Unofficial Portkey Archive

A/N: Okay, as I mentioned, some of you may blatantly dislike this chapter, while some of you might absolutely love it. For those who don't like it, I'll comment on that a little later. For those who do, please enjoy!

Thanks to Meli, hphg74, h/hr4ever11, EmmaRadcliffe, cranksatnyc, UKwildcat820, and Charlotte for your reviews! Wonderful as always!

Chapter 33: Destructive Perfection

"I can't believe I have to go to this bloody conference!" Ron said grumpily as he threw clothes haphazardly into a duffel bag. Hermione calmly picked up each article of clothing and folded it neatly before setting it back in its place.

"It's not as though you have these things very often," Hermione said sensibly. "There's especially no point in getting ruffled about it since there's no choice in the matter."

"That's another thing!" Ron said, lobbing a few pairs of socks into the bag. "I should have a damn choice in the matter! Harry's not going!"

"Really?" Hermione asked. She had been spending large amounts of time at Grimmauld Place since James had been born, but hadn't seen them in over a week, so she had not heard this bit of news. "Well, I'm sure he's busy with something else."

"That's just it! He's not -- he just up and decided to take a few days off!"

Hermione sighed. "Once again, I'm sure he's busy with something."

"He just got back to work! What could he possibly be busy with? I mean, I know Ginny's going to be gone to that Quidditch game today and James needs to be watched, but it's the principle of the thing! Mum could've watched him!"

Hermione gave a noncommittal shrug - there was never any point in talking to Ron when he was like this. She added a few more items to his duffel bag, zipped it shut, and offered it to him.

"Thanks," he muttered as he flung the strap over his shoulder. He wiped at the sheen of sweat that coated his forehead. "The only possible good thing about this conference is it should be a damn sight cooler than it is here."

"I would hope so," Hermione said, unconsciously pulling at the neck of her dark blue T-shirt. She could hardly remember it ever being this hot in mid-August. "I can't wait for this heat-spell to break."

"Me either," Ron said. "Hopefully it'll be cooler by the time I get back. So what are you planning to do while I'm gone?"

"I don't know," Hermione said. "I might just catch up on some reading since I have tomorrow off as well."

"Why do I even ask?" Ron said, rolling his eyes jokingly. "Don't go having too much fun without me."

"Of course not," Hermione said, rolling her eyes back.

"Okay, then. I guess I'd better go," Ron said, pulling the bag more securely onto his shoulder. "I'll be back in a couple days."

"Right. Be sure to call if you get the chance."

Ron pulled his new cell phone from his pocket distastefully. "I still don't see what Muggles see in these things."

"It's much more convenient than owls or Floo, Ron. They're really one of the few things I'd say Muggles have over magic."

"Fine," he replied moodily, stuffing the phone back in his pocket. "I'll call if I get some spare time."

He leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the lips before standing up straight.

"Well, see you later," he said, and disappeared before Hermione could utter a quick goodbye.

She sat down on the bed after Ron left and pondered what she could do for the rest of the day. She glanced around the room, checking for anything that was out of place. As she expected, there was nothing.

She moved throughout the rest of the house, picking up a few items that Ron had managed to scatter in the small amount of time he'd been home. She replaced them in their proper locations, and then sat down once more, this time on the couch.

This happened every time she was off for more than a day.

She woke up almost as early as she would on a workday.

She cleaned the entire house from top to bottom.

She fixed herself and Ron a nice dinner.

And then she didn't know what to do with herself the rest of the time.

She sighed and picked up a rather uninteresting novel on the coffee table she had started the previous week. Settling herself back into the cushions, she sought out a more comfortable position, and then cracked the book open to the marked page.

She sat quietly, her eyes scanning the words pointlessly as the clock ticked methodically in the background. She read five pages in this manner and finally stood up restlessly, tossing the book onto the sofa.

"Fine," she murmured to herself. She knew the source of her restlessness, and the later she waited the less chance there was of seeing Harry while James was awake.

*********

"Are you sure you don't want to come with me?" Ginny asked, clasping her bag shut. "It's not too late if you do."

"For the last time, Gin, I'm perfectly fine staying at home," Harry replied, bouncing James on his knee and causing him to laugh joyously.

"We haven't done anything alone together in ages though," Ginny said. "And you haven't been to a Quidditch match in longer than that."

"I know," Harry said, exasperated at her persistence. "But I took today and tomorrow off work to spend time with my son, not to watch you work."

"But it's not really working at all!" Ginny said. "It's not as though I'll be writing the article while I'm watching the match. Just taking a few notes. And Mum's already said she'd be more than happy to watch James."

"Maybe the next one," Harry said, continuing to bob his knee up and down. "But I'd really just rather stay here."

