Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
Author's Note: I am so sorry for how long it's taken for me to update this fic. My only defense is that RL got crazy and took my muses with it. However, things have settled down a little and I should have more time to write so hopefully, it won't take so long to update again. In the meantime, I hope this chapter-with some smut-is worth the wait!
What We Do
Chapter 5
"And so then Damien told me that…"
Abruptly, Harry stopped listening to Hermione's words. Something…
He tightened his grip on her hand and she fell silent, glancing at him.
He didn't meet her gaze for once, preoccupied and tense. He didn't know what had impinged on his senses, what disturbed him, but if there was one thing he had learned from the years of the War, it was to trust his gut, the instinct he had developed.
His wand was already out and ready when he sensed-felt-something and reacted instinctively, throwing himself on top of Hermione, knocking her to the ground as he half twisted to throw up a blind Shielding Spell, more to gain some time than because he believed it would be very effective.
They had barely hit the ground before Harry pushed himself up again, although he did not stand, remaining where he was so his body could serve as a shield of sorts to Hermione.
"Very nice, but I did not really plan to hurt you just now, only to get your attention." He heard Traynor's mocking voice just before he saw Traynor approaching.
Harry didn't bother responding; he wasn't going to bandy words with Traynor. And mentally swore, damning his own arrogance in not suggesting that he and Hermione be accompanied by a team of Aurors at all times. He didn't doubt-exactly-his ability to protect Hermione but two against one were not odds he liked-certainly not when it came to Hermione's safety. No, where Hermione was concerned, he wouldn't have felt entirely comfortable even with odds of several thousand to one.
"Pitiful Half-blood. You should really give up. The Mudblood will still die. The only question is whether you die first or whether I make you watch as I kill her."
Harry refused to react, although his hand tightened around his wand to the point of pain. Instead, he focused on putting up a silent Shielding Spell.
And then several things seemed to happen at once: behind him, Hermione moved, a bright streak of light flashing out of her wand and into the sky; he fired off a Stupefy that Traynor managed to dodge, even as Traynor flicked his own, stolen, wand-and then he heard Hermione cry out and saw her wand come flying out of her hand to be caught by Traynor.
He shoved aside his automatic reaction to the sound of Hermione's cry-one quick glance had been enough to assure him that she wasn't badly hurt-but now, she was wandless, unarmed. Quick as the thought, he handed his wand to her.
But instead of taking it immediately, she closed her hand over his, pointing his wand towards Traynor where he was picking himself up. Harry noted that it appeared Traynor had, at least, fallen awkwardly in dodging the Stupefy so he was favoring one leg as he stood up.
He felt an odd tingling beginning to pulse from where Hermione's hand was wrapped around his and glanced down at her to see that she was focused, narrow-eyed, on Traynor. He knew that look. He might not know exactly what she was doing but he directed his energy on Traynor as well so that his own power could add to hers.
Traynor did not appear visibly affected by whatever spell Hermione had performed as he limped forward one step. "This is so much better, you see, Mudblood. I will kill you with your very own wand, this wand you do not deserve to own, worthless Mudblood that you are."
Harry cast another Shielding Spell and then acted quickly, shoving his wand into Hermione's hand so she would be armed before he cast a quick Confundus to buy some time. He turned to Hermione only to see her eyes widen and her lips part on a warning. He turned to look but then felt himself flying backwards to crash onto the ground some meters away.
Leaving Hermione alone. He ignored his own aches to turn towards Hermione-
He could swear time slowed, even stopped, everything seeming to happen very slowly as he watched in horror.
Hermione cast a quick hex at Traynor that he deflected with a quick wave of his wand and tried for a Stupefy but Traynor managed to disarm Hermione again, leaving her wandless.
Traynor's smile stretched. "And now, Mudblood, you die."
He pointed Hermione's stolen wand at her-
In that split second, Harry could see it happen, the nightmarish image searing itself across his brain-the flash of green light and Hermione's body falling to the ground…
No!! Harry flung his hand out towards Traynor, calling up everything in him, feeling a surge of desperate power. "Sectumsempra!"
