze back to her. Between their hands sought light, breeching the slits, nearly blinding the Weasley. The ground beneath them shook, and surrounding them parts of the earth begun to sever. The flame's orange-red hue went from yellow to green, brightening from the centre and out till the fire flittered white.

Eil tae ci shi shys eindral eilearn!

Os jhoraaerdyr!

Thys ti!

The white flame for the pyre set us alight. At first, becoming alit you're first instinct is to flee, to put it out; this fire, however, became warmth, and loving. Gin could feel a pulse, and she thought it working, brilliantly working! She laughed, not out of humor, but out of wanted relief, of all her hesitation becoming no more, and all the hope becoming—

The fire blackened, and at once the rain washed in.

“Stupefy!”

Before Gin could react, she was blown back by the spell. Her hands immediately released from Hermione's grasp. Hermione, even in the face of assault—so close—set her bloody hands to Harry and said aloud:

Tia shaelylaer!

Eil cor—!

Or what she could before being hit by another spell and instantly blown backward against a nearby gravestone.

My eyes opened, having been taken for ride midair and crashed against stone. I shook my head, coming out of the daze, my world but a blur when my head hit. I saw what remained of the ritual, the white fire black—and flames—flames!

“The book!” I shouted into thunder, the raindrops whipping in my face. “NO!!!”

The ritual had drained me. I tried to stand from my crumpled state, to get to the book, to at least get my wand to put out the fire—

When I saw a pair of eyes, and a smile, the gleam of their whites in the midnight.

“Pathetic, stupid girl!”

I felt something hit my stomach, the black mass coming in and swinging something at me. I gasped, and went for air, having rolled over. I went to get up again, to stand, to feel the same pound in my side—a shoe, a boot, stomping me back to the muddied grounds.

I was picked up by my hair and made to look into the eyes of the man.

“I'm going to have my way with you first, then when I'm done,” the man spat in my face. “I'll have my way with you again, and again, and again until I'm satisfied!”

I was tossed over on my back, tears streaming down my cheeks with the rainwater.

I felt my jeans being unbuttoned in haste, a pair of hands on me as I tried to cry out and fight.

I felt as if in slow motion, and without strength, I merely went about pushing him with what little else I had left in me.

I heard him laughing, my jeans being tugged down, my hips, legs, my entire form being jostled in the muck.

“Damn—you look even better when you're filthy!” I heard the man's laugh again, closer, and then his lips press upon mine.

I shook my head away, and again when he slapped me, struggling to breathe while he took away any breath.

In the moment, I knew not of my fate—or why I was brought here. I thought of Harry, and how I only wanted to see him once more. This was it, I thought. I'd get my wish… I'd die. I'd kill myself before this monster could… I reached for my wand however gradually. The wand lay just out of arm's length. I could see it when the lightning would strike.

I had the wand at my fingertips, being pressed upon, a hand at my knickers.

“Avada Kedavra!”

I had my wand in my grasp…

…And, the man stopped at once.

He fell atop me, and over in a heap.

In my debilitated state, a film over my vision, I flushed the gathered rain in my eyes in blink to see… a saturated, soggy Weasley-red on her hands and knees. She hadn't much strength, too, crawling her way over to me. Her wand had been pointed towards me, but then it fell, pushing forward in the mud. She grabbed hold of me, and that's when I saw her blood, that she was bleeding somewhere as well.

“Ginny…” called out from the enervated husk of what was left of me.

I saw her clutch me, felt her cradle me to her.

She caressed my forehead with her lips and held me as I cried.

We had lost everything…

“Hold onto me…,” she told me in a breath.

I caught what little of her jumper's cotton material I could, hugging her as she did me, and we vanished…

Leaving ashes of what once was my only hope.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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72. Reunion

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Seventy-two - Reunion

***

“Love, you've got to help me a little here…”

Drenched to the bone and bloodied, Ginny appeared with Hermione inside her apartment with a pop. Literally having to drag the sodden brunette across the floor with an arm around her, Ginny continued to plead with the heartbroken Granger.

Hermione went to fall, but Gin caught her slippery form, moving inch by inch Hermione closer to the hallway bath. Mud, water and redness dripped on her carpet. She looked in dismay at her beloved friend's affliction and tried her best not to cry herself, willing her remorse at bay, but drew tears along her cheeks.

She'd never seen Hermione in such a suffered state, her wet body limp and wanting so readily to let go. She stumbled into the bath and placed Hermione between her and the sink. “We've got to clean your hands,” she said, having to prop Hermione's loose form from dropping. She pushed against her backside to keep her steady, flipping the water lukewarm and took the white bar of soap beside the faucet.

Between them both, it didn't take too long for the white to fade to an amalgamation of black, brown, and crimson. The ivory sink, too, stained. When her soap-covered hands touched the given lacerations of Hermione's hands did she scream in her cry. Ginny's heart-strings were barely holding together, and she too barely held herself whole.

“I know, love, I know, but I don't want them to get infected.”

“Leave me, just leave…!” Hermione screamed again, the soap stinging, Ginny's fingers washing quickly as she could the deep cuts.

Ginny's arms tightened around Hermione and firmed her hold, “Negative—love. I'll never leave you. I love you too damn much.”

Hermione went to fall head first into the sink. Gin caught her, bringing her back up, however weak-kneed she was, and ushered with some authority, “If you're going to fall, fall against me!”

Hermione's head fell to Gin's shoulder.

Her wails continued, saying into the night again and again, “Why me—why is it always me?!”

Gin, pushing the sleeves of Hermione's burgundy jumper back, noted the disappearance of Hermione's scar—“Mudblood”—had gone. Hermione's scream shook her from further examination.

“It hurts—it hurts!!”

“Hun, I know, I know—love—and I hate doing this, but I don't wish you sick,” Gin reached from the medicine cupboard over the sink and found the spray and ointment she'd gotten from Diagon Alley. A tiny bit faster for closing up wounds, the ointment would still take time depending on how serious the wounds were—and Hermione had overcompensated for the ritual.

“Clinch your teeth—it's going to prick.”

She made Hermione's hands face palm up and sprayed as hastily as she could, determined to disinfect the entire area before application. Hermione's screams could be heard apartments away, probably to the sound of people believing a murder was happening. That sense kept from Ginny's mind, setting the spray down and applying the oil-based ointment to her hands.

“We're almost done…,” as best as she could, and with affection, her fingers massaged the ointment across Hermione's palms before reaching behind her to wipe the rest on the backside of her jeans.

“Why am I here anymore…?”

“Because people love you,” retorted Gin with a rapport of emotion, attachment. Gin went for the gauze bandage still in a wrapper and tore into the plastic with her teeth. “And, because I love you.”

“I don't wish to be here anymore…”

“Well, that's not going to happen anytime soon,” Gin's friendly, maternal instincts kicked in. With utmost care, she bandaged first Hermione's left hand to the diagonal shape of the laceration, and then her right, all the while hearing Hermione's gentle weep in her ear. “Because I love you, I said. Now stop saying things like that.”

“I'm at my ends, Gin… I don't know where else to go from here. My world has been turned upside down, inside out. I'm lost.”

“You'll never be lost because I'm here with you. We'll go down this journey together, good or bad.”

“The book is gone—“

“There has to be other things out there in this big world if a book like that existed—there must be,” Gin set what was left of the gauze on the sink. She heard Hermione whimper, snivel, and in a frown said, “Come on, sweetie…we'll ask for help this time. Maybe someone else has ideas—there's more than one way to solve a problem.”

“But, what if there isn't?”

“Then, we'll make our own solution.”

“Help me here, love,” Gin started to walk with Hermione towards the toilet and the shower. “I think a bath is in order. You've got mud caked in your hair and on your face, and God knows what else. Help me here because I can't carry you all the way.”

With soft step, she assisted Hermione to the toilet seat where she sat her down. Gin knelt cautiously, her muscles aching, the back of her head throbbing. Somewhere behind her shoulder she knew she bled, but kept her eyes on Hermione. The dirt-ridden girl sat hunched over, precariously close to tumbling to the floor. Ginny's sight went from the trainers she undid and that of Hermione, one shoe coming off with the sock and then its twins.

“Arms up.” Gin stood and waited patiently for Hermione to respond.

Hermione's arms still hung towards the floor where they had been since she sat down. Gin went about lifting the soiled jumper halfway, tugging the hoodie up to about the middle of her torso and sifted one arm out of her sleeve before surrendering the other. She went for her jeans, noticing they were already unbuttoned and the flash of the man atop Hermione so ripe in her mind… Gin had to shake out of it. She went for the front and wiggled the tight, heavily soaked bottoms down. She had to stop when Hermione began to drop with her pull to set her back straight, or straight as she could to release her legs from the navy.

She put her arm under Hermione and stood her back up, looking as she did into the cold, lifeless stare of her companion. She had to do a double-take to see if she were even breathing, seeing her chest rise and fall subtly as nothing else seemed to move on its own.

A tear left Ginny's eye and fell down the trench between her nose and cheek as she saw comatose Hermione had become. She spoke, tried the small talk avenue, but received silence. Her hand opened the door to the shower. She stepped in first and led Hermione to do the same.

“Lean back on me like that…,” Gin said between closing the shower door and turning the showerhead on. She felt with the back of her hand how warm the water rushed before the water could hit Hermione, wanting some heat to revitalize her stilled form. She felt Hermione lay back, and she smiled albeit weakly. “Thank you, love.”

She twisted the showerhead so it hit Hermione, but not at once. Gradually she let the warm water make contact, easing the pressure upwards and watching Hermione's bare parts go from brown to that angelic white.

She reached back and grabbed the shampoo, squirting some of the gel in her hands and lathered up. In Hermione's hair, she pulled the chunks of drying dirt from the strands, gently as some pulled at her scalp. The clump landed on the shower floor, dissolved and filtered into the drain. She then began a soothing scratch, the peach-coloured suds clouding the moistened dark curls.

“Can you put your hands out like this for me?” Ginny opened her arms wide and put her palms to the shower wall in front.

She saw Hermione try, and helped her, easing her into position where the warm water. With her head underneath, Hermione watched the shampoo having caught the grime and fall like a brackish waterfall, her hair creating this grotto between the rising steam and shower. She closed her eyes and let the flow of the water be her relief however instant the immeasurable cadence would be.

***

“You know, son, that if you go back you won't remember a thing.”

Harry stood on the brick red bridge arching over the railway in Hogsmeade station. The wind blew softly on him beneath a cloudless blue sky. The sun shone brightly, the air as crisp as autumn beating upon his layered shirts and jeans, traveling wear for his trip homeward. He had a pack on his back, one so like when he was at Hogwarts, with his thumb hitched on the strap. The zephyr swished through his messy, trademarked strands and as they were flown backward did the wind reveal no lightning bolt scar, no bruise on his face.

His unhindered jade-green orbs left his dad, his mum behind him when the Hogwarts Express tooted.

“I know, dad.” He said, turning back to see his father beaming at him.

“My son—“ James, in a comfortable vest and trousers, stepped forward to give his son a much deserved hug.

“You've become such an adult, a man. I know you wouldn't have it any other way.”

James released, and as he did Harry withdrew a pent-up breath.

“Go see your fiance,” James smiled, and Harry smiled so much like his father, too. “She's waiting.”

“I love you—“ Harry widened his arms to hug, giving enough space so when he said, “Both of you,” the embrace included his mum.

“I will miss you, Harry, as I've missed you so much…,” she planted a kiss on Harry's head. She ran her hand down the backside of his head, in his hair when their emerald eyes met. She spoke quietly, “I'll be watching over you always—and Hermione—“

She looked at James, and then back to Harry. “Both of us.”

“I'm proud of you.” She kissed Harry's forehead. “I love you.”

Harry's arms went back around his mum and he hugged with all his strength. He felt that pull, that tug of mother-and-son that was very difficult to sever. He saw behind them those who had died and those he had begun to live with here in this time:

Remus gave Harry a nod and Tonks smiled from afar.

Cedric and Seamus both were waving in their goodbyes.

Those who he had only seen in photographs waved as well.

Severus stood with Minerva and Albus, his hands on his waistcoat. He gave Harry a nod, a smile only Severus could give—halfway of grit, halfway mischievousness. Minerva winked and smiled warmly. He could see the tears in her endured eyes. Albus gave a nod and raised his hand as if to toast Harry, and Harry grinned.

“You haven't forgotten me, have you?” He heard from his right.

He left his mum to see Sirius with his arms crossed. A smirk on his lips, Harry came to him and offered a hug to be received with opened arms. Sirius gave him a pat on the back and said into his ear, “Remember…”

Harry looked at him, and Sirius pointed at his chest, his heart, “It's what is in here that counts.”

The horn of Hogwarts Express tooted again.

“I believe that's last call, son.” Harry saw his father with his hands in his trouser pockets behind glasses, a smile. “You don't want to miss this train ride home.”

“I love you!” Harry began his descent from the platform, walking backwards to see the glimpses of his friends and family above on the bridge. He waved frantically, his arm outstretched above him, not wanting to miss a soul in saying goodbye. “I love you all—everyone!”

A tear left him when the last image he saw before getting on the train, looking back from the doors…

…The image of his mother, Lily, putting her hand to her lips to blow him a quiet caress only a loving mother could do. She kept still as the others continued their farewells, their adieus, their parting from Harry of this world to the living. Harry's sight left hers when she waved her goodbye, her long-sleeved jumper held onto by her fingers and the wind blowing back her dark red tresses.

His father put an arm around her, and the train whistled its tune, taking off with Harry its lone passenger in the direction of…

Home.

***

First the compassion of his spirit, lifting him from death, brought warmth to his cold veins. His bones, broken from when he had fallen stories high, began to mend themselves. The cartilage engaged, bringing his frame together and strong. The beat of his heart, the pulse of his mind, and the synapses in his brain fired off for the first time. The muscles, decaying away, amassed again. The reddish fibre crept along his bone, the tissues, solidifying Harry Potter. His skin spread where there was none, the colour coming back.

His hair went from finely stringy to voluminous.

His thick brows darkened.

His lips returned to pink.

His sockets formed, the nerves combining, twisting, two white balls brought to life.

His green irises, his dark pupils—he drew a breadth and gasped.

He first saw the ruffled lining of the casket, how close the casket was to his face. His mind raced, unknown to him how he had got there—he remembered Gringotts, being there, a fight broke out, and he… He started hyperventilating short breaths, pants as his hands begun to tear into the cloth to get out—his goal—ultimately claustrophobic and buried alive.

He tore the material in two, banging with his fists the casket's case.

If he could he would have kicked with his legs, but only his knees could rise.

“Let me out!” Harry shouted, looking around in haste for another way—any other way.

The sound startled him at first. A crack, wood tearing, dirt fell into his lap. He saw he was in a black suit, dress robes, and the more he thought the more his mind reeled in pain. He saw light, and more light, a blade splitting the wood in two. He saw shadows, the light in the darkness blurring for his sight hadn't recognized natural light in a while. He saw a dark-skinned man's hand, a purple robed sleeve reach in for him.

Harry took the hand and was pulled from the earth, dirt and dust scattered about him, getting in his face and hair. He had to spit, wipe his face as he was extracted. Aided in his step out, his feet hit stable land even if he wasn't stable. The plum robes caught him as Harry stumbled, looking back to see his tomb, the plot, the gravestone reading:

Harold James Potter

Greater love hath no man than this, than a man lay down his life for his friends.

31 July 1980 - 31 January 2001

Harry saw around him brilliant white cloaks of light, and then looked into the eyes of the man who had pulled him forth. Kind eyes, and with a smile, the man said, “If I didn't see you in the flesh, I'd have denied it from here to Hogwarts.”

“Kingsley!” Harry caught him in tight embrace.

“Harry…”

“What happened—did I…? Has it been done?”

Kingsley held Harry's beautiful face in his hands and laughed, nodding, “I should've never left Albus's heart. He was right all along!”

Harry smiled and laughed with glee. He went to move, but toppled over on Kingsley. Kingsley caught him.

“We've got to get you to the Ministry for medical observation. All will be told there—everything.”

Harry nodded with a chuckle. “Right—right, of course. A bit weak-kneed.”

“She did it! A miracle! Nothing short of one!”

Hermione streaked through his mind.

Hermione.

“Hermione!” Harry's eyes shot to Kingsley from thought.

“All in good time, Harry. All in good time.”

***

A light raced about the room, of bluish hue and translucent, the ethereal form of an otter plays chase with Crookshanks. Their play never disturbed a cupboard nor did they fight; a mere entertainment venue for the orange furball who so missed Hermione. They'd both hop onto the bed at times and brushed up against Gin's legs, Hermione's legs. In the end, the otter and Crookshanks ended up side-by-side in a tiny makeshift bed, both in comfort and contented doze.

Gin had redressed Hermione in some of her clothing, a large sleep shirt going passed her knees. She'd gotten Hermione in bed after getting her bathed, dried, and then her own quick wash off. She needed—wanted—to stay aside Hermione, just as she did now, so close. She cuddled Hermione's frowned figure, as a bed herself, Hermione inside the crevice she created with her body, shoulder, and arm.

She had used her wand to intricately, and with detail, make certain her brunette bestie's bandages were completely dry from the shower. Rotating Hermione's right hand, and then her left, the one on her stomach, she chanted in whisper the slightest of heating charms to relinquish any—if at all—moisture. Being Hermione and her over-compensating ways, she really had cut herself deep. But, as Gin inspected her hands was she relieved to see them looking much better from her struggles to get them cleansed.

Hermione tossed and turned against her, the evident remorse still clinging to the innocence, of the committed love Hermione gave—and gave her all. Gin saw a tear stain her beautiful cheek; even in her sleep did she sob. Gently with her thumb Gin wiped away the tear and began stroking, rubbing Hermione who clung infant-like to her.

Hermione still fought in her dreams and as much as Gin tried her best to soothe Hermione would start again.

If there was one thing she remembered about her childhood…

Mum, the Weasley thought. She'd sing me to sleep when nothing else seemed to deliver me from sadness.

Probably the only good time of my life with mum.

So she began, in what little light gave from a window by the moon, in quiet whisper to hum the first song that came to mind:

“There's a hero…if you look inside your heart; you don't have to be afraid of what you are…”

Crookshanks perked up at Gin's lovely singing, the ghostly blue otter raising its head, too, from the kitty mattress.

Gin ran her fingers through Hermione's soft hair.

“…There's an answer if you reach into your soul, and the sorrow that you know will melt away…”

Crookshanks, stretching first along with the brilliant otter, hopped up onto the bed with the lightest of bounces. Gin smiled at them in the moonlight, going in and coming out of the rays against the bed sheets. She turned back to Hermione and saw her calming, less grips of her fingers to Ginny's pyjama shirt, less fidgets of her legs.

“And then a hero comes along…with the strength to carry on, and you cast your fears aside and you know that you can survive—”

Gin brushed a loose strand from Hermione's face and saw a sigh from Hermione's lips.

“—So when you feel like hope is gone look inside you and be strong; and you'll finally see the truth—“

Gin leaned in and caressed Hermione's warm forehead.

“That a hero lies in you.”

***

“Will you watch her while I go for a biscuit and some coffee?”

Gin, feeling famished, had risen bedside and pointed back at Crookshanks and her lovely's patronus. Both had curled into the pocket Hermione's form had taken shape betwixt her arms and stomach. Crookshanks, the devil, raised his head and rubbed against Hermione's hand as he looked up and blinked at Ginny's silent exit.

“I'm trusting you, and you,” Ginny had fingered out the furball, and his cohort beside him. She stepped off and into slippers. She flipped back around at the opened doorway, her finger wagging. “Nothing funny—I'll be right back after I've something in me.”

She heard Crookshanks purr, the otter's twinkling starlight dance against the hallway wall as it shuffled comfortably, too.

She was in the kitchen, knowing her way like the back of her hand in the darkness. The refrigerator bulb burned bright when the fiery red-head bent to take out some cream and nudged the door shut with her hip. The overhead oven light came on by a switch, Ginny's hand already in her biscuit jar, the chocolate chips seen through the glass jug.

She hadn't the time to wait for the coffee to bubble hot. With one hand she used her wand and set to tap-tap against the pot. Her other adjusted her collared sleep shirt, wide-open, the three top buttons undone. With a chocolate chip biscuit in her teeth, she saw the coffee pipe, the strong aroma of black beans breathed in. She found her favourite mug, poured and mixed the cream in the cup half-and-half.

She snuck her hand in the cookie jar for one more treat before turning about and drifting towards the living space.

She couldn't help but let her mind wander…

Hermione's scar had disappeared…

Harry's birthday gift, the Hippogriff feather necklace was gone…

Some parts of Hermione's legs were bruised…as if something had grabbed her rough…

…and that we had both woken up…

…the same way…

…and how she knew, just knew Hermione wouldn't have just left her without getting in touch…with what she had found while in the shower…

Nothing made sense, and the more she thought, tried connecting the dots, the more she gained that headache.

She hadn't seen where she was going, ending up on the sofa with her coffee to her lips. The apartment was quiet, still. She set her wand in her lap and traded it with the biscuit. She dunked the chocolate-tasting bread in the coffee, and like any other day, turned the television on. She went by habit, the telly flickering to life. She realized when she did how the channels were blocked out, “technical difficulties,” when she saw an image and words streaming underneath:

AZKABAN PRISON HAS FALLEN

The image:

The enormous, disgusting three-point basalt smear crumbles brick-by-brick as smoke, dust and water billow upward in its wake.

The image repeats, Azkaban falling again and again from real-time. The image gets minimized and pushed into the top right corner when a woman in a suit appears on television. The volume is low, and before Gin could come to terms with what she saw and increase the sound did the woman leave for a handicapped man with a hobble. In Ministry dress robes, the seal of the Ministry sewn into his breast pocket, the blonde-almost-white-haired male steps up to a podium inside the Ministry's Atrium. Behind him stands the Ministry flag, a myriad of other country's flags, and the Elven battle-standard. To his immediate left stands Pansy with an arm around him in support, and to his immediate right a dark-skinned elf gazing onwards with crimson sight. Behind him a slew of other countrymen in battle gear and white cloaks, Aurors, stand at attention.

A little green bar at the bottom of the screen shows Ginny turning the volume up in haste.

The words:

INTERIM MINISTER MALFOY SPEAKING AT THE MINISTRY

“…fellow colleagues, citizens, as we transition ourselves from the horrors brought upon by Quincy Nolpho, Death Eater and his followers of Voldemort, I will do my best as interim Minister—if you allow my service—with the help of our friends overseas, Europe, and our Aurors, in rebuilding our misguided, fallen country back to its leading, former self…”

Draco, dark bags under his eyes and looking so much older, holds himself with obvious exhaustion but doesn't accept anything but confident poise.

“…the Floo network will be down for security reasons. Only registered Apparitioners will be able to travel…”

Ginevra's jaw drops the longer she listens.

***

“Why was I chosen to be the interim Minister, Kingsley?”

Draco stood with his hands on his hips. His Ministry-detailed suit stood open allowing his hands to feel of his belt and trousers. Beneath his coat wore a purplish vest with yet another Ministry symbol sewn in on his breast pocket. His robes were in Pansy's lap as she took the oversized chair in front of the Minister's First Desk which would assuredly begin to pile high with paperwork inside the reconstruction of the wizarding world. The people would need him—or whoever the Minister would come to be.

He stood aside Pansy in the chair.

A hearth, roaring with fire, kept any chill out.

Kingsley, in his familiar plum robes, mimicked Draco's stance with his own hands atop his hips as he looked in at the licking fire. “The people will need someone strong to guide them.”

“You're a much better leader than I, Kingsley.”

“Stronger—Draco. You've proven yourself to many of us,” Kingsley turned his head to see Draco, his sight slightly darkened in the shadow. “With whatever reputation I've left I'll want to use with helping secure the Muggle world.”

“Won't my family's past—?”

“No—not if you show the people what you've shown us: true courage and duty to the fellow man.”

“I had so many of our men die.”

“War has its consequences. It is those sacrifices that progress a greater frontier, new dialogue, and a better sense of being.”

“And, you've been endorsed by not only the homeland, but of so many other homelands,” Kingsley added. “A `nobody' doesn't get that type of notoriety without merit of their actions and words.”

“Severus, Albus, and now you.” Draco chuckled, lowering his head to chuckle at how absurd it felt to be titled “Minister of Magic”.

“Your father would be—“

The two double-doors of the Minister's First Office opened abruptly ending their conversation. Draco, Kingsley, and Pansy at rest all looked towards the newly opened passage.

“Well, look at that,” Draco laughed heartily. “It's the man of the hour once again! Always with an entrance!”

Harry, escorted by Aurors on either side, sauntered into the office space. Draco noted his walk as natural, reliable, and his health a reflection of his glowing skin. Harry had his coat removed, now in his vest and dress trousers and shoes. He sifted his fingers through his fringe and let each follicle drift slowly back to his forehead and ears.

“Oh, Malfoy—you have me blush.”

“Haha…,” Draco piped up. “So, what was the medical diagnosis? Cleared?”

“Healthy as a horse.”

Harry smiled at Pansy when she did a little wave from the desk.

“Well, that's the good news,” Draco nodded towards the Aurors who immediately took their leave, closing the doors behind for privacy. “Ready for the not-so-good news, Potter?”

Harry had walked to Kingsley, and Kingsley threw an arm around Harry's shoulder.

“What would that be, Minister?”

“Ha—you saw that, eh?” Draco scratched the back of his head.

“Heard the early morning conference in the medical wing.”

“Tea? Biscuits?” Draco offered, swishing his hand towards the desk. “Did they feed you down there?”

Harry first refused the offer with a hand gesture, and then said, “No thanks—and yes, they did. Steak and potatoes.”

“Steak and potatoes? And the `Minister' gets tea and biscuits?” Draco prodded sarcastically. “Haha…”

“Did you happen to see my father there, Potter?”

“Where?” Harry asked quizzically.

“Nevermind…,” Draco shook his head. “I'm getting off track.”

“After several casualties—“

“How many? Harry interjected. “Did the plan work?”

“Too many.”

“Don't let that burden you, Draco,” Kingsley insisted. “Take a look at my history.”

“Nevertheless,” Draco sighed. “We've signicantly destroyed the Death Eaters to extinction. Kingsley—you said you had found one dead in Godric's Hollow?”

“Near Harry's grave,” Kingsley nodded. “The body has been taken for closer examination.”

“Wasn't it identified as Xavier—?”

“Xavier?” Harry's burst into the conversation again. “He's dead?”

“He wasn't marked—anyone marked died, and according to our calculation that brings the Death Eater count down to five percent or even less.”

“You're on the chase?”

“Potter—do you see me as daft?”

Harry laughed. “Sometimes, only sometimes.”

Draco shook his head and laughed, too. “But more importantly Potter, the Death Eaters…Azkaban prison…Voldemort…”

“How is it that you weren't destroyed, Malfoy? Weren't you…?”

“Always the risk, Potter,” Draco rolled up his sleeve to show his dark mark tattoo. The tattoo, which was once black, now looks severely white against what colour he has. Draco looks from the white shade of his dark mark and back up at Harry. “It seems as if I've been pardoned.”

***

“I can't believe this…!”

Gin and I had apparated directly into the Ministry's Atrium. At first, and in awe, we glanced around at the still smoldering heart, the broken fountain, and the odor of smoke clinging to the furniture, walls.

“I shouldn't have told you anything if you were going to behave this way!”

I started in a run, running passed officials and workers repairing the infrastructure. When I would rush by them their heads would turn to catch a glimpse at the mad brunette. Some even shouted at me with some security members in follow. Gin was in pursuit behind me.

“I knew something didn't feel right! The headaches, Gin! The overall sensation of deja vu! The flashbacks! We've lost our memories! It's pointing to—!”

“We've been obliviated?” Managed Gin to remark through my rant.

We ended up in a lift. I took hold of one of the handles and turned, like Gin, to see the security officers yelling, “Hey! Hold on there a second!”

“Sorry!” I shouted at them, saying then to the lift, “The Minister's Office!”

The gates of the lift instantly shut and off we zoomed downwards.

A ministry officer held his wand to his throat and stated in haste, “To anyone who can hear me—Miss Hermione Granger and Ginevra Weasley are coming for the interim Minister! We tried to stop them…”

“What are we going to say, Hermione?” asked Gin, jostling when the lift would move backward, move diagonally, and then shift in its downward slope. “What do you expect out of Draco?”

“Answers!”

“We won't just be able to waltz right in there! He'll have back up!”

“It's not like I'm going to kill him, Ginny…,” Hermione thought for a second, and then took a step back. “Or, actually, that doesn't seem half bad…”

“'Mi…” Gin gazed wearily at her in askance.

Hermione winced when the lift dropped to a halt, her grip of the handle tight.

“Watch your hands, love!” demanded Gin.

“No time for—“

Gin and I stared into the cerulean eyes of a man and woman in brilliant white cloaks.

They continued their stare until Hermione broke the silence with a, “…I don't care if you're in my way. I'm going through! I need a little `chat' with the interim Minister.”

“We've been waiting for your arrival, Miss Granger,” said the male Auror, his blue eyes set on her, his tone lofty.

The female Auror nodded peacefully to Gin, “And you as well, Miss Weasley.”

“O-Okay…,” I shook out of my defensive stance. I had been built up and ready to use even my wand if I had to in getting through. Now… The Aurors had deflated the madness. “Show the way then!”

I stepped off first, and then Gin. We traveled only a short distance on a plush roll of crimson carpet lined for royalty. On either side of the wooden walls held lamps, their flames flickering in pear-shaped glass. Paintings of previous Ministers hung between each pair of lamps, moving and watching them pass by, so much like Hogwarts.

I gave Fudge's painting a distant look, and not even Fudge could look at me without darting away.

Two Aurors stood guard at the double-doors of the Minister's office. At our escort's cue, the two guards took one handle, and then the other, and let open the door. At first I could hear the low rumblings of a serious discussion, and then they stopped at our approach. I couldn't see passed the Aurors in front of us, but could see, and then feel, the fiery warmth inside the Minister's Office.

Only until they relieved from my view did I see Draco standing near Pansy on the left. He glanced up at me, his ministry ensemble apparent on him with Pansy in her suit. She smiled at me, but I didn't respond. My look was foul, and I flew inside, waving a sturdy hand at Draco.

“I don't care what excuses you have today, Malfoy!” I gestured wildly. “You placed a Memory Charm on us and I want—!”

My sight went to Kingsley standing with another man when Draco's gaze shifted to him. I stopped as Kingsley looked around at me, his arm about the man's shoulder. I could only see the darkened silhouette in the firelight, an orange outline of a broad shouldered, toned male with the messiest of black hair.

Everything froze.

The man turned from the fire, from Draco, and then at me.

My eyes wouldn't budge, growing parched when I didn't blink.

My breathing stopped, I gasped.

My heart beat halted, I didn't know if I'd died.

The man grinned at me in his gradual turn until I saw…

Green eyes, so soft, so warm, so loving they were.

His signature, handsome smile crept on his lips.

I wondered across the room to him, and it was as if time stopped and we were alone even if we had an audience watching intently of our intimate reunion.

I was at him, close, an inch apart.

I looked at him.

His beautiful ears, nose, lips.

Felt his sweet breath.

Smelled his…pumpkin pie scent.

“This can't be real…” I spoke in whisper, my sight never leaving him. “This can't be…”

The man took my hand, warily inspecting my bandage with tender care, and had it rest softly on his cheek.

Warmth, I felt. Gorgeous, pure warmth.

Tears began to fall, wet lines crisscrossing my cheeks.

I could feel my heart beat now—fast.

I could feel my breathing increase.

I blinked, and when that second of my life was over he still stood in front of me.

“Harry…?”

He nodded, and grinned.

“…Harry?”

He nodded again, and did a tiny laugh from his nose.

“I'm home, Love,” Harry breathed.

Every emotion—all emotions—could no longer be hid.

I let them spill over, crying only happy tears—tears of joy.

I leapt on him and wrapped my arms around his neck.

My lips to his, we had our first kiss—a kiss so dearly missed.

***

{Musical Inspirations: Fix You by Coldplay; Dumbledore's Farewell from HBP Soundtrack; Right Here Waiting by Richard Marx; Hard to Say I'm Sorry by Chicago; Hero by Mariah Carey; Against All Odds by Phil Collins; The Scientist by Coldplay (when Hermione and Harry reunite)}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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73. Restart

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Seventy-three - Restart

***

“Ginevra,” spoke Draco from his side of the room. His executive stance held, his Ministry-styled waistcoat shown over pin-striped trousers. He held his hips, exhaustion in his voice and sorrow on his face. “I assure you that Longbottom—Neville's passing…”

Ginny looked gone, a void of herself as she had heard of Neville's death moments ago. They all had, including Kingsley. Ginny had to hold herself up on a side table beside the roaring hearth, shadows traveling across her features. Hermione, whose hand hadn't left mine, intertwined, pulled on me as she moved to console her beloved friend. Gin didn't accept at first, pushing Hermione away; but succumbed, opening to allow Hermione's embrace.

“I don't enjoy this, Kingsley.”

Kingsley, who had looked over at Gin, and then into the fire, looked back at Draco. His hands still propped on his hips. “A leader must do what is best. However harmful, a leader must describe to the people—“

“Enough!”

Gin's shout brought us all back.

Kingsley's natural authoritarian personality shut itself.

“Ginny…?”

Ginny looked away from Hermione, looked away from everyone a second to climb back from examining the floor, to Kingsley, “Enough! You show no remorse! None! Maybe that's why you failed us as a leader, Kingsley!”

“Gin…” I uttered, reaching out to her like Hermione did.

“Hermione—“

Hermione's sight went from Gin to her name.

Draco had called for her, and those were the eyes she stared into.

“I did everything I could possibly do. I tried to save everyone; everyone including Alice… I should have died and they should have lived!”

“Draco,” I began. “I know at this moment you think you don't deserve this, but…”

Draco hardened in his defense, ready for the inevitable.

“Thank you,” I ended.

Gin, from Hermione's embrace, looked up at my expression of gratitude. “'Thank you'…?” she wheezed.

My warm eyes set to Gin. “A thank you—he's done what is humanly possible to save all our arses.”

“Neville's dead…,” Gin's eyes widened, she showed her teeth. “…And you, of all people, see to teach us on how we should just go about everything casually? Like nothing ever happened?”

“Ginny…!” Hermione gasped, taken to Ginny's charge on how I was brought back. I tried to dismiss her on that level, assuring that the volatile situation could lead down a far dangerous path.

I squeezed Hermione's hand, and she looked back at me from Gin.

I smiled.

“If I could bring everyone back to life, Ginevra,” We all looked at Draco and his sincerity. “I would. Please know that fact. Everyone who died I'd want back here—now—with all of us.”

“And, I assume the book was the last known route of resurrection?” Ginny stated, bordering hostility and sarcasm.

Draco's gaze left hers, drifting even lower than Pansy's position in the Minister's chair. Kingsley lowered his eyes, too. Gin laughed loud at first, and then grew increasingly mad. “Of course! Of course!”

“Fuck this!” She toppled over the side table on her way out, upturning a chair with her wand when it got in her way. The double-doors opened as if they knew, the guarded Aurors allowing her retreat down the passageway.

“She's hurting…,” Hermione left me with one of her saddened looks, a look I never wished to see on her ever. She kissed me briefly, our fingers unlacing. She raced after Ginny, and I watched her beautiful form in longing to go after her. After all, I never wanted to be away from her side again.

I went to leave, to stop when I heard Draco call my name.

“Please tell her that Neville, like everyone else, died in part to save all of our lives. You don't know how much pain—“

“She knows, Draco. Somewhere in her heart she knows,” I stuck my hand out to Draco. At first, Draco took a step back; but then struggled a half-grin, a slight twitch at the corner of his lips. “I owe you so much.”

“No, Harry,” Draco took my hand and we shook, man to man, friend to friend. His hesitant grin resembled his father so much. “My repayment for saving my life, my family's lives, those years ago.”

“You've made Hermione—my fiance—so incredibly happy.”

“You need a promise?” Draco smirked. “Keep her happy.”

Pansy smiled up at her husband, her hand resting on her stomach in her rested state.

I smiled, and nodded. “Thank you.”

“Neville will be buried later this week. The same protected area Minerva was buried. We have the body…but, after the recent news I haven't the heart to push the funeral. Besides, all parties haven't been told.”

“And Alice?”

“The Elves have her—and Luna knows. She's left for the states already.”

“Stay out of the limelight, Potter,” Draco grabbed my hand when I went to go. My sight went back to his. “…We can't justify Dark Arts to the people, or we'd be considered hypocrites in our own right.”

I nodded.

“You've always had a thing for the Muggle world, anyway.”

He smirked.

“You know where you can reach us if you need anything, Draco.”

“Go,” Draco motioned off with his head towards the waiting doors. We could hear Gin shout another expletive, and hear her crying. “Someone's arrived that may settle the Weasley.”

I turned and started my jog from the Minister's office. I saw Ginny with Hermione at the lift doors, standing impatiently. Gin's outpouring of emotion echoed throughout the lit corridor, making some of the old Minister's curious while others kept hands over their ears. I looked back to see the Aurors shutting the door, and Draco's face, his nod before the two wooden panels closed him off.

I looked back, now with Hermione, the lift on its way in haste by the chimes. I placed my arm around Hermione and drew her close. Ginny was brought to me as she was held in Hermione's arms. Hermione gazed at me, and I knew somewhere in the back of my mind that my action may be perceived wrongly; but, I did so anyway. I had to, an urgent need to kiss her. I leaned forward, and as I did was met by Hermione.

A quick kiss, for the moment we began we halted, the doors to the lift opening in front of us.

An Auror, however beaten and bruised he may be, looked up at us…his cerulean eyes just covered by his Weasley-red curtain of hair. Hermione's eyes, and my own, widened. Gin's sniffling hushed when her brother smiled, smiled at Hermione, and then smiled at me.

“Welcome back.” Ron proclaimed with his smile.

“Ronald!” expressed Hermione with a mixture of awe and happiness.

Ron studied his sister. Ginny had broken from Hermione, walking cautiously towards Ron where she threw her arms around him. His smile couldn't have been warmer, and even if thrown off-guard did Ron cradle his sister against him in her embrace. Atop her head he gave a kiss, glancing upwards again to see Hermione reunited with me, an arm and hers around each other and so very close.

Hermione further drew herself to me, her head at my chest.

I looked down to see her smiling happy, the “Golden Trio” returned.

No—the Fabulous Four, together.

***

“Think of your memory loss as a miracle.”

I stood over the stove watching the tea kettle. We had apparated back to Number Twelve and it felt like years—literally—since I'd been here. People told me, like me and Ron's current conversation in the kitchen, all about those “missing years”. He gave me updates like the medical teams had, the Aurors, Draco and Kingsley. Ron, however, took it to heart, as he described having held Alice's hand before plummeting farther into the Hell of Azkaban's underbelly.

“I'm sorry, Ron… I wish I'd been there,” I looked up at Ron through my glasses, a slight glare settling between my sight and the light. I gave him a pat on the shoulder, brotherly.

He laughed lightly. “You were there though, mate.”

I tried to smile, to remember, and did so with the first but for the life of me couldn't remember…let alone see myself as some super figure. He told me these things, how I'd come with everyone…Dumbledore, Severus, Sirius, mum and dad… It was comforting to know I had helped and I didn't just lay under the ground. I knew magic, and have seen some pretty great things in my life; but his stories, they just seemed so unreal. That, I had worn the armor of Godric Gryffindor, held his sword…

“…I had her hand. I had her!” Ron's gaze left mine to settle on the floor. “I had her, Harry, and she insisted…just one more…”

“One more, she said. One more…,” I had all but stopped thinking about anything else to see Alice in my mind and her selfless ways, her determined features…telling Ron to leave, to escape while she went to find that “one more elf”.

The tea kettle whistled, pulling us, me, back to earth.

I pulled the kettle off the eye, and turned the stove off. I looked over at Ron who kept his eyes down. I stepped forward and put an arm around his shoulder and shook him in my embrace. He didn't look at me at first, merely in meandered gaze at the floor until I shook him again. “We're here for you, Ron.”

“I have to be there for her, for Luna.”

“When are you leaving?”

“As soon as possible after I know Gin's all right.” He looked across the kitchen and into the den, the sofa where we could both see the backs of our beloved's heads and the orange glow from the flame in the fireplace.

“We'll go with—“

“No!” Ron's assertive response was sharp, but cool. He pointed at me with his leather-clad finger. “No… I want you to take some time to be with Hermione. You need to be with Hermione right now.”

He prodded my side. “That's an order.”

He gave one of those goofy faces, trying his best to be suave.

I shook my head at his try and laughed, having him laugh, too.

I patted his back. “Well, it's not just my decisions you have to worry about now. It'll be hers, and mine.”

“Ah, but if I tell her to stay with you I don't think I'll get any backlash in rebuttal, after all,” He looked back toward Hermione and Ginny. “She's pretty damn happy.”

I was pouring the tea into four cups on a tray when he came back to me. I looked at him as he added, “She hasn't been this way since…”

“Tea?” I picked up the tray, reversing the subject…at least for now. From the stories, the adjustments, the reality… I couldn't wait to get back to Hermione.

“Yes—thank you.” He took a cup and set it to his lips while I maneuvered around him. I could smell Hermione's vanilla scent from here, moving closer, rounding the sofa like a trail she left for me to find her. Her and Gin had been talking before her gorgeous, big brown eyes looked up to my descent aside her on the sofa. With Gin's head on Hermione's shoulder, and Hermione's arms around her, she, too, looked up at me.

Hermione smiled.

I offered Gin tea to which she thanked me.

“It's always better hot.” I grinned, turning when I saw the shadow of Ron come in and sit down in the recliner on the other side of the coffee table. He lifted his mug to me and took a drink.

Hermione couldn't wait—and what she couldn't wait for was a kiss. For when I turned to offer her the cup of tea after stirring a half a sugar cube in its warmth she took me in her hands, framing my face, and gave me a much anticipated caress. My eyes closed, and in that small second did I smile.

My ears perked when I heard Ron take it upon himself to hoot, my brow raising.

I couldn't care less, my smile growing.

And when it was all over, I took her, my hand on her head and brought her back to me with a slight laugh from my nose. With her forehead lying against my chin, my cheek, did I finally have the chance to offer her, “Tea?”

We all had a laugh, rose appearing in her cheeks with her dimpled smile.

***

“She's sleeping…,” Hermione whispered, her hand still stroking Ginny's head in her lap. Somewhere between the two movies we watched at the late hour she had fallen asleep, slumping closer into Hermione and my support until she ended up in Hermione's lap.

Ron had gotten up to take her to the guest bedroom when I interjected, wide-awake, stating, “I've got her.”

I inched in my shuffle only to be reprimanded by Ron, “No—Harry. Stay!”

I stopped suddenly and did a little laugh, a salute. “Yes sir.”

Ron laughed. “I've got her…”

Ron wiggled his hands and arms underneath Gin and the blanket she had around her. Gin made a whimper, her eyes blinking to life once while she was being picked up by her brother. Gently, she rolled into Ron's arms.

Hermione looked at me, and smiled.

“Ron,” Hermione called out, making Ron stopped short of his trek.

“Yes?”

“I don't get a hug goodnight?” She acted as if she were angry, going so far as to frown. She relieved her arms from around me and motioned Ron to her, shifting so from the sofa cushions.

“Uh…,” Ron motioned towards Gin. “I've got my hands full here…”

Hermione sighed heavily and got up.

“You've done it this time, mate, “ I laughed, preparing Ron.

Hermione got her hug, slipping between Ron and Gin to fully embrace him, and then gave Gin a soft kiss atop her head. “Good night,” she smiled at Ron.

“Good night, Hermione, and thank you,” he smiled, nodding to me. “Good night, Harry. We'll see you two in the morning.”

“You know where we'll be if you need anything,” I announced as Ron went to take his first step upstairs. Hermione had rejoined me on the sofa, looking back, too, at him.

He grinned. “Good night you two.”

Hermione snuggled against me, wriggling her warm body into the niche mine created. She took the Gryffindor quilt from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around us. I lifted my arm from around her to watch her button-nose scrunch up and smile as she continued to rub against me. At my other hand, Crookshanks leapt onto the armrest and ran his head underneath my palm.

“I'm gathering love from all sides tonight,” I smiled.

“This isn't working…,” she seemed frustrated until I saw her climb, pulling the quilt from her to shift up on me. She sat down in my lap and curled up with the crimson and gold material, the lion in roar. She looked up at me and my grin, grinning all the while, and said, satisfied, “That's better.”

“I agree,” I trapped her in my arms, wrapped myself around her tight.

She pushed those centimeters between us and kissed me, leading my chin with her hand down. Her hand slithered its way into my hair where she held onto tufts of my raven mess, snickering as I lowered, and kept lowering until both of our heads hit the armrest. Crookshanks hopped down when we gently collided together.

Grazing my fingers against her cheek, her forehead, watching her blink, her eyes forever on me in our orange glow, I pried back those loose strands of her hair. Her eyes studied me, and I could feel her energy, her aura, so in bliss. And, I—I was intoxicated by her beauty.

“I have never been more in love with you,” I breathed in my smile. “Then I do now. Right now.”

She placed her hand on my cheek, and I could feel the roughness of the gauze. I took her from me, and as she watched, I caressed the center of her palm. She closed her eyes and sighed, on air, when my lips held against her hand lightly. I saw the engagement ring on her finger, the diamonds sparkling in the firelight. Her eyes were opened, and she smiled where my eyes had gone.

“My love for you has grown so much.”

“I love you,” I kissed her, and it felt just like the first time.

Fireworks.

Even she wriggled giddily along me.

I buried my head into her neck, her shoulder, and felt her hold me.

“I never thought I'd be doing this ever again…” I heard her voice soften, and when I came from her form did I see the glistening tear fall across her cheek.

She laughed a little, wiping the tear away. “Sorry.”

I lifted her up to her gasp.

We were up, Hermione in my arms, the Gryffindor quilt being left for the bedroom sheets. She held onto me tightly, her arm around my neck, my arms under her; her beautiful dark brunette curls strewn about me. She hugged me, and before I could reach the staircase did she find my lips with hers.

***

I watched her eyes flutter, at her peak.

I held her so she didn't fall, gazing at her go, her flawless form shaking with her bout of simply treasured laughter. Her angelic face captured the moment when her eyes finally opened, her lovely hair framing her face, her radiant bare pale perfection. Her hands, flat against my pectorals went to slide down as she did; but, I caught her, lifting from the semi-moistened bed spread beneath me to the warmth of her body. I lifted her further into my lap from underneath, hearing her giggle, a single moan suppressed by yet another kiss of our variety: length, and with the depths of our love.

She took me back in her hands, beneath my face and kissed me back with her strength. She seemed so revitalized, so renewed, even when I felt exhaustion in her form. She wanted that extra second, minute, more, and I gave it to her.

Gently, I rolled so she landed on the bed, twisting the already wildly bunched sheets along us. With one kiss after another I led from her mouth, having her eyes close, having her hands, arms, follow my descent as I traced an invisible line from the hollow of her beautiful throat downward. I left no spot untouched, telling her as much by my lips as my heart how much I loved every bit of her: mind, body, and spirit.

From her navel, the adorable way I tickled her tummy with each kiss, I crawled back to her and to her lips. I had my arms under hers, her head in my hands. I felt her hands on my back, making their way down the curves, edges of muscle, moving silkily to my torso. Her arms crisscrossed, holding me, and I smiled from our kiss. The tips of our noses met, and it was like a reset, the beginning.

She grinned, bit down on her pink bottom lip.

I kissed her cheek, her mouth, and lay against her as I caressed the side of her neck, her shoulder.

Her hands went to my crow's nest, the upper parts of my back, shoulders. She closed her eyes and let her chin, her cheek rest, as she did, against my head.

***

Utterly fascinated in Hermione, I watched her sleep in my arms. The medical teams had told me I might have problems sleeping—lack thereof—but, I asked her to sleep. She needed it. Her only ask of me:

“I hope this not a dream,” she said before closing her eyes, the clock reading close to four in the morning. “Because…”

“I'll be here,” I said with a kiss, and another to settle any fears. She smiled at me, and yawned a cute little yawn at my chest. “I'll be right here when you wake up in the morning.”

Propped and held in my arms, she lay in that same spot, her head on my chest and an arm around me. I'd pulled the sheets up to cover her. Her arm lay above the white colour upon us, her dark strands falling haphazardly behind her. She had a smile still on her lips, and with that, I couldn't resist a smile myself. I couldn't keep my eyes from her, and kissed where I could, my hand rubbing her back, her side.

In the steady light brightening the room from the sunrays of dawn, I saw to her hand and the ring I had given her years ago. I remembered the proposal, the wedding plans… I thought of our future, her future… Whatever she wanted to do from here. I knew she'd left school. I knew, being told, some of what happened after… If she wanted to go back, choose a different path, I'd support her any way. If she chose to stay away for a while, I'd support her that way. I'd be there, always.

I had no other plans than to be with her forever.

The wedding…

I smiled when she rubbed her nose against me and breathed, blinking a few times in her twilight sleep to see me still there. Connected, it was as if she knew I was in thought…of her. I lowered in that second to kiss her before finding her back on my bare chest, her pillow. I began the stroke of her hair, combing back her tassels with my fingers.

***

“…Harry?”

I'd come from the loo and changed.

I guess I must've been away for a second too long when Hermione sat up, looking around, distressed.

“I'm here,” I said, zipping up a pair of jeans.

She turned to me at the wardrobe, running a hand through her hair. In squints, nearing noon from morning, she asked in such a heart-pulling way, “…What's wrong?”

Aw…

“I heard some rumblings downstairs and thought they might be awake,” I found a simple tee shirt and slipped it over my head. “You are more than welcome to accompany me, love.”

Hermione rubbed the sleep from her eyes, and it just pulled evermore at those heart-strings. I wanted to slip back in bed with her, and nearly gave up venturing outside the bedroom if not by her next statement, “I think I need a shower.”

I laughed a little from my nose. “All right—want me to gather some clothes for you for when you come out?”

She nodded and yawned through a smile.

“How's your hands today, baby?” I moved to her and sat on the bed where she was and offered my hands.

She laid hers in mine, “They feel better.”

“May I?” I asked, looking from her hands and back up into her cinnamon-brown eyes.

She nodded, and I began unfastening the bit of tape that kept the gauze together, unraveling the bandage. Slowly I went to not harm her, watching closely for anything abnormal, an infection, blood. On I went with nothing until I saw the outline of her palm, and then with the last portion gone, her entire hand. Just the smallest of cuts blended into the hue of her flesh.

I grinned at her and kissed first the hand, moving onto her other the same way and seeing it healed as well.

“Beautiful,” I said, gazing into her eyes as I, too, gave this palm a kiss.

***

As long as it took, I waited for her in the shower. I watched her, her coy ways, and even turned my head when she blushed whilst losing her towel and changing into the dry, clean clothes I laid out on her vanity. I watched how she fit in her dark jeans, the dark brown sleeveless tank top she wore. Her tiny frame accentuated, amongst the pictures of us hanging and clipped to the vanity's mirror I met her. I had walked up behind her completely in her view. I held her sides as she brushed her hair, watching me watch her in the reflection.

How, from beneath her breasts, she curved inward and out to her hips in that hourglass shape. I squeezed her hips, my fingers slipping—or trying to—between her tan belt and brim. From her slight bend, she smiled when I struggled no longer, slipping my hands from the brim of her jeans, going ahead to feel of her bum straight through the material. She laughed at my surrender, taking my hands with hers to wrap around her figure. I did by her lead, and tight, squeezing as I did her hips her whole within my arms.

Her arms mimicked mine in parallel, lying atop them, her hands to mine.

She tilted backward into me and met my mouth, my lips to kiss.

I nudged her head with mine when we released, like a lion with his lioness, not willing to share a single atom of my beloved with the world in that moment.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

To be presented with another one of her adorable yawns.

“You're tired.”

“Am not…,” she smiled with her eyes closed, forehead to mine.

“What do you want for lunch?”

She shrugged, utterly enchanted just being with me, near me.

“How does a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich sound with some vegetable soup?”

She nodded her head, rubbing against me, her hair having fallen along my neck and shoulder in our closeness.

She came in once more, and with a graze of our noses kissed me.

I smiled. “Time to get something in that beautiful belly,” I lowered and swiftly lifted her up in my arms.

She giggled and hung on, an arm around my neck.

***

I knew Gin was awake as I she came in for something in the fridge, said her good morning, gave me a hug and now spoke softly with Hermione on the sofa. So, when I heard the knock on the door frame just inside the kitchen was I a bit surprised to see Ron up. His demeanor looked better than the night before, more bright if one could in his severely white attire.

“Do you ever get to change out of those clothes?” I smirked, leaning down to taste the vegetable soup.

It needed more salt and went for the shaker in the cupboard above.

He laughed. “It's quite comfortable—airy.”

I smiled, tasting the soup again from the wooden spoon. Just right. “I'd hope so,” I replied back with the smirk.

“Just came in to say I think we're going to go.”

“I'm making enough for you and Ginny—“

Ron put his hand up. He then pointed at me. “Take care of her.”

I wiped my hands off on a dish cloth and followed Ron's turn into the den. “You guys don't have—“

“Gin,” announced Ron.

I heard Gin from behind the sofa to Hermione, “I love you, `Mi.”

Watched her kiss my love goodbye and stand up. “Harry…”

She rounded the sofa, her arms open for me.

“I told Ron you didn't have to go.” I accepted her hug.

She clutched me to her form. “I need to get some things done… To make some preparations for…”

“We'll be there with you when we get the details,” I hugged her tight. “If you hear anything before us, please call.”

“Come on, Gin,” Ron had hugged Hermione and was on his way towards the hallway exit. He patted his sister's back walking by.

She turned from me and back to Hermione who had gotten from the sofa. She blew Hermione a kiss and Hermione, emotional, told her to, “Come here…”

Hermione had her arms open.

And Gin, teary, hugged my beloved again.

“They're inseparable,” I had my hands in my jean pockets when I turned to Ron behind us. “Got to give them a second or two.”

Ron leaned on the hallway opening with an arm and nodded.

“Call me tomorrow and we'll get together,” Hermione sniffed in a laugh, wiping Gin's tears from her cheeks.

“They're not going anywhere…”

Gin flicked around and gave Ron a scolded look, one only the daughter of Molly could give.

I put a finger to my lips, telling Ron he'd better hush.

***

“Yes mummy. I know…,” Hermione smiled at me. She stood at my right on the phone with her parents. They'd come back from Australia…their holiday. Being away so long, it wasn't a surprise her mum called to see how things were. I was finishing the dishes from lunch and smiled, too, when she said, “Yes, I know—me and Harry have to get over there this week to see you and daddy. We'll make a date. Dinner?”

She looked at me and I nodded, leaning to her for a brief kiss of her mouth.

Hermione was left breathless a moment before stating, “Yeah…,” her eyes opened. “Yeah, that was him.”

I chuckled.

“All right, mummy… Mhmm.”

I dried the last dish off and placed it in the china cupboard.

I went about drying my hands off, too, when Hermione ended. “I love you, too—and tell daddy I love him. Okay. Talk to you then. Love you.”

She hung the phone up and I asked, “When's dinner?”

“This weekend?” She ran a hand through her hair, peeking up at me from her side.

“Sounds wonderful,” I tossed the dish rag on the counter and went about picking her up again.

“Eek!” She giggled. “You…!”

“I apologize,” I mused, wondering back into the den. “I just cannot seem to keep my hands off you. You're like a magnet.”

I sat down with her on the sofa, Number Twelve silent but the purring of a kitty somewhere and our voices.

“And, you better not ever take them off me,” she declared with another giggle, turning and twisting to straddle me in her seat. She adjusted, her wiggles and warmth feeling extremely good along me.

She wrapped her arms around my neck and lay upon me in my angle on the sofa. My hands were on her, her thighs, her hips, the roundness of her bum and upwards where my fingers slid easily into the underside of her shirt. The ribbed cloth dragged by fingertip where I felt her softness, and heard her laugh from my light touch, a tickle.

“What do you want to do today?”

“This.” She kissed me with eagerness, a continuation from last night and with much wanted length.

When I could breathe, I said with a lingered smile, squeezing her to me, “You know, you really can do no wrong.”

“Mm…,” she smiled, coming in, again, to kiss, our noses meshing as one.

She released, laying her head on her right arm, falling to that side against my neck and jaw. I had her unveiled without really knowing, rubbing her exposed back and feeling her tummy retract and press on mine in her arch. She took the Gryffindor quilt which had been folded back on the sofa and sheltered us both with it. The fire hadn't been made, and I asked, “Are you cold?”

She shook her head and kissed me. She smiled, “You give me all the warmth I need.”

“As much as it's…so…very difficult to say this right now…,” I squeezed her, letting her know that—Christ—I loved what she was doing. “I wanted to do something with you before it got too late.”

“Mm…,” she kissed me. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I kissed her, tilting to her lips. “A date.”

“I don't know…,” Hermione looked as if to wander away, her eyes lowering. “Mum and daddy say I have a 10 o'clock curfew…”

I took her by her arse and lifted her with ease, strength, onto me more. She squealed, giggling, laughing. “Well,” I began with a bit of bravado. “I'll most certainly have you in bed.”

“Have me in bed…?” Her brow rose, her lip curled. “Come again, sir?”

I made her bounce and she lit with laughter. “You heard me.”

“Like?” She leaned into me and went to kiss me, and for me to kiss her…but she teased, dodging, dropping back with her grin.

“A movie and,” I gave her bum a pat, making her jolt with a smile. “Dinner.”

“And, maybe something else… The zoo tomorrow? Something different.”

“'The zoo',” she repeated, giving me that wanted kiss after another dodge, another pat of her bum. “Mm… Wow.”

“Hm?”

Hermione looked away, but only for a second. She looked right back at me. “I just thought… I haven't been to the zoo in ages. I think I was maybe…four?”

“Then we'll go.”

She smiled, gazing at my mouth. “Mmn…”

“Lovely…,” I kissed her, pushing her back onto her knees, and against me, by her arse. She cradled my face in her hands and responded with passion, hard. An arm around her back, and underneath her, I gripped her, my fingers eased into her softness until I could speak again. Her vivid pools of cinnamon were alight with my forests of green. “…Beautiful.”

***

I had an arm around my Hermione, secure, safe.

I listened to her getting popcorn, the man behind the counter intently listening to her while she described exactly what she wanted. “Could I get some of that cheese stuff on top?”

“Yes ma'am.”

I smiled when she looked at me from her side, my hand on her lower back. Those dark mahogany strands of her fringe fought to escape from her grayish-white beanie atop her head. Her big brown eyes danced in the theatre's antique ambience, its red, yellow, and whites sparkling against our winter wear. My lips to her, I held the slim wool coat she wore, that bit of faux-fur about her neck for extra warmth, and extra adorableness. I loved how she grinned, her eyes closing as mine did just before our mouths met. She stepped that inch forward and put her hand on the front of my coat and clung on, dropping to my shoulder when we pried apart, those smiles of ours stuck with glee.

Our hands met somewhere between our hips, our fingers intertwining.

“Your popcorn and pop, ma'am.”

I nodded at the theatre attendant behind the counter. “I've got it.”

We walked together with those smiles, silly to those who watched us go by, as if we were two teenagers in puppy-love.

It felt like that first time, butterflies in my stomach just looking at her. And by her little skip, her constant giddy grin… I knew she felt the same way.

I don't know how we got into our seats, but somehow we'd found our way. We had our eyes on one another throughout dinner, the ride here, and ever since. In the back of my mind I hoped she hadn't forgotten that this was the movie she wanted to see, Star Wars: Attack of the Clones… My sexy nerd.

She had her hands in the popcorn, our two seats surrounded by London citizens.

Neither of us noticed them even when one person sat down on her side and another on mine.

I took the pivoting armrest and pushed it up from its down position. I slid an arm around Hermione's thin, warm figure and pulled her to me. She happily glanced at me in the flickering lights of the film's beginning; happily my puzzle piece. She fit perfectly. Her tiny twitches as she slid into spot within my arms… I caressed her temple, her cheek before she knew what was to come, turning to me. Her grin… I kissed her.

I loved how throughout the movie she crept, moved, closer and closer on my lap.

When the movie ended, I smiled, hearing the applause of those around us. I had Hermione's leg in my hand. She'd crossed them so her left lay over her right, and then over my left. She clapped along with the others… I had my hands full, and she smiled, the white lights of the credits giving just enough illumination to showcase her grin.

We stayed together like this until the last of the audience left, and only then did we slowly move—not wanting to move.

I had her empty popcorn bag in my hand.

She had her empty cup in hers.

With my free hand I reached back, my fingers feeling hers when she took mine, interlaced.

Our held hands never left until they had to, breaking when I opened the door to the BMW for her to get in, ladies first. Even then, getting into the driver's side, after I had ignited the engine did she move across the one obstacle in our way—between the seats—and take hold of my arm as I drove.

***

“That was a…,” She lay in the pocket my body created. We sat in front of the fireplace. I had moved the coffee table aside so we both sat comfortably on the plush, white rug. She set between my legs, and I had her still in my arms. The Gryffindor quilt had been taken from the sofa and now was over me, over her. She leaned her head on my shoulder to see me with her smile. “…Wonderful day, and a simply wonderful shower…”

“The house warm enough now?” I laughed from my nose at how she bit her lip.

She nodded, her tassels brushing against my neck as she did.

I ran my hands along the fleecy cotton fabric of her delicate sleep shirt. The fine material slipped along her smooth skin, her tiny frame, bunching up in places when I'd stop to hold her. I lowered to her exposed throat, the scoop neck of her shirt sliding off one bare shoulder. I kissed her there, her shoulder, as I felt her hand reach up to me and hold me lightly in place. I heard her little moan, and smiled.

“Sometimes…,” I heard her breathe. “I never thought—“

“Shh…” I kissed her cheek, bringing her to me where I quieted her with a kiss.

With strength, I had her with me, my arms locked diagonal, parallel with her hips. She took my hands and led them from her middle, up, having me meet every gentle slope, curve of her beautiful body until I held her breasts. She let them rest there, taking me by hand in our kiss to guide me as I had done with her.

I heard her sigh, a sharp breath when she felt me massage her with the lightest of touches.

She turned, pulling away for a second to take my hands, arms to follow me down upon the luxuriously soft white rug. The fire danced, her body aglow as it fell back, her dark hair against the colour accentuating her beauty. She made room when I turned with her, to lie atop her, the Gryffindor quilt still that extra bit of warmth on my back.

“I love you,” she said, completely and utterly enraptured.

She led me to her lips, and with intensity, a slight giggle from her when our noses bumped, I kissed her.

Our breaths, our hands, the heat increased.

“Will you marry me, Hermione?” I managed in a breath, with a grin, and one from her.

She had my face in her hands, that smile on her face, our lips unattached but wanted so to be as one, close. She nodded in haste. “Yes…”

She laughed when I grabbed her, tickled her beneath the quilt. “Yes!”

I lowered once more, our smiles together, and kissed her into the night.

***

{Musical inspirations: I've never seen The Vow but came across Enchanted by Taylor Swift while listening to what I listened to in the previous chapter in the “suggested” section of Youtube and, wow, this song fits the reuniting of Hermione and Harry. I listened to it throughout this chapter, especially in the more intimate areas. Rachel McAdams as an older Hermione…and Channing Tatum as an older Harry? Haha}

{Author's note: Arguably, I wanted this chapter to be sad, or sadder than it came to be. The characters drove the story here, and after unleashed from Harry's death and resurrection, the HHr romance eclipsed the deaths spoken about in the beginning. Added, I knew you, the reader, would enjoy this than being raked through more angst and sorrow. And, there was much rejoicing.}

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74. Reveal

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Seventy-four - Reveal

***

Inside Ginevra's apartment

“…I have word that in a few days the Elves will be laying their…fallen to rest, including Aedi…”

“So, you're just going to leave your sister like that? No one's told me when Neville will be—“

Gin, dropping her elbows on the island countertop between her kitchen and living space, placed her head in her hands. She gripped the fringe of her hair, combing through her ginger locks at a snail's pace. Her eyes wide, she stared at nothing but the air between her and Ronald's white tunic.