"Alright, fine!" Ginny said, throwing her hands up. "You can't say I didn't try."

"No, I can't," Harry said, quietly enough so Ginny couldn't hear him.

"I should hopefully be back sometime tomorrow afternoon, depending on how long the match lasts," she said crisply, picking up her bags.

"Sounds good," Harry said.

Ginny crouched in front of Harry and smiled brightly at James.

"Bye, Jamie," she cooed sweetly. She planted a kiss on the baby's forehead and then on Harry's lips. The kiss was very terse and Harry could tell she was angry with him.

"I'll see you both tomorrow," she said, standing up and turning away. She exited the house into the backyard and Disapparated with a crack.

Harry sighed in relief and turned James around to face him.

"Your mum can be quite the handful, you know that?" he said. "Don't tell her I said that, of course."

James toothlessly grinned in what Harry liked to think of as a knowing way.

Harry grinned back, and just as he stood up with the baby, the doorbell rang.

Curious, Harry laid the baby down on a quilt, quickly made his way to the entry and opened the door.

"Hermione!" he said, smiling widely. "What're you doing here?"

Hermione shrugged as she stepped into the house. "I was in the neighborhood and just thought I'd drop in to check up on my favorite godson," she said.

Harry chuckled. "I think I'd start questioning your, er, `after-work activities' if you were just randomly in this neighborhood, Hermione. You can just admit you want to see my kid."

"Guilty," Hermione said with a smile. "Of the latter act, of course."

Harry led the way to the living room and plopped himself on the couch. He waved a hand towards the baby off-handedly.

"The little charmer's all yours," he said.

Hermione immediately scooped up the baby in her arms. "Was I interrupting any father-son bonding?" she teased.

"Oh, not at all," Harry said. "We were just on the verge of cracking open a few firewhiskeys and watching the big game but then you got here. So no, nothing interrupted."

Hermione rolled her eyes and pouted at James. "The poor little thing's already being shoved into a primitive male stereotype!"

"Poor little thing?" Harry said disbelievingly. "First of all, I'm the one getting used here, seeing as any visitors I've received lately were here to see this little moocher, and second of all, he's putting himself into that stereotype by attracting any female within a fifty-foot radius."

"That's because he's just so darn cute!" Hermione cooed, tickling her nose against James's. The baby laughed happily.

"Case in point," Harry said, grinning at the exchange.

Hermione coddled the baby for a few more moments, observing the baby's smiling features as she sat down on the couch next to Harry.

"I can't believe his eyes are going to be brown," Hermione said, a slight bit of disappointment lacing her voice as she stared at the darkening irises of the infant.

"I happen to like brown eyes," Harry said, gazing pointedly at her. He was inexplicably pleased when he saw her cheeks blush slightly. She cleared her throat after an embarrassed moment of silence.

"Um, has Ginny already gone to the game?" she asked, evidently wishing for a change of subject.

"Yeah," Harry replied. "She left not even five minutes before you got here."

"Close timing," Hermione said. "Who's playing?"

"It's Bulgaria versus Spain," Harry said, amused that Hermione would continue this line of conversation.

"Really?" Hermione asked, her interest actually piqued.

"Yeah," Harry said. "In Barcelona."

"Is Viktor still playing?"

"Surprisingly he is. He's now one of the older members in the league, but he's still quite good. D'you still talk to him at all?"

"On occasion," Hermione said. "I haven't written him since I got married, though."

"Can't bear to break the poor guy's heart?" Harry teased, poking her playfully in the side.

Hermione squirmed a bit, giggling. "I'm holding your son, here!" she mock-scolded. "And for your information, I did tell him I was married. He wrote me back and congratulated me. I haven't written since then."

"He's just hiding the heartache," Harry said. "But speaking of Quidditch, it's time for the sport's newest star to get in a little practice."

He then plucked the baby from Hermione's arms and led the way into the backyard.

*********

"Why do you insist on doing this?" Hermione whined from behind Harry as they entered the yard. The sun was starting to go down, but it was still very warm.

"Because he loves it!" Harry replied as he picked up the Firebolt leaning against the house. "It helps him get to sleep easier as well."

In addition to the broomstick, he also picked up a small ball from the grass before swinging his leg over the Firebolt, all the while keeping a firm grip on James. With a soft kick he lifted off the ground and hovered just high enough where he could skim the top of Hermione's head with his trainers if he flew over her. He zoomed in slow lazy patterns throughout the yard, and Hermione could hear his commentary as she walked beneath them.

