a hundred different ways

Okay, this idea came out of another fic I read here at PK.org, one about Hermione meeting JKR after the HBP came out. It's a really good fic, don't remember the title though as I read it a loooong time ago.

Well, so, I've been toying with this one for a long time, years actually. But only recently I decided to write it down. The original ideal included three ships: HHr, RL and DG, also included a funny incident that showed how the RHr relationship ended after one date and some more, but as you'll see… it didn't turn out as funny as I intended it to be.

One more thing! This is also a response the fanfic100 challenge, not from livejournal.com because the table is not from any comm there, a friend gave me these prompts. I'll be filling it slowly, so it's an in-progress work, sort of. The oneshots are all independent, so don't worry about the next chapter and that.

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Title: “derailed”

Rating: PG-13

Words: 6,663

Theme/Prompt: #100 - Choices

Warnings/AN: post-dh, maybe canon-compliant, maybe not, I'm trying to keep the mystery here.

Summary: In which the Creation revels against the Creator… nineteen years later.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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You should've expected this to happen after forcing the issue those last two years.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You love the anonymity that comes with this world—your world, the one you created. To be able to roam the streets unnoticed and relax completely is something you missed. Ever since the announcement was made—the announcement of your Creation, your pride and joy, coming to its inevitable end, people crowd around you trying to find out how it is going to be.

How it is going end.

You always answer the same though, without really giving anything away: “It's going to end spectacularly.”

And it did. It ended more than just spectacularly and now you only need to see if your public will love it as much as you do. But first, you want to speak with the main characters of the series that changed your life.

Harry Potter and his friends.

You want to see them all grown up and successful, leading the life they were meant to lead from the very moment you thought of that boy with the lighting-shaped scar on his forehead. You want to see them pass on their wisdom and experience to the next generation. You want to speak with them and see your happy ending come to life.

Suddenly, you look up and catch sight of King's Cross, the turning point of many significant happenings within your series. You smile, blissfully thinking you're almost there. It's half past nine, still much too early for them to be there, but the excitement rushes at you nonetheless. Hastening your pace, you hurry through the entrance of the building and head straight for that wall between platforms nine and ten. Smiling like a mischievous child, you make sure no one is paying attention to you and go through the wall.

Right into the magical place that is Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The engine's steam flitted through the air around you, giving the scene before you a surreal feeling. You would have loved to stay still and take everything in, but more pressing matters make you hurry along the platform in search of your favourite family.

They're all a family now, you think with a wide smile on your face.

The platform is nearly empty, with the exception of those parents who are sending off their first born or only child to Hogwarts. Knowing it would be a while before The Family arrives, you make a bee-line to the closest bench and are about to sit down when something off to your left, further down the platform, catches your attention.

A head with black, forever-wild hair.

Such a sight wouldn't make an impression on you, but you would recognize that untidy hair anywhere. Bewildered, and checking the wristwatch at least three times because you are sure it's still too early for them to be here, you approach the man you spotted cautiously. As you get near, however, you recognize other aspects of this man and smile.

It is him. The one and only. The Boy Who Lived. The Man Who Conquered. Your pride and joy.

“Harry Potter.”

His name passes through your lips sooner than expected as you haven't quite reached his side, but it's alright. One Harry Potter turns on his heels, a shocked look on his face before it morphs into a pleasant smile. You smile because he's always been like this, eager to reunite with old friends; he always wears a smile on his face regardless of whom he speaks to. Next to him are two trolleys: one has three trunks piled on it, the trunk in the middle has three initials carved into its side, three simple letter yet they make your heart swell with joy—A. S. P.; the other trolley has two owl cages, a midnight-black owl in one and a chestnut-coloured owl in the other, and a pet carriage with a cat that looks like a baby version of Crookshanks.

You open your arms and Harry accepts the gesture gladly, enveloping you in one big embrace before stepping back. It has been nineteen years since you last saw him, since you last saw everyone, and if his peaceful and happy demeanour is any indication those have been happy years.

“K, it's good to see you,” he says, smiling, his voice a much deeper baritone than you remember but it's to be expected. “It's been years since we last met.”

“Nineteen years, Harry, nineteen years.”

He chuckles, nodding his head lightly; there is a mischievous gleam in his eyes, one that he keeps from his younger years. “Yes, good years. Time does fly when you're having fun, eh?”

You laugh, enjoying his easy-going nature now. “Oh, and you have been having fun these past years, Mr Potter?”

“How could I not? I have a wonderful and beautiful wife, fantastic children, and very good friends. Life's been good.”

You're about to reply, but an excited shout interrupts you rather abruptly. However, as soon as you see who interrupted you, the smile on your face only widens.

“DAD!”

Harry had turned around the instant he heard the shout, so you can't see his expression, but you don't need to; the slight tension that seemed glued to his persona leaves in a rush at the sight of the running and smiling children, that much you can tell, but you are positive that his smile, like yours, is only wider than before. It comes to you now that maybe he'd been standing there waiting for them to return from wherever they went. Always the responsible father, of course, you'd known he would be this way. Turning your attention away from the Boy Who Lived, you focus on the children—or, rather, the child, as you only pay attention to only one.

The boy. Black-haired and green-eyed; the boy who is a replica of his father, sans the round glasses and the lighting-shaped scar on his forehead.

Albus Severus Potter.

You can't help but feel warmth spread through your chest every time you think of this kid. Of course, there are others you love dearly, but Albus Severus takes the prize with you. You created him specifically to show the world what a great father Harry is, and ended up loving more than any of the other children. There's a nagging little voice in the back of her head telling her to pay attention to the other child, to acknowledge more than just the fact that the child is a girl, but you resist, entranced with the boy.

And it's only when the children reach Harry, tackling his open arms, that you pay attention. Because it's not the boy who reaches the father first, it's the girl. The one embracing Harry enthusiastically is the bushy, auburn-haired little girl. Of course, Harry's son reaches the pair second later and joins the embrace, but it's the sight of the girl that shocks you. You would recognize that bushy hair anywhere.

“Rose?”

The girl squeaks and looks your way quickly, her hair wiping around her face, before she hides it in Harry's shoulder. But that glimpse of her is enough; she is most definitely the daughter of the Brightest Witch of Hogwarts.

The shock prevents you from saying any more as you watch Harry stand up with the girl held securely in his arms. With one arm placed firmly under her tights, Harry holds her against him, letting Rose cling to his neck, while he places his other arm around the boy now standing next to him. Harry smiles at you, oblivious to your muted surprise.

“Of course, I forgot. I was going to introduce them to you, but you already know them,” his smile turns cheeky. “But if you want, I can still follow proper protocol.”

You shake your head, more to clear your thoughts than to answer to his suggestion. “That won't be necessary, I…” You shake your head again, finally finding your centre as you turn to the trio before you, and ask the question that'd been nagging at you. “Hermione's here?”

The kids give you odd, bewildered looks, although Rose hides her face quickly again, not permitting to take in the lovely features you know she has inherited from both her parents (you want to see her eyes shine blue as you always imagined it), and Al's face turns soon to confusion, as if telling you that that should be obvious.