“I am sorry, Ginny…,” Ron had come around, leaving now the backside of her sofa to stare at, and comforted his sister by placing a hand between her shoulder blades. He gave her a rub. “I'll try and be back for his funeral; but, I can't leave Luna by—“

“What about me?!” Gin bit, looking at him askance. “What about your own flesh and blood?!”

Ron remained silent for a while, keeping his cerulean-coloured eyes steadied on Gin's golden brown. His shoulders slumped, and he let out a breath of pent-up air. “…Aedi did so much for me, and Luna… I won't leave her to do this alone.”

“Just get out of my home, Ron!” Gin's hands went back to her hair. Her eyes went in-and-out of focus. “Just get out!”

Ron, hesitantly, let go of his sister. He started his walk out, stating in turn, “You're going to see Hermione and Harry tomorrow—“

“What don't you understand about `GET OUT'!!”

Ron, again hesitantly, nodded, his hand on the knob of the door.

“I'll be back as soon as possible, sis.”

Ginevra's heart stopped, and before she could say anything else was Ronald gone, disappeared without a pop.

He had only called her “sis” a few times in her life…

…And, those times she remembered vividly.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

I could see the light from the lamp through my eyelids, eyes closed. My arms were above my head, my head on the pillow, my ears perked in the direction of the loo. I'd adjust a bit on the mattress, but my attention wouldn't leave the quieted noises from behind the slightly closed door. The light within slanted out onto the hardwood floor, and onto our white sheets. She was getting ready for bed, brushing her teeth, washing her face, doing whatever else that held me captivated.

I smiled a little when something dropped into the sink with the water running, her in her haste, and she mutedly offered an expletive under an octave.

My left eye peeked open when I heard the sound of the light switch, and then the opening of the door. She saw me, or I thought, stepping out and closing the door behind her without looking. She smiled, that I saw, and quickly closed my eyes again. I heard her race, her feet at a speeding pace, and then the bed bounce when she did beside me. Instantly I could smell her vanilla, that intoxicating aroma of which reminded me often when she was very close. Like a much needed signal always welcomed. I felt the bed become still.

And, that's when I peeked back open to see her inches away. Her head was level to mine; though, she lay towards me. She had her hands together beneath her cheek, her cinnamon irises beautifully attentive. One of my dark collared button-downs she so wanted to wear to bed lay about her; more like a tent and less like a top on her figure. The darkened coloured teased the colour of her flesh, so willing to be exposed as the shirt lay haphazardly unbuttoned. Before she slid underneath the sheets with me did I see her knicker-less, and I smiled.

She did, too, slipping a lightly chilled thigh against mine as she wrapped her leg around me.

Rolling over on my left side to meet her, I leaned across to dim the light with a click and was met once more by her sight when I lay back down.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her smile leaving for concern in that moment.

I hesitated.

Why wouldn't I be?

“Why wouldn't I be?” I asked in answer, having my mouth catch up to my brain.

I slipped my arms around her and she didn't wait to come in close, touching, gathering as much heat as my body could give.

“You haven't slept in ages. Surely after a while you'll get sick, and I wouldn't want that to happen. What did the Ministry say?”

“To give it time. It's not like they do this every day. How this happened was a miracle in itself.”

Hermione grinned and leaned forward to kiss me. “You know me…”

I ran a hand up and down her back. “Well, I'm certain I'll crash soon. But, in the meantime…”

“Hm?”

“I'm just happy to get to see more of you without silly sleep getting in the way.”

We both laughed through our nose.

Hermione stretched her arms, placing them around me and wrapped them about my neck. She settled in the nooks and crannies of my front and sighed with a smile, “But, honestly…”

“I'll be fine…,” My hand slipped from her backside into a shirt flap, the flap no obstacle for my cooled hand. I felt her, saw her jolt to my touch and laughed. “And besides… I feel even better now that you're here.”

She smiled and lifted from her resting spot. Her hair, all those loose, soft strands of dark mahogany fell atop me as she lowered, placing her pink lips upon mine. She pressed into me as I did with her, my hand—now hands—gripping, then releasing, gripping, then releasing down her sooth back. Until I had her bum, each supple arse cheek held as she crawled more topside, half-lying, half-straddling that one leg.

When I had a breath, I said through her smile, mine, “This is so much easier when you're already naked.”

She tilted her head back and gave a light laugh, to come back to me, my lips, for another snog.

“Again?” Her eyes brightened to my notion.

“Look—no, feel what you do to me.”

She went to say something, but I had her, kissed her, halting her breath. I'd sat up, sitting her in my lap, the shoulder of my shirt falling from her right shoulder in the expedited movement. She had me in her hand, framing my face as we kissed. I had her, from her bum to the slope of her spine, to the lovable indent. I heard her little moan when we switched, my hands intertwined betwixt her lovely strands of dark, and hers on my arms. In a hurry, I picked her up and sat her better on me, having her giggle at just how fast I acted.

I smiled, laying my lips back upon hers once before lowering. I had her lean back, my arms, hands her support she didn't fall as I spread further the unbuttoned shirt. She held onto the back of my head, her hands twisting in my mane. She gasped when I took hold of one hard little nipple, giving that piece of her much needed scrutiny, regard, satisfaction. Hermione laid her head back, a moan settling in her throat, a grin on her lips. She came back to see me switch, engrossed in ultimately in her and everything her.

I felt her caress the top of my head, cradling me to her.

Lifting from her, I crawled upwards to find her waiting lips where I kissed. I gazed into her eyes, our foreheads together, watching her pant those little pants in her smile when I said, “I don't say this enough; but, it's true.”

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, Harry,” she said between breaths.

I kissed her, picking her up easily with my strength, in my arms, and further held her against me. “I missed you so very much, baby…,” I breathed, kissing her once again.

I lay backward and rolled Hermione in such a way that she landed on her side facing away from me. She turned that inch or two to continue our kiss, her right arm up and around my neck snugly. An arm snuck underneath her where I held her along me, cupping her unclothed breast in my hand.

“Slide your bum back a bit more, love,” I uttered when we left our kiss to gather breath within a second.

She did without pausing, and I grinned in our resumed caress.

I had her leg, the bend of her knee, her thigh in my hand, parting her body a distance like our moths did so softly together. We hushed briefly, my face in her hair when she turned. I saw her eyes flitter closed. I heard her sigh, and then that beautiful, sharp gasp.

“I love you,” I stated in a softened smile.

Hermione, her eyes closed, her lips in smile too, inclined back into me and met, once again, my warm lips.

***

She lay sleeping in my arms.

With my fingers, I combed through her soft tassels, scratching her head. Her arms, hands were placed upon my chest as she huddled to me. Her forehead positioned where we last met before her movement to slumberland: alongside my lips. I had my eyes closed, the brushing methodic, breathing in that luxurious Hermione-vanilla scent.

My eyes opened to see the clock, the early morning hour.

She moved, a fidget, slight; and, said something in murmur.

My head inclined to get a better look at my lovely, the bundled angel in white.

I saw her eyes closed.

Her lips in a forever-smile.

It hit my suddenly, and I didn't wish to wake her.

But…

I moved, however slowly, it didn't matter.

The moment the pads of her fingertips left my chest she awoke. I had the sheet folded and off me, and a knee rose to step from the edge. I felt her move, heard those movements in that variety of different thickening layers. I turned to see her hands, arms move above her head; heard her yawn; saw her eyes blink open and close a second. She turned to look at me and immediately sat up.

“What's wrong…?” She said it in the most adorable whisper, and yawned terribly cute.

If I had any control of that function…

“Loo.” I said, leaning back over to plant a kiss on her warm forehead.

She smiled and ran her fingers through the front of her sleep-wild hair. She yawn again, a hand at her lips and nodded in acknowledgement. “…Now all that's left is for some sleep.”

I smiled, and said quietly, albeit antsy, “I'll be quick. Lie back down.”

I looked back from the lavatory door to see her watching me as I went.

I pointed at her, and then down, a motion for her to sleep.

I laughed when all she did was yawn and grin.

Not but a minute or two passed when I had reopened the door silently, and shut it back behind me when I saw my Hermione…

…Or, that of her curly brunette tangles.

My look was quizzical.

It looked as if…

And, as I crept closer did my guess prove correct:

She hadn't lain down…but rather kept to her original sat up position…asleep with her shoulders slumped, her hands in the little concaved spot between her legs. I shook my head and did a tiny laugh, “…My smitten ickle kitten.”

“Hermione,” I spoke in an octave higher than a hush. I smiled when she didn't respond immediately, but sort of gave a belated grunt. “Love.”

I ran my hand down her curved back.

She reacted, moving up, sitting erect to my touch.

I heard her sigh, and then look over at me with such a slow, drowsy, twilit-struck way.

“Hey there…,” I whispered, smiling, tilting my head to the side and to her level.

She smiled in return, yawning, “Good morning, Harry…”

I chuckled. “Almost—lie down with me.”

“It's not…?” She went to look around, to see the bedroom still darkened.

I had her follow me willfully, of her choice, straight back down on the soft mattress on her side. “Not unless you're not—“

She got still and remained still, suddenly.

“…Love?”

I couldn't see her face anymore.

Gently, I lifted off my side, to my elbow, and then on my hand. “Love…?”

I peeked around and could see her…

…Fast asleep.

I just shook my head, let out a happy sigh, and snuggled in right behind her warmth.

***

I…woke up?

Or, I think I did.

I remember feeling her move in my arms, and then I rolled over, blinked, began rubbing my eyes. I could've zoned out. I didn't what had happened other than feeling the slight weight beside me moving about. I was about to say something, ask what had happened, what was going on… I saw daybreak through the window, raised my head to get a better look when I felt one of the most amazing feelings any one man could ever feel in his lifetime.

My head hit the pillow once more before adjusting myself, first a lift on my left a bit, and then my right side to further see that of which fit between my legs. I closed my eyes when I felt her go down, the silky touch, her soft hands. I leaned my head back for a moment to sigh, breathe the morning, cool air, to look again and see the messy strands of brunette bedhead shaking beneath my core.

I first felt, and then saw my abdomen muscles retract when she lowered again, her warmth surrounding me.

With a hand, I took her hair away to one side so I could see her face better.

Maybe she hadn't known I was aware—or maybe she didn't care—but she knew it then, gazing up from her stroking, her pink lips having removed to smile in my direction.

She gave a lick, and every inch of me shuddered without control.

Her smile grew, kissing that part of me and moving back down.

I let my eyes roll backwards, a smug grin appeared.

I lifted up by my abdomen, having Hermione lift, too, from around me curiously.

I took her face in my hands and snogged her relentlessly, having her linger afterwards on the chord I struck before opening those closed eyes to give me the most sexy of her smiles.

She took her hand and pushed my chest, pushed me back on the bed with a bounce.

I kept elevated enough to watch her meticulous work…knowing exactly what to do to drive me utterly insane.

***

“'Mione…” I'd come from the shower, the heat and steam mixing and colliding with an otherwise cooled home. I stood just outside the door, adjusting the black leather belt around my waist to fit. I did so without watching myself, watching her and how she still slept in a much disorganized bedspread. Pillows were every which way, the sheets strewn and pulled all around her form, peaking on her side like a mountaintop. The only bits of her I could see was that of her shoulders and her arms wrapped around a pillow, the quilt, the white of the spread and that of the knitted dark grey-blue sweater she now wore.

She asked me to wake her when I was through, needing more time for sleep; that, she'd be awake when I got out.

In my sight, however, lay a very deep sleeper with her face in the crook of her left arm and that of her explosion of hair.

I called out her name again in whisper, “'Mione…,” to see her remain still, unmoving, puttered out.

I shook my head and smiled, gave an eye roll when I could hear her tell me how she'd be awake. I walked carefully over to the bed and sat down where I could. Even the sag on my side didn't cause an action, her figure very much in slumber. I didn't want to wake her at first, brushing back some hair from her face, but knew she'd become excited to go to the zoo today and how minutes passed. We could go later, tomorrow even; but, breakfast needed to be made, her shower, however long she needed to get ready for the cold English day outside…

I leaned down, revealing a part of her throat I found bare underneath her mahogany locks and nuzzled, kissed her. Grinning in my caress, I felt her react, albeit a ever-so-slight move.

“Love…,” I kept quiet.

She seemed to have gone right back to her dreams, stopping.

“Christ…,” I gave a light chuckle. “What will I do with you?”

I nuzzled her throat, again; this time, nudging the bridge of my nose up along her jaw.

I heard her sigh, and murmur something inaudible.

I felt her legs shift, her feet move.

“Hun…”

“Mmmnn…”

I heard that, and saw her brow scrunch up, her face hide more in her arm.

I chuckled.

“Hermione…”

“Mm…”

“Are you awake…?”

“Mmmmn…”

“…You were supposed to be awake, Love,” I laughed some, caressing her still.

She said something I didn't quite catch.

“Say it again for me…?”

She reached for me with the hand cradling the pillow she held and held now my cheek. She kept her eyes closed. “…ve more minu…”

“What?” I smiled a bit in a laugh.

She tilted from her hiding spot to say it clear, sluggishly, “…Five more minutes…”

“'Five more minutes'…?” I mimicked her little sleepy voice and continued the silent barrage of her neck.

I felt her nod, saw her nod, repeating, “…Five more minutes…”

“'Five'?”

She nodded again.

“…'More minutes'?”

“…Harrrrrrrrry…,” she whined, not amused.

I was. “You sleep an awful lot.”

“…Making up for all those years…”

“Aw…,” Grazing my nose along the backside of her throat, up along her ear, I caressed her lobe, smelled of her hair.

“Did you still want to go today?”

“Mmm…,” She lifted with one eye barely open to check the time. “…It's only ten o'clock. We've got time…”

“'We've got time'…,” I playfully imitated in her cuteness.

I grinned when she sighed heavily, still not amused.

“…Haarrryyyy…”

I laughed. “Heeerrrrrmiiione…”

I had the pads of my fingers in her hair, scratching her head.

Her eye opened in a squint and I swore the look she gave me could kill. “…You're such an arse…”

“Aww… Hahaha…,” I grinned when she further hid in her arm and inside the cavern of sheets.

“I'm going to come in there and get you.”

“Mmmn…”

I had my left arm rested on her other side, where the sheets draped off in a slope, and peeled down the sheet now covering her face to get a better look at her with my right hand. Slowly, too, as I had ventured into the scary lioness's den…all the while in smile. She peered at me in squint, her face soured.

“Could I steal a kiss this morning?”

“No,” she abruptly replied. “You most certainly cannot.”

I couldn't help but chuckle more.

“I'm going to remember this when you begin a normal sleep regimen…” Her eyes narrowed.

I laughed a little. “Aww…”

Gently, I let down her oversized sweater's shoulder closest to me to see her lovely pale smooth skin, to feel the bare skin beneath my lips. I kissed first the rounded top, slipping further towards her clavicle without letting go of her sight.

“Pretty please…?” I made puppy dog eyes.

She did an eye roll and sighed. “You're utterly incorrigible…”

She rolled over between my left arm and onto her back, her arms spread above her head. She yawned. “…You know that?”

“I guess I'll need to be trained once more…,” In grin, I slid to her mouth and kissed her lightly. “And, who better than by the most brilliant?”

I kissed her again.

“Giving sweets to the teacher won't give you any more points than those you've already lost…”

I cocked a brow when I saw her smile, and smiled too. “Well, I got what I wanted. Se le ve.”

I lowered again and stole another.

“It's cold…,” Hermione breathed after, gazing around as she settled between sleep and awareness. “…And, it feels so much better beneath…”

“The zoo?”

She looked back over at the clock. “Do we have to go now?”

I shook my head. “No, but we'll have more time to wander about…and the predicted snow for this evening.”

She sighed, and then inhaled deeply through her nose, her eyes closing. She reopened them to ask, “…Could we get ready in an hour…I really just want to go back for a nip…”

“…You did use a lot of energy last night and this morning.”

She smiled. “See?”

“We don't have to go today—we could go—“

“I want to!” She sighed, stretching. I could feel her legs roaming beneath the sheets aside me. “I just would like…”

“Whatever makes you happy I'm more than willing to do. If you want to continue sleeping, or—“

“Just another hour…at eleven?”

I nodded. “All right. Eleven.”

“Eleven…,” she'd already went to move back in position, rolling to her original side; though, stated as she did, “Come in with me…it does feel marvelous.”

With only trousers on, I had begun to get goose pimples.

Glancing over at the clock, I took note of the time.

Before I could look down, respond or anything, Hermione had already gone. I shook my head and sighed. “You are terribly something, you know that?”

I snickered, lowered to kiss now her temple and slipped in behind her quietly as if not to wake her anymore than I could. Snaking my arms around her underneath, she immediately attached to my right, holding her close. Smiling, I snuggled as she wanted, and gave her one more kiss atop her head.

***

All the while fixing my salt-and-pepper turtle neck and making sure the newsboy cap atop my head set perfectly symmetrical, a certain kitty loved upon my leg. Curling in-and-out, in-between, the orange fur ball purred, rubbing himself against the dark coloured trousers. He wanted my attention, and he wanted it badly; but, I couldn't help but stare at my reflection. There in the mirror stood the new Harry Potter, so very unlike the old; his visual uniqueness wiped away, I had become one of them.

The lightning bolt scar had vanished, leaving behind the same coloured hue as the rest of my lightly tanned skin.

I couldn't help but be mesmerized as all I had looked at for years, all that everyone saw me as, even my name paired with that one image. Bad. Good. Indifferent.

In a way, I missed it. The way one would miss an old pair of shoes.

In another, I was grateful for the weight to be taken from my shoulders. I had always wanted to be something other than “Harry Potter,” and now I had a chance to experience just being myself—and enjoy life like everyone else.

The feeling of a beady head nudging along my inner-calf pushed me from the transcendence.

The moment I gazed downward and around the edge of the sink did I see Crookshank's stop to peer up at me. The eager kitty knew exactly when he had won, going so far as to wave his tail.

Rolling my sleeves up, I bent into a squat and said, lifting the feline from the plush lavatory rug I stood on, “C'mere you.”

Crookshanks meowed, taken from the floor, the evidence of happiness fairly apparent when he began rubbing himself against my chest in my arms. I laughed. “You haven't been forgotten!”

The loo was left open after Hermione's shower. We'd changed places, my lovely at her vanity, clothed and staring at her own reflection. I could see my own, and she blinked, flicking her eyes back towards me and smiled. She'd sprayed some sort of liquid to tame her hair, the bedhead of which set camp on her head hadn't wanted to move out. She'd managed to get most of it down, untangling the strands at the bottom to even out a rather smooth look with just enough twirl for text.

She looked beautiful—more beautiful if Hermione could be. Layers upon layers, black and grayish-blue top underneath a fitted leather jacket. A pleated black skirt which leveled mid-thigh, exiting south with black tights to black knee-high socks covering just the tops of her Converse trainers. Coming forth from her leather jacket sleeves came fingerless gloves, and a checkered ebon-and-silver scarf. Her dark brown tassels complemented the motif, and the casual look exemplified wintry sexiness.

I'd come up behind her, her eyes never leaving mine. My lips went to her jacket-clad shoulder, the material lightly sticking to me as I leaned from the kiss. I heard her little laugh and grinned. My hand crossed her bum, to her hip farthest away. I squeezed.

“Look who I brought with me.”

The ball of orange appeared within the reflection, and Hermione made an audible, but playful sigh. She placed her brush on the counter, but had it remain in hand. “You just cannot give Harry two seconds can you?”

I chuckled in my grin, Crookshanks turning to look when Hermione spoke; but, immediately shifted back to my sight.

“Don't look at me,” I told the kitty. “I didn't say it. I'm innocent!”

He meowed, making both Hermione and I laugh loudly.

She turned and led me by fingertip, having placed it just below the point of my chin, to her lips. The turn gave movement with my hand, now holding that fit arse of hers. Whilst the kiss, I gave her a pat, making the kiss hesitate but for a second and a giggle escape from betwixt those lips in need of mine. They went back, gently touching mine, ending with a nudge from her, a nudge from me, and another kiss of her shoulder closer to her lovely neck.

Her head dropped as she nudged me again, the lioness with her lion. My eyes went to the mirror, to all the pictures cluttering the edges of the frame of our adventures, and some of us with friends, including one I'd always remember: a very ecstatic Hermione Granger, fiance of Harry Potter, displaying both a brilliant smile and her brilliant diamond engagement ring which still lay on her finger after all these years. Even after…

“Harry…”

I closed my eyes when I felt her hug me, and hug me tight.

I smelled of her, her skin, her hair… I'd have hugged her back just as tight if not for my arms carrying something precious.

“I love you,” I said, brushing the tip of my nose against the side of her head, in her hair. I kissed her where I could.

I could feel her smile before I saw it, and tears welling in her eyes.

“Hermione…,” I suddenly grew worried. “What's—“

“I need to tell you something I've never told you before, and I feel like I can't keep it secret any longer.” Her speech heightened, fluctuating with the rise of her emotions.

I glanced down at Crookshanks who looked between his mum and me. “Crookshanks, give dad and mum a moment.

I let Crookshanks down to another meow, a purr as he slipped back against my trouser leg and stretched his way away from us throughout the bedroom.

I had my eyes set on Hermione, her hand having run itself under her sniffling nose. She looked to be embarrassed by her overrun sadness, or… I didn't quite know, or understand; though, my arms were free.

I gave her a tight hug, leaving only to ask, “You know you could've told me anything. I want you to tell me everything. I'd like to hear every one of your thoughts in that beautiful mind.”

“If what had happened didn't happen…,” she turned away from me briefly to get her composure back, and then returned, quietly. “I just don't think I can go on without telling you this if something happens—“

“Nothing's going to happen,” I drew her close. “Ever again.”

She hid her face in my turtle neck sweater.

“I won't think of you any differently,” I said in console, passion. “You don't have to hide anything from me.”

I pulled her an inch away and saw her peek from behind that bit of hair covering her eyes. “We're a team.”

“And,” I ended. “I love you dearly.”

She wrapped her arms tighter, laid her cheek against my shoulder. She fit wonderfully in my pocket, just beneath my jaw, as I held her.

“I've held this in for so long… I just… It…”

“You don't have to tell me.”

We stood there in silence for a minute.

“…Harry…”

“Yes, my love?”

“…Please don't think differently of Ronald when I say this. He's not like how he was in our past…”

I had thought she told me everything about Ron…their fanciful past…

Though, I trusted Hermione more than anyone or anything in this world.

This wasn't a worried position about Ron; no, this was something else.

“…You saw how…horrible…”

“Yes,” I tightened my embrace of her. “And, I took you out of there the minute—no, second—I could.”

“…That night, though…”

“The first night here, or…?”

“No… When I ran out into the rain…”

“You fell down, and I picked you back up, and I held you as I do now.”

Hermione went quiet.

Now… I became worried.

Slowly, she removed her cheek from my shoulder and stood that inch apart, again, to look at me.

I brushed the hair from her beautiful, vivid cinnamon eyes.

“…If you hadn't been there that night…”

I didn't say anything, letting her continue.

“…I would have done something…”

I inclined my head to the side, digesting what she said with a tiny bit of confusion.

“…Terrible…”

“Terrible…?”

“…Regrettable…”

I kept to that quiet once more.

“…I would have…I mean, I…would have…”

She lowered her eyes, almost as if picturing that terrible image she wanted to paint for me.

“…What?” My voice, caught in the silence, fell in whisper.

Her eyes went back to me, unblinking.

“I wouldn't be here.”

My brow scrunched. “You mean…?”

“The War, and the safety of my parents, and you, and Hogwarts, and death, destruction, blood everywhere—“

“I'm sorry.” Her apology took me off-guard.

I shook my head. “No—no, you don't have to be sorry for anything…”

I pulled her to me and hugged her, even going so far as to lift her from the floor a centimetre or two. I kissed her, and in release had our foreheads touching, our sight interlocked when her feet lay back flat on the wooden ground.

“There's not a thing you should say sorry for,” I said this, and I meant it, firm. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.”

I kissed her again and said within the caress, “I love you.”

Our foreheads were back together, the tips of our noses touching. “I love you. I want you to know that.”

She just nodded her head.

And another kiss, watching her eyes close before mine.

When we reopened them, again, with warmth and that passion, “I love you. So much. So very much.”

I had my arms wrapped around her shoulders, and her around my middle. Carefully, I led her over to the bed and sat her down, and I sat down, too.

“…I didn't mean to… Well, I don't want this to ruin—“

I shook my head. “You haven't ruined anything. You—“

I led my thumb along her jaw, my fingers grazing her cheek.

She kept her eyes on me attentively.

“You are so special.”

She went to lower her eyes, but I wouldn't allow it.

Gently, I had her raise back to my level, her original level.

“…Do you know that?”

One tear fell and dripped down that cheek, staining her flawless, porcelain skin black.

I didn't hesitate to wipe the tear stain away.

I kissed her lips.

Her cheek.

Her nose, temple, forehead.

I gave her the tightest of hugs and led her to lay beside me, close.

“I didn't know what to do without you…,” I watched her intently, listened with purpose. “…I was so…lost.”

“I'm sorry…,” I shook my head, or what I could shake lying against the made bed. “…If I could do it all over again I wouldn't have left you.”

“But, you did great…”

“No…,” I brought her to me, and kissed her. I looked behind her, above her head at nothing in particular as she curled and cuddled alongside me. I felt her grip of me, touch me, and added, concluding, “No, I didn't.”

***

In an undersized cemetery outside of northern London

The drab, cold weather and muted sky set the scene wherein only a handful of watchers, a family, stood with Minister Malfoy. In black, those that weren't kept vigilant to their surroundings. Two white cloaks, their hoods covering their faces, their arms folded so none could see their arms nor hands, stood on either side of the Minister. Kingsley Shacklebolt, donned in black, kept silent behind his student. All heads were down, a coffin having been lowered into a rectangular-cut shape inside the earth.

This wasn't in memory of an Auror…

No, he'd already gone to several of those…and many more to come.

This was for a child who had died after being marked for death by Sarilda and Nolpho; an innocent child who had more than enough life left to live at the age of six.

His mother, also marked for death, had been laid to rest minutes ago.

Malfoy had been speaking, but abruptly stopped.

One of the family members, the father, glanced up at the Minister, evident tears in his eyes.

Kingsley could feel Malfoy.

He put his black leather gloved hand atop Malfoy's shoulder.

“I apologise…,” Malfoy began again, standing with a lean on his cane. “I am just so, terribly sorry for your loss. I wish none of this would have happened…”

“Apologies won't bring my wife and child back!” the husband barked. “Apologies mean nothing!”

A family member stepped in to try and console the husband.

Malfoy glanced up at him, tears, too, in his ducts. “I swear on my honor that this will never happen again.”

“You're nothing but a damned politician! Worthless! Just like the rest of `em!”

Kingsley squeezed Malfoy's shoulder.

“I'm sorry…,” was all Malfoy could reiterate, trying to hold back his readied tears.

“Sir…,” the angelic voice whispered next to him, an Auror, a female by her tone hidden beneath the pure white like the snow falling upon the black coats, and upon the ground at their feet. “Another seeks your counsel.”

“I've been to so many of these now…,” Malfoy breathed under his breath. His chest heaved.

Kingsley shook his shoulder, his effort to console.

Slowly, Draco hobbled in turn to walk back towards the waiting cavalcade of floating Ministry-approved broomsticks. As he walked passed, the Aurors fanned out with one he chose with a wag of his finger. The white cloak was at his side.

“…Tell the family, the husband of this tragedy, that he need only to seek us for anything—anything at all.”

The Auror nodded while the others followed behind Draco, Kingsley at his side.

“How does one do this?”

“You must be tenacious, Draco.”

Draco halted and peered heavily at Kingsley. “…It was a child… A child…”

“Sarilda and Nolpho cared not for whom they killed… Evil has no conscience.”

A tear trickled down Draco's cheek, become cold where it dripped from the frozen air.

“I know, my brother…,” Kingsley wrapped an arm around Malfoy's shoulder. “We will get through this.”

“I saw my own lying there…”

“Be strong like your father.”

***

It has to be a miracle.

No, it is a miracle.

It's truly mad, really, how the human body can process so much sadness…and we continue, and live our lives.

A zookeeper took notice of Hermione, my hand on the small of her back, lingering nearside the koala coop. The zookeeper trekked on behind us. I saw her. Hermione obviously didn't; her eyes caught on one of the tiny koalas plucking leaves from a branch to stuff in its mouth. The grey mammal's little fingers and thumb wrapped around the green foliage, its chewing almost gentle in a way. The koala's tiny black eyes set on Hermione…and the uniformed attendee startled Hermione, having her jump.

She jumped, placing a hand on her chest.

I gave a laugh, wherein my brunette elbowed me, her attention on the zookeeper.

He asked if she'd like to see one up-close, to hold one…

…And, there we were in a feeding room for abandoned babies left either by their parents or by poachers. I thought Hermione would cry when the attendee plucked a baby koala from its miniature habitat and cradle the infant creature in his arms.

“Would you like to feed Matilda?”

“Can I?” Hermione asked enthusiastically, full of energy.

The keeper nodded, said, “Absolutely, dear,” and there she was…

Happy.

She turned towards me when the man positioned the koala safely in her arms and positioned the bottle of warm, imitation mother's milk—a special formula—in the ickle mate's mouth, and…

Hermione was smiling so much.

So very much.

Her gorgeous eyes twinkling as she peered down at the baby koala as it held, too, the bottle as she did.

The koala kept his eyes on Hermione, always, and she glanced up at me, and…

It truly was magical.

“Love…?” She nodded towards the bottle between her fingers and motioned with another quick glance. “Would you like to, too?”

“Of course,” I replied with a smile, smiling, happy, seeing Hermione so caught up in her happiness and away from all the turmoil everything, absolutely everything—including myself—had caused to her.

I placed my hand back upon the small of her back.

“Like this he said…”

I took the end of the bottle, mimicking, per her instructions and saw the baby koala's bitty, glossy black eyes settle on me. The hand on her back shifted to the farthest shoulder, her left as I touched her right side, leaned in, and grinned between her and the…

Miracle.

***

“Hey.”

She was adjusting and readjusting the seatbelt in the BMW.

I had one hand resting atop the wheel and my other lay on the armrest between us.

I leaned into her.

“Hey.”

“Hm?” She gazed over at me a moment, looking back to see, and then hear, the click on the belt.

I saw her lovely face in portrait, the amazing silhouette turning back to me when I called another, “Hey.”

“What?” She narrowed her eyes a smidgen; and, albeit with a dumbfounded look because of my consistency…stayed in grin.

“Hey.” My lip curled; too, in smile.

Her whole body shook, exaggerated a shake of her head, that beautiful dark mahogany swaying to and fro across that one hidden eye. “Whaaatt…?”

We were sitting, ready to go, in the parking garage.

I ignited the engine.

“I love you,” I stated in smile, utterly sincere, with my sight never leaving hers.

With the engine roaring the life, I saw her grin widen, her pearl white expose, and that coy part of Hermione from years ago come through. She turned her head, to turn again where I saw a rose-colour in her cheeks.

I lay my arm, my hand back in the centre and wriggled my digits, palm up.

Instantly, she took my hand, looping and interlacing her slender, soft hands through mine, against me.

I squeezed her hand lightly, and leaned further, over the middle to take an even lighter kiss from her lips.

Intimate it was, profound, Hermione was left with an even greater smile. With her eyes closed, slowly she had them open. She bit her bottom lip. She sort of swung in her seat, her legs shifting, giddy, with all the symptoms of love showcased from head-to-toe.

***

“What's in there?”

We sat at a private table amongst other couples chatting quietly. An out-of-the-way pub and restaurant, Hermione had remembered the spot being discussed when she worked at O'Brady's and we thought to go in, stay a while. We just didn't know how nice it would be; quiet, secluded, rather cosy with a little jazz on low for ambience. Our chairs were booth-like, velvet I thought, and red on stained wood with a fairly short table in-between. Perfect for our legs, our feet, which shared each other underneath.

“Lots of good stuff…,” she grinned, merrily.

I grinned, seeing her lush and light.

Hermione's legs were crossed, but instead of crossing across hers had her left knee against my left and her right calf dangling between both of mine. My left and her right arms, hands were together; hands held. We'd eaten some appetizers, not really hungry after eating a morsel or two at the zoo. We relaxed, a mug of frothy beer in front of me. My love had ordered her second long island iced tea, and with a goofy smile on her face knew…she was feeling just that: relaxed.

My hand went to her head, her hair where I sifted through. Whilst during the scratching, our waitress wandered over to give that second beverage to Hermione. The waitress smiled at our intimacy, slipping in and out silently. Hermione hadn't noticed a thing, completely unaware at anything other than me and my rhythmic rubbing of her head. She could've easily fallen asleep I believed, her head falling, tilting into the palm of my hand.

After our umpteenth kiss, the second iced tea finished and my mug empty did I wave at the waitress for our check.

In those seconds, Hermione had taken privilege in my haste of slight absence to fold her arms in front of her and lay her head down, cheek first, on the table.

“Sleepy time…”

“Aw… We're going home, love.”

When the waitress brought over the change, she saw the massage of Hermione, my hand on her shoulders, her back where she lay across the table.

She made a grin and said with a soft laugh, “You two are so adorable.”

“Thank you,” I grinned, too, giving another when I looked down at Hermione asleep and back up at the waitress.

“You two have a wonderful evening.”

***

I thought Hermione would sleep all the way home and I'd have to carry her up to bed. Alas, and well off, she awoke the moment I removed the keys from the ignition, the vehicle stopped and parallel parked outside Number Twelve. Well off, because the last minute home I finally felt the inevitable, what any normal human body could and should do… And, I could feel the crash, my eyelids heavy.

I sat sort of slumped in the seat, watching Hermione stretch laterally, or as much as the car willed her. I had the keys in my lap, in my hands, and I smiled through sleep when she gazed over at me in a yawn.

“What's wrong?”

“I…,” My yawn was incredible, and I swore I could've just laid the seat back and slept for two days here. “…I think it's time for bed.”

Hermione paused a second, observing my posture, the behavior, the way I sort of leaned forward until she left the car. She'd come around and opened my side. Gently, she slipped an arm around me. Heavier than her, I gave a chuckle when she tried to shuffle me out. My body had become flaccid with exhaustion, and it took might and a load of effort to remain standing upright. She took the car keys from me and we both waddled through the wrought iron gates, down the cobblestone pathway, and into the magicks surround our beloved home.

The door became trouble; moreso for me, as I stumbled my way in when she turned to shut it. She caught me, slipped that arm under me and we were off once more. She had drunk more, and I felt drunk. The world blurred, and I remembered putting my arm out to catch my fall along the hallway wall.

She asked when we came into the foyer, the many openings and routes we could take, “Think you can make it upstairs? I'll turn down the sheets and you can just slip right—“

I shook my head and limply nodded off in the direction of the sofa. That one image looked more inviting to me than those flights of stairs, up and up and up. Added, there would've been no way to catch me if I had fallen. I would have rolled back down, injuring her, injuring me.

“The couch?”

I nodded again.

I wasn't much for conversation.

Frankly, I wasn't much for anything but for one goal:

Sleep.

“Wow, they were absolutely right,” I heard Hermione say beside me, assisting in my walk around the sofa.

When I saw the cushions before me clearly, I hadn't a care anymore.

I fell towards my side and twisted, turning to land straight on my backside with a bounce.

I heard only pieces of pieces when Hermione spoke. She something about the Ministry, about how I had said before that I'd crash as they predicted, and hard. She had my feet, my shoes. She unlaced them, and I felt the constriction release. I felt my socks removed and the cool of Number Twelve atop the new exposure. I think she asked if I wanted something else off…maybe the turtle neck? That, too, eventually was slid off.

Bare-chested, all I could comprehend next was Hermione's directions, for me to climb up on her and lay. I did, floating above her and landing face-first into her bosom. I heard only mumbles… Something about her chest? Pillows?

I wasn't very tactful, but honest, when I slurred out the statement, “…But, I love your bristols…”

“…Yeah, you…my breasts…”

“…So soft and so lovely and so mine…”

Hermione made a giggle.

“Oh, Harry…”

“…Beautiful naughty bits…”

“Christ!” Hermione whispered with a bit of excitement, a laugh when I purposefully rubbed my face between her breasts. I sighed, and she sighed, too. “…You're simply…”

I didn't quite catch the last words.

The crash had taken me.

***

An incessant reverberation of the headache-inducing nature woke me up first. Then, the softness which had become my pillow, my bed, began to move from beneath me. In that split time was I confused as mattresses…don't move…until I realised in my state of sleep that—of course—Hermione.

Raising my head, I watched her through squints first smile, sliding from me and slowly comforting me to lie back down on the sofa.

“I'll be right back…,” she whispered, the room dark but the lamp light behind her. That one light produced such a halo around her head. I smiled, lying back down per instruction on my spread out arms. I realized then, too, that the bell-like sound striking my skull became a ring.

“…I've got to get the phone…”

The sounds of Hermione pitter-pattering steps growing distant, and then her “Hello?” was the last sound I heard.

I'd fallen back in slumber.

***

Hermione's kindly words woke me.

“Come,” she said quietly, having me to rise. My eyes blinking alive, aware, her vanilla scent enveloped me to awake. Or awake enough to understand that she was trying to get me to rise from the sofa. “Come, Harry. Time for bed, love.”

My ears perked to another voice.

My sight quickly went to my chair, the recliner I had spent many a day pondering the past in, the present, and future…and many games of Quidditch on the telly. Her fiery, Weasley-red screamed Ginevra. The fireplace had been lit, its warmth focused on us, the orange light flickering against Gin's face. The shadows produced a line along her face, and I could only see one glistening eye of hers on me.

She just stared vacantly, her head turning ever-so-slowly as I did bundled in Hermione's arms supporting me.

My mind only processed words at random in the beginning.

“…Always…as usual, Hermione…”

“…can't help it. I…”

“…You… What do you want me to…?”

“…Please, Gin. I'll be…”

Only when Hermione had me on the first few steps of the staircase did my mind finally fully develop sentences.

“…You forgot about me, `Mi.”

“Please,” I heard Hermione's stress en masse in her voice. “Gin—I'll be back down. Let me just get Harry in bed.”

“This isn't the first time you've forgotten about me—I've never forgotten about you—you're always in my mind.”

“Harry's my heart, Gin—listen to yourself! Do you really believe I'd—I'm not leaving him to fend for himself.”

Wobbling upstairs, and wishing my mind wouldn't have comprehended any words…none…

My dander was up.

I'd had enough of Ginny making Hermione feel guilty for…loving me?

“Hey!”

I shouted, causing both Hermione to stop walking and Gin to shut her mouth.

I had turned around, glaring at Gin. Tired, I'd had enough of this shit, and my body language eluded that fact. Forcefully, and firmly, I pointed Gin down from my height where she stood at the base of the stairs. I think I went to walk down a step, and nearly stumbled, feeling Hermione's hands on my torso for balance.

“Pardon me for being such an obstacle in your life, Gin; but, I swear, if I hear one more line from you about how Hermione hasn't thought about you or whatever stupid shit flies out of your mouth… I'm sorry Neville's gone—but don't take your anger out on her because,” I pointed at myself. “I'm here, and I'm staying here beside my fiance and wife till the end. I'll be in your face in a half a second and knock you down a peg if you make one tear of hers shed. So, just shut the fuck up and pipe the fuck down.”

“Don't come over to my house and spread your hate around,” I ended. “I'm tired of your shit. I'm fucking tired of it Gin. Don't push me, or her, anymore. Do you hear me? I want us to be clear.”

“Harry…,” I felt Hermione pulling me back up. Somehow, without knowing I had done it, I had walked those steps down and was about three inches from Ginny's statuesque face. “Harry, come on… He's just tired, Gin…”

“Let's go, love…,” She pulled on me again, and I stood, stiff in my stance. I looked Gin down, and her Weasley way sized me up, too. The tension between us was thick enough to be cut with a knife. She pulled on me once more, and my body finally moved upward. “…Come on. I've got you. Let's just go to bed.”

“Gin,” Hermione had turned around on the way up to see Gin still standing still at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes narrowed at our scene. “The guest bedroom is made. I'll come check on you after Harry's settled down… Okay?”

“Whatever, `Mi…”

“Whatever, `Mi,” I mimicked Gin's perturbed, mousy voice.

“You want to start something, Harry?!”

I flicked back around and started back down after her, “You're the one who fucking came into my home, and—“

“Harry!” cried Hermione, tugging me back up towards our bedroom.

“And, Gin!” she shouted. Hermione pointed at Gin over the banister. “Both of you: enough! Now! Not another peep!”

Lumbering forward, I fell face first into the pillow, landing diagonally on the bed. I heard our bedroom door close and Hermione begin removing various pieces of clothing on the way over, starting with her shoes.

I'd fallen backwards into twilight sleep when I was woken, again, briefly. I felt the jumper being taken off, my shirt progressively being taken from my shoulders and over my head. I lay back, vertical now, my head hitting the pillow. My eyes blinked open once to find Hermione unbuttoning and unzipping my trousers, removing them along with my socks.

Glancing at Hermione in another blink did I see her with her jacket off, her shoes, socks, on her knees rolling the trousers neatly in her arms. Steadfast, she didn't know I was awake until I said, “…I'm not sorry.”

She looked up, and put her hand up, sighing, “Harry… Not now, love.”

“I know,” she added. “Just not now. Get as much sleep as you need; and, you need it.”

Flipping around, she crawled her way off the bed and deposited the clothes of the day into the laundry bin to wash later. I kept an eye on her in the lamplight as her lovely pale skin appeared more and more as she peeled layer after layer off her exquisite form. She traipsed into the loo for a bit, keeping the door open enough so I could see her walking about as well as hearing her maneuver between the sink, the towels, getting prepared for bed.

The light went out, and the door opened.

She came from the loo with her pink-and-white striped satin pyjamas on. The shirt was left open, and I could see every softened curve of my Hermione as she traipsed back over to the lamp and pulled on the chain to shut the bulb off. She went to slide in, her hand inside the sheets to get beneath when she saw me still awake…and my smile.

“You're supposed to be asleep…, she grinned, sliding right over to me.

Always one to help, I took her halfway and pulled her towards me in haste the rest of the way. I heard her subtle laugh as she buried herself into the sheets, and I buried myself in her chest. The warmth was more than inviting, and her smell intoxicatingly sweet.

She wrapped an arm around my neck, holding the back of my head, and me, to her.

“Do you feel any better?”

“Tired…,” I smiled into her.

“Mm…,” I heard her quieted laugh.

After some silence, I felt the need to…

“I'm sorry…”

“You don't have to be sorry…,” she replied, rubbing my head.

“She just…”

“I know…”

“And, she's your best friend…”

“She is…”

“And, I don't care who it is… I'll always harbor ill feelings for anyone who talks to you that way. You don't deserve any of it.”

“She's just saddened and angry…”

“Which is why I apologized.”

“It's all right… It'll blow over. Everyone's emotional right now.”

“Are you going to go check on her?”

“Yeah… But, later.”

“Want me to…?”

“No… You just get some sleep.”

She kissed the top of my head. “I love you.”

I caressed where my lips lay on her chest. “…Love you.”

***

{Author's Note: I know it's been a while, but I've begun clinicals with nine to ten hour workdays. Life first and all. The story will be finished; so, no one think it won't. It'll just be slower. Thus is why for a bit there beforehand I pumped chapters out to consolidate the coming downtime. Wanted to get this chapter out; so, if there are errors realize they will be fixed over the coming days, too.}

{Musical inspirations: The Scientist by Coldplay, Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol, Collide by Howie Day, Feel So Close by Calvin Harris, Back Home by Gym Class Heroes, Iris by Goo Goo Dolls, Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap, Blackout by Breathe Carolina, Death of Cedric on Goblet of Fire soundtrack, Dumbledore's Farewell on Half-Blood Prince soundtrack, and some Audiomachine}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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75. Room

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Seventy-five - Room

***

The feeling of nothingness extracted me from slumber. Gaining my faculties, first my hand gripped the sheet beside me, then her pillow case, and when she wasn't there in the dark did I make a large sweeping action across the sheets. In instant reflex, I lifted from my stomach, pushing off at a forty-five with my hands to peer around in the limited lighting. Of course, my mind began to wonder. I glanced towards the unlit lavatory, her vanity, and her desk of books. Sometimes she'd wake to read, as if not to disturb me… But, she'd usually have her eye on me. Actually, she'd always have an eye on me and would have said something sooner.

Everything remained still and black.

I went to roll out of bed. Her side was down, so I knew—or thought—she hadn't have gone far… Only until I realized I was in shorts did my mind finally recollect the information.

She must be with Ginny, I thought. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Feeling a bit better, and less worried, I took time to reassure myself and put some sleep trousers on before heading towards the guest bedroom.

Walking softly with my bare-feet sticking to the cool wooden floor, I wandered onto the stairs, feeling as I did sleep still within me. By the time I had made it to the second floor did I feel to stop a moment, the exhaustion like the very blood pumping in my veins. I'd been so caught up in Hermione's whereabouts that my own health took a backseat. Now that I knew…

The guest bedroom door was opened.

We would have door open when people weren't in there…a safety precaution taken privately; so, when I saw the scene I scratched my head. At least Hermione would have shut the door a crack… This was wide open, as if untouched.

I stuck my head in and saw…

Nothing.

Silence.

Black.

Immediately, I went over the banister and looked into the caverns below and noted the lamplights still on in the living quarters. Again, pieces fit in the puzzle… I had remembered sacking out on the sofa, and doing away with anything else when we had come in from the street. And, Ginny and… I ran my hand across my forehead and stopped, the sensation of smoothness making me backtrack along my forehead. I still wasn't used to being scar-less, half-expecting the seared indentation that became my identity.

“Hermione?” I called out. Even when approaching the living area, no sound could be heard. That stilled silence resumed but the clock above the hearth tick-tocking.

“Hun…?” And, as I rounded the corner and peeked inside did I see the backside of my beloved's head, her head leaned towards the left, towards me, with all her curls shifting in that direction. Quietly, I continued, stepping until I saw them both:

Gin, and all her fiery, red-headedness in Hermione's lap and Hermione, her left hand propping her chin up. Both girls were fast asleep, with Hermione about to topple over like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

I stood there with my hands on my hips and made a chuckle.

I gave a breath and bent down to my knees so I would be closer to their level. “Hermione…,” I whispered, not wishing to startle her. No one enjoyed being startled out of sleep. Probably one of the worst feelings in the world other than a heart attack.

“Sweetheart…,” I leaned down and kissed her right knee. She sat Indian-style on the sofa cushion. Gently, I massaged the knee, having her move about now with me in my smile.

She blinked to awareness, and then realized who was in front of her after examining her surroundings. “Christ!” she exclaimed in hush. “What time is it?! Oh, I'm sorry, Harry, I was about to—“

“You're fine,” I caressed her calf through her pink-and-white striped pyjama trousers, squeezing her knee. I laughed a little when she became fidgety, wanting to erase what had happened for another. “You're fine, really. I just didn't know where you were.”

“I should've been up there with you!”

“Hey,” I pushed from my knees and elevated myself over Gin to reach Hermione. “Look at me.”

She did in her fit.

“Everything is fine, love.”

“I just—I left her alone and—“

“Hey,” I stopped her fit, again. She went silent, her beautiful, tired eyes upon mine. I took my hand and brought her closer to me, by her chin, leading her as I leaned in to kiss her. I ran my hand through her tassels slowly, keeping our eyes locked, our noses touching. “A lot has happened. It's no one's fault.”

“She was crying, Harry; and, I promised her we would do something.”

I glanced down at the out Weasley, and then back up at my love. “She's a friend, true; but, she's not your responsibility.”

“She said Ron left for the States after Luna, and her mum—you know how she hates her—“

“Right,” I nodded, giving Hermione another light peck-kiss. “But, she's a grown adult. Your only responsibility is towards yourself.”

“We can't leave her alone.”

“We won't,” I shook my head, nudging my noses with Hermione's. “I'm not throwing her out in the cold. She can stay here in the guest bedroom for as long as she needs. We're already an extended family. And, in this big home…”

I looked around as if I could see all the room upstairs.

“We can find room.”

“Thank you, Harry…,” She kissed me, laying her forehead with mine. She kept her mahogany-coloured pools steady. “I love you.”

“I love you,” I smiled, peck-kissing her once more.

“She thinks you hate her.”

“Me?” My brow rose. “That's new. Why?”

“You yelled at her—“

“She yells at me!” I laughed a little. “See? Like one big family!”

“But, she thinks she isn't welcome anymore.”

“Codswallop,” Shrugging what was said off, I waved my hand. “Do you think that's true?”

“Of course not, but I'm not her. We're all unique, hun.”

“Did you say anything to her?”

“Yes—but she was in hysterics. It probably went in one ear and out the other.”

I let out a sigh, looking at Gin facing away from me and towards Hermione's stomach. “I swear, we're more like a true family every day.”

Sifting my hand from the fringe of my mane, gently I pushed up from my knees and offered my hands, my arms, “Let's get her to bed, then.”

“You look tired, babe,” she noticed. I was sure there were bags beneath my eyes.

I had slid my arms under Gin, and slowly, not to wake her, plucked her from Hermione. “I'll be fine once she's in bed.”

“I'll be right behind you,” and I heard her, Hermione flicking the light of the lamp off when she saw I had made it halfway up the first flight of stairs. Then, the pads of her soft feet, following my trail.

Gin instinctively held onto my chest as we rose to the second floor. Giving a smile, I heard a murmur underneath a peep. “What was that…?” I asked, stepping into the confines of the guest's bedroom.

“What did she say…?” asked Hermione, her lovely aura close. I saw her over my shoulder.

Hermione pulled down the sheets and I let her down on the bed when we realized Gin awake, or awake enough to say “I'm sorry…,” behind heavy, squinted eyes.

Hermione had flicked the lamp on in the room.

I lowered to her height, Gin on the bed. Squatting at the edge, I put my arms, my hands on the ledge and felt Hermione's warm hand on my shoulder. She stood behind me, looking on at Ginevra.

“Water under the bridge, kiddo.”

Hermione gave my shoulder a squeeze.

“Are we still mates…?”

“For a very long time,” I reassured. “Long, long, long time.”

I found Hermione's touch silky as she ran her thumb across the round of my shoulder, keeping her hand on me.

“That is,” I added. “If we don't kill each other first.”

Gin made a laugh, and yawned, adjusting the pillow beneath her head.

“Do you need anything, Gin?” asked Hermione sweetly. Gin glanced from me to her. “I can give you one of the shirts I confiscated from Harry's side of the wardrobe to sleep in.”

I chuckled.

Gin shook her head. “I'll be fine…”

She smiled, and closed her eyes.

I stood back up, Hermione's hand falling down my back, tracing a line the width of her hand, fingers. “You know where we are if you need us for anything.”

She nodded and became still.

I turned to see Hermione, a smile on her face, looking at me.

I smiled, too; Hermione's smile making me smile. “Let's get back to bed.”

On the way back upstairs Hermione caught me around the middle from behind. She placed her cheek against my back and squeezed my centre, giving the spot where she laid a kiss. “I swear, Harry…,” she said in whisper for only me to hear. “…You make it very easy to love you.”

***

Hermione asked for some fruit for breakfast this morning.

And, I was happy to oblige.

We hadn't heard anything from Ginny. In a way, I had become concerned. She was like family—family—and she had protected my love. She would have given herself for Hermione's sake; and, in knowing that, knew she would not ever treat Hermione without respect. Last night became more about emotions than truth. We had talked about it most of last night…waking up every now and then to check on Gin. She really had had it difficult with Neville's passing, and he was a best mate of mine. Though, I knew the pain in her heart overcame my own for we saw her Weasley strength waver, crushed.

We only hoped she knew we did love her, and would be there.

I had a tray in my hands with the fruit. I'd cut the strawberries and the banana into bite-sized chunks. The red and white colours met with navy blue, ripe blueberries intermixed. Some toast with butter sat at the side, and a vase's water rippled as I walked back upstairs holding a red rose.

On the way up, I peeked into the guest's bedroom. The door I nudged with my foot crept open with a creek, the hinge a bit old. Peeking in, I saw the fiery curls varied amongst the cream-coloured pillows, the birch-coloured bed sheets. I could see the outline of Ginny, and whilst tracing the contour connected the lines to her partially hidden face. Lightly stepping once, I went to a tiptoe to see her serene, her eyes closed behind long, black eyelashes.

Smiling, I stepped back into the hall and pulled the door back with a finger.

Our door remained open I saw, stepping from the last stair. Hermione had said she wanted to shower, and I had left her in front of her vanity. Pressing inside by softened, bare step did I see our bedroom empty, her pyjamas lain neatly at the foot of the mattress. The lavatory door had been opened, the door opened enough for a body to slip through. My ears perked of the silence. When one takes a shower one would normally hear the water running; but, the lights were on.

Not even halfway to the bathing room did I hear, finally, water. Movement, as if she had lifted a leg and set it back down; the water sloshing to her action. I grinned at the door, and shook my head. She'd done a little…renovating. And, indeed, with a knock on the door and Hermione's welcoming, “Come in,” did I see her magic.

I set the breakfast tray down before going in.

What used to be the shower had been transfigured into a bath, and a spacious one at that. Bubbles surrounded my love like snowy mountains, hiding the perfection underneath. One leg, however, bent up; her lovely knee just out of the water. She'd stuck her wand in her hair and put her hair up in a bun, untouched, and dry above the water. The water had to have been hot enough, the mirrors foggy and the humidity thick.

She glanced up at me with, of course, I thought with a smile, a book to her nose.

“Moved some furniture around I see,” I chuckled, wandering over to the side of the bath. Kneeling down at the side, I placed my elbows on the edge and took my sweet in, and her smile.

“Maybe a little…” She laughed.

I hadn't a need to roll up sleeves, nude from the waist up; and, I hadn't the need to ask permission, tapping the surface of the bubbly water to feel it before diving in. I met with her slick, soft tummy and casually ran the tips of my fingers around in circles.

I saw her close her eyes at my touch, and then reopen them, fixed to me.

“I checked in on Gin.”

“Still sleeping?”

I nodded. “In complete hibernation.”

Teasing her beautiful navel, I watched the corner of her lips twitch before the grin.

Gently, she set her book down on the side farthest from me and shifted towards me. I watched her look from me at first, to where she put the novel, and then push to my side. My hand by her action slipped easily from her stomach and to her side, her hip where I squeezed. Leaning my cheek into my left hand propped by my elbow, I asked, her lovely face with mine now, “What was that?”

She motioned behind her. “The book?”

I nodded. “I didn't mean to be a bother.”

She smiled, her hands gripping the side of the spacious tub. With each movement I heard the water splash with her, and noticed how those bubbles continued to keep her concealed. She set her face level with mine. “You can always bother me.”

I smiled, and then laughed at her little nose scrunched up and her cheeky grin.

Observing where I was, I kept still, watching Hermione lean forward and peck-kiss my smiling lips. “…One of my old school books from Oxford.”

I looked at the ceiling, in smile, and then glanced back down at her, “Hermione…in a bath relaxing with a school book…”

Even in her smile, she narrowed her eyes at me.

“…That hasn't changed,” I chuckled, seeing her swish, moving in the water to tap the side of my arm. She left a wet mark, the tiny black hairs on my forearm sodden and down.

Laughing, I shook my head. I leaned forward those inches and kissed her, saying after, “And, I wouldn't have it any other way.”

“You can go back,” I added, sitting back on my knees with the bath between us. “To school, I mean.”

“I know,” Her eyes flittered to the space between us, and then gazed back at me with those lively cinnamon saucers.

“I hope you know I'd never hold you back.”

“I know,” she nodded. “But, for right now…”

“I'd like to just be with you.”

I smiled and pushed into the side of the bath. “You are the most wonderful woman in the world,” I stated, kissing her once. My fingers had led themselves onto her curve, running the length of her slope as I felt her hand hold where she had already marked.

Now, a wet handprint matted the hair on my arm.

We laid our foreheads together.

“Your breakfast is just outside.”

She nodded, laughing softly through her nose. I saw her smile before she kissed me, nudging noses until resting, again our foreheads.

“You're a beautiful man, Harry…,” she sighed in the smile. Approaching, she kissed me, laying her hand to my heart.

“Especially here,” she said through the caress. With our release and reconnection, our faces together, she said in a breath, “Sometimes I honestly don't believe this is real.”

“It is,” I reaffirmed, planting another peck-kiss on her warm lips. “It very much is.”

“God definitely brought me to you for a reason… I don't think I can thank him quite enough for this, and the second chance.”

“I couldn't have said it better myself,” I grinned, placing my lips to hers, leaving her there to further explore the tip of her nose, and then her delicate cheek.

My hand moved with expedience, the haste making her abdomen retract when I touched her there. She giggled in our caress, and left me for my own cheek, my neck, and my shoulder. The bubbles had slowly fallen to the water, creating a circle outlining her tiny circumference. My hand went up, feeling her smoothness, each lovable tickle when she'd laugh. I felt her ribs, allowing every one of those digits to fall into the gentle valleys. Tracing the underside of her left breast, I cupped her, handling her with the greatest of ease.

I heard her sigh, and lift from my shoulder, to my mouth where she kissed me.

I felt her beating heart beneath, pumping away my life and hers. The palpitations were strong, and that feeling, to know she was better—healed—had me smile. She smiled, too, our lips as one. She knew the fondling wasn't just playful, but of interest to her health and well-being. Only when satisfied intellectually did my hand become flirtatious, randy, my thumb brushing against the side of her hard, little nipple. Grazing over the nub, I let the swelled pinkness flick to the side—to hear her gasp into giggle, laughter.

“You're always so…”

“Mmm…?” She murmured in our kiss.

“…'Happy'.” I laughed through my nose.

And, she did, too.

“I'm never not `happy' whenever I'm around you.”

I laughed again, feeling the intensity behind her kiss heighten. For once, I began to need breath. “I can say the same,” I agreed with the same passion behind the innuendo.

We broke the caress for a second to catch ourselves when I noted with my photographic memory my beloved Granger, starkers, and how her lovely nude breasts fit perfectly in my hands, the pink excited amongst the white flesh surrounding them, each nipple standing at attention.

“Come in with me…,” I heard her raspy voice at my ear. I glanced up at her mischievous, knowing grin. “I made the bath to hold two people.”

My smile widened. “Very clever…”

She laughed, and I felt every bit of her jiggle in my hands.

I kissed her before pushing from my knees to stand. “I do need a bath.”

Hermione slid backwards in the water and watched me leisurely from the other side. With a bit of rose in her cheeks, I watched her hands hold, and then grip lightly her breasts before fluidly crossing one leg over another with a bit of a flourish and splash. She dropped her head back, closed her eyes… I could see her through the water, having pushed the bubbles aside, and I was glad to have only elastic pyjama trousers on for quick removal.

I watched those hands of hers tug her nipples just as lightly as she gripped. She smiled, having her own film begin the moment my thumbs entered the elastic. When I stood back up, I caught her lingered look, and the bite of her bottom lip.

“Don't forget the door,” she said in her grin, wetting her hands with the surface of the water before rubbing her breasts as she watched me.

Dashing for the door, my hurry became nothing else but her.

She giggled when I turned around and went for the bath.

***

I loved how we remained connected, together, our breaths calming after our lovely bout of intimacy. Straddled still, I watched her lift from my chest where she had rested to take the wand from her hair. Each individual brown curl fell, cascading like steady, fragile waterfalls, one right after the next. She shook her messy hair around, and laughed when parts of those loose strands stuck to her moistened face.

I laughed, too.

With an ever-so-slight of touch, I began running my fingers through her lathered-white hair. She didn't move so much on her own, flowing with me, keeping her eyes on me. She only ever closed them when asked, to shield her away from the shampoo. Tenderly, and by the tips, I scratched atop, pulling softly away to wash what tassels escaped my affectionate hands. I watched how the darkness slid easily through the webbings, between my fingers, and then caught her watching me with those beautiful cinnamon irises. Her pupils lingered dilation from our romp, giving the light from the lavatory a breadth for reflection; like tiny stars, she shined with her signature smirk.

“Eyes, love,” I didn't want for her to close them, our moment ethereal, surreal in the morning sun.

She shut them, and I plucked her wand from behind my right ear.

Without a word, I pointed first at an awaiting cup behind her on the ledge of the tub and offered a notion towards us. The cup floated over, and as I stuck her wand back behind my ear did I have enough time to catch the cup mid-flight.

“Bow your head a little towards me.”

She followed instructions, leaning in as the cup captured some fresh, warm water from the faucet. Lightly, I let the water pour through her hair as I cradled her. I watched how her hair went from white, to a mix, of coffee-tint, to her natural mahogany. The room exploded to life with her vanilla scent as the suds landed without much of a sound around her form and mine. I kept the water from her shut eyes with my hand, a visor just above her brow, and would gently sift my fingers through her drenched locks.

I gave her head a loving scratch when I was done, to hear her exclaim with pleasure a subtle moan. Combing back her hair from front to back, to again, keep the water from dripping, potentially burning her sight, I watched her come to with that signature smirk upon her pink lips. She leaned in, further, and took my face in her hands.

She kissed me, my eyes closing at how soft she was.

She wrapped her arms about my neck, and with fervor, lifted just off her knees. Our bodies collided, or hers with mine. Going backwards, wanting, needing to stay connected within her act, dropped to the bath's lining. The cup aside, I had her with me, on me, and in my arms.

***

I didn't argue with her about the dishes, our breakfast bowls being dried when I came up behind her form. She looked adorable, and I remembered, saw the mental photographs I had stored away of her putting on the pin-striped collar shirt, the little grey tight overalls. Buttons everywhere, six sat on her front, three on each side of her abdomen—of which I touched when I stood behind her—and two on either side of her thighs. The overalls went to shorts, and from the grey came black tights and the same grey-tinted socks.

I smelled of her hair, and I felt her lean back into me, her hands working in circles inside a bowl.

I caressed her shoulder, rubbed my nose into her there and up along her neck. “…If you were an entree, I'd have a terrible time not stuffing my face,” I purred softly into her ear, making her shiver and laugh. Grinning, I reached around for the post aside her all the while having shifted around to caress her cheek.

She turned, too, to find my lips. Her hands left the drying dish cloth for my own cheek where she held.

“Have you opened these?” I hadn't checked the envelopes in my hand; though, my attention set across the oven range when her tea kettle piped. I went to take it off the eye.

She shook her head. “Not yet. Found them at the door when I came down and was going to go through them after finishing here.”

One envelope, slightly smaller and slightly whiter than the others, peaked my interest. “What have we here…”

“What is it?” Hermione, tossing the dish cloth on the counter, wiped her hands off using her backside, and wondered over to my left shoulder. She set her chin on my ledge and wrapped her arms loosely about my middle.

I read the front, printed in black ink cursive:

To Mister Potter and Miss Granger

“It's a bit on the small side.”

“That's what caught my attention, too. And, look,” I noted, flipping the letter over. “The Ministry's wax seal.”

“Malfoy's monitoring the post.”

“He did say…”

Sifting a finger between the paper and seal, the glued pocket opened and a folded piece of bright parchment unraveled out for our paired eyes:

You have been invited to the closed memorial service of the late Miss Zoe Reynolds, also known as and admired by, Shade Epsilon. Her family and intimate friends wish for both of you to attend this Friday evening in her hometown of Northampton at eight o'clock. When entering Northampton limits, a light will guide you to the service. Please dress in black.

Noted by her family and intimate friends, you both were heroes to her and she strived to be as caring as both of you even if a smidgen.

We hope to see you there and meet you.

The Reynolds Family

I felt Hermione's arms tighten.

Taking my left hand away, I met her figure, sliding an arm about her centre as well. I gave her the needed embrace.

“I remember…,” I turned from the letter to see her eyes closed, concentrating on her thoughts. She shook her head, opening her eyes to look at me. “…But, I just can't seem to connect one and one. I think I remember…”

“It's all right—now we both know,” Leaning into her, I gave her lips a light peck-kiss. With a bit of friction, I rubbed her back.

She laid her forehead on my shoulder, her eyes closing again.

All I could see was the top of her head, and all those tangles brushing over me.

I caressed the top and continued the rub of her back. “Do you want to go?”

“Of course,” She tilted back up to look at me through her hair. “Of course we will. We were invited, and—“

I nodded. “I know. I was making sure.”

I ran my fingers through her hair, leaving her back a moment to scratch atop her skull. Watching as I combed through the softness, I smiled albeit slightly as she hadn't dropped her focus…and I needed not to get her emotions raging. I didn't wish to see her depressed.