"Potter and Potter zoom to the left," Harry said dramatically, barely angling the broom and then dipping it slightly. "They duck a nasty Bludger and then proceed to barrel roll to avoid the other Bludger, absolutely amazing! Potter tosses the Quaffle to Potter and together they speed towards the goal, almost smashing into the opposing team's Seeker as they do so. However, they're blocked by a big ugly brute of a Chaser and they desperately hurl the Quaffle towards Granger in hopes of winning the match - !"

Harry then proceeded to lower himself even closer to the ground and slowly dropped the small ball over Hermione, who stepped to the side to avoid it, her hands held primly in front of her.

"Weasley," she said.

"Right," Harry said. "But come on, Hermione, you so had that! That couldn't've been more than three feet above your hands. You're letting the other team win! What's the matter with you!?"

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at his seriousness. "How can I play Quidditch when I'm worried about my favorite guy falling from a floating twig?

"Easily!" Harry countered cheekily. "And don't worry, I won't fall - James has a good grip on me."

Hermione shook her head as she continued to laugh. Despite her supposed concern, she inherently knew Harry would never drop the baby. "I sometimes wonder which of you two is more immature."

"Why would you wonder about that? Definitely me," Harry said. "James has a very serious disposition."

"We'll see how long that lasts," Hermione said, watching as Harry glided gently to the ground. "You set him up to be a troublemaker when you gave him his name."

"I'm sure my dad and Sirius both highly disapprove of your disapproval," Harry said, wiping sweat from his brow. "And who knows, it might turn out as an ironic twist and James could be the perfect little angel."

"There's always a chance, I suppose."

"You sound doubtful," Harry said as he replaced the broom and opened the door for Hermione. After the heat from outside, his shirt was clinging to his stomach. She looked away pointedly.

"With Potter and Weasley genes, it's almost guaranteed," Hermione said apologetically. "Nothing to be done."

"Maybe I should ground him in advance," Harry said, casting a mock-suspicious glance at the baby growing sleepy in his arms.

"Never!" Hermione said, tickling the baby. "I would miss him too much!"

"Sorry," Harry said, turning away from Hermione so she could no longer reach James. "No aunt visits allowed during grounding."

The baby gave a small cry from Harry's arm and Hermione smirked.

"So he disagrees," Harry said dismissively, shrugging. "I'm the parent, I make the decisions."

"Though I'm sure his cry was purely in relation to your horrible punishment," Hermione said, "I have a sneaking suspicion that it's nearing his dinner time."

Harry made a show of checking his watch.

"So it is!" he said.

"Would you like me to feed him?" Hermione asked.

"If you want to," Harry said. "I'll get his bottle."

He handed Hermione the baby and proceeded to the kitchen. Hermione made her way to the living room and Harry intercepted her as she sat down, the bottle already clutched in his hands.

"Here you go," Harry said. "Bon appétit."

Hermione, trusting Harry had made the milk the correct temperature, placed the tip into the baby's mouth. James immediately grasped at the sides with both hands, sucking greedily.

"Wow," Hermione said, smiling. "You really were hungry, weren't you?"

"Speaking of hungry," Harry said. "I'm starting to feel a bit famished myself."

Hermione nodded. "I'll get out of here as soon as I'm finished feeding James."

Harry rolled his eyes. "That wasn't me banishing you from my house," he replied, amused. "That was more-or-less me asking if you'd like to stay and save me the misery of eating alone."

Hermione thought about this, biting her lip. She couldn't remember the last time she and Harry had shared a meal without Ron or Ginny accompanying them.

"I don't know…" she said uncertainly.

"Please?"

"Well…" Hermione chewed her lip a bit more. "Are you sure you have enough?" she finally said.

"Technically I have no idea what I'm making," Harry said. "But whatever it is I'm sure there'll be plenty."

Hermione glanced up. "I suppose I could stay. I'd just be eating alone as well."

"It's a win-win situation, then!" Harry said enthusiastically. "You get to have a first-class meal and neither of us have to look like pathetic gits!"

"Who said I wouldn't have a first-class meal on my own?" Hermione asked, ignoring the latter statement.

"No one," Harry answered vaguely. "But surely it wouldn't be chef Potter quality."

"I'll have you know I'm an excellent cook!" Hermione said indignantly.

"Of course," Harry said, patting Hermione patronizingly on the shoulder. "You're a wonderful cook."

Hermione shook her head as she repositioned James in her arms. "You are such a prat," she said, laughing.

Harry chuckled as well and then gestured towards the almost empty bottle, which James was suckling lazily.

Hermione plucked the bottle from James mouth and handed it to Harry.

"I'll start on dinner as soon as I give James a bath," he said.

Hermione stood up, angling James against her shoulder and rubbing his back gently. "I could give him a bath as well. It's no trouble."

Harry raised an eyebrow mischievously.

"Wow, Hermione. First you hand-feed him and then you offer to give him a bath? Does Ron know about this relationship?"