Harry, you realize, is sporting a similar look though he hides it better, and wipes it off sooner than the children before returning to his happy-go-lucky demeanour. Rose murmurs something to him and he chuckles. “You'll have to forgive Rosie, usually she's not this shy, but this week has been hectic for her. You know, what with today being so special and all. Give her time to calm down and you'll find her to be as delightful as her mother,” he pauses shortly to kiss the crown of Rose's head. “As for Hermione, I'm surprised you're shocked to know she's here. Surely, you didn't expect her to be late on this important day. Why, Hermione hates tardiness!”

His cheeky grin is contagious and you can't help but return it, pushing the uneasy feeling of seeing the girl clinging to Harry like that and the wondering of where are the remaining Weasleys aside.

“Well, considering who her husband is… Surely, you can understand my surprise!”

You both laugh at that statement, and while you can't be sure, you think Harry is remembering the same as you—the famous Weasley tardiness. A thought strikes you then, and you look around searching for a familiar redhead, the one belonging to the youngest Weasley. Before you can ask, however, Harry talks on about Hermione's husband.

“Ouch, okay. I suppose I should have known this revelation would come as a surprise, as it's been almost two decades since we last met,” he pauses, chuckling a little, and shifts Rose on his arms to hold her more comfortably. “But you know Hermione; she wouldn't have hesitated to make that kind of changes. And you know her husband; he'd do anything for her, never questioning her. Right, Rosie?”

Rose nods her head, but still refuses to face you. Next to them, Al smiles this knowing little smile at his father, one which Harry returns, and turns to face you. “Dad is right, of course. But he forgot to mention that she would do anything for her husband too.”

Harry gets this unreadable look on his face as he ruffles his son's hair affectionately. “Yeah, she'd do anything for him too,” his whisper is so soft you almost miss his words, and the emotion behind them is such that you don't know what to think.

The way Al grins at his father makes you wonder what you missed, because obviously there is some kind of secret shared between the Potters, a secret you're not privy to. Letting this go, you focus your attention on the black-haired young boy and crouch in front of him to meet his green eyes with more ease. You change the subject. “So, where is your Mum, Al? And as we are on the topic of family, where are your brother and sister?”

Al widens his eyes in alarm and looks at his laughing father for a while, clearly taken aback by your questions. And, really, the boy's never met you, he's probably freaking out and wondering why you know so much about his life. Mmm… maybe letting nineteen years pass by was not a good idea.

Harry, as always, comes to the rescue. “Son, remember when your mum and I explained to you the reason of our life—the life of all those in both the Wizarding and Muggle Worlds?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, it's all thanks to K here.”

Al nods in understanding, and then turns to focus on you and, by extension, on your question. “Uh, well… er… Jamie forgot to pack his Charms' book, and the assignment that was in it, so Mum took him home to find it. Lily's a mama's girl, so she went with them.”

“Unlike Rosie,” Harry quips in playfully.

Al laughs as he nods enthusiastically. “Yes! She's completely daddy's girl!”

Rose makes a noise in protest as she turns to Al, her hair flying everywhere, as she tries to kick him and fails; Harry laughs good-naturedly. “Shut up, Al!”

Harry, his laugher receding, urges the auburn-haired girl to look at him and speaks in a gentle tone to soothe her. “Rose, Al's only teasing you. Honey, there's nothing wrong with being daddy's girl, because daddy loves you,” after getting the desire effect, Rose nodding slowly, he kisses her forehead. “And you are his favourite rosebud, never forget that.”

The sincerity of his words gets you like nothing else; you think is sweet the way he comforts his best friend's daughter. But there is something about the way he interacts with the girl that nags at you, something that doesn't sit well with you; the tenderness with which he talks to her, the way he looks at her, almost like… like…

It's almost like she were his own daughter. Harry behaves with her the same way a father would, the same way he does with Al—

But you don't get to finish that thought, for right then a blurry vision of black, red and brown shoots pass you and stops right next to Harry, to the trolley actually. The once-blurry vision is only James Potter, the boy being scolded by his father for nearly knocking you flat to the ground, the same boy who gives you a vague apology while tugging his trunk free of the pile, only to open it and shove a book—his Charms' book into it before slamming it shut and putting it back into the trolley.

“James!”

The stern tone of Harry's voice finally grabs the brown—no, chestnut-haired boy's attention. He turns to Harry and the resemblance between the two is clear; James has most of his father's features, the strong jaw and high cheekbones, the thin lips, his forehead and, hell, even his hair seems to be an untamed mess.

“Yeah, Dad?”

But he has his mother's eyes and nose. That upturned nose you spent years and years imagining when writing about the girl, now woman, in question. And those chocolate-brown eyes that stared back at you in your mind any time you wrote her dialogues are now looking right at you as the boy tells you something you can't bother to catch. The way those eyes —Hermione's eyes— look at you expectantly makes you nod slowly, and then you're catching your breath because those eyes spark in relief and the boy—James is smiling at you gratefully before turning his attention to the mini-Crookshanks.

Then, you hear him whisper: “Hey, there, Crookshanks Jr.”

God, no.

It suddenly feels like you're watching a movie unfold before your eyes, because it dawns on you that there's nothing to be done to change things so this scene takes the form of your happily-ever-after. Nothing you can do to change…

“Look, Rosie, Mum's here!” Harry says enthusiastically; there's no doubt on what his look means when looking at the approaching woman behind your back—love.

Finally, as if drawing strength from the sole fact of her mother's presence, Rose turns to grin at her and you finally see the eyes you've been craving to see.

God. No.

But there's no tint of blue, no Weasley humour sparkling there, only a vast see of green and hidden mischief; not just any green though, no, it is Harry Potter's green and hidden mischief. And it's not only that, you notice as well the shade of her hair; hair that before you passed it as a-bit-darker-than-Weasley-red is actually Lily-Potter-née-Evans-auburn hair. In short, Rose is Hermione with Lily Potter's colours.

How did this happen?

You blink and then there's Hermione walking by you, being dragged into the small group by an excited little girl, who, you realize, can't be no one but little Lily Potter. She releases Hermione's hand and goes straight to Harry, looking at him with a pleading gaze that nobody could possibly refuse. Harry smiles indulgently, bends his knees a little, and picks the girl up in his free arms, completely happy to have both his daughters (because, you know, they are his daughters) secure in his arms. Out of the corner of your eyes, to the right, you see Al giving Hermione a crushing hug, a perfect replica of his mother's (god, his mother's) hugs; however your whole focus is on the girls hugging Harry, on their resemblance with the woman standing next to you.

Rose's alikeness has already been established, but little Lily's has not. Not that you need to doubt who her parents are. Like James, her hair, too, is chestnut-coloured, and she, too, has Hermione's chocolate-brown eyes. Unlike James though, her facial features are those of Hermione's, from her curvy jaw to her upturned nose, but she has Harry's lips and forehead.

Neither of the children inherited her mother's once-large front teeth.

Oblivious to your inner turmoil, Hermione, still tightly wrapped in her son's embrace, walks the remaining step to her smiling husband and kisses his lips, only breaking apart when the boys start making gagging noises. And, lord, now you understand the secretive smiles shared between father and son moments ago, when you were all joking about Hermione's husband.

“Ouch, okay. I suppose I should have known this revelation would come as a surprise, as it's been almost two decades since we last met. But you know Hermione; she wouldn't have hesitated to make that kind of changes. And you know her husband; he'd do anything for her, never questioning her. Right, Rosie?”

He'd do anything for her, never questioning her? Of course, Harry was talking about himself! How could you miss that? And what he whispered later—

“Yeah, she'd do anything for him too.”