“Did I do a good job?”

She went to smile, hesitated, but smiled in the end.

I could see tears at the ready in her ducts.

“Harry…,” she could see right through me like glass.

She was the most brilliant after all.

“Mind if we wait for the tea?”

She nodded, and I heard her sniffle.

“Let's go,” I said comfortingly. Pivoting on my heel, I let my hand, fingers linger behind for her.

She took my hand, and in-hand we walked quietly into the den. I led her to the sofa and sat down, leading her further by fingertip as I first stretched out and made ample room for her. She climbed into my pocket, reaching above me, and then around me as she lay upon me, her head below my chin.

The room was silent but the clock on the mantle's tick.

The ambience was filled with natural light coming from the various windows along the walls of the living quarters.

I went for the Gryffindor quilt on the back of the sofa and laid the garnet and gold atop her, us.

With arm wrapped tightly around her, perpendicular to her back, and my other, its hand massaging her head, intermingling with her hair, I heard her after those moments and in the silence:

“…I couldn't have done better, Harry.”

I stopped, only to smile, and resumed running my fingers through her soft, dark brown strands.

***

“…I don't believe I can say this enough,” The television had been turned on with the volume low. The volume could have been off now as far as I could tell, completely enraptured by the love of my life and how her soft tangles would land across me. We kissed, her lips like silk on mine, her hands capturing my messy nest above. With light grip of my tufts, and with her arms nestled around me, beside me, our intimacy was fruitfully abundant.

When I could breathe, and she, too, did I recourse with the conclusion of the continued sentence, “Your beauty matches your intelligence.”

She leaned from me a mere inch to look at me with those vivid cinnamon irises, her pink lips in smile, her locks shifting to one side as she watched my lips move again.

“You truly are the most gorgeous woman in the world.”

She sighed into another one of her smiles, the type of sigh that led a man's hair to stand on end and to have his heart sing, before she tilted back to me. She lowered to my lips where she kissed me, to the corner, my cheek, the line of my jaw, and down into the crook of my neck. All the while my form followed silent instruction, moving as she did to give her full allowance to my underside. I could feel the bridge of her nose nudge my jaw ever-so-softly as her peck-kisses, caressing my throat.

My hands never left her, drawing with my fingers that wonderful slope I so admired and that delicate indent of her spine. I fingered all the little niches of her adorable outfit down to the tiny notches of her shorts. Hooking my fingers into them I would pull in satisfaction, to show my satisfaction, whenever she'd find a spot—spots—on me. She also would giggle softly for I'd make a noise from my throat.

My hands cradling each cheek of her petite bum, she lifted, and with her I did, too. She grinned as she knew she had me, in life, in love, forever; and, that I couldn't, wouldn't get enough of her.

I lay back against the sofa and observed her slight movements to reacquaint her comfort. Her knees were between mine at first. She adjusted, readjusted, until she fit around me and on my lap. Where my lips couldn't find her from this height, my hands did. I squeezed her hips as I observed my Hermione's slender figure stretch upwards to the sky. She put her head back, and I, a hand, slid the course of her flat abdomen, making note to go as leisurely as possible.

I felt her shudder, which led to those goose-pimples again.

She retook my hand, hands, and laid them at her cheeks, letting them fall to her direction down her neck, to her shoulders, her clavicle, across her chest, to her breasts. All the while my eyes set to hers, or until she closed them, my touches letting a subtle moan escape from her slightly parted lips. She let out a sigh and breathed deep, in with her nose slowly and out just as slow as she continued to taxi my hands down the breadth of her stomach, to the crease where her hips and thighs met.

She made a whimper, a laugh when I shot up in my seat and wrapped my arms around her.

Her arms, lying, now, atop mine, anchored along my neck.

“You're electricity…,” she breathed before I brought her back down with me, and to my lips where they fused.

She giggled, and I chuckled through our kiss.

She had an even better giggle when I caught her sides in a tickle, to break away from me a second to laugh only to be brought by light hand back again to my eager mouth.

So bewitched in our elated state we didn't hear another approach until…

“Um…?” The voice, albeit quiet and cautious, was like our second Great Awakening.

Hermione sat up, and then I did, our faces together and matching. The voice had come from the staircase, and that's where we both startled backwards to see.

The chaotic swirls of a flaming Weasley-red set in bed-head across her shoulders, her golden-brown eyes matched to ours. Her left foot, not quite down on the lowest floor, and that of her clinched hand on the rail led me to believe she wasn't at all wanting to…disrupt, but did so, saying in a breeze, “…Just wanted to get something to drink…”

Her eyes flicked away from us.

Hermione had already begun climbing from me the moment she saw Ginny, and I watched her, moving, too, to stand up.

Ginny's eyes set back to us, and her finger pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “…That is, if I may get something to drink. I'm quite par—“

Hermione had enveloped her in an embrace before she could get out the full word, “parched”.

Wandering in behind my love, I came beside Hermione, her back to me. Ginny at first was hesitant with her arms, but rightly wound them around her best friend.

“You needn't have to ask,” Hermione chimed, tightening her hug of Gin. “You're always welcome to anything we have.”

“Anything,” I uttered behind Hermione's words, with honesty.

Gin's eyes, which closed to Hermione's sudden embrace, reopened to my voice, my one word.

I saw the breakdown in her facial features, and then the tears stream down from those golden-brown irises. “I'm sorry,” was all that she could muster out before truly ceasing to a weep.

Placing my arms around Gin, too, I gave her my embrace as well.

Encapsulating them both, my friend and that of Hermione, I felt, and watched my love wipe Gin's tears away with care by the edge of her thumb. “We love you, Gin.”

“We do,” I reiterated, giving the one shoulder of Gin I held a squeeze. “And, we'll be there for you.”

I could feel Gin about to buckle under the heavy weight upon her. Gin shook in my arms. Hermione could feel her, too, looking up at me at the same time as I looked to her. “Come,” Hermione guided between us. I let go the moment I felt Hermione move with her, an arm about her, towards the kitchen. “Let's get you some breakfast.”

“I'll put the tea back on,” I said behind the two, slipping between them when Hermione went to the kitchen table with Gin and the doorway.

Hermione glanced back at me as she helped Gin situate in her chair.

She grinned at me in her loving way, my hand around the handle of the teapot. I flicked the stove on and smiled, too, at my lover trying to quell the stuttering breaths of Ginevra with a stroke of her hand.

***

Commerce District, Violet Hill

11:37 AM

Reconstruction teams have rebuilt the majority of the district, including the more financially-driven markets and are in the process of rebuilding the rest behind a Ministry of Magic emblazoned podium. Surrounding a free-standing, easily deconstructive platform stands white cloaks, Aurors, and that of the local Violet Hill police platoon. In the platform's centre, and behind the podium stands interim Minister Malfoy. Beside him his soul-mate, Pansy, both in similar suits. Pansy, forever watching her beloved, keeps her hands folded in front of her as Draco speaks to the crowd, and camera beyond physical and magical barriers.

An air of trepidation holds front and centre with the public, and rightfully so. Trust has been broken, and the deaths from the previous political machine at the wheel of the Ministry. Time could only heal those wounds.

Speaking truthfully about the painful events of what has unfolded with confidence, he is abruptly interrupted by a person who screams out, followed by a group interspersed amongst the crowd:

“He's a Malfoy!”

“A Death Eater!”

“Lucius Malfoy's son!”

“Evil! Just like the rest!”

“Monster!”

“Murderer!”

Malfoy raised his hand, trying in earnest to calm the hecklers. “A moment of your time, please—“

“He should be executed!”

A keyword, and with the world how it was, it didn't take but a second for Aurors to take action. Down went the woman who had shouted for Malfoy's death—her body being taken to the ground-and all of it captured on the international Wizarding News Network camera.

But, only before…

An explosion rocked their foundation from behind.

Smoke and flames expelled from one of the nearest skyscrapers, bringing down pieces of concrete and glass atop the patrons listening to the Minister speak.

Malfoy, Pansy, and his immediate cabinet were all quickly taken by white fog, escaping yet another disaster in the making. The crowd, running for their lives, was instantly protected. The person didn't matter, nor the race or gender. The rapid-response of Malfoy's Aurors went to work. A vast shield became their lifeline, the chunks of building merely bouncing off the combined protego maxima.

Other Aurors had already taken flight northwards to combat whatever—or whoever—might have done this.

***

“Hermione.”

I had her leg, her thigh in my hand. I'd been absorbed in her restfully watching television. Another one of her favourite episodes of Friends was on; and, as much as I found it humorous myself, I couldn't take my eyes off her. Her perfect hair, perfect ears, her perfect eyebrows, that perfect nose, cheek, mouth, jaw… I'd been running the length of her leg which was over my lap, Hermione half-sitting on me and half-sitting on the cushion of the sofa we shared. My arm was around her, atop the sofa and behind. I held her close, and she was close, relaxing on me.

She turned to me without reluctance, leaving the imaginary world for her own and smiled when I lifted my hand to motion her over by finger. She pressed into me, a smile on her face, that bit of hair falling over her eye, and gave my loving smirk a caress. My hand had left for her thigh once more where I gave her a squeeze before lightly tapping her ascended bum. She breathed a small laugh through her nose. I'd begun a light rub of the tapped area when we had to stop, hearing a noise coming downstairs.

Padded her feet were, the soft steps of Ginny emerged with her vibrant red hair swishing from around the corner. In one of Hermione's super soft fleece tunics and yoga leggings, she halted shy of the sofa to fix one of the socks on her feet before suggesting, “I really should look into getting my things…,” She glanced up after adjusting the sock, continuing onward around the sofa to the awaiting recliner where she plopped down in. “If I'm staying here for a while.”

She had taken her legs and feet and put them under her.

Hermione had lowered into more of a…neutral, less private position still aside me and replied to Gin, “It's been decided.”

“We'll go tomorrow morning,” I proposed, having Hermione look back at me and Gin catch my sight, too. “No sense in unpacking everything at midnight, right?”

Gin grinned from behind her recently showered, shiny head of Weasley genes, and Hermione, in her way, smiled, too. She lowered her head on my shoulder and further laced her arms about me. My hand was in her softened tassels, dotingly scratching.

“Deal?”

Hermione warmly hugged my centre.

Gin looked between us, and then nodded her head, deciding, “Deal.”

“Wonderful,” I mused in smile, giving my love's forehead a kiss prior to her movement.

She sat up, looking back as she did to Gin, her arms removed while her hands remained touching my chest, “There's more than enough room over here, hun.” Hermione patted the cushion on our other side.

“No need to sit so far away.”

Gin lagged in response, and I could feel her sudden tension. I'm sure Hermione did, too, but I also realized Hermione's concluded goal. Albeit the happy facade, Gin's body language showed withdrawal. And, I knew Hermione didn't want that with her best friend. So, removing more of herself from me did she usher Gin on over with her hands to which Gin finally gave in.

No one really could say “no” to Hermione.

She gave Gin a needed hug when she sat down with us, asking as she did, “Remember this episode?”

Gin nodded and laughed. “The one where Ross absolutely went mad?”

I smiled, watching my beloved and Gin reminisce about the sitcom a moment before seeing Hermione look back and smile. She had Gin's mind off the inevitable. I sat up more to equal the height I wanted to reach the spots I wanted to reach about Hermione, giving her a kiss atop her head and leaving what was her thigh to a rest on her stomach.

“I was thinking,” I went on when they had a breath, the two girls talking amongst themselves about the show.

“Hm?” Hermione gazed up at me, and Gin did, too.

“Let's do something fun, get out of the flat.” The tips of my fingers caressed lightly the smooth texture of Hermione's loveliness, her stomach retracting ever-so-slight to see her smile.

“What did you have in mind, love?”

“A dinner date and bowling?”

“Bowling,” Hermione echoed, looking aside at Gin. “That sounds like something really fun for us to do.”

“Guess I'll have to get used to doing Muggle-related activities…”

I chuckled through my nose at Gin's spout of realism, and the joking emphasis.

“I like the idea,” Agreed Gin. Her brow furrowed, though. She pointed at Hermione, and then at me. “But, only if I can help pay for this.”

I chuckled again. “We'll see.”

***

I don't know if it was the strawberry cocktail Hermione had been drinking or Gin's apple martini, but all the same, I laughed from behind the score machine at them doing the Macarena. The popular song had come on over the bowling arena's speakers, and right in the middle of Ginny's set. Skipping off after scoring a split, and it Hermione's turn next, they met up in their swap and began the dance—for everyone—and there was an audience. I noticed others begin doing the dance as well. I just put my beer bottle to my lips and shook my head, watching my Hermione wiggling her hips right alongside Gin.

The fun didn't stop there. I really should've stopped Hermione after ordering her first drink, and Gin, having them have me stop after a set of mine to dance to Will Smith's Gettin' Jiggy With It. Right there on the wood, the ledge before the glossy-tiled cement we were. I didn't even know there was a dance to this—or if Hermione and Gin made it up—and I didn't care. Through them I found their fun, my fun, my bowling trainers tapped the floor. I heard Hermione and Gin, through smiles, sing-along with the chorus.

The bowling arena had caught the fever by the time Lou Bega came on. Like a disco, really, flashes of different coloured lights stroboscopically flittered through the hall. The neon colours would light the room, a photographic glow, a reflection of my fiance with Gin going along with the lyrics—and with the rest. I don't even think bowling became the forethought, the atmospheric merriment bringing its own gratification to me, and especially them.

I could hear them, beaming, snickering:

“Take one step left!” One would say.

The other would say. “Take one step right!”

“One to the front!”

“One to the side!”

In our lane there they were, and all I could do was laugh behind the lit scoring monitor. Gin had just scored an eight, and I had sat down to put the number in to look up and watch their instructed choreography. With another swig of beer, and a little beat-bopping of my head, the smile resumed with my entertainment:

“I!”

“Do!”

“All!”

“To!”

“Fall in love with a girl like you!”

Their heads, smiling faces would bob back and forth between each other, their fingers pointing at one another:

“'Cause you can't run!”

Hermione would point at Gin in her contagious laughter.

“You can't hide!”

Gin would point at Hermione in her giddy laughter.

“You and me gonna touch the sky!”

I was glad we ate before we went bowling.

With all the fun and energy I witnessed, I don't think I could have gotten them to sit long enough for even a chip.

***

Gin made a statement on why it had to be, “So bloody cold every day” before zonking out in the backseat. I watched her from the rearview mirror in the BMW close her eyes, and then like melting ice cream slowly fall to one side in her seatbelt.

The blue tint of the interior lights gave off a very pretty hue, elevating Hermione's beautifully flawless, pure white skin. I met her dark eyes on me, and her smile, by her touch. She had found my hand, my arm on the armrest between us in front. Interlacing her fingers through mine, she brought my hand up and caressed its top. I saw the small metallic band twinkle on her finger, the engagement ring, and couldn't help but smile, teeth and all.

Laying hers and my hand back down on the armrest, she glanced at me in response to the open statement made by Gin. Replying in her magnificent smile, and in whisper just low enough for me and through Bowie's sexy Let's Dance remix on the radio, “…I'm never cold.”

My heart skipped a beat.

She could do that to me.

***

I'd come from the lavatory after brushing my teeth, washing my face, getting ready for bed. I saw Hermione look up at me from her vanity, behind all those pictures of us strewn about the edges of the mirror—all our adventures, the happiness. She smiled at me, and I did, too. Standing with her backside facing me, I noted her bedroom attire, or lack thereof. More skin and less clothing, my eyes could outline her form beneath nearly an entire laced see-through white tiered babydoll. The material almost matched her skin tone giving the illusion of a very naked wife-to-be before me.

I made a hungered noise, a low grunt, before setting off in a trot towards my love where I swept her up in my arms.

She had to drop her hair brush, it landing back on the vanity's top.

She giggled when I tossed her in bed, leaping too, to playfully snarl, nip at her form wriggling in the sheets. My nose grazed the pattern of lace-and-skin, my mouth on her, anywhere and everywhere, making that contagious laughter come to life. I could feel her hands on me, and without so much as a word I could feel through those hands her satisfaction.

A lingered breath between her breasts, and a light kiss of the hollow of her throat, I'd come bottom-to-top to see those pupils of hers dilated. She had her arms around me, hands attached, and smiled with me as I asked in a husky voice, “So, today—did you have fun?”

She went to answer, “Y-Y—“ only to be quieted by another light kiss of her throat. Her head, her chin, the jaw lifted for me in response. I kissed her again there, and tilted upwards to see her eyes reopen. She smiled, her mahogany curls framing her gorgeously sculpted face.

I smiled. “It did look like you had fun.”

She laughed, leaving me for our ceiling a beat to come back to me in her sight, “I absolutely loved tonight. And, Gin did too.”

I caught her again, having her gasp into a sigh by another lingered kiss to her lovely throat. I could feel her chest ascend and descend in the sigh beneath me.

“I swear you're so gosh darn edible sometimes…,” I breathed when coming back to her height.

My mind, and body, reeled at what I had and what was before me.

“Really?” She smirked, snickering. “Well…”

“Hm?” Her voiced took me from a gradual aroused state.

“There's only one way to find out.”

“Mm…,” Salivating, I swallowed, glancing at her beneath. My eyes went to hers, my brow cocked. “…I'm not entirely sure what you've just brought onto yourself…”

Hermione's eyes went wide.

From outside the door one could hear the sharp gasp, and maddening laughter, giggles, from one Hermione Jane Granger.

***

Within the Minister's First Office, Ministry of Magic, London

1:14 AM

“Has it all been in vain…has it…” Malfoy spoke from his knees. Illuminated by only the fireplace, Draco, still in his Ministry-affiliated suit and tie, looked back at the empty painting of Albus Dumbledore. The painting had been moved from deep within the underground to his office chambers in hopes that maybe once he'd see…

Pansy ran her fingers through Draco's fine blonde hair, making him look back at her however listlessly in thought. “My love, you've done so much… The lives you've saved.”

“Your father would be proud at such a fine, grown man you've become, “ she ended in a smile.

She could see the apprehension in his eyes, and how much he relied on her for strength. She sat above him, in the Minister's Chair, for Draco put her there. “I wish only to make this a better world for us—but the hardships…”

Draco looked away, at the fireplace, to have Pansy take him back by his chin. “I'm proud to be your wife, Draco.”

“But I can't save everyone,” Draco let the sentence slip all together, as if it were one lengthy term.

“In the end,” Pansy sifted her hands through his pale, white blonde hairs once more. Her large eyes locked with his in the shadows between the flickering firelight. “We're human, capable of being only that into eternity.”

“To keep everyone safe,” Draco began. His sight wandered downward and back again. “That's my priority. Today—”

“Today no one was hurt,” Pansy inserted. “The incident wasn't an incident at all—a trap undone by the team.”

“But, it's a reminder of—“

“You've done beautifully, my love.”

“My only hope for the future…” Draco lowered, leaning down into Pansy where he planted a single kiss atop her stomach behind a buttoned-up Ministry suit and tie.

She smiled at him, and how he remained there at her abdomen. Her hand ran down from his fringe, to the back of his hair, and farther to the starting of his upper back muscles. He had wrapped his arms about her middle, his face within the soft confines of Pansy's core when a knock was heard at the double-doors.

Their intimate silence shattered.

Draco, making an effort to stand from the floor with his false leg did so with the help of his cane and that of Pansy's stability. “Enter,” Draco ushered, back in his authoritarian voice.

The door crept open and a white cloak's hood appeared from the crack. “Sir?”

“You may come in.”

The Auror shuffled in, but only a foot's breadth inside. He widened the space he created, nodding towards Draco's world sitting in the Chair in greeting. “My apologies for interrupting, sir.”

Draco shook his head. He put up his hand. “What is it?”

“Rita Skeeter—“

The words were like an anvil from the swallow Draco took down to his bowels. “Rita. Skeeter,” He pronounced them as if he needed to ingest the awful taste which was given. His eyes narrowed. He hadn't heard her come up for a while now. For all he knew the old bat was dead. “What of her?”

“She's shown in the Atrium.”

“She…?!” Draco stepped forward, tensed. “She dare show herself?!”

“She's turned herself in and has been promptly escorted to be interrogated.”

Draco, in swift turn, gazed back at Pansy. He had heard her get up from the Chair. “Love?”

Pansy yawned into a stretch. “I believe it's about bedtime for this tired out girl.”

Draco, leaving his attention from the Auror to Pansy, walked back that few feet to meet her lips, and to place his hand upon her stomach. She exchanged an embrace, Draco hugging her tightly, and excused herself for a door adjoined with the office chambers.

The Auror nodded as Pansy excused herself for bed, and then looked back from beneath his hood at Draco moving forward. “Rita's been asking to speak with you.”

Draco, hobbling passed the Auror on his cane, looked back at his member in pursuit and said with a strained grin, “Funny, I'd like to have a word with her as well.”

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76. Mirror

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Seventy-six - Mirror

***

Within the dense forests of the Pacific Northwest, United States

“Can you hear Her, Hume?” The crimson sight of the Elf gazed onward at the flittering of a white cloak in the wind. The zephyrs blew coolly through the open bridge connecting one large, ornate Elven structure to another. They had stopped when the white cloak did, his Weasley-red wafting, too, in the breeze beneath his silvery bandana.

The sun rose, the purples, oranges, reds, and blues glistening and sparkling alongside the waterfall for which Ronald took notice. He breathed in the crisp environment, pure, untainted and heaved another drawn breath into the winds. His leather-gloved hands, like the dark-skinned Elf's, gripped the railing holding up the half-circle, vaulted wooden roof above them. Along its banister, and the twisting nature holding the roof up, lush, green vines with the most spectacularly-coloured flowers greeted the new day.

Ronald nodded in response, taking in another breath before the Elf relieved his hands from the bridge railing. The Elf let his hand pat Ronald's back, coaxing him onwards. Ronald hesitated, hearing Her voice whisper in their midst, until he knew his Fate, knew why the reason he had come this distance.

“Our Sister is waiting in the gardens yonder,” the Elf glanced at Ronald's tensed features whilst showing him their direction.

Ronald nodded without a word, looking forward, never blinking.

The Elf placed an arm about Ronald's shoulders and said with the greatest of affection in his voice, “You're not like the others. You've such a caring heart. We see this. She knew this. She knows it.”

He pointed onwards at the hanging gardens in which they'd come to, the sunlight filtering betwixt the glowing leaves of translucent green. When the Elf, and Ronald stepped carefully through the sunrays did they both in unison glow, too, its vividly deep, sparkling hue. Birds and butterflies of all colours flew passed them, and overhead. Animals, rabbits, squirrels, deer, all stopped their morning breakfast to watch the two pass by. Calm, no animal fazed, in harmony with the Elf and the Hume.

“She's happy you've come,” The Elf said in the same affectionate way. He paused, watching the emotions wash themselves from Ronald's emotionless face. “We're happy you're here to see Aedirwen off, and be with the Lady Lovegood.”

They both halted their trek the moment the Elf had said “Lady Lovegood”.

In the centre of a circle of trees, the darkly-stained bark gave contrast to the beauty of which they saw. Her snowy white skin glistened and played amongst the rays of morning sunshine. She would sparkle, as did her lovely, innocent personality. Her golden locks fell as she fed a spotted doe, food of fresh leaves within her soft, porcelain skin. Her attire, fitting the atmosphere beneath the canopy of leaves, would stretch when she'd reach out to the birds landing on her shoulders, to the butterflies which fluttered about her. The various shades of green held to her form, an Elven dress landing on the brushed, lavish shade of hunter green grass under her bare feet.

From the stump she sat on, she peeked from under those golden locks, her silvery grey eyes meeting Ronald. She took his breath away the moment they met, and she smiled. The spotted doe had glanced from his eating position, too, at Ronald, but lowered once more when Luna did. She offered her hand again and the doe happily chewed the leaves she held for her.

“I'll take my leave then,” The Elf gave another pat of Ronald's shoulder, having Ron take his eyes from Luna to watch him turn to leave. The Elf gave a smile.

“Thank you, Balthier,” said the lofty voice of Luna beyond.

Ronald's sight returned to her, and he saw her glance back at him again in smile, her pink lips curled in the way only Luna could do.

“My pleasure, Sister,” was said, the voice of Balthier trailing off as he left onwards down the path they had taken.

Her golden locks fell over her eyes when she turned back to the doe, her hand petting its head, and then back again at Ronald. Rays of sunshine scattered gleefully against her form. To Ronald, she looked more like an angel than human in this world, a world where everything seemed so…guiltless, untouched.

Ronald started his walk almost cautiously. Cautiously, for when looking at Luna he saw her—Alice—smiling, too, in his sight. He never left her, his crystal clear cerulean eyes focused, set to the silvery grey he approached.

Luna.

“Luna…,” the grass softened beneath his feet. He was before her, and fell to his knees.

Birds chirped.

A blue butterfly flew between them.

The spotted doe wandered off when Luna left her head, never once startled the slightest.

Luna placed her hands folded in her lap. “Hello, Ronald.”

She smiled behind her gold.

Ronald made a laugh, releasing pent-up air, and shook his head at how normal Luna acted. Inside him, all he could see was her—and Alice—and how torn he was to have let her go. To never be seen again. He smiled in a way, but only did because Luna made him.

“Hello, Luna.”

“I'm very glad you've come to see my goddess off.”

The smile faded and the remorse grew lively in his core.

He looked from her, to her hands folded delicately in her lap, and then back behind the gold. “…I'm sorry, Luna.”

“For?” Luna tilted her head to the side, those golden locks dancing with her.

Ron could feel the tightening of his throat. He could see Aedirwen in her last moment in the coldest part of Azkaban's hellish underbelly fending off the inferi—to get to her kin—and he had to let her go. He always wondered in the deepest parts of his mind if he was the last warmth she touched; and that smile, like Luna's, she had given him… Almost as if she knew, and that was her good-bye.

He could feel the water building in his eyes. He hadn't cried for the longest time, and it burned him. Through the sheen he produced readily he saw her, Luna, and said silently, “For letting her go…”

Ron dropped his face again, but Luna, her softened hands took him. In her hands, she carefully led him back to her and her eyes where she said in her passion, heart-felt, “She's told me things in my dreams, Ron. She knows—she's with you, and she feels your heart. She wishes only for me, and you, to live our lives to their fullest.”

“Let me cry for you,” uttered Ron behind a tear trickling down his cheek.

Luna smiled and lowered forward. Her lips planted on his forehead, she caressed Ronald's warmth. She said in the same silent whisper looking over Ronald, looking at the sunlight, the trees, and how the morning sky flickered like fire between the shifting winds, “…She says she's forgiven you, and that she loves you very much even so far away. She wants you to know that she's with you, and you made quite the impression on her. You grew on her and she thought of you like a brother, her best friend, a friend she could forever count on.”

Ron fell forward.

Luna, letting him go, cradled his head as he rested against her lap.

She heard his quiet weep beneath the trees shifting in the silken breeze.

***

From the winds a song could be heard. Ronald could make none of it, in Elven, but whatever was sung brought goose-pimples to his skin. He carried Aedirwen's body alongside her brothers-in-arms, given the right by Balthier who held a piece of the wood in front of him. Together, eight of them had Aedirwen, her beautifully resting form never moving on the Elven-engraved wooden slab. With compassion, they walked between their kin, her family as they looked at her perfect smile even in death shine. Wrapped in the finest Elven white, wisps of transparent silk fluidly waved from her dress. Her arms and hands folded across her chest, her forever closed eyes, perfectly sculpted face, and swaying ebony tassels faced upwards towards the glittering, thousand-star ceiling.

Atop a hill and in a clearing made, Aedirwen was placed above a pyre. Each of her brothers-in-arms, and Ronald, took forth a candle from their retreat and lit the wicks in the eternal flame, a fire waiting at the side. Each Elf in unison took from their candles the flame until all in mourning had a part of the whole.

Ronald stood with an arm around Luna as they both watched, and listened as Balthier spoke in their native tongue, his background the setting sun and the whispers of Her.

“…Shi shor eir taer eindral ail ei shaeraes vali…” [We will meet again in a better place.]

Some in the crowd would repeat softly what Balthier said to themselves.

“…Thaes byr si vasol os shael eilyli. Shi tasia ail os caes, Aedirwen, eil eir taestyor os moreas…” [Fear not the parting or being alone. We carry in our hearts her, our sister, Aedirwen, and all the memories.]

“…Eir jhyl eir shi vaestaesaes os moreas, shi shor eilar vaestaesaes caes ailai aeraesoira…” [As long as we remember our sister, we will always remember her into eternity.]

“…Oli pae shi shor caes oli tysi…” [One day we will be with her once more.]

“…Shi eir shor taer eindral oli pae…” [We all will meet again one day.]

Luna leaned her head on Ron's shoulder.

Ron squeezed her to him.

“…Eir caes shyraes os shyr, ai shor tor caes paesia…” [As her brother of blood, I will miss her dearly.]

“…Ai jhyli o, Aedirwen…” [I love you, Aedirwen.]

Balthier lowered his head, and we all did in a moment of silence.

Ron closed his eyes in that moment to see Alice so alive and beside him, courageous and kind, loving, a beautiful person inside and out, and so very good in every possible way. He could hear Her whisper to him, and Aedirwen, Alice's laugh, her smiling face, her warmth when she hugged him those terrible nights waiting, watching, and how she always had his back. How they fought together to keep Hermione safe, and how she always wanted to get back, and be back, with Luna.

“Sister Luna?” Ron's eyes blinked open when he heard Balthier speak.

Luna left Ron's comforting arm, to switch places with Balthier who went to stand on the other side of Ron. Ron breathed in a great inhale, and exhaled in length when he saw Luna standing alone amongst the Elven kin. Her beloved lying behind her, the moment took much of his strength to manage his emotions. Dressed so alike the Elven kin, in clothes of mourning, of black, she began to speak within a breeze:

“Some people say that they do not believe in love at first sight. I say Aedi and I could rewrite the meaning. By chance or by Fate's hand, she found me and I found her. I loved her heart, and how she led her life by its philosophy. She gave her heart to anyone, giving her heart always to me. I may have been brought up a bit `loopy'—“

Ronald swallowed hard.

“—But, in the end, Aedi loved me for who I was. Our love, I believe, can cross even death. I can hear her with me, and I can feel her with me—always. With me, I have never thought of her presence gone. With me, she's always here, beside me, loving me. I smell her when I awake, and I kiss her good-night. She is my rock, and I will never feel alone.”

“If there is one concept Aedi taught me was that life is precious and should never be taken for advantage. We have a minute's time here together in this world before passing on, and we should cherish every bit of that time. We did. My heart beats for her. I'll remember her laughter and her tears, her embrace, her scent, how she caressed me—Aedi. She loved me—loves me—and I know we'll walk together once more when my time comes to join her in Heaven.”

Ron swallowed hard, again, a tear falling to his cheek at how brave Luna was within those unsteady seconds.

Luna smiled, had smiled her entire speech.

As she passed Balthier he hugged her, embracing her tight. He ran his hand down the back of her head and caressed her forehead.

“That was beautiful,” he said before relieving her to wander back to Ronald's side.

There, Ron wrapped an arm about her and gave her, too, an embrace. He leaned into her and kissed her atop her head, feeling her warmth, and gazed on at her when he released. Her eyes, dark in the growing night, twinkled in their candlelight. She continued her smile.

Luna had been the last to say their piece in memory of Aedirwen.

One by one, beginning with Luna, a line of Elves gathered to press on by the pyre. Ronald watched the lithe blonde bend down and begin the lighting, standing with the brothers-in-arms and Balthier. She bent down, and lowered further to lay the candle against the various woods. Smoke began to waft upwards, and then a flicker of flame started. Luna's dark eyes widened at the sudden catch of flame, the flame growing softly towards the sky.

Balthier followed, laying his candle aside Luna's to see his flame light with hers. He stood up, and with him helped her to her feet, too. They embraced within the illumination of the dancing flames. Luna, as Ronald watched on, placed her fingers to her lips as Balthier let her go, and gave a last kiss towards the resting Aedirwen.

A light wind blew between them, and Ron knew that that was Aedi's “I love you” back to Luna.

***

At an opened window, the red-headed Weasley peered out. He looked across the magnificent, vast forests, the handsome gardens, and the grand waterfall cascading into a river below. He breathed in the unsoiled air, the aromas of all the flowers flowing in the zephyrs which came and went. The curtains about him and their satiny material would flitter about him, and into the room behind him. The moonlight gave off its wondrous shine in the clear, navy-coloured midnight sky, alighting the room with its bluish-white tint.

He turned inward, an arm, a hand still on the sill and saw Luna basking in that blue-white light. Her form outlined between the play of light and shadow within the white sheets of the bed. The bed's tapestry opened, too, and blew along with the slight breeze. She faced him in her sleep. She smiled, and Ronald knew that in dreamland she met with her beloved somewhere special.

He took in a hesitant breath and shuttered as he exhaled the emotions he rode today.

A chair awaited his return when he left the window.

He sat and watched Luna as she slept, thinking about how a woman like her could be so spirited. She was emotional, but the emotions made her lionhearted.

She certainly is something else, Ronald thought amongst the several other hundred thoughts which swam currently in his head.

And, in that moment he saw something to her.

Her.

Something he had never seen before.

She wasn't Luna Lovegood.

She was Luna, the fearless, of love and many other talents.

He felt his heart beat.

He felt as if something fit within him, a knot tying where it should.

He thought…

…But, he brushed the thought away.

I'm tired…, He thought to himself. Knowing he had his own lookouts around him, he did something he hadn't done by choice in a while: he closed his eyes.

And within his first dream he saw someone he never thought would ever come into his life like this, and Aedirwen was there, too.

***

“My Sister requested this to be shown to you before you left,” was all was said by Balthier. He plucked Ronald away from Luna as she and he said their good-byes to the Elven kin. It wasn't like they were never to see them again; but, a good-bye until later. Luna, adored by the Elves and named as one of them, was asked to come and go as she pleased. Ronald, taken truly aback, was asked the same equally. Humble, he had thanked them courteously before being diverted.

Luna shot a glimpse at their retreat, but was taken into the arms of one Elven sister where she was delivered an embrace.

Shuffling down one hallway, and then another, Balthier halted at two enormous doors, his hand on a metal latch. Facing Ronald's puzzled look, he asked, “You know of the Mirror?”

“Mirror?”

“The Mirror of Erised?”

He hadn't thought nor heard the name in so long… He nodded after a beat, having the memory of him and Harry in their first year find it in the Room of Requirement.

“A shame our gift to the Humes burnt in that disastrous fire.”

Ronald remembered seeing it in the fires Draco and his crew created during the War. His eyes widened at the thought of what was behind the door Balthier held, pointing towards it and on, questioning, too, “You…?”

“Us,” Balthier affirmed. “Our gift carried throughout the Hume history line, and of which I believe landed in your headmaster's intelligent hands at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“It is of Her divine intervention, Her will, to show us a glimpse of what could happen—and of our desire, should we pursue our desire,” added Balthier. “Aedirwen wished it a parting gift, to show, as she has told me, your truest desire. She said you spoke about your first glimpse—“

Ronald ruffled a hand through her long, flaming strands. He let out a breath, his focus looking from Balthier, to the door, and then back to the Elf's crimson eyes following, “Could I choose not to enter? I mean, I thank her—and you—for everything, everything, truly—“

“You may,” Balthier motioned towards the door with his head. “But, she told me it may give you some insight for when you're back overseas; so, as she said, you're not lost in the ocean of what we call `life'.”

“It won't kill you,” ended Balthier, shaking his head.

“It may,” Ronald laughed, letting another breath out. His eyes went back and forth between Balthier and the door.

“And, it may make you stronger,” Balthier noted. “But, I won't force your hand, and neither would Aedirwen, friend.”

Ronald closed his eyes and could very well see his first reflection, the memory in the mirror from when he was but a youth, and that of Hermione with him… Seeing her, again, like that would shatter the very fragile being of himself. On the other hand, he thought, Alice would never hurt me—and she'd know where he was in life now and then. Their discussions… She may know something I didn't, he thought on his choice more, her request…

“I'll do it,” Ronald nodded confidently. He even lifted his chin. “I'll go in.”

Balthier grinned and gave Ronald a pat on the back. “You must enter alone.”

Ronald, again, nodded. “I'm ready.”

Balthier took the latch, and as if the door could feel him, knew who he was, unlocked without any effort. “When you're finished, my Hume brother,” Balthier lightly pressed the door onward so it opened enough for Ron. “Just return to the hall and the door will shut on its own accord.”

Ron took a step, and then another, turning around when he entered the darkness of the room to see Balthier in front of a stained glass window, the multicolours filtering in brilliantly with the sunlight. “Good luck,” Balthier ushered with a wave.

The door shut, leaving Ronald to stand in the darkness. Alone, Ronald waited for something—anything—to happen. The seconds turned into a minute, minutes, and in thought he wondered if something was wrong. Torches, starting from behind him, lit one right after the other. In pairs, one would light and its brother on the other side, parallel, would light as well until the round room was alit. In front of him stood a mirror, bigger in scale than what he remembered at Hogwarts. The frame, so embellished and fancy back then failed to run with this companion piece. The frame around this was of normal wood, and old. The glass looked more like water than substance, and Ronald, stepping forward, only saw his reflection when he touched the mirror.

He half-expected the mirror to ripple; but instead, the mirror remained constant and rigid. He stared at himself, and into himself, gazing into the cerulean-coloured eyes he had achieved during his Auror-training years ago. He stood still a while, glancing from corner to corner to see if he caught anything other than him. He put his hands on his hips and made the rounds again, seeing nothing but his normal self and that of the room and torches around him.

He closed his eyes and opened them, thinking maybe something would happen.

Nothing.

He finally just broke down and after a while began making funny faces into the mirror, sighing into laughter when it was just him—and only him.

“Wonderful,” he exclaimed with thick sarcasm to himself. He sighed, glancing down to his feet and up again. “I'm alone.”

“Nothing but this to my name,” Ronald pointed at himself and gave another sigh, shaking his head. “The title of a Guardian. To be alone, as promised.”

“Well said, Aedi. Well said.”

Ronald lowered his head, but was instantly pulled back when he saw a flash of something in the mirror.

A creeping light, a light that trickled in on the floor. He watched it through the mirror grow, and as it grew he saw the door behind him opening. His eyes widened, and then squinted, closing in on the mirror to catch the shadow of the person he saw. Mesmerized, he beheld the image, seeing as if in slow motion the figure draw itself until he could make whatever or whoever it was out—

In her grey, ribbed cashmere sweater, her pink-and-white striped skirt, and black tights shone Luna peeking in beneath her golden threads. She was ready to go—but how was she able to get into the room? Confused, he huffed. The room was sealed by what he thought was magic…and of the Elven kind! Not easily broken or manipulated by any typical human…

Ron took a step back, stepping on what should've been the light of which stretched across the floor.

He flicked around and there was nothing, the door fully closed.

He glanced back towards the mirror to see Luna, and her smile, peeking inward and onward at him behind her blonde curtain.

***

{Musical Inspiration: A Thousand Years by Christina Perri, Luna's Theme for this very emotional piece.}

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77. Changes

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Seventy-seven - Changes

***

“My own masseuse…” I lay on my stomach with a pillow under my head. My arms above my head, I had the pillow, clutching its malleable down. I was in smile with my eyes closed, feeling her straddling my back, her hands working my shoulders. “I should be glad you're not tired.”

I heard her silken laughter.

I felt her move down, her body relaxed on mine, her hands on my triceps. “Thank you,” she whispered into my ear.

“What for?”

“For being you, and your incredible self.”

“If I had a knut for every time—“

She poked my side. “I'm serious!”

I could tell she was in one of her signature smirks.

“You took her in when you didn't have to.”

“I took her in because I love you, and she's your best friend.”

“I know you and her haven't exactly gotten along…”

“What siblings do?” I chuckled along the pillowcase. “I mean, I've never really had a sister—and now I feel like I have one.”

“I just wanted to thank you, again…” She caressed the back of my neck just below the hairline. She went to my ear and kissed the lobe, nudging her nose in my hair, whispering, too, “And, to say how much I love you.”

Retracting my dominant arm from around the pillow, I reached back and felt first her beautiful, smooth calf, and then to her beautiful, velvety thigh. I squeezed her, and I heard her smile into me. She kissed my cheek, and with a bit of challenge tried to kiss my mouth. She found the corner in her twist and turn, and laughed when she managed only to caress there.

“You know,” I added, feeling her push back up on me. I found her hands back on my upper back where she resumed her massage, getting her fingers deep into the two pronounced muscles below my shoulders. I had left her thigh for the pillow, and smiled at her return. “If it weren't for the actual process of getting everyone together, you'd be a Potter by now somewhere in Paris.”

“Missus Hermione Jane Potter,” she reiterated, annunciating her name and mine dreamlike. “That'll be what daddy will want to discuss when we have dinner.”

“And, I'll just have to tell him that it's been far too long of a wait to have you mine.”

I smiled, and I knew she did, too, making a tiny, giddy giggle. “Harry…,” she said, lowering again and in her raspy voice.

My ears perked to her sultry sound back beside my ear.

“…On our honeymoon night—“

“Nights.” I inserted, fixing what needed to be fixed. Because really…

“Nights…,” I heard that tiny laughter and smile at my ear, her loose strands teasing my naked skin in her lean. “Those honeymoon nights I will utterly rock your world, your universe even.”

“Should I be worried?” I laughed through my nose.

“Mm…,” She kissed my neck once more, dragging her nails across my back ever-so-slowly, softly. “Twenty-four seven—I want to be making love to you every second of every minute of every hour of those days.”

The hairs on the backside of my neck stood on end, as did other things.

Her tone had gotten so sensuous, seductive, low so I had to make that effort to listen and that listening paid off hundred-fold.

She nibbled and pulled at my ear, biting down after I'd made a sound of enormous acceptance from my throat on my shoulder. “I want to make you the happiest man in the world.”

“I am the happiest man in the world,” I issued this with my hand finding her leg, her thigh again, where I squeezed.

She ran her face, her nose, her lips against my back. Her teeth grazed my goose-pimpled skin, roused and stimulated. “I want to make you where you can't feel your legs…”

I'd become deftly aware in all five sensations simultaneously by her touch, her aroma, her little groans as she took initiative in exploring me…

“…To make us so sore we can't even get out of bed all day…”

That was it.

I could take no more.

Awakened, and her unawareness, completely caught up in me…

I threw her off me and over, rolling to her back where she yelped out loud, squealed when I dove into her, and moaned, grasping me anywhere she could.

***

We did it because we were young.

We did it because we were alive.

We did it because we were in love.

To make each other lose it. To make each other go mad. To make each other do a face no one else would ever have a chance to see. Bare, for just us. Bare, like our emotions, our vulnerabilities, our human essence.

We did it because it felt good.

Great.

Fucking amazing.

She lay on her side, her hair a mess, distraught and sticky against her face and mine. She lay with her bum firmly pressed against me. I held her parted leg. She held me, her arm around my neck. Her other hand had gone to the headboard. She tried to keep herself still, and in the process made the already noisy bed even noisier. A thump would be heard when I prolonged my thrust, making her whimper, making her look at me against the steady pushes into her. I'd go to pull out and would slow myself, to see those bright eyes of hers by mine, our foreheads touching. Then, in the same moment see her eyes closed, her back arch ever-so-slightly from the white sheets, and her head tilt in the direction she so wanted to balance.

I'd hold her against me, to feel every bit of Hermione churn and go wild. Hot, slick… I'd begin again at a rhythmic pace, kissing her waiting mouth. She let go of the headboard to meet my hand, to intertwine her fingers with mine and use me as that needed equilibrium. I felt of my lioness, lovingly caressing her lips, her throat, before going to her breasts. Mesmerized by how her body attuned to mine, I'd kept watch at how she moved to capture one of her little hard nipples betwixt my lips. I'd hear her moan, feel her push into me, and I'd release only to suck back down on her tiny areola.

I made her roll over on her stomach. I made her crawl up with me. Over her, my body eclipsed hers. I found it sexy, a thing of beauty, honestly, to see and know I had her and could do these things. How she knew me, and knows me; how she completely surrenders herself to her lion. How she trusts me with every bit of her heart. How she knows I'll treat her body, as I do her mind, with the utmost respect—and love.

I lowered to her, and with me, skin-to-skin, drove back into her. Her arse was made to push into the air by force, her spine in that wondrous arch. I watched her hands, her fingers gripping hard the mattress sheets. My ears perked to those repeating, matching breaths she took, as if she were out of breath, but knowing that it was because of the ride. I couldn't see her face, but kissed along her back, gradually standing onto my knees.

I'd pull out slowly just to see her pink pull out with me. I held her arse and would thrust smoothly back in only to do the same over and over. She'd tighten around my circumference every time, and she'd tighten her hold of the bed. I gave her bum a smack, reaching out to grab those shaking mahogany tassels. I gave the fistful a pull, to hear Hermione clamor in pleasure.

I let go, to remove from her perfect arse, to grab her perfect small waist. I grasped her above her hips and pulled her up with me from the bed. She did so without resistance, pushing off herself to sit straight down on my seated lap. Sitting on my feet, my knees only slightly outward, I watched—and helped—her bounce in the pocket I created. Her rounded arse cushioned against my thighs. Wrapping my arms about her, my left hand holding her right breast whilst the other held about her centre, I took advantage of the position and ground into her from beneath.

She dipped to my shoulder, and like the position I took advantage to savor her between those sharp inhales and exhales.

“Right there—right—!” She gritted her teeth, but couldn't, a cutting moan expelled into a heightened whine. She tried to hold back another, only to whimper and anchor herself. I'd let her go, to lean back towards the bed. My arms kept me up as I beat her little bum across my pelvis. Her arm muscles tensed, her fingernails dug into my thighs she held. I heard her gasp, felt her become rigid. Silence filled the air between us those few second sans the blows to her arse.

She cried out as she came, tilting her head back to release such an animalistic sound from her narrowed, quavering core.

Propelling myself to her, I pushed from the bed after loving the exhilarating feeling of my beloved so secure around me, so contracted. It felt as if a test she made to see if I could continue.

I passed.

Slipping her from me and into my arms, I cradled her to the bed where she laid. We kissed, her hands in my strewn crow's nest, her hands on my neck, shoulders. I pressed against her, pushed, and felt my shaft slide easily through her slit. I teased her, enraptured by her and how I made those moans.

I could resist no longer, hungry.

I needed to taste what I had done, what she did, her.

My flexible Hermione got into a pose, assisting her at first. My hands pushed her legs backwards and held them, having her curve upwards and at me. When she had them, her legs, she went to place them at her head. I marveled at how she could do this, her eyes on me as I lowered and roughly licked her. I licked her again, my eyes on hers, or what once were two vividly cinnamon irises peering across our plane. She closed them by my touch, inhaling sharply as I did to moan when I had begun to feed.

Sugary sweet honey, I lapped my lover, smiling when she'd have to release her fixed sight of me. Her eyes would flutter when I'd lick that magnificent span. Her body would make her do this. I bit into her arsecheek to see that knowing grin, and then caressed the spot, making her close those eyes once more when traveling back down that exquisite segment. I had my face in her, feeding on what I'd come for and enjoying every thrill she had with a smile.

Moistening my fingers, I advanced them across her, noting as I did how close she was now that I'd leaned up some. I slid to her right and kissed her, her throat, her jaw, her cheek, and then her mouth. My fingers penetrated, and what once was a delicate, but sated kiss broke for a gasp. She saw my hand, and that of my one hidden finger, and then glanced at me. She sought back my mouth and kissed me, groaning from her throat with every fluid motion from my middle finger.

Releasing our kiss, our foreheads resting, my ear to her tiny squeals, I slid in another. I watched as my ring finger, alongside its brother, gently slipped into the warm reaches of my fiance. She locked around me, constricting, when I'd move about. I could hear the sounds of her sex, at how wet she was, her figure contorting beside me.

I slid out, and as I did watched my middle and ring finger separate to see a sticky line break between them.

She grabbed that arm, and then my hand. I watched her first open her mouth, and then felt her suckle. Her eyes flittered to close, her tongue tasting her and I within.

I moved away, and as I did, she let go of her legs. Like a pendulum, she rose as her legs fell, her feet on the bed, and me between her. She leapt on me, pulling me down, pushing me to the bed. I thought she were to get on, to begin another ride. She held me down, moving to my left, her right hand on my chest as he left took hold of my erection. She grinned at me and tossed her hair over one shoulder, over the one where I could watch her, and lowered downward on her knees.

She took me in her mouth, the sudden rush of warmth bringing my own eyes to a close. My left hand went to her back where I rubbed, my right went to hold that bushiness. I wrapped her hair around my fist and watched, feeling her bob. I felt her suction, heard it, too. The tip of her tongue licked up one side of me, and then the other, tracing at last the engorged centre.

She gave me a pump and I moaned in satisfaction. She pulled my foreskin back and took only my head in. I felt the thick of her hot tongue press against me, swirling that softness around the base before bobbing down and pulling back up. She lowered and went again, doing the same but dropping another inch, and then another, my head swimming.

I felt her gag when she lifted, lowering a final time after a lick of the tip to swallow my entire length. I held back my pop. All the blood in me raced to my dick, throbbing, and at the ready inside Hermione's gorgeous pink mouth. She went to pull up and go again. I sat up and gave the top of Hermione's head a kiss, feeling her suck. I didn't mean to begin thrusting, a reaction, my reflex. She kept still as I did, allowing me to fuck her mouth until I felt her gag and lift all the way off this time.

I took her face in my hands and kissed her. She gripped my hair, the side of my face, crawling on her knees upwards to stand. I took her in my arms, my hands on her hips where I hoisted her up and around me. I sat up onto my bum, and as I did, watched her eyes leave me to swivel around behind. I felt my manhood being handled with care, her silky hands grasping the shaft, directing me into her.

Her eyes closed when she sat down, and mine did, too, feeling her instantly clamp. She immediately drew her legs in, like the frog position in her yoga. With her knees at my chest, I held her arse. I took liberty, taking the reins again, knowing my hands were the ones directing her every move. Our lips fused, and she kissed me with fervor, taking my face in her hands.

Her hands left me as she hugged me, my head, my face in her neck. Her little pants grew alongside the subsequent thrusts, pushing harder, faster into Hermione. I could feel her body rock, her form tensing again where she unleashed another cry of pleasure into my sweat-trodden black hair. Her contraction led me over the edge. In freefall, and much of my displeasure, wanting to observe another orgasm I'd done to her, my eyes clenched together. My body grew taut. I could feel my heartbeat, and the heat I had produced. I felt the pressure build until its release.

I came, never ceasing to slow down the pummel.

I felt each wave hit me, the first hard and quick.

With each thrust I felt the non-impeded gush, and again for the third, fourth, fifth, and final time.

I held myself in Hermione at the end, feeling empty…and feeling high.

High on life.

High on love.

High on Hermione.

She'd settled down, giving me a well-deserved kiss.

I gave one back, long and needed, for she had been just as good to me.

She rose on me after a while, readjusting her legs to fit better around me. She took my hands and led them to her waist, her middle, her stomach where I felt moisture: a mix of me and a mix of her. She led my fingers up, across her ribs, to her wonderful, perky tits. She had me squeeze, and she didn't have to ask twice, molding her girls to the shape of my palms. She tried to flick her hair back, that one bit crowding her sight, but laughed when strands stuck to her cheek. I smiled, seeing her having to manually pluck them from her cheek.

She grinned, laying her hands back on mine, fondling as directed. She lowered, taking with her my hands until I removed myself when she enveloped me, embracing me about my neck. I hugged her, too, my strong arms her stability.

She lowered to kiss me, meshing our noses as one.

My hands ran the length of her back.

***

I awoke when I couldn't feel her anymore.

I made a sweeping action with my arm in my twilight-sleep and felt nothing.

Instantly I awoke, lifting from my stomach to see her side empty and the light on behind me. Flipping to the side, I caught her pouring over some books over at her vanity. Curled up in what looked like a shirt she'd gotten from my side of the wardrobe, she sat deep in the tome she had spread across the desk. I sighed with a smile and just rolled my sleepy eyes.

“'Mione,” I spoke, which startled her from her read.

She jolted and put her hand to her chest. “Christ! Harry, you frightened me!”

I gave a tiny chuckle and rolled over on my bum, sitting up in bed.

“I thought you were sound asleep!” she whispered an octave above silent.

A ran my hands over my face and peered narrowly out into the lamplight she had on aside her. “Only my Hermione would read a book after our great sex.”

She saw me get up, shifting to the bedside where I threw the sheets from me and took up my boxers laying haphazardly on the floor with the other articles of her clothing. Pulling them up and letting the elastic band snap on my waist, I looked back towards her and her enormous grin.

She wriggled her eyebrows, and I laughed.

“Oh you…”

“I thought lighting a fag would've been a bit cliche,” she shrugged, eyeing me as I wandered over to her.

I smiled and took her up in my arms, wrapping them around her as she sat crisscrossed on her chair. “You stole my Superman t-shirt, eh?”

“Mhmm…,” she nodded, leaning back into my embrace. “Who wouldn't?”

“Good choice,” I mused, laughing, finding her cheek where I kissed her.

She turned, finding my face with hers, my lips where she tasted, caressing me. “I didn't want to wake you. You looked so tired.”

“You're going to be tired, too; and, we've got to get to Ginny's.”

“Wasn't tired, really.”

“What's wrong?”

“Oh—nothing,” she replied shortly.

“Hermione…” I nudged the side of her head with mine. “Let's hear it, then.”

“Thinking.”

“About?”

“Everything…”

“I'll be with you every step.”

She turned back to me from the book and smiled. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Our lips fused again, leaving us with a smile in return.

“You're thinking about school, aren't you?” I added afterwards.

“Not really,” she shook her head.

“I believe the book-reading gave it away, Love.”

Hermione gave another shrug, and then looked back at me. “I'm with you.”

“And, I want to be with you,” I kissed her. “Here's a thought.”

“Hm?”

“Knowing I'm practically an outcast now, and knowing I've got to be a `Muggle' now…”

Hermione softly chuckled at the hint of sarcasm.

“Maybe being with you on campus wouldn't be so bad.”

“Going to Oxford, you mean?” Her brow rose and she produced her signature grin. “Or is being with me that much of a pain in the royal arse?”

I laughed. “I mean, I'm not as smart as you—“

“Harry…,” she scowled.

“Really, Hermione…”

“You're incredibly brilliant.”

“I don't hold a wand to you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed. “Continue…”

“I could go with you, enroll.”

“You could. Who's stopping you?”

“No one.” I grinned with her.

“Enroll with you, share your experiences and share more of your life with you.”

“I like that idea,” she nodded with me. She smiled, and as I leaned inward did she meet me in a kiss.

“In fact,” she broke from me a moment to state. “I love that idea.”

“I knew you would,” I smiled, tightening my arms about her and feeling her touch as we resumed our loving kisses.

***

I had a revelation. It wasn't new, but the revelation would heed itself when the time came. And this morning, with the sounds of cold rain hitting the roof, was one of those mornings. I don't know why I awoke. I looked up at the time, having to lift to see the clock passed Hermione in dreamland. I laid back down, the digits on the clock mimicking the bluish-gray atmosphere cascading from the window. The sun tried its best to break through the wintery London skies, struggling through broken lines in the clouds but ultimately shown through the overcast tint and into our bedroom.

I noted Crookshanks curled up beside his mum, in a crook her legs and the sheets made. Then, I took note of my lover and how she fit on me. She faced away from me in her slumber, spooning, cuddling as she fancied. I'd been a busier boy, loving the feeling of Hermione against me and in my hand. I'd held a breast through the night, or after our shags. I guessed even in sleep I needed, and wished, to keep intimate, to feel her that way—my woman.

My woman, indeed; small compared to my stature. Thus was the revelation, the fact that with her perfect fit described how I overcame her. Beyond the biologic male strength, I found the feeling highly sexual, literally and figuratively. Literally, because I could do what I wanted—and did so. Figuratively, because she really resembled that of a delicate flower; one that could be tainted, and had, unfortunately, among our younger years.

I became philosophical the closer I found myself labeled “the groom”. That, this wasn't like anything else. This was my heart. I thought of the story of Adam and Eve, and how Adam created Eve in the reflection of him. I thought, kissing her while she sleep soundlessly, feeling each breath she took as I held her close: maybe this was like it. That, I lived because of her. My heart. My life. The very air I breathed.

That without her, like Adam to Eve, I wouldn't be in harmony.

I cherished her, I did; in fact, I felt at times our love spiritual, greater than the physical. I respected her. I nurtured her needs. I hoped to have given and would give her everything she ever wanted in life. Some parts of me shook with anticipation. What if I fucked up? Other parts shook with exhilaration. This was a new beginning.

Though I knew in the end that we would be as one.

A Mister and Misses Harold James Potter.

And that I could smile to.

I smelled of her hair, tasted her skin, lavished in her softness.

When she eventually moved, rousing her awake or just barely, I was at her throat. She put her fingers on my cheek first, and then rolled to my chest. Her hand on my cheek, and in a gradual capture of my Hermione, I pulled her twilight-eyes towards me and kissed her lips. When I released, I pecked her cheek, slipping to her ear, and then down into her hair.

I heard her “Mm…,” my hands intent in traveling her form, each curve my road, my fingertips the vehicles. Clutching her breasts, my arms paralleled midline to her body, I embraced her. I held her tightly, having pulled her to the brink where nothing but a severely thin line separated our puzzle pieces.

“Good morning…,” I said in a rough tone in her hair, at her throat. I lightly bite down on her shoulder and heard her sharply inhale through her mouth, and then groggily let out another “Mmm…”.

Crookshanks was up to, having been disturbed by me, her, Hermione adjusting her legs beneath the sheets with mine. He stretched out his orange fur body and rubbed himself against his mummy's leg.

“You're not all the way awake, are you?” I smiled at her ear, caressing behind the lobe to feel her fight between sleep and wake.

“Mmn…,” She groaned, stretching like her kitty out in front of her, and then rejoined me, her hands over mine on her breasts. “…No, no… I'm awake…”

“Remember, love, we have to go over the Gin's to get her things.” I smelled of her skin, giving the round of her shoulder a caress.

“Mm…”

“I really wore you out last night, didn't I?” I said through a light laugh and smile, giving her bare shoulder another kiss, kisses.

“Mmmm…” She elongated her tiny moan of agreement, seeing the corner of her mouth curl into a grin as I gazed over that shoulder. Her tired eyes wondered towards me when I moved to look at her, and that smile grew. She pushed back against me and laughed through her nose.

I laughed through my nose as well, watching that button-nose scrunch up with her wiggle. Rubbing my face into the delicate muscles of her back, I kissed her, kissing lines wherever my lips landed—which was everywhere. She squeezed my hands, and in turn, squeezed her. “You make me…”

I laughed, my face against her.

Her body slid silkily with mine.

“…I should stop or I'll never leave the bed ever again.”

She laughed into a sigh, peeking over her shoulder me in her lazy, sleepy grin.

I kissed those spots on her shoulder, running my nose through her vanilla scent. “I'll let your tired body rest,” I said sadly, for I hadn't wanted to really unattach from her. She felt me move, to leave, and turned towards me to see me sit up. She grinned at me through her morning daze, shutting her eyes, lying now on her back. Her arm, her hand reached out to touch what remained of me on the bed before slipping from the sheets.

I looked back, finding a pair of boxers and lounge trousers, to see my love in the stirred, ivory sheets. My sleeping beauty continued her grin all the while watching me prepare to venture downstairs. Distracted, and downright dismayed, I couldn't leave her without another kiss, or two…or five.

And I did so, having her roll towards me, my hand lightly laying on the softness of her tummy. My hand slipped to each of her breast, taking tender action when feeling of her again, my fingers slipping from one gentle slope to the other. She giggled from my touch, my hand ending up on her neck, her throat after the final caress unlocked.

I traced her jaw with my thumb. “I love you.”

“And, I love you,” she smiled through drooping eyelids.

I made a laugh. “I'll be back with breakfast.”

“Okay…,” she replied in her cute, quieted, sleepy voice.

Glancing back from the door I saw her, her eyes just opened in watching me leave. She gave another adorable grin.

If it wasn't for fulfilling the deal I promised, and my growling stomach…

I would've leapt right back with her in bed.

***

Trekking downstairs, I believed I heard a faint noise. I took a glance down the second level hall and saw the guest bedroom door open. Putting one and one together, and hearing more shuffling about—a ceramic dish tapping against the countertop or maybe the table—I turned the corner to see Gin at the coffee pot. A waft of black coffee hit me first, and then her eyes, flipping around when she heard me come in.

“Oh, Christ!” She held her heart with her left hand, her right holding one of our coffee mugs. She let out a breath. “You gave me a fright!”

I chuckled, slipping to her right. I went to lift my hand to take the teabags out of their package atop the shelf above the oven range when I saw a tea kettle already sitting on its surface. I went to point at it, to ask the obvious, when she replied before I could even speak, “It's been about fifteen minutes. It might be warm enough.”

“Wow,” My brows rose and I went for a mug myself. I took the tea kettle's handle and went to pour the clear, brown liquid. “I could get used to this treatment.”

“Do I get anymore wishes, genie?” I mused, smirking as I set the warm tea to my lips. I winked at her.

“Always were the clever one, Harry,” she went to make a grin, but settled for only half. As she went to drink her coffee she added, “Now I see that wit and charm Hermione always used to go on and on about.”

I laughed, tilting my head back to really give it a go.

I saw her eyes roll at the over-exaggeration.

She put her arm across her chest, mimicking me, to support the elbow of the arm she held her coffee mug in. “It's too bad that wit and charm didn't last throughout our courtship, eh?”

I swallowed hard, straining at the end when I felt the tea just slightly overheat my throat.

“Sorry…”

“Yeah,” I coughed, rubbing my chest. I blinked what water came to my eyes. “Where the Hell did that come from?”

“Nevermind what I said,” She held her head, her forehead in her free hand. “I'm just…discombobulated.”

“There,” She glanced quickly through her fingers. “Hermione would be proud of me using big words.”

I smirked.

She did, too; but, closed her eyes, hiding from the light.

“…How much exactly did I drink last night?”

“More than Hermione, and definitely more than me.”

“I think it's all right, though,” I reached out and put my hand on her shoulder closest to me. I gave it a squeeze for her to look back at me. “It's difficult…you need some release.”

“We were keeping watch,” I ended in a smile.

She went to grin, but failed. She gazed listlessly into her coffee. “…I swore to Neville I'd never drink another drop…”

Silence filled the kitchen a beat until I broke it, thinking, too, about my comrade, my brother, gone. “I could tell him everything I couldn't tell Ron. He was like my twin sibling—if I had had one. We had a lot of fun.”

I saw Ginny stiffen, the veins on her neck protruding. I knew she was holding back another cry. As sad as it was… I had to reverse course for her, get her, and me, off the past tense.

“Remember,” I began, giving her shoulder another squeeze, her back a light rub. My coaxing touch worked, her golden-brown irises staring back at me through welled tears. “Remember when we ran through that supermarket store, and you and Hermione were in the buggies?”

Gin breathed into a sniffle, bringing her hand to her nose and mouth where she laughed through some escaping tears. She nodded, having to wipe her nose with her hand, and then on her sleep shirt. I wiped those tear lines away under that Weasley-red, and saw, her hand taken off, a smile having crept back on her face. She placed her coffee mug down on the countertop and wrapped her arms around me. I set mine down, too, and wrapped my arms around her.

I took cautious care in stroking her hair through my fingers, her head beneath my chin. My other hand had found her back where I scratched. I could feel her hesitant breaths against my chest slowly drift away as she settled, returning to say, “We were nearly thrown out on our arses for that little stunt…”

I laughed, and she did, too.

“Yeah…,” I sighed alongside her. “And that time at the beach. He had my back. He always had my back.”

“He did. He loved you,” She prodded my ribs. “But, that memory I could forget. I almost beat his arse that night for getting beat like that. You and him could've done better.”

“There was—what?—six, seven of them versus us?!”

She chuckled into a sigh. “I forgot you never grew up with brothers constantly wanting to wrestle.”

“Hermione's teaching me that now.”

“I bet she is.” I felt her light laughter.

“He loved you, Gin.”

Silence ripened once again, but gradually faded by her whispered claim of, “…I know…”

I tightened my embrace of her when I felt her go limp, and with that puff of strength I instilled she awoke. She tightened her hug.