Hermione swatted at his arms playfully. "Just get started on dinner, Potter!"

Harry gave a showy bow, waving the bottle in front of him as he backed out of the room. "Yes, master! I'll get right on that!"

Hermione picked up a pillow from the couch and chucked it at Harry as he rounded the corner. He ducked it, and then poked his head back into the room and grinned cockily. She stuck her tongue out at him and he withdrew his head; she could hear him chuckling all the way to the kitchen.

She carried James up the stairs to the nearest bathroom, continuing to shake her head as she went.

"Your father is a complete prat," she said as she sponged warm soapy water over the baby's back. "What d'you think?"

The baby laughed at her and splashed happily.

"I know, I like him to," she said in a slight tone of frustration, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Don't mention anything, though, okay? It might complicate things a bit."

After she had finished bathing James, she dried him, dressed him in a light pair of pajamas, and carried him back down the stairs. The baby was quite drowsy by this point, and his hand resided lazily on her shoulder.

"All done," Hermione said as she entered the kitchen, sniffing gratefully at the mouth-watering smell that wafted instantly to her nostrils.

"Great," Harry said, turning away from the stove. "Let's go put the little guy in bed."

"Yes, he's pretty tuckered out," Hermione said, turning and retreating once more to the first floor. "All those Quidditch maneuvers really took it out of him."

Harry followed closely behind her, his arm brushing hers as they entered James's nursery. Hermione felt rather uncomfortable with the contact as she thought of what had occurred - or almost occurred - the last time they had been alone together in this room.

"He usually doesn't go so crazy with the moves," Harry said, "but he did have a beautiful lady to impress."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up once more as she laid the sleeping baby into the crib.

"H-he didn't need to do that, of course," she said as lightly as possible. "He's quite the catch as it is."

Harry didn't respond for a moment as he rubbed his son's back.

"Night, James," he murmured softly. He bent and kissed the crown of his soft dark hair, and Hermione felt her heart melt. She had always known that Harry would be a wonderful father, but even she hadn't fathomed its fullest extent: the way Harry smiled when he made his son laugh, the way his eyes shone with the most sincere happiness, gratitude, and serenity as he simply watched James sleep. Smiling softly, Hermione bent down and kissed James as well in the same spot, running her fingertips lightly over his hair as she straightened up. She turned to find Harry watching her with interest, his arms folded, a small smile across his features. Hermione returned the smile as she met his eyes, reaching out to rest her hand on his shoulder and run it down the length of his arm. Then she walked quietly from the room, Harry in her wake as he closed the door slightly behind him.

"Everything should pretty much be ready," Harry said as they entered the kitchen a moment later.

"It's smells amazing."

"It's just a little something I threw together," Harry replied. "I had a few pieces of chicken I needed to cook and some asparagus, so I decided to make a pasta."

"In that case it sounds amazing as well," Hermione said. "I'm starving."

"Me too."

He quickly mixed the ingredients together and dished up a few spoonfuls onto two plates. He handed one to her and together they walked to the dining room. Harry sat at the end of the table and Hermione chose the seat next to him.

Hermione took a bite of her meal and had to hold back the sigh of satisfaction that threatened to escape her.

Harry grinned at her as he twirled his own fork into the pasta.

"Good?"

"Amazing," she answered. "This is absolutely delicious."

"I'm glad you like it," he said genuinely. "Plus, you gave me an excuse to actually make something halfway decent. I probably would've just eaten a sandwich or something if it were just me.

"Glad I could be of assistance," Hermione said, smirking as she scooped another large bite into her mouth. "That would've been just dreadful."

"Exactly," Harry said, also grinning. "The company's not half bad either."

Hermione felt herself flush, again, and focused on spearing another bite of chicken and asparagus onto her fork. Why was she getting so flustered? There was really nothing uncomfortable about these statements. Completely innocent. She attributed it to the weather - it really was very warm.

"Do you want some wine?"

Hermione looked up, slightly surprised by Harry's sudden outburst. She was even more surprised when she found herself nodding.

"Great," Harry said. "I'll be right back."

He returned a moment later, clutching two glasses and an unopened bottle of white wine.

"I figured you'd appreciate something chilled," Harry said as he poured them each a liberal glass. "You look a little flushed."

Of course he noticed. "I-I do feel a little warm," she said, accepting the glass as he held it out to her.

The wine was sweet and refreshing, and Hermione soon found herself accepting a second and then a third glass. By this point they were both beginning to act rather giggly.

"I can't believe you already took more time off," Hermione said.

"I missed James," Harry replied simply, a broad smile plastered to his face.

"But you've been off for almost four months since he was born!" Hermione argued, also grinning hugely.