—that should've been a death giveaway.

There's a brief exchange between the couple and then Hermione turns to ruffle James hair, earning a half-hearted protest from their firstborn. “I know, we took longer than expected, but James wouldn't recognize he had lost his book and wouldn't let me summon it either.”

“But I didn't lose it! I just couldn't remember where I left it after finishing my Charms assignment,” James huffs annoyed.

Harry, bless his soul, never once showing a sign of complaint at having his arms full, literally, turns to smirk at his eldest child. “And where was it?”

Hermione smiles knowingly and James huffs again, mumbling: “Under my bed… where Mum said it would be.”

The tender look they, Harry and Hermione, share next finally snaps your self-control.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

You should've expected this to happen after forcing the issue those last two years.

You knew it would eventually come back and bite you in the arse, but you wanted so much to make “The Epilogue” work. God, so much.

It'd taken you by surprise by the end of the Fifth Book the road Hermione Jane—Jean, Hermione Jean Granger had chosen to follow. Because you'd told all your readers that she and Ron were the obvious they-bicker-like-an-old-married-couple pair that would end up together at the end, that they'd been your obvious choice since the Fourth Book. Well, obvious to yourself and those people who let subtlety fly over their heads, because you made it clear what Hermione's choice was the moment you made her, at the end of the Fifth Book, fly to London to rescue Sirius even knowing it was a trap. You chose to make the girl who was terrified of heights and flying get on an invisible creature and fly miles and miles into what was most likely a suicide mission. You made the girl who was praised for her logic and reasonable decisions disregard her strongest quality to follow a misguided boy into a death trap, thus getting almost killed herself. You chose to make her do all that for one single reason—one single person.

Harry Potter.

It is an act of true love to put aside your own fear and insecurity and safety and reason to stand by one person, to support one person only.

She'd done it all, countless of times, and you realized that—you realized that your Hermione had made her choice, but it was one choice you didn't agree to, couldn't agree to, because then your “Happily Ever After” would crumble. If you'd let her walk down that road, then making Ginny Weasley the perfect girl for Harry Potter would be useless, because ultimately, you knew which girl Harry would choose, and that wouldn't bode well for the “One Big Happy Weasley Family” philosophy—would not sit well with your readers.

So, going against you better judgment, and your husband's advice (“Let it run its course, darling. Hermione made her choice, just like you did all those years ago”), you wrote the Sixth Book and turned Hermione into someone unrecognizable, someone that made even you wince in pain every time you wrote her dialogues. But it was necessary, no one understood how necessary was for Hermione to drift apart from Harry and focus on Ron, and since, you figured, it was your Creation, you made it happen, passing her change as just normal teenager stuff. Every teen went through phases in their lives.

But, no matter how single-minded you were about the issue, writing the book was difficult; every other page you had to catch yourself from writing something that would be too close, too important between Harry and Hermione, and even then sometimes you slipped. Clearly, Hermione didn't make things easy for you, no, she fought every single letter on every single page, managing to make small breakthroughs from time to time (“It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable”). God, even Harry fought you, though not as fiercely but did it nonetheless, that's why the “chest monster” came out as a, well, monster.

You could go on and on pointing out how difficult it was to write Ginny as well (she had been coming along nicely in the Fifth Book, turning out to be a good friend for Harry, but you had to turn her into this insufferable perfect girl made just for the Boy Who Lived), although Ron was surprisingly easy to write (unfortunately, by the end, you realized that all through Hermione's advances you made him completely uninterested, even after his calling her name in his sleep, a moment that you could have used to bring them together, you still made him appear utterly unaffected—like he simply didn't want Hermione that way).

Then there's the Seventh Book.

You really don't want to think about that now. You put so much work on it, you simply can bear to think it'll be a disappoint for your readers (if not all, there are some people who understood your need for the “Happily Ever After”, then those who did not appreciated the change in Hermione in the last one).

God, you really should have.

And looking at them, Harry and Hermione, with their children—no, it's simply too much. Is it any wonder why you snapped?

Stop it. STOP IT RIGHT NOW!

You don't realize you've screamed those words until you see the happy family giving you confused looks.

Hermione blink, as if only now recognizing you and smiles. “K! I'm sorry for, well, ignoring you, but Harry tends to monopolize my attention rather effectively.”

She gives you a one-armed hug, the mini replica of her husband still attached to her waist, and you can see Harry smiling amusedly at her. Your anger, unknown to everyone, boils inside you.

“It's not on purpose, although it is good to know I still hold my wife's attention.”

Hermione flashes him a smile. “Always, Harry. You've always had my attention. From that very moment I fixed your glasses on our first trip on the Hogwarts Express.”

That, you think, it's what most definitely makes you explode.

“That is not true.”

The venom behind your words surprises everyone, even you, and no matter how much you want to shut your mouth now, the floodgate is already open.

The kids flinch a little and you can't bring yourself to care, but, belatedly, you acknowledge that their reactions are not due to you but to the cold aura their mother seemed to have around her.

Her cold reply is expected. “Excuse me?”

“Ron. Ron's the one who has always held your attention! Not Harry. Ron!” You sound slightly deranged, but it doesn't matter, the situation, you believe, requires it. “Just stop this nonsense. How could you do this to Ron, you rightful husband? And you,” rounding on Harry, you see the first signs on his explosive temper coming forth. “You, how could you do this to Ginny, you rightful wife?”

Then, Rose interrupts. “Daddy, what is she talking about?”

Maybe, you don't know, it's the boiling rage in you that makes you react so harshly. Maybe it's simply the fact that all your dreams and expectations for your babies are shattered what makes you snap so furiously at the auburn-haired girl. You don't know, you can't say. But the truth is that you just made the worst mistake of your life.

“Shut UP. He is NOT you father! Ronald Weasley IS YOUR FATHER!”

You just hurt one of his loved ones—his rosebud.

And maybe trying to grab her, trying because you couldn't even manage to take a step in her direction, is not the best next choice, because you're sure you've never seen so much loathing in Harry Potter's eyes.

Whatever is preventing you from getting closer to the family also is preventing you from moving, as you can only stand frozen in place as you see Hermione (Potter, her name is Hermione Potter) snarl in your direction before hurrying over to Harry and taking a sobbing Lily into her arms while trying to calm her eldest daughter. But nothing she does can console the crying girl in Harry's arms; Rose has her face hidden between her hands, silently shedding her tears.

Gently, as if she were made of highly breakable crystal, Harry sits the girl on top of the piled trunks and with utmost care, pries her hands off her face. Rose doesn't open her eyes or raises her head, but Harry is not deterred. He simply grabs her chin tenderly and tilts her head back, placing a kiss to her forehead.

“Rose,” he begins, now having the girl's entire attention, pulling a strand of hair behind her ear. “It's true when people say you look just like your mother, you do. But there's one thing that makes you different; one feature that stands out to correct those who assume you have nothing of your father—nothing of me,” he pauses, sliding his index finger over her eyelids. “You see it every day in the mirror, rosebud. Your eyes.”

The tears have long stopped and now Rose tries to brush away those that remain in her eyelashes. Her voice is soft when she talks. “My eyes?”

Harry grins and taps his own eyes. “Yes, your eyes. You have my eyes, my mother's eyes, and your brother's eyes,” he motions with his head to the boy now standing next to him, the boy who's grinning and nodding his head enthusiastically. “You're as related to me as any of your siblings is. So never doubt that you, little rosebud, are my daughter.”