Traynor let out an unearthly shriek as his raised right arm was sliced off at the elbow. With his one remaining hand, Traynor snatched up Hermione's wand and turned, his enraged gaze pinning Harry.
But Hermione was safe-for the moment.
Harry pushed himself to his feet, wavering slightly. Damn it. That last surge of forced, channeled wandless magic had drained him-but it had saved Hermione. He clung to that thought, stiffening his spine, as Traynor limped towards him.
"Harry!"
He glanced toward the sound of Hermione's voice with one eye. With a desperate effort, he leaped up to catch his wand that Hermione had retrieved and thrown at him and, in the same movement, shot ropes out of his wand to bind Traynor securely.
Traynor fell to the ground, immobilized.
"Silencio." Harry silenced Traynor with a quick, disdainful flick of his wand. He didn't want to hear Traynor's vile thoughts.
Harry knelt and retrieved Hermione's wand from Traynor's now uselessly-pinned hand. "Hermione is more worthy of her magic than any other witch or wizard in the world. It's you who are not worthy of it, Traynor," he said quietly.
Traynor's face twisted into an infuriated snarl but Harry ignored him purposefully, turning away in revulsion.
He turned to face Hermione, returning her wand to her, just as there was a sudden rush of sound as two teams of Aurors, followed closely by Jack Hardesty, both ran and Apparated onto the street.
"We heard a report of a strange flash of light in the sky and came to investigate. Should have known you'd find a way to take care of it first," Jack greeted him.
Harry felt himself grin rather wearily, even though just a moment ago, he wouldn't have imagined it was possible. "Serves you right for showing up late."
Jack turned his gaze to Traynor, his expression becoming grim. "We'll take care of him from here."
"He won't be able to transform into his Animagus form," Hermione inserted. "At least, not for a while."
Harry and Jack both turned to stare at Hermione before Harry suddenly realized. "That was the spell you did with my wand."
Hermione glanced at him, nodding. "It's not an easy spell and usually takes two casters so that their combined magic can overpower that of the Animagus, which is the only way to make it effective."
Harry smiled. "You're brilliant," he said spontaneously and entirely sincerely.
She returned his smile. "I couldn't have done it without you."
His smile faded as he studied her, noticing that there was a cut on her lip and-he reached out and touched his finger ever so lightly to her cheek where a bruise was beginning to form. "You okay?" he asked softly.
She reached up to grasp his hand, giving it a light squeeze. "I'm fine. What about you?"
"All in one piece," he said lightly enough but he didn't release her hand as he studied her, noting the lingering shadows in her eyes.
Their eyes met and held and-
Harry returned to the present as he heard Jack give a slight cough, realizing that he had entirely forgotten about Jack's presence, let alone that of the other Aurors.
He turned to face Jack, whose expression was so preternaturally bland and unreadable that it was quite clear he was fighting to hide his amusement. "Right, so you can take charge of Traynor from here?" he asked, unnecessarily, trying to sound as coolly professional as he could, even as he retained his grip on Hermione's hand.
"Of course," Jack reassured him. He glanced down at Traynor with unconcealed disgust. "He won't get away this time. I intend to make absolutely sure of that."
Harry nodded. "He'll need to be put in one of the maximum security cells that don't allow magic of any kind to take place inside, for when the spell Hermione cast wears off."
Jack nodded briskly, quite as if he wasn't already aware of this. "Right. In fact, I'll personally escort the bastard into his new cell."
"Good. And then we'll need to send the word out to all the district offices, call in the rest of the teams so they know to drop the search."
"Gage knows what to do. I'm sure he'll take charge of that."
Harry nodded. "And you can let Gage know that I'll be in first thing tomorrow to write up the Incident Report."
"Will do." Jack paused and then asked, "What do you want to go into the release we send out to the press?"
Harry met Jack's eyes. "The standard message. You know the policy on that."
Jack hesitated, for the first time seeming less than certain of himself, before he gave in. "All right, the standard message."