"I know!" Harry said. "All the guys at work keep asking when my `paternity' leave'll be up."

Hermione giggled. "Later than maternity leave at the Daily Prophet, apparently!"

"I know!" Harry said again. "Ginny's right peeved about it too."

"I imagine," Hermione said, collecting a few remnants of her meal and taking a bite.

Harry chuckled as she lay down her fork.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"You've got a little something…" he said, gesturing vaguely to the lower region of his face.

Hermione brushed at the corner of her lips.

"Did I get it?"

"Not quite," Harry said. "A little higher."

She wiped a bit more onto her cheek and raised her eyebrow at Harry.

"Nope," he replied. He extended his hand towards her. "It's right -" He suddenly tapped a small dab of sauce onto the tip of her nose. "-there!"

Hermione fixed him with a glare as he continued to chortle, but knew she must look rather unintimidating with her nose covered in alfredo sauce.

"Very mature, Harry," she said, trying to sound as dignified as possible as she wiped at her nose with a napkin. "I would've thought fatherhood would've raised your maturity, not decreased it."

Harry seemed rather unaffected by this statement. "Dinner's on you!" he said, pouring himself yet another glass of wine.

Hermione found this quite humorous and lapsed into giggles once more.

After several minutes in this manner, they wiped the tears of laughter from their eyes.

"Let's go sit in the living room," Harry suggested, sobering up slightly.

"Okay," Hermione said. Bringing their wine glasses with them, they settled themselves comfortably on the sofa. They sat for a few moments in amicable silence, their arms touching as they sipped on their wine.

"You know, you're really good with him," Harry said, glancing sideways at her.

"Who?" Hermione asked, furrowing her brow.

"James. You're really good with him."

Hermione shrugged. "It's nothing, really. Feeding and bathing him isn't really a big deal."

"It's not just that," Harry said. "You're amazing with him in general." He paused. "Well, you're amazing in general."

Okay, that one was a bit more blush-worthy, Hermione thought as she took a hasty swallow of wine in an attempt to hide her face.

Harry laughed at her thinly veiled embarrassment. "You don't have to blush every time I give you a compliment, Hermione."

This, of course, only served to make her blush even further. "I wasn't blushing," she mumbled into her glass.

"Sure you weren't," he said. "Just the heat, right?"

"Just the heat," Hermione said, nodding. She went to take another drink of her wine, and with a bit of disappointment found it empty.

"There's a bit left if you want some more," Harry said, leaning forward and lifting the bottle from the coffee table. He reached over and grasped her hand, holding it steady as he poured the remainder of the wine into her glass.

His hand felt warm on hers and she was glad that Harry was holding it still; she was sure when he released her hand it would tremble quite badly.

Unfortunately, Harry noticed this and immediately replaced his hand in the same spot within seconds of letting go.

"You alright?" he asked, looking slightly concerned.

"Of-of course," Hermione said breathlessly, desperately hoping Harry would release her hand. When he finally did, she promptly placed the wine glass down on the coffee table. Too much wine, she scolded herself.

"But seriously, Hermione, you really are great with him," Harry said, continuing their previous line of conversation. "Are you planning for one anytime soon?"

Hermione glanced at him a bit somberly. "Actually, Ron and I have been…trying…for a few months now," she confessed in discomfort.

Harry looked genuinely surprised. "Really?" he asked. There was an odd tone to his voice that Hermione didn't quite understand.

"Yes," she replied. "Obviously nothing's come of it yet, though," she added quietly.

"Is…is anything wrong?"

She shook her head, aware of the implication.

To be perfectly honest, Hermione didn't completely comprehend why she hadn't become pregnant yet. Ron had, unsurprisingly, insisted they try for a baby shortly after James had been born, but after three months there were still no results. Concerned, she had then persuaded Ron to accompany her to a clinic to ensure that becoming pregnant was even possible for them. But after a few tests, the doctors had asserted that they were both perfectly healthy.

Just bad luck, the man had said. Just give it some time.

Two more months had passed in the meantime, and Hermione became apprehensive that, somehow, she was to blame for it. She had been uncertain about having a child ever since Ron had suggested it, and she inherently felt that her hesitation had was causing her to somehow magically prevent it.

"No," Hermione said, staring away from Harry. "Nothing's wrong."

She didn't know if an air of sadness had crossed her features or if it had been in the tone of her voice, but Harry had evidently noticed.

After a moment he set his wine glass down decisively on the table, stood up, and extended his hand towards her, an expectant expression on his face.

"What?" Hermione asked curiously, tentatively reinstating the contact she had sought to escape moments before. Harry clasped her hand firmly and pulled her to her feet.

"We're going to dance," Harry stated as if it were obvious.