“I want you to think of all the good times.”

She remained quiet, but that rekindled fire kept her with me.

“Even when things seem to get worse, I want you to think of all those good times we had—and we had tons.”

“…I just wish the last conversation I had with him wasn't an argument.”

I felt that even in my heart.

What could be said after something like that?

I'm sorry?

That wasn't enough…

I gave her all I knew to give, affection, a comforted mind that we were there. I kissed atop her warm flaming crown and gave her an even greater hug. “We love you, Gin.”

The atmosphere in the kitchen fell to a hush with us standing there.

My eyes peered out the window, at the freezing rain splashing against the panes, and that of the gray clouds smothering the city.

“…Where is Sleeping Beauty at this morning, anyway?”

Gin broke me from the trance.

I made a laugh. “She's still sleeping. I tried arousing her this morning to no avail.”

“Just this morning?” Gin leaned from our hug to wink at me.

My eyes went wide and all I could do was laugh again.

***

I gasped.

Crookshanks's eyes blinked open, the two little black spheres peering back at me nonchalantly. So, much like a cat who had claimed his owner. The furry orange ball lay at Hermione's bosom. On her side nearly in the similar position I had left her watching me leave through the bedroom door, Crookshanks had evidently take refuge, home, between that of my Love's arm and my Love's chest. She had an arm around him almost as if a stuffed animal, and I did a sigh at how just adorable she was with her kitty all wrapped up in the white sheets.

He meowed at me, and I scoffed.

That was probably his way of laughing!

I grinned, lightly wandering in on tiptoe to set a tray of breakfast foods down on the side-table. Some fruit yogurt, an apple bran muffin, two eggs and orange juice rattle on their respective plates when placed. I kept my eye on her, and the furball, ever-so-slightly flicking his tail to and fro. He kept his beady eyes on me and didn't move a centimetre when I went to bend over and kiss lovingly inside Hermione's warmth of brown curls. I smelled of her vanilla scent and caressed her again.

At her cheek, and then her throat, I had movement. I heard her first, a “Mm…”, and then her stretches beneath the covers.

She smiled up at me through a yawn.

I stole a kiss after, having her “Mmm…” again.

“Good morning, beautiful,” I said to those dazzling cinnamon reflections. “I've got breakfast for you.”

I motioned with a nod over behind me.

She sighed in her smile and breathed that long, drawn first morning's breath. “What time is it?” she asked, rolling to her back to further peek at the clock behind her. With her arm above her that moment, Crookshanks took liberty to place his paws on Hermione's chest, disturbed by the vacant attention.

I watched him and shook my head, seeing Hermione gaze back at me and then at her kitty. “I think he wants mummy.”

“I think he wants too much of mummy…,” He'd begun to get a little too antsy in his ways, and Hermione to order him off when a nudge. “Down Crookshanks, down. Those are for daddy, not for you.”

I chuckled, seeing Crookshanks tilt his head to the side and meow at mummy.

“Here,” I reached out and retrieved the orange of which perched atop Hermione. Looking down at him in my arms I told him, acting paternal, “I've got to show you a thing or two about girls.”

He just blinked up at me and meowed.

Hermione put her hand on her forehead and laughed, running her fingers through the fringe of her mahogany tassels and back. She breathed another incredible inhale, watching me and her beloved kitty discuss “male issues”.

“What is it about my two men and my breasts?” she snickered.

“Correction,” I began with a finger up, professorially. I went to sit on the bed's edge aside Hermione and glanced down at her, the sheets fit to her form underneath, her lovely white porcelain skin. I caressed her lips before ending with, “I love from the bottom of your feet to the tip-top of your head.”

“I do wish I could make up time when I should've loved you.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, her hand at my cheek and her deep pools of cinnamon examining me.

“When I left you, and when I was absent all those years,” I took her hand, letting go of the fidgeting Crookshanks in my lap. He leapt to Hermione's side and sat himself down, observing us from his angle.

“Vividly I remember the times in school when you wrought with turmoil, shed your tears, and withdrew after the War. I wish the moment when all that happened I wouldn't have been such a pathetic git; but, to have loved you like you should've been. Like the gorgeous woman you are. I was a prat—“

“We've discussed this, love.”

“I know,” I caressed her hand. “But in the end I felt it such a waste when I could've shown you a much better world than what you were given—a world I hope I've given you since.”

She sat up, and within that inch or two from my face all she did was watch me, watch those jade-green orbs of mine study her. She took my cheek and guided me to her, to her lips where I met her tenderness. “I'm so happy, Harry,” she stated throughout our one caress, our heads turning, exchanging sides from one another's.

When her lips left mine she leaned into me and wrapped her arms around me. She looked away from me but for a moment to see Crookshanks having climbed into her lap, into the caverns of sheets. “Such a naughty kitty,” she smiled.

I glanced downwards, too, and added, “Such a voyeuristic kitty.”

Hermione looked back at me in her smile.

“He certainly enjoys watching his mummy get pleased,” I quipped, my sight set back on Hermione. “Should've seen him nested atop your vanity last night. I don't think he ever took his eyes from us.”

“Crookshanks!” Hermione playfully gasped. She pointed at him and wagged her finger. “Naughty kitty!”

He meowed and merely swished his tail.

“Thank goodness he's neutered,” she jested, falling into me, into the crook of my neck where she caressed me.

I laughed, leading her lightly by her jaw to my mouth where I kissed her. I gazed longingly into her eyes. “I love you, and I only wish to give you the happiness you deserve. Which is why I cannot wait for our honeymoon; our excuse to escape this madness and for me to whisk you away to a destination only me and you know. Where we can't be bothered. Where we can—“

“Get away from my peeping tom cat,” she interjected with humor, a smirk.

I chuckled into another kiss, absorbing her fruitfully and with passion. I led my hand from her throat, down her chest, between her breast, and had it rest on her stomach.

“Breakfast is getting cold.”

“It smells wonderful,” she smiled, taking a glimpse around me.

“Gin's waiting downstairs for our journey this morning.”

“Mm…,” Hermione bit her bottom lip and looked back at me. “Guess it's about time to eat, eh?”

I nodded, lifting up to take the tray and set it back down and over her lap. Crookshanks had to be moved to his dismay, traveling back around Hermione where he could and lay between her and the pillow.

After another kiss, and after seeing her remove the fork and spoon from the napkin I had wrapped the utensils in, did I set course from the wardrobe after her things. “So, what are we wearing today?”

I pulled back the double-doors.

“Harry,” she exclaimed whilst I did.

I glanced back. “Hm?”

“I remember everything,” she began. “I remember our first conversation, our last conversation; I remember the first time we touched however innocently it was: I remember the first time we held hands, the first time we hugged, the first time we kissed, the first time we made love; I remember the moment you told me you loved me, and every time after that; I remember when you've stood up for me, going all the way back to Hogwarts; I remember relishing in each and every one of your victories at Quidditch even if I hadn't the foggiest idea about the game in the beginning; I remember our long nights in the Gryffindor tower, talking until we fell asleep; I remember when you knelt down on the Hogwarts Express platform and asked me for my hand in marriage.”

“I remember everything, Harry; and I love the warmth of your heart, the caring nature of your soul, and the excitement I have in knowing I will be your wife one day soon.”

“I'll never forget,” she ended.

Placing my hand over my heart, I felt light, light-headed, absolutely in love with Hermione.

I took off from her wardrobe and dropped back down to her height. I looked at her before I kissed her, her lips parting to say, “I just thought you'd like to know”.

And then I did.

I kissed her and never let her go.

***

As I looked away from the moving photograph of us did my hand lower to place the bronzed frame back on the hearth, and my other lower, too, with a carried letter. My attention went towards the sound, and then the movement of my lover stepping the last few steps of the stairs. She held in her hands something which caught my eye, the material flimsy, unyielding when she walked. The material would move about where her hands and arms hadn't caught it; but, in those seconds, too, did I welcome back her big, beautiful brown eyes. Soft she was in the firelight, embraced in her dark, satin sleep shirt. Her legs gave way to the orange hue, her white porcelain, perfect legs shuffling to me.

Getting closer, I figured out the misshapen objects were…

“What's this?” I cocked a brow, watching her as I did flip that one piece of hair back. Reaching out, I capture the strands betwixt my fingers and placed it behind her nearest ear. She grinned at my care, slowly slipping the threads back to behold my beauty in all her lovely glory.

“I feel the need to get rid of these.” She held up the layers upon layers of cloth. She tilted her head before adding, “Well, not necessarily rid them, but give them away. Maybe to charity?”

All of her extra-large, extra-baggy trousers—those I had remembered Hermione wearing day-in-and-day-out those first few months we courted.

Quizzically, I asked, “These have been with you now for a while—why the sudden change of heart?”

“Back then I felt the need to hide myself,” She replied confidently. She shook her head. With a smile, she said after a beat, the house absorbing the sounds of the crackling, warm fire, “I'm not that way anymore. I'm not that Hermione Granger—afraid—afraid of myself, my own reflection. I'm Hermione Granger—“

She paused to catch a glimpse of my grin. “The lover, the loved, the fixed. I'm whole—and you helped me—standing always at my side, picking me up when I fell, and embracing all my faults—even the more troublesome ones.”

Sliding my hands, my arms beneath the neatly folded trousers, I assisted her with the weight of them whilst stepping closer, inching to her lips where we matched together. I left her with a smile, accepting the trousers at my chest and took them around the sofa to be taken out, to be given maybe to a new home. I watched her watch me, the fireplace her background, her gorgeous outline emanating her wonderful features. The curves I affectionately felt when I went back to my lover I squeezed before leading her with a hand hearthside. Picking up the bronzed frame of us, I showed her what I'd been staring at while she put Ginny to bed. We all had had a day of packing and unpacking, and of us three Ginny was the tuckered one—physically as well as emotionally.

My beloved ran her fingers through her hair and made a tiny laugh through her nose after she'd plucked the frame, taking it to herself and her smile. She looked up. “Hogwarts,” she exclaimed. “First year.”

“Our first picture together—just us.”

She glanced back down at the small photo, of two, innocent, rambunctious kids playing for the camera. “We're absolutely wet.”

“It rained just before, remember?”

She looked back up at me and smiled, her eyes settling to the photo again.

“It's been quite the journey,” she expressed almost breathlessly. She put a hand to her forehead, and then shook her head with that smile still across her lips.

I knew, like me, a film reel of Hermione and Harry throughout the years presented in her mind. All the events, all our events, fell like dominoes with one mental image replacing another in succession. I smiled when she just stared in amazement, knowing we'd come this far, but the unbelievable becoming believable when the obvious landed in front of you.

“It has,” Echoing her, she glanced to see my smile close to hers. I kissed her, and she fell into me, wrapping her arms around me snugly.

We stood like this, my strong arms holding her tight and Hermione, her cheek at my shoulder held softly me, too, in embrace.

“I love you, Hermione.”

I could feel her heartbeat, and knew she'd skipped one when she gazed that short distance up into my eyes. I could see the white twinkles, and the mirror of light she produced. A sheen from water built up, and she sniffed, laughing some when a tear trickled down her cheek.

“I love you, Harry…”

Wiping the tear streak with the lightest, slightest of touches, I lifted her chin and tilted to her. Our lips melded as one, our noses meshing, too. We caressed in smile, Hermione reaching up and around me as she stood a bit on tiptoe. Her arms about my neck, I had easy access to sweep her off her feet—and did. In my arms she giggled to my grin, carrying her warm form over to the sofa, and the waiting Gryffindor quilt. She quickly huddled to me and threw the quilt about us, paying close attention to the letter of which still kept in my hand.

I noted her curiosity and gave the letter to her. Her eyes went to the parchment, uncurling the off-white colour to see the Ministry seal stamped at the end as well as Draco Malfoy's personal signature. “They've exchanged your gold into pounds…,” she read the writings aloud. “And mine.”

“I guess we really are Muggles now.” I made a laugh, gathering her sight a moment and her smile before she went back to read and reread every, last morsel of information.

“Hey…,” Noticing when she put her fingers to her lips, her nails, the signs and symptoms of anxiety crossing her furrowed brow did I speak up. She looked at me, and as she did I pulled the parchment away. I let it drop to the wooden floor beneath. My hands on her, I took Hermione with me as I lay down.

“Changes…” The firelight danced in her eyes while she gazed into me.

“Positive changes.”

I smiled.

She stayed looking into my eyes those few seconds before lowering her cheek down to my chest.

She smiled, too, and nodded, grasping the shirt I still wore.

***

Interrogation Chamber 11, Deep within the Ministry of Magic

“She hasn't spoken since requesting my services?” Draco's words fell acrimoniously as he observed Rita. Curiously, her appearance didn't reflect one that was on-the-run nor did it reflect one who had just lost her kingdom. Nevertheless, the neatness of her Muggle-civilian clothes, her hair, the little bit of make-up unlike her could not outshine how her body language shown withdrawal. Hunched over the table she sat at, she had her hands, her palms on her wrinkled forehead, her fingers within the fringe of her curled, platinum blonde hair. He couldn't exactly see her face through her hands even through the transparent, aqua-esque magical bubble she'd been put in.

A few Aurors stood around her with Kingsley at the head of the table, and his scribe, Gregory, jotting down notes as Kingsley would offer his words. Noncompliant the slightest, Rita stayed still in the same wrought position in her chair.

The Auror Draco spoke to merely shook his head, looking within the room and behind the one-way mirror. “Not even alohamora could unhinge that mind.”

The Auror glanced back at Draco tilted on his cane. “She mentioned you, and nothing else.”

“She looks curiously kept for an outlaw even after freezing her Gringott's accounts.”

“Shall we perform veritaserum?”

Draco's head flicked to the Auror's suggestion. “We'd be nothing but our predescessors.”

Draco moved forward, pressing beyond the Auror, heading towards the door to the Interrogation Chamber. He looked back at the Auror. The Auror had turned to meet Malfoy's swift movement, even through hobbling on his cane. “Make careful note of that,” the interim Minister firmly stated. He placed his gloved hand around the door's knob and instantly the echo of the door unlocking reverberated throughout the conference area they stood in.

The Auror nodded, “Understood.”

He gave the salute, placing his fist to his white, tunic-clad chest.

Draco entered into the room just as Kingsley asked:

“We just would like to know where you've been hiding, Rita.”

It was like she knew he had entered. Rita pried her clutched hands from her forehead slowly at first, but then her entire personality alit—or what was left—a simple, trembled half-smile pausing to melt away. She mouthed his name in that second, her shamrock-green eyes following his slight movements. Draco first looked at Kingsley, his hands on the table, glance at his entrance, and then gave a nod to the Auror team within that they were dismissed.

Kingsley stood up aside Gregory, pushing from the table, as the Aurors filed out of the room.

With the last Auror having shut closed the door, and the various sets of latches locking behind him, Draco's gaze stripped away from Rita's staring face to Kingsley's.

“Anything?” He began the removal of his black leather gloves, setting them in his Ministry-emblazoned coat pocket.

Kingsley shook his head in dismay. “She won't speak for us.”

“Rita,” Draco's eyes flitted back to her, his speech authoritarian. He tilted his weight back on his cane. “Why are you here? Why did you come where you very well knew we'd arrest you for all your wrong-doings?”

“I wish only to speak to you, Draco.” Her words, albeit soft, came to the startled surprise of Kingsley and Gregory who immediately shifted their look back at the speckless woman. The lights from the room shone off her glasses when she sat back in her chair, hands folded now in her lap.

“Kingsley,” Draco nodded similarly like before. “I'll take things from here.”

“Are you sure?”

Draco's sight resumed on Rita when he nodded once more. “And please take down the barrier. She isn't threatening.”

Gregory shot a glance at Kingsley's silent watch, and then to his superior's wand flourish. From his plum robes, he countered his own magic, the bubble shifting in-and-out of existence before subsiding. Gregory marched off in his own set of Ministry robes, followed by Kingsley who patted Draco's back when he crossed behind.

Draco knew Kingsley would be watching and listening, as he did when he closed the door, standing behind the charmed one-way mirror.

Alone, now, with Rita, Draco pulled the lone chair on the other side of the table and sat down. He took careful precautions with his leg as he did, giving an exhausted huff per the late hour.

They sat in silence together for a moment before Draco dissolved the thick quiet between them.

“Why did you come back, Rita?” Draco sized her up from the other side of the room. In the Chamber his firm voice echoed.

Rita fell back almost instantly in her slump. “Because...”

“Because you suddenly have a heart of gold? Thought, maybe, repenting for your sins would save you from the Hell that will ultimately be unleashed?” Draco leaned forward, his voice lessening to be poignant. “Do you know how many people died, Rita? Do you know how many people now grieve and are in mourning of their loved ones? Do you understand the severity of assisting Death Eaters and your punishment?”

Rita's hands went to her face where she clawed with her nails. Her eyes grew and she, for whatever reason, couldn't look Draco in the eyes. Exasperated, she said, “I have nothing left of me, Draco. I have nothing—they took it all away.”

“I wouldn't have come after you.”

Rita's eyes flicked to Draco, tears having welled themselves in her vision. Whites danced on the surfaces of her miniature puddles.

“If you would have stayed away and hid wherever you were hiding,” Draco sighed tiredly. “I wouldn't have come after you.”

“Why?” Rita's question came out in a high-pitched squeak.

“Because,” Draco began, looking from the table and back to Rita. He folded his hands together. “I know they killed your family. I know they killed Zoe, Rita, and I know how much you loved her even if you would tear into her through the Prophet.”

“I did so to protect them…” Warm teardrops smeared what little mascara clung beneath Rita's eyes. “I did so because I had no other choice. They dangled her like a carrot—Sarilda—she showed me how close she could get to her and that—that—“

Draco raised a hand.

All that could be heard was the gentle weep from Rita in their quiet pause.

Draco went from his hands rolling the silvered cane-handle in his lap and back to Rita. “Where have you been, Rita? Have you been with them—Death Eaters?”

Rita began shaking her head to and fro hastily before Draco could even finish.

“Come clean with me, Rita; don't lie to me.”

“…S-Shell Cottage,” Rita had began a stutter amongst her head-shaking.

Draco straightened himself upright the moment her heard her, an eyebrow rising.

“Shell Cottage?” He offered her another chance to come forthright. “…Did I hear you correctly?”

She shook her head in confirmation.

“…Bill and Fleur Weasley have been taking care of you?” Surprise had hit him, his words in near-shock.

“They have—,” and she suddenly felt as if she'd given the most important secret in the world away, backtracking and asking Draco, “Please! I don't know why they did it—I don't—but they were afraid if they said anything, anything at all, you'd come after—“

“They must've seen something in you,” Draco shushed her. He remained on subject, but asked her, “And, just how did you end up going there? It's not like it's downtown London. Not everyone knows that tiny island's there.”

Rita's lips pursed tightly.

“Rita…,” Draco began to get unnerved. “The only way I can trust you is if you help me help you. You have to help me here.”

Rita, in whispers, answered after another long pause, “…Miss Granger…”

“And, I don't know why she did it!” yelled Rita. “She did it—and Bill and Fleur Weasley offered me asylum—and I don't know why! I was such a cruel, evil speck-of-a-person. I hadn't a soul left, given it away to the Devil—and I don't know why anyone cared a bit about me! I should've died there at Prophet Media, I should have!”

“I should've died with my family!!!” Rita screamed again, tears now streaming down her blackened-stained cheeks. “I don't deserve the kind hearts of others! I deserve nothing! None at all!”

Draco just shook his head, realizing that maybe…

He reached into his coat pocket among her gradual fit of rage on the other side and plucked his personal handkerchief from his inside pocket. Black silk, the letter “M” was embroidered on the corner in gold stitch. He stood up, and when he did heard Rita mute. He watched her as he walked around the table from the left pull herself into the table, arms and hands clutching her head.

“Get it over with, Draco! Get it over with!” she pleaded.

“Rita.”

“Do what needs to be done!” she demanded in her rage.

Draco gritted his teeth, grabbed Rita's shoulder and pushed her back into the chair. In the right mess he thought she'd be in, hair, face, and clothes in disarray, he watched her, again, watch him behind tears. She trembled, and was obviously in a wreck, having lost everyone but herself.

“Here,” Draco offered his handkerchief. He leaned into her chair with a hand atop the backside after she'd reluctantly plucked it from his grasp. She dabbed her eyes clean and blew her running nose.

“Get it together,” he watched her begin another weep into the handkerchief.

She shook her head, hidden behind the black, shiny silk. “I'm sorry… I'm sorry for everything. You don't know how much all of this has eaten at me in these days since… With such outpouring of charity from those I once wished to destroy… And, to lose Zoe like that when she was all I wanted to protect…”

“You have to help us, Rita.”

Rita glanced from behind the silk and upwards at Draco standing tall.

“Anything,” she said, centred in her remorse. She shook her head. “Anything at all, I'll do.”

“What do you know of the rest—the Death Eaters—where are they hiding, how many, their targets—“

“I'll do my very best to remember and give you anything I've gathered over the years.”

Draco nodded. “Gather yourself up, and come along with me.”

“Where are we going?” Rita muffled behind the handkerchief as she wiped her eyes.

“To my office so we may talk in a proper atmosphere,” He noticed how Rita glanced at him through the handkerchief when he said that. He put a hand on her shoulder and gave her a pat.

“You're safe here with me, Rita. I only ask for your full support in return, and then maybe we can turn this whole nightmare around together—as a team rather than enemies.”

“The People will hate me—they hate me.”

“We—I—will personally have your support.”

She blew her nose, the snort the only noise in their silence, before looking back up through her mascara-smeared face. “Thank you, Draco,” she said softly. “I'll pay back hundred-fold for everything I've done in my past.”

From behind the one-way glass, Kingsley put his hands together and gave Malfoy secretive applause. “There is the boy I mentored turning into a man, a true, just Minister, before my very eyes.”

“Your father would be proud, Draco.” Kingsley ended.

***

{Author's Note: hopefully that sated enough HHr for now. Life is going about a hundred miles per hour on my end. I hope to get back to a normal pacing for chapters sooner-or-later! Happy Thanksgiving!}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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78. Together

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Seventy-eight - Together

***

We sat together on the sofa.

Hermione comfortably sat upon me. The Gryffindor quilt, and its roaring yellow lion, fell around our circular circumference. One circumference, for our bodies were together. Not so much as pressing, but together, at rest. The picturesque way I saw her with the warm glow of the lit hearth behind her made her more unreal, surreal. The orange licks would lighten across her silken, mahogany curls as they shifted, shifting with her, Hermione shifting with me. The orange would cascade across her features, her face, the white dancing in her eyes as she watched me watch her move in unison.

She smiled, her pink lips curling to my fancy.

I smiled, too, our hands clasped, intertwined a moment. And then their fall, their escape as her hands went to feel of my arms, and my hands went to feel of her. The pyjama top, her sleep shirt fit big on her figure. My hands, however, found her shape, the curve from her hip and upward along the small breadth of her sides. I felt of her hands underneath my arms, my eyes, dark in the shadows she created, kept to her.

I grinned when she fidgeted at my squeeze, feeling of her soft centre. My ears perked to her giggle. The whites of my eyes twinkled as Hermione lowered, lifting the curtain of darkness enough to showcase the happiness I felt. She slid around me, her arms about my neck. My arms did the same along her back, pulling her to me and on me. Our lips found their partner, the warmth of her giving breath of my need. Her arms left me for her hands. She cradled my face, her delicate fingers on my five o'clock shadow. She tilted me on her command, our caresses loving, passionate. She'd leaned me back, her fingers beneath my chin. I found her smile, and then her lips again on mine. Her fingers sifted through my hair.

My hands would smooth out and ruffle her sleep shirt.

Across the flatness of her stomach I found the beginnings of a button, buttons, feeling of her blindly for my eyes set to close. With the first button undone, I felt Hermione slowly stop to observe me, our faces together, on level, her deep pools of cinnamon gazing into me. Her eyes flicked upwards and downwards, side-to-side, mesmerized at once of me in the firelight. She smiled, pushing further against me, pushing further into my hands.

Her hands led themselves back through my hair, back through the mess of black tufts. She pressed however slightly from the sofa cushions with her knees. Climbing that half inch she found my forehead where she caressed me. With or without my lightning bolt scar, her kiss held me to stop my actions, the sensation of warmth coursing softly to my toes and up again.

The fourth button had been undone, enough for my hands to slip in and feel of her, her skin, the essence of my beloved woman. I had her and lifted her back on me in our slanted sit on the sofa. Her eyes lit at my strength, a smile creeping across her lips. Those dark mahogany curls slipped to the side when she moved, slipping over that eye. She flicked her head to reveal herself and lay into me, and into my new embrace.

I had her between her natural silkiness and the down of the crimson-and-gold quilt. With my hands, I'd pushed the fabric of her sleep shirt up, feeling her, feeling the material of her warm knickers leading into the lovely slope of her back. The sofa made a noise, noises, as she would move on me. Even the slightest of movements would hear the padded weight through the flickering fire.

She had me turn my head. Her soft lips kissed a line from my mouth to my cheek and down. She lowered into the crook of my neck where I felt of her peck-kisses on the underside of my jaw. The bridge of her nose would nudge me, and I would smile, exploring like her, my Hermione, by fingertip.

I must've tickled her, a laugh, a giggle, a jump from my touches.

I laughed, too, seeing her wiggle in my arms, and then gently sat straight on my lap.

Our eyes locked, and the heat from before instantly sparked back.

My hands, my fingers had found the last three buttons of her sleep shirt and undid them. From the pyjama top I could see the white line of her now peeking out.

Her hands found mine, and then my arms as I slid across that tiny distance between us to get back to her, and that familiar warmth.

Gently, and ever-so-slowly, I led my hands upwards. As I did I saw more and more of Hermione. The two pieces of material opened for me. I slipped in further when I could see her beautiful stomach and grasped her below her ribs. My eyes kept to her, and hers to mine. She gave me full access in love, and in loving me. I felt of her breaths the more I lifted further. My thumbs traced each individual rib, each individual niche.

Inhaling deeply, she let out a sigh.

Her eyes left me to close, her head tilting back just enough so I could see that smile I created bring life to her lips. Her brunette tresses fell about her in that moment, my hands having slipped over her breasts.

These were seconds, for the next I saw her eyes again and that smile still there.

She lowered, and my hands did, too, to her back.

Her lips collided with mine, her arms back around my form, my neck.

I could feel the warmth of her nakedness against mine, and squeezing her to me kept her there.

The twilight of night had come.

No sounds but ours and the fire could be heard within Number Twelve.

I laid my fiance back on the sofa, me and our Gryffindor quilt her heat within this nighttide of Fall. The moment her head hit the sofa pillow did my lips meet hers. I had her in my arms, my hands travelling her body, and hers on mine.

She gasped when I had found her, and I smiled with her.

I lowered once more, and she planted her readied lips on mine.

***

Harry…

Lying amongst the fields of flowers with Hermione, our caressing lessened the more I…heard my name? What sounded like a whistling in the winds, mere hushes underneath a crystal-clear blue sky and warmth of the sun, drifted to one understandable word:

Harry…

I had her in my arms, Hermione lying across my lap when I broke from her to look to my right when I heard my name.

“What is it?” she said, churning in my lap. I could feel her arms about my neck loosening as she felt at me.

Harry…

I had heard it again.

I glanced up, upwards at the sun, shielding my eyes.

The light eclipsed my sight, the bright white overcoming me until…

“Harry.”

I awoke, albeit drowsily.

Recovering my faculties, I remembered using a bit of magic to make the sofa larger, looking behind me at the sofa's backside. And then, Hermione, who slept in my arms beneath the crimson and gold of our quilt. She had me, my right hand in hers, all the while we spooned. I heard what I thought was rain pitter-pattering against the window panes and the roof beneath the crackling of a warm hearth.

I had moved, lifted when I…my name?

The shift had Hermione stir, too, her legs moving with mine. I watched her in lazy smile hide more of her beautiful self in Gryffindor, gathering my heat as well as hers. I hadn't the time, gazing out towards the closest window when I heard it again:

“Harry?”

My sight immediately flicked to the fireplace.

The whispers of my name had come from there, and when I focused saw the image of…

“King—“ My voice came out a bit loud in retrospect, reversing when I noted the loudness in the quiet atmosphere. And, to another Hermione stir. Retracting, I whispered his name again, “Kingsley?”

I went to move, to unwrap Hermione around me, but she had none of it.

She made a noise and held onto my hand even tighter.

“I'm sorry to wake you this hour, Harry,” came Kingsley from the flicking flames. “But, I'm in need of your assistance and thought—“

“One second,” I had to interject. I hadn't wanted to wake Hermione from her needed slumber, and the more I moved, and the more Kingsley spoke the more she fidgeted until she rolled towards me.

Blinking in sleep, she asked the obvious and in such a cute, high-pitched languid-filled voice, “What's wrong…?”

I had to laugh a little at just how adorable she asked.

But, it did give me time to begin the progression of my hand, and arm, from her. “It's nothing, I—“

She had closed her eyes before I could get everything out.

I chuckled, and gently, ever-so-gently, lifted from around her. The soles of my naked feet hit the cold wooden floor, giving me a shiver. They stuck until my feet had hit the plush rug before the hearth, shuffling closer to Kingsley gazing around the environs of Number Twelve. When my knees hit the ground, moving to sit Indian-style on my bum, he then focused on me.

“How are you, my boy?” The fire crackled betwixt his fatherly tone. “Feeling well, better than before?”

“Yeah, it finally hit—sleep. Hermione had to drag me upstairs,” I smirked at what a scene that was in my head. “Slept a whole day.”

“Good, good…”

“Sir,” I had to interrupt him. He needed me, or so he said. And, Kingsley, and Draco, the Order…they'd given me… It wasn't as if Kingsley had asked a lot from me since I'd met him. So, for him to ask now… He never was one to be blunt with me, especially when he knew asking might have…unpleasantries.

His eyes, flickering inbetween the flames, affixed on me.

“You needed me?”

He paused a beat, glancing around Number Twelve, to come back within the sudden silence.

“It's… It's not simple, Harry,” His eyes observed my adjustment, finding a comfortable position closer to the fireplace.

“What isn't?”

He chuckled. “You certainly have grown.”

Kingsley sighed, and through the flames the sound reverberated through the settling wood. “The assistance we need from you, which I need from you, comes two-fold.”

“The first,” he continued. “You are the shining star of the wizarding world, Harry.”

“I didn't mean to be, sir.”

“I know, Harry; and, I also know what you've done for us which makes this incredibly difficult to ask.”

“Even through death I will help the Order, Kingsley. You know that,” I exclaimed truthfully, remembering my beauty behind me on the sofa.

Kingsley coughed at the mention of death, “Precisely, Harry.”

“Precisely?”

“As you know all too well,” he resumed. “Over here you are believed to be dead. And, we're taking extraordinary precautions in keeping you in the Muggle world. Extraordinary precautions, Harry. You are our greatest secret. If your existence were to get out the unbelievable may happen…or, it may not.”

“I wish I were a reader of the future,” he added rhetorically. “Life certainly would be easier if I was.”

“I didn't mean—“

“No, Harry,” Kingsley stopped me for he knew my train of thought. Close enough to be psychic, at least. “You are loved, Harry. She loves you.”

I saw his eyes flick back behind me at Hermione, and when I turned saw her within the tangles of crimson and gold, her arm above her head where I had left her.

I smiled.

“After everything, Harry,” I returned to his profile. “You deserve this life.”

I lowered my eyes, humble, and smiled. “Thank you, sir.”

My sight went to him. “I only wish—“

“We wish it, too, Harry, for we need you to help us keep us in power.”

My brow rose. “Isn't Malfoy?”

“Draco insists on moving forward with the public vote, which is in fact the proper way of politics. But, if he loses—“

I waited for him to continue, watching Kingsley's face spark back up after quietness. “We're moving forward in strides, fixing what has been done. And, we only wish that, somehow, you could be there with us.”

“To speak,” I interjected. “On behalf of Malfoy.”

Kingsley's eyes dropped from mine, only to look up as he said, “Exactly.”

“We can't parade you in front of the cameras,” he noted. “To say that we, the Order, used the darkest of magicks to… We would be hypocrites, and surely anyone—anyone—would swoop in and implant their own administration. Any administration.”

I began rubbing my forehead.

I could feel a headache coming on the horizon.

“We're not out of the woods yet, Harry,” Kingsley stated. “There still is true evil out there. We need to establish ourselves for the safety of our future. We cannot have another—“

“Have you and Malfoy thought of anything?” I asked through my hands. The headache had been achieved throughout the deep thoughts, trying my best to think of anything—anything at all in this…slight predicament. “Any way I could be of help?”

“Maybe I could record myself—would that—?“

“Then the question could be raised how we had gotten your voice to help Draco now.”

“Projection?”

“Again,” muttered Kingsley. “Questions could be raised as how we got your image and statement for Draco's behalf.”

“Damn.” I gritted my teeth, shut my eyes and thought. My thoughts only muddied in the morass of migraine which continued to throb.

“We've hit the proverbial brick wall. I only thought two minds were better than one. Thus is why I came to you so we could maybe find a route—“

“I'll help.”

Startled, I had heard her. From my right side, I jerked around to see Hermione with her arms wrapped about herself inside the Gryffindor quilt. In a sleepy sort of way, she smiled at me as she climbed down from her height and sat on her knees beside me.

“Hermione…,” I breathed, watching her watch me with the whites dancing in her eyes. “…No, I mean—“

“Harry.”

Kingsley's voice had me look at him.

“She was an option we thought of,” Kingsley shook his head. “But, I knew not to bring her up. I knew you would—”

“I don't want her, too,” I pushed.

“Harry…”

I looked towards Hermione.

“No,” I pushed again. “No, it's too—“

Leaning into me, she took my face in her hand and gazed into my eyes. “We have to help them. What other choice do we have?”

“You can be there, Harry,” noted Kingsley from within the hearth. “And Hermione is well-received to our populous for what she has done for us, too.”

“Polyjuice, Harry…,” I glanced back at Hermione from Kingsley. “Some cosmetic prep potions… It'll be like old times.”

“But, I don't want it to be like old times, Hermione. I want us—the new times—the times where we're happy.”

“We are happy,” she smiled, peck-kissing my lips. The warm fire gave her hue a glow. “But…to think, love… To think of what could happen.”

“Your courage is admirable, Miss Granger.”

I looked between the former Minister, the leader of the Order, and my beloved, my soul mate.

“Will I come to regret this?” I asked her softly.

She shook her head, her hand running itself through my chaos of black mess. She observed me, taking note of my concern, my body language, the worry on my features. She grinned and kissed me, releasing to say close to me, her vivid cinnamon irises on fire, “It only feels right.”

***

“You know,” I gingerly took her waist in my hands and squeezed her. I could feel the satin black sash she wore beneath my fingertips, and that of her slenderness all in black. I'd come from the lavatory and met her in front of her vanity doing something to her hair. She stood up, and as she did looked at me.

“I really am tired of seeing you—us—in these.”

For I, too, wore a black suit and tie with a bit of grey in my collared shirt.

She just smiled.

I mean, what else was there to do?

She looked to her side, leaving our reflection, to see me. Those mahogany curls shifted along that one side of her face, covering that one eye. Her lips kept the grin, however true or false the grin was. I smiled, too, and wondered the same for mine. I squeezed her again, embracing her, feeling how perfect she fit with me.

“You don't have to do—“

“But, I want to.” She cut me off, watching my jade orbs observe her.

“What if—“

“You'll be there, and,” she sighed, her sight lowering only but a beat. “They've done so much for me…”

Her sight lowered again, but to snap back to our level.

“…They brought you back to me.” Her voice quavered.

I kissed her, bringing her to me, by fingertip-lead.

Looking deep into those large brown eyes, I said with promise, “I'll be there.”

She smiled, looking down at how close our lips were. She glanced back up again. “I know you will,” she expressed in a breath.

“We don't want to be late for Shade's funeral.”

She shook her head.

I reached out with my hand and she took it on our way downstairs. Softly we went, our feet in pitter-patter towards the second floor. At the guest bedroom, I let Hermione go to see her, watch her crack open the silent guest bedroom. The door creaked in its old state, just enough she went about it to catch Ginevra inside. I'd thought she was about to say something to her within, but instead glanced at me from behind her beautiful tresses.

“She's still asleep,” Hermione whispered, letting the door close back.

My brows rose. “She's certainly getting her shut-eye.”

“She's been through a lot.”

I nodded. “We'll have to leave a note.”

“I'll write it while you get the broom, love.”

I saw her reach out for me this time, and it wasn't but a split second where I captured hers. She smiled and we continued our quiet trek downstairs.

“One thing is for sure,” she stated whilst leaving for kitchen, letting me go about checking on the broom.

“What's that?” I called from the living space, looking in the kitchen from the den at her leaned over the table scribbling with a pen our prior engagements. It wasn't like Ginny was in the dark; but, properly we told her we had gone.

She gazed from the notepad she wrote on and gave one of her signature smirks.

“One change I won't regret leaving behind is riding on brooms.”

I laughed. “Why's that?”

It wasn't like they were the most comfortable, and Hermione's past with them, but…

She pointed at her attire. “This, and the uncomfortable riding up of certain…”

She looked away, only to come again. “…Unmentionables.”

She was right.

And, I laughed out loud for it.

***

The light guided us to a luxuriously posh home. We saw, even at our height, the numerous vehicles surrounding the grand estate. Various coloured lights sparkled and twinkled, and as I glanced back at Hermione with a cocked brow did a broom flash passed us. She squeezed my waist from behind, the breeze the bloke brought bringing a shudder beneath our coats.

“Are we at the correct home?”

I heard her in the breeze at my ear.

“I don't know,” I looked back at our trajectory, slowing down and following pace where the other broom had landed in a grassy area outside the tiered estate. “It looks like a party—feet down, love.”

Mine had already lowered the moment we landed on the glistening blades, the icy grass crunching beneath our feet. We had landed behind the fellow, the man looking back and tipping his hat at us before leaving us for the stairs leading to the front doors.

“My apologies.”

I just gave him a wave in response, seeing a house elf carrying away his broom into its lodging outside. The house elf had apparated back to us, but I declined his help.

“But, you are our invited guests!” the house elf complained all the while I personally set the broom in.

Of course, Hermione tried to show the meaning behind the notion to the house elf, but to no avail. The elf merely whined until I had to break Hermione away. I heard her sigh when she came along with me, gloved hand-in-gloved hand. I just chuckled for I knew the hardships of getting meaning to a stubborn house elf, even to a member of S.P.E.W.

“Is that—“

“Yeah,” I shook my head in astonishment the farther up we climbed, stair-by-stair. Lights flashed from the windows, and there was…music, very raucous with a beat and tempo anything like any other funeral we had ever been to throughout our young lives.

“I hear Shade's voice.”

We had to stop as some others were being greeted at the door, others who chose to drive here instead of flight. They'd lead us up the stairs and to the door. I looked over at Hermione who was in just as much surprise as I was. I hadn't even wrapped my mind around the event, hearing again the hesitance of Hermione if we had even arrived at the right home when we noticed.

“Miss Granger!” exclaimed a woman in sheer happiness. Before I could respond, or Hermione, the woman had embraced her out of my grip.

“I'm so glad you could make it!” Hermione looked over at me in an attempt to seek sympathy at just how tight the woman had hugged her. I shrugged until she saw me, too, and came about to embrace me just the same.

She released me, and I could breathe on my own once more. “Who is this fit young gentleman?”

“Um?”

She had turned to Hermione's verbal contemplation, the woman seemingly having a sort of similarity to…

“Oh! My apologies—I'm Zoe's sister, Gail. And this,” she motioned over towards something, or someone, until a man dressed for the occasion broke from another couple to join her. “This is Simon, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you two, Miss Granger and,” he went to shake Hermione's hand when he looked at me, a hand out.

“James,” I noted, shaking Simon's hand.

Hermione smiled aside me.

Having symbols of my past gone, it wasn't but a simple cosmetic potion brewed by my intelligent fiance to pacify the masses. Thankfully, I hadn't needed to taste the dreaded polyjuice.

“I know Zoe is smiling somewhere seeing you two had shown up to celebrate her life,” exclaimed the grinning sister.

“We haven't, I mean—“ Hermione stumbled to set her words straight, not to offend.

“What she means is we really have never—“ I tried to finish Hermione's thoughts and sentence when Gail made a laugh.

“This isn't our first rowboat,” the ecstatic sister joked.

Hermione and I shot a quizzical glance at each other.

“You see,” Gail began explaining. “My sister's life was filled with happiness and love, and she tried to touch every soul she met with that purpose. So, at her end, our family thought she would have loved us celebrating her life the way she led hers.”

“We've shed so many tears,” she said further. “That now it's time for Zoe and her wishes: to dance, to sing, to be happy, and to praise life for we only have one to live.”

“Besides,” she ended. “We're not afraid of Death Eaters.”

“We're just so sorry…,” Hermione stepped forward and hugged Gail. “She was an inspiration, to a lot of people and me.”

Gail rubbed Hermione's back and gave a pat. “Come in,” she took Hermione by the hand and motioned over at me with urgency behind the entire jubilee. “You've both to meet the family, to join in our reverie, and to rejoice in life with us!”

***

Hermione was right.

Between meeting everyone—and there were tons—she said something very true:

“This is exactly what Shade would have wanted.”

For you see, Shade Epsilon—Zoe Reynolds—was anything but normal.

And, that wasn't bad at all.

She was eccentric.

Happy, always content with everything she did.

She gave everything she could to life, and to the people, her fans included.

And now we—we kept her joy alive.

We ended up with Gail and Simon, and others from her family and friends on the dance floor. The whole floor, for there wasn't but a few sitting at the surrounding tables. Beneath an enormously beautiful, crystal chandelier with three dozen lights illuminating our ambient atmosphere, we danced. I didn't know what I was doing, and to Gail's coaxing that was exactly what was right. That, like in life, we don't know what we're doing—we just do what we know, what we feel is right. That, we're not perfect, like our dance moves—and mine were horrible.

Hilariously horrible, and I was laughing beneath the cheerfully optimistic rhythms with Hermione. She was with me, with us, all of us for the whole room bewitched with the celebratory craze. We all did our own thing, but in unison, together. The Northern Soul-like moves, throwing ourselves with the pulses, twisting and turning, kicking our feet up with the beats of Shade Epsilon-inspired music. Some even did spins, kicks, and back-flips—I wasn't going to even attempt a back-flip.

One would think, seeing everyone how they were, in their dress that we were at a funeral.

No, we were at something much more.

We were living our lives to the fullest.

Like Zoe.

***

The frivolity had lessened into the night. Some guests began to leave. Hermione and I had reserved seats with the Reynolds' family. We were talking in whispers to them, and to Simon who just so happened to have a hobby in Quidditch like myself—a near obsession. We were talking about the teams, who we thought might win the next World Cup. I hadn't noticed Gail had gotten up onto a stage-like area of the spacious room until I heard the clink-clink of a glass and that of hushes from the crowd.

I took Hermione in hand and held her beneath the table while Gail spoke of Zoe to us. What Zoe had done for the community, what her sister tried to do for the world, her numerous charity organizations and how her latest one with breast cancer gave St. Mungo's research healers a better chance in finding a cure. She spoke of her sister in their younger years, when they were at a magic school much like Hogwarts in Australia. How Zoe had left Australia to come back to her birthplace, her home country, to give back.

I caught Hermione when a tear fell and peck-kissed her cheek.

Our seats were close, so she hadn't a distance when she leaned into my right side. I cradled her before I heard her name. Gail had said something, caught again in Hermione, giving her a napkin to dab her face clean. Hermione hadn't known what was coming, being as much unaware as I had been. She'd said something about Hermione, about this “Punk Fiction”, and how Zoe had followed them up until their hiatus, their number one fan.

“Hermione, I'm sorry for putting you on the spot like this,” Gail continued on the stage-like structure.

We looked between each other, Hermione and I.

I hadn't a clue what was going on, and Hermione looked just as dumbfounded by the sudden spotlight.

All eyes were on her, us.

“But, Val is here, and—would it be too much to ask for a song? Your biggest fan would've loved to hear one last song from her biggest obsession, Punk Fiction.”

Hermione's eyes were wide, gazing onward at Gail and the guests waiting for a response with bated breath.

“Hermione!” I called out for her for she began to move, get up from her chair. The guests around us started clapping, and I noticed another woman, a tall, slim figure get up, too. The woman was greeted with a guitar.

Hermione flipped to me, and in our whispers said, “I've got to do something, Harry—I can't just…not!”

“But—!”

“Even if it's just—I don't know—something!”

“Hermione—!” I tried to get at her again, but she had moved beyond my reach by this point.

She maneuvered around the tables and across what used to be the grand dance floor. I could tell she was nervous. Hell, I was nervous enough for her. My head began to hurt, as if a void tried to fill itself somewhere. I was confused as I tried to piece things together.

I saw Hermione do a lot of her apprehensive twitching: playing with her hair, fidgeting her fingers, walking maybe a little too fast towards the stage…

I tried to play everything off cool and began clapping along with Simon who had nudged me from his side.

“Zoe loved her,” he told me.

I clapped, and put on my best smile—all the while in a complete fog.

I saw her speak to Gail who handed her the microphone, and then saw them hug onstage. I saw the other female, “Val”, speak to her, too. I saw them exchange greetings, saw Hermione place her hand on her forehead amongst the guests continuous applause. Val put her hand on Hermione's shoulder, and then moved forward to embrace her as well. Val caressed my beloved's forehead when they released, and then gave another exchange: a piece of paper.

I saw Hermione read whatever it was, and then nod after a pause.

Val pointed over at Gail who had stepped down from the stage and nodded, too, at Hermione.

Gail had placed a stool for her, and Val sat in another aside Hermione.

As Val set her guitar in her lap, at the ready, Hermione quietly said into the microphone:

“H-Hello everyone.”

She sort of gave a smile, and tucked that hair behind her ear.

The applause had stopped for the two girls, waiting, again, with anticipation.

I gulped.

That was my woman after all.

I didn't want her embarrassed, and began thinking of ways to take her away from the situation if it got worse.

“I just want to thank Gail and the Reynolds' family,” began Hermione with a tidbit of anxiousness in her tone. “For everything they've done tonight. I—“

Applause roared again at Hermione's words, and she was stopped and smiled shyly.

Val put her hand on Hermione's back and gave it a rub, looking over at her.

“I wasn't really ready for this,” Hermione resumed, in honesty. “But I'll try my very best to sing something in memory of Zoe.”

Some of the guests encouraged Hermione with a few “You got this's!” and “We're here with you's!”

“She was just as much an inspiration for me as everyone else has said I was to her, so,” Hermione stated sweetly into the microphone. “Thank you. Again. For everything.”

Applause filled the room once more until Val began strumming her guitar, plucking the strings with delicate ease. She looked down at her prowess, and back up at Hermione who had looked over at her. Val nodded and gave a smile.

Hermione put the microphone up to her lips and closed her eyes.

“There are loved ones in the glory…whose dear forms you often miss… When you close your earthly story, will you join them in their bliss…?”

Hermione and Val swapped modest smiles within their spotlight.

A shiver ran up my spine.

My love couldn't have sounded more angelic.

“Will the circle be unbroken, by and by…by and by? Is a better home awaiting in the sky…in the sky?”

***

Ginny and Hermione were talking amongst themselves and the television when I came downstairs. The moment my boots hit the bottom from the last step they abruptly stopped, or Hermione did, flipping around to stare at me from the sofa. I'd been adjusting and readjusting my black tie behind a simple grey jacket. My pin-striped trousers fit to my form, knowing, too, that Hermione knew that especially. While getting dressed, she'd pinched my bum in them while I did my thing in the mirror. We were going to see her parents, and I wanted to be in tip-top shape.

Hermione had lifted from the sofa the moment I'd come in, and around the corner she went. I didn't really concentrate on what they were saying, Hermione and Gin going on about tonight and dinner, when she was at my tie. She smacked my hands away and centred the tie, sliding her hand down the silk to have the cloth wrinkle-free.

She smiled at me when I rolled my eyes and huffed.

Finally, I succumbed to her smile, smiling too in the end at my lovely brunette. A little number on her, she went to match my colour of blacks, greys, and whites. Closer to her calves, the dress set in tiers with each tier becoming more and more transparent from its opaque original. Her smirk perked me up, and leaning in, placing my hands on her bare shoulders did I kiss her.

I heard Ginny's gagging noises from the sofa.

“Get a room.”

I made a laugh.

Hermione did, too, looking over at Gin still on the sofa.

Gin remained in her pyjamas, being comfortable, having Number Twelve to herself—well, her and Crookshanks whom she held.

I was fixing her two black straps when she addressed Ginevra's gag, “I'm sure we won't be too late. Daddy enjoys his sleep on the weekends. And, closing in on the new year, there's always this bustle in getting teeth checked and cleaned.”

“You know how to contact us if anything happens,” I added, slipping my hands down my woman's figure. I held her middle, another satin sash of salt-and-pepper fitting the thin, hourglass-shape of Hermione.

I saw, and heard, Gin roll her eyes and exasperate rather poignantly. “Yes mum. Yes dad. Do I also have a curfew or can me and Billy see the movie at nine at the drive-in? I swear I'll be home by eleven!”

“Oh, Gin…,” Hermione, too, rolled her eyes and let out a huff.

Hermione left me for her purse, and I played along with Gin.

I pointed at her as she watched us leave. “Make it ten-thirty, and not a minute late or you're not seeing Billy for a week!”

“Oh dad!” she whined, crossing her arms and pouting.

I laughed on my way out behind Hermione, tossing an ivory scarf about my neck to keep the fall chill away.

***

Shifting gears to pass a car going rather slow, my sight removed itself for a moment to see Hermione's gloved hand reach out and change the music. She wasn't settled for what was on channel two of my BMW's stations and went onto the third, and then the fourth before she heard the Smashing Pumpkins. I smirked, the streetlights and headlights glazing over the clear windshield. The light would brighten us, elevating the distinguished blue hue inside the vehicle.

With a full moon overhead, and what stars could be seen, we set out into the night.

But the question had yet to be asked.

What was on my mind, of many things, since the funeral—celebration—of Shade Epsilon earlier in the day.

“So,” I'd begun. Hermione quickly looked at me, and then quickly turned the volume of 1979 down.

“Yes?” she replied, placing her arm on the armrest between us.

“This morning—you were marvelous, really.”

I caught her grin, her look down, humble, and then back up at me.

“My nerves were a complete wreck up there.”

“You were great,” I turned to smile at her before decelerating into a red light. I looked back at her, “Honestly.”

“Mm…,” She smiled and tucked that piece of hair back behind her ear. She observed me like her experiment until she asked the inevitable, very Hermione-like, “What's on your mind, love?”

“What was all that about? You,” The light switched to green and we were off again. I glanced at her, and then back at the road. “You were in a band? When?”

She shrugged. “I haven't the slightest clue other than the piece of paper she gave me.”

“The album cover of `Punk Fiction'.”

“With Ginny, and three other girls—Val, the woman with me at the Reynolds' home,” She sighed, annoyed. Her mind had been racing too, surely. The incredibly audible sigh gave off the resonance as such. I saw her in my peripheral, and as I checked the rearview mirror, she placed her hand on her forehead.

“Every time I think—or try to think—about it all…”

“Headaches.”

She looked back over at me in quiet, and stayed that way while I drove onward for a while.

“Yeah,” she eventually said, subdued.

“Which could mean—“

“Obliviation.”

I shot another glance at her at my side when she said that, and had to nod.

“Maybe, if you wanted,” I jested in a bit of smile. At least to break another ominous silence, us two in deep thought—deep enough for our hands to go to our foreheads.

My eyes wandered back to her that minute. “You could always go back into entertainment. You've always wanted to do that. Your passion.”

She just rolled her eyes.

“Who knows…” she muttered, looking off into her window at the London city limits blurring by.

***

We were caught in a moment of laughter. Frederick, Mister Granger had just made a joke in the surreal moment: the white, soft leather chairs, the venetian red tablecloth, the ricotta plates, stainless steel utensils, and the centrepiece of roses and lit, champagne candles. All the while we felt as if we were floating, and that wasn't just the wine. Encompassing the restaurant were large, rectangular pieces of glass looking out over the London skyline at night. Every light was on, like flickering, manmade stars of the city.

At our square table sat Mister and Missus Granger, and we sat close, too. Close enough to hold hands, our feet brushing up against each other, a lingering lay of crossing calves beneath the table, and playful dances of fingers intertwined in full exposure. Hermione couldn't stop laughing, another joke about some dentistry—something. I didn't really get it, but smiled along with them, and her. We had our hands together, holding one another above, below, everywhere. I felt of her engagement ring on her finger, and smiled more as I watched her take another sip of her wine amongst discussing daily events with her parents.

“Son.”

We'd been laughing so hard that the corners of my mouth hurt.

I had to wipe the tears out of my eyes.

“Yes sir?” I said whilst wiping them with the backside of my free hand.

Frederick leaned back in his chair and sized me up a bit. I could see him and Emilie's hands together like ours, and noticed Emilie so much like her daughter watch him curiously with a similar signature smirk on her face.

“You've been with my baby girl for a while now.”

“And,” I said without hesitation. “I've loved every day.”

I glanced over at Hermione when I said this, and behind those locks glowed her smile, white teeth and all.

I looked back across the table at Mister Granger when he started again, “Isn't it about time you two get married?”

“Daddy!” Hermione made a laugh.

“So tactful, Freddie,” laughed Emilie, too.

“What?” Frederick chuckled, absent-mindedly messing with his navy tie.

Navy had been their colour palette for tonight as Emilie wore a dress of the same shade of blue.

Frederick motioned across the table at me, looking over at his wife, “He put a ring on my baby girl, and—“

“We're ready when you are,” I answered before he could get everything out. We looked at each other in grin, Hermione and I. I felt her squeeze my hand beneath the table and play with the space between my index and middle fingers, running her finger along the slight webbing. “We could wed tomorrow.”

“But,” Hermione began, looking over at her parents. “The family. We want everyone here.”

“And, with what happened—or didn't happen—last time,” she added. “We really don't care where anymore. Well, I don't.”

She looked over at me and I shook my head. I gazed back over at Frederick and Emilie. “Not that it shouldn't be special. We—I—I just love the family and, too, want every Granger to be there.”

“Have you two thought of another date?” asked Emilie in question.

I shrugged, looked over at Hermione who did the same.

“Tomorrow?” Hermione smiled at the thought, smiling over at me behind the candlelight.

Emilie chuckled. “Not quite, Cupcake… Freddie?”

She looked over at her husband. “Any ideas?”

“Hm…,” Mister Granger went into contemplation, gazing up toward the ceiling with a hand to his chin.

Hermione teased the palm of my hand all the while, bringing a slight shiver of my form. She giggled with subtlety when she felt me.

I just looked over at her and winked, looking back over at Frederick when he resumed his thought.

“Well…,” he made a sort of nod at nothing in particular. Inside, the language resembled ping-pong, a go-between on various thoughts as he tried to narrow them down to one, solitary answer for everyone.

“Christmas is definitely a day where we know the family is together.” He looked over at Emilie who smiled. She looked so enamored at Frederick, and so much like Hermione towards me. “What do you think, hun?”

“What about the church?” She asked her husband, and then looked over at us. “The church? Father Edwards would be happy to do the ceremony.”

“Father Edwards is still there?” Hermione inquired in the revelation. “He must be at least seventy-something by now!”

“He asks about you and how you're fairing every Sunday, baby girl,” acknowledged Frederick. He had wrapped an arm around Emilie when she moved, leaning into him. I saw the corner of Mister Granger's lip twitch into a smirk when he added, too, “He also asks why you haven't been to church in so long.”

“Well, other than the obvious…” she looked over at me, leaning, too, like her mother on me. I took advantage and also wrapped an arm about her. She made a laugh under her breath. “Little busy since…”

“We tell him,” Emilie let her daughter off the hook. She sort of nudged her husband for the banter. “Your father is just picking on you. It's not a big deal, and—“

“What if we go—“ I started, and felt Hermione look at me. Gazing down at her first, I then looked back over at them. “I mean, see the church, meet Father Edwards. I'd like to at least shake the gentleman's hand who will help in the ceremony.”

I knew Hermione smiled, and felt her, too.

She embraced me where she was, giving my back a rub.

“Well, we have a service tomorrow,” noted Frederick. “You're more than welcome to come join us. We'll be there at eight when service begins, and I'm sure Father Edwards will be utterly delighted to see how big my baby girl has grown—and her soon-to-be husband, and my soon-to-be son.”

I grinned at the acceptance of Hermione's father, and the smile of Hermione's mother.

“What do you think, love?” I asked Hermione who, I noticed quickly, was watching me from her height at my shoulder.

She nodded in smile. “I think it'll be wonderful.”

“Then,” I smiled back at her parents, my soon-to-be parents, “We'll see you in the morning.”

***

“Look Harry,” she said as I shut the door, having gone around to open the door for her. She had a hand on my chest while the other pointed at the sky. I glanced up at her, her rosy cheeks beneath a grey beanie, her action. I saw, too, what she saw:

Tiny white dots mixed with the severely dark sky, bringing a certain light to the blackness overhead. The streetlamps made each individual white speck its own star, twinkling while they fell down to earth.

I looked down, at her big, beautiful eyes.

She was smiling.

I smiled.

Her hands were off me, her arms open as she twirled around in the lawn before Number Twelve's magicks.

She laughed in her smile.

I saw her eyes closed as she spun in her happiness, the snow spinning with her in the slight winds she created. I swore in that moment watching her that she was more than this, of this earth, a spiritual being—more than “human”. And, that feeling did things to me. I could feel my heart beat, its thump mimicking how I felt—in love. In love with this otherworldly form moving so carefree, so contently in the falling snow.

When she stopped, she smirked that signature smirk of hers.

The time it took me to be with her, to have her and to hold her was but in a blink's time. I took her face in my gloved hands and kissed her.

I let her linger in her smile, leaving her with one.

Her animated eyes reopened to me, those pools of the dramatic brown colour, of brilliant cinnamon with fleck of gold seen when one was up close. They were lively and lit.

“I have never loved anybody more than I have loved you.”

I said this in our small distance.

I could tell…

Watching her bite down on her bottom lip and look at me in that way.

That she couldn't be happier.

And, that made me happy.

***

“Brrr!”

Having more layers of clothing on, and that of a perfectly fit salt-and-pepper wool coat on, Hermione came in to give me a rub down. She ran her hands over my biceps, the triceps, my arms through my suit jacket. We stood in the hallway going into Number Twelve for the moment, embracing, really, at the end. The procession of warming each other became a hug, and then a kiss, before she turned around and I took her hand.

“I believe a nice, long hot shower is in order for both of us…,” she turned back around at me, our hands still loosely together until she broke away from me. She turned completely around and walked backwards, all the while still in that smirk from earlier.

“Mmm,” I followed in her pleasure, slipping off my gloves.

“You think?” I asked, rhetorically, of course, when she stopped at the end of the hallway.

We were standing together again.

And, she was looking up at me in the smirk.

She was about to say something, her hand going to my jacket when we heard a noise.

Crying.

On the sofa.

I hadn't even seen the back of her head until now.

The television was off.

No fire.

A single, solitary light on in the kitchen gave just enough light to filter into the den.

“Ginny…?” Hermione was off, removing from me.

I followed her to the sofa, but only until its backside where I stood behind Gin. To the side, where she could see me. The Weasley hadn't heard us, too, I guessed as she flipped around at me in shock. And then at Hermione who had come into view.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, jumping to her feet at us. She'd flipped around and, through more tears, pointed at both of us. “LEAVE ME ALONE!!”

“It was your fault!” she pointed at Hermione first. Hermione had halted her tracks, her hand on the left armrest in her stance. She looked at me, and then back to Gin.

Gin thrust a finger at me, too. “And yours!”

“But no—no one can touch the Savior of the wizarding world, the glorified Barbie and Ken dolls!”

“I hate you!” she spat at me.

Between her shouts I took note of the piece of parchment in her hands, and the sheen of the Ministry's wax seal in the faint light.

“Hun, what—“

Hermione tried to understand the situation, the upheaval and all of Gin's found accusations of hatred when she was forced to stop her questioning.

“It's as much your fault as it is his!” Gin lashed out.

“Hey!” I yelled now. Gin turned away from Hermione and narrowed her reddened eyes at me. “Explain yourself before you start—!”

“I don't have to explain anything to you—any of you!” She shouted more, pointed more. “You were given the second chance he never will! You're always given the chances no one ever will! I hate you!”

She picked up a sofa cushion and threw it at me.

When I caught it, my mind had caught up.

This wasn't about us.

This was about…

Neville.

“You're not as perfect as you think you are!” she said, scathingly, and then to Hermione. “You're not the poster children you think you are!”

“You're both freaks—freaks!” she continued, screaming. “Not perfect—you're not perfect!”

“Hermione,” I stated coolly. I glanced over at my beloved who I could tell, with a hand to her trembling lips, she knew why Gin was having the fallout. The parchment in her hand…

“Go upstairs,” I motioned with my head, and then shot a glimpse upwards. “I'll be right behind you.”

“Yeah! Go! GO!!” Ginny's voice began to tear by her sheer pitch. “Both of you! Get out of my face!!”

“Harry, shouldn't we—?“

“Go,” I was calm, collected. I never raised my voice but that one time when she went after Hermione. “I said I'd be right behind you.”

“I promise.” I looked Hermione in the eyes when I said this, keeping eye contact with her to show no falsehoods along the breadth of our distance.

She merely nodded in acknowledgement, acceptance, and wondered to the staircase.

I waited until I knew she was at the second landing, hearing and seeing Gin breathe in heaves. Her chest rose and fell considerably. Trying to keep the peace, for I knew things could get out of control fast—as they have—I went to place the sofa cushion back to hear her curse me under her breath.

I looked at her when she did, my hand leaving where I had placed the cushion to express in a volume enough for both of us to hear:

“This is my house, Gin. It's mine,” I saw her seething and paid no bother. “You're welcome to continue living here, but I don't ever want you to take your anger out on Hermione. She's loved you, and loves you. She's your best friend. If you hate me for whatever reason, that's fine; but, she stays out of it, do you understand?”

“I…,” she was breathless, hiccupping between words as she gulped for air from her cry. “I—Hate—you.”

“And that's fine.”

“He shouldn't—be—here!”

“You know what was said yesterday, but I'll say it again. You are family. If you want to be. And Hermione and I will be with you through anything and everything.”

She started crying again, hugging, holding the piece of Ministry-emblazoned parchment to her chest.

I started to walk away, and when I hit the first step of many to the third floor did I look back at Gin. She stayed with me, her eyes following me out. With my hand on the banister, I asked, mild mannered, “…When is it?”

The silence between us was only broken by the noises of her catching her breath.

“Tomorrow…,” her voice came out deafly. “…Evening.”

My look persisted on her, my mind reeling with yet another…funeral…

I nodded at her, to show more than I'd been listening, and said sincerely, “Get some rest, Gin. And, if you're to stay down here, put a fire on, please.”

“I wouldn't want you to catch cold,” I ended, leaving for the bedroom.

***

I heard the shower running.

She left the door of the bedroom open for me, and when I entered, having loosened my tie and relieved myself of my jacket, closed the door behind. The sound of the door shutting had first the shadow of her come to fruition in the dimly lit master bedroom, and then her figure appear in the lavatory doorway. She'd taken off the winter wear, disrobed down to her dress. A heel was in her hand, and the other went for its twin as she balanced on the door frame.

“The verdict?” she asked with a tinge of uneasiness. I couldn't see her face, her hair cascading down her front while she took off the second heel. She flipped her hair back when she stood up, and I had my tie off and in my hands with the jacket.

I went over bedside and threw the articles on the made bed and said, while doing so, in a matter-of-fact tone, “I told her what she already knew.”

I glanced back at my beloved, unfastening the buttons of my dress shirt beginning from the top. “Now it's up to her to figure things out.”

“I feel for her, Harry,” Hermione remained under the lavatory entry, playing subconsciously with her heels in her hands. I knew of her trepidation for I had the same feeling, too. “I do.”

“I wish I could take away all her pain,” she said while watching me wander over to her. I had the shirt undone, and as I wandered over threw the shirt back behind me on the bed.