Hermione rushes to their side, not being able to hold back any longer, and wraps one of her arms tightly around her eldest daughter. “Oh, honey, don't listen to what people say, they only want to hurt our family. I spent long hours deciding when to have you and, later, went through even longer hours in labour doing just that. And there is only one man who helped me with all of it.”

“Daddy?” Rose asks, with all traces of sadness gone from her pretty face.

Hermione grins at her and quickly pecks Harry on the cheek. “Yes, Daddy.”

Harry smiles and kisses each kid on the forehead, making the girls giggle while the boy groan in protest. “Now, why don't you kids go find Teddy and stay with him for a while? Mummy and I need to talk to… the lady here.”

All traces of friendly behaviour are gone from his face and you know you'll probably never have an amicable relationship with the Boy Who Lived now. The scathing look coming from Hermione tells you loud and clear that she won't even bother with politeness around you anymore. They nods and do as told. After James helps Rose down the trolley, he grabs hers and Lily's hands and heads down to the other end of the platform.

You know this is one conversation you're not going to enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Harry—”

“How… dare you say that to my daughter?”

“…”

“But, Harry—”

“You have no right to go spouting lies about my life!”

“…”

“It—”

“Have you any idea of the damage you could have brought upon my daughter?!”

“…”

“But it was no lie—”

“…”

“Forgive me, but I can attest who the father of my children is. I've only ever slept with one man in my life and he's standing right here next to me.”

“This is not the man you were supposed to end up with. I TOLD you that back in Sixth Year!”

“…”

“Yes, and I remember quite clearly what my response to that was. I never thought of Ron as someone to spend my life with. It has always been Harry.”

“…”

“And regardless of what happened in Sixth Year, during and after the War, Hermione has always been my only choice. I was just too afraid of jeopardizing my relationship with the Weasleys to act upon my feelings.”

“Stop blaming yourself for something that had to happen. We were both idiots back then, a pair of confused and wounded teens that were trying to cope with their ever-changing lives.”

“…”

“I can't tell you how glad I am you put your foot down when it came to go looking for your parents after the funerals. If you hadn't fought Ron over the issue and stormed out seconds later, I wouldn't have realized how much my relationship with Ginny depended on you.”

“Harry…”

“…”

“I know, it's an awful thing of me to think, but it's true, Hermione. My relationship with Ginny always felt surreal to me, like I said before, something from a dream, and at first it was alright. But I realized that it was only alright because I already had a real relationship—with you.”

“Sans the snogging.”

“…”

“And when you left that summer in '98 to Australia…”

“Oh, Harry…”

“NO. No, no, no, no! This is not how it was supposed to be! Harry, Ginny was always meant to be your Happy Ending. She was perfect for you! And Hermione, Ron was always meant to be your soul mate. That's why you bickered so much, it was the tension!”

“Are you listening to yourself, K? Ginny was not perfect for me! She was the perfect girl for the Boy Who Lived. But I'm not him! I'm Harry, just Harry! And I found the perfect girl for me in my best friend.”

“And just for the record, bickering does not equal sexual tension or affection; it just means that two persons are not compatible. Ron and I were never compatible. All I did was nag him about things he didn't even care about and all he did was belittle me and make fun of my beliefs. Excuse me for wanting more in a relationship than senseless screaming matches and hurtful comments.”

“Oh, so you're going to tell me your lives are just dandy? No fighting for the lovebirds?”

“No, of course we don't fight. We argue. We disagree sometimes, but I'd never hurt Hermione intentionally. I've never initiated an argument with the sole purpose of hurting her feelings to feel good about myself.”

“And we always resolve our differences. We talk about it; we don't sweep our problems under the rug.”

“…”

“Now, ma'am, is there anything else you might want to say? It's already half past ten and I wish to spend the remaining half hour with my children.”

“…”

“Can you… tell me how did this—you happened?”

“…Hermione spent a year in Australia, half of it searching for and mending her relationship with her parents. She owled me weekly, and told me she was going to spend a second year there before returning to England…”

“You see, my parents really loved Australia, and were hesitant to leave it so soon after getting their memories back. They said they wanted me to enjoy the country that had enchanted them so.”

“…”

“By the end of the first year after the War, my relationship with Ginny had already crumbled. There was nothing to save, no matter how much we tried, but she just wouldn't accept it. She was so hell bent into been the perfect girlfriend that she couldn't see I didn't need that—didn't want that.”

“…”

“…”

“So, after she graduated from Seventh Year, we had this huge argument. She wanted to marry, I didn't. Not surprisingly, she threw a tantrum, Mrs Weasley sided with her, Mr Weasley tried to remain neutral, the guys stayed out of it and Ron was still bitter over Hermione leaving. I didn't stay long to hear her screaming. After grabbing my things, I left. And since I didn't have anywhere else to go, I decided to look for my best friend.”

“I was really shocked when he turned up at my parents' doorstep.”

“…”

“And that was that. I spent a year with the Grangers, finally being part of a family… and I liked it. It wasn't long after that I realized how a really felt about Hermione, but it was still two years after the War when we finally got together.”

“Only because I snogged you silly. If it had depended on you we'd still be dancing around each other.”

“…”

“That's true… Three years later we were married. And a year after that, Hector James was born.”

“Two years later, Alexander Sirius and Rose Danielle came into our worlds.”

“Hector James? Alexander Sirius?”

“Last but not least, Lily Emma arrived three years after the twins.”

“And she's been the baby of our family since then. Unless you wanted another one, dear husband?”

“Wait…”

“No, no. I'm quite happy with our children. If you happen to fall pregnant again, I'd be delighted, you know that, but I'm not asking for more. I really am happy with our family, Hermione.”

“I'm happy too, Harry.”

“Wait! Hector James? Alexander Sirius? Lily Emma? No! What happened to James Sirius and Albus Severus and Lily Luna?”

“…”

“…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

From afar, regretfully, you watch the Potters say their last farewells to their departing children. Five more minutes and the Hogwarts Express would leave Platform Nine and Three Quarters for the umpteenth time, and you're not there to witness the moment you so long yearned for.

You could've stayed quiet, you should've swallowed your complaints, but you let your temper control you; the shock of your “Epilogue” not happening ever robbed you of all common sense and you ended up hurting Harry's family. God, you created the kid! You should've known he'd react badly to such a transgression, but…

But.

You can still hear the end of your conversation; can still see the scowl on his face, the disappointment. (“Albus Severus? Why would I name a child of mine after the man that manipulated my life since I was a baby and the man that tormented me and my friend during six years? I'm not saying Dumbledore or Snape were bad, per se. But forgive me for not worshiping the floor they used to walk on; they weren't exactly role models to me while I was growing up. I didn't care for Dumbledore that much. And Snape, while good, was still an arsehole.”)

But it was his parting words what hurt the most.

“Now, I didn't want it to come to this, but kindly leave me and my family alone from now on.”

You screwed it all up, royally.

Silently, you watch Hermione hugging all three children tightly while Harry looks on with an amused smile, little Lily perched safely in his arms. Finally, James manages to free himself and bumping fists with Harry, jump into the train as the whistle goes off, blowing a kiss to his pouting mother. Kissing each twin on the cheek Mrs Potter finally lets them go. Alex repeats his brother's gesture with his father and jumps on the train; he too blows a kiss to his mother. Rose is more considerate of Hermione, and kisses her cheek goodbye before doing the same to Harry; she, too, jumps into the train just as it starts moving.