Hermione cocked her head slightly, a disbelieving smile playing across her face. "You want to dance?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I do."

"There's no music," she pointed out uncertainly.

He flicked his wand in the direction of a small radio sitting on a shelf, and music began to play softly throughout the room.

"Now there is." He then tossed his wand onto the coffee table and offered his other hand.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, deliberating. His eyes shone brightly in the dimly lit room, and she couldn't help but return his brilliant smile. She realized she wanted very badly to go along with Harry despite the nagging warning at the back of her mind. Why shouldn't she be able to have an innocent dance with her best friend?

Determinedly, she removed her own wand from her pocket and tossed it alongside Harry's before taking his hand. His smile only widened at her acceptance, and his obvious gladness made Hermione feel even more confident in her decision.

His eyes flashing playfully, he began to pull her arms alternatively back and forth. She raised her eyebrows at his silly movements, but his lively spirit was contagious and she soon found herself imitating his motions with just as much enthusiasm.

With a grin, he continued to pull her throughout the room, and before long they had become enveloped within the turbulence of the moment, caught within a small world where there was just them, just them and the melody that surrounded and compelled their steps.

Harry twirled her and she twirled him, laughter escaping their lips and adding to the harmonious notes that were so thick in the warm air. They weaved together around the various furniture, stumbling occasionally but always falling into each other, never stopping their movement. Their intermittent clumsiness somehow felt appropriate and simply became integrated into their dance.

Throughout the dizzying, wonderful giddiness of it all, however, Hermione always remained aware of his warmth - the warmth of his hands as their fingers were interlaced, the hotness of his body when she twirled into his arms, the heat of his breath on her neck when they spun together in a tight circle.

She was vaguely surprised she could feel his warmth at all; she knew her own temperature was also high, and the beating of her heart was increasingly rapid against her chest, pushing the blood through her veins at a velocity that was making her lightheaded.

Finally, their dancing began to taper into something more manageable. They stood closely to each other, still smiling as they laid their heads against each other, their breathing coming in slow collective gasps.

As Hermione caught her breath, she became acutely aware of their intimate position. Her left hand was entwined within his right, and her other hand rested gently on his shoulder. His remaining hand lay softly against the small of her back, holding her closely. She found herself nestling herself even closer into him and his touch on her back became firmer. They had almost stopped moving and her heart was beating so hard in her ears that the music was all but a hum in the back of her mind.

Breathing unsteadily, she pulled back from him slightly, just enough so their eyes met. They stared at each other in the dimly-lit room, and Hermione felt herself immersed in his eyes, just as she had that day, so long ago, when they had painted the nursery together.

But this felt different. Then, Hermione had felt frozen, held in place in a calm sea of green; now, she felt as if she were being tossed violently on that same sea, engulfed and drowning under wave after wave of emotion. Her thoughts were muddled and all she knew was the feel of his hand on her waist and her frantic heartbeat and his emerald eyes…

"Harry…" she whispered, so softly she could barely hear herself. She didn't know why she said his name, but for some reason she felt it was necessary. Why it was necessary she also didn't know. Was it a warning…

…an invitation?

Before she was even conscious of it she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

Only when she felt Harry tense up did her brain catch up to her actions.

Horrified, she leapt back from him.

"Oh my god, I-I-I'm so sorry," she said frantically, covering her mouth shakily. "I didn't mean-"

She felt almost sickened with herself for being careless enough, stupid enough, to have made her feelings so obvious and she didn't dare meet Harry's eyes. She felt tears begin to spill onto her cheeks, and she spun away, intent on escaping before he could see them.

However, before Hermione could take a step, she felt a hand grab her wrist tenderly.

"Wait," Harry said.

Hermione closed her eyes, gathering the nerve to turn around and face him. She didn't want to look him in the eyes and find the look of pity she knew must lay there now.

"Hermione?" he said more forcefully, tightening his grip on her hand.

Sighing unsteadily, she turned towards him. Then, finally, she looked up into his eyes again.

The blazing intensity she found within them made her feel as though her legs would give out from beneath her.

He was looking at her not with pity, but with a burning desire that she knew was mirrored within her own eyes - a want that was somehow, astonishingly, the same as hers.

Hermione remained still as she fought the searing heat that simmered throughout her body, overwhelming her already turbulent senses. Yet she felt herself almost relaxing under his piercing gaze despite the ravaging flames consuming her insides.

Harry gently took her other hand in his, and Hermione stared breathlessly at their intertwined fingers held between them, the only thing preventing their bodies from touching.

After a moment he freed one of his hands and slowly, tantalizingly slowly, reached up and placed it on the side of her face, directing her eyes towards him. She felt the blood catch in her veins as his face inched towards her, a deliberate movement that made her heart beat, if possible, even more quickly.