“Because I remember the pain, too; and, I wish I—“

Placing my hands on her shoulders led her to halt those words. I hadn't really known the route she chose to walk, but I didn't want to know either way. All I knew, and wanted to know, was that the woman in front of me was there. And, that by touch as well as all the rest of the five senses I unequivocally knew she was there.

Combing my fingers through the fringe of her hair and back, I watched her close her eyes, and then reopen them.

She watched me, letting me at my actions.

“May I join you inside?”

She smiled, my hands framing her beautiful face.

“I'd have waited for you.”

We stood together as one.

“At least until the hot water ran out…”

I rolled my eyes and smiled.

She smiled, too.

I kissed her, and she fell into my kiss.

When we broke away, I asked again, “Shall we?”

She nodded.

I followed her into the lavatory and shut the door behind.

***

{Author's Note: I wanted this chapter to simply be about Hermione and Harry. There will be more about the outside world and its characters following, but I felt the need to shine the spotlight back on them. Life has big changes for me outside of writing fanfiction, so I'm trying over time to write a little which is what I've done here to get a chapter out. I hope you enjoyed more HHr.}

{Music Inspirations: It Must Have Been Love by Roxette, A Thousand Years by Christina Perri, Counting Stars by One Republic, Love Me Again by John Newman (Zoe's funeral/ dance scene), Will The Circle Be Unbroken from the Bioshock Infinite soundtrack, 1979 by The Smashing Pumpkins, Midnight City by M83, Nothing Compares to You by Sinead O'Connor (Gin's fallout scene), One Headlight by The Wallflowers (Gin's fallout scene)}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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79. Trust

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Seventy-nine - Trust

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

“Harry?”

“Hm?” I hadn't recognized that I dozed off. From a much needed hot shower, and a more needed intimate time with Hermione, my body decided to trump my mind. I hadn't meant to, talking to her about the Ministry of Magic, our thoughts on the situation when I awoke.

My eyes blinked open, and at first my world was but a blur until another blink. I went to move the arm beneath the pillow, my right around Hermione who chose to keep a single light on to read. One of her numerous school books set upright in her lap, her form relaxing at the angle of her pillow. She glanced over at me from her read to smile at my sluggish movement, not realizing I had fallen asleep.

She laughed through her nose when she noticed me going in-and-out of twilight and leaned down to my level. She let her hand loose from the page she was on to kiss me and run her fingers through my hair. She kissed my head again, stating quietly in the closest ear, “I apologize for waking you. I didn't know you went to sleep…”

“I didn't mean—,” I stopped when I moved again, moving closer to her. I felt of her warmth beneath the sheet, warmer than any substance or entity I'd ever felt—true warmth. Running my hand to feel the softness of her, to feel where her black shirt and tartan plaid sleep trousers met, I added another, “I'm awake…”

“What were you saying, love?” I yawned.

“Our memories…” she continued her soothing rub of my head.

“Our memories?”

“How they've been manipulated.”

“Mm… They have—the headaches—“

“The nothingness of our thoughts… I feel as if, sometimes possibly,” I heard her sigh nearside me. “We won't ever get those thoughts back.”

I'd become more awake, pondering her lead. I turned onto my side to see more of her. “What are you thinking in that beautiful brain of yours?”

“I just wonder…,” she began, a notion of helplessness in her voice. I caught her looking away from me at nothing in particular, her mind reeling. “Should we be so trusting?”

I lay in silence taking her questions in to see her look back down at me and say, “Were those memories good memories? Were they something I'd want to remember?”

“I can only assume the Order instructed the use to remove unwanted memories. I just cannot understand Kingsley scrambling our brains on a whim and at random.”

She was lost in thought once more, her eyes glazing over as she went to look at the wall behind me. I asked, “What's got you thinking this?”

“I look over there, Harry, and see our pictures, the photographs…,” Her tone slipped into silence when she gazed at me. “I think I would've wanted to know everything, but instead was made to know nothing.”

“And,” she continued after a brief pause. “Knowing nothing scares me.”

I felt the weight of the statement's resonance and immediately said, “Come here.”

She lowered to me in instruction.

I placed my hand on her cheek and led her to my lips.

I kissed her, leaving her in a smile.

The smile faded, however, into a type of grave seriousness only Hermione could portray across her features. Her big brown eyes affixed to my own.

“I trust you, Harry.”

“And,” I answered, affirm. “I trust you.”

She shook her head after a beat.

“I trust you.” Her eyes stilled on me.

***

At the Minister's Chair, Ministry of Magic

“Do you know what we need in here?”

Draco spread his arms wide, opening up to the backside of the Minister's First Office. His Ministry-emblazoned black suit stretched with him. He leaned on his prosthetic limb, the titanium leg unseen beneath his suit trousers.

“A grand light fixture, like a chandelier with ten thousand candles,” He looked back at Kingsley in the light and shadow of the fireplace. A fire roared, the light from the licking flames giving off the discontented atmosphere. Dumbledore's painting, or an empty chair, became almost life-like in the dancing lights.

Draco took his cane again, unable to withstand maximum balance without the device. He gripped the silvery snakehead and put on his best smile. “Something huge—to show off my—!”

“Love…,” albeit subdued, Pansy broke her husband's scheming. She placed a gloved hand to her forehead and shook her head at his ridiculousness.

Draco smirked at her, and then heard the quieted laughter and saw the slight grin on Kingsley's look of concern. He'd been staring into the hearth without so much of a word for a while, and Draco thought to break the silence. “Oh Draco…,” Kingsley shook his head similarly with Missus Malfoy.

Draco sighed when he saw Kingsley slouch back in his stance, his hands deep in his plum robes. His darkened eyes stared back into the flickering fire.

“Kingsley…,” Draco began, serious. “What—?”

“Have I ever thanked you, Draco?” Kingsley started, never moving his sight from the flames before him. Malfoy's grey eyes sought some glimmer of…something in Kingsley, even bowing to capture an essence of life in his features, but found nothing.

“Thanked me?” Draco scoffed. “I should—we all should be thanking you for—“

“You saved me from myself,” uttered Kingsley into the burning logs. “You saved me from my greatest enemy: me.”

“Without you, old man,” the interim Minister jousted at his comrade-in-arms. “I wouldn't have found the strength to be who I am today. To be here—alive—and with a life I so truly cherish.”

Pansy smiled from the Minister's chair, snacking on a plate of carrots and baby tomatoes, a late-late night snack. She had waited on her husband, waited to sleep, to be with him after all these sleepless nights. Sleepless, for she hadn't felt him where he should be—with her—like so many other married couples within the Ministry. She understood the reasons, every reason logical in their own right… But she, like a wife, like a… She put her hand to her stomach when Draco smiled at her after his comment.

“You know you're like a son to me, Draco.”

Draco chuckled lightly, looking away and into the fire.

“I never had a son—or children—always placing the Order above all else. Even my most basic instincts. My life was the Order. I believe that's my purpose in life—“

“This is sounding more like a eulogy now.” Draco cut him off, peering at him from the side.

Kingsley laughed at the accusation, and the reality behind it. “Think of it more like an old man announcing discoveries he already knew. You changed me, Draco.”

Draco had gone to the fire and back again at Kingsley.

Both of their stances mimicked each others'.

“I was useless after I found out—“

“I know,” interjected a hasty Malfoy. He removed himself from Kingsley and stared into the fire. His eyes instantly lit. “I wish to not relive those awful memories.”

“I surrendered everything to Voldemort—“

“And, that's not you.” Draco asserted passionately. “You were the better man—“

“I had to relearn what I was, and relearn what it was to be just that.”

“Draco,” Kingsley pressed. Draco could feel the weight of what was to be said, and that force drove him from the confines of the warm flames.

“I've spoken with them.”

“But, we have spoken of this in great detail, Kingsley. They're after—”

“What must be done must be done for the sake of the everyone.”

“They will hate you—“

“Let that burden rest on me. You must fulfill your own prophecy. I have given you my Order. This needs to be done so that no harm will come to anyone else.”

“Must we use—?”

The double doors of the Minister's First Office swung open to the surprise of the trio inside. A person in white, an Auror, stepped in, interrupting the Minister and his master's conversation. “Sir,” the Auror saluted his superiors. “You asked to be notified when they had arrived.”

“Well,” Draco stepped carefully around in circle. He tilted on his cane. “Have they then?”

“Yes sir,” stated the Auror promptly. “Miss Lovegood and Auror Weasley have arrived in the atrium and are being processed to safe quarters. Miss Lovegood has asked only for earl grey tea and a marmalade-and-banana sandwich while she waits. Interesting woman, she is.”

Draco shook his head. “Send them to my office and ask Auror Weasley to accompany her. I request to speak to both of them.”

The Auror saluted. “Sir.”

“And,” the interim Minister went to add. “Call for Miss Skeeter. She's in her new room making…”

Draco paused.

“Arrangements. Tell her Luna is back from the States and she will be in my office soon.”

The Auror saluted again. “Yes sir.”

“Oh, and,” Draco went to say as the Auror shut-close the double doors.

“Yes sir?”

“Do let Luna have what she wants to eat—however bizarre you and your colleagues may find it. She is an esteemed guest.”

The Auror chuckled beneath his ivory hood. “Yes sir.”

***

Several very distinct mumblings could be heard behind the First Office's door with one hush in particular beneath the rambling of men. The double doors were knocked upon by the white glove of an Auror of which guided the newcomers to the chamber of the interim Minister. The muttering stopped, the paintings in the hallway before the Minister's chair abruptly stopping, too, to listen in on what was to come. They sat interested, peering on at the strange fashion originality before them.

“Come in,” delivered an authoritarian tone.

The guiding Auror took hold of the double door's latches, half-circle brass loops hanging beneath two aged letter M's. The old oak doors swung open to a lit fireplace blocked haphazardly by the shadows of four individuals. The light found its way to the bright, young individual in her youth who traipsed in followed by an Auror at her heels, his Weasley-red in fluid motion for he hadn't bothered donning his ivory hood.

“Luna,” Draco smiled, taking a hobble on his cane forward with his hand out to greet her.

In patchwork-styled cloth, a mismatch of grey, purple, and black shades behind a bluish-silver knee-length coat, Luna placed her warm hand in Draco's. Bracelets of butterbeer bottle caps clink-clanked against each other the fleeting moment they shook, the eccentric blonde curls shifting forward. She took a step, her vibrantly pink trainers offsetting the shine of the darkly stained wooden floor, and wrapped her arms around Draco.

Draco made a laugh, taken by Luna's scene of sincerity, her golden crown against the blackness of his Ministry suit.

He placed his gloved-covered hand atop her head, his hand upon her laureate of Byzantium-white lisianthus, and looked beyond at his companion. He gave him a greeted nod, stating, “He didn't cause you trouble, did he?”

Luna shook her head alongside Draco, making a “Mm-mm,” and Draco laughed again when she released from him. She put out her hand, for the Weasley had stayed by the door, and offered encouragement, “Come in from the cold, Ronald.”

Ron smiled in the shadow created over his face, and into the firelight when he took Luna's hand and was coerced inwards.

She hadn't seen the other behind Draco, having greeted her welcome between Pansy, Kingsley, and Gregory. Draco moved, stepping towards the Chair and his wife when the illusive one was brought into the spotlight. Draco looked between Luna and the blonde, resting aside the Minister's desk. Kingsley watched their movements, too, and Gregory stood at a standstill as Luna unclasped her hand from a shocked Ronald.

The First Office became silent as one eccentric blonde walked carefully over to the proper-looking one, now resembling nothing like her former self and in Ministry-emblazoned robes. Her blonde hair had been flattened and straightened down, cascading across one eye. Her glasses were off, her makeup less like a clown and more natural to complement her features. She didn't look her age, looking more like Luna and less like her animagus.

Luna stood quizzical, and in a state of disbelief.

She looked between Draco and the woman before her as if this image was a ghost and how anybody could recollect truth from fiction.

“…Rita?” asked a very cautious Lovegood.

More than rivalries, the two had been enemies for so long the thought of Rita unlike herself…

Rita's body language showed a gentleness, and a state of sadness, too, with her hunched over shoulders. She couldn't even look Luna in her eyes but for a second. Her sight stuck glued to the floor when her lips mouthed quietly, “…I apologize for what I did and done to you and your family and friends. I can't do anything about what has happened in the past, but I am hoping to rewrite my mistakes. Prophet Media is no more, Luna, I've not thought one day of bringing that God-forsaken paper ba—“

Rita, so caught up in her words, her thoughts, shook out of her apology and jumped into surprise by the warmth that suddenly encapsulated her. The bluish-silver wool wrapped snuggly around her chilled form, and golden locks tickled her nose.

“Shh…,” comforted Luna in her otherworldly way. “…We all make mistakes.”

Overcome by emotions, the only thing Rita knew well as of that moment was to cry. And, she did, giving Luna back an embrace she so desperately needed.

Draco, like a statue, moved his eyes between first Pansy, to Kingsley, and then over at Ron who looked just the same. He slid a hand across his face and let out a pent-up breath.

“It's okay…,” Luna had Rita's face in her hands and wiped away the streaks of tears from her cheeks. She caressed her forehead and rewrapped her arms around Rita. Saying at her ear, she whispered, “…It's all over, and I'm so happy you're here with us.”

“Welcome home, Rita.”

***

“The information Rita has given us is invaluable beyond measure. We now know the proximity of Death Eater cells, and the numbers we hadn't known. We knew our calculations had to be false when suddenly we had far more coming from the walls than predicted.”

“In defense, I did take into consideration recruitment measures, which is why I flew to various hot spots around the world and discussed with governments their population involvement with Death Eaters.”

The First Office had become a boardroom of classified talks. Draco had sent word that no one may enter until he gave the call. The doors had been sealed shut and were occupied by Aurors. Enchantments had been placed on the room to muffle their voices. If one tried to listen the individual would only hear the Bach or Beethoven being played constantly in their ears until the individual walked a fair distance away.

“We will never be able to correctly count the Death Eaters who have not been tagged.”

“The `five percent or less' calculation was for those who have been,” Kingsley noted, sitting amongst the others. Chairs had been placed in a circular formation starting with the Minister's Chair. Pansy left for bed, relieving the confines for Draco to sit in as the head of the conversation.

“They're not amassing in the cities. They're amassing on the outskirts, where people will never find them, in the disrepute areas where they can group together and disrupt those cities,” Rita offered input from her chair, a quill and pad in-hand. Even though she may have looked fifteen years younger, the quill and parchment never left her fingers. “To destroy, to maim and murder their targets.”

“Do they have a leader?” asked Ronald. He had chosen to stand beside Luna instead of taking a seat. He did, however, have a seat readily available if he did want to sit. “Do they have ranks? Do they look up to one central being like Voldemort?”

“We're positive that they haven't such a system like that anymore and are more or less spread out groups. Our teams have intercepted owls since the Fall of Azkaban throughout Europe and Asia. The United States has seen some commotion, but not at the aptitude we see in England. There is a yearning for the continuation of a being such a Voldemort—which was the way of Nolpho, and the dastardly Sarilda. It's an unfortunate consequence when they know they were so close in their own resurrection.”

Draco paused a moment.

“We continue to muddle their attempts at communication. We've taken into custody some Death Eaters, such as that boy an Auror nearly killed in a fit of rage against murdering his family—“

“I only wish you'd reconsider your current state of affairs to strike back at them,” Kingsley spoke in posthaste. “We need not quarrel with Ministry politics when the very country is teetering—“

“People are in the streets. They're lost. They're confused. They distrust the Ministry more now than after the War,” Draco answered from behind his gloved hands, his elbows on the Minister's desk. He had flicked his eyes towards the plum robes. “If I am to be Minister I want to do what is right, not what is easy.”

“What do you mean, Malfoy?” piped Ronald from his corner.

“Draco wishes to hold an election,” Kingsley replied to Ronald, and then looked sternly at Draco. “And as your teacher, I suggest we do not risk it. We cannot afford to lose the Office!”

“What if another Death Eater finds his way into the Chair again?” asked Ron.

“They won't,” Draco peered in the Weasley's direction. “I have full faith in the people to realize what's in front of them.”

Kingsley huffed. “Just like last time? I wish I had more trust in others… I can only trust the Order, and myself in this moment.”

“Maybe that's why you wish me here instead of you?” offered Draco.

The crowd all turned toward Kingsley who went speechless, and then lowered to nod his head. “Myself, and the Order is behind your decisions.”

“I want to help.”

All eyes went to Luna.

In the oversized chair, she'd been sitting with her hands on her knees listening to the roundtable discussion intently.

“That is,” she said in her sweet, wispy voice. “I wish to help. The Quibbler may have taken a one-two punch, but it's not knocked out.”

“I believe that's the correct metaphor?” her eyes wandered about the room at the different sets and smiles.

“And, as your newly appointed Press Minister, Draco,” Rita issued behind Luna. “I'll make the impossible possible if needed. I'll work with you and the team unequivocally, day and night.”

“And, Miss Granger said she'll work with us to keep—“

“Hermione?” Ron injected, abashed for but a second, and sighed with an air of annoyance. “Of course she would…

He threw his hands in the air. “She's `Hermione Granger'. But what about Harry?”

“What about Harry?” Draco repeated Ron's question.

He looked over at Kingsley.

“This is as good of time as ever to tell them, Draco.”

Draco sighed into the hands covering his mouth. He laid them down on the desk, and then pushed back in his chair. Looking up at the ceiling he began, gazing back down at Ronald and Luna when he spoke. “A few days ago we received a letter addressed specifically to me, `Draco Malfoy, Minister of Magic'. The letter was…odd…as the letter wasn't written, but cut out from old Daily Prophet's and Quibbler's and pasted to write out my name and the title. Each letter had a different font, a different size…”

“One of our Dark Arts Task Teams went straight ahead de-cursing the letter, but in another strange twist it seemed there wasn't anything cursed—a mere letter.”

“Whomever it was has to be an aspiring youth for this looked to be out of one of those comic books: the psychopath's letter,” noted Kingsley.

“Where have you been?” expressed Ron rhetorically after the word `psychopath'.

“But we took the letter personally,” Draco's grey irises went from Kingsley and back at Ronald and Luna. “It's not like we hadn't strange letters before, most containing cursed material our teams destroyed. This letter, however, was blank.”

“Blank?” questioned Ron. “A blank parchment? A little odd, yeah.”

“But, it wasn't,” added Kingsley. “Far from it.”

“The parchment had magicks placed on it. A type of magic that isn't amateur, bringing a certain seriousness to the equation,” Draco paused a beat, and then continued. “I don't know how many hours it took to decrypt the magic, but in the end the written words finally appeared from the parchment.”

“Four words,” uttered Kingsley. “Four dreaded words.”

Draco went from Kingsley, shut his eyes a moment, and reopened them at Ronald and Luna:

“We know he's alive was scribbled hastily in magicks.”

“Why get Hermione involved in this, then? Why bring her into something so volatile, so evil—?!“

“Even with the help of Rita and Miss Lovegood,” Kingsley broke into Ron's outburst with Malfoy. “We have little chance to redeem the Order. The people's trust is damaged!”

“The Hell with the Order, then! This is Hermione you're risking!”

“Harry will be there, Weasley—“

Kingsley shot up from his chair. “If we lose the Office, Ronald, there won't be a `Hermione' left! There won't be any of us left! We'll all have doomed ourselves to Hell! Think of what happened during the War, and then that multiplied by what happened after the Fall of Azkaban!”

“We don't know how many are out there!” shouted Kingsley, making grand sweeps with his arms and hands. “And that thought ought to scare you more!”

“I won't do it—!”

“You will!” Kingsley pointed at Ronald. “You gave the Oath! It must be done!”

The flash of anger could be seen glazed over the cerulean-colour of Ronald's surreal windows of his soul.

“Then I break my Oath!”

Draco pushed from the desk and slammed his fist on the table, shaking everyone from the squabble between the Weasley and the leader of the Order to the interim Minister.

“I will not have this in-fighting! This will break our bonds before we're even appointed under Ministry Law!” He looked at Kingsley first, and then to Ronald. “I'd like to have a word with you alone before you make any rash decisions.”

“I've made up my mind, Draco!”

“Please, Ronald.” Draco peered onwards at his student, and one of the better Aurors centred in the Order.

Ronald seethed with anger, but was stopped short before another anger-filled outburst and walk out when he felt warmth placed around his leather-gloved hands. He looked down hastily to see Luna having taken his hand in hers. Her silvery-grey orbs merely blinked upwards at him in his firm stance, but nevertheless made his anger melt away from the redness in his ears down and out his toes.

***

“It'll never be the same.”

Dismissed, everyone but Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley was left in the First Office. Draco was standing, supported by his father's cane, with his back towards Hermione's guardian. He eagerly gazed on at the empty painting of Albus Dumbledore. He hadn't come back in… Years. There on day, gone the next, to leave his chair lonesome. The firelight would mimic a shadow of him, but only briefly; and after being let down, for Draco had nothing else from him, he didn't jump as he did before.

“Malfoy?”

“Remember when we were taught at Hogwarts all about the history of the magical universe? Well, we weren't taught about all its…intricacies. That I know now for sure.”

“I know I was a bit of an arse in school…to practically everyone, really, but I do miss the days when we were all naive. Innocent. When I pulled pranks, took it out on the teachers, lived in detention with Crabbe and Goyle…” Draco sighed listlessly into the abandoned painting.

“Something I've learned from Luna, Malfoy,” Draco only heard him from behind, still staring into the painting. “The past is past, we can only move forward. I'd just like to know why we have to use Hermione—and Harry—they're happy now.”

“Would you have saved me in the Room of Requirement, Weasley? Like Harry did?”

“I'm just glad Harry did.”

Draco produced a wry grin. “This is why I'll be forever indebted to Harry. He has a certain, well, let's say place in my heart. I know Missus Malfoy in the next room thinks the life of him. I've sworn to protect them both. He's made it quite clear to me, and Kingsley, that Hermione is much a part of him as he is to her. And, the magicks we used…”

“Do you know we didn't know? We took a risk resurrecting Harry. He could've been something else, a monster, a true creature of terror from the bowels of the Dark Arts.”

“What has this to do with me? I've made it clear: I won't follow orders if I consider those orders outside of what I believe it right. And, bringing them into all this—again—look at what has happened before. It can happen again.”

“Which is why you're needed more than ever.”

“Malfoy—“

“You know, I never did address Luna. We went straight into our titillating discussion and never asked her about the funeral. How was it?”

The only noise throughout the Office became the crackling of the fire.

“…Aedirwen was placed to rest beautifully.”

“It's exhausting, Ronald. These funerals we go to. Do you know how many of them I've been to? Too many. I've lost track. It could be hundreds. A thousand. I can't even remember their names it's been so many. And, today, Neville Longbottom's?”

Draco finally turned around to meet Ronald's cerulean discs so vibrant in the semi-darkness watching him across his desk.

“I won't go into dramatic detail…only saying there is some difficulty with the way we think and the old thoughts of the Order.”

“'Old Order'?”

“But a phrase to indicate Kingsley's part to ours—or `Dumbledore's Army'—what I consider the New Order, or new way of thinking. Kingsley is as much as an asset to me now than he ever was. He was my teacher. He is the father figure I had after the Death Eaters tore my father's body to pieces—how I found him with mother. But he thinks one way, and we think another. He is politics, and I believe we are here to continue Dumbledore's plan.”

“He doesn't trust Dumbledore anymore. After Harry died, he gave up believing and became who he is now. Kingsley isn't bad, he's just set in his ways. This is why I know he wants me to continue on with what has been set for us rather than him. He knows he's changed, and life's changed him. We are the new generation.”

“I trust you, Ronald. This is why I ask you, not as interim Minister, not as your superior, but as a friend putting his hand out to you because we need you. I need you.”

“What was Dumbledore's plan, anyway?”

“He may have been a bit enigmatic, but in the end we believe he did what he did to give us happiness. In the end, that's what I want, too. Ronald…”

Draco's eyes lingered over to the door which kept out the noise from the First Office.

“Pansy's pregnant.”

“Malfoy…” Astonished, Ron made a face. “I mean…congratulations? When—?”

Draco put a hand up. “I only wish to give you this information to provide evidence that, like Albus, I want this happiness. Not just for everyone, but for my heir. For my wife, and my child.”

***

“Do you believe he will be found? You've entrusted him to protect his beloved—of which I would do the same for mine—and very much like Potter—“

“I've put too much at stake for him to come of harm. The necklace he gave her, the Hippogriff feather, that held the key the catalyst would use. She would use the knowledge we gave her, the apothecary cabinet we filled, her undying resolve in bringing him back,” Kingsley gazed upwards at the ceiling enchanted to resemble the sky, and the dawn of a brand new day began to rise and bring with it the different oranges, blues, and purples of the clouds. “He won't be lost again.”

“That,” Kingsley looked back at Draco behind the Minister's desk. “I know for certain.”

“I believe the people will elect me—“

“I will not play Russian roulette with our future, Draco.”

Draco sat quietly for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He opened his black leather-gloved hands up so Kingsley could see the mouth he had hidden. “Your judgment to date hasn't led false, and you did craft the next Minister of Magic.”

Kingsley sat back in his chair and crossed his arms, satisfied. “Please go tend to your wife, Draco. You've had sleepless nights for ages. Why not have at least one good sleep before the next hurdle?”

Draco went to speak, but Kingsley stopped him by saying, “Allow me to be the bearer of burdens, if only for one night. Sleep, Draco, be with Pansy. She needs you as much as the Chair needs you, and as much as we need you.”

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

She slipped from me when the first set of rings sprung loudly from the alarm.

I awoke a second time with Hermione back in my arms after another set of alarms shouted at us. This time Hermione lifted up and nearly knocked the clock off her night stand. Parts of me, an arm, my hands remained on-and-off her form. I felt of her soft pyjamas, and the even softer covered, beloved being beneath. The lamp light flicked on, and blinking at the sudden illumination, I saw a very blurry outline of my lover.

She had her hands on her face, or I thought, tracing the straight and curved lines. I heard her grumble, grunt, and then sigh. Meanwhile, I stayed rather still…and snickered sleepily.

On my stomach, I felt her smack my bare back. Her movement upward had taken the sheets and quilt from my form.

“Just you wait! When you're having the best sleep you've ever had!...”

“We can always call your mum and—“

She knew I poked fun, but still made a face—however blurry it was—and said, “Negative.”

She pushed away from me, pushing on me, too, saying in a yawn, “Time to get ready and—Eeek!”

I had her.

I'd crawled, or jolted, whichever, the small distance and caught her about her middle. She squealed when her old grizzly bear rubbed his stubble all over her. I pulled her into the cave, the sheets being tossed over our heads. She squealed more, the squeals turning into giggles, and then into laughter as she tried so very hard to get away from me.

But not at the same time.

“No—no—no—Harry! We have to—!“

She fell back into the mattress, sheets and all poofing up and outward when she bounced backwards on the bed.

I had her, her arms, her legs—pinned.

I growled, my face so very close with her.

Showed my teeth…and growled, again, through a smile that I couldn't hide to save my life.

“—Leave,” she said in her last breath.

I debated, I really did, about letting her go or not.

The smile kept on my form, and she rolled her eyes and tried to twist away, but my strength and weight had her down nicely.

I winked at her.

She stuck her tongue out at me.

“You're incorrigible…” she said, defeated.

“What will you do for me if I let you go?”

“Put you in a leg-locking curse and beat your arse.”

She smirked at the end.

“Or…”

“Harry…,” her smirk faded. She looked back at the clock, and then at me. “We haven't any time to pla—“

I let her hands and feet loose.

My immediate withdrawal led her to her elbows.

Her brow cocked. “Er…”

“Get to it, then,” I ushered, making a nod towards the room. “Time to get ready, eh?”

“Right…,” She remained quizzical, sliding from underneath me. She made it bedside, and the moment her feet landed on the wooden floor did I slip over, slipping along the sheets, and smacked her little bum before she could respond.

She did respond, however, in a tiny jump after.

She looked back at me and saw I'd gotten off the bed slowly, having picked my glasses up, and was coming after her in chase.

“Harry—Harry—Ha—no!”

“Mwahahahaa!!”

In one swoop I'd picked her up and tossed her over my shoulder.

I kicked open the lavatory door, and then kicked it closed behind.

From inside, the high-pitched squeals and giggles started again.

***

I left her in the lavatory singing to pop songs on the radio.

Fixing the knot of my tie of crocodile, leaf, and turtle green slanted stripes, I meandered on out of the master bedroom and out on the third floor landing. While tightening the knot, I gazed over the banister at the floors below. I noted the quietness, and the coldness. I took a breath and sighed, thinking aloud in my head how I hoped Ginny would be in bed. Downstairs could get cold quickly in the wintry London months without a fire…if she had wanted to camp out downstairs for whatever reason.

While wandering the steps to the second landing I thought to myself how maybe, maybe my words were a bit harsh. They needed to be firm, but I didn't want to sound cruel. Her boyfriend…or however she called him…he had died. He was my best friend, too, so I understood to a point the sadness she radiated. If it weren't for Hermione and how she made me sanely happy, I probably would have tore up the flat starting with every nail bolting down the wooden floors and wooden walls.

With all these funerals…and all the memories of what could have been…

The door to the guest bedroom was closed.

I knocked first, lightly, my black, unbuttoned jacket swaying to the action. The white cuff of my dress shirt appeared slightly from the charcoal sleeve, and I knocked again. I hoped to get an answer, to hear her stir when I placed an ear up to the door, but found nothing of the sort.

Gently, I turned the knob and opened the door a crack.

I peered in at a made bed and a clean room, too clean for a no vacancy.

“Gin?” I called for her, opening the door further. I poked my head in and looked around in the semi-darkness. “Ginny?”

I let the door open and went over to the ornate, wooden railing and peered over into more semi-darkness.

“Ginny?” I called a bit louder. My hands gripped the rail and I called out sternly, “Weasel!”

I waited for a reply to get…

Silence.

Moving downstairs to the bottom floor, the moment my dress trainers hit its end my wand was up. With a wave, a swish and a flick, the fireplace roared to life. “Gin?” My voice grew shorter the farther I got into the den.

Rounding the sofa, I saw more of the same:

Nothing.

I put my hands on hips, peeling away the two pieces of black fabric to set at my belt loops, and closed my eyes. While closed, I drew a breath and let the breath out slowly. I tried to stay calm and think. If she wasn't to be found upstairs, and here…

And, with Hermione as oblivious as I was, in the bedroom, singing her morning joy while prepping herself for the day out…

I let out a curse under my breath.

“Fuck.”

A offered a beat in the silence, looking around at the emptiness of my living space.

I moved in strides when I noticed something hovering over the kitchen table.

I plucked it out of the air, a piece of parchment penned in scrawl, keenly Weasel:

I'm sorry for all the pain I've caused over the past few days. I've gone back to mum's… I need to talk to dad. Bad. I need to get my head straight. I feel like I've been torn to shreds little by little and he's always been the one I've went to…

…Besides Neville.

Apologies,

Gin

When I appeared back in the master bedroom, the lavatory door had stayed open halfway. And, just like I left her, she was singing happily to the catchy pop tunes.

“…I'm going crazy without you… You're all I ever wanted; you're all I ever needed—yeah.”

She was smiling into the mirror, dancing a little in her gorgeous black dress and heels. She went about tying a forest green bow in her dark, flowing mahogany tresses, utterly aglow.

“So, tell me what to do now—when I want—you—back.”

***

She tried Gin's mobile phone.

She tried calling out to the Weasley household through the fireplace.

She paced back and forth through the kitchen and the den, thinking out loud, struggling to find a way to get in touch with her best friend.

I tried telling her that she was with her dad, and that was good enough; even though, I could feel her heart-strings pull through mine.

She finally toppled over on the sofa and hugged a cushion until I came to her aide. Then, she hugged me. It hurt me to see Hermione hurt.

She cried.

“It feels like a piece of me has up and disappeared,” she told me.

Wiping her eyes of those tears, I said in the most comforting way possible that we'd be late for Mass if we stayed any longer.

And, that we would surely see her this evening at Neville's funeral.

With a bit of coaxing, I held her hand as we went for the door and exited Number Twelve; but, not before Hermione took one last look back into the unimaginable stillness of our Number Twelve.

***

{Author's Note: So, JK finally revealed the obvious over the weekend, eh? Took her long enough. Makes me want to go back into cinema and make my own seven movies centered around HHr ;) Also, Rita's reformed/ Press Minister look is based on the Rita we see in the pensieve during the Goblet of Fire film.}

{Music Inspirations: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 Soundtrack, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2 Soundtrack (especially Lily's Theme and the Battle of Hogwarts), O' Children by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, Radioactive by Imagine Dragons, Otherside by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, If I Ever Lose My Faith in You by Sting, Fix You by Coldplay, Crazy by Seal, I Want You Back by N'Sync}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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80. Mother

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Eighty - Mother

***

The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole

Molly Weasley stood at the kitchen sink. Soap suds bubbled up to where her multicoloured knitted shawl hung down from her shoulders and across her arms. A fire crackled behind her, the only other noise within the Burrow besides the sounds of bumping dishes being washed by hand and by magic. Several other dishes in tandem with her scrubbed pots and dried off pans.

The Weasley clock showed Bill and George at work and Fleur and Percy at home. The hand that showed Ronald remained beyond mortal peril, leaving Molly to think that his hand had to have been broken. Surely Ronald was still with Charlie and the dragons all these years. And, Fred's hand sat on travelling, and had been since his death.

The Burrow a quieted home, Molly awaited the return of her husband. His clock's hand slowly drifted from travelling to work. He'd be home from the Ministry later, working with some Muggle oddity or the like. She wondered, as she stared out the window at the Ford Anglia and various other Muggle assortments covered in a layer of fresh snow, what other contraption could he bring home that could trump such a sight as the automobile.

Gears began to grind, piquing Molly's interest. Her ears perked up at the sound. A cloth in hand, she wiped her hands off as she tottered over to the clock. She knew the time couldn't be for Bill to return to Fleur. She knew George and Arthur had just left for work. Percy always had a penchant to sleep, so his hand would keep at home for at least another hour or two. Her interest fell squarely with the excitement that maybe, just maybe her youngest boy's hand would be moving…

…But, her hopes were dashed.

Her bright eyes tumbled drearily when she saw the hyper-movements of her daughter moving back and forth between home, lost, and travelling.

The hand swung to lost, and then shot to home when mother Weasley heard a snap outside, and then a pop over the humble abode.

She passed a gift she was knitting for Dominique, a little sweater maroon in colour with a yellow W in its centre. She passed a cloth wiping down the kitchen table on its own from this morning's breakfast. She took out her wand and gave a swish, heading towards the door. The chairs aligned themselves and pushed themselves in. She didn't think about her actions, looking out the window in the door.

She saw her daughter standing out in the cold alone gazing around the grounds as if she were still lost, acquainting herself to the new, strange surroundings.

Molly covered more of herself with the knitted shawl before taking hold of the door knob. She gave one last look out the window, her eyes in squints from the shine of the white snow and narrowed out of misgivings from the scene. She hadn't seen her daughter in so long, since the Joining—or what would have happened—if not for her daughter's utter embarrassment in front of the entire family.

Sourness puckered Molly's lips, but she turned the knob and opened the warm Burrow to the bitter cold. A frigid wind whistled through the pins in her Weasley-red hair. She stood in the doorway, her hand still on the knob for a moment. Her eyes never ceased their strained look, piercingly directed at the Weasley standing lonesome in winter.

Ginny's flaming tassels, or what was loose from her fur hood, flowed with the wind around her. Some of her red would crisscross her face, her stillness watching her mother in the distance. Buried in a clover coat and black leggings, she shivered in her boots the longer she stood out there.

“Is father here?” she finally called out in a breeze.

The sun rose from the horizon behind her.

Molly shielded her eyes, putting her hand just above her brow. She asked, still with a hand on the Burrow's only door facing their front yard, “Who's asking?”

A howling wind blew between one of the numerous sheds dotting the landscape and the home in their moment of silence.

“I need to talk to him.”

“Your father has responsibilities he must tend to,” Molly answered from her spot. “Unlike some in our family.”

After all the wounds afflicted between her and her mother, Ginny couldn't feel them anymore. Or, that was the usual, like the cold, her mother's put downs became a wet blanket over that part of her life she never wished to accompany again. But, today was a different day. The wounds bled, and she couldn't deflect her mother's words. She felt each and every one of them, even when she didn't speak.

“I just need to speak with father.”

“Neville was a good man,” Molly shouted over another blast of wind. “He deserved more.”

Ginny hugged herself.

“I don't—“

“You made a mockery of the Weasley name, and a mockery of me. To think, Molly Weasley, a daughter amongst all Weasley daughters, rearing one so much like her, choosing a disgusting lifestyle over one rich with promise.”

“He loved you, and you never appreciated him.”

“And, you show up here on the morning of his funeral.“

Somewhere deep inside she could feel her blood boil.

She tried to stave the emotion off, but her mother continued her verbal punches.

“Who do you think you are?”

“Who am I!?”

Ginevra's voice echoed throughout the winds, a cold pummel striking Molly backward where she stood. The Burrow groaned in the sudden gusts.

“I used to be your daughter!”

Molly held onto the door, her expression of awe at what she witnessed. The gusts began to accumulate around Ginny, circling her, kicking up snow in the cylindrical, semi-transparent column. The nearby shed creaked and shuddered, parts of the tin roof breaking off and flying away. Whole fence posts uprooted from around the frozen garden and were flung high into the air. The Ford Anglia pushed backwards from where it stood, and then pushed upward, falling on its side.

“You used to love me!!”

Ginny's rage fermented and grew, the boundaries of her magic pushing the snow from the ground and pressing a white, thick layer upon the front facade of what used to be her home. The ground, however dead it lay, shown again to the cloudy, grey English sky. Molly retreated inside when the snow shoveled itself against the window, slamming the door behind and keeping it there.

From inside, Molly huddled away from the door and began the process of contacting Arthur, contacting her husband to do something about his child—she would surely tear down their home!

The Burrow shook within an earsplitting scream.

Molly fell to her knees alongside the fireplace and covered her ears, going deaf in those seconds.

The painful scream led to ringing in her ears until the ringing stopped, the Burrow settling, and the atmosphere quieting once more.

She reopened her eyes, and shook out of her dizzy spell from dropping so suddenly to the floor. She looked around at her home, listening intently for something, anything to happen in the abrupt lull. She rolled, more than pressed up off the floor and gathered her faculties.

Her daughter…the power…

She nearly tripped on a rug, stumbling towards the kitchen and the door. She couldn't look out the windows, and when she tried to open the found it a bit stuck. After turning the knob again, she tugged with all her motherly strength to unhinge what kept the door closed.

She stood, staring at white.

The door had made an image imprinted into the snow.

From the outside one could see the snow melt as Molly chanted spells after spell to once again see her front yard…

…Or, what was left of her front yard.

Everything that could be uprooted was uprooted.

Everything that could be turned around, upside down and inside out was.

Bits and pieces from who knows what scattered a frozen field for there wasn't snow several dozen metres out from where Ginny stood centre. The only thing not touched was the Burrow save the icicles that had lined the rooftops.

***

On the road to Mass

Traversing the snow-covered streets to meet Hermione's parents at church happened to be rather easy. I hadn't hoped for a jam, and thankfully I'd only seen an automobile here and there perusing England at this hour. The sun began to rise, or at least the earth began to shine a bit brighter beneath the usual grey, London overcast. I always enjoyed seeing the sunshine through the cracks in the clouds, as if they were bolts of lightning, electric veins in the sky with a sort of red-orange colour to them in the morning.

She hadn't turned the radio on, and for the longest time I watched her in peripheral—looking over at her between stop lights. She didn't look at me because of a reason. Thinking, I assumed, like my Hermione did when she'd zone out with whatever thought or thoughts crossed her busy mind. I had looked at her once when she gazed silently out the windshield at nothing in particular, and then another time to see her gazing out the passenger window.

She leaned her head into the passenger window when I last saw her, her big brown eyes peering out at what little people walked the cold streets this early Sunday. I saw her smile, but watched the smile fade shortly after when she saw a little girl and her parents shuffling into a shop. I could hear the little girl asking so many questions eagerly to her parents who kept agreeing with her, or however they were answering what looked like bushy brown hair. When they were no more, Hermione's fading smile was no more.

“Hey.” I announced lightly not to spook her.

She lagged behind at first, nothing unusual when Hermione was deep in thought, but then looked over at me to reply with a small, “Hm?”

“Did you say something?”

We sat at another red stop light.

My arm lay on the armrest, and I wriggled each individual finger. She noted my actions, and then looked up when I exclaimed with a bit of smile, “Someone's been awfully cold and lonely over here by itself.”

I continued to wriggle my fingers, and she eventually smiled.

She intertwined her fingers with mine, and took her other to wrap both around my cool hand. She even gave me a rub to warm me up, leaning over the armrest to kiss me. Tilting to her, too, to express intimacy between the red and green, we both startled when something fell onto the hood of the BMW. A white sheet of snow had begun to cover the silver-metallic gloss, and now an interesting portion of white began to move.

“What in the—?”

“Is that an owl?”

To our surprise a rather large snowy owl, after flopping around on the hood, got its bearings and looked straight through the windshield at us with its beady black eyes. He held in his mouth a piece of parchment with what resembled the Ministry's red wax seal. Some people on the sidewalks were just as startled to hear, and then see, the bird fall from the sky and land directly on the car as if on purpose—and then stare at us as if this was the every day.

She let me go when I took hold of the car door and opened it to the chilled environs, grinning in the slight awkwardness at the passengers in the car next to us. They looked onward at the bizarre scene, and the even more bizarre roll of paper, the tied venetian red ribbon in the owl's beak floating in the frigid winds. I gave the owl a scratch, offering my thanks for the, albeit, sudden delivery. The owl didn't show injury, dropping the letter in my hand and cooing up against my gloved hand.

He blinked at me, and in that moment was so similar, frighteningly similar, to my once beloved Hedwig before flying off in haste. Standing there carside, I watched him until the sky devoured the colour, and the honks from the other vehicles began. I forgot in the moment the light, where we were, what I was doing—even the letter now in my grasp.

I put my hand up and did a sort of wave at the person behind me who only threw up his hands and pointed at the red-turned-green light ahead of us.

When I climbed back in and closed the door, I noticed Hermione turned with a disgusted look on her face at the people behind us. They really loved blowing their horn. I took my time, however, and refastened my seatbelt before taking off again.

I handed the rolled parchment over to her, watching the road. “Looks like the Ministry still knows where we are.”

“Like that will ever change…,” she started to carefully peel back the roll, and as I glanced over saw the detailed cursive of black ink.

“What is it that they had to send an owl this far?”

Hermione sat quiet, reading, until I called for her once more, “Hermione?”

“Sorry,” she hadn't taken her eyes from the parchment long enough to look at me in her apology, but did when she said in as few words as possible, “It's Neville.”

“Neville?” My brow rose with my voice.

I looked back and forth between her and the road.

She nodded. “…Directions for this evening.”

I heard her voice soften, and knew what had been unspoken.

I laid an arm back on the armrest and wriggled my fingers.

And, she was back with me, hand-in-hand.

***

The Atrium, Ministry of Magic

The corridor of Floo transportation fireplaces lay dormant. The construction teams, the police personnel, and the sample of Aurors wandering about the atrium were going about their business cleaning up and fixing the Ministry when they were abruptly stopped. One of the fireplaces exploded with its green flames, rolling like liquid metal out from the hearth until the liquid green fizzled out. A wash of hot air from the intense flames made those who stood closer to the fireplace take a step back while the others on the far side had their hair swept back. The force pushed water from the remodeled Statue of Magical Brethren, the wave splashing out of the reservoir. The floor rumbled, and of course, on heightened alert the Aurors took advantage of the second, wand at the ready when…

A very upset flaming redhead burst forth.

The Aurors let their wands fall the moment they realized who she was, and immediately took to her side. That didn't stop the disturbed workers from eyeballing the scene, seeing the evident tears streaming down her face as well as the evident wailing reverberating off the walls. Distraught, not a word could be discerned from her hiccupping voice, but she was nevertheless taken away, ushered forth from the stares of the many and onto the lift with quick escort.

***

After Mass

“Ah, so this must be the man of the hour,” the Granger's had come over with Father Edwards who had just finished up his Mass. The parishioners began filing out of the several doors leading into the grand entrance foyer. Marble stairs led further down from where we stood out of the way and out the glass front doors, various stained-glass depicting Biblical scenes encircling a fountain which stood centre below coloured-crystal lights. Hermione had been taking a drink from the water bottle she brought with her when she suddenly had an urge to dig through her purse. She pulled out a compact mirror. Dutifully checking herself, she then smiled at Father Edwards's approach, slipping the mirror away.

Father Edwards put his hand out to me.

Giving a smile, I shook his incredibly warm hand and looked into the aged man's face. He surely had to have seen his fair share of stories, and yet still remained happy. That, I thought quickly to myself, was something.

“Harry Potter, sir.”

“Frederick has told me all about you and,” his eyes simply sparkled when he saw Hermione. Hermione, of course, smiled. “Hermione! What happened to the little girl who used to run up and down these stairs giving your mum a fit and a half?”

He put his hands out to her and Hermione clasped both of them. “School, and work, and getting engaged—“

Father Edwards looked back at Frederick and Emilie and gave a laugh. “Oh, the troubles of youth!”

The Granger's laughed.

“They need to wait another twenty years to find a trouble!” Frederick added in his laugh.

Father Edwards turned his attention back on us. “I'm just glad you're back in these sacred halls, little Miss Granger, and her fiance—“

She let go of his hands when he went back to clasp mine.

“Mister Potter.”

I glanced between Hermione and Father Edwards, smiling as the foyer's audience of noise grew quieter.

My arm was back around Hermione when he slipped his hands into his robe, gazing at the soon-to-be-Potters in the spotlight. “My, my, Emilie you were right. Very content couple.”

“Very.” Emilie nodded along in agreement. “My Cupcake is everything to me, and I know Harry treats her with respect and love.”

“God will certainly grace you two with extraordinary happiness, I can tell,” Father Edwards's soft eyes went from Hermione, and then to me. He smiled. “And, I hear you wish to stand before Him here and announce your lifelong commitment?”

Frederick wrapped his arm around Emilie the moment Father Edwards said those words, both looking extremely pleased with what was before them: baby girl and cupcake beginning their journey in marriage.

“If it no bother, Father,” uttered Hermione without hesitance. “I know it's short notice, and I know weddings usually take months to prepare for, but we—“

“I've known your family, little Miss Granger, for a long, long time. As you know, your dad and mum both went here, and were married here,” Father Edward paused a beat, his kind smile contagious. “I have no reason to pass this momentous occasion up for their daughter, and for you, Mister Potter. But, why so soon?”

“We've been waiting for a very long time.” I didn't even have to think about that, honestly, the words falling quickly off my tongue.

“Too long,” repeated Hermione.

“I love Harry,” She looked up at me and smiled. She then looked back at Father Edwards. “And, it's just been too long.”

“I don't think we can wait anymore, or we'll burst. I'm addicted to her.”

Looking at Hermione, we both laughed at the sincerity of the statement.

“Well, I can try and fit something in around Christmas, but it may have to be a small wedding—“

“We just want the family there,” announced Mister Granger from aside Father Edwards. “If the church can hold us, and if Hermione and Harry don't care about the size—“

“We don't,” inserted Hermione. She then looked at me. “At least, I don't care, really.”

Squeezing Hermione's middle, I said alongside her, “The only thing that matters is, at the end of the day, this beautifully amazing woman walks right along with me.”

“Then that's settled,” Father Edwards nodded enthusiastically, and even clapped his hands together. “I'll be in touch with you both soon, and Frederick and Emilie—“

He looked at Hermione's mum and dad. “I'll be in touch with you two, too, for the specifics.”

“Sounds good,” Missus Granger said in her grin.

“Sounds really good,” said my beloved next to me.

***

The Office of Destructive and Otherwise Deleterious Devices, Ministry of Magic

A smell that could only be described as concentrated burnt hair odor kept Ginevra outside the department door. Instead, Arthur was told of her daughter's sudden arrival and came outside to greet her. When he saw her disheveled state, and that of her tears, he ripped the mask he had to wear to work off his face and tossed it aside. Dusting his robes off, he took to his daughter in haste. The moment her father hugged her to him, she began wailing once more.

He seemed the only one to encrypt what she said even through her cry. Being her father he had that ability. Being her father, he also had the ability to quell her just enough with a rub of her back to get Ginny calm just enough for her to describe to him why she was in such a sorrowful state. He listened to her intently, even bending at his knees to her height to keep those paternal ears on her despair.

The more she described her confrontation with Molly, the more his eyes widened until he immediately took her back in his arms and requested assistance. An Auror kept with them at the lift to wait on the possible leave of the smaller Weasley, so when Arthur called for help the Auror was there.

“A family issue has taken precedence,” he began removing the special gloves he wore, a particular sheen gleaming off them under the lights. He put them in his robes. “Tell the others I'll be back when I get this sorted out.”

“Yes sir.” The Auror saluted.

Arthur shuffled his daughter along with him, consoling only like a father could with his daughter, “It'll all be okay.”

***

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

Standing in the entryway of her little art studio atop the second floor, I watched a very unaware Hermione going about her painting of the walls. She had on one of my fairly old shirts. I couldn't wear it anymore, so she took it to play with—and play with she did. Paint splotches and dabs marked the ultramarine. I couldn't even see the lettering on the cloth, and couldn't for the life of me remember what was said to begin with.

No matter.

I watched at how attuned she was with her brush, her hand having a mind of its own, having seen the image she produced fluidly out on the wall: a landscape I'd seen before. We both had seen, scenes from our past together amongst various other doodles she'd done. She was paying particular interest to the fields of green, and the sunrise she created reminiscent of that one morning when we were on the run, when I knocked.

She turned instantly to my knock from her island in the middle of a sea of open-and-closed tubes of paint, canvases, and a variety of brushes and bowls of water. Her ponytail, her bushy hair behind her in a white scrunchie, swung from one side to another. I smiled when I noticed a bit of grey paint speckles on her cheek, and at her small grin behind an airy fringe. When she went to turn, again, to step nearside a radio upon her painter's stool, I took note of the multicolours splattered on her used, ripped jeans.

I'd interrupted Alanis Morissette's Head Over Feet, and Hermione mouthing the words as she went about her work. I wish I hadn't interrupted, really, as the picture and the mood within her studio felt so very normal, and yet so very surreal at the same time. Her movements, her actions, how she could pull average into beautiful mesmerized me from the door. I leaned on the doorframe, slid my hands in my dark jeans, and continued to watch her tiptoe around as she decreased the volume of the radio.

“Hey,” I said softly in smile. “Sorry to disturb the session. Lunch's ready downstairs if you are.”

Even with the scrunchie holding her hair back, wild curls found their way around. Tucking those mahogany curls behind her ears, she said just as softly, shaking her head, “You're never a bother.”

“May I come in?”

“Of course you can come in.”

Pushing off the doorframe, I kept my hands in my pockets whilst adoring what my love had been doing. Encircling a Hogwarts centrepiece she created her memories, all the cheerful ones, some especially for her and some I knew were of us. I smiled when I saw what came to be my favourite of hers. Just to the side of Hogwarts she had painted a rather lifelike still of us in our Gryffindor garb. We were in our white collared shirts, our crimson-and-gold ties. She'd only painted enough of us to showcase her arms looped around mine, our faces together, and our glowing smiles. She'd made our eyes twinkle even in the most subtle of lights.

This is her view of us—and I absolutely loved it—always getting a chill when I saw how content we both were together in paint and present.

“Still my favourite.”

Her eyes followed mine, and she smiled aside me.

“What inspired the new portrait?”

I nodded over at the sunrise.

“That morning when we both crawled out of the tent and watched the sunrise…,” Her voice remained softened. “I remember every second of that morning. I found `hope' in those moments, and I knew somehow, some way—“

I glanced at her from the sunrise and saw her pools of gorgeous cinnamon on me.

“Some way we would get through it, get through it all. I just knew it. And, I feel sometimes that some way—lost—but I remember this,” she motioned towards her creation. “And I feel better.”

Something so very male, my instinct, struck a chord.

My intuition, and what I knew, being that man for her.

I knew what she needed, and how I felt, too.

I turned to her, took her face in my hands and kissed her, leading her to tiptoe to my lips.

If not for suspected wet paint on her shirt, she would have fallen into me, lingering with our kiss in a tilt. Her hands were on mine, and when those pools of the most gorgeous cinnamon reopened she just gazed into me.

And then smiled.

***

Somewhere in Sheffield

The sound of a cracked whip made those going about their lives in the suburbs outside Sheffield's metropolitan area look. They hadn't seen the fiery redhead appear, and never gave the thought that she appeared there. Some did raise a brow at the noise, continuing to look around at where the noise could've come from, treating the woman like any other Muggle on the streets.

The ginger's melancholy was hidden beneath the curtain of Weasley-red drifting in the winds hitting her backside. She stared rather lifelessly at the flat that now stood in front of her. Rigid and soulless, those Muggles who wandered by did take her morose into account, looking at her as they walked by in their duties, and then a second-look after from behind.

It took more than moments for the Weasley to move, gathering more attention from the Muggles on the streets. Some even began deciding to bravely approach her, or maybe call the police, thinking the worst in the current state of the world. But, she did finally move. She pulled a white gate open and let it close behind her, minding to the small path up to a door she knew. She thought a moment to press the doorbell, but instead began banging on the door with her fists.

She all but took out her emotions on the door when the door flung itself open.

“Crickey! What in the—?!”

A fair-skinned blonde male at the height of his physique gaped in amazement at who was before him, but showing his true personality smirked with smugness. He went from positively perturbed at the person who hammered on his door at this hour to relishing the minute, boasting with his stance. He pushed his chest out and squared his shoulders, the smirk never leaving his face.

“I knew one day I'd finally have you.”

“Just shut up,” the Weasley hastily remarked, pushing the door open further in her charge forward. Her strength took him off guard, and when she grabbed him and pulled him down to her level did it look as if his smugness had been smeared away. “Just shut the fuck up or you won't get why I came here for.”

Her voice drained, her emotion was just above monotonous, but with purpose.

The fleeting fright which she created left the muscular man for another smirk when he realized what she meant—and why she was here.

If not for the following movement when she crawled up onto him and began snogging him senseless.

He had to walk backward, feeling top heavy with the extra hundred pounds latched onto himself, and felt for the wall. His male instinct hungered, too, and it wasn't much to topple the sense of fear for arousal. She had pushed him against the wall where he took pleasure in her allowance as she didn't conflict with his aggression, his hands roaming her body carelessly. He took what he wanted, touched what he did, and grabbed what she had delivered to him.

“I knew there'd come a day when you'd want me,” He said between quick breaths. “Between you and that tart, Granger—“

She withdrew from her advances and his to give him a slap powerful enough to drop him to his side.

“Oi! The fu—?!” He held his face, tears in his eyes from the unexpected pain.

She glared down at him from above him, a frown on her lips, her eyes like daggers twisting into him. “Don't you EVER talk about Hermione like that in front of me or you'll surely get what you deserve!”

“You came here to ride my pecker, and you're going to school me in manners, Ginny?”

“Just keep your fucking trap shut!”

***

At an Undisclosed Place outside London

There weren't many of us, just enough of us.

But, I guess that's what the Ministry wanted.

To keep the light off our event, if one could consider it one.

I think Hermione took it the worst. Ginny didn't show up, and after trying to reach her before the ceremony started for what seemed like forever, I think that's what made Neville's funeral that much more unreal. She stayed with me, right beside me, as one of the Ministry officials read aloud Neville's epitaph. I don't know who wrote it, and I would've been honored to do so if I was asked in retrospect, but his last words were lovely nonetheless.

A lot, if not all, of Hogwarts faculty had shown up. Even some of the ghosts had come. People I knew from school, too, and even closer to me, those who had joined us in Dumbledore's Army so many years ago: Dean, and Oliver, Angelina and her husband, George, or course. Katie—and we hadn't seen her since she left to join professional Quidditch, save the television—she came for a bit, but then parted, needing to get back on the road. Cho stayed for a while, asked where Ginny was to Hermione, and I knew how hard it became for Hermione to continue to reassure others of Gin's state of mind.

It wasn't her job, but she was her best friend…

And, it broke her; I could feel it in the way she clung to me, how tightly her fingers would wind around my coat or my gloved hand.

Draco and I had a quiet word quickly, catching only a few eyes from across the snowy field we all stood around. Even through the cosmetic potions Hermione had concocted, he knew just who I was—if not for how Hermione acted around me. We didn't talk about work, or the present, and definitely not the past. We spoke a little bit about Neville, and what he meant to us, and how he wished he knew Neville before he joined their Army.

“He took up the task without question and became a leader his brothers and sisters admired,” Draco said in passing. In earshot Pansy stood with Hermione, exchanging embraces and having quite the interesting conversation about her belly. I didn't catch why they were so intent in pointing at Pansy's stomach when the conversation slipped away, an Auror stepping beside him to whisper something.

“He was a good man, Potter, and he will be missed,” was what Draco said before he left with his Ministry team, some Aurors disappearing into the white fog surrounding the perimetre. I could just make out those who stayed camouflaged with the hills and valleys of white powdered snow.

That left us in the end.

Two souls standing at Neville's coffin draped in Ministry colours, a wreath of red roses at the head with several other roses given by his loved ones. I had placed mine atop, and kept with Hermione, hand-in-hand, as she became the last of us. She held onto her rose, staring blankly at what was once one of our closest mates and quite the man people knew not of in the end.

“Everything is different now, isn't it?”

I let her talk, feeling her fingers caress my own, intertwined.

“We try our best, but in the end, does it really matter?”

She looked at me with those big saucers of hers so ready to go.

“It does,” I said, bringing her hand up to my lips where I kissed her. “It matters to me.”

“I don't want to say goodbye…” Her voice cracked at the end, lessening with her emotions.

I wrapped my arms around her when she hugged me, and tightly. “I know…”

I cradled her head to me. “It's so very difficult for everyone who loved him.”

“I wish Gin were here…,” her tone muffled against me, but I heard it loud and clear.

“I know, baby,” I rubbed her head, gave her back a tiny massage in our embrace. “…I know.”

The sun set on the horizon, making the snowy crystals sparkle like billions of fallen stars from the sky.

Hermione turned from our embrace to lay the last rose on the coffin. “…I'll miss you,” she whispered into the growing, chilled winds whipping around us.

“Come on, hun…,” I coerced her to follow me inside a tent where we were all to gather after the funeral. “…Before we catch cold.”

I opened the tent flap for her, and when she entered looked back myself to see the gravesite being tended to by white cloaks. One ivory hood looked back at me almost as if to say something, but instead resumed his watchful eye as they prepared to lower Neville coffin to keep at least the elements from damaging his resting place before they moved him to his final destination in the Memorial Gardens at Hogwarts.

***

Hermione and I sat together away from everyone.

She wanted it that way, or so she said, only ever talking to me when we first entered and some thereafter.

“…The whole thing reminded me of when you died.”

How she crossed her legs, I had my hand on the leg she lay towards me, the sides of our bodies touching. We had our chairs placed close, side-by-side, without room between us. I had the other arm behind her on the chair, and I liked to keep her that way, in our own bubble. We were scarred, and it took our efforts, the ying and the yang, to keep each other from crossing lines we didn't wish to cross whether it be shouting to cursing to…something else.

She had her head on my shoulder, in the crook of my arm, when she said this. I lifted from my stroke of her leg, enamored, really, by her presence, and she did, too. I gave her a puzzled look. “Why would you think that?” I replied, curious to a point.

“Because I wasn't there for you, and I'd be damned if I'd miss—!”

I saw she was getting worked up, her voice had even caught the attention to those close by, so I soothed her by doing all that I thought I could. I kissed her, her cheek first, and then her mouth, before grazing my thumb across her cheek. “I'm here.”

“I know, but I'm sad—and angry—and frustrated—and—confused—and worried—and—“

“'Ermione!”

The burly tone of familiar bear broke our concentration.

We both looked at the large, giant of a man who had stepped to our side and at first couldn't ingest the image, but eventually smiled at his own.

Hagrid always had the personality to cheer people up just by smiling, and he was. “And `Arry…,” he put his hand to cover one side of his mouth to not say aloud his conclusion.

My brow rose, and Hermione glanced first at me, and then Hagrid.

“Yer secret's safe wit me, ya know that…,” he had leaned over to lower his tone, and then stood up to reach his full height. “Even though it's not much `er secret. Anyone who knows you two's history would know how `Arry treats ya, and how `Ermione treats ya—like two hippogriffs in love.”

“Hagrid…” Hermione went to stand first, opening her arms as Hagrid did. He gave her the biggest bear hug imaginable, and then went to me to do the same.

Hagrid was probably the only person we could openly talk to about Neville and our past. How he, and we, used to get in all sorts of trouble, especially starting at the end of fourth year. Hagrid at one point got Hermione up in a giggling frenzy, and that made me happy, if only for the moment. The toll had taken an incredible beating on us, and to see her laughing—that made me happy. And, she was, too.

“Ya know,” Hagrid fidgeted with his hands, looking as if what he was about to say was out of context. “I hadn't seen ya two in so long, I jus' didn't know what ta do wit myself.”

“I'm sorry, Hagrid—“

“Ya dun have ta apologize ta me, `Arry—“

“We promise we'll make it out to the hut, Hagrid,” exclaimed my beloved. We'd gone back to sitting like Hagrid expressed, like two hippogriffs in love. “We've just been so busy preparing for the wedding, and—“

“'Arry Potter the groom and `Ermione Granger the bride,” Hagrid shook his head in disbelief. “I ne'er thought I'd see the day. Ol' Hagrid is happy for ya two.”

We smiled at each other, and then at Hagrid.

“You'll be at the wedding?”

“I wouldn't miss it for the world.”

***

“Hermione…”

“Harry,” she cut me short, the drink in her hand. She'd been over and back again with the typical red solo cup. I could smell the pungent aroma of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey from the cup, and on her breath. She was on her second cup, and nearly finished, but she was also quite the lightweight. And, I feared with the current emotional instability… Though, I understood how she felt.

I took a sip or two from her cup telling myself I did it because I didn't want her to get sick, but knew, somewhere deep inside, that I wished to be drunk right along with her. But, some outside force kept me from drowning my sorrows, and in classic Harry Potter fashion, I followed my gut. The couple sips wouldn't get me anywhere close to where I knew she headed down, so I just kept my eye on her…and kept her with me.

I watched her tilt her head back, tilt the drink back, and watched her shut tight her eyes. Drinking it straight came with its consequence, taste being one of them. A space between her fingers led me to see Mister Weasley approaching, and she hiccupped when he went to introduce himself.

He knew who I was, working with Draco, and like Hagrid said…anyone who knew our history could probably connect the dots, for better or worse.

“I kept looking over here at you two and kept asking myself why I hadn't come over sooner,” he took one of the chairs beside us and sat down next to Hermione. She didn't look at him, keeping her eyes straight forward, but I gave a smile in greeting. “Then I thought, maybe they needed some company. I didn't want you to think we didn't want both your company after what all has happened.”

“Thank you, Mister Weasley.”

Hermione hiccupped and fell into me, her eyes still forward.

I knew she thought, and in reach and at my side, she could.

Thinking alone would be…problematic.

Arthur and I spoke lightly of history, and our future, and of Neville. “He was like another son, Neville. Another Weasley boy of mine. He knew his stuff, and he would always bring me another new Muggle toy to play with. The computer—I know the Ministry has been dabbling in the oddity, but the object's complexity…how impressive it is…almost rivals our wand in what it can achieve. And, he was at the front of the technology boom at the Ministry, a true pioneer in the magical world.”

“He loved Ginny, he did. Him and I had a few father-to-son chats on the side speaking on their future together. It was heartbreaking when she left him, and—“

“Excuse me,” Hermione interrupted Mister Weasley. I had witnessed Hermione drop her head back and take the last drop of her drink just before she did. She looked right at me, seemingly despondent to Arthur on her left. “I'm getting another drink. Would you like one as well?”

“Hermione—“ The uneasiness of the matter brought a hand to hers when she snapped at me, making me double back.

“I haven't done anything.”

The disquiet invited itself in the silence between us three.

I just shrugged. “No, but thanks—“

And, she was up before I could call her “hun”.

Arthur watched her walk away from us as I did, and then turned back to me, apologizing, “I'm sorry for bringing it up.”