Harry wraps an arm around his wife's waist, kissing her temple as she tries valiantly to hold her tears; watching one's children go is never easy. Hermione hugs him back, waving at their children with her free hand. Little Lily is much more enthusiastic in her waving, even though you suspect she'll be in tears as soon as they reach their home.

You see them gather in a small group of friends from their years in Hogwarts, all talking animatedly as they all make plan to get together sometime. Probably, you can't be sure as you're not that close. So many familiar faces. Yet you can get any closer because the news of you foolish mistake spread like wildfire across the platform as soon as the Potters left to find their kids. Everybody knows what happened, what you said, and no one wants to talk to you for hurting the family of the Chosen One.

One by one, the friends start to leave. Ron Weasley and his wife being the last. After Luna Love—Longbottom, after Luna Longbottom walks away, Ron embraces his friends and gives a nod to confirm whatever the agreement was. Then he, too, leaves.

Harry and Hermione walk slowly in your direction, but they're not paying attention to you, something completely unintentional, their whole focus is on the little girl now walking between them and holding on to their hands. You catch the end of their conversation before the cross the gate.

“Okay, okay. We'll go buy you an owl now and then take you to get some ice cream.”

As the Potters fade from sight, you turn to look at the train, long gone now. The only visible thing of it is the steam raising in the sky, but no matter how hard you wanted, the sight does not bring you calm. It saddens you.

“Everything's ruined now.”

It really is. The final book will be released the next day, you cannot change the end now. You won't. No one in this universe knows about the books, and only Harry knows the true behind its existence and he won't tell. You realize with a stark clarity that, just because the main characters in this universe failed to follow expectations, it doesn't mean you have to bend over backwards to change your Happy Ending. You can still have it and the fans will be none the wiser.

Your world will read the book and love it, and you… you'll just have to forget about the universe where you met Harry Potter. And then, maybe, this will become just an awful nightmare. Maybe, someday, you'll start to believe that your Epilogue is the real Happily Ever After and not this reality you stumbled upon.

The reality where the could-have-gone-that-way actually went that way.

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End.

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Soooo, comments are welcome!!

Did I manage to keep the secret of Harry's wife long enough? Or was I too obvious? I think I was, meh. Anyway! Until next time!

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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Yeah, here's the next installment of this collection. Sorry it took so long, but I've been pretty busy. Enjoy!

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Title: “the expected unexpected”

Rating: PG-13

Words: 3,300

Characters/Pairings: Ron, Harry/Hermione

Theme/Prompt: #099 - open secret

Warnings/AN: hbp au. Uhh, this follows canon up until the canaries scene, after that it's mainly all me.

Summary: It's because of the canaries. In which Ron tries to ignore the big elephant in the room and fails… in rather epic proportions.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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Preface I

Ron's half expecting her to conjure up those blasted canaries and throw them at him—again. But Hermione does nothing, she just stands there looking at him… no, through him. She's staring at the couch.

Then her eyes snap towards the portrait hole—and she's blushing.

Harry stands there, robes all muddied after Quidditch practice, looking at her intently. Green eyes drift towards him —no, thinks Ron, towards the couch— briefly and snap back to Hermione. He's blushing too.

Without a word, they resume their way; Harry goes to the dorms and Hermione goes to the library.

Ron's left confused. When he asks about it, he only gets a shrug of a shoulder and ominous silence.

Their blushing cheeks when they catch glimpses of the couch tell him, loud and clear, something happened. But Ron doesn't want to acknowledge the big elephant in the room.

Not just yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~
i.

In hindsight, the kiss oughtn't have been so surprising. Maybe a little unexpected… But then, maybe not.

Because, deep down, around the outskirts of his conscious, Ron has always known it was bound to happen.

The whole Wizarding World had expected it to happen in their Fourth Year and some of the students during Fifth Year. He had been shocked when it didn't happen this summer, he'd been dreading it. But then everything remained somewhat the same and their Sixth Year began and suddenly everyone was expecting them to happen.

Ron and Hermione.

That thought had been a very pleasant one, Hermione turning her attention onto him once school term started made it all the better. All of that had made Ron believe this year could be the year where he might actually be able to act upon his feelings for his bushy-haired friend. Her invitation to Slughorn's party had left him in high spirits and already devising a strategy to get her to be his girlfriend, but…

But.

It seemed fate needed him to go and ruin his chances by deciding to see for himself whether Lavender still possessed her tonsils or not. The “attack of the raging canaries” episode, as he'd so cleverly dubbed it, ended up shoving them —Ron and Hermione— downhill rather effectively and without any apparent remorse.

Harry's and Hermione's behaviour the weeks following that episode only added to his discomfort and growing fear that he had screwed up big time now. Their constant blushing (he was seriously starting to think the rosy hue had been there all along) when they came across each other in the Common Room, their talking in hushed voices or their talking without words at all, the way they now seemed to gravitate towards each other and their apparent need to always have some sort of physical contact, be it his hand on the small of her back or hers grabbing his arms, touching his shoulders.

All of it has helped drill the reality of his suspicions into his head; something had happened between them. Something clearly is happening between them.

This kiss is only a visual confirmation.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Determined to not let anything (like, say, Lavender's scowling face) ruin this day, Ron keeps passing on the butterbeers in order to celebrate their victory properly. All of Gryffindor are clanking the drinks to Ginny's name, congratulating her for the splendid performance as Seeker during the game that secured the Quidditch Cup for them. Of course there are some people congratulating him for his game strategies, but most keep their focus on Ginny, which is fine with him because Ron knows his sister deserves this moment of glory after the disaster that was her relationship with Dean.

When Harry stumbles into the Common Room, looking anxious and slightly guilty, Ron jumps quickly into actions and starts reassuring his best friend while filling him in on the finest detail of their match against Ravenclaw. All those little details Hermione can't possibly care about. (And now that he is on that topic, how come she wasn't cheering them on during the match? Where was she during the match?). Harry takes it all in, laughing and smiling as he and their fellows Gryffindors give him a play-by-play; the black-haired teen gives a general congratulation to the team as the guilt leaves his demeanour slowly and Ron understand that he's probably been feeling guilty just in case.

So, patting his back, Ron decides to ease his mind. “There really wasn't anything to be worried about, mate! Ginny did a great job as Seeker; beat Cho to the Snitch right quick. If it hadn't taken so long to appear, we would've won within minutes!”

Everyone laughs at his enthusiasm, obviously feeling too happy not to, and Harry smiles gratefully at him before turning to his sister, who stands in the middle on the room, looking ready to explode in happy giggles.

“Congratulations, Ginny. Wish I'd been able to see you catch that Snitch.”

A beat later Harry tenses up briefly, jaw clenching and eyes darkening to a forest green as his gaze locks with something ahead of him. Ron only takes notice of this because he is standing right at his side, and when he turns to see what caught his attention there is only Ginny standing there, an eager and pleased look on her face.

And then they are moving.

He winces in anticipation, already dreading the awkwardness that seeing Harry and Ginny together is going to bring into his day-to-day life now, but nearly chokes on his own spit at what happens next.