And then his lips were on hers, he was kissing her back, and Hermione knew she was beyond coherence.

She melted easily, so easily into his kiss and Harry released her other hand to entangle it within her hair. Her hands freed, Hermione grabbed the front of his shirt in fistfuls, desperate to bring him closer to her though there wasn't a hairsbreadth between their bodies.

She wanted somehow to pour everything she had ever felt for him, every thought she had had of him, every emotion she had felt for him for the past fourteen years into this moment, and she wondered if she had succeeded when his hold on the back of her neck became almost painfully tight.

She realized that her back was pressed against the wall, his free hand trailing along her body, and she pushed him away just enough to upset his balance. Taking advantage of his instability, she twirled them around as best she could and his back thudded into the wall instead. She felt him grin beneath her mouth and she couldn't help but smile back as he playfully reversed their position once more.

Instead of meeting her lips again, however, he pressed his mouth to her moist neck. She moaned as he trailed kisses along her collarbone, the hollow of her neck, the line of her jaw. Her breath came in halting gasps and her eyes closed of their own accord, his lips scorching her heated skin. Her hands caught in his damp black locks and she pulled him upwards to desperately recapture his mouth.

Suddenly, she was lifted upward by Harry's arms, pushed more roughly into the wall behind her, his stubble scratching her skin as his kisses became quicker, harder, more fierce. She wrapped her legs around his waist, winding her arms urgently around him, pulling him closer, as he kissed every exposed inch of her skin he could reach. Her breathing was coming in shallow gaps, and she was only vaguely aware of movement as Harry carried her up the stairs. She was engrossed by the feel of his fingertips on her back and the taste of the taut skin of his neck under her lips. His warm heavy breathing was so close to her ear she felt faint.

She almost thought for the briefest moment that she had fainted as she felt herself falling. But then a soft mattress was pressed against her back and Harry's shadowed form loomed over her, filling her vision.

As he bent to claim her lips again, Hermione pulled him upwards, tugging forcefully at his white shirt. He knelt upright just long enough to help her pull it over his head impatiently and they attacked each other once more. She was kissing him desperately, sought to kiss every inch of his chest, his body, but slowed as she came across his past wounds. Pausing for a moment, she stared at every scratch, every mark, her breathing becoming deeper, more measured. Then she traced her fingertips lightly over them, Harry hovering above her, frozen as he watched her careful movements. She finally turned her head up to meet his eyes, blank and almost wary. Hermione leaned up and slowly placed a lingering kiss at the corner of his mouth, then rested her face against his for the briefest moment, her breathing still slow and quiet. She kissed his cheek softly before moving to kiss every scar that covered his body: the scarlet oval over his heart where the locket had burned him, the puncture marks on his forearm, the faded lines on his hand, the small gash on his abdomen from Dolohov's knife, the dark bruise on his chest, and the scar on his forehead that had been the source of so much heartache in his life.

She took her time to kiss each of these spots tenderly, her lips lingering on each, and she felt his lips grazing her neck almost as delicately, although there was an edge of constraint to his ministrations.

Finally, she pulled his head downward and crashed her lips into his again, and he pulled her flush against him as his hands moved under her shirt and against her back. As she felt the contact with her bare skin, she yearned to feel more of him; Harry clearly had similar thoughts because a moment later she was sitting up and he was lifting her T-shirt above her head. At last she became free of her sweltering top and their skin was pressed together, moist with sweat and so incredibly warm…

And suddenly she felt something icily cold pressed into her back, and she jerked forward, unexpectedly jolted into some form of reason.

"Harry, stop, we can't -" she said abruptly in a strangled voice, somehow speaking as she pushed away from the iron-frame headboard. She didn't know how she managed it.

Immediately, Harry pulled away from her, though she could see it was difficult for him to do so.

"W-we can't do this," she said, touching her swollen lips.

Harry stared at her a moment, his green eyes searching hers. His chest was covered in sweat, and his damp black hair was splayed across his forehead. It was all Hermione could do to not cut off his answer with her lips.

"Why?" he asked deliberately.

Hermione stared at him as though he'd gone mad, though considering how long it had taken her to get herself under some modicum of control she figured she must be mad as well. Why?

"B-because of Ginny. And R-Ron," she said, her throat dry.

"What else?" Harry asked, his voice sounding equally strangled. "An excuse that doesn't involve them."

Hermione shook her head, stricken.

"You don't know what you're saying, we've both had too much to drink -"

"No," Harry said forcefully. "I know exactly what I'm saying, painfully aware of it. And I want to say it."

Hermione stared unblinkingly into his eyes. They were just as lucid as they always were, perhaps even more so. She could also see the conflict in his expression, conflict that mimicked her own tumultuous emotions.