I shook my head. “She just—“

I sighed, looking back over at my beloved pouring more Firewhiskey from a variety of bottles, both alcoholic and non, from a buffet of food. Some of the funeral patrons, those I assumed were not of our side and of Neville's acquaintances, gawked at her… Which I didn't enjoy, a fire unlike what Hermione put in her belly in mine.

Arthur continued his regret, his mouth moving a mile a minute at how he longed for his daughter to be here, and why she wasn't. “She came to the Ministry, and sought for my office. She was simply distraught, and what she told me—“

“She came to the Ministry? She was distraught?” He piqued my interest. Professor Trewlawney approached Hermione and laid her hand on Hermione's shoulder from behind. I thought she only startled Hermione, but Hermione seemed to have none of the professor's words of wisdom. She pushed the professor's hand away and was on her way back to us when Arthur had said those words of instant intrigue.

“Hermione and I have been trying to get in touch with her, but to no avail. Why was she distraught? What's happened that she can't get back with Hermione?”

My voice became aggressively eager, dropping Arthur in his seat with a slouch. “Look, Harry,” Mister Weasley sat with his elbows on his knees. “Molly can be… Well, Molly can say…”

Molly.

Of course.

Ginny had always chased after her mother's affection.

I swallowed hard after hearing her name, knowing the unknown felt much like an anvil dropping from my throat to the pit of my stomach.

“…Ginny told me the things Molly said to her, treating her without regard, like a complete stranger. She said she ignored her, and wouldn't tell her where I was. She blamed her for Neville's death, how she's made a fool out of the Weasley name—which is by far incorrect—and… I've spoken to Molly about it, but Molly's been through so much—“

I heard a gasp.

We heard a gasp.

And, by the time we could look in the direction my beloved had went we were met by a frighteningly immutable stance. The glazed look of Hermione lit to life, the cup full of her drink falling as if in slow motion from betwixt her fingers until it overturned onto the ground. The strong smell of whiskey overwhelmed our rather somber milieu, and I saw that certain light flicker wildly in her eyes.

I couldn't catch her before she started to run, lifting immediately and calling out her name to grab a fistful of air.

***

(Hermione's Perspective)

I had heard it. The words. Those words that changed the blood in my veins to the hard-hitting whiskey. An accumulation of all the sadness, all the anger, all the resentment… I'd been trying to maintain a sense of calmness when I overheard what was said on the way back… I let the cup of alcohol drop to the floor, the plastic smacking against the muddy grounds, the clear liquid mixing unevenly. Unevenly like what the world had come to be. I didn't understand.

How could a mother be so cruel?

How could a mother toss one of her own aside like rubbish into a bin?

My mother loved me until the end, and accepted me whatever path I walked. She never demanded more from me other than for me to use my moral compass, to be good to others as I wanted them to be with me, and to succeed. She never chastised me, demeaned me, thought of me as some…stranger, another face in the crowd.

She loved me.

And Gin… She deserved better than this.

All this.

Her mother her monster, kept to her like a marionette, suffocating her life.

Harry and Mister Weasley both turned in unison. My eyes narrowed, the very fibre in my being shaking. I shook, and I saw Harry try to place his hand around mine to hold me steady. I heard Arthur's swallow before I heard Harry call for me. But, the time I had come.

Molly became my target, my sight never leaving hers.

I don't think I breathed, nor blinked, as I ran at my full speed at her.

People in the environs watched my lithe body move like water in the tent, between the chairs set up for those to sit while talking, reminiscing, maybe, about our fallen companion: Neville Longbottom.

Molly squatted in her hen corner, gawking at others and being herself. Her nose sat a little higher, her smirk a little smugger. She'd become one of those. Those. Those people we fought so hard to separate from, Harry and I, Neville. Those who sought to judge us. Judge not lest ye be judged, and I was about to judge her…

My way.

She didn't see me coming…

“Neville was worthy of much better…,” she sat with a frown, but her nose still sat that inch higher. She mocked emotion, shaking her hair, the tangled strands of Weasley-red ruffled against her homely brown shawl.

Her girls nodded like bobbleheads, agreeing without thought to the vile she spewed.

“I gave my daughter everything she ever wanted. And for what, girls? She had Harry, and she allowed him to run to…well, you gals know. She had Neville, beloved Neville, and she tossed him away like she tossed her life away. She rebelled, she chose to be…different…she embarrassed the Weasley name time and time again, and I gave her chances—dozens upon dozens of them—to chose what mother knew right. But she crossed that final line, and—“

Molly ended up in the mud, catching herself at the final moment. Her hands and knees splashed with sodden earth, she gripped what tufts of sparse grass lay in her palms and shot a look at who dumped her from her chair. The gaggle of women gasped, as well as the onlookers, most who stood up if seated to catch a glimpse at my actions.

And, she saw me, the consequence of those actions.

I seethed, my chest rising and falling so quickly I hadn't known why I didn't fall to the ground myself, out of breath.

“You!” Molly's face carved mostly with teeth, growling, showing the inevitable fire which came with being a Weasley—and the mother, a roaring furnace like no other. “You ungrateful—!”

“All she wanted was a mother!!” I belted this out from the deepest parts of my soul. I watched Molly get up from the mud and trudged the distance towards me, her front a swath of the murkiest colour. The colour dripped from her like the rage in her severely reddened face.

It became us, and only us.

I screamed at her, even if the distance had closed in from all sides. “That's all a child ever wants—to be loved!”

I could feel the warm tears readily at the ducts, and then the slow shower of them across my innocent cheeks.

Molly wound up and slapped me, my face jerking to one side.

A brown handprint was left where a red one lay underneath.

My eyes widened, tears evident in the flooded, reflective pools.

“You've gotten everything your little heart desired, Miss Perfect! The whole world stops when you walk in, and that's what I wanted for my little girl!”

“My mother always loved me for me!” I placed my hand on my chest, pointing at my heart. “Ginny has cried because that's all she ever wanted! She did things to impress her mother so that her mother would finally accept her—but you never did! And, she cries!”

“You're a monster!” I shouted into her face, making her hold her head back. “You're an unappreciative, wicked beast of a woman!”

“You think you know everything, Miss Perfect!” Molly wagged her finger in my face. “But, you're as ignorant to the world as the rest of your youth!”

“At least I find solace in knowing my mother never hates me for who I am! At least my mother treasures me, and will forever be a person I look up to! She'll never be the monstrosity you are!”

“No wonder my daughter enjoys your company so much,” Molly put her hands on her hips and let out a snigger, her nose stuck north. “She's followed your leading footsteps—she had everything, and let greatness slip away. You had Harry and he died—“

She looked right at me, directly into me and said in slithering, snake-biting response, “And, you never look back. She will, too, and shame our name even fur—“

She hadn't time to finish her thought before I drug her down. I yanked her down, and to say I didn't continue shedding tears would be a lie. I believe I could finally feel the heaviness hollowed out in Gin's heart that very moment. When grappling Molly in the mud I found myself channeling the emotions driving Gin for so many years. And, Molly fought back, becoming that embodiment of hatred her daughter now held. She actually hit me, a few times, giving me scrapes and scratches. When I fought back, beginning to overpower her, I fell from the volatile scene like a dying petal of a flower.

I struggled in earnest to get back at her as I cried out, filthy, wet, and tear-stained, “All she wanted was a mother! All she wanted was to be cared for and loved!”

“Hermione,” I heard Harry's voice, but he became white noise. The heightened, strained atmosphere kept me going, as well as, I assumed, the whiskey I consumed. “Love, settle—“

I had broken away, but in the next second of time, and people, stopped.

I stopped, halfway back to Molly.

I nearly toppled over from my momentum.

Aurors hadn't been present until now, appearing when Molly went for her wand and now brandished her weapon at me.

“Do you think I never wanted my daughter to be happy?”

“Merlin's beard! Mols! Have you gone mad?! These are our friends!” Arthur's voice rang from behind me. “Put your wand down! This is enough!”

“Hush, Arthur! This hasn't a thing to do with you anymore!” Molly's eyes went from me, flicked behind me, and then gazed back into my own. “She was my only daughter! She chose to stray from me, to stray away from those who loved her, dally in drugs, dally in women—everyone knows—everyone!”

“She's a human being!” my scream hurt me, digging back into my soul. “In the end, none of that should matter!”

“You just wait, Miss Perfect, when you have a daughter of your own—!”

I shook my head so hard the world became dizzy.

“It'll never happen! Like my mother, and her mother, and her mother before that—I will love my daughter, or my son, with every bit of my heart! Whatever they aspire to!”

I felt a hand on me, and then Harry, not looking like himself, but so much like himself after the cosmetic potions veiled him from this world. He placed his arm in front of me, a protective barrier of himself, and offered his wand just as Molly did.

He aimed it at the person who had loved him like a mother.

“Like I said,” Molly prodded with her wand at Harry of whom she'd never known was him in her deliriously hateful state. “You lay quickly with others after Harry died, just like another one I knew! You can't deny it, either! Everyone who bought a Prophet since has seen pictures of you and some random Muggle! And now another!”

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife.

Others, family members, friends, colleagues stood at the ready for anything to happen. Even Molly waved her wand at her husband when he took a step, now aligned with Harry. He pointed at her and said as an order, “That is enough! No more, Molly! No more!”

“Expelliarmus!”

One of the Aurors took Molly off-guard, her wand leaping far to the side where another Auror caught it with finesse. Aurors swooped in to remove the tension, especially when Molly went steadfast at the one who caught her wand. Some funeral mourners even fled in to deescalate the situation, placing their hands on Molly. Of course, even amongst the crowd now gather around her one could hear the shouts of mother Weasley beheading them all with retorts:

“She was to smear our name further! She accosted me! She deserves this treatment, not me!”

Harry caught the one Auror, the Auror who disarmed Molly, look back at him from the shrieking woman in the centre of the mob and saw a bit of Weasley-red peek out from the white cloak and hood. Harry nodded his way, and the Auror nodded in return before trekking into the warzone that had become Molly Weasley's party.

Harry, his hands, his arm never leaving me, turned and embraced me to him. I shook my head and cried into him. I cried because of everything, feeling Gin's loss in my core, and for the fact that I had messed his brilliantly beautiful suit up. Harry smiled as he caressed the top of my head. He secured those arms of his around me and held me, all the while telling me how everything was fine.

And, how he loved me.

Arthur stood still beside us, planted like a tree gazing onwards at his maddened wife and how she had taken her wand out on one of us, especially me. He had his hands in what hair he had left, years of his own loss, the stress, making bits of Weasley fall out.

“She needs to go home,” Harry issued to a shocked Arthur Weasley coming down from such a high as the heated situation brought itself. Arthur looked at Harry after a beat, as if to internalize and ingest what he said. Harry issued, again, “I'm taking her home.”

“Right,” Arthur breathed, pulling back what remained from his receding hairline. “Right—right.”

“Could you please tell Hagrid, and the others, that we've gone home if they ask for us. Tell them we'll still be here, in contact, as always.”

“Sure,” One could tell Arthur was still in awe at what unfolded, but he nodded, eventually landing two feet back on solid ground. “Sure, Harry—and you needn't worry. We will always have your back—both you and Hermione.”

“She's just—“ Arthur looked back over at his wife.

“It's difficult,” Harry added, to which Arthur glanced at him. Harry nodded understandingly. “I know.”

“Thank you, Harry,” He put his hand on Harry's shoulder, and then I felt him place his hand on me. I looked at him briefly from Harry's comforted arms. I saw him through the tears, and he remained, like always, the genuinely heavy-hearted Mister Weasley.

“And, I apologise to you, Hermione. Please don't take what Missues Weasley says—“

The emotions washed over me, the situation so raw, so real, and Harry had to stop Mister Weasley however true he meant. “She really needs to be home.”

Arthur nodded, patting Harry on the shoulder. “And I've a wife to attend to…”

The world became a blur, and we both became weightless as the tent just outside Neville's resting place was there—and then wasn't.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

“Thanks for coming by and checking on her,” I'd come from the master bath where I let Hermione do her thing. She needed me, and I needed her, but sometimes I felt she needed that minute of solace to herself. She had stopped crying when we reappeared at home, and quickly got her into a soothing hot shower. Between her and whatever left on the ground, I believed she'd rolled around in the earth long enough to remove the first layer. Thick mud caked on her, her hair, her face, her clothes of course, and somehow some of the dirt made it underneath covered areas.

And that's where I met a sudden ignite of the fireplace, my arms carrying a bundle of our sodden funeral apparel. I let Ron in, and as I set the washing machine to begin he stood in the entrance of the laundry. He had his hood down, his Weasley-red swaying when I noticed him looking towards the noise of the water running in our quieted abode.

I had an eye on the dryer, warming towels for when my love would step out of the shower, when Ron replied, “Anything, mate, is there anything I can do?”

I just shook my head and leaned on the rumbling dryer. I crossed my arms. “Everything will be better in the morning, I'm sure. The whole situation simmered over, and other than Molly hitting her—“

“I couldn't believe it,” Ron interjected, shaking his head along with mine. “When we were notified of the commotion inside, I came in right when I heard the slap, and it was as if—“

“I can't explain it, Harry,” Ron's thoughts diverted, figuring the situation out as much as we did, I did. I understood Hermione's position, and stood with Hermione's position… I guessed it was the years of Molly's mothering that denial of what occurred kept triggering, almost as if I wanted to repress the image of my fiance being smacked as she tried to justify why Molly would shun Gin as she did.

“Our family has been through so much… I think after the War and all its celebrations, mum realized Fred would never come back after the madness. I think it took a considerable toll on her because she's always kept to us.”

“As she did with me,” I added.

“Exactly. The nightmare she found herself in when you died, and then Fred, and then you died again…” Ron's voice trailed off as well as his sight of me, lingering on the wall.

“It's almost more work to keep me secret.”

Ron shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, albeit with a blank stare at the wall. “It has to be. Who in their right mind would ever release that the Order used Dark Arts to bring you back? Surely there would be people who understood, but a significant majority would probably strike us from their book outright.”

“She's not nutters,” The blank stare left him as he looked back up at me. “Mum.”

“I know, and Hermione knows, too.”

The dryer went off and I leaned over to check on the towels.

“I may press Malfoy to allow the obliviation spell to wear off so she knows where I am, close by, and not chasing common welsh greens with my brother Charlie—“

Ron spoke, and I gave him my attention, listening with one ear. The other kept Hermione in earshot, and noted when the water shut off as it did. I took the towels out of the dryer and began folding them neat enough to carry them upstairs.

“Mate,” I started, closing the dryer door. The warm towels felt nice against the coolness of the flat's stilled atmosphere. “You're a great friend, and an even greater person. You'll know what to do. I don't know if I can make that decision, you know? I have to be with Hermione right now, and that's really what's on my mind. I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize, Harry. I apologize,” Ron's words were sincere. “For mum.”

“We'll get passed all this,” I put out my hand to him, walking out of the laundry room. “We always do.”

Ron placed his leather-gloved hand with Harry's and shook.

“And you call me a `great friend'. Thank you, Harry.”

Taking the first step with towels in hand, I heard Ron before his apparition pop, “Oh, and Harry.”

“Yeah?” I glanced behind me, on the fourth step.

“Tell Hermione Gin's safe.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“Unfortunately.”

My brow rose. “Should we go get her—?”

“I don't know why she's at McLaggen's, and I don't know if I can fairly control her actions as much as I want to with that rubbish.”

“Rubbish indeed—McLaggen?”

“The sod, but she's told me how she's an adult and I shouldn't treat her like anything else but.”

“Noted,” I gave a hesitant nod, taking in why Gin would choose McLaggen over… My mind had become a swamp of memories, and all I wished to do was be with Hermione after tonight. “I'll tell Hermione…when she's of sound mind.”

Ron nodded, too, and vanished before me in a pop.

***

McLaggen's flat, Sheffield

A motley assortment of drug paraphernalia littered a king-sized mattress. Out cold, Ginny lay amongst the hallucinogenic riff raff wrapped haphazardly in sheets. Cormac sat naked aside her, head lowered as he expelled smoke from his lips and made a sigh of utter pleasurement. He went to open his eyes, taking his mouth from an object which looked like a skull with a long pipe, and smiled as if he had won a trophy for what he had triumphantly done.

“Always a good fuck,” he stated with a chuckle, using Ginny as support when he sat down the bong and went for a whole bottle of tequila on her side. Grasping the neck, he fell back to his bum and sort of swayed at rest. He glanced askance at her, put the bottle to his lips, and laughed. “If you didn't know how to work a pecker, I wouldn't be caught near Weasley rubbish. I heard the stories from Hogwarts.”

He laughed again and went to drink from the bottle when nothing but drops fell warm on his tongue. He peeked inside and noted the emptiness. Glowering, he scowled at her from the side. “Little twat.”

He dropped the bottle, the glass falling off the side of the bed with a thud and rolling somewheres off.

“You'll make it up by blowing me whenever you wake.”

***

Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

“Harry…”

She must've heard the door open and close. The lavatory door was cracked open as I left it earlier, the lights in the room shining a ray across the dark wooden floor.

“I'm here,” I went for the door and opened it to find her slumped against the shower wall with the shower door open. She had her hand over her face and kept groaning. I felt bad, my love in pain. When she heard me crossing the small distance between her and the door, she peeked through fingers to see me.

“I'm here,” I said again, pushing open the shower door to its fullest to get the first of three towels I had in my hand around her. She had to help me, standing tall but leaning back and forth as if her world rotated—and I was sure it did. I dropped the other two towels when I saw her struggling to dry off and began to assist, bringing her out so she could sit on the loo to maintain some sort of equilibrium.

“If only we premade some anti-hangover remedies,” I jested at her as she and I dried her off.

She sort of smiled, but found it hard. She groaned, and told me, “Ohhhh, don't make me laugh… It hurts…”

“What hurts?”

“Everything.”

“That's a lot.”

“Mhmm…”

“Oh,” I caressed the top of her hand as I dried between each individual finger with the second towel. “Harry's sorry Hermione's ill.”

“I'm more than ill…,” she breathed in this enormous breath and let it out slowly. “I feel bad, so, so bad…”

“The hangover that awful? Want me to get you something to drink, something to—“

“Oh please,” she gripped my hand and shut her eyes tight. Her voice softened, “…Please don't talk about food right now…”

“So, what's making my love feel worse?” I stood up and began lightly patting dry her hair.

“What I did to Missus Weasley…,” Her meek tone came from the darkened caverns of the towel. She peeked out from beneath, shadowed from the lights in the lavatory, when I bent back down so she could see me. “In front of everyone, and at Neville's funeral…”

“…Neville…,” she whispered as if remembering the past, remembering a friend. “I'm `Hermione Granger'—I should've thought everything out before jumping into something so…so…”

“…'Me'?” I prodded. “You pulled a `Harry'. I've rubbed off on you, given you that rebellious spirit.”

“Face it, love,” I gave an overly dramatic sigh. “We just were meant to be.”

She gave me one of those Hermione looks even with the dark under her eyes.

“I thought it was admirable. We stick up for the ones we love, be it against friend or foe,” I tilted forward to kiss her lips underneath the confines of the towel, and she jerked back, groaning as she did.

“Harry…,” She breathed. “I haven't even brushed my teeth.”

I just smiled and took her hand, kissing it once more.

“I love you,” I said looking at her. “So much, I do.”

Hermione made a slight grin. “Well, after seeing what I did in the loo after we got home and you still wish to kiss me… I think that's evidence enough.”

I made a soft laugh, and her grin widened.

***

I'd given her something for the headache, and now she lay with me in bed. I could see her enough in the atmospheric light, whether that be the moonlight or streetlights outside. Nevertheless, I watched her as she lay flat on her back. She kicked off the sheets and quilt and lay, more or less, uncovered. She even shimmied up my Gryffindor Quidditch jersey she loved so much to feel the cool air of a chilly London night breeze across her flat tummy. And my hand, gently rubbing her by the slightest of touch.

In the beginning her stomach would retract when my hand would lovingly skirt along her silky, flawless skin. I teased her navel until she wished me to stop, the squirming elevating her throbbing head pain. She had her eyes closed, her head towards me and an arm above her on the pillow. The bluish tint of the night dyed her skin.

She smiled when my fingertips glided just above the band of her knickers, a black centimetre or two of cloth above a large white, tight number. I laughed a little, watching myself after watching her, at how I used to be so very scared of this, let alone actually touching girls' undergarments.

“I think you're incredible.”

“I don't feel incredible right now…”

“You still are.”

“…Yeah?” Her voice ascended an octave above whisper, and she smiled.

“Yeah…,” I mimicked her lessened tone, leaning over to caress her forehead. My hand, its fingers ran inside her hair, rubbing that lovable crown lightly. “How's the head?”

“Better…” She said weakly, and pretty darn adorably.

“Better…,” I imitated, laughing some when I made her smile. “Well, that's wonderful.”

She nodded however slightly.

“We haven't an itinerary, so I want you to sleep as long as you want to break this hangover.”

She nodded again, moving mostly her chin that smidge.

“I love you, Hermione Granger.” I caressed her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and nuzzled softly against her.

“I love you, too, Harry…”

***

{Author's Note: Tried my best to squeeze the emotional sponge of all its drippings in this one. Last chapter became one of the fastest growing reads of them all, so I am pleased at least by the number that you all enjoyed the spotlight on the Ministry and all its storylines. I thank those who have reviewed, but wish there were more communication so that I don't solely base a thumbs-up or a thumbs-down on the cold hit number (if only this were like Facebook, eh?). I also played with a parallelization with this and Chapter 59 alongside a parallelization of Molly Weasley and Emilie Granger.}

{Music: I found the instrumental version of A Bad Dream by Keane and Mother by John Lennon (especially in the first scene) that became Ginevra's themes, also Yellow by Coldplay, Running Up That Hill by Placebo, The Scientist by Coldplay, Dark Horse by Katy Perry, Head Over Feet by Alanis Morissette, My Favorite Mistake by Sheryl Crow, If It Makes You Happy by Sheryl Crow, and more that I've surely missed over the month or so}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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81. Placebo

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Eighty-one - Placebo

***

It's one of the best feelings in the world seeing “Potter” written in gold along Hermione's back.

I couldn't sleep. A multitude of memories and emotions washed over me time and time again. One situation continued to bare itself more times than I wanted to remember, and that was witnessing Missus Weasley—Molly—hit my beloved. My mind would dive deep into the past, a past that seemed like ages ago, when I felt like one of them: a Weasley boy. But, now, I felt…removed, apart from that life and onward with this one.

I think I accepted it, and in fact, relished in my Hermione wrapped in my arms, but still…

…Remembering all of us around the Weasley table, the happiness, the laughter, joyful, warm thoughts…

…I couldn't get passed it, and continued to hear the echo the slap made in my ears.

I would've been on top of anyone who would have done that.

Why didn't I then?

I smelled of Hermione's hair.

Tasted her skin when I snuck into the crook of her neck and caressed her.

And, then removed myself from our bed, slipping off the side softly and fixing the sheets behind me. I looked back at her sleeping so soundly and smiled, my hand on the doorframe before heading downstairs one quiet step at a time. Crookshanks followed at my heels, helping himself to my feet, and more than one time got in my way almost playfully.

“You're as awake as I am this morning, aren't you?” I laughed a little at his peek up at me.

He meowed, rubbing against my leg as he did, and stayed with me as I made my way into the den.

So much had happened between my…death, and now.

I remembered when the television was static, or most of the channels; but, after finding the remote and hitting the power button, the news came to life. These small things bubbled unremitting within my faculties, giving me a headache… Headaches… It was funny how I knew I had undergone a type of obliviation. Usually the patrons who undergo such a spell never know they've been obliviated. And, knowing I had, we had, came a greater sense of unknowing. I began to want to know, and wanted to know, hearing Hermione as that little voice in my head curious as to what happened between the past and present.

I knew the Ministry would tell me what they wanted me to know, if anything; knowing Malfoy would keep certain…undesirable memories close to the vest at best. I had thought about asking him, or Kingsley, outright, but knew I'd only get that far.

My sight sort of glossed over the flickering television, having plopped down in my recliner.

I shook out of it, chasing memories like water swirling around into a drain that was a void in my mind.

Hermione had left some of her school books on the coffee table in the centre of the den, and I noticed, going in-and-out of the present, pieces of loose leaf scattered about. I knew she wouldn't care if I took one as I did, picking up a pen and getting down Indian-style on the floor. Crookshanks ran against me as I started to write, knowing at least one person I thought would get me what I wanted to at least fill parts of the hole in me.

Dear Luna,

I'm sure you're aware by now that I've come back. I don't know how else to put it, and if you didn't know, well, I'm here. I'll be here, and I hope you can help me. I know the Ministry will probably see this before you, but I'm asking for anything, newspapers, about any important events that happened after I died. I just need to know, and you're the only one I know who'll understand.

Your friend,

HJP

I got up off the floor and wandered into the kitchen. At the window looking out from the sink, I leaned into the counter and pried open the latch. Pushing the two windowpanes out, I took to rolling the loose leaf up and found one of the numerous rubber bands at my disposal inside one of the top drawers. I whistled, the wintery chill brushing along my naked torso.

Glancing down at my bare feet, I had felt one become extremely warm and grinned when my little orange furball mate rested alongside my right foot. He looked up at me and meowed, purring as he scratched his ears against my dark lounge trousers. In those mere moments a gust of wind took my attention, and with it saw a snowy owl now perched on the windowsill. His wings were outstretched as if in those seconds he had appeared and adjusted to being flightless, hopping from one side of the sill to the other.

A flood of more past memories welled up in me, and I was suddenly that eleven year old boy again.

Reaching out, I scratched where I'd scratch Hedwing atop his head. The owl leaned into my hand and hooted in satisfaction. “Take this to Luna Lovegood, she'll know what to do.”

The owl responded as if he understood me, bobbing its head in a way that resembled a nod after retrieving the rolled-up paper from me in his talons.

“Wait a second,” I said, walking to the refrigerator and back again. The owl stood there in wait. I'd come back with a treat. “I know it's not a juicy rat, but I hope this'll do for the road.”

Chirping, the owl happily ate the bit of meat from my palm and squawked a bit afterwards in delight. He hopped to the side, and then hopped towards the sky. With one big leap, he jumped, wings outstretched and flew into the early hours of the morning.

I went about shutting the window again and hugged myself warm, igniting the hearth with a swish of the wrist as I went on by. I sat back in my chair and sat thinking, about everything and anything, the warmth of the crackling fire settled Number Twelve.

I lay back, paying not the slightest bit of attention to the silent television and rested my eyes…

***

Driven from drifting off in my chair, I was instantly shaken awake when the noise from the television suddenly stopped. The blinking lights from the moving images also ceased in the semi-light environs of the Number Twelve's den. I hadn't known my eyes closed, in deep contemplation of the past, the histories I left behind, staring into the fire which had died down between then and now.

I jumped, startled really, when the den grew that smidgen darker. Literally hopping in my seat, I pushed off, pushing in the leg rest and hearing the popping of the metal mechanisms inside beneath me. I was about to address the figure moving about the light and dark cast from the crackling hearth when I heard her, and then her shushes:

“Shh… Shh…”

She was at me, my Quidditch jersey showing with “Potter” emblazoned in gold. I watched her put the television remote on the coffee table amongst the riddles of her work and literature. Crookshanks followed the remote, hopping onto the table as he watched his mummy climb into my lap. She had grabbed the Gryffindor quilt on her way and threw it over us.

“I'm sorry, I—“

She put a finger on my lips, looking at me in the subtle lights before curling up against me. She had the Gryffindor quilt up to both our necks, and before I could instinctively wrap my arms around her she had wrapped around me. I smiled, albeit sluggishly, as everything happened so quickly in my sleepy state.

She had her head on my chest, and I could feel the softness of her hair beneath my chin. “…I just didn't know where you were, and I couldn't stand not being with you.”

“But everything is fine,” she rubbed her warm cheek against my chest. “All's well now.”

“I didn't know I'd fallen asleep…” My fingers combed within her hair, giving her head a light scratch.

We stayed in silence for a bit, lovingly petting her all the while my sight following the orange lines across the floor. I stared into the fire for the longest time, my hands doing what felt naturally as Hermione rested in my lap.

“…Is something the matter?” She moved a bit in my lap, feeling her hand run itself down my chest and up again.

Silent a beat, my focus would go in-and-out amongst the flickers of flame. “…After you expressed earlier how you felt about the Ministry and that feeling of emptiness, I just couldn't put your words passed me. I sent an owl to Luna asking if she could send anything, any newspapers at all after I… Well…”

She adjusted uncomfortably now.

I felt her nod at my chest. “…Mmm…”

She felt me swallow in our quietness, the sputtering fire the only sound in our distance.

“Do you think I've done everything that I could possibly do to keep everyone safe—to keep you—“

She lifted from me, and as she did placed her hands on my face. She turned me from the flickering flames, and when we met, eyes locked together, did she say in only the way my Hermione could speak to me, “You've done everything—we've done everything—marvelously, Harry…”

She began looking me over, her eyes watching each and every feature in detail. Only she could understand me, even the words which never spoke. She ran her hand across my scar-less forehead and back in my messy crow's nest, framing my face once again. “…Don't think you have to save the world, Harry. Please. I know you're strong, love, but all that you've done…”

She kissed me. “It's enough.”

She kissed me again, looking back into my eyes when our lips left one another's.

“I love you,” she said.

“What if I ask you not to go to the Ministry, to get involved?”

That pierced the heart of the situation.

She had watched my lips move in the small gap between us, and then gazed back into my eyes. “As much as I wish and want to help the Order… I wouldn't do so if you believe or feel it may harm me, or you.”

“I just don't know what to think anymore, Hermione—“

She brought me back to her lips, kissing me.

“Then don't…,” she said in a breath, resuming her caress, and then our caress as the love behind hers gave way to the passion in mine. “…Don't think right now. Don't…”

She had me in her arms, with her as she climbed onto her knees and stood above me, our mouths still as one.

She smiled after a while, lowering my recliner back with her. The jostle made her grab onto me, and then to hear her laughter and see that glowing smile so genuine…

I was so in love with this woman.

***

The chime of the hour made my first fidget. Blinking awake, I yawned and went to rub the sleep from my eyes when Hermione fidgeted, too. I smiled, quietness ensuing where there wasn't movement, little murmurs from my beloved as she stretched in my lap and got back into her comfortable spot beneath the Gryffindor quilt. I made a laugh through my nose, seeing that adorable smile appear on her face as she re-snuggled up against my chest, completely content in her sleep.

My stomach grumbled, and I made another laugh for she had heard it, too. Her beautiful brown eyes peeked at me and she laughed a little. “…Hungry?” she asked in a yawn.

“Mmm…,” I caught her just when the yawn finished, kissing her mouth, making her climb that inch to my lips.

Instantly, she wrapped her arms around my neck and traveled up with me slowly, drifting atop me. The Gryffindor quilt fell from her shoulders, and from me, exposing the bare back of Hermione to Number Twelve a second before her long tresses cascaded down to her lower reaches. I kissed her mouth, leading to the corner, to her cheek, to her throat, her shoulder, all the while she clasped to me. She made these short, silent gasps within each morning caress.

She kissed me atop my head, her fingers deep in that chaos of messy hair. Buried in her chest, I wound myself as snugly as one could to emphasize my possession, that sense of “mine”. And, I wasn't about to give it up for the world. It was just bearable enough to share her; but, right at that moment, she was every bit unshareable.

When looking up from my height, her hands were on me, cradling my face back to her. She kissed me in her smile, our noses meshing. With my hands all over her, I must've hit a sweet spot, her ticklish spot, when she jumped in my lap and giggled out of our kiss.

I laughed, seeing her eyes light up as my fingers purposely grazed that spot again to see her retract in that oh-so-adorable way.

She bit her bottom lip when her eyes set back to mine, and I warned her, “If you keep doing that we won't ever leave from this position.”

“Would that be so awful?” her raspy voice articulated.

My stomach grumbled before I could another word.

“Shush!” I tried hushing my stomach to the amusement of Hermione.

She started to lift off, stepping out onto the floor. “What's your fancy?”

Hopping to my feet, I grabbed her from behind.

“You.”

She looked back behind at me and in smile took me by my chin and led me to her lips.

We stepped together when my foot found my lounge trousers bundled up on the floor. I looked down, and she did, too, when I halted our connected trek towards the kitchen. She laughed when I bent down to gather them up and began putting them back on.

“These might be useful while cooking,” I mused with a bit of a smirk, seeing as I stood up where I'd thrown my Quidditch jersey off her form earlier this morning: upon the coffee table, half on and half hanging off the side. And, Crookshanks made the bundled jersey his bed, only really making a move now that we'd caught him.

“He certainly loves you,” I scratched his head enough to lead him from the jersey and snatched it from the table. He meowed at us, stretching out as he watched me flip it from inside-out.

Hermione smiled, helping her put the jersey back on, the golden name of “Potter” across her back. “He's mummy's boy, spoiled rotten.”

Hermione and I went to kiss when we heard Crookshanks meow in rebuttal, and we stopped, looked at each other and laughed.

“Come on, Crookshanks,” Hermione lowered to the floor just enough for Crookshanks to leap into her open arms. She turned around towards me at her heels. She smiled, saying, “Let's go make daddy some breakfast.”

***

The Atrium, Ministry of Magic

A bedazzlement of camera flashes lit up the Fountain of Magical Brethren. Amongst the golden gleam, and the pirouettes of water, added another amongst its kin. Standing tall with the other magical kin, and that of the centre human wizard, a dark elf stood with his bow aimed and at the ready. A symbol of their new bond, ever increasing in brotherhood, and so much like the two of whom stood in the middle of the atrium shaking hands.

Draco Malfoy, his pale skin and blonde hair striking against his Ministry-emblazoned wardrobe, has his hand outreached for a partner. And, that partner accepted him, the dark skin humorously mismatched Malfoy to which they had a laughed. The Elf fit in extravagant scarlet and salfron-gilded chest armour. Measured downward lay similar coloured robes. His gilded mantle showcased to the photographers the pride of the Elven family, more like golden wings and less like shoulder pieces.

He stands with Malfoy, their body language mimicking the other's, with bold yet gentle expressions of gratitude on their faces.

Glancing at each other, Malfoy, his backdrop the Ministry `M' and his Aurors of ivory cloth, gave the elf another shake of their hands and said to him, clearly for all to hear, “We couldn't have accomplished such a feat without our Elven companions and friends.”

Propped on his cane, he balanced himself as the elf placed his other hand atop his own and shook once more, together, “An olive branch for our future, and hope for generations would not have been without undeniable human bravery.”

“We praise the Elven genius and mourn with you.”

“As do we all, my human brother.”

Eir pai shi eir.

The adorned Elf's backdrop is of their banner, a teardrop-shaped shield of azure diamond with a gold, bold aves, its wingspan embracing around the middle. Lined with silver, the emblem captivates the metallic sheen, shining as if one could remove the shield from the banner. Leaves of gold envelop the dark, plum colour surrounding the ancestry-given arms. In front of the banner, and like the Ministry, stand fellow Elves of who spoke so eloquently their language after their elevated comrade.

More camera flashes dazzle the spotlight.

In the background, Rita kept her eyes on the scene playing out, making sure her first assignment goes off without a hitch. She smiles a smile only Rita could do at her success, seeing only positives in the fledgling journalists Quick-Quills and a fairly large first page on tomorrow's Quibbler. She's hidden beneath an ivory cloak of her own, incognito, taking down mental notes for coming attractions.

Having said their words of encouragement, and the strengthening of human-and-magical creature solidarity, the atrium all but disperses, leaving lone journalists asking questions to lingering Ministry officials. With Rita spying on them, the interim Minister and his team take lead with the Elves for a genuine English brunch and tea. Chatting on their way, the gilded elf is suddenly taken to by a curious, and unique-looking, woman.

And by taken, the elf is all but toppled over by an embrace.

“Balthier!”

“Oomph!” The Ambassador took a step back from the woman's momentum. She had appeared from a doorway, unbeknown to him, as he trekked casually on by. Unaware, the team springs into action, but is quelled by Draco when he learned who leapt on the Ambassador:

Luna.

“Lady Luna!” Balthier chuckled. He laid his uncovered hand atop Luna's golden crown and hugged her to him, too. “My have I missed your loveliness gracing our Woods!”

“Come on, men!” ushered Malfoy, motioning onward with a hand as he proceeded further down one of the many Ministry corridors. He left the Ambassador and Luna to their moment, knowing by dossier what would unfold.

“You look…,” Luna took a look at him in their small distance, their hands still together. She glanced back up at him after memorizing the new Elven garb. “Different.”

“You always did speak your mind, Lady Luna,” the Elf chuckled again. He stood proudly, his crimson eyes aglow, a smile creasing his perfectly-sculpted face. “I've been promoted.”

“Really!?”

His smile widened. “You're looking at the Elves' first Ambassador to the Ministry of Magic!”

“Balthier!” Luna smacked back into him, as if she were but a child who hadn't seen her best friend in years, and hugged him. “I'm so proud of you! With everyone!”

Balthier embraced her, too, an arm draped about Luna's shoulders and a hand atop her head, due to the fact he was nearly double her height.

“You'll do great, I just know it! And Aedi—she…!”

Her voice trailed off a bit in his mind, blinking from her, and his smile with her, to blinking at the person who stood a bit down the corridor. He leaned on the wall, his white tunic and flaming Weasley-red conspicuous in the rather aged, antique Ministry hallway. He watched them, or rather her, until Balthier's incandescent sight matched to the Auror's stillness.

He nodded to him in greeting, knowing just who he was.

Ronald gave a wave, but slipped his leather-gloved hand back beneath his arm, crisscrossed, as he continued to monitor Luna's friendly actions.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

We stood side-by-side, and I don't think our smiles ever left each other. I'd wash a dish and hand it to her. She'd dry it and place it in the rack, waiting with the dish cloth for the next, a pan this time, and then a bowl. The sky outside was the same dreary London sky seen every winter, but inside Number Twelve the atmosphere was so vastly different.

At one point I messed with her.

Because, I could, and got a laugh when she went for the plate in my hand only to realize I wasn't going to give it up.

She pulled and I pulled until I let go.

She just sighed and rolled her eyes with that grin of hers.

We were almost done when the phone rang.

I would have gotten it if she weren't closer, and if she didn't go for it before I could dry my hands off.

“Hello?” she said into the receiver, spinning around so I could see her, and that gorgeous smile. I'd been all caught up in her that when she said, “Hey mummy” I suddenly remembered there was more to this world than her.

At least, that what was said.

My world was her.

A moment later, Gin rolled through my mind after Misses Granger when the smiles stopped, hearing first, and then seeing, Hermione crying. She'd been talking, and now—crying?

“What?” I asked, hoping for the best, but dreading the worst. With our luck…not something else. I don't think I could take one more thing when Hermione just shook her head, her free hand wiping beneath her eyes.

“I'm just so proud of you, Cupcake—and your father, too,” stated Misses Granger on the phone to Hermione. “We're so proud to have brought up such a bright, beautiful young woman. I cried last night when it dawned on me how you've grown up, and are growing up before our very eyes. And, now, you're about to get married to a wonderful person like Harry. He respects you, and shows you the value of true love, and not only do your parents see it—everyone who sees him with you takes notice and tells us how great you two are together. Your father and I are just so proud of our baby girl and Cupcake…”

Hermione mouthed the words, “Mum's proud of me—of us,” and that was enough for me.

I understood why she was in tears, and I felt the same heartstrings pull, a strong beat in my chest.

Wrapped an arm around Hermione, I pulled her into me and kissed her forehead.

***

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

“Back when I went to Hogwarts all we had to worry about was a dementor or two,” An Auror said to his equal, another Auror in observance of the corridor spanning from the courtyard to the Great Hall. A group of second-years ran by them as both white cloaks took their stroll, chasing each other and all around being kids. One dropped their school books, and the Auror bent down to help the student before he was off again up the staircases. “And, then the War—“

“And the other,” replied the second Auror, peeking into the Great Hall at all the students snacking, studying, playing games of wizard chess and exploding snap. Fellow ghosts would go in-and-out of the windows, showcasing the falling snow outside. The fire roared within, and each pedestal illuminating the castle gave more than light, radiating their heat, too. He saw amongst them all other Aurors stationed in the Hall, going about their vigilant business.

Post had come, owls swooping in from hidden openings. The flock flew over the two Auror's heads and into the Hall, dropping off parcels and packages. The two had to sidestep out of the way of a flood of more Hogwarts children rushing in to check their mail.

“Just like old times.”

“You'd think nothing ever happened here,” The Auror looked back inside the Hall at the new ruckus, at the owls flying in and escaping out of the castle when they dropped their belongings, and then to the rolling hills, the frozen lake, and white-covered trees. “Or, out there.”

“Thank goodness for the help from our magical kinsfolk,” The second Auror watched a group of fifth years run down the moving staircase in race with each other on who would get outside first. “If not for their help, we couldn't do what was best—“

“Protect our next generation.”

“You know…,” they both headed up the grand staircase one heedless step at a time in unison. Their voices quieted the farther they removed themselves from the shrieking hallway, busy now with kids zooming in and out for recreation after morning lesson. “…My son will be old enough to attend Hogwarts next year…”

“…Is he already that old? Time flies by fast, doesn't it? My two already…”

The Aurors vanish into hurried crowds.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

She said did this because it relieved the stress.

And, I couldn't take my eyes off her.

So elegant, Hermione would move gracefully across the plush white rug in front of the crackling fireplace. The blistery exterior couldn't compare to the warmth of the interior, and the arresting show she put on whether she knew her actions or not. I couldn't believe in those seconds, once again, that I had obtained such an awe-inspiring woman like herself, doing some sort of movement where her back sloped and she arched towards the sky in pose.

From just over my glasses I watched my beloved's engrossing yoga. I put the Quibbler down, one that was dated years ago and was left in the hallway the day I died. Not even the cumbersome news could distract me from loving her as I did, seeing both her expression and her physique in her poised language.

Droplets of freezing rain would hit the window panes, and nothing mattered, in her element and in mine under Number Twelve. And, in my watch, our comfort, and how open she was—and I was. Not to say the movements she did obscene, the beautiful curves of her body showcased in a pinkish sports bra and black tights, but I would become quite jealous if she moved herself like this in front of any other man. Like magic, she captured me with just a flick of her hair, a bend of a leg, an arc of her back.

She would meditate in those moments, stretching herself out in her varied movements with closed eyes.

And when she opened them, now facing towards me going in-and-out of twists and turns, she smiled.

I didn't shy away either, as if caught in the act, but confidently smiled in return and continued watching her from the Quibbler now lying in my lap.

***

McLaggen's flat, Sheffield

Gin picked her crumpled self up off the floor, her arms and legs positioned in a way that they weren't supposed to be. She didn't remember how she got to the restroom, or even if this was a lavatory, a ceramic, white toilet her pillow. An acidic aftertaste was left in her mouth, and she groaned underneath a pounding, pounding headache struck her head. She felt as if someone had pummeled the backside of her head with a bag of bricks. And, she was suddenly fearful, and alone.

She stumbled to the sink and held herself up by the countertop edge. She saw herself naked in the reflection. She couldn't remember, or didn't want to remember why or how she was like this… With dark bags beneath her eyes, her cheek bones sticking out from either side of her face, and the black mascara smeared down them as if she'd been crying.

A crusted, brownish line traced down from the right corner of her lips, and when she saw it, smelled it from within her mouth, she vomited again in the sink, toppling over and down onto the floor.

Flashes of Neville went through her mind as her body smacked against the ground, and she knew swiftly where she was, and all the memories that led up to this sickening second.

It took all her strength to pick herself back up, and through tears she found every bit of herself—and that of her clothes—intermixed in all the drug paraphernalia, the empty vodka bottles, the pill bottles, the marijuana in packets, the scattered bongs, and—

She had to get out of there.

She saw a sleeping Cormac McLaggen, the supplier of all she now loathed.

And, she had to get out, leave, escape from her prompt claustrophobia, out of breath.

After what felt like hours to Ginevra, she buttoned the last button, zipped her jeans up and found the exit… And, did so into the frozen, desolate London suburb.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

I didn't remember what we were watching, being lazy on the typical cold, sleet-filled London day. The rain had come in droves, beating down on Number Twelve for a while now. But, the temperature remained just above freezing, keeping the sodden weather sulky and inclement.

My eyes had moved back to her for I'd taken to the floor rubbing her bare abdomen. I'd taken it upon myself to, however casually, shift her grey top up just enough to gather around her navel and tease it so. She had her eyes, too, towards the television on low when my fingertip crossed over her button. They flicked to me and stayed there. Putting my arm up on the sofa she laid on resting after her yoga workout, I positioned my chin to sit at a level where I could keep my eyes on her, and did so, watching her watch me.

I don't know who blinked first, but I know I broke our savored silence when her hand grazed my forehead, and then sifted through my fringe by saying rather confidently, “I am terribly, horribly obsessed with you.”

With one long inhale of breath, she let out in exhale and in smile, grasping those tufts of my black hair, “I always adored how my father was with my mum; almost jealous, too, really. I wanted to know how it felt to have a man who would touch me so and couldn't take his eyes from me, and I always had the thought that I'd always be another bloke in the crowd…”

Her voice kind of trailed off, and so did her sight a moment, as if she were in thought. Her beautiful brown eyes set back on me. “Wait… Did that sound odd, or weird, or anything?”

I laughed and just shook my head, my chin pivoting on my forearm whilst the other continued its gentle massage. “Not at all. I've seen how your father treats your mum, and if I am only a percentile of that—I'm doing well.”

“Very well,” she abruptly added. Her sight floated from me, towards the television, and then back to me. “…So, your fiance had an Electra Complex. Not at all embarrassing…”

“Oh, you…,” I lifted onto my knees and hovered over her. I kissed her. “Such a—“

I kissed her again. “—Silly—“

And once more. “—Silly girl.”

I sat on my feet and watched her watch me some more, running that hand from her stomach up her side farthest from me. I could feel that sports bra beneath her top and all the softness beneath. “So, what do you want to do today? I was thinking maybe the theatre, or—?”

Hermione, her hand on my cheek, tilted her head back to see the wash of rain on the window panes drench the side of Number Twelve, and then returned to me. “It's positively dreadful out there…”

“And besides…,” She sighed with a tone of defeat. “She may come back and we'd be gone, and then what? She's out there all alone—you've spoken to Ron?”

My gut feeling told me not to tell her what I knew, that Ginny was with McLaggen. I thought about it, as I so often thought of many things racing through my scattered brain, and even if I told her: where would we be? Ron was right in his assumption. Even if we did run to save Ginny, and it was difficult, being Harry Potter, to not do so—what if she didn't want to be saved? What if she told me, told Hermione to shove off—then what? Then I'd have Hermione broken all to pieces, and after being dragged through the mud all the time… I just couldn't do it. Ginny was an adult, she wanted to be an adult and told us this.

Ron looking after her was enough, and Ron could with all his training…or whatever mess this was.

“He's searching for her.”

“Maybe we should go help him—“

She went to lift off the sofa by her elbows when I interjected, placing my hand back on her abdomen. “Or, maybe we ought to do as you suggested…and realize that if she wants to come back, she'll do so on her own terms. I don't think I could bear it if she were to tell you off if we found her—“

Hermione shook her head. “She wouldn't—I know her. She wouldn't tell me—us—off so haphazardly.”

“She's done it here more times than I can count on one hand.”

Hermione went quiet a moment, and then fell back onto the sofa with a bounce. She put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes. Within a deep breath she said, “…It just pains me to know she may be out there hurting and we're sitting here.”

“Maybe we shouldn't sit here?”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes opened and she turned to me.

“Would you rather lay here and wait for her until we're old and wrinkly?”

“Harry…!” she gasped. “That's not fair. You know I'm doing my best.”

I shook my head this time and sighed.

Intertwining my fingers inbetween her delicate digits, I brought up the closest of her hands and caressed its top. I peered at her, “And, I want to be with you—and do things with you—“

“You are undeniably the one person I love more than everyone else, but Harry…,” Those big, brown saucers twinkled with tears. “She's my best friend, and I've only one of them. It's been so long, and I just want her to be safe.”

***

The Dutchess, London

Flaming locks of hair dipped back and swayed when she finished the glass. She sat the glass down on the sticky, abused bar, balancing herself by her elbows. She could feel the slime beneath her skin, huddled up in a corner of the pub drinking her life away. She raised just a finger, having ordered her number, and the one-eyed bartender did a nod and began serving up another whiskey and cola.

Gin's muddled sight peered over at the other sort, some rather fond of her presence as they watched her. A group of rather dingy, unsuited men years ahead of herself ogled, their years unbeknownst to their lust. Or, they could've been concerned albeit with…steady attention. Gin gave it no bother, knowing her way—or thinking she did. Having been through all that she had, and now fallen into that dark morass those others of once were spoken about as headlines after the War many years ago. Alcoholics. Drug-seekers. The mind-numbing affects to persuade the mind to not think—or not want to think—about all that has happened, had happened.

And, so as the bartender slid down her fourth whiskey and cola, she grasped its consuming cold, the cool condensation at her fingertips, and tilted her head further back.

When she had set her new, and now empty glass, down atop the counter, hiccupping, she wasn't prepared for the person who had sat down next to her. The patrons of the bar had stayed out of reach, their eyes the only connection as of now. So, as her sluggish stance fell back towards the countertop, and her falling eyelids drooped as well, she nearly fell out off her barstool when an old man beside her lifted his hand and asked for:

“Lemonade, please.”

She hadn't seen him since she'd gotten there, and knew not a single soul had entered for a while. The air inside would grow ever deeper in chill when the door would swing open and close, and the pub had continued to be just slightly above freezing to her bones. Buried in her clover coat and hood, she hugged herself and observed the old man retrieve a pocket watch from inside his pin-striped suit.

He took his bowler hat off and set it atop the counter, a shine to his graying hair reflecting off the poor, dim light.

“I hope I'm not too late,” he sighed. He had a certain… Gin didn't know what. His face held his age, but he seemed…almost youthful. He didn't hold himself like the other older men—and there were enough to compare. His features wrinkled, his eyes wise with history, he looked over at her and smiled. He said while putting his pocket watch away, “My friends, you see. I'm to meet them, but I haven't the foggiest idea where Park Lane is at.”

Gin chuckled. “…You're a little overdressed and out of the way for visiting Park Lane.”

The old man leaned back to get a good look of Gin, which reminded her of her current environs. She remained on defense with or without liquid courage.

“I apologize,” The old man noted her manner and sat back comfortably as he was. “But, in the light you hadn't looked like someone I knew until you turned to me and—“

“Look, Mister,” Gin didn't find it at all amusing for a man of his age to be coming onto her whether it be in this hole in the wall or the next. So, she shut him down. “I don't know who you are and I don't care. I wish only to be left alone. Park Lane is on the other side of London, and is worth mentioning; you've taken a wrong turn and you're about to take another.”

The old man just smiled. “…You look just like my daughter.”

“Here,” he offered a flourish of his hand a moment as he delved back into his coat pocket. Ginny's brow rose, and to say she wasn't taken by the sudden…turn of events could have been considered whiplash. She resumed her withdrawal to the man until he procured a wallet and showed her a girl who could have been her…

…If she looked opposite in every way, Gin mused.

The old man looked happy, however, and divulged his sincere smile with stories of his daughter's life. The warmth of the occasion became almost instant as she suddenly realized how the charm of the father figure lulled her away from the empty whiskey glass staring at her to the genuine questions she asked the old man about his daughter, and then his daughter's whereabouts.

The old man drew in a breath, and then let the breath out slowly. “…She was brutally assaulted.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Taken away…in her youth and the innocence of her life.”

Gin kept quiet not knowing what to say.

“We loved her,” The old man's eyes drifted away from Gin and across the bar at the lines of alcohol gathering dust, and then back again. “Which is why, I guess, I took a liking to you. You look so much like Ana.”

Gin's smile was brief and faded.

“And I wonder if, like myself, if I knew my daughter was in a rather…unpleasant pub…what I would be thinking. Or, why she was visiting such an…unwelcome estate.”

“I've no family left…,” She didn't know why she felt at ease and opened up to the man…maybe it was because she felt that bond, as if she knew him in another time, another place, another universe entirely. “My mother…”

Gin's eyes washed over with memories as she gazed at nothing in particular until she was met with her image staring back at her in the mirror. She looked tired, exhausted, and…broken.

“…My mother utterly abhors me. I believe if she could she'd outright strike me from our family tree. I've done…things she doesn't agree with, things she didn't want me to do—but I wanted to do—and I've made my fair share of mistakes—“

“We all have,” Addressed the old man, making Gin look back into his caring blue eyes. “It makes us human, and no member, family or friend, should ever abhor one another because of it—even if that mistake is grave. There should be a sense of understanding, trust, and love for one another. That is what breeds its brother.”

“And father…,” She just shook her head. “He puts up with mum. He loves me, but I do not know to what cost. I've spoken to him, and he knows what's in my heart and how I feel and… But he's married, and I guess he's happy where his daughter is not. And, why would she when her mother absolutely detests her?”

“May I ask what your father told you when you told him your true feelings?”

“That he loved me.”

“And, what did you say in return?”

Gin looked away and across the room at the patrons watching the duo, and quite the pair: a bedraggled ginger and a dapper man of at least a hundred years.

“…That I loved him with all my heart; but, I couldn't, wouldn't take mother anymore. I cannot live as a human being, let alone as their sole daughter, in that sort of atmosphere. Either I'd attempt the inevitable, or she would.”

“I wish I had a mum,” Gin tried to smile, looking back over at the old man watching her like his own. But the smile fell. Tears were evident in Ginny's eyes, but her stubborn Weasley-way kept them from trickling down. “I do. I wish I had a mother, and a father who understood…”

“…Like I can sense you did with yours.” Gin's sight kept to his and between them but breath was heard.

The old man finally glanced from her and around the odious pub, and then shot back to her. “Why did you come here?”

“Because…,” Gin laughed a little in her breaths. She shrugged. “It's the only place that didn't question me when I ordered a drink.”

“You have friends? Loved ones who you know care about you and look out for you?”

Gin drew in a deep breath and let her words out within the exhale. “I don't think any of them want me around right now… I've done, said, so many things that were cruel and unforgiving. I've done the unspeakable for the people I love, the person I loved, and…”

“…I don't think I would want to be around myself, honestly.”

“I believe they're out there,” The old man leaned into her and lowered his voice. “Those that care about you.”

He poked her arm.

“Those who—right at this very moment—are thinking about you, have thought about you, and wish you'd come home to them.”

“And, I believe…,” He leaned back away from her and took a long sip of the lemonade of which had been sitting in front of him. “You know in your heart that that is truth.”

He set the mug down and wiped his mouth with the backside of his pin-striped sleeve.

“You don't want to be here anymore, be like this and think like this anymore—just like I wouldn't want my daughter to be, so do this old bloke a favour and go to them.”

He leaned into her as he stepped off his barstool and looked Ginevra in her eyes for she'd lowered them when he stood. “…They await with open arms, those loved ones, your friends, that you call home.”

He stood back up and gave a little stretch, pulling at his grey beard with a hand. He looked behind him and out the pub window and the ice of which collected on the panes. “You said Park Lane is just off that way?”

In a trance, thinking of Hermione and Harry, Gin shook out of it to answer, “Yes, yes—just take a left and go west. When you've met the lights and lavish homes, you'll know you're there.”

“Thank you,” He bowed to her, reaching out with his hand.

She reached out to shake it and the old man placed his other warm hand on hers.

“You'll be okay out there in the real world,” How his eyes met with her led her to stay locked, if not for that moment, again, having thoughts that she had seen this man somewhere in her history before. But she couldn't quite put her finger on it…

“Go home,” He shook her hand, encapsulated with his own. “You don't deserve to be in this place. You're a wonderful, beautiful person, and you need to be around people who tell you that truth.”

She nodded, not believing herself at first, but when the man continued to stare into her did her nods become more hopeful.

“Promise an old man?”

“Promise,” the word came out before she could think.

The old man smiled. “Well, I must be on my way. Thank you again for the directions, Miss…?”

“Weasley.”

“Weasley,” the old man smiled and nodded. “And, thank you for hearing an old bloke out.”

Gin stood and watched the old man wonder out into the cold London landscape. She leaned into the bar and watched his figure move across the window and out of sight. Inside, her mind continued to retrieve pictures of all the older gentlemen she'd encountered in her life and compare them to the one who had been talking to her.

She dismissed the stranger, thinking, again about Hermione, about Harry, and about herself. She thought about Neville, and how much she loved him… She thought about how she wished she could relive memories she tossed to the side, and how she could mend those memories to how she felt now. However hardened on the inside she was, her Weasley might finally succumbed and let drop a tear.

She wiped her cheek with the backside of her coat pocket and went to go home, to pay her tab when she noticed the bowler hat the old man had left. She dropped whatever money she had on the counter, grabbed the hat and made for the door.

She thought maybe she could still see him down the street, still see him walking in the direction of Park Lane. She wrapped herself tight in clover, pulled the hood down over her head, and shouted out into the frigid, England countryside, “Sir!”

She was only met with stares from onlookers, especially seeing as she'd come from a seedy pub. She looked around at those that stared, thinking maybe one of them could be him…

None were.

She looked the hat over, believing she could find maybe something there, something to track the man down or at least to give a clue to the police where the old man could retrieve his rather expensive head piece…

Two cursive letters - P.D. - were embossed in gold in the centre of the white, silky hats lining.

Gin looked up, thinking she could possibly see him again…

…And, when she went back to look at the initials…

…Her hand was vacant.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

We were having a time with a certain crumbling scone.

Do away with the strawberry jam, every time we bit—sharing the savory cake—it'd crumble to bits. I swore to her I hadn't made it any differently, especially when she tried so very hard to catch one of the crumbs with her mouth after feeding her a bite. Instead, she almost take a bit of my shirt off and rolled on my side, laughing. We had more fun cleaning up than snacking, Crookshanks rather interested in those bits we hadn't found on the floor.

We were watching Sleepy Hollow, a movie picked out by Hermione after the admiration of Tim Burton and Johnny Depp when something that rarely occurred did:

Number Twelve's doorbell rang.

Suddenly, our life together stopped.

I looked back behind the sofa and down the hallway, or as much as I could at an angle.

And, Hermione did the same, jerking her head back just as I did.

A myriad of thoughts of what could be there ran themselves raw in my mind, and as sooner as I began to deduce those thoughts did I feel Hermione quickly get up.

“Hermione!” I was up now, taking hold of my wand which lay on the side table adjacent to the sofa.

She had already rounded the sofa and was four steps away from the hallway. “It's her!” she repeated, backing towards the corridor. “It's her, Harry! I swear it is!”

“After what we've been through nothing is set in stone!” I shouted. More or less leaping over the sofa, I found footing and grabbed hold of her hand.

“Harry!” she tugged at my firm grasp, but I wasn't about to let go.

I had my wand at the ready at my side and continued to peer down what seemed like the longest hallway built.

Only a few people could openly see Number Twelve, and of those I knew they'd contact us beforehand and not use the antiquated doorbell. If so, I'd have known about it, such as during holidays when I knew more than a couple people would show up. And, I wasn't about to let her ran to the door and fling it open just to see a Death Eater, or worse, behind it. We had security, I knew this, but what I didn't know is if there was a possibility—even the slightest—that one, or a dozen, could be standing in wait. They were bold enough to do it, which was for sure.

“Stay here.” My vigilance left for her.

“But, Harry, it's—!”

My eyes went back to the door, and then back to Hermione. This wasn't the time for arguments, and I was more than whipped up into frenzy because of the mystery. “Stay right here, damn it!”

I shouted at her, which was another strange occurrence amongst the new pattern. Hermione went silent, and I knew—or hoped she knew—my shouting meant well. I did rub off that rebellious spirit, but be damned if something would happen to her after all this.

She did as told, staying feet behind me, and when I had a hand on the doorknob she said in plea, “Even if this isn't—and I know it is—Harry, the powerful enchantments Dumbledore placed on Number Twelve! But, it is her, Harry! It is!”

I looked back at her, and with my wand-hand placed a finger upon my lips to shush her.

I really disliked, hated even, acting like this…but I couldn't and wouldn't take any chances.

I could feel the sleet hitting the door, the frigid London atmosphere on the chilled metal handle. I took a deep breath and readied that spell, if it came to it, on the tip of my tongue.

I let my wand swish down and heard all the various locks undo.

Slowly, I opened the door and within an inch or two yelled louder than the pelting, frozen raindrops, “Who is out there?!”

“It's Ginny!”

“Harry!” Hermione begged, nasally.

“Riddle's Diary, how was it destroyed?!”

“Basilisk tooth! And I was possessed by him, Voldemort! And, I hated myself all summer until the following school year when you took it upon yourself to find me and tell me you understood, and we're not all perfect! In the Gryffindor Tower, just before I went off to Muggle Studies which I slept in, and—“

I flung the door open, and standing there soggy and saturated to the bone was a very waterlogged and shivering Ginevra Weasley. She looked like the epitome of dishevelment, and as pale as she'd ever been. Before I could take her in on my own, Hermione pushed me aside and pulled Ginny into her arms, soaked and all. Ginny began to buckle in Hermione's arms, dragging her further into the cold rain. I was there in a hasty second, taking Ginny's lifeless, frozen form from the mistreatment of London's proper winter weather and into the warmth of Number Twelve.

When Hermione shut closed the door, following my shadow inside, I heard all those various locks latch back and my home became, once again, that fortress of the Order.

***

At the Minister's Chair, Ministry of Magic

“I'm glad we're able to speak in such…frank terms.”

Malfoy, sitting back in the Minister's Chair, looked across the Minister's First Desk, and into the smoldering shine of Balthier's luminous eyes within the play of shadow and light. The fireplace cast the single light in the office.

He folded his hands in his lap and replied, “I understand previous Ministry's had…difficulties with your kind and wish to amend any wrongdoings. I wouldn't consider the likes of Fudge or Nolpho examples.”

“Cowards, one more evil than the next…I don't sense that from you and your Order.”

“I'm pleased to hear that, and wish to work with the Elves in any matter.”

“We must lean on each other in these fragile times.”

“Indeed.”

“Which is why I must issue a warning, for our kind is at a loss of words…”

Malfoy instantly sat up, those folded hands now beneath his chin. “…Please, continue. You've my full attention.”

“Some of our men have come down with a sickness we know not of, and it has truly baffled even our most intelligent medical minds. We're going to tap on our American brethren, but as you've encountered something similar…”

“…We have?” Malfoy asked, perplexed as he tried to discern the warning.

“Maybe it better if we were in a proper setting,” asserted the Elven Ambassador. “Could we possibly move this conversation down into your medical facility, but remain…consciously intimate so we do not…disturb a potential sleeping beast?”

Malfoy kept silent a beat before nodding, “Certainly, we'll leave at once.”

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

(Hermione's Perspective)

I'd come from our upstairs bedroom with clean clothes for Gin. She'd come in benumbed and hypothermic. She came in with tears, and my heavy heart cried with her. I tried to stay calm, but be damned if I wanted to break right along with her. My scuffle with Molly kept creeping up in my head, and I knew why Gin had run… I knew it personally, for I'd done the same, and it tore me to pieces, too. Like her, and like so many others, I wanted to—needed to—be for her.

And so when I came through the partially-opened guest bedroom door, shutting it back at that slight angle for privacy, I went straight to the lavatory door. I left her with a hot shower in those few minutes as I gathered up comfortable sleepwear for her. She said she had her belongings in an enchanted bag, citing me for the knowledge and inspiration all those years ago. But, I told her we'd unpack tomorrow, or whenever—right now there wasn't anything else that matter more than her well-being and state of mind. And, friendship, as I offered companionship in these sad moments.

I stopped, for I couldn't hear the sound of the running water anymore.

I put my ear to the door, and when I did heard what I dreaded.

Crying.

I didn't bother knocking, taking hold of the knob and entered. “Ginny…?” I asked cautiously, closing the door behind softly.

The misty silhouette of her form still stood in the steam-covered shower, but her hesitant breaths and sniffles were more than enough for me to progress inward. I placed the sleepwear on the sink counter and found the clean towel hanging up on the wall. I think she tried to say my name, but all that came out were hiccups.

I pulled the door open and coaxed her to me, wrapping the white towel around her snugly and bringing her to the loo where she sat. She trembled, a complete mess, but her skin had definitely warmed to a suitable temperature rather than the Weasley-red icicle we had found on our doorstep.