The scene unfolds itself pretty neatly. Harry starts walking forward and Ginny takes that as a sign to act and runs at him. Only Harry doesn't welcome her with a warm embrace, doesn't acknowledges her at all, sidestepping her as his gaze keeps locked with something—someone standing right behind her.

That someone, standing right behind Ginny, is Hermione.

The silence falls around him like a blanket, his face goes surprisingly lax, and Ginny's gaze hardens before quickly turning to follow Harry and freezes—along with everybody else. Harry manages to corner Hermione against one of the tables, none of them says a word but then slowly, almost seeming hesitant, Harry reaches out and cups her face between his hands gently. Ron can't see his expression, but Hermione's is on perfect display. Her eyelids drop halfway and her lips part slightly, her whole demeanour acquiring an enticing allure as she leans into Harry and it must mean something because he doesn't hesitate anymore.

His hands move, fingers splaying over the back of her neck and thumbs pressing lightly under her chin. She tilts her hear back a little and he closes the remaining distance between them. Hermione closes her eyes in clear abandon and her hands grasp the robes covering his shoulders while a soft sigh escapes her lips, a sigh Harry swallows as he presses more firmly into her.

Their embrace is nothing out of the ordinary, they do it all the time now, but it stills emanates a kind of intimacy that hasn't been there before (has it?). The way she clutches at him, as if he were to slips from her grasp—from her life is she so much as loosened her fingers and the way he lets his hands travel over her back, memorizing her curves and her feel as if there were no tomorrow and, really, for Harry, that might certainly be accurate.

But it's their kiss, the soft touch of lips and the tender way they brush against each other and the obvious content such innocent touch evokes in both, Harry and Hermione, that makes him grab hold of the fabric covering his chest in a feeble attempt to stop his heart from crumbling.

This time, Ron thinks, the wince comes from a deep rooted pain.

But his plight is ignored as all their friends and housemates break into a loud cheer, congratulating the couple as they end the kiss. There are hoots and catcalls and laughter and shouts of triumph and “I knew it!” and “about time!” among other celebratory sounds and happy smiles. Someone yells that they have another thing to celebrate now that “Hogwarts Golden Couple finally stopped being oblivious!” and the butterbeers starting rolling again, turning up the music for good measure.

However, Harry and Hermione take no notice of the uproar they've caused, gone off into their own little world. Something must have gone through Harry's face, a fleeting look, the rise of an eyebrow perhaps, because Hermione smiles tenderly at him (that smile she saves for Harry and Harry alone) and nods almost imperceptibly. Ron knows, he doesn't need to see it, that the delighted grin that follows is only a response to match Harry's.

Whatever that something is, it's clearly significant—important, because his best friend lets out a joyous laugh and proceeds to pick up the girl in his arms and spin around before snogging the daylights out of her. Oh, yes, snogging; there is nothing of the tenderness and innocence of the previous kiss, no. This is a full-blown French kiss. And they finally realize they're not alone when the catcalls begin anew with the usual get-a-room jibs and all.

But it's Lavender's comment that makes them finally release each other, although not completely as their hands remain entwined.

“Why don't you spare us the show and drag her to a broom closet? She can't possibly pretend it to be below her now.”

Had she left her words die after the question, Lavender could have passed it as simple teasing, but the following sentence negates that, coming across as painfully, bitterly jealous. Obviously, she still hasn't gotten over the fact that Ron broke up with her—for Hermione.

But, while before Harry usually would have stayed silent or responded violently, now he simply smiles at Lavender carelessly and tugs Hermione forward until they are touching from knees to chest. “Thank you, Lavender, I think I'll do just that. And while you are in part right, Hermione is above broom closets, that doesn't mean she hasn't let me convince her to engage in some… very thorough study escapades… within some of Hogwarts' most cosy broom closets.”

“Only because you present such a good case, giving well thought reasons for me to follow you. It's impossibly hard to try and refute your explanations.”

Harry doesn't turn fast enough for him to miss the mischievous glint in his green eyes, nor the smug smirk as he faces Hermione once again. She looks very pleased with herself as she grins at Harry and his chuckle rings loud against the silence that had befallen the Common Room at Hermione's admission. Without further ado and amidst shocked stares, they walk hand in hand towards the entrance.

Before stepping through the portrait hole completely, Harry turns to address the instigator to the previous conversation. “Oh, and Lavender? You should really consider your current fashion sense, you see, jealousy doesn't suit you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He's been watching them since they left the Common Room.

Not watching them as in following-them-through-the-castle's-corridors watching them, but watching-their-dots-on-the-Marauders'-Map-move-and-dissapear-into-a-wall watching them.

A wall located in one of the seventh floor's corridors. The very one that grants access to the Room of Requirements.

Bloody buggering shite.

Midnight has come and gone and one Ronald Weasley has yet to embark into the lands of Morpheus. He'd left the Common Room unnoticed right after his best friends left, slipping into the boy's dormitories and going right to Harry's trunk, after which he sat on his bed with the curtains closed. The party died, his roommates stumbled into the room drunk and passed out shortly afterwards, but Ron had remained sitting in bed, watching the now deserted corridor outside the Room of Requirements.

Bloody buggering shite, indeed.

And after spending nearly five hours sitting on his bed, Ron sees their dots appear on the Map next to the wall. Seconds later he's following their trail as the dots labelled Harry James Potter and Hermione Jane Granger make their way back to Gryffindor Tower slowly. The walk can't take more than five minutes, but after stopping against several other walls (and he doesn't want to think why they stop but their slightly overlapped dots don't help him), they arrive outside the Fat Lady's portrait fifteen minutes later.

He doesn't know what prompts him, but before the dots slip into the Common Room, Ron mutters a very soft “mischief managed” before making his way to the stairs. He walks down slowly; stopping short when the fireplace burst into life and the light of the fire reaches the bottom of the spiralling staircase, just three steps down from where he stands.

Then, he hears them talk.

“Are you going to tell me then?”

“Hm?”

Their voices are but a mere whisper; however the silence surrounding them provides Ron with enough to listen clearly. Deciding this isn't enough, he steps down until reaching the bend of the staircase and chooses the perfect place to hear as well as see them while keeping himself hidden.

“Harry?”

The couch they choose to sit on is the ban of his existence; that bloody couch started it all—the blushing, the closeness, everything. He should've known, he should've insisted! They've been hiding something since the “attack of the raging canaries”. If only he had insisted, but… but.

But he had feared their answer.

After receiving no response, Hermione tries again. The couch faces the fireplace so he can only see their backs, it's a shame, but it's enough to gauge their emotions. After all, Ron knows his best friends better than anyone.

“Tell you what?”

There's a subtle, constant shift on Hermione's left shoulder, like she gently moving her arm, and the absence of Harry tells Ron he's either sitting on the floor or lying on the couch. And as he watches his green-eyed friend sit up and turn to Hermione's pouting face he gets his answer.

“Harry…”

He'd been lying down, his head obviously on her laps and if the hand that still rests on his shoulder says anything, it is that she'd been stroking his hair.

Harry grins at her adorable pout and moves closer to her, draping an arm across her shoulders and leaning into her to nuzzle her cheek. The tips of her ears redden, a clear sign that Hermione's blushing, and Harry chuckles softly before pressing his mouth to her neck. “You'll have to be more specific, Miss Granger.”