"I think we-" she began breathlessly, but Harry cut her off.

"Please, don't think," he pleaded, grasping her wrist. "For once, for tonight, just don't… let's not think about anything."

Hermione hesitated, but she was drawn once more to Harry's face. Her head and her heart were in a completely different state: her thoughts moved sluggishly through her mind, but her heart continued to beat against her chest like hummingbird wings, in fact hadn't stopped beating at this pace since he first took her hand to dance. She couldn't fathom one progressive thought during this moment. All she knew was that she had never felt anything close to the passion burning in her abdomen right now, and she knew she wanted this, had always wanted this, wanted it for so long…

And after a moment, she kisses him, allowing herself to forget the world once more. Her hand moves to his cheek and his hands cup her waist, gently pulling her closer to him. Her fingers graze his face and she lets herself be pulled further into his embrace. She feels her back press once more into the soft cotton sheets, giving in to the wonderful chaos, the destructive perfection of it all, and he falls with her, trailing feather-light kisses along her shoulder as she presses her lips to his neck, and the radio continues to play quietly in the room below them, innocent and all-but-forgotten.

**********

Hermione felt her eyes flutter open. She had no idea what time it was, but by the very faint light that pervaded the room she imagined it was dawn. She was curled into Harry's side and his arm was wrapped around her waist. She laid her face against his chest, her hand splayed across his stomach, holding onto those brief moments before reality could crash her sleepy bliss. Harry's heartbeat resounded softly, reassuringly, in her ears, and she closed her eyes, content to simply listen and be wrapped in the warm arms of her best friend.

But then Hermione heard a soft cry from the hallway, and she felt the fulfillment of the moment dissolve into a horrible, soul-wrenching ache. She buried her face into Harry's neck for the smallest instant, her eyes squeezed tightly, desperately shut, wanting to hide in his embrace, feeling only him, only ever him.

As James let out a louder, more insistent wail, Hermione pulled herself away from Harry's side, keeping the sheet wrapped tightly around her as she slid away across the bed and stood up. She felt tears welling up furiously in her eyes, and she scrambled about the room, frantically gathering up her discarded clothing as she fought to keep a sob from escaping her lips.

As she picked up her T-shirt from Harry's side of the bed, she felt her wrist suddenly grabbed gently and she knew she had woken him.

"Hermione -" he began, but she pulled her hand away, perhaps with more vehemence than necessary.

"I-I can't talk with you right now, Harry," she said, turning away from his somewhat hurt gaze.

"Hermione, please don't leave -"

"I've got to," she said. "I need to leave."

Swallowing, she glanced at him, a beseeching look in her eyes. Please let me go.

Harry stared at her and gave a small nod, an almost unreadable expression on his face that made Hermione furious.

She would've rather him shout at her, demand that she stay so they could talk and sort everything out. It would've been so much easier to leave had that been the case. As it was, his silence and quiet acceptance only made her wish to fall into his arms once more, to hold him and kiss him until he smiled again and his eyes brightened.

Knowing she couldn't fight her tears a second longer, she turned and vanished.

As she appeared in her living room, it was all she could do not to immediately fall to her knees and give in to the wracking sobs that escaped her lips.

She looked around the room as tears flooded down her face: the straightened shelves, the clean coffee table, the forgotten novel thrown carelessly on the sofa- everything was just as she'd left it.

Nothing had changed, when in reality everything had changed.

She turned and darted into the bathroom, and shut the door quickly behind her. Dropping her clothes and the sheet she still clutched around her, she turned the shower on cold and stepped into the icy jets. A gasp escaped her but then she finally dissolved into painful sobs, sinking to the floor in gut-wrenching anguish.

The cold water fell onto her face and mingled with the hot tears that poured down her cheeks and she knew she had never felt so much guilt, so much regret… so much heartbreak in her entire life.

**********

A/N: Okey dokey then, here are the comments I promise. Let me break it down a little.

Firstly, for those of you who don't care for this and, however, are still interested in reading, this isn't a crucial part of the story. There is much much much more to come, and this one night is just that - one night. This isn't an affair fic where this continues and Ginny and/or Ron find out and they all get divorced and live miserably/happily ever after. Not the case.

Secondly, if this just completely grinds your gears, don't read it, simple as that. Sorry I couldn't keep ya, can't please everyone, etcetera etcetera. However, do not drop me flames in reviews expressing your disapproval about the situation and saying you'll no longer be reading. Don't want to hear it, and the reviews will just be deleted. Fair enough?

Okay, well I think that's all I have to say on the matter. Sorry for the rant…rude people really get on my nerves. Get this…lots of angst in the next few chapters. Can you believe it?

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