Harry nodded and then glanced at Hermione. "I'm heading home now but Gage knows where to find me, if need be."
Jack nodded and threw a small salute as he turned away, lifting Traynor to his feet none too gently.
Harry waited until they were back in Grimmauld Place, the front door closed behind them, before he pulled her into his arms with a kind of tender urgency. "Are you all right, really?"
He felt her nod against him. "I'm fine, honestly, Harry. What about you?"
He swallowed, feeling again the soul-searing dread. "That was too close. I'm sorry. I should have assigned a team of Aurors to stay with you as protection, shouldn't have been so arrogant to think I could protect you on my own."
Hermione pulled away from him, just enough to meet his eyes. "Harry! I'm fine, really I am, and you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for."
"I just… I can't stand to think of you being in danger."
Her expression softened. "I know, but I'm fine. Besides," she added with a slight smile, "you might have tried to give me a team of Aurors to act as my bodyguards, but I wouldn't have let you."
He managed a small smile as he knew she wanted him to. "Okay," he relented, lifting his hand to cup her cheek lightly. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"Everything. For saving me by throwing me my wand, for that spell that summoned Jack and the other Aurors. Just… thank you."
She smiled slightly. "It's what we do, isn't it? We protect each other."
"Always." His tone changed. "Your lip is bleeding. Do you have some ointment I can put on it?"
"In my room. But it's really nothing. I can take care of it myself."
"No, let me do it. Besides, it's easier when someone else plays the Healer."
"Okay," Hermione agreed, "but only if you let me help you with your bruises."
"Yes, Miss Prefect," he said teasingly.
She smiled. "I don't recall you being so obedient when I was a Prefect."
He shrugged a little and then suppressed a wince at a sudden spike of pain in his dully-throbbing head and at the way the gesture pulled at his now-sore shoulders. "I've learned something in the last few years."
But of course, being Hermione, she caught whatever expression crossed his face. "Oh, Harry, are you very sore now?"
"I've felt worse," he said lightly, only to realize his mistake when her expression swiftly sobered. "It really isn't that bad," he assured her seriously.
"Okay, but I'm still going to take a look at your bruises."
"You're going first," he insisted implacably as they entered her room.
"But, Harry--"
"Let me take care of you," he said, softening his tone a little but retaining enough steel to tell her that he wasn't about to give way.
She acquiesced with a nod, retrieving the Healing Ointment from where it had been stored-probably from the last time they'd stayed here during the War, he suddenly realized-and then sat down on her bed.
He kept his touch gentle as he used the Ointment and then the Healing Charm on the cut on her lip before moving on to the bruise forming on her cheek.
Afterwards, he went on to her hand, bleeding from a thin gash across her fingers.
"Harry, don't look so solemn. Really, this is barely more than a paper cut."
He flicked his gaze up to her face, managing a slight smile. "I know. I just… don't like to see you bleed."
Her expression softened but all she said was, "Let me look at your bruises now. Turn around and lift up your shirt."
"Yes, Miss Prefect," he teased, doing what she'd told him to, and then heard her suck in her breath a little.
"Oh, Harry…" she sighed. "Your shoulders are pretty badly scraped up, your back is already bruised, and you've got a lump on your head. Is your head aching terribly?"
He turned his head to glance at her over his shoulder. "Is that all?"
She threw him a frowning look. "This isn't funny."
He sobered, turning around so he could face her. "I'm sorry; I know it's not funny. But Hermione, if that's what it took to keep you safe, then it's nothing."
Her expression softened. "I know, Harry, but it doesn't mean I like to see it." She paused and then managed a wavering attempt at a smile. "Turn around again so I can get started. And I think you'd better take off your shirt to make it easier."
"If you wanted to see me shirtless, you only had to ask," he quipped as he turned around again, hiding a wince at the way the motion of tugging his shirt up and over his head pulled at his sore shoulders.
"Be quiet, Harry, so I can pay attention." Her tone was mild, belying her words, and he could hear her slight smile in her tone and was satisfied.