Hermione moves the hand resting on his shoulder and slides it under his shirt, pulling Harry closer. Her expression is hidden behind the boy's head, but her actions speak for themselves. “Are you going to tell me what prompted you to kiss me in front of our housemates?”

“Oh, that.”

“Yes, that.”

Briefly, Ron wonders if there is enough time for him to go fetch the Invisibility Cloak, but just before making up his mind Harry pulls back from the embrace, looking unexpectedly nervous. Hermione raises her eyebrows in surprise, clearly not awaiting this reaction.

The green-eyed teen shifts uncomfortably under the girls piercing stare. “I don't really know why, I… I mean, you were just standing there and—and something clicked, you know? Like, suddenly, everything made sense. Our relationship and the way we somehow always know what the other is thinking, this blinding trust I have in you and your unwavering loyalty regardless of how it may lead us right into a trap… and how it's always your voice in my head the one preventing me from doing something reckless.”

Her breath catches and she's gasping, but Harry, letting out a shuddering breath, keeps going. And Ron wishes to have enough strength to leave them alone.

“All of that, Hermione—when I saw you standing there, all of that came to me in a rush. You didn't want to hide this,” he says, moving his hand to indicate both of them. “You wanted to be upfront and let the whole school know about us, but you accepted my request and kept quiet. I told you I didn't want you to be a bigger target that you already are, and while that is true, it's not the whole truth. And the truth… the truth is that I wanted you to be mine.”

Hermione bits her lower lip to prevent the raising sobs from escaping, but her voice trembles still when she says his name. “Harry…”

“Ever since I can remember people has known all about my life before me, Hermione. The Dursleys knew I was a wizard before I did, the Wizarding World has known all about my parents and my life before I do. Always, everything about me is out there for everyone to see ages before I get to see it!” Harry breathes deeply, pulling Hermione closer until their foreheads bump softly. His voice lowers to a soft murmur. “That's why I wanted to keep you, us, a secret. This is one aspect of my life nobody knew of and I wanted it to stay that way. The most important part of my life; I wanted it to be mine and only mine… I didn't want to share you with the world just yet, Hermione.”

“Oh, Harry…”

“But tonight, or rather last night, when I saw you all I wanted to do was run to you and snog you silly and scream to the world that Hermione Granger is mine and that I am hers for as long as she wants me. I did just that, sans the screaming and… now you're crying. Merlin, what did I do wrong?”

Hermione laughs softly at his mounting panic and leans more firmly into Harry. “Nothing. You did nothing wrong, Harry. But you can do something right and kiss me now.”

Harry can't seem to comply fast enough. After a few tender kisses, they fall out of sight and most likely onto the couch's cushions.

Ron takes that as his cue to go back to the dorms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

He climbs into his beds, closing the curtains to try and block the rest of the world, but fails as his mind keeps replaying the last several hours. And he wonders where it all went so… awry. Exactly when Hermione got tired of pursuing him and shifted her attentions to Harry (and hadn't it always been Harry?). It probably was after the canaries' episode, but why?

It has to be a fleeting fancy.

Of course, it has to be. Because Hermione is supposed to be the one thing he has that he doesn't have to share with anyone—with Harry. She is the one thing that is supposed to be his. Oh, he knows, deep down he knows Harry feels the same, but he can't come to terms with any of that right now. He saw Hermione first; he staked his claim on the Yule Ball! The whole freaking school knew of their screaming match, it was proof enough! Bloody hell, they have all the tension! Harry and Hermione have none of the passion of their rows and the tension.

They're just friends!

No, they're not. Not anymore.

Ron presses the hills of his hands against his closed eyes and wills himself to calm down. Merlin, he never expected it to hurt this much. He can't just pretend now. He can't pretend their actions mean nothing, he can't pretend to be oblivious to the stares and blushes and light touches. He can't.

Because they won't. They won't hide and keep their secrets. They won't act as if nothing happened, as if last night didn't happen. And all his reasons for pretending will crumble the moment he sees them together at breakfast in the Great Hall.

No, there is no longer any reason to ignore the big elephant in the room.

Not anymore.

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End.

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Next part it's like a companion fic to this, but it's not done yet, so please be patient? And comments are always welcomed!

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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Well, this gave me sooooo much trouble. I got stuck halfway through it and couldn't get out of the writer's block.

This part is a kind of sequel/companion fic to the last part, hence the title. Also, the next installement is almost ready so I might post it next week, at the latest.

Enjoy!

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Title: “the expected unexpected - ii”

Rating: PG-13

Words: 4,542

Characters/Pairings: Harry/Hermione

Theme/Prompt: #099 - open secret

Warnings/AN: hbp au. Somewhat of a second part to the last fic, chapter 99.

Summary: It's because of the canaries. In which Harry and Hermione realize that the greatest love is the one that is unexpected.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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Preface II

Later, neither would know how to explain it.

Harry watches the canaries fly back to Hermione. He doesn't know what to say. A part of him wants to make excuses for Ron, his best friend, but another part refuses vehemently, claiming that Ron brought this upon himself.

Hermione's his best friend too and it's about time he took her side over Ron's. So, he settles for stating the truth.

“He's a git.”

Unexpectedly, and shocking him to the core, Hermione throws her arms around him and kisses him passionately.

The canaries flutter their wings happily. And he kisses her back.

They don't know how long they were snogging in that classroom, but by the time they return to Gryffindor Tower the party's long over. They stumble their way through the portrait hole, among ardent kisses and wandering hands, and make their way to the closest flat surface.

They fall on the couch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

ii.

Harry plays idly with her hair, revelling in its soft texture and marvellous smell. He sighs in content, pulling her more tightly into his embrace. She mumbles something unintelligible and shifts her position a little, fisting her hand around his jumper. His neck is cramping, but he's too happy lying on the couch provided by the Room of Requirement to do something about it; the fact that she's using him as a mattress and pillow doesn't really matter anymore.

Funny though, how last year he'd have never thought of being this way with Hermione, but then last year he'd had more pressing matter to attend to.

Having nothing better to do (he really doesn't want to wake her up, even though he knows he should as it's way past curfew), Harry lets his mind drift back to that moment when everything about his relationship with Hermione changed, and the glorious months that followed.

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It's been three weeks since the canary incident—since the KISS.

The SNOG, Harry corrects himself. It was definitely a snog.

And, even though he's been following Hermione while she does her Prefect rounds, only now he's gathered enough courage to confront her. About the kiss, and her subsequent desire to avoid him as if he had the plague.

Checking the Marauder's Map, Harry makes sure they're completely alone and with no possibilities of being interrupted before acting. Taking a deep breath, he opens his mouth to catch Hermione's attention—only to have a wand jabbing at his forehead.

“Ow!”

“Harry!”

His name comes out as a hiss, he doesn't know if it is because of her being angry or something else, although he prays it's not because of the anger. Hermione doesn't really give him time to react as she pulls her wand away and then yanks down the hood of his cloak rather forcefully.

Oh, oh.

She's glaring. And preparing to give him a piece of her mind when, suddenly, her eyes go wide and she starts to look around frantically. Seeing nothing, she once again sends a glare in his direction before grabbing a handful of his cloak, somewhere around his chest and drags him to the closest door. Which turns out to be a broom closet. The door slams close and the silence seems accentuated in the darkness.

Harry struggles to remain calm, but his instincts are screaming at him to run or, at the very least, beg for mercy. He thinks it would be best to be honest and hope for the best.