Kneeling to her level, I sat on the heels of my feet and ran my hand up and down her back, just being there for her. My heart twisted and turned, knowing and consoled by the fact that she was here with us, me, in front of me…but nevertheless with the knowledge of her elopement to McLaggen's and that of which she told me about her mum. How Molly treated her, like an outcast, the very words used verbatim boiling my blood.

The more I thought in that moment about what I'd done I began justifying my actions. I hadn't buyer's remorse, and I swore there wouldn't be an apology after this.

“…I know I asked this before,” I began, trying to soothe her by touch and by presence. “But you should tell us if he hurt you. I will personally rip him a new arse, or at least hold him down while Harry does the bidding.”

Ginny shook her head and tried to calm herself long enough to speak. “I—I—I'm just so embarrassed, `Mi…”

“There's nothing to be embarrassed about. I love you, and Harry loves you. We think nothing less of you. At all.”

Her reddened, puffy eyes looked up at the ceiling, her chest heaving. “I did it—I went right back to him. Cormac. It felt so easy—to leave—to leave—leave—“

“Just slow down…,” I could tell how hard it had become for her to open up. “…Take your time.”

“And, I fucked up—I messed up—I confessed my heart, fucked up my relationship with Neville, and went to Cormac because I knew he had what could take it all away. Just take away the pain, and it felt good—until I woke up and it wasn't—wasn't at a—a—all…”

She looked at me, her eyes bloodshot from all the tears. “I promised you I wouldn't anymore, and I did—and I—I—I…”

“Shh… Shh…,” I rubbed her arms, her hands to keep them warmed up. I held onto her hands and squeezed them in mine. “I love you, and everything's going to be okay now.”

With tear-stained cheeks and sticky, matted Weasley-red in patches up, down, sideways, and across her face, she looked back up and then back down at me when she said in near-whisper, just for me to hear:

“I had sex with him, `Mi… A—And, I don't remember if he used protection…”

***

(Hermione's Perspective)

“Is everything okay up there?”

Ron had come when he heard the news Gin left McLaggen's and was now safely with us. He said he'd been at the Ministry with Luna, discussing something… I hadn't the foggiest idea, and rather jumped from rock to rock, memory to memory on the murky lake of which became sudden reality. I pressed by him in the kitchen's entryway where he stood talking quietly to Harry. Harry had been fixing a pot of beef and vegetable stew, something rich with nutrients and vitamins, and was hot on this gelid, numb night.

“I don't know—,” I'd been in the apothecary cupboards and had my hands full with the beginnings of a composition better suited for the…female aspect of society. I knew the men wouldn't know of this certain mixture, and never did I think they'd even ask what it was all for—or at least by the notion of testing for pregnancy. I'd have said it was for scrapes and bruises, or something along those lines, making something up for the time being—maybe. But then those consequences had their own…

I couldn't think!

“Where's the vanilla extract?” I went from one kitchen cupboard to the next, looking through all the spices and tripping over Harry to get to more. I snapped when I couldn't find the damn bottle and flared up at Harry when he got in my way again. “Where the Hell is the damned vanilla extract?!”

I didn't even think he was getting in my way because…

…He had found it, handing it to me guardedly.

“What did he do, Hermione?” I heard Ron from behind me, looking slowly from Harry's concerned eyes, and back down at the bottle of vanilla extract now in my hand. “I'm not as daft as I was before, remember?”

“Why are you making a potion, love? Is Ginny hurt—did McLaggen hurt her?”

I almost dropped the contents jostling in my arms when I put a hand to my furrowed brow, trying to think, trying to figure out, adding and subtracting, multiplying and dividing the equations to get the precise product I wanted when—when—

It'd come out sooner or later, and I couldn't control my own emotions in the moment.

“She might be pregnant, and—“

“WHAT?!” Ron sputtered, and grew angrier by the second. “THAT SON OF A BITCH!!”

“I don't know!” I shouted back at him, my eyes lit and large. “I don't know! Just let me fucking do this—one fucking step at a time—please!”

Harry just sort of stood there, agape.

He could've been thinking anything, and Ron, Ron fumed.

But, I had one damn job to do—and he was in my way.

“Move!” I pushed Ron out of the way with a shoulder and hustled on upstairs to where I knew Ginny waited patiently…and scared.

I was scared, too.

***

(Hermione's Perspective)

“You're just going to put a drop of this on your tongue, and—“ My hands had shaken all through the crushing of the assorted herbs, the sifting through of vials labeled with this and that, and books—books—books everywhere describing pour this then wait this time while warming this up with tepid water here. The vanilla extract was added at last, and according to this book all that was needed was for her to taste it…

…And, if the taste ended up sour rather than sweet…

…We'd still have to go to the St. Mungo's, or the Ministry, or somewhere else for validation. This was just a household test, something I never thought I'd actually have to do—something girls like us in school would giggle over for we'd never be in this predicament. We were perfect little…perfections… Or, something. Something ignorant with the realities of life. That, anything could happen. Anything.

“I just—like—I just—“

“Yes—just like—“

“But what if—“

We were fumbling around, her and I, with myself doing most of the fumbling as my nerves were shot and I finally had to clear the air with a shout I certainly wish in retrospect I hadn't done:

“Just put a drop of it on your tongue for Christ's sake!”

Gin just looked at me with those big cinnamon-ochre irises scared simply to death at everything—everything going so fast.

“I'm sorry,” I immediately apologized, shaking my head. “I'm sorry, I just—I don't know—I'm supposed to be the calm one!”

“…I don't know if I'm ready for—Or—Or if I'd be even capable of…”

“I know…,” I brought her to me and hugged her, and hugged her tightly. “But whatever happens, Gin, I'll be there for you—we all will.”

“A drop on the tongue…?”

I nodded, watching her take her pinky and dab it inside the stone mortar.

“Christ, it smells…”

In fact, the whole guest lavatory had that…odor.

I didn't say anything, just watching her close her eyes and place her pinky in her mouth.

“If it's sour—but if it's sweet—“

I stayed in my knelt stance toilet-side and kept careful sight at every miniscule detail Gin gave off. Any quiver of her lips, any gag, any BLECH! from that horrid taste would indicate…

My eyes lit up when her watery eyes shot open and her pink tongue slipped out, the universal sign that what she tasted wasn't pleasant at all. She made that noise, that sensation that what she tasted was absolutely gross…and everything, just everything dropped to the pit of my stomach and out my feet.

I leapt and hugged her, and she started crying…

…And, so did I.

***

McLaggen's flat, Sheffield

The glow of the red-and-blue lights of Muggle police cars rotating against the blackness of the night led the curious watcher to his or her window. A small few strayed just outside, maintaining distance from the freezing rain pouring down in the midnight. Emergency calls streamed in from every corner of town after a tumultuous noise of what sounded like an explosion rocked the suburbs of what typically garnished the quiet part of town.

The door to McLaggen's flat had been blown off its hinges, and a rather ostentatious, splintered hole now became the main entryway. The deluges of frozen drops easily fell onto what could be seen as the hallway into the abode, the carpeting and walls dowsed with dripping wetness.

The lights inside continuously blinked on-and-off, and the worried police officers took studious effort to keep the populous calm and hollered by bullhorn for whatever or whoever to, “Come out with your hands up!”

A rather white, naked male raced out into the night covering his privates with merely his hands. With no material to his name, he yelled for the confused, befuddled police that the intruder was still very much inside. The police ordered the very naked male to put his hands up, the red-and-blue lights pulsating against the hue of his white skin so alike the pulsation surrounding the neighbourhood.

The male youth pleaded, taking but one hand from exposing himself utterly to the world and everyone watching to point up at the bedroom window, the one large window facing the street.

And, at that very moment the glass from the bedroom window blew out. The flat groaned and shuddered, the foundation falling to another explosion, this one with fire, grandiose flames and smoke lifting high into the night's sky.

The male and the police unit were taken off their feet, dropping to the ground.

The earth shook around them as the flat crumbled to a fiery dust in front of their very eyes…and not a soul but the naked male came off as culprit number one.

***

{Music: AWOLNATION - Sail, Rockers Hifi - Going Under, Audiomachine - The End is Near, Audiomachine - Breath and Life (Gin and the mysterious encounter scene), Jon Secada - Just Another Day, Natalie Imburglia - Torn, Sheryl Crow - My Favorite Mistake, Meredith Brooks - Bitch, Coldplay - The Scientist, Robbie Williams - Angels, Deathly Hallows Part 1 Soundtrack - Obliviate}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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82. Invisible

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Eighty-two - Invisible

***

Aboard a Delta flight over St. Louis, Missouri

A mother, one of the four hundred sixteen people inside the airliner, looks from her husband asleep on his fist with a smile to her two children. One, a little boy, has fallen asleep. He lies soundly on his father's side. The teenage daughter has taken to her, sleeping in embrace. She looks from them to her book she was reading when the pilot chimes in over the speaker system.

“Good morning folks,” the pilot is quieted, almost in a whisper at the late hour, after midnight on the west coast from where they've left. They head towards the east, a flight to New York City. “I apologize for any interruption I may have caused, but I would like to say for those who are up still: if you look out the window you can see below the city lights of St. Louis and a very bright Gateway Arch.”

The mother sits near the window and adjusts a bit to see what the pilot describes as she's never been to St. Louis, nevertheless seen the city from above.

“St. Louis's famous Gateway Arch, built in 1965, was of the architectural mind of the Finnesh-American architect, Eero Saarinen. Made up entirely of stainless steel, The Gateway Arch is the largest man-made structure in the United States. The year of the Gateway's debut nearly 700,000 visitors saw its grand design. Now millions of visitors come to St. Louis with the Gateway a top destination spot. Those visitors can take a tram up to the peak of the arch where there is an observation deck. One can see the beautiful city of St. Louis for miles and miles…”

While passengers slept and listened to the pilot's US trivia…

Precipitation fell heavily upon the shadow buzzing, zooming from cloudburst to cloudburst. Lightning would strike, and those zipping around in the skies would see its foe. The menacing glow from behind a Death Eater's mask would shine, affixed to the courageous, battled sworn heroes riding behind what could be considered as the American Auror team on broomsticks. Those on this side of the world weren't isolated from their allies, having knowledge rogue Death Eaters would be and were attacking those without the prowess they possessed.

Muffled amongst the booms of thunder were the sounds of miniature explosions, when spell would conflict with spell and created a sight only a Muggle would see as fireworks. The lightning flashes veiled those, as the multicolour blended into the mighty cirrus covering the rainbows of shots. A line of orange collided with a burst of infamous green, the Death Eaters moving farther and farther towards the airplane. The minions egged the heroes on, their trails of black shooting spiraling downward and around the belly of the plane. The broomsticks followed in posthaste, the teams check-mating the Death Eaters' moves. One would fly at them head on while another would strike the provocative monster on his side like angry wasps protecting their hive.

“Cowards!” Shouted one from the American team.

“Ci air kyl syrdas si vali!” [He is going toward the plane!]

An Elf, in the fully soaked garb of his kinsmen, pointed in the plane's direction. He hung onto his comrade-in-arms, unable to meet the height requirement alone. The American agent pulled back his acceleration, chasing after another trail, to see a wake of darkness fall fast towards the surface of the plane. From their closeness one could only see the lights on in every cabin, but they knew each light represented an innocent.

“Kaer ti tyraes!” [Get me closer!]

The American doubled backwards, looping upside-down in hot pursuit of the one Death Eater that had made his choice and finally followed up on their threats to their unfortunate realization. Other broomsticks began to do the same, leaving behind those who had been duping those to follow them away while a fragmented few broke off to attack the helpless.

“They've nothing to lose and we have everything!”

Dodging nature's wrath, the bolts of lightning became obstacles alongside the wind and the rain beating down on them.

Winks of multicoloured light glistered against the blackness surrounding them. The Death Eater's so hell-bent on directing their attacks out on the plane didn't see the flight of those coming in from the right and left, those wasps taking one right after the other out of the sky. From the dozen became the few. The trails of black smoke lessened, and those in chase seeing only the smiles of the remaining Death Eater's as they plummeted towards the top of the plane.

The Americans dropped closer, and as if with one mind, the Elves riding sidecar leapt from the backs of the brooms. Like human projectiles, they plunged as well, rolling, tossing, and turning to bend precisely enough so their bodies would fall at its fastest. And again, like hive-minds, they all reached for their belt of tricks and grabbed hold of something rope-like. With an appendage resembling a variety of suction cups, they swung the rope-like material forward to see the appendage cling quick and secure to the white metal. The lines yanked them in the direction of the plane, shortening its length on its own.

Agile and acrobatic, the Elves synchronized their actions with the rope tight to their belts, knowing well their fate. They landed when the Death Eaters did, though with much more grace than their enemies. The Death Eaters thumped hard against the steel, hanging on by finger tips as they regained balance enough to see a line of Elves, arrows at the ready.

The volley began, the Elves not only on offense, but defense. As one Death Eater would fire a spell at them, his brethren would do the same towards the plane. At just the right angle, Elven arrows would displace the magicks, and that spell, and the next, would shoot off and away from the cabin.

The Death Eaters had educated themselves on the art of defense as well. Outside of curses shattering the magic-infused arrows, they maintained a strong ward in protego, its clear, water-like absorption slowing down the momentum of the many darts.

After a while the Elves showed their strength in out-witting the magical youth, not just through aggression, but through their wisdom in dueling. A shield bearer keeping protego in check for the left side of the Death Eater flank was taken out, an arrow piercing through his mask and out the backside of his skull. The Death Eater, in obvious pain, immediately lost his equilibrium and was sucked into the void of night.

With the left vulnerable, the Elves shot through the offense with extraordinary ease. The right side tried to pick up the slack, but the shield thinned in regard to broadening the area. With less men fighting, less counter curses were able to combat the incoming missiles until one fell, and then his partner, thrown into the violent, whipping winds.

With the last Death Eater lonesome, the mask merely pointed his wand down at the airliner in one last ditch effort to destroy the plane when what was his face exploded into messy chunks. The spell, even without being casted, lasted in the Death Eaters' determined breath. What came in his undeniable tenacity shook the plane, the Elves having to plant themselves firmly until their American brothers and sisters swooped in to pluck them from the speedy craft…

Back inside the plane…

Those who slept immediately were woken.

The plane jostled, a rumble shaking the plane's insides. The mother's feet vibrated on the floor, and when she looked back up saw her husband's frantic hold of his son. Her daughter grasped her mother, but in all, the tempestuous wobble only lasted a second…

Though more than enough for everyone, including the pilot who sounded just as perturbed:

“Uh, folks—we apologize for the disturbance. Slight turbulence from the weather. We've been flying around a patch of thunderstorms atop St. Louis metro and up at this altitude even a powerful gust can project from its epicenter all the way out here…”

“Sir,” the Co-pilot said after said after the captain followed up on his explanation. “The radar has us away from the most dangerous parts of the storm. How could there be any—?”

The captain turned to him in a way that suddenly shushed him. “I've been flying for twenty-five years, thousands of flights. I know, as well as you, that we're completely safe out here. But, to say that—they wouldn't understand—“

“I don't understand. Why not tell them the—“

“Because the weird and the odd scares people,” the captain stated sternly. “To say `we don't know'… We might as well say outerspace creatures were frolicking on the roof!”

***

Visitor's Waiting Room, St. Mungo's

Two middle-aged witches in full wardrobe study a news broadcast via a television positioned on the centre wall for all visitors to see:

“Those poor Muggles…”

The WNN logo rotated in the bottom right corner of the headline feed: EXPLOSION ROCKS LONDON SUBURBS.

“…My, I sure hope everyone's safe… The world has certainly gone to Hell. Where is the hope anymore?”

WNN's Kelly Morgan seems to speaking to some Ministry official across a clear-glass desk, but the volume is so low Harry couldn't hear it. He sat secluded to himself on one of the walls facing a hallway of St. Mungo's seen behind windows. A spell had been placed on the visitor's waiting room to combat the noise from outside and inside, but the look on Harry's face showed displacement. He anchored himself on his elbow, his cheek in his hand as he watched the medical staff methodically wander by the room. The only stimuli he recollected, however, became his thoughts as he vacantly stared.

And, he had a lot of them racing in his mind.

He knew what Hermione had told him, the test result…that didn't really matter anyway. Ginny was here for a definitive result…not the household-kind. And, Hermione was with her all the way for support. That was why he was here, they were here somewhere down that hall in a room.

One Healer, and then the next, the time seemed to pass by so slowly, and they had been in there what felt like hours to Harry until—he leapt out of his seat, causing a stir to the two witches on the other side of the room.

Coming down the hall towards him was Ginny assisted by Hermione, her arms wrapped around her best friend. She looked to be talking to her in whisper, something that made Gin nod and continue to hide her face away from everyone…

…Especially Harry who had met them outside the visitor's room.

“Is everything okay?” I asked in a tone just above a hush.

We stood planted there a moment before Hermione glanced from Gin in her arms to speak to me in the same tone. “She needs her rest…”

She shook her brown curls. “She just needs to get home.”

I nodded, knowing all too well the exhaustion we all had that was so, so similar to the exhaustion held in the not-so-distant past. “Okay…”

Hermione went from Gin who did her best to hide from looking at me, and back. I nodded again. “All right… Let's get her home.”

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

Hermione crossed paths with me as she went for the kitchen. Jumping up from the sofa, having left Hermione to tuck Gin in and get her comfortable. I dropped the literature I was reading, moving from the den and into the kitchen behind her. She watched me for a second before leaning into the refrigerator to get a carton of juice, and then step onwards to the cupboards for a glass.

I let slip my hand along her back, slipping over the curve I so loved of her, as she went about pouring the glass. Leaning on the countertop, I posed a question in the silence, “Is she…?”

Hermione had finished pouring the glass of juice when she set the carton down on the countertop and stood staring into the stilled liquid. For a moment I had that something drop into the pit of my stomach till she looked at me with tired tears in her eyes. She shook her head, and it was as if breathing was finally easier.

And, her tears fell.

And, I embraced her, pulling her to me.

The tears weren't of the sad, wailing sort…but from the fatigue, the burnout we all felt. I didn't believe we had a chance to escape the hand of fate, or however one would name it, when an incident, one domino falling after the next, continued cropping up over and over and over again.

We didn't move from our spots, a hand cradling her head to me while its twin held around her waist. My fingertips felt of her and those subtle, hesitations of breath that came with being worn and tired. Caressing her crown drove her from the depths of the caverns my form created. She looked up at me, and I brushed those wild strands away from her face.

Her eyes steadied on me, and then I kissed her.

And, I felt together with her again after passing another obstacle in our lives.

She smiled after, and made a little laugh to my surprise.

She was looking above my eyes and at my hair. Her hands went there, and she said with that smidgen of smile, “With such a hasty-made potion, it certainly was a strong one.”

“Still red-headed Harry?”

“You could pass off as one of Gin's brothers.”

I kissed her.

“But much more handsome, and charming,” she added once we broke form the kiss.

She gazed from my lips and back to my jade-green eyes. “…She really needs her best friend tonight, and I can't help but not leave her side. She's been through so much, and she…”

Hermione glanced back down at my lips, and then back at me.

“…She reminds me so much of…myself…back then. And, she never left me. Not once that I can remember.”

“I'll move one of the chairs up to the guest bedroom,” I kissed her, squeezing her to me. “I can't stand being so far from you…even the breadth between our bedroom or the den would have me mad.”

“I don't ever want you to be away from me.”

***

(Hermione's Perspective)

“…I don't think I could go alone.”

Harry had come up eventually, citing how he didn't want to impede—or however one would put it—in this eggshell of an environment. He snuck in, and we knew he was modifying the chair he'd transfigured back into its original shape in the corner facing us by the padded footsteps on the hardwood floor. He didn't want to be a fragment of a second from me, and having him nearby I found comfort, too. Even Gin, though she hid away from him…

Meticulously I had smoothed out each and every one of Ginny's red hairs, her strands seemingly darker—a crimson colour—in the lightless guest bedroom. We could see each other in the small space between us, holding her withdrawn form in my arms. The whites of her eyes met mine, glancing up from the dark caverns of the sheets when I expressed in reply, “You'll never be alone… Harry and I will be with you every step of the way forward. We love you—I love you.”

“I didn't stop thinking about you, and especially where you were when you left—not one time,” I declared, staring back into those whites of hers.

Gin's voice stood on the fence between another break down. “I've been so stupid, `Mi—“

“You're not stupid.”

“I am,” She insisted. “I haven't done anything right—“

“It's okay,” Her sight had lowered, but came back to me. When we met again, I repeated, “Everything will be okay. We're family. We see each other through, for better, for worse.”

“Around every corner he tried to love me… But, never once did I accept him. And now…now…,” Her voice lessened. “…It's true… What they say is true, `Mi…”

“…When you lose something, it's then that you realize what's lost and you'll never be able to get it back.”

I thought of Harry, and…

“I just wish I could tell him I loved him, `Mi…,” she held back an inevitable cry, tears crisscrossing her milk-white cheeks. “…I wish I hadn't have left him at the altar, and how many times I hurt him, hated him, cursed him…for what?”

“I nearly lost everything—“

“You won't lose me, and you won't lose Harry. Ever. We'll always be here.”

“My insides, `Mi…,” she let her forehead rest on my clavicle. My hand rubbed the backside of her head as she did. I listened…and chimed in here and there, but really… A part of me felt a bit guilty that… Well, I mean…the man sleeping in the chair loving me, loving us… He came back to life.

“My insides… I feel like mush. Like someone has ground my insides up and there's nothing left but drippings of emotions… Neville and mum, and father, and Harry, and you…and probably a whole lot more people I can't even remember right now…”

“…I'm that monster, `Mi,” she gazed at me from the cavernous sheets. “I have become the product of my mother, just like you've joked about all these years—“

“You're nothing like your mother.”

My words came out quicker than my brain had time to process, and then I realized…

“I mean…,” I began to double-down. “What I meant was you're not—“

“I'm happy, `Mi,” she broke into my stutters. “Maybe that's not the correct term, but I'm happy that you…stood up to mother like that, for me—after all that has been said, all that I've done…”

“…You're my best friend, `Mi…”

She went to hug me, and I embraced her tighter.

That's when she let go, again.

And, I followed her.

I could feel all her pain because I'd been there.

I felt for her…on so many levels, and the reiteration of what had unfolded in the recent past made the cognizance of the moment. I wished magic would surpass mortality…in the every day. I had never heard of a book which held the secret of resurrection until it literally fell in my lap. A one in a million chance. And, I wish there were a twin—to Hell with the Dark Arts taboo. To make Gin's desire a reality once more…

I didn't even know life itself anymore, one bizarre happening beyond the next. And, all I could do—really could do—was hold her…as I did. To show her, I hoped, that I over everyone, including my beloved: I loved her, a kindred-spirit, a companion, a second-self. We had been through so much as girlfriends, things only we as women could share openly to one another… I couldn't think of a world without Ginny, or she without me.

I knew she felt the same way, too.

Grazing with the sides of my thumbs her cheeks, wiping away her tears, she looked at me within a winded breath and said so quietly, “…I don't want to be who I am anymore. I want to change. I can't be this way—I can't live my life like this, one precarious step towards Hell after the next—“

“I'll be there,” I said, tucking loose Weasley-red back behind her exposed ear. “I'll help you anyway I can. Harry will, too. We love you.”

“…I don't want to be a Weasley anymore…”

My eyes dropped back to her as they were so set in combing back Gin's locks with perfectionism. “…I don't—?”

The way she said it…sounded so sincere, like a promise more than a statement.

“Do you think you're mum and dad have room for me in your family, `Mi…?”

My heartstrings pulled.

This was a cry for help…or at least a resolution.

“Ginny, I don't—“

“Your mum and dad have known me for so long. Sleepovers and birthdays…,” She petitioned a case I hadn't a clue of… And even so, to change her surname…? I understood the premise behind such an amendment, but…

“…It would only be superficial, I know—I know. I'm a grown adult. But nevertheless, `Mi, it would mean so much to leave the Hell I endured behind. All of it.”

“Gin, I know—but your mum and—“

Gin made a gasp.

The moment became suddenly sullen all over again.

“…Must I travel down the road? You know firsthand how she treated me…”

I'd become silent in thought, calculating the next words of which would slip off my tongue, bidding enough time to think before speaking out like that again when she said in the stillness:

“…I'll just ask Harry, or I'll change my surname to Longbottom—somehow…”

“Gin, you know of everyone in the whole world that I'd want as a legitimate sister that I'd chose you…,” Her golden-brown irises descended away from my own, but when then lit back up when I offered, “…We'll talk to my mum and dad as soon as possible.”

Lying down as we were, the feat would have been a bit awkward to do for any other person than her, but Gin wasn't like any other person. From her right side, she somehow leapt off the bed while simultaneously moving every bone, every muscle, every appendage, and fastened herself so firm around me I thought I'd lose breath.

“I want to change,” she recapitulated over and over. “I do—I do—starting now, not later…”

“I want to be different, `Mi—on all fronts.”

“Just not too, too different,” I began to assert how change could blow overboard. “I still want the Gin I grew up with.”

“I want to be happy, happier… Happy like you and Harry.”

I gave her a hug. She needed the embrace and a dozen others. “I'll be behind you one hundred percent, like always.”

***

At the Minister's Chair, Ministry of Magic

“The hell were you thinking, Ronald?! Just what were you thinking when you did it?!” An irate Kingsley Shacklebolt would throw his arms up in the air, his plum robes twisting in tangles with his furious language. He glanced over at Gregory and offered his hand before sizing Ronald back up. “Hand me a parchment, Gregory!”

Ronald stood tight-lipped just inside, and had been since beckoned. His Weasley manner, or that of the steadfast conviction kept him silent. He watched them all poker-faced, and only when Kingsley had the parchment and rolled it up did something of him move.

Hoodless, when Kingsley swatted the backside of his head did a few strands of his Weasley-red mane sway.

Kingsley asserted his rage by pointing the rolled parchment in Ronald's face. “We are just one tiny slip up from the Order not maintaining the Ministry, and now we have this Cormac shouting to the hills about how you—Ronald Weasley—not only physically assaulted him, but destroyed his house in Sheffield!”

“I'd do it again.” Ronald kept the Weasley manner. His eyes, which were set on the backside of Draco, shifted only slightly to peer at Kingsley. He blinked his crystal-clear blue sight and said once more, and with authority. “If anything I held back—I should've killed him.”

Kingsley swatted the back of Ronald's head without much of any response again from Ronald. “I should forbid you from casting magicks indefinitely for your poor choices! Any bloody person against us—and there are those who still want us gone—can grab this and run with it!”

“But, I'm in Romania with my brother Charlie, remember?”

Kingsley smacked Ronald's shoulder with the parchment, and then pointed it back at him. “Insubordination, Weasley?! After all that we've given you?! The only reason why you've been able to do what you've done is through the Order, and me, all these years!”

Incensed, Kingsley shouted, “You're dismi—!”

“That's enough!”

The vehement shout came from Draco. He had chosen to isolate himself from the rabble until now. He stood with his hands on his hips looking away, thinking, when he stepped in after his thoughts played catch up to what happened behind him. With a flourish of his Ministry-emblazoned coat, and just the slightest of wobbles on his father's cane, he declared loudly, “That is enough—I won't have this sort of infighting amongst us! We must hold together, regardless of any bone-headed actions one may or may not do!”

Kingsley had turned to Draco's booming voice and said with just the same vigor, “We're already on pins and needles with the public! I am addressed not from within the Ministry—but from the Prime Minister—that one of ours is to blame for creating havoc in the Muggle world? This is a travesty and there must be consequence! We can't have our men, Aurors or not, causing relation conflicts!”

“I understand the provocations, Kingsley; but, I also understand the confession Ronald gave us.”

“Draco, this shouldn't—!”

“Kingsley!” Draco shouted down his equal, stepping to his desk. He placed a gloved hand upon the glossy sheen, the licking flames from the fire setting the patina to shine at random. “You've wished for me to step into the trousers of the Minister, and I am. Ronald will remain within our ranks until I say he is dismissed, not you. And, Kingsley—“

A quiet beat held within the Ministry's office with all eyes on Draco.

“—If you, or I, had a sister, we would have done the same.”

“Gregory!” Yelled Kingsley after another long silent beat, even though his scribe was not but less than a foot from him. He looked to his scribe, and then back at Draco when he said, “We've got work to do reassuring the Muggle world we're not some barbarians doing what we damn well please!”

Kingsley's plum robes followed him in his abrupt shuffle out the door and the Auror who maintained watch merely peeked into the office a moment, shrugged their shoulders at the scuffle, and closed back the doors.

Draco's eyes narrowed towards Ronald. In that breath before beginning to speak, he was interrupted by a voice from his side, and the only other person who witnessed the tussle:

“If I may…”

Draco flicked to his left and saw his renewed Press Minister. Her blonde hair had been straightened, and that youthful glow had brightened back in her cheeks. The white hood had been lowered, and when she spoke her intrigued, lively green eyes settled on Draco.

“…Interject, that is,” Her carmine-coloured lips parted only slightly in quickness. Draco now had his narrowed eyes on her. She drew a breath and began in proper etiquette only shown through her years of managing dissensions of interests, “Even if this child pushes a case, with or without…pressure, the whereabouts of Mister Weasley will show him far from the scene. He's in Romania…not in Sheffield.”

Draco set his narrowed eyes back on Ronald. “You promise me this won't happen again. I get your justification of why it should've been done, but you damn well better come to us before striking out on your own like this next time. They have their own terrorism out there, and we have ours, and the Order is not that kind of organization!”

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

The wet weather didn't let up in the night, the pitter-patters of raindrops now striking the windowpanes at a steadier rate. The noise of the wind against Number Twelve woke me. I sat in a somewhat awkward position in the chair. Not as comfortable, and when I went to sit up from leaning into my fist, I had to stretch out a kink in my back.

I heard the pop, and the echo, and in that moment my eyes went large at just how loud the sound my body made. I grunted, and laughed a little under my breath before standing and stretching some more. Running a hand down my pyjama shirt, something old and worn, the perception of that morning lay on my beloved curled up with the Weasley-red amongst the dark guest bed's sheets.

As I grew close, instead of seeing just two sleeping bodies—or one-and-a-half as Ginny hid to her eyelids—I took note of how Hermione held her. I heard them in the middle of the night talking. I didn't know if it was supposed to be the so-called “girl talk,” what with the rain as a certain curtain of privacy, but I couldn't help what with being feet away. I stood at the bed's edge, my hands on my hips, and just shook my head at how loving, maternal Hermione was—is—that whole-hearted, caring personality emphasized by this guiltless embrace.

I almost didn't want to… But did.

I hadn't remembered when her and I didn't sleep together, feeling that warm, softness she brought in my arms. Not to mention, her scent became more or less a utility to how I drifted to sleep. I didn't have the best nights…but managed, gave it the Potter-try.

I wanted to feel her… It may have been egotistical, but I'm only a man in the end wanting his soon-to-be wife.

With one hand balancing on the bed, I leaned forward and placed my hand on Hermione's shoulder.

It didn't take much corralling than that, that maternal instinct, maybe, that she thought it was Gin instead of my woken self. I saw her move beneath the sheets, and then saw her drop to my side and blink at me.

I smiled, and shifted more in my balancing act to give her the first of many good morning caresses.

She smiled when I released from her lips.

“…You're up,” she said in a yawn, looking back at the drizzle on the windowpanes and then back at me.

“I am.”

“What time is it?”

“Eightish,” we were both in whispers, acknowledging Gin's exhaustion. I asked the question in hopes of getting the response I wanted. “Are you hungry?”

With one arm free of Gin, and her other very much not as Gin laid on it, she lay as much on the bed as she could. She sort of played with a strand of her hair subconsciously and shrugged, “Maybe some—are you? I can fix you something.”

“Hermione…,” she knew how I was. But, if this would get what I wanted… I pushed from the bed and crossed my arms. “You can help me fix something, yes. I'll give in that much.”

I saw that eye roll, and narrowed my own in grin.

“Let me do this,” she argued. “You've done…”

Her eyes, and a tilt of her head, went to Gin.

She looked back at me. “…A lot. I want to make breakfast for the man I very much love.”

I sighed overdramatically. “Well… If you put it that way…”

“Wait—just let me—,” She adjusted, readjusted, moved inch-by-inch and slithered just enough to slip away from Gin. In her movements, she said something in the Weasley's ear which in turn made her blink open her eyes for just a second. In that second she moved from recognizing Hermione to glancing at me…and when she did, upturned the sheets and fled further into them.

My brow rose at her expedience, and when Hermione turned back to me, sliding off the bed and standing up she drew her finger to her lips. She grabbed my hand and led me out quietly, and down the staircase even quieter.

“What was that about?”

“What?” Hermione looked back at me in her trek. How she looked…she looked as if she knew not of what I spoke.

As if she could feign ignorance…

She couldn't, and tried, failed, especially with the nervous twitch she did, tucking hair behind her ear.

“Hermione…”

We had made it into the kitchen when Hermione spun around and took both my hands in her. She backed into the countertop, before the sink, and I fully took advantage of the situation she put me in. Slipping my fingers through hers, I eagerly set them just below those perfect breasts and let them fall ever-so-gradually down to her hips where I squeezed.

I patted her hips and squeezed her again, making her at first close her eyes, and then immediately reopen them. “You know what I'm asking. Spill it.”

She pointed at me. “This is just between you and me…”

I looked up at the ceiling, a tinge of frustration in my tone. “Who in the world would I tell?”

“Honestly…” My eyes set to her.

She put her hands on my pectorals, looked down at the kitchen floor, and then up again at me. “Well… It would get out between us three anyways…”

“I'm assuming eventually, sure,” I kept my eyes on her. “She's very despondent of me. I haven't done anything to her. She's the one—“

“You haven't,” Hermione interjected. “But, what you have done is set a precedent, a positive standard, and she's embarrassed.”

“I set a positive standard…,” My eyes left her, but in brief, rolling my eyes and my head at the same time. “Come on, Hermione—I'm just me. I don't call for anyone to do more than they ever wanted to. I never expect anything else, nor am I the perfect pedestal for…positivity…”

I looked at her again. “…Now say that three times fast.”

She smiled and sighed. “…I guess she looks up to you in a way.”

“I'm not—“

“Heaven forbid!” Hermione gave my chest a pat. “I know… Christ, who would want that on their conscience? An honorable, courageous, fearless man thought of not anything less…”

I squeezed her hips, and she smiled.

Slowly I took her into my arms, falling into that wonderful descent down to her lips all the while maintain continuous contact of her, wrapped around her, and against her. She slipped her arms around my neck in synchronization as my hands found her bum. In kiss, and like any other man in love…or like any other man, period…both palms settled on each cheek.

I gave her bum a pat of acceptance that left her with another one of her spirited grins.

Forehead to forehead, our caress complete, I said to her, “…I'd like for her to look at me. I don't bite. I have nothing against her. I told her this before, and several times before that.”

“I know, I know…,” Hermione breathed. “Just allow her to go at her own pace…she's terribly fragile right now, moreso than any other time.”

“I would be, too,” I kissed her again, bringing her to me with her vivacious bum. “Lord knows if something happened to you, or—“

I'd spoken through our kiss and was interrupted by her a finger she placed upon my lips. She shook her head. “Let me deal with one thought first…”

“She asked of me something last night that I… I don't know how to approach really,” she averted the previous subject, which was for the best with our histories.

“Which was?” I asked with her fingers still on both of my lips.

I snapped at it playfully, and she pulled her finger away with a lightly laugh.

She glanced away from me, and we were silent for a bit before she turned to me and said almost unbelieving herself, “…She asked me to ask mum and daddy if they could…”

She went silent, and I didn't know if she was…processing her thoughts, or…? So, I lead on in the beat, “If they could…?”

“…Adopt her…,” her brow furrowed. “Or at least, that's what I think?”

The silence hit us again, and it was Potter who always had the penchant for breaking it.

“Adopt.”

Hermione just stared at me.

“…She wants to be,” my brow rose. “Adopted?”

“Well, think about it…,” She sighed. “I mean, her mother's a monster. Truly a horrid beast of a woman of the most ghastly sort. And her father… Best intentions, maybe, but from what she's described to me flinched to Molly.”

“Who wouldn't?” I said rhetorically. “Except for you, of course. You didn't flinch. You stood your ground, and if I could go back in time—“

She kissed me, and I went quiet during the act.

She looked me in my eyes, foreheads pressed back together.

“I can't not do this for her,” I watched the morning twinkles in Hermione's big brown eyes. “She's done so much for me, and for us, and… I just can't let her down. I'm going to talk to mum and daddy and maybe something can—will—happen. It's not like they don't know her, all the times we had sleepovers and parties and the letters—the letters, Harry, Gods! Even mum joked about us just living together, the poor owls!”

“But, she's an adult—“

“But, if I can explain the situation to mum, to dad, and get them to know the true reason behind this. You know Ginny can do as she pleases… But I can't let her travel the world alone. I won't. I won't have it.”

“She told me she wanted to change. She said she really wanted to change this time, and never look back,” Hermione's last words sounded like the drumbeat of genuine encouragement, and when Hermione said things in that way, I would follow her to the ends of the earth.

“I think it's brilliant.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” I nodded, laughing a bit because she suddenly didn't have the slightest bit of faith in my honesty. “I'll help in any way I possibly can.”

***

Hermione's familiar steps had me look up as she re-entered the kitchen. I'd been setting the table for breakfast, my beloved's cooking Number Twelve's distinct, enjoyable aroma. The eggs, the bacon, the toast sat in the middle with strawberry and blueberry jam in jars with spoons. Some tomatoes and cucumbers, cut by myself to Hermione's preference, also lay among the ceramic plates. I had put her empty plate down, mine, and had a third ready when I saw her wonder in.

Over my glasses I watched her, asking, “Is she joining us?”

“She was getting dressed when I knocked again.”

Nodding, I placed the final plate and trekked back over to the fresh pot of tea. I felt something at my back, something warm, and something soft, when I plucked the pot from the stove by its handle. I turned, and when I did found Hermione's lips on mine.

Close, we looked at one another, gazing into those cinnamon, glittering irises under the sounds of rain falling on Number Twelve. “I love you,” she said, coming down from a partial tiptoe.

We heard the creaking of the old wooden floor and turned at the noise to see Gin in blue jeans and a black hoodie. She looked loads better, having seen all but death reincarnated at Number Twelve's door, her sallow appearance appearing brighter. She had stopped, evidently coming in on our intimacy and held the frame of the kitchen entry.

Hermione broke from me when she noticed her best friend and jogged the distance. She ran into her, her arms wrapped around Gin in an embrace. Gin had to do a shuffle back, but in the end she smiled.

“If the breakfast is terrible,” Both of them glanced in my direction when I started to speak. I wriggled my eyebrows at Hermione before ending the breath with, “Hermione made it.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes in grin at me.

I chuckled, and saw Gin grin, too.

***

Quiet through breakfast, I more or less listened to the conversation her and Gin had over tea and morning literature. The Quibbler hadn't begun re-subscribing the newspaper, therefore I kept with those that were sent after…that time period. I read about how the Death Eaters rose, about Rita's love affair with Quincy Nolpho, about this…Sarilda Lestrange? Even I had to swallow the prospect of Tom Riddle becoming intimate with anyone; but then again, Bellatrix wasn't exactly human herself. More a devil than anything else.

At one point in their conversation, having been enthralled by a piece written transcribing the point of view that the goblins were in cahoots with the Death Eaters, I felt that something warm and soft again. This time, the something insulated my cool hand, the closest one to Hermione. I thought I'd be taken back, what with Ginny by her side and in view of us. I thought I'd walk on eggshells until things blew over. I thought our open public displays of affection would be limited to secrecy or behind closed doors. So, I was happy when she took my hand, lacing her wonderfully warm fingers in mine.

She didn't stop her conversation with Ginny, but I believed that was the point. There wasn't a barrier between our relationship and Ginny. There was, but now more than ever the simplest touch was needed—like I had needed her last night, and every night, and day. We were getting married soon, and my heart beat for her. I didn't so much as make a big deal on the outside, looking at her actions as she had taken my hand and lay it with hers on the table, and then atop her thigh nearside me. But it was a big deal inside to me.

And, with just that look, I began again to meditate on the descriptions in outdated newspaper…all the while giving her thigh a light squeeze in recognition and response.

“Harry?”

I hadn't noticed I'd been called until the second or third time I was beseeched. I looked up from the paper, the cup of tea to my lips. My brows rose along with my eyes drifting from the pages of moving text to Ginevra's face sculpted behind voluminous flames of Weasley-red. Her and Hermione were seated close, and they were both looking at me when I met them, my sight going to her, too.

“Hm?”

Hermione looked back at Ginny and said, “He must've been caught up in reading.”

“She's rubbed off on me.” I did a bob of the head in the direction of Hermione. “Blame it all on her.”

Hermione looked back over at me and smiled, giving my hand on her thigh a squeeze.

Bringing the cup down from the drink unveiled a smile, and a look at my beloved. My eyes then set back on Gin. “What's up?”

“If it's not any trouble…,” Gin sat with her arms together, hands in her lap, resembling anxiousness. Some sadness dawdled on the edge of her lips, and her eyes strayed from me a few times. Hermione's free hand went for Gin and began rubbing her back as she finalized her request, “…I'd like to go see him. Neville…”

“Sure,” I said without hesitation.

Her golden-brown eyes set back on me. “And, I know you won't leave Hermione's side, so…”

I looked from Hermione, and how she looked at me with a bit or nervousness herself, and then went back to Gin. “We'll be there for you.”

“…I'm going to go get ready,” Glancing at Hermione when Gin stood up, I saw her, too, turn to her friend's sudden reaction.

It almost felt like Gin had left, checked out from this period, by her abruptness.

Hermione's hand slid away from Gin as Ginny picked up her dirty dishes and started off to place them in the sink. She didn't get farther than putting her fork and knife in her plate and standing up when Hermione's hand went to Gin's arm and said, “Don't worry about it, love. We'll get it.”

She smiled at Gin, and then looked at me and back to Hermione. She set the plate back down. “It was all lovely,” she said in her exit. “Thank you for breakfast.”

We watched her form leave our sight, and then listened the footsteps of Gin grow less and less as she made her way to her bedroom. I sat there a moment, not really knowing what to say…and tried not to think about how I'd react in Ginny's shoes.

I went to stand up, but before I did felt Hermione squeeze my hand and looked back at me. Leaning into me, she took gentle hold of my cheek and brought me to her. I did the same, placing a hand to her cheek, sifting throw her silken hair after. She laid her head against me and embraced in the quiet moment before eventually standing up together and continuing our life.

***

Hogwarts Memorial Gardens

A navy-and-black scarf, a coat, and dark jeans kept out the cold. Boots kept the wet earth at bay. A black umbrella kept the deluge away.

I'd look towards the lit windows of the Great Hall, the lit little windows going up the towers, and all the lights on in the windows of Headmaster Flitwick's office. Fortunately, I didn't have to put on any facade, looking like the same ol' Harry James Potter out and about. Well, except without a scar…which I still couldn't accept. Not yet, anyway.

The day resembled midnight, concealed by inky clouds, gloomy and cold. Yet, this was the middle of the day.

I stood in wait a few yards away from Gin and Hermione. Ahead of me, and in front of them, the alabaster coffin seemed so out of place. With the environment, the brightness didn't follow the pattern of darkness…just like the rest scattered around the grounds amidst the flowers. A cobblestone path worked between the garden rows, leading to one, and then another coffin containing more of the Order, more of those who died in and after the War.

In memory of Neville Thomas Longbottom, a fierce friend and brother to us all were the words written in gold script alongside the tomb of our dear friend and lover. The freezing rainwater didn't deter Ginevra from reaching out to touch the written plaque, feeling the grooves of his name beneath her frozen fingertips. The freezing rain left for tiny streams between her fingers, but I didn't think she felt anything else but what was in her warm heart.

Hermione had an umbrella over them both, and an arm around Gin. I saw her say something to Gin, and then Ginny's flames shaking in reply. I saw Hermione pull her best friend closer, and Gin turn from Neville to hide herself within my love's shoulder. By Hermione's gloved hand running itself up and down Gin's spine I knew…

I inhaled and exhaled slowly, leaving the saddened scene to look just outside the frame of my umbrella and to the skies.

I knew somewhere Neville was there watching over Ginny.

***

Department of Mysteries, Magic and Medical-Science Division

“…Jesus Christ…” Draco was exceptionally agog. He stood, leaned close to the glowing transparent rotating image of a healthy DNA strand and that of a…sickly one. The bluish tint of the holograms lit the room in earnest, the shade expressed against the pale faces of the few, classified Britons and Elves.

“This is the miasma I told you before, Draco,” Rita's soft words echoed in the silence between each kin. “They're not fooling around anymore. They wish to destroy us, leaving the dense Muggles as fodder.”

“Our brothers who were recovered from the deepest parts of Azkaban are already dead,” issued a stifling still Balthier who had provided the image of the DNA mutation. “…Painful, it was as if their bodies consumed themselves…”

“That's because this poison seeks out Factor-M,” one of the handful of high-ranking Healers pointed to the healthy DNA strand. “Those who are above the threshold of forty-percent Factor-M are considered magical. Tom Riddle was one of only a small number to exceed one hundred percent. Even at a young age you could move mountains.”

“What does that mean for our dead?”

“Elves aren't innately magical—“

“And, therefore, cannot naturally embattle what they took in…,” Draco ushered, his eyes set on the mutated DNA strand. “…My father left me his memories, and amongst the deluge of information he handed down…he spoke of this biological-magical weaponry. But I'd never heard of anything of the sort until now.”

“…With my discussions with ranking Death Eaters, they foretold the capabilities Tom had during the First War,” Rita continued, detailing her learnt history. “He set out to cause mass genocide with this…miasma, as you termed it. He wanted to begin with the Muggles and Muggle-born first, and then those who resisted.”

“They never taught this at Hogwarts…”

“What exactly did they teach you about the Dark Arts, though, Draco? To combat it—“

“That is all…,” Draco raised the most important question. “…Where were you with this information years ago, Rita? If you knew—!”

“The blueprint for this biological-magical weapon was hearsay after all! I didn't believe it myself! Who would dare think of such a despicable nightmare?”

“Tom.” Draco voiced flatly. His eyes then lit with fire. He stumbled on his words at first, looking towards the Healer. “Does this spread?! Do we have an epidemic on our hands we know not of?!”

Before the Healer could respond to Malfoy's haste, Balthier injected, “Before we could comprehend the viability of the situation to bring you this information, our medical experts were living their lives beside those who eventually perished. We took samples and studied them when we came to this question, too, and have yet to see contamination ourselves.”

Draco's wide eyes were on Balthier. “…Because I was there, too, in Azkaban, at that fateful hour, breathing in this miasma.”

“It's in my men and women…,” Draco repeated. “…And, it's in me. I've a wife, and a child on the way!”

Draco slammed his fist down on one of the various metal medical countertops, shaking vials and other instruments through his brunt force.

“By what the Elven Ambassador conveyed, Minister,” began the high-level Healer. “There isn't suspect. You're neither sick nor fatigued, and your Factor-M levels are normalized. We must take one step at a time—“

“Haven't we learnt to synthesize Factor-M? Can't we just synthesize enough to prolong lives?”

“This is a brand new equation for us, and I can only speculate conclusions, Minister. But, I can say that the synthesization process takes a considerable amount of time. We would need time to produce enough to administer to en masse, if needed, and we've only handled enough for our top Aurors.”

Draco pulled back the sleeve of his Ministry-emblazed coat, revealing his Dark Mark whitened-scar. “When was the last time my blood has been taken for this specific examination? Use my blood to begin producing cultures—that's an order!”

The Healer at first acted slowly, but started a syringe for the withdrawal.

“Draco—“ Rita started. Draco jerked his head her way which subdued the Press Minister's voice. “…As your acting public relations minister, I must advise you from inciting any more outside the confines of this space—“

“My men may die, Rita!”

“There's no use in relaying this to the public! All this shouting will stoke a fire that needn't be!”

About to lash out again, Draco was interrupted not only by the pinprick of the needle going into the bend of his arm, but by Balthier. “I agree…”

He turned from Rita to the interim Minister. “…With your Press Minister.”

“Cowards…,” dark liquid filled the vial as Draco spoke. “…And to think, I once side-by-side with these savages—“

“As the human race puts it, Minister,” the radiance from Balthier's smoldering green eyes fell on Draco. “'If you lie down with dogs, you will get up with fleas'.”

Draco's attention drew to the Healer as she took away one filled vial with an empty one and began drawing the next. He looked back at the consort of Aurors who stayed by his side. “Round up all the men and women who were inside Azkaban. I want them all examined to the fullest extent.”

“That may be difficult, Minister, as some are on patrol—“

“Get them here—NOW!”

The Aurors saluted Draco without another word and quickly left his side, slipping into a white, opaque fog.

“I want a full report on my desk as soon as possible, too!” He had turned back to the Healer who then nodded.

“Do you believe they are capable of doing this again, Rita?!” declared a vexed Draco.

“…Quincy is dead…,” submitted a muted Rita. “…And Sarilda has perished… Do I believe a scattered group of rogue Death Eaters can redo what has been done…?”

Rita shrugged, at a loss. “I don't really know, Draco… I don't believe we're dealing with all amateurs as Ambassador Kingsley's named them.”

***

The Granger's Home

Frederick and I had just come in from entertaining ourselves with his assortment of old cars when we heard Emilie say:

“Freddie.”

It was the dismal, melancholy tone that had Hermione's father's smile wipe away like someone had slapped him. The facts were about to pour for we hadn't just come here for a visit, but for a needed reason. Hermione had me hold my tongue, asked me to not say anything before she had a talk with her mum. Not that Frederick wouldn't tolerate the conversation, but she would relay the terms in her translation. As if Hermione would talk to me about Gin, or another person, in our lives. I would understand better.

Frederick was immediate in his trot to the den's opening. He stopped, and almost trampling over him, I saw what he did: his wife, Hermione, and Ginny puffy-eyed with Kleenex tissues in their hands. Never mind the tea and biscuits on the den table lying forgotten, what was to be told had been told…with all of its truth and inquiries with it.

“Em?” He asked, flummoxed. The rag he had been wiping his hands off with he threw to the side somewhere and began deeper into the den, moving closer to his wife, daughter, and her best friend. “Are you all alright? What's—?”

Emilie stood up after dabbing her eyes clear of tears, halting her husband's advance at how quickly she moved. She trekked towards him, ushering with her hands back away from the den. While strolling passed him, she took his hand and said, “…We need to have a serious talk.”

“What's happened?” Utterly baffled, he looked back at his child, at Gin, and then to me before looking back at his wife.

“Just come with me, love…”

When I could no longer see the Granger's, I maneuvered my way into the family space, plopped down next to Hermione on the sofa and immediately hugged her, kissed her forehead, and offered my hand to Gin on the other side. She put her hand with mine, and Hermione hugged us both with open arms.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

“I can't believe he's actually allowed you to fix dinner,” Gin jested, surveying Hermione going about stirring a turkey bake with breadcrumbs. “Nevertheless stand in the kitchen.”

Shuffling her bare feet, she fidgeted, unaware that she fiddled with the edge of the countertop as she watched Hermione. She would cross her legs and lean into the edge, her flaming locks shifting over an eye as she would shift her weight from one hip to the next. She saw Hermione in profile smile, and she'd smile. Starting from the black socks Hermione wore, she gave her a once over to the break in the loose, uncovered bare shoulder of Hermione's top. She smiled again when she saw the smile still on Hermione's lips.

“It has been a rather exceptional day, hasn't it?”

Gin laughed into a sigh.

She shook her head. “I still cannot believe your mum and dad gave me a chance—”

“And, why wouldn't they?” Unceasing her meticulous work, Hermione glanced at Gin when she said this, and then moved across the stove over to prepare the oven. “You're an extraordinary woman that's been a great friend of mine since… Well, practically since we were born.”

“Extraordinarily awful,” Gin rebutted. “I haven't exactly been the best mate to anyone, especially you, for a while.”

Hermione planted her feet back on the floor after perfecting the temperature of the stove. She took the turkey bake and as she slid the dish into the oven did she look over at Gin and say, “I couldn't think of a world without my best friend, and that's truly how I feel.”

She let the door to the oven close and took off the oven mitts. She leaned into countertop like Gin and crossed her arms. “Honestly.”

“Still…”

If there was one thing Hermione could do well it was reading people, and by Gin's squirming and how she'd avert her eyes when looking directly at her… Her brow rose. “…What's up, Ginny?”

Gin made circles by fingertip on the countertop. She quickly took a peek at Hermione, and looked back at her circling finger. “…I'm not sure what to say, if anything at all, what with the new…situation.”

“My sister.”

Gin shot up at the words and couldn't help but smile.

But, the smile faded into a sigh.

“Gin,” Hermione insisted. “With all that we've been through, nothing you could say or do would conflict with what we had—and have now, especially now.”

Gin continued with her faux preoccupation…until Hermione grabbed the hand which relentlessly made invisible circles on the countertop and held it.

At first Gin didn't look up, staring at the top of Hermione's hand. And, when she did, she turned to look back in the den.

Hermione looked over Gin's shoulder at the backside of Harry's head and the flickering Quidditch game on the telly. “He's busily engaged in Quidditch right now,” Hermione coaxed. “And, it looks like the Britons are winning so until a commercial comes on his eyes will be glued.”

Gin looked back at Hermione. “I'll talk quietly…”

“You don't have to, Gin,” Hermione said in the same tone.

“But, I think I do…,” Gin's eyes averted again from Hermione and back again in a loop. “'Mi…”

“I have to apologize, really,” Gin begun, hesitatingly pulling from Hermione's clasped hand. “What I told you earlier about wanting to change, it's never been more true. But, with that change I need to confess…”

Gin crisscrossed her arms and looked at the floor. “…I mean, I don't think anyone could dismiss or say I didn't love you. I mean, genuinely love—fell in love—with you. And, I kissed you, and I made everything worse. And, now with Neville, and the circumstances moving towards these positive prospects for me and life as a whole I just—“

“Gin—“

“Hermione,” Gin lingered on, looking up at her now. “I don't think I can't not ever love you in some way, shape or form. Really, I've tried not to—and now I've asked so much from you, and your family, and—“

Gin's immediate halt came from an unforeseen embrace.

Hermione tightened the embrace, and with her securely crisscrossed arms finally let go to hug back.

“You don't have to apologize, Gin, it's okay… Nothing's going to change between us. We're going to be the bestest of friends forever,” Hermione took Gin by the shoulder and had her look right into her eyes. “Okay? We're family now! Right?”

Gin went to nod, and as her sight lowered from Hermione did Hermione follow her.

Gin nodded.

“And, with Neville…”

Hermione returned to the embrace, having Gin halt her words again.

Growing emotionless, Ginny's flaccid arms reciprocated, loosely hugging in return.

They stayed in embrace in silence but for the game on in the living quarters when Hermione ended the hiatus with a question:

“…This isn't turning you on right now…right?”

Gin pushed Hermione away, and they both laughed in smile.

“…I just needed to tell you that.” Gin ultimately said, the air regaining the sense of seriousness after their touch of glee.

“This is still our friendship, Gin,” utter Hermione, looking back into Gin's wavering sight. She grabbed onto her arms and shook them. “You can tell me anything.”

***

The War and Debriefing Room, Ministry of Magic

An image of the American Consul has just detailed a dossier given to him by the United States government entailing significant information regarding a ramp up on what they consider “soft targets”. Notably, the close call with flight 217 heading to JFK over St. Louis, Missouri.

A three-dimensional sketch of the world spins in the centre of the table, an assortment of classified parchment scattered about. A red line following the path of the airplane, and other soft target locations are dotted, varying from Britain, to the United States, cropping up in Eastern Europe and Asia, too. Eligible Task Force Team captains are on hand to listen with Draco who nods in acknowledge of the situation at hand and the realization of the new War.

“The sons of bitches won't meet us turf-for-turf, so they're going after Muggle civilians,” Draco's grasp of the table brings white to his knuckles.

“The Muggles have their own terrorist threat on hand, and it looks as if these `Death Eaters' are another product from a collective mind,” the American Consul explains, the recognition of one eerily similar to the other.

“I don't believe anyone would have expected this to happen,” articulated Kingsley. He gazed moreso at the red dots displayed over the homeland. “Can we fight an invisible enemy?”

“We do our damndest to try, Kingsley,” announced the interim Minister looking first at his Muggle Ambassador, and then at the American Consul. “This is not a British ordeal, this has become a worldwide plague.”

Draco's sight darted back to Kingsley. “And, what do we do with plagues?”

Draco pounded a fist into the table. “We eradicate all signs of it.”

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

With the remote control to the television, Hermione perused the television on this unusual, yet remarkable weekday night. Nothing was on really, or nothing that really mattered to myself when it came to the movies they clicked on by. I'd have rather watched another old game of Quidditch on the Sports Channel, but when Hermione flipped by Clueless did Gin make a noise. And, so that's what they laughed too, trying as we all did to move forward.

Today being one of those rare days when one could, especially for Gin. And, I was happy for her.

Hermione was thrilled.

On the sofa, I'd kicked the shoes off and comfortably slouched at an angle that felt good enough. Hermione took to my side as the night passed, leaned into me. Her hands, however, kept with Gin. Gin tilted into her, both sharing the Gryffindor quilt and Crookshanks. With an arm behind me, and with a foot propped up on the coffee table, my eyes would go to Hermione completely settled on me and with Gin. I'd smile, my sight wandering back to the television casually, and then to the roaring fireplace.

We were missing two, Ron and Luna, but…

This was family.

My extended family.

I'd found my extended family, and…

I was truly satisfied, even with all its ups-and-downs.

I dozed off, finally feeling enough to let go of everything if just for tonight…when I was bumped, woken by the shifting of Hermione. Crookshanks evidently woke all of us, leaping onto his mummy from the floor who had also dozed off herself. I looked over and saw Gin's eyes still closed when Hermione looked up from her sleep, and then in the direction I took. She smiled back at me.

“She's sleeping…” I whispered, yawning.

“She needs it…” Hermione whispered.

“…I'm awake,” answered Gin. Hermione and I had a laugh. Gin peeked an eye open to look at us. “But, not quite all the way…”

She yawned, making a tiny, high-pitched noise at the end that made Crookshanks look from his mummy in curiosity. Reaching high in the air, and off Hermione, she stretched and said within the adjustment, “…I think I'm going to head to bed.”

Hermione lifted from me to sit, watching Gin stretch one way and then the next. “Need me to…?”

“I'll be fine…,” Gin smiled, lurching over to embrace Hermione. She brought her to her, acting as if she'd fall back into the sofa. “…Sis!”

Hermione laughed herself into a giggle at Gin's fond, affectionate hug. “It's not like this is new—we've always been! Just now it'll be—“

“Ginevra Granger—and I'm not going to let your mum and dad down on their decision.”

“Our mum and dad,” Hermione corrected.

“Our.” Gin repeated in a great, big smile.

“They've always loved you, Gin. You don't have to be anyone but yourself with them.”

“No more drinking, no more smoking… I want to make your—our—mum and dad proud of their soon-to-be new daughter. To know that I'll be in the annual Granger Christmas card photo as a Granger this year…”

“…Mum and dad always are thinking ahead. And, you'll be right beside me with Harry and Crookshanks. But it's not just because you'll be a `Granger'—“

“I know,” Gin stopped pulling at Hermione. She sat up with her. “…But, it'll feel good knowing that I'm…accepted. That's all I ever wanted to feel.”

Hermione took Gin's hands. “Are you sure you don't want me to—?”

Gin shook her head and gave Hermione another big hug.

“I'll see you in the morning…,” she spoke just loud enough in Hermione's ear. “…Sis.”

“And, Harry,” she added.

“Yes, Gin?”

She stood up, opened her arms and did the motions with her hands, fingers ask for me to do the same.

Pushing off the sofa, I knew what she wanted—and gave it to her, giving her a hug, too.

Hermione, on the sofa between us, was the epitome of all smiles as she watched on.

“Thank you…,” She said, hugging me tight. “For every—“

The flames within the hearth erupted, sweeping a bellow of heat atop us. In the moment, even I had to close my eyes that second. Blinking out of the bedazzlement of light, I saw a portrait of a man appear amongst the blaze. Crookshanks leapt down from his mummy's lap and hissed, fleeing from the den as the portrait came into clear view.

“Kingsley…?” Hermione shot up from the sofa.

“Now I understand why Muggles prefer phones…” declared Gin. She looked from Gin, and then to me when I proceeded towards the lively face of Kingsley. She added, “Nothing like sweltering heat to end one's night.”

“Ah, Miss Granger—just the person I'd hoped to be greeted by.”

“And hello to you, too, Kingsley.”

His flickering sight went from Hermione to me, “Where there is Miss Granger there is certainly Harry Potter.”

“Isn't that the truth.” asserted Gin from behind me.

“And, Ginevra! My how your brother will enjoy knowing you're back at Number Twelve!”

“What does that mean?”

“It's nothing, Miss Weasley. Just another tiny hiccup…”

Quizzically, Hermione swiftly looked back at Gin, her long locks swaying back and forth when she renewed her watchful eye of Kingsley.

“What's wrong, Kingsley?” Hermione stood next to me, gazing as I did into the fiery silhouette of the previous Minister. Instinctively, I slid an arm around her middle as she crossed her arms, attentively listening: a similar motif and image in all our years together.

“We've begun the process of gathering those who will be speaking on behalf of Draco, and the Order,” Kingsley looked at me, and then at Hermione. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something was about to burst from my chest. Words began to form on the tip of my tongue. “Miss Granger, I'll need you to come to the Ministry to receive the updates about our situation and the future starting—“

“I'm sorry to inform you, Kingsley,” I finally interjected. Glancing from my beloved, and back to the fire did I continue, “But, we've decided she won't be participating in the event.”

Number Twelve grew intensely quiet…and cold.

Kingsley's sight bore into me. “Or, you've decided, Harry, that she won't be helping the Order retain power!”

“I fully understand what needs to be done, but for safety—“

“Safety?!” Kingsley choked. “Safety, Harry?! Who do you believe has been providing you safety all these years?! And, your fiance's?! And, Miss Weasley watching me with her soured look back behind you?!”

“I've put my foot down on the decision.”

“And,” Hermione piped in aside me, leaning on me as I held her. “I'll have to agree with Harry, Kingsley.”

“You're the smartest witch to have graced this planet, Miss Granger! Don't allow illogical thinking produce some reasoning behind—“

“Did you just call him stupid, Kingsley?!” Ginny's face appeared beside Hermione, lit so alike the licking flames.

“Miss Weasley, this does not concern you!”

“Minister!” gasped Hermione at Kingsley brashness. “What's gotten into you?”

“Harry's poisoned your mind in thinking we wouldn't provide the best safety—the same safety we've provided him, and you, and the rest! This is absurd! Absolutely absurd!”

“'Poisoned', Kingsley…?” I, too, was taken by Kingsley. “She's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I'm not going to lose her again!”

Hermione abruptly let me go, and amongst the shouting did I turn to see her leave. In haste, she was actively searching for something.

“I never believed you'd ever disappoint me, Harry—“

“Fuck you, Kingsley!”

Kingsley jerked his head toward Gin. “Predictably uncivil.”

“Says the likes of you scolding Harry after he saved all our arse's, git!”

“Gin,” I don't know why I felt the need to rebuke her words, but maybe it came with the years of respect I couldn't break even after his reprisal. “That's enough!”

“Harry,” she shot at me. “You deserve greater courtesy than what this fool's been mashing out of his hole!”

“You've truly disappointed me, Harry. I'll never forget—“

“Aguamenti!”

A gush of water splattered against the hearth, spraying mist back at us while drowning out any indication of fire from within. The logs sizzled and crackled under the sudden cool down.

Gin and I turned in unison to see Hermione back between us, her wand pointed at the fireplace. Her chest heaved, and she blew those loose strands of brunette from in front of her eye.

“…If I could've found my wand sooner, I would've ended this long before now. He had no right to spew what he said at any of us, especially you, love,” Hermione breathed.

“Are you okay?” I approached her.

She nodded her head and when the fire had been fully extinguished did she let down her aim. “And to think he's long been the arbiter between the Muggle world and ours, entitled a grand communicator. Bollocks—he's just an old fool now!”