She started with his head and he heard her murmur a few words and then felt the throbbing ache from the back of his head decrease, although his headache remained.
"I'll be right back, Harry. I'm going to make a Headache Potion for you."
Hermione returned more quickly than he'd expected, handing him a cup of the Headache Potion that he quickly downed, wrinkling his nose a little at the taste, but it did relieve his headache almost immediately.
He felt the cool Healing Ointment on his skin followed by the surprisingly light touch of Hermione's fingers. It did surprise him. He was so accustomed to thinking of Hermione as being strong that somehow he didn't associate gentleness with Hermione-and yet, he knew she was gentle. It was something that always amazed him about Hermione, that she was so strong and determined but that she retained the kindness of her heart, as in how, even in the midst of the tension immediately following the response to Traynor's escape, she had remembered to pause and mourn for Scott Hotchkiss.
He let out a slight hiss of pain as she began to rub the Ointment into the abrasions on his shoulders and she froze.
"Sorry, Harry. I should have mentioned it might sting."
"It's okay, Hermione. I just wasn't expecting it."
It was a few more minutes before Hermione announced, "All done."
He turned back again to face her. "I knew you were my favorite Healer," he told her only half-teasingly, lifting his hands to rest them lightly on her shoulders. And felt her stiffen at his touch. He removed his hands immediately. "What? Did I hurt you?"
Hermione managed a slight smile. "No, it's nothing. My shoulder is just a little sore, that's all."
He frowned. "Let me see."
"Harry, really, it's nothing," Hermione began.
"Let me see," he repeated and then softened his tone a little. "You took care of all my bruises."
Hermione agreed with a slight nod and then unbuttoned the top few buttons of her shirt to bare one of her shoulders, revealing the beginnings of a large bruise on her shoulder and upper arm.
"That's not nothing," Harry chided mildly, trying to hide his automatic reaction to the sight and the knowledge that he must have caused this when he knocked Hermione to the ground at Traynor's first attack. Intellectually, he knew perfectly well that he couldn't blame himself for this when it had been necessary to protect Hermione, but knowing it couldn't quite prevent the visceral stab to his gut at the sight.
He spread the Healing Ointment lightly over the bruised skin, trying to keep his fingers as gentle as possible, before using the Healing Charm.
Acting on an impulse, he bent and kissed her now-unbruised shoulder. "All better now," he said lightly and looked up at her with a half-smile.
She was so close. She had turned her head to look at him and now there were only inches between their faces. He could see flecks of gold and amber and mahogany in her eyes.
His smile slowly faded. And the mood that had been so single-mindedly focused on comfort and healing shifted as the air seemed to thicken between them. He suddenly found it hard to breathe.
"Harry." His name was a whisper, barely a wisp of sound.
Slowly, he lifted his hand to cup her cheek. Her eyes closed briefly at the touch and when she opened her eyes again, he let out a soft gasp. She wanted him to kiss her. It was there in her eyes, in the quickening of her breath through her slightly-parted lips. She wanted him to kiss her. The knowledge settled in his chest, warmth spreading through him. He wondered, a little fuzzily, why the thought affected him so much-because it did affect him.
She wanted him to kiss her. And he-he suddenly felt as if kissing her was more necessary than breathing.
Desire-he'd felt it before, but this was different. Before, desire had been about him, more focused on what he found attractive. This-this was about her, what she wanted, more than it was about him.
She wanted him to kiss her-and so he kissed her.
He kissed her softly, slowly. Savoring her taste and her warmth and her responsiveness.
And then she made a soft sound in the back of her throat-a sound that he swore went straight to his groin-as she shifted closer to him, deepening the kiss, and he was lost. The desire that had been simmering exploded inside him. The hand that had been cupping her cheek slid backward to tangle in her hair as he kissed her deeply, with all the passion, the sheer want, he felt. It was almost shocking-he was used to feeling tenderness for Hermione, even used to the tug of attraction, used to a rather vague, unfocused desire that he'd gotten very good at ignoring. But this-this was different. This went beyond mere arousal; this was an addiction, a need.
And she responded, kissing him back with a heat that matched and mirrored his own, eliminating any small chance he had of resisting.
Everything else seemed to dissolve around him as he lost touch with the rest of the universe. The world could have ended at that moment and he would have neither noticed nor cared as long as he could keep on kissing her.
It was a shock when she broke off the kiss, drawing back.
He blinked, disoriented. It took him a few moments before his mind fought free of the cloud of passion and he returned to reality and a realization of what he was doing.
This wasn't the time. Hermione had just been threatened, attacked. They had both been injured, emotions running high.
And then he saw what she was doing-and almost died, his throat closing so he couldn't speak or breathe.
She was unbuttoning her shirt, completely this time. And even as he stared, she shrugged off her shirt entirely, leaving her upper body entirely bare except for her bra.
Oh my God… He felt almost dizzy from the rush of blood from his head, his mouth going dry.
He closed his mouth, swallowed, and finally managed to croak, "Hermione. You-we-we don't have to-I didn't mean-you were just attacked and-and-"
Whatever he'd been about to say-and every last thought in his head-died a quick death, along with any miniscule ability he had to protest, when she reached back to unclasp her bra and shrugged out of that too.
"I want this, Harry. I want you."
She was… amazing. And beautiful and sexy and-and perfect.
He stared, memorizing the sight of her, and then finally, finally, lifted his hand to touch her.
He cupped, caressed, stroked, as her skin grew hot to his touch, her head falling back on a gasp. He bent and set his lips to the smooth curve of her neck, tasting her there and then traced down the line of her throat with his lips, seeking and finding every sensitive spot that had her shivering and then gasping.
And all the while, his hands were busy. Wandering, learning her. Learning the feel of her, the softness of her skin, the weight of her breast in his hand. Learning what made her breath hitch, what made her moan.
Learning what made her take action, as she reached for him.
And it was his turn to gasp and burn as her hands explored his chest, his shoulders, and then wandered down his stomach. She touched him with a curiously intoxicating mixture of confidence and uncertainty, and he found that there was something incredibly arousing about having Hermione's single-minded concentration focused on him, on pleasuring him. Who knew that there was something erotic about Hermione's cleverness? Because he, of all people, knew the full depths of her cleverness and just the thought that all her intellect was centered on him was enough to have him on the verge of exploding inside his trousers.
He grabbed her wrists. "Stop it." He barely managed to force the syllables out, his voice so gravelly he could hardly recognize it.
She glanced up at him through her lashes. "Why? You liked it."
She was going to be the death of him. And he wondered wildly just when Hermione-Hermione-had become a seductress.
He choked on something like a laugh. "I liked it too much."
Her lips curved into the smile of a siren and he could swear he felt the smile as if it were a physical caress on every part of his body.
And he responded the only way he could by flattening himself against her, kissing her smile away, his hands greedy, as they fell back onto her bed.
Now his caresses were lush, immoderate, any finesse cindered away by the heat of their lust. He couldn't touch enough of her, couldn't get close enough to her.
And she responded, her body arching, rubbing herself against him in a desperate attempt to get closer.
His hands were hard, forceful, as he fumbled with the fastenings of her trousers and then quickly pushed them down, taking her knickers with them. At some other time, he might have taken the time to strip her slowly, enjoying every inch of her bared skin, but at that moment, he couldn't. And neither could she, her hands making equally quick work of his trousers and his boxers, until his arousal was finally freed.
And then he was trapped, his trousers and boxers twisted and bunched together at his knees, and they broke apart, the rising passion abruptly broken as they both laughed, breathlessly.
"We'll have to finish undressing on our own," she said, the sound of her voice-breathy with arousal-sending another jolt of lust through him.
They did. Harry managed to strip off his trousers, boxers, and socks in record time. And then he simply stared, his eyes greedily wandering over every inch of Hermione. Even if he lived to be 300 years old, he would never forget this first sight of Hermione naked. And he knew he would never-could never-see anything or anyone as beautiful as she was right then.