I shook my head and hugged her, pulling her to me. “I don't think for a second he actually believed what he said. It's just been difficult for us all.”

“Well, I certainly can't find nothing to like of him now.”

We both looked at Gin.

With her hands on her hips, her eyes went from us to the dark fireplace. “Mum championed Kingsley. I get it now.”

“Please remember, he's done a lot for us—“

“No, Harry, you've gone and done more than anyone else. How many times did you put your life on the line to save us? And he has the gall to interrupt our lives to speak to you as he did…” I combed through her hair as she looked up at me, my reflection in her twinkling brown eyes. “Ginny's right—you definitely deserve much, much better.”

***

She led me upstairs briskly after the wonderful talk with Kingsley, and shut us in as swiftly as our strides. My brow rose, seeing her turn from the door and saunter her way back over. I took a step back, feeling the edge of our bed behind my legs. She grabbed my shirt and pulled me down into an all-consuming kiss. Caught unawares, but becoming quite aware, she pushed me backwards. I landed safely with a bounce, watching my Hermione and her vividly cinnamon brown eyes look at me in such a way…as she crawled slowly onto me.

With a handful of my hair, she tilted me enough to reach the underside of my chin where she began caress my throat. I begun to speak, asking my few words—“What did I do to—?”—when she covered my mouth with her palm.

She hovered over me in her signature, knowing grin.

My shirt was off, led by her instruction and hands, pulling it above my head and tossed behind her. She teased me, leading downward by hungered caresses, passion behind each of them. I tried to watch her, but saw only wild brunette tassels. I felt things loosen, I felt coolness where there hadn't been…and then closed my eyes at the next grand sensation.

I thought she wanted to be the aggressor, and I tried to allow my submission. What she was doing only increased the male eagerness, a fistful of her hair keeping the patterned rhythm of more, and more, and more… I fought the tension, straining myself from keeping to her pace… But at once I could fight no longer.

Taken up in one swoop, I had her. She gasped as I flipped us, she now in opposition. Quarreling with this silver jewelry ensemble-something she had around her neck, I then disagreed with her white shirt. I heard her laugh at the strife, and when I had her top off came to her with one of my own and kissed her. Ironically, and with ease, as we kissed my unfastening prowess slipped away her brassiere and I took utmost pleasure in diving to one, and then her other, breast.

The clothes were ripped off, thrown haphazardly in every direction. Much like us, or me, rolling, picking up and putting her down. The sheets became the enemy, and then the bed was without. On her back, on her front, on me. At one point I sat on the ledge of the bed while she straddled me with her just knees planted at my side. I held onto her securely as she bounced, having made sounds even the Muggles would hear through Number Twelve's magicks…if not for a strong muffling charm I cast in the beginning.

I felt her go more times than I thought I ever had. And each time I'd be amazed at how tightly she'd wind around me, including her arms, legs, however our position. At one point she fell away from me in her climax as if at that second she couldn't bear the fire that overcame her. She hadn't made it to the bed when I picked her back up onto her knees and sat her down again in my lap, having her erect and in line with me. I'd slow down when she'd come down one orgasm until I knew she readied for another and go at her again.

She screamed, screaming my name more than once, which made Crookshanks drop from his perch and run into the open lavatory.

With each thrust I heard the word “mine,” and all the stress left my body.

I watched her for the longest time ride atop me as I lay on the sheetless bed, rocking her hips, rolling her beautiful stomach in and out of her natural arch. I saw the beads of sweat on her, her strands wet with it. I heard her tiny little panting breaths, felt her palm my pectorals, palm my biceps, my arms, following them to my hands which held her hips. She tilted her head back, and I felt her once more. I threw her over and onto her back, driving systematically between her vice-like legs surrounding me.

I felt the inevitable, and released all that I held back.

Our heads were together, Hermione's hands inside the swath of the dampened, jet chaos.

I felt her kiss me, my cheek, the side of my mouth—anywhere she could.

Lifting to see her, I saw her tired smile and she saw mine. I tried to fix the sticking mess of what was her hair framing her face, but I laughed at the futile effort, and she did, too. She closed those gorgeous eyes when I moved up to caress her forehead, hearing her breathless. I kissed her temple, her ear, the apple of her cheek, her chin, her nose, anywhere and everywhere I could as she rested, regaining that breath.

I let myself down, and back up again, kissing along the way to her breasts, suckling what I'd already agitated during our romp. I pressed my face into her innate, feminine softness, grazing against the flawless, white skin. I took her back to me by mouth when she'd recaptured the essence and kissed her with the force of all my love for her.

***

She'd come from a hot shower and shampoo after our romp, staying longer than I had so she could do her female stuff. She hopped into crisp, clean Egyptian cotton right alongside me. Her in her adorable way did a little kick beneath the sheets, the bed linen aligned just above her lovely rump. I had my hands on her, of course, drawing a line by fingertips down and back up that indent. She lay on her stomach, her arms wrapped snugly around her pillow over top, and had been looking at me over her arm. She'd close her eyes, and reopen them as I rubbed her back. And, I knew she was tired.

“Tummy full of food, a great shag, a hot shower…,” her dimples formed in her smile. “I'm spoiled.”

“Rotten,” I smiled, editing her statement to her continued grin. My eyes went to my hand a moment, feeling of her wonderful slope, and then gazed back at her. “You have me, and—“

“I wouldn't want it any other way,” she inserted, shutting her eyes went I'd gone a bit further. I'd inched my hand enough to cover her bum, and back up again. When she reopened them she added, “You're beautiful.”

“I am?” In grin, my brow rose.

She nodded against her arm.

“I guess we have more things in common, then.”

“You—and all of you—turn me on completely.”

“Even with my five o'clock shadow?” I noted the scruffy-look of my chin and cheeks.

“Well, that I could take or leave…”

“Oh, yeah, eh?” I went to move in to rub it against her and she jumped with a laugh.

“Harry…!”

Trapping her with an arm, she rolled to her back and I quickly stole a kiss. Bending, I introduced her fit abdomen back to my lips, and smiled when she retracted at the light touch. Dragging the tip of my nose along the groove where her ribs originated, I kissed first her right, farthest breast. I nibbled on her incited, pink nipple, and did the same to the other. I felt Hermione's hands on me, my head where she clutched my mane and my shoulder, my back where she dragged her nails across my heightened sense.

I'd pulled her to me, and she lay looking up into my eyes, having to reopen them after I explored her body.

I lay back on my fist, balancing myself still along her on my side.

She rolled her eyes, and I smiled, close enough still to give her another kiss.

“You're so aggressive sometimes…” she huffed, utterly trapped beneath my left arm. She laid her arms, and hands, upon the forearm muscle.

“And, you enjoy it.”

She looked away, and then back. “…Sometimes…”

I made a laugh.

“…Maybe!” she pointed in smile. She sighed. “You're terrible.”

“You're bewitching,” I kissed her. “And, I love you. All of you. Allllll of you.”

She did a laugh through her nose at the “Allllll” part.

“From your beautiful, smart brain to your little toes.”

“I want to do everything with you.”

“I want to take you out to dinner tomorrow. We haven't been in a while, and you look so good in that red cocktail dress with the black sash-belt thing,” I caressed her cheek, nudged her with my nose, my lioness. “And, Ginny will come, too, if she wants…”

“…I just love you in that red dress-sash-corset dress thing.”

She laughed at my ability to figure out female fashion.

“I meant,” she sighed after her smile. “I can't wait to get married, and have kids, and grow and learn and—just everything with you.”

“You really mean a lot to me, Harry…”

“You did give it to Kingsley in my honor.”

“He deserved it after all you've done.”

“We. We did.”

“You—you destroyed Voldemort.”

“And everyone helped.”

“I'm not going to win this one am I?” she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.

I shook my head and laughed at how aggravated she seemed. “Aw… Does someone need to have a good old fashion stubble-burn?”

“No! Harry!” I threw the sheets up over us and went for the attack all the while Hermione squealed and giggled in my grasp.

***

At the Minister's Chair, Ministry of Magic

“You've done what, Kingsley?!” Draco's voiced boomed, surely waking his wife from slumber. But the revelation in what Kingsley had done rose Draco from the Chair where he pointedly pronounced what was openly divulged.

“We needed Miss Granger's statements to secure us in power, or yet lose it all!” Kingsley's voice shot octaves above Draco's, his language wild and accusing as he, too, pointed out his evidence. “Harry should be the key in locking the door, but he cannot be! His successor would help our future stronghold!”

“This from a man who taught me the art of persuasion?! Harry, and equally Hermione, has every right to descend the invitation—an invitation that wasn't told to me! Were you hiding this from me for a reason, Kingsley?! What were you expecting?!”

“I was expecting rank-and-file, Draco! After all we've done, we do to—“

“They've done enough! I told you, and everyone else in the Order, including those closer to them than we'll ever be: if they wish to be left alone you will leave them be. You do not, under any circumstance, defile our relationship with them by explicating how `disappointed' you are—to anyone!”

“I'm doing this for us, Draco! Our legacy! We must retain—!”

“To Hell with our legacy if not shoulder to shoulder with those that pick us up! Harry has died for us—twice—and Hermione—Pansy sympathizes with her. The fear and hurt she would feel if I fell, especially coming off of where we were—and now in the midst of this new War!”

“I did this because for the Order, Draco! I did this because of you! YOU!”

“ENOUGH!” Rage encumbered Draco's very soul, the temper dripped thickly from of his tongue as he snapped, “Tell me why I should not confine you to your duties and forbid you from ever speaking to the Potters again?!”

“Forbid…?” Kingsley shook his head, accosted, the blood curdling in his veins. “ME?! FORBID ME—THE INDIVIDUAL WHO MADE THIS ALL HAPPEN?! YOU FORBID ME?!”

“YOU'VE STEPPED OVER THE FINAL LINE—!!”

“You!” Kingsley pointed aggressively in Draco's face. “YOU will be the one individual that unravels every bit of what we've accomplished to nothing more than a shell of once was! YOU haven't learnt what it takes to lead, and the sacrifices it takes to turn something unwelcome and have it flourish!”

“WE will be unwelcome when the public casts their ballots, Draco—just you see! And it will all be because of YOUR failed maneuvering and forfeit!”

Before Draco could negate what had been said, Kingsley apparated, leaving but the sharp-razored pop to resonate in his ears. Letting his cane go, he grasped the table, glancing down at the parchment and quills, and all the other Ministry paraphernalia scattered across the desk. In one fell brush, he knocked all of it clear off and onto the floor, making a crash over the expletives he said.

He remained standing at the uninhabited dark gloss of his desk, seeing his reflection, when he heard a creek. His head turned quickly to the entryway of the hall that led to the Minister's chambers. He saw Pansy in her pyjamas peering back at him amongst the light of the trembling flames. Her hands held the ancient doorframe put in centuries passed…and he wondered how long she'd been standing there.

***

{A/N: Last checked my first chapter hit the 101,000 mark! That's fantastic! Also, many of you through the fic series equated the fiction to a television drama which is really an enormous compliment to me (having a cinema degree with screenwriting emphasis). As the fic winds to its conclusion, and because I enjoy music so much, I've been trying to think of an overall theme song for L&T. A mate of mine suggested an OTH-like intro. Haha. I could see HHr, Gin, Ron, Luna, Draco, and the other interwoven “special guest” characters in that sepia-like tone with scenes like the supermarket buggy race scene and Harry's death paralleled}

{Music: In The End by Linkin Park, One Step Closer by Linkin Park, Zero by Smashing Pumpkins, Honey and the Moon by Joseph Arthur, Dice by Finley Quaye (Gin's theme with Hermione), We Used to Be Friends by The Dandy Warhols, Already Gone by Kelly Clarkson, Something by the Beatles, Days Go By by Dity Vegas, Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon (HHr re-consummation scene), Lily's Theme - Deathly Hallows Part 2 OST, Crossing Destiny by Audiomachine, Red Sorrow by Audiomachine, An End Once and For All - Mass Effect 3 OST, Heart of Courage by Two Steps From Hell, 1000 Ships of the Underworld by Two Steps From Hell}

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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83. Days

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.

…Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end - Luna Lovegood

***

Chapter Eighty-three - Days

***

The Quibbler Headquarters, London

With a teetered step, aided by not only his father's cane but arm-in-arm with Pansy, Draco makes a wide signal with a hand at the new, improved Quibbler HQ. An inch or less is not comparable to the damage that had been done, no dust nor splotch of flame can be seen.

And, Luna, overwhelmed, looks around nearly in shock with evident tear-stains on her cheeks. She gazes at the renewed floors, the renewed offices, the cubicles, the chairs and the particular detail down to the same grain they were made of before the building's destruction.

“This is a thank you—“ began Ambassador Balthier, an Elven team behind him.

“A thank you,” asserted interim Minister Malfoy.

Balthier looked to his hume-brother and smiles before looking back at the innocence in Luna's face. “—A thank you for all that you've done for us.”

Luna, still abashed, wiped the wetness beneath her eyes.

Ron, in full Auror uniform like the rest with the Ministry behind Draco, grins behind glistening pools of his own.

“Our brothers and sisters, as well as your Ministry's teams, took a great deal of time and dedication to give the same infinite love you have given us over year after year.”

“I don't deserve—“

Luna, stopped short, was interrupted by Ron who said firmly, “But, you do.”

And, her tear-stained eyes set on Ronald.

She smiled, as did all of those who watched her marvel at her progeny reborn.

She held her chest, and she began crying tears of joy once more. “My father built this company up with his bare hands. He was ridiculed over his dream, and people said The Quibbler wouldn't be what he wished it to be. And, when he died and left it in my hands, I thought I'd never see it how it once stood. A thousand thank yous, truly…”

She wasn't left alone.

More than the dozen souls who stood with Luna went to her, and like one family they gave her the biggest, warmest of hugs.

By the end of the night there wasn't a dry eye in the house.

***

Luna Lovegood's Office, The Quibbler

Even before the doors had been opened for the flood of everything from her employees, to the news, to next week's lunch schedule, the office of Miss Lovegood was lit amongst the lull. Diligently, she went about her work by lamplight, quick quills above her head signing and addressing fluttering parchment, and she'd talk out loud to herself on more than one occasion as the quill in her hand drew the distinct cursive of her personality.

In the middle of reading the piles of letters she had in backlog, a creak woke her from her trance. Tiny gears twisted and small, average, and large pieces of her glasses removed themselves from her eyesight. She smiled at the person standing in her open doorway.

The white cloak of Ron's attire shifted in his stance. He looked between the smiling owner of The Quibbler, to that of the plaque on her desk transcribing her name in gold, and then back at her. In return, he smiled just as genuine.

He had his arms folded at his chest and he leaned on the doorframe of her office. “Thought I'd come and check up on you after patrol.”

“How are Hermione and Harry?”

“They've invited you to dinner with them. A celebration for Ginny after you gave her another chance.”

“The invitation for her return to us never left the table,” the smile wouldn't cease from her pink lips. “I wouldn't miss being with my friends for the world. I'll send an owl personally after I finish up here with all this paperwork.”

“Would you like some company, or would I be averting your attention from,” He pointed over at her crowded desk. “All of that.”

She gave a sigh with an air of honesty in her tone. “Would you ever think I'd ask you to leave?”

Ron couldn't help but smile. He shrugged. “Thought I'd be courteous and ask.”

He went to sit down in one of the two chairs in front of her desk, and noted as he did the picture frames including moving photographs of everyone in Dumbledore's Army back at Hogwarts, of them now, and of a photograph of both her and Aedi. He remembered the incident with the mirror, and that something inside him, and was about to formulate a sentence regarding a mixture of all of the above when Luna's voice pulled him back into reality:

“Speaking of Hermione and Harry—these letters—“

She gathered the hoards of sealed parchment in her hands and let them fall back gracefully to her desk. She gestured off at the sacks filled with so many letters the majority of them poured out of its seam and onto the floor.

“Not only are they in support of The Quibbler, but the large support still for our dynamic duo.”

“All of those?” Ron was absolutely gobsmacked.

Luna nodded, bemused just the same. “It's not only breath-taking, but brings a breath of fresh air. The outpouring of kindheartedness in each letter—they say we give them hope. Some say that's all they have left, a light in complete darkness.”

***

Morgan in the Morning, Wizarding News Network

In professional wardrobe and classy features, Kelly Morgan is surrounded by stock market tickers on both the top and bottoms of the screen. She's just ended one story about the metamorphosis of Gringotts Bank from its monopoly on the wizarding citizenry, and transitions into the next. With a picture of the Prophet Media Corporation's logo spinning beside her face, she peers into camera two, stating with a pragmatic air:

“But to our top story this morning. With allegation after allegation, what used to be the largest and most profitable company in the wizarding world was brought to its knees last night.”

Rita Skeeter, and her new, Ministry-look, is shown now where the spinning Prophet Media logo once was. Though, she wears business-casual without any source of the Ministry upon her dress.

“In an exclusive interview with WNN, Rita Skeeter, the wizarding world's richest Briton, has relinquished her grasp of her own company. Our sources note that this news was done on her terms without a bludgeoning of the Ministry of Magic who has been quite vocal on the disuse of her company. One allegation, that Rita Skeeter was in cahoots with the Death Eaters during her tenure at Prophet Media. Another allegation was that she personally funded some of the Death Eater's including, and most notably, Quincy Nolpho.”

“But what of its other shareholders? With Prophet Media in freefall on a global scale, and with its decline in the stock market, Rita Skeeter has given what is left of Prophet Media to Luna Lovegood and The Quibbler, an exchange she said would be for the best of everyone:”

The picture changes from Kelly to a recorded live interview with Rita Skeeter the evening before with Skye Vila.

“None of my employees are at fault for any of my decisions. I've taken responsibility for a lot of what has happened, and I've asked for forgiveness to those that I have caused harm to,” In quintessential three-piece business attire, Rita sits modestly. Her body language shows just as much remorse as what holds within her face. Without her glasses, the true Rita Skeeter can be seen to all within the reflection from her naked eyes. “What I wish for, and what I've made sure, is that no more displacement is done to those who didn't do anything. My employees are hard-working individuals with families. I've asked Miss Lovegood that during the merger if she could with any certainty include those with merit.”

“And, has the head of The Quibbler said she would?”

Rita nods solemnly. “Miss Lovegood has told me she will try her best to find outlets for the good people of Prophet Media. The problems lie with me, and not with them. They've done nothing wrong. I trust Miss Lovegood's good judgment, and I know she understands just how sorry I am and how I want the best for everyone affected.”

The picture returns back to Kelly's definitive features.

“Does Miss Skeeter deserve all her recognition and given acceptance of her apology? Many citizens, magical and Muggle-born alike, who have come to the foreground with these allegations of intimidation and maltreatmeant—even going as far as muggings and murders—does Miss Skeeter have a leg to stand on? Our family here at the Wizarding News Network have stories, too, of bullying and suppression—I, myself, had been spoken to by Prophet Media management at the time to lessen my voice. So, we sympathize and empathize, but we can only report these stories to you, our faithful audience through all these uncertain times. You decide what is right for you and your family.”

***

The Quibbler

Another Prophecy: Fulfilled?

Did Quincy Nolpho fulfill another prophetic vision for the End? His new direction and decision in mandating-but-not-mandating tracking of every individual is not only startling, but apocalyptic. Nolpho and his Ministry will forever know where you are at any given time. Our editorials and whistleblowers inside the Ministry at the time of the Nolpho exchange from Shacklebolt's administration note the insurgence of Death Eater hands. Of course, the provocation is suppressed by Rita Skeeter's rag, the Daily Prophet, which upholds the silent devastation Nolpho will ultimately inflict upon those who do not tote the line. Biblical in proportion, this has been considered the mark of the devil on many accounts. How many incoherent deaths, said to have been suicides, have been detailed throughout his time inside the Ministry? Every one of them dissent or have tried to flee the wrath of Nolpho's Death Eaters, including the brazen intimidation given here towards us at The Quibbler. Our reporters and journalists now find it a necessity to work for the people of Great Britain in the shadows. Walking out in the open is not a choice anymore, but we will continue to show the incredulous and evil nature of Nolpho's team as what they truly are: Death Eaters seeking revenge for the death of their Lord, Thomas Marvolo Riddle—Voldemort.

Meygan Brookes

Writer

Luna Lovegood

Chief Editor

P.1

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

We were expecting company, so when the doorbell tune jingled throughout Number Twelve we both looked at each other. First, she smiled, looking up from resting her head on my shoulder. We'd been resting, waiting for tonight's event while the celebrant took her time upstairs. We were to meet the Granger's at a posh restaurant in downtown London.

Her emerald satin chiffon cocktail dress swished in pirouette, showing her beautiful, perfect legs in matching heels. Turning, I watched her go for the door, and in pursuit I followed her. She glanced back at me, the emerald-green bow curbing her bushy brown straight along her back. My hand went to her lower back as she took hold of the large, antique handle and opened the door for our esteemed guests.

Mimicking Hermione's gasp, my brows rose to the scene before us.

Standing in a suit and tie was my best mate, Ronald, who looked nothing like himself outside of his usual Auror wardrobe. Imitating the green-motif, his tie came similar to mine with a dark green hue. And, arm-in-arm with him was Luna in a leggy, flirty hunter green sequined bodice and flared skirt.

Hermione had put her hands over her mouth when she gasped, eyes just as wide as mine, and then she threw her arms around Miss Lovegood when she had the chance—making the chance. Luna let go of Ron, and while in their embrace and giddy, little laughter gave I had the opportunity to shake Ron's hand.

I chuckled.

“A bit better than the Yule Ball, eh, Harry?”

I laughed a little louder. “Mate, you sure do clean up!”

“I'd say!” reiterated my beloved.

She laughed, too, surprise thick in the air.

We exchanged places, and when I went to embrace Luna while Hermione hugged Ronald did I make sure to be extra careful around her done hair and makeup. I heard Hermione repeat how cleaned up Ron was when Luna, still in embrace, said to me, “You two look as lovely as ever, too.”

“You're as beautiful as ever, Luna,” I replied, letting go as Luna kept my hands in hers.

“I left the butterbeer caps at the flat,” Luna's smile glowed. “It's Ginny's night, of course.”

“She's in high spirits ever since you gave her the sports editorial job back.”

“She's really doing great, I can see it. And, what are friends for, right?”

“Thank you,” I smiled.

She let go of my hands and reached around for a side hug, and I hugged her in return as we both looked back at Hermione and Ron. I reached out for my beloved with my free hand, and looked towards my best mate, motioning with a bob towards Number Twelve, “Let's get inside before we all catch cold.”

***

Downtown London, England

The lighthearted celebration of Ginevra Granger's new job and promotion to chief sports editor came to fruition amongst a delightful meal full of laughter. Emilie and Frederick sat beside their newly adopted daughter, and Hermione aside her with me. Luna sat to my left and Ron to hers. With water under the bridge between Frederick and Ronald, the Granger's were even amazed at how clean-cut Ronald could be. Ronald casually stepped up to the plate with a joke about setting the bar too high to which garnered a response and chortle from Mister Granger.

Between cocktails and pints of lager, steak and seafood, and an assortment of varied desserts, there wasn't any silence amongst the seven of us. Being the first time the Granger's were introduced to Luna, they asked her questions and I could tell Luna was consciously trying to act “Muggle”—which gave me and Hermione a grin. I saw Ron whisper something in her ear when Hermione, Gin, and the Granger's talked amongst themselves. Luna nodded, and I could tell Ron addressed her worriment about anything and to be herself.

I didn't know if it were the drinks, but my brow did rise a few times at how friendly Ron would become with Luna, and Luna with him, when they thought no one noticed. He'd say something only she could hear, inwardly, and she'd smile, gazing at him. She'd say something quietly in their private proximity, secretively, whilst playing absentmindedly with her fork and he'd lightly laugh under his breath.

Hermione kept her fingers laced with mine out in the open when we were resting between courses, or beneath the table when we ate. The public displays of affection I loved, a kiss or dozen given amongst our conversations. I only left her hand near the end to place an arm around the back of her chair and cross my legs, leaning into her and her lively speeches with our crowd. I'd throw my two cents in, talking admirably about the prospects of our up-and-coming wedding and how Hermione and Ginny were deep within preparations with Emilie.

Frederick stood up with his lager and held it out in toast.

I held up mine.

Ron held up his.

Emilie held up her apple martini.

Hermione held up her long island iced tea.

Gin held up her mojito.

And, Luna, her screwdriver cocktail.

“I'd like to make a toast,” announced Mister Granger in a crisp suit, dapper as always. “First, to Ginny, the addition to our Granger family.”

Frederick turned to Gin at his side, the whites flickering in her eyes off the crystal chandeliers.

“Both myself and Emilie see how much potential you have and the goodness in your heart. We know your future endeavors at The Quibbler newspaper will undoubtedly be exceptional in part because you're a beautiful, wonderful young woman who is smart and knowledgeable,” Gin began to tear up, and so did Hermione. Luna had caught the sniffles, too. “Emilie and I just want to say how much of a blessing you are with us now and that we love you and will support you in any way we can.”

Hermione reached over and rubbed Gin's back while Gin wiped the wet from her cheeks with a silk cloth. She smiled at Hermione, and then uttered a muted apology as she tried to contain her emotions. Emilie, with tears, too, welled up, leaned over and gave her adopted daughter a hug.

“Cheers.” Frederick raised his glass higher.

We all did as one, reciting, “Cheers!”

As Mister Granger sat down, I stood up and went to toast.

Before I could even begin, Gin retorted still drying her eyes, “You all are going to have me so stirred up all my makeup will have run!”

We all gave a laugh.

I looked towards Gin, and how she changed from when she first moved back in until now, physically and emotionally. How she assimilated almost seamlessly with Hermione's family, how she ceased her smoking, heavy drinking, and other assorted recreational activities. How she had grown up and looked rather mature, not only by her new shortened haircut, but by her posture and poise. She looked confident, and finally ready to take on the world.

“Gin, even though we fight and bicker like siblings,” That made us laugh, and Gin did, too. “I care about you. You've become the sister I never had, and when times got tough you had my back one hundred percent. And, I truly thank you from the bottom of my heart. You're a part of, not only the Grangers, but you're a part of the Potters—“

“—Whether you believe that's a good thing or not,” I ended, giving her and our crew another bout of laughter.

Gin smiled behind her tears, having to once again dry her cheeks.

“Hermione and I enjoy having you around Number Twelve, and you should know that I'll never toss you out—well, Hermione might—“

“Harry!” Hermione poked me hard in the side, and laughter consumed us all.

“To Miss Ginevra Granger!” I held the lager high.

The others did their drinks as well. “Cheers!”

As I went to sit down from the corner of my eye I saw Ron stand up and offer his glass.

Gin groaned, stating, “I'm going to be an absolute wreck!”

I laughed alongside the others.

“This'll be a bit shorter than the Mister Granger's or Harry's because they stole all the really good lines,” Ron smiled, and we all did as well. “I'm not really great at these things, but I would like to say to my sister: I understand why things are how they are, and I'll never judge your choices because things happen in life and you have to search for what is best for you.”

Hermione found my hand whilst Ronald spoke, and I looked back at her and her smile.

I smiled in return.

He continued. “And, I've always admired that in you because it took me a legitimate slap in the face to wake up and grow up. But, I still love you as your brother. You're my little sister, and I'll always defend you as if you were two or twenty.”

“You're going to do great, sis,” Ron held up his glass. “Cheers to you and your endeavors.”

We all did in our somber state.

After hearing Ron, even I shuddered emotions, squeezing Hermione's hand underneath the table.

“Cheers!”

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

“What do you have there?”

She landed in my lap, having been in the kitchen after seeing Gin to bed. Feeling a bit of merriment still within me, and exhaustion, I'd flopped down in my chair and leisurely took my time flipping through the channels on telly until I found the Sports Channel. I had just sat back comfortably, hearing the sounds of the refrigerator opening and closing beneath the low volume of an old Quidditch game against South Africa and India.

“Sangria,” she uttered softly. She took another sip, and sitting side-saddle put her free arm around my neck.

She let the wine goblet down in her lap and laid her forehead against my cheek, fidgeting to get comfortable, too, in my lap. I had my arms snugly around her, allowing my hands to roam the glossy, silky fabric clinging off her one shoulder. My hands found the arch of her back, my lovable arch, as I rubbed her where she finally settled. My other hand explored how smooth her legs were, the cut in her dress leaving both beautiful limbs much exposed when she sat. I could feel her warm, sweet breath against my skin, bringing goosepimples to life amongst where Hermione brushed.

I could tell she smiled whilst hidden against me, and when she brought the wine goblet back up to take another sip said after, “Tonight was wonderful… You, and mum and dad, and Luna and Ron—both of them looking rather charming—“

“I'd say…,” I ushered, my eyes on the television, my attention on Hermione and her slight, mellowed movements. “I suspect our Ronald fancies a certain someone.”

Hermione laughed from her nose against me, those beautiful, sweet breaths arousing the parts she touched with ease. “You saw it, too. Hm?”

“Ronald has never really grasped the concept of subtlety…”

Hermione laughed again, the arm she had around me moving as she would run her fingertips, and fingernails, up-and-down my arm. “…I'd say. But, they looked cute together. Luna looked marvelous and happy, and I think that's the third or maybe fourth time I saw Ronald in a tie…”

I smiled, reminiscing. “He's still sour over the Yule Ball.”

“Those dress robes of his were…ghastly. Nightmarishly so.”

I let out a laugh I had to immediately contain or wake the whole house up.

“I know this was Ginny's night, but, you,” I had pushed up to the beginnings of her thigh whilst stroking her delightfully fair leg. Any further, by happenstance, her cocktail dress tightened enough to seclude me from revealing more. “You I couldn't take my eyes from.”

I felt each, individual strand of hair leave from against my neck. She lifted a smidgen from me, enough to take a good look however close through her sleep-driven sight. When I looked toward her, too, those strands had fallen in face, giving a sort of curtain hanging in front of her grin.

“Stunning cannot express your beauty as your beauty truly surpasses everyone and everything,” I stated as I gazed into her big, brown eyes. “You've captured my heart, and you'll forever have the key.”

“Oh, Harry…,” she didn't waste any time putting the wine goblet on the side table and pulling me to her. We found each other in caress, gentle at first, but began in fervor as we lingered by breath. Compact, I lifted her effortlessly and sat her back down. I led her to her knees, her legs on either side of mine, kissing from her lips, to her chin, throat, between her breasts until she was completely vertical.

At her fit stomach, I kissed her through her dress, grasping-and-releasing my strength when I'd grab her and hold her—everywhere and anywhere. I felt her hands on me, my hands, arms, shoulder, my hair where she pulled at me. Several times my glasses would come off in the chaos, and we'd share a laugh at how many times she'd repaired them in my lifetime.

The final time they had come off I just lifted her with me as I stood. She laughed, adjusting the now-sideways glasses as I went from turning the telly off and juggling her easily in my grip.

I threw her over my shoulder as the last light went off, patted her bum which made her giggle even more, and upstairs to bed we went.

***

“Faster?” I asked in a hastened breath at her ear.

Our lips had broke away, and between pants in the throes of passion her head turned to me and she nodded, resounding meekly for I did what was told, “—Faster!”

I watched her arch her back, watched her eyes close, watched her from trying to smile to forming a circular-shape with her mouth. I had her hands bound by my own against the mattress. She had wound her legs around my center, and as I drove quicker by her request, those legs wound more firmly and secure. Her toes curled, and in one moment she said my name, said “Christ!” and arched her back once more. This time, she didn't come down. And, I could see her on me, around me, tight—she wasn't about to let me go.

She tried a second to fight against my hands as she rode her wave of pleasure, but struggled, futile against my might and power.

She shook, clinching into my hands with her nails as she held on.

The pain she gave me ultimately left for pleasure, too, as I let the inevitable wash over me, pushing into her twice, three times before falling from my knees. I retook her, her hungered mouth satiated when my own pressed against hers. I let her hands go, caressed her forehead, nose, cheek, chin, throat aggressively, craving her taste and more of her.

I had her breasts and she had me. I felt her squeeze me as I suckled and kissed, felt her squirm when I prompted a moan from her as I gladly took my time on each perky nipple. Down to her torso, and at her abdomen, I actively lapped, leading my tongue wherever I could. I did what I wanted, hearing her laugh, giggle, squeal and moan when I'd hit one of sweet spots. I tasted between her legs and back up again, sliding against her slick form until we were together again, lips as one.

She was in smiles when we released, looking at me, looking away as she laugh at the mess we had made. I smiled, too, caressing her cheek, kissing her mouth when she lay back on the flustered bed of her wild hair.

***

“We're going to need more bed linen before the end of this.” She grinned, a hand on my cheek.

We were close in more smooth, clean sheets. Our legs were intertwined together, and we played footsie beneath those sheets. I had my around her slender middle, reassuring how egotistically protective I was of her. And, she leaned back in and kissed my lips, running those splendidly soft fingers of hers across my cheek, my face, where they ended wrapped in the tufts of my raven hair.

When she released her caress, I added, “And thank Merlin for birth control.”

She lit with laughter. “Oh, Harry…”

“What?” I grinned, seeing her settle from her laughter.

Our eyes locked.

“It's true, though.”

She nodded. “I concur.”

She went silent as she gazed around at my features, tracing by fingertip the curved and straight lines of my face. When she reconciled with my own, she simply asked and with a tinge of seriousness to her tongue, “But, would it be such a horror if I did have our child?”

“Never.” I put without any hesitation.

She smiled at how quickly I responded.

I ran my hand along the slope of her waist. “…You know I only provide banter to get you riled when that topic approaches, right?”

She went silent again, her eyesight straying from mine, and I knew she was in thought.

She came back on eye-level, and recited rather soberly:

“I'd like a baby, Harry.”

Taking my hand from her waist, I placed it on her head and begun scratching lovingly at her mahogany crown. I went from observing what I did to her, “Yeah?”

“Mum and dad had me when they were young—younger than us,” she answered, her fingertip traveling just underneath my bottom lip where she watched. Her eyes went to me. “They did it so they could run around chasing me, and they did that very act. Not that that's our baseline, and I'd only want to conceive after we were married. But, I would like to be able to do those things without feeling out of breath in old age.”

“Mum and dad know we live together, and surely know we have had sex once or twice. I wouldn't want to give them both a heart attack as they're quite traditional, and would really like it if I—that is if I was—pregnant, to be pregnant after we were married.”

I grinned at how she ruffled through her words, and nodded, drawing close as I did when I kissed her quiet. I looked back into her eyes and resumed my nod, saying, “I understand, and it's always been your choice. But, what about school? A baby, Hermione—“

“Well, what about yours?” she retorted, utterly Granger. “You're not just a sperm bank, Harry. We're a team. I look after your aspirations as much as you look after mine.”

“I flow right along with you, you know that,” I replied, never ceasing to refocus from her beautiful, cinnamon-brown irises. “If you want to wait, we'll wait. If not, we won't. We have the house, we have the finances, you have my unconditional love either way.”

She lifted almost instantly after what I said and gazed longingly into me. She placed an arm around me, and in her raspy tone, stated, “This is exactly the reason why I love you and only you.”

I smirked, asking rhetorically inside the smirk, “Is that so?”

She rolled her eyes, and into a grin. Her eyes settled back on me. “…And why I fancy you, and how you turn me on, and how we always end up making love over and—“

Lying back, I put an arm behind my head and remained in that witty smirk. “Christ, I'm good.”

“AND!...” She poked my side, eye lit. “…How I always give you a big head.”

“Hmm…,” I mocked as if in thought, placing a finger to my chin and drifting off from her. The smirked returned when my sight fled back to hers. “…Dare I touch that, or would it be too much?”

“Gods,” Hermione sighed overdramatically. “What have I created?”

Her sight left my but once when she heard my growl.

She knew what was coming, and in turn went to flee.

But, I caught her in giggles.

“I have this—I have this reoccurring thought and dream.”

“Hm?” I kissed her cheek, and nuzzled against her.

“We're in his—or her—bedroom, and I'm reading her a bedtime story, and when we're finished I look up and there you are in the doorway watching us.”

I lifted from loving her, and she stared back at me.

“You really think a lot about this, don't you?”

With a winsome nod, she said something so softly that the words brought a shiver to me: “It's comforting.”

I smiled, my hand reaching behind her to comb those wild strands of hair. The seconds summarized all I knew, and how special Hermione was to me.

We kissed in our smiles.

***

The Quibbler

Skeeter to Seek Out Reparations

Continuing along her turnaround, Rita Skeeter has come out from the shadows with an open wallet. “I haven't much to give anymore,” she said in a recent interview with her old network, WNN. “But, I do have a little money left. I'm in no means trying to sweep this under the rug. By coming out on live television I believe I've gone passed the naysayers debating why I can't do more. Because I've literally nothing else to my name.” Some people say that's not enough. Sympathizers say she's doing her best.

Rita Skeeter seems to have turned another leaf, but with her past anyone can see how one can be hesitant before believing her statements. She has given quite a number of galleons before and after her interview with WNN. Is it time to turn the other cheek? Can we as a nation beholden of what has occurred so rapidly after Voldemort give back as much as they took?

Time is our reality.

Meygan Brookes

Writer

Luna Lovegood

Chief Editor

***

The Burrow

A letter, written neatly, with each word precisely what its author wished to express. The letter lay solitary on the Weasley table, abandoned by the one who first placed her fingerprints on the parchment. The tears that had fallen from the addressee's genuine emotions had long since evaporated.

It was another quiet day at the Burrow.

The fire crackled in the fireplace, Missus Weasley knitted another scarf for one of her children, and Mister Weasley was gone to work.

The typical morning at the Burrow came to its end when the sound of something falling, rebounding off the hardwood floor. The sharp crash of what sounded like metal from around the corner led Missus Weasley onto her feet. She drew her shawl around her shoulders and found her wand close by. This habitual act had begun since that certain someone had showed up out of the blue and ruined Missus Weasley's perfect farmyard. It took time to straighten things out, and she wasn't about to let that person do it again.

She saw nothing when she peeked around the corner in the kitchen, and when she went to step towards the door to take a gander outside she yelped.

Something pricked the bottom of her bare foot, the object piercing skin with a pinpoint of blood produced in the center of her sole.

She uttered words beneath her breath and went to grab the piece of trash from the floor, mumbling how she kept her home orderly, and how this found its way on the…

She had to do a second-glance.

The rubbish: one of the hands from the Weasley clock.

Ginevra Granger smiled as she had always did in her moving portrait, though older, seemingly wiser, her hair cut short with an invisible wind blowing a bit of her Weasley-red above her golden-brown coloured eyes.

She peered into her mother's eyes with a sense of knowing.

With a face so foul, she hobbled on her injured foot towards her medical and safety kit.

On the way… She dropped the fallen hand into the bin, and acted as if nothing had ever happened…sans the real pain she felt in the bottom of her foot.

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

The cool atmosphere held no vacancy. I felt it first when something continued to drone on and on outside my periphery, and then again, as if trying to get me to wake. I remember rolling over and making it stop, only to have it waken me again. This time, however, my warmth woke that smidgen along with me. She squirmed, the incessant noise having her groan inside the caverns of sheets and the pocket I created. Wiggling in my arms, she sighed heavily, perturbed, and shot up…

To have my pillow taken completely from me.

And then, to have said pillow smack my face.

“Ohh!” Hermione groaned, realizing what she did. She tried her best to comfort me with her hand after hearing, and then seeing the pillow—of which we both had laid on—land face first.

She leaned up as she doctored me, apologizing again behind sleep, and then sat further up. I hadn't very long, slumber calling my name, when I captured a glance or two of my beautiful Hermione covered only to her waist. I saw her turn towards the noise, to have me try to pull her back in bed with a, “…It's probably the neighbours and their construction again, come back to—“

“…Hermione?” I hadn't noticed the voice, but Hermione did. The muffle beseeched her once more, and then I heard my name in the mix. “Harry?”

And then, more knocks on our bedroom door.

“Oh Christ!” Hermione jerked off the sheets with her whisper, and began the treasure hunt for our clothes scattered about.

“What is it…?” Sleep hung in my grumble, and before Hermione could say something else I'd gotten another face full of boxers.

Pulling the dark garment from my face, and sight clear, I saw Hermione hopping from article to article lying about with one leg in pyjama trousers. When she managed her other, she found and readily tossed my pair of lounge trousers onto the bed.

“Gin! Yes! We're downstairs right away. Give us a moment—we were getting dressed to meet you before work!”

And, that's when it hit me, too, and I began just as frantically…though, not as agile as my beloved. Apparently, coordination was the last faculty to turn on, for I nearly fell face first onto the floor in my hustle. I heard Hermione stifle a laugh, and when I looked back at her she'd magically found every bit of us—and looked good, pulling her hair back with a scrunchie.

I looked over at the clock and saw it more than a half hour over the advised time.

“Tsk tsk,” I played. “And, you're Hermione Granger.”

“Hush you!” she threw a shirt in my face.

I laughed.

“This is your entire fault anyway.”

I pulled the shirt down over my head, and when my chaos of a mane rebounded back to its rather messy position did my brow rise. “What?” I rebutted.

“Who stopped the alarm clock?”

“I think I blame it more on how much I tire you out…,” I tried to put on my best suave tone, wriggling my brows, to have her sigh and roll her eyes.

She smirked, watching me come up to her with her hand on the doorknob. “Gods, you're incorrigible…”

“'Gods, you're incorrigible'…,” I tried mimicking her with a spin of drama, and then swatted her bum and told her, “Just get downstairs before I earn the world record for, not only disrobing an individual, but tossing them back in bed.”

“Now I almost want to stand here in rebellion,” she retorted with another one of her smirks.

I placed my hand with hers on the doorknob and opened it up with a laugh, “Get down there!”

Within her first step, I patted her bum again.

When she looked back, she saw me coming, and in chase we made it one loud step at a time.

When we had made it downstairs, and after I bumped into the backside of Hermione at the kitchen, she had stopped and I smelled…

Breakfast, prepared and plated nicely on dining room table with huge stacks of newspapers wrapped in wire at the far end. Gin, casually sipping coffee from a mug, looked up from underneath her blue newsboy cap. Short tufts of Weasley-red stuck out from the brim. Ready for Father Winter outside, she wore a dark blue double-breasted cardigan coat with a light blue tie atop a white dress shirt. She uncrossed her plaid blue pants and stood up when we entered, gazing from me to Hermione, and then set down her mug.

She looked where our eyes were, and said, gesturing to one and then the other, “Breakfast was a way of saying thank you, and the newspapers—they came by owl this morning with a special letter addressed by Luna on top of this stack.”

She motioned to the one closest to her.

“I didn't open it,” she went from me to Hermione.

Hermione had more than walked up to her and gasped, pulling on parts of Gin's new outfit. I went behind them both, reveling in the fact that Luna had gone far and beyond a few newspapers to savor. It seemed as if she found a copy of every Quibbler starting after till the headquarters attack.

“You look absolutely stunning, Gin!” Hermione held her sister's shoulders after her once over.

“I do feel pretty good this morning,” stated Gin confidently. “I haven't felt this good in…awhile.”

Hermione gave her a hug. “You're going to do so well today! I just know it!”

I found the personal letter Luna had written as referenced by Gin, and shuffled a finger inside the flap to pop it open.

“Harry?”

I must've been incensed in Luna's outpouring of fine detail when it came to certain events she wished for me to see as per my question when I looked up from the parchment. I saw both my beloved, and Gin looking back at me.

“Doesn't she look so professional, love?”

Lowering my sight so I could see through my glasses at that distance, I noted how masterly and polished Gin appeared. “I think you look great and will make an impression on your first day back at The Quibbler.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Gin smiled, and then looked back at her Hermione. “Thank you guys for everything, really.”

As Gin and Hermione began talking amongst themselves, I became very aware of another different piece along with the same shade of colour every Quibbler was in the first stack. Beneath the parchment I procured, two smiling faces stood out. Slipping the item out, my attention went to the front cover and under the title, Q: for the Now.

The picture we had taken for the magazine, the many articles on each page. There we were so faultless, none the wiser to the obstacles on the horizon at the time. Hermione in this grey, oversized short-sleeved shirt with these tassels hanging off the bottom. I could see the darker shade of grey under the tassels, and the ribbed texture of her shorts. She had this bright sunflower at her ear, looking directly ahead of the pursuer. By her face, she was seemingly caught unaware, eyes lit at me in smile after I had come behind her. My hands were placed on her small waist, projecting a sense of dominance and masculinity in a fitted grey suit and crisp collar. The object of my affection complemented each other, and it was like going back in time and falling in love all over again.

The subtitle, Our Very Best, was typed at the bottom.

And, I looked away from the past and into the future: my eyes set on Hermione sitting at the table with Ginny and smiling over a cup of tea.

***

“Hey—come over here and look at this.”

Hermione had come back from upstairs and gone back to putting away the dishes from breakfast. Gin had left, seeing her apparate just before exiting the perimeter of Number Twelve's magicks.

On her tiptoes, Hermione shut closed the plate cupboard and set to dry her hands. I had to readjust my glasses over and over, my eyes deceiving me. In my hands a parchment alongside the daily mail directed to a Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter.

“Unbelievable,” I resumed my distance from which I read even when feeling Hermione place her arms around my shoulders to look over them.

She gasped after reading what was written in plain English.

In agreement by my own expression, I looked over her own amazement featured greatly with a complimentary hand over her gasp. She glanced at me, and then back at the letter.

“One. Million. Galleons.” Hermione annunciated every, single word.

The letter was signed by no other than Zoe Reynolds herself, and signed sincerely and with thought.

Both of you will know what to do with this meager sum of gold. Please use it wisely for the betterment of us all.

With love and admiration,

Zoe Reynolds

Hermione shook her head as I did, utterly spellbound.

“We can't accept this, Harry.”

“Under the circumstance love, I don't believe we have a choice.”

***

Inside a tiny, family-run coffee shop, London

A frosty, wintery London landscape stuck to each individual window pane, a collaboration of pieces to create the whole. Rouge, leather-fitted seats had just enough wear for ambience amongst a seemly century-old interior. Tilting to the panes, she used her breath to produce a palette and, using her fingertip like a brush, drew a heart onto the fogged glass.

She wrote “H+Hr” in the centre… And, I couldn't help but be uplifted in grin.

Automobiles would pass by almost relaxed in this quiet part of town, the automobiles just as timeworn as the intimate bistro. We enjoyed visiting these kinds of establishments because it took us away from the limelight; and, her and I, we had nearly suffocated by it. Though, it did give us the greater advantage of not being interrupted from our musings, and gazing into each other's eyes from across the small table.

Frankly, I hadn't necessarily cared for what I wore—just something to keep the cold out: a coat, some jeans, boots, a scarf. Of course, Hermione played a bit of dress up on me before heading out, giving me a once over, satisfying her Type-A personality. Regardless of her tidying me, I really cared for what she wore, and I swore—from her history—she knew how to dress to accentuate every bit of herself.

She said she paid no mind, really.

It didn't really matter to me if she fibbed or not. I watched every beautiful moment she moved. That may sound crazy, but it was true. Her cocoa-coloured lively irises closed only a second when she'd sip her frothy hot chocolate from a pale-green ceramic mug. She needed two hands to pick the mug up, but the instant she put it down our hands were together again.

We had gloves on, but that didn't negate the sensation of pure warmth radiating from her fingers, and the centre of her palm. That bit of mahogany would fall over her eye, and she'd smile, the natural peach of her lips curling upwards. In the subtle light, the hue of her skin wasn't exactly porcelain, but a light olive colour, complements of the atmosphere. With rose in her cheeks, she wore one of her striped newsboy caps, one shade of green darker than the other in forward lines. Her hair fell behind her ear, the volume framing her face, and when she'd laugh each lock softly bounced.

A striped scarf clung to her neck, striped similarly to her cap but with mint green and a much lighter hue together. She decided to wear this slightly faded, slight sand-washed styled jean-coloured peacoat that fit perfectly with her perfectly feminine outline. A hint of her beige blouse peeked forth from the V-cut the coat formed in the front, gathering at oversized dark-grey fastened buttons.

I could feel her petite boots against mine, having crossed her legs in a way so one foot stayed with mine on the floor while the toe of the other would run absentmindedly against the inside of my calf. She had her hand flat on the table, palm up, and for the longest time I drew circles by fingertip and traced my beloved's hand.

She said I gave her shivers more than the weather.

I smiled and laughed, silently of course, as another couple or two had entered to relieve themselves from the judgment out there. I took a sip of my coffee-and-cream, and glanced up when the door would open in its rare occasion. In hush, we spoke—about everything—especially our future, possible honeymoon spots a hot topic, and the noted sum of galleons we received this morning. The parchment altogether blindsided us, and I agreed with Hermione when she said:

“Charity?”

I always did wonder how mum and dad accumulated all the galleons they had left, and the extra sums of gold magically appearing within the vault over the years. I suspected Headmaster Dumbledore, or Sirius, but neither a soul I could ask now. I had enough for both Hermione and myself to live into our golden years, so having received the amount from Zoe Reynolds—and her broad request—I wouldn't pocket it.

“St. Mungo's really helped us over the years, fighting for you as much as I fought for you,” I proposed, squeezing her hand after both “you's”. “We can request it to be towards heart-related healing methods, or the cancer awareness and prevention areas Shade supported. What do you think?”

She smiled that smile I so fantastically adored.

She sat up, wriggling in her spot, wriggling with me and against me, and said as she leaned toward me in that low, raspy tone, “I think it's a great idea, Harry…”

And, she kissed me, taking my face into her delicate hands.

***

Within the outskirts of London

We walked the short distance down the path towards our next destination—wherever that may lead us. We hadn't an agenda, and merely strolled together taking in the sights of the quiet, old suburb.

We walked hand-in-hand, stopping every now and then by Hermione to window shop. One family-run shop followed the other, a variety of advertisements showing off their wares and discounts inside. Clothing, gadgets—even pets, as one window displayed puppies. Head over heels, Hermione bent down to play with them through the glass as their tiny faces followed Hermione's fingers as she moved them around in chase.

We kissed along the way, my gloved hand squeezing hers and she'd turn, smile that gorgeous Hermione smile in the crisp air, and our lips would meet in the sunlight. The environment still clung frigidly to its temperature, a dust of snow still blown from the streets along the curb. With their green leaves gone for the season, the manufactured trees in the antique district would flit the light casted down, dancing along her face when I'd bring her back again in another caress.

We passed by an elderly couple bundled up in their coats walking away from us. They were slow in each step, but they were happy. We greeted them with a “Good afternoon,” to their equaled reply. Hermione looked from them to me, and with another squeeze she came to me. We kissed, Hermione standing by tiptoe that second in her lasted grin.

We ended up in a hometown theatre, too small to carry the big titles, but intimate enough for the few that were sitting in the old-fashioned red-clothed seats. The film was some documentary spoken in Italian with English subtitles, to which Hermione was interested enough in checking. It didn't matter to me in the end; the only matter of mind was seeing her cheery face when we stepped up to the refreshment kiosk to get something hot in Styrofoam cups.

I found it hard not to gaze at her throughout the film.

I didn't know what was going on on-screen, something about star-crossed lovers and a war, but between the foreign language and the heavy dialogue I couldn't keep up. What I did keep up with was the way her emotions would change in the bluish-light off the projector, from happy, to concerned, to sad, to crying at the end. I retrieved a handkerchief from the inside of my coat and gave it to her, and as I did leaned in.

I kissed the top of her head, kissing her lips afterwards when she finished dabbing her eyes and went to me with her own.

***

At the Minister's Chair, Ministry of Magic

“I'm putting my foot down on my decision, Kingsley,” Draco, having made his rounds around the Ministry prior to being summoned to the Minister's office by Kingsley still wore his Ministry-adorned black trench coat. Pansy was with him, at his side, and both observed the redness erupting from Kingsley's dark features. Draco had his arms crossed, and he'd make brief motions with his hands whenever he wanted to emphasize his beliefs, especially when asserting his position on their debate.

“I'm allowing the press to investigate every last inch of the Ministry if they so choose to. We have nothing to hide to the public unlike those prior to our administration. This is an open door policy that I believe—“

“Rubbish!” Kingsley made jerky movements, uncomfortable in his chair until the anger overcame him. He shot up, making broad, sweeping gestures towards Draco. “At one time I was your chief advisor, but nothing—nothing now—I say makes it passed this obscene nature of trust for people! These are the same institutions that easily tore down the Order in years gone by! Why do you insist on the avocation for yet another one-two punch for what we've accomplished?”

Unblinking, Draco stared upwards at Kingsley. Levelheaded, he merely restated, “I have faith in our people.”

“Bullocks!” The Muggle Ambassador waved Draco's assertion off in the air. “That's bullocks, and you know it, Draco! The credulousness of all this has begun to smell something foul!”

Draco remained silent and steadfast, and when Pansy watched her husband noted the confidence in his poise…and how he hadn't flinched a beat.

“You still obsess with this `Dumbledore doctrine'—thinking that one day he's going to reappear in that painting and set forth the second coming of the Holy Land,” Kingsley motioned towards the painting of an empty chair without looking away from his appointed predecessor. He pointed to himself. “I used to believe in Dumbledore's words, too, and look at where that got me, Draco. Look at what happened. You're going to go right back down that path, and I won't—will not—pick you up when you fall this time. Because I've warned you, too many times, about how unsuspecting you are.”

“Are you willing to allow them full access to the Department of Mysteries, too?!”

“Of course not.”

The short, astute voice abruptly ended Ambassador Shacklebolt's tirade. From each of their positions they turned in tandem to Malfoy's Press Minister. Rita's straight, blonde hair cascaded down into the white hood of the Auror's cloak she still wore, standing with her arms folded as she took in all that had been said.

“You know as well as everyone else that that Department is off limits.”

“But we've `nothing to hide'!”

“With all due respect, Kingsley, that's not exactly what my husband said…” the utterance of Pansy withdrew Kingsley from scowling at Rita. “…And, with all due respect, for someone of your stature you've double-downed on patronizing. We're only trying to help—“

“I'm trying to help!” shouted Kingsley, which roused Draco to stand on the spot.

“You've no right to shout at my wife! None!”

“I wouldn't have to shout at all if it weren't for the lack of respect towards—“

The double doors of the office agitated the already unsettled environment within when an Auror burst inside to say in haste, “I apologize for interrupting sir—“

“Out with it then,” issued Malfoy with the tinge of disquiet in his tone.

“There's been an incident in the Department of Mysteries.”

***

On The Wand, featuring Oliver Cane

A man in his sixties, with the acknowledgement of his years apparent in a receding hairline albeit with sophistication not only by his demeanor, but by his suit, sits in front of what could appear to be a thick, pool of the darkest blue water. “On The Wand,” slowly scroll by vertically, horizontally, diagonally in transparent, darker text throughout the apparent blue ripples. A round table of sorts is stationed in front of him, and that of the blonde, classic look so like Kelly Morgan, calling back a time period long passed.

In a contemporary, yet simple black dress, she sits at arm's length, laughing a bit with her broadcasting comrade. The laugh is but a phase, for the joke from Oliver soothed over the nightmarish tale Misses Morgan told:

“You know me, Oliver. I'm not one to lie over and play dead,” she continues to address the business at hand. “But, having received several death threats against my family when I wouldn't keep quiet about the truth—that's when I knew things had gone from bad to worse.”

“It was an entirely new atmosphere, really, when Prophet Media took over WNN. Then, of course, as we all know now—what with the new revelations by Rita Skeeter—that Quincy Nolpho was what some had thought he would be. And, he wasn't the typical Death Eater. He was a monster, and that's not a word I describe just anyone.”

“You say in your book how it was suffocating, and then you had to flee,” uttered Mister Cane, his hands folded in front of him on the table, offering a bit of gesture here and there.

“I'm the spunky American here on set,” she gave a slight smile at the jest she was given off-air about being one of the few Americans working for British-Wizarding broadcasts. “As a former attorney, I looked into killer's faces all the time and nothing ever made me do what I did with this case. My baby boy is going on two, and when Quincy Nolpho all but took over the network it became his way or the highway as they say in America. And, for the dissenters, the gulag—“

“And, thus is why you left.”

“And, thus is why I left,” Kelly repeats with a nod. “I told my husband it wasn't safe here anymore, and before things got really bad we were back safe in Syracuse, New York with my folks.”

“And, under great care from the Elves who reached out to you.”

“They did. They knew the horror, and by God's grace I was kept safe. I knew I hadn't needed to worry about my son's safety even if somehow my attention was diverted for whatever reason elsewhere. I wasn't confined to a home, but we did keep vigilance after being silenced, and then persecuted and pursued by Quincy Nolpho's Death Eaters.”

“They wouldn't dare let me say what I knew was true and tell my audience their nature, how they were Death Eaters—“

“But, you did write several pieces for The Quibbler during your stead.”

“Yes, that's the only way I could get my voice out over here. The Quibbler fought the good fight, and stayed in what could be considered Hell even if the middle class magician didn't know. All this happened behind the scenes; though, the partaking of the media was fairly evident. Quincy's team began to systematically cherry-pick their messages.”

“We all went underground. I'm not agile like Kelly Morgan in her youth and spirit, but I did try and get out on the radio. At least for a little bit. I'm becoming an old man, Morgan, you know.”

Morgan laughed. “I can laugh now. That's all I have after all that has happened to my family and others. I'm not particularly happy, but now that Prophet Media will be a part of The Quibbler, and it's such a sigh of relief when we can finally breathe—“

“And, you're right,” she jabbed playfully. “You are getting up there in age, Oliver. I remember when I first started here and you had me on every now then—you were what? Eighty going on one hundred?”

They share a laugh.

“I think that `Most Influential Person' award is getting to your head, Morgan.”

Oliver Cane looks off to Camera B.

“Kelly Morgan's new book titled, Truth's Asphyxiation: How a Death Eater's Coup D'état Silenced the Media Overnight, will be in stores tomorrow. Misses Morgan will also be at Flourish and Blotts tomorrow morning for her book signing and a general greeting to her audience members.”

***

Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

Warm under Number Twelve's protective arms, revelation after revelation of what once was the state of the world Hermione lived in as I chose my options gave a chill down my spine. Having read a bulk of The Quibbler's Luna sent over, a stack of what hadn't been read overshadowed the growing stack on the coffee table in front of me of what I had. Still, gruesome, eye-opening details of Quincy Nolpho and Sarilda Lestrange's affairs brought not only a halt to my breath, but the thoughts of what could've happened to…

I put the issue of The Quibbler down, seeing the bright glow of the fire as well as the crackling of the logs. I watched her fast asleep in my arms. She had the Gryffindor quilt over us. One of the books she found in her library lay closed in her lap. With her eyes closed, and the epitome of innocence in her face, fragility, really, of all I could've lost in my own past decision—I kissed her forehead. The caress lingered against the warmth of her beautiful skin, and I closed my eyes, letting the scent of what I cherish fill me to the very core.

To admit I became a little emotional would be an understatement: to read about, and to see, what others went through…their sacrifice, the murders, the forced coercion led by the Death Eaters in full parade…

I was assured, more than ever, about our joint decision about declining the invitation to the Ministry to put Hermione back in the public's subversive eyes. I wanted to believe that, deep down inside I did what I was supposed to do; to, give it all up in seconds to give her a better life… But—this life shown in the newspaper was the best I could afford to her?

I kept my eyes closed and kept content against the softness of Hermione in my arms.

I didn't know how long I sat there like that, minutes, I could've been hours for all I knew until they opened to the unlocking sounds at the front door of all Number Twelve's magicks allowing one of the few inside. It had been Ginny's first day back at The Quibbler running, now, the chief sports consultant and editor, and I knew Hermione wished to be awake for all the juicy details. I could see the door opening quietly, and the form of Ginevra Granger step into the hallway and close the door behind in the same quietness, thinking I assumed that we were sound asleep.

A lion to his lioness, I continued to lovingly caress and nudge her away until she came to. I did a nod over behind us to the noise as she aroused awake. And, where her eyes went led her to stand and meet her sister with questions and laughter.

And, as I listened to them both on the sofa talk about today's events with all her smiling… I couldn't help but well up without them looking, wiping beneath my glasses when it was optimally prudent.

She truly was the meaning to my existence and I could never bear the thought of losing her from my life.

***

Department of Mysteries, Magic and Medical-Science Division

“It's our first case, Minister. We began making more cultures to combat what we feared, but it'll still take more time.”

Both the high-level Ministry Healer and Draco Malfoy peered through a one-way window looking into a quarantined room. Aseptic from wall to wall, the Healers inside took special precautions when walking around the one bed and monitors hook up to the male Auror who looked to be in pain. He'd grimace, and the intensity hurt Draco enough to finally jerk away from the heartbreaking scene.

“Systematic breakdown at a cellular level. Epistaxis set in and we couldn't stop the bleeding, an indication that something internal was happening. This Auror in particular—“

“He has a name,” Draco's glare made the Healer uncomfortable. She looked away and into the room. “Let's address him as if he's still human. He is one of ours, and he should be respected as such.”

“My apologies, Minister. I'm conditioned to state generalities due to confidentiality,” The Healer glanced back at her superior.

“There is no need for generalities with me.”

“Jayden,” continued the Healer, corrected. “Jayden began bleeding from his nose. When assessed he complained of pain, but it was bearable until roughly forty-eight hours ago. He thought it may be normal body aches, but it's worsened since. I can't say for sure what will happen, but we're trying our best to at least prolong his life for the first batch of cultures. Then we'll pray from there.”

“Jayden was one of the last of the men we pulled from that Hellhole at the bottom of Azkaban…,” Suddenly, with an open-hand, Draco hit the wall, making not only the Healer beside him jump but the others inside look towards the noise, too. “Son of a bitch!”

“And, we're doing everything we can?!”

The Healer nodded guardedly, her superior in a frenzy.

“Sir!” The Healer called out, waving her arms in panic as Draco went for the door and into the decontamination area. She met him inside, and with his hand on the latch leading into Jayden's room. “You can't go in there! It may not be safe!”

“And what? Who's to stop me?” Draco lashed out. “It's already in me, so to Hell with protocol! I'm not leaving a fellow man behind!”

Knowing she wasn't going to keep him from entering at the rate the atmosphere ascended, she at least pleaded with him to, “Take this!”

She handed him a mask to put on, and a gown, and gloves—to which all of the above were thrown to the floor.

Posthaste, Draco had the door open with a flick of his wrist. Even with a hobble no one could stop him, proceeding bedside. The group of Healers inside began their disagreement, but Malfoy vociferated enough to keep them quiet. They were with him, however, when he took up Jayden's hand. The Auror turned to him, and at once felt at ease with his leader at his side. He couldn't talk with the various tubes and lines he had on him and in him, but Draco felt Jayden's appreciation, the response when the Auror squeezed his hand.

“We're not going to leave your side Jayden, we're not brother,” Draco looked into his kinsman's frightened, dilated eyes. The interim Minister fought with his own desperation, at times his voice shaking. “I'm making it a mission to get you and all the rest well. You're going to go back home to Cassidy and the kids, mate. You are.”

Draco squeezed his hand, and Jayden squeezed right back.

“You hang in there and fight this—you fight this!” Draco shook Jayden's shoulder with his other hand, and in synchronization felt Jayden squeeze his fingers in return. “I vowed to never leave one of my men behind, and I never break a promise. You fight this, you hear me?!”

***

{Author's Note: It's perplexing to see an average of one to two thousand hits on every chapter and read only one to three reviews. It's also very disconcerting to see other authors on Portkey ask why our audience isn't giving us an incentive to produce more work via communication with us. I've long had a conversation trying to figure the reason behind the severe lack of communication myself, and at first I thought it was merely because I was doing my job or the end of the Harry Potter series. But four years out, it's gotten unacceptable, and I see other notable authors on Portkey having left within these past years because there's just nothing keeping us here. The only silver-lining came from reviews stating that Life and Times deserved more appreciation than it has gotten, and I know other stories have garnered the same respect. This was more uplifting than you know and has kept me fueled to finish this fiction.

If any authors read this I want to give you big kudos. Without our dedication there wouldn't be Portkey.org or Fanfiction.net, or any other sites like these. That being said, I've pulled the plug on my other stories and have debated if this will be the end of my authorship after Life and Times. I have come to the conclusion that there is no incentive for me to continue to provide more material after Life and Times ends and will place my time and effort elsewhere. I do want to give a big thank you to those few who have spoken with me and stayed with me over the years. As this was my first endeavor into fanfiction, I'll remember each and every one of you who supported my endeavor openly.}

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