"Hermione… you're so… beautiful…" he finally breathed without even realizing he was going to speak.
She blushed but met his eyes directly. "You don't have to say that. I know I'm not beautiful."
From any other girl, the words would have been fishing for a compliment, but Hermione meant it.
"Yes, you are," he said simply-just before he kissed her. He couldn't make eloquent speeches or write poetry to convince her, but he could show her.
And so he did.
He showed her with his hands-touching every inch of her, caressing, exploring every curve, every peak and valley, from her breasts to her stomach, to her hips, and down the length of her legs.
He showed her with his lips and tongue-skating his lips lightly over her skin, pausing to kiss here, lick there…
Until her skin was hot and her breath coming fast and ragged in her throat.
And then he found the center of her, worshipped her there with his lips and his tongue. Until she cried out sharply, her body racked with spasms.
It was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen or heard.
She was panting and trembling as she reached for him, her arms going around his shoulders as she kissed him deeply.
And then finally, finally, he was inside her, surrounded by her, possessed by her… And he gave himself up to her, to them together, to the power and the rhythm and the passion…
Until he was there, stiffening, shuddering, groaning her name as he exploded inside her.
He had long ago given her his trust, had given her his heart even before he realized it himself. And now he gave her his soul…
He slumped on top of her, exhausted, spent. He was vaguely conscious that he was probably crushing her, but couldn't quite find the strength to move just yet. And then he felt her hand moving to ruffle her fingers lightly through his hair. It was a caressing gesture, small and idle enough that he was sure she hadn't even thought about it. But something about the tenderness in it caught at him, and he had the odd sense that she had truly made him hers with the one small caress. In spite of all they'd just done, in spite of the fact that she had caressed him more intimately just minutes ago, this was the moment she made him hers. Because that caress had nothing to do with passion or lust, had not even been the product of a conscious decision; it had just been her, her instinctive tenderness for him.
And he was hers.
He rolled over onto his back, curving his arm around her shoulders so she moved with him, ending up lying half on top of him, her head pillowed on his shoulder.
He brushed a kiss against her hair and then rested his cheek against her as he closed his eyes and let himself drift. He didn't sleep, always aware in some periphery of his consciousness of the warmth of her body against him, of the press of her breasts, of the softness of her skin beneath his hand.
He felt as if he never wanted to move again, sated, replete. This was peace, a peace deeper than anything he'd ever felt before, a peace that reached to his very soul.
And it was because of her. Hermione, who had been his best friend, the person he trusted the most, for so many years. Hermione, now his love and his lover, just… his.
And it felt so natural, so right, to be with her like this, skin to skin, so close that he felt as if the rhythm of her heartbeat was merging with his own.
"Harry?"
"Hmm?"
"What was that about Jack having to check with you what would be sent out to the press?" The question was almost idle, in keeping with her soft voice and their relaxed state.
"The Aurors have an unofficial policy not to mention me by name in any of the press releases sent out to keep the public informed about criminals."
He felt her shift, moving her head to rest her chin on his chest so she could look at him.
"You were the one who made that unofficial policy," she guessed, and it wasn't a question.
"Yes. How'd you know?" he asked, only to realize the moment he'd asked, that it was a silly question. This was Hermione, after all. Hermione who had always understood even what he didn't say.
A slight smile just grazed her lips. "I know you," she said simply.
"Yes, you do," he agreed. "It was one of the first things I did when I became a Team Leader, change the policy so press releases weren't about me. It's better for morale, you know, if the Aurors speak and act as one cohesive whole, and not as 'Harry Potter and the Aurors.'"
Teasing amusement tinged her smile. "Of course. I'm sure that morale was the only thing on your mind when you put the new policy in place."
He pretended ignorance. "Part of being a leader is being willing to put the good of the team before the need for individual glory," he informed her with exaggerated solemnity.
Her smile and her expression softened before she moved her head just enough to drop a light kiss on his chest, sending a ripple of heat through his body.
"What was that for?"
"I was just reminded why you're my best friend."
"Not only your best friend, I hope," he said lightly.
"Why, what else would you be?" she asked, her face remarkably straight. "My shag-buddy?"
He choked on a laugh, rolling over so he was half on top of her, pinning her down. "Care to try again?"
"Friends with benefits?" she suggested, a small snicker escaping her this time.
"Benefits-is that what kids are calling it these days?" he quipped, deliberately pressing his hips against her so she couldn't miss his stirring arousal, the inevitable reaction to feeling her body beneath him.
Her eyes were alight with laughter even as he could see she was fighting to keep her lips straight. And the sight of her suddenly took his breath away, scrambling his thoughts until he had to struggle to remember what they'd been talking about. She was so lovely-and he loved her, he thought rather fuzzily. He loved her not just for her strength and her understanding-or even for the fact that he lusted after her-but for this, her humor. He loved that, whatever else she now was to him, she was still his best friend, the best friend who supported him and teased him, who challenged him when he needed it and who could make him laugh when he needed it too.
The slight curve of her lips was positively intoxicating-when had the curve of Hermione's lips become so irresistible?-and he lowered his head to kiss her, loving the way her lips opened for him, loving the way just one stroke of her tongue against his could make his head spin.
When the kiss finally ended, they were both breathing hard and he just rested his forehead lightly against hers.
He felt her hand move in an idle caress of his shoulders and heard her soft sigh. "My Harry…"
The words warmed his chest, settling inside his heart. All teasing aside, whatever she chose to call him, all that really mattered was that he was hers.
He kissed her again, softly this time, with all the tenderness he felt. Hers-and he always would be…
He broke off the kiss slowly, lifting his head just enough so he could focus on her face. She blinked a few times before she met his eyes-and he felt a spurt of male satisfaction that his kiss could bring the almost sleepy, dazed look to Hermione's eyes, so different from her usual expression.
"You're very good at that," she finally said, lightly.
He couldn't help a slight smirk. "That might be the best compliment I've ever gotten," he quipped.
She laughed abruptly. "I guess I was right," she gasped in between chuckles.
Bemused, he studied her. "That's not surprising. But what are you right about and what's so funny about it?"
"I said you weren't a bad kisser and I was right."
He blinked. "Well, I would hope you'd tell people I wasn't a bad kisser. And why is this funny?"
She shook her head a little. "No, I told you that you weren't a bad kisser."
Now, he was entirely confused. "I know you did, about a minute ago."
"No, Harry, I first told you that you weren't a bad kisser years ago, don't you remember?"
"You did? When? And why? And how would you have known that back then?"
"It was in 5th year and you'd just kissed Cho."
He wrinkled his nose a little. "I vaguely remember kissing Cho after one of the DA meetings. I don't think I liked it much."
"You said she was crying," she prompted.
"Right, she was crying, so the kiss was wet," he agreed, a glimmer of memory returning to him.
"And when you came back to the Common Room and told us about it, Ron said that maybe it was because you were a bad kisser."
"Ron said that? The git," he responded mildly, not able to feel as annoyed as he might have expected.
"And then I said that of course you weren't a bad kisser, and that--" she began.
"That Cho had just been crying a lot that year," he finished for her, the memory returning. "I'd forgotten all about it."
"I'd pretty much forgotten it too, until just now." She gave him a teasing smile. "But I was right after all."
It was his turn to laugh. "Oh, I don't know. I think I could do better." He dropped a quick kiss on her nose and then just above her lips and another one just to the side of her lips. "Practice makes perfect, right?" he breathed into her ear before he kissed the spot just below her earlobe.
She let out a soft gasp. "Purely in the interests of intellectual exploration," she managed to say, her voice breathy, "I'm happy to volunteer for your practicing."
"Your services are appreciated," was all he managed to say before he kissed her again-and then he forgot what they'd been talking about and lost all interest in talking anyway. Talking wasted lips that were best used for other things.
And his last coherent thought was that he'd never known he could go from laughter to lust so quickly-but he supposed that was partly what made Hermione different, what made Hermione more…
This was why he loved her…
~To be continued…~