“Lumos.”

Hermione's angry face becomes visible and he's left speechless; she's not glaring anymore, but the fire lighting up her eyes is entrancing enough to leave his mind blank.

“Hullo…”

So much for that.

Hermione takes a deep breath before focusing on him; better, let her be calm, that way she won't hex his bollocks off. “Harry, what…? Why were you following me, startling me like that? I could've hurt you, you know.”

He opens his mouth to explain his need to follow her around, and also demand that she explain why she'd been avoiding him; only, his mouth seems hell bent on doing as it pleases. “I missed you.” He thinks his statement is foolish, but it gets her attention, softening her features, so he presses on. “You've been avoiding me for weeks and—Hermione, I miss you.”

He must look very pitiful or maybe there really is something going on between them or… something, because Hermione's hard demeanour crumbles and she's giving him a pained smile in return and clutching at his robes as she pushes against him and seems to mould herself to him.

“Harry… I miss you, too,” she whispers, her face hidden in the crook of his neck.

And suddenly, it's the night of the party all over again, only the classroom is now a broom closet and Harry actually thinks he's anticipating what could happen, maybe he really wants it to happen—again, but he's not sure it's quite right at the time and… and as much as he enjoys the feeling of Hermione (all soft curves and warm embraces and tender smiles and unwavering loyalty and all that makes her—her) safely tucked into his arms, he knows they have to… straighten everything out first.

“We need to talk.”

And if once those words would've scared him away, now he only nods in relief.

“Yeah, seems like it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Her rounds end by the seventh floor, right next to the Room of Requirements.

With Harry, who's carrying the Marauder's Map, she managed to finish this night's patrol rather quickly—going directly to the darkened corridors and broom closets with students in them, no need to do bed-checks when you can simply inspect the layout of each house' dormitories on the map.

Really, Hermione tells him she's actually entertaining the thought of letting him accompany her on every night she has Prefect's duty, just so she can be done earlier and especially avoid getting scarred for life what with all the things going on in those blasted broom closets.

Harry knows he would say yes, if she were to ask.

While Hermione paces in front of the wall, Harry makes sure they remain uninterrupted; he looks up when the sounds of the wall shifting to accommodate a wooden door reach his ears and notices Hermione looking quite pleased. When he turns to the map to end the spell, though, he stops and stares as the dot labelled Hermione J. Granger disappears in front of the wall. Alarmed, Harry looks up to see Hermione at the other side of the threshold, gazing back at him inquiringly.

“Are you coming, Harry?”

He blinks a few times, looks at the map again and tries to make sense of what he is seeing. “I—er… Hermione, you… you disappeared from the map.”

She frowns, and steps through the door again, this time heading his way, and her dot reappears. “Let me see…”

“You're here again.”

Hermione huffs a little, sending him a warning glance. “Harry, honestly, Professor Lupin explained to us how the map worked. One does not suddenly disappear and reappears on it. The magic involved in the map's creation is much too—”

“Wait.”

She shuts up, eyes him warily as he moves past her and stands two steps away from the door, motioning for her to follow his lead. Sighing tiredly (Harry hopes it's because of the late hour and not him), Hermione moves to stand at his side.

“Okay,” he says. “I want you to go in there again, walking backwards, so you can see what I mean about you disappearing from the map.”

Hermione opens her mouth as though to protest, but shakes her head and eventually does as he asks. She spins around and starts walking backwards, Harry lifts the map so she can see her dot moving—and then she freezes just as she steps through the door.

“Oh!”

She takes a step forward, her eyebrows rise, another step back and her eyes go wide, forward and her mouth is hanging open, a final step back and she staring at him in disbelief. “What… what?”

Harry shrugs and moves into the Room, closing the door behind him. The map is still functioning, but the seventh floor's corridor, where the wall to the Room of Requirements is located, is now empty and with no signs of doorway or hidden passages.

“The Room of Requirements is not detailed on the Map. Why?”

He frowns and while he has many guesses as to why the Map is not detecting the RoR, none of them sound to convincing right now. Still, Hermione expects an answer from him, so he picks the more plausible guess. “Maybe, the Marauders didn't know of the Room's existence.”

Something nags him, though, like a little whiny voice trying to get his attention, all the way from the back of his mind, but as soon as Hermione grabs his hand to lead him further into the room it banishes.

Harry thinks there will be time to revisit the nagging little voice, later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione had requested a replica of the Gryffindor's common room, although smaller and more, well, intimate.

At least that's how Harry feels it.

They are sitting in front of the fireplace, on a cosy loveseat and timidly (really, it is kind of pointless as their previous romantic encounter had been rather steamy) holding hands; they avoid much eye contact as each time one or the other, or both, end up with blushed cheeks.

Hermione had been very thorough in her explanation for acting as she had the night the kissed. (“I saw the beginning of something between you and Ginny this past summer. So I decided to move on, you see. So I decided to try pursuing Ron. He's always fancied me, I know, so I thought he would do. After all, I—what I felt for you, I thought it'd pass. I mean, before, I didn't give up because you never had anything in common with Cho and I knew that was one relationship doomed to fail. So I figured I still had a chance, if only I could make you see me as a girl… But then you started fancying Ginny, and you have so much in common with her, that I just—I just gave up. And focused on Ron, and you saw how that turned out. I mean, honestly! The nerve of him to—to snog Lavender like that! And after all the trouble I had gone to invite him to Slughorn's party. I felt so humiliated, Harry! And when you came after me, I was so relived and happy and I just couldn't stop thinking that giving up on you was a mistake, because I know if you'd been in Ron's shoes you wouldn't have gone and snogged the first girl throwing herself in your arms. You're not like that, and that is something I admire because, Harry, you could have any girl you wanted. So… so when you called Ron a git, I… I couldn't help myself. That's the first time you've taken my side over Ron's and I was so happy and—oh, Harry, I'm so sorry for jumping on you like that, but I really couldn't help myself.”) And then she had started playing with the hem of her jumper, clearly nervous about his response, that he had done what he thought best.

He grabbed her hand, entwined their fingers, and said: “I kissed you back.” And it'd been enough, because he had kissed her back, and initiated a lot more kisses after they stumbled onto the couch later that same night. He had initiated much more than kissing on that couch, come to think of it. So, yeah, maybe he should've said something more reassuring, should've professed his growing feelings for her, but he'd never been good at it, talking—somehow he always ended up saying the wrong thing, and this was Hermione, she would understand.

And she does.

Neither have said anything after his last words; Harry knows Hermione is thinking about how to proceed and he, well, he is struggling to think before acting. As it is, he's having a lot of trouble controlling his impulse to lean over and kiss her again, but they need to talk first… and whatever happens later…

“Hmm… What now?”

Hermione reddens slightly, fumbles with her words a bit, and then turns to face him. “Harry, you're my best friend, and I—I care about you a great deal. I don't want to endanger our friendship, it is one of my most precious possessions, but I do want to see if… if we could be more.”

Harry smiles at her and pulls at their entwined hand to draw her into a hug. He buries his face in the crooks of her neck and inhales deeply. “I feel the same, Hermione. I want to try at whatever this is, but I don't want to do something to mess it up and lose because of it. You're… you are the most important person in my life, Hermione.” He moves back a little, enough to look her in the eyes before speaking again. “I think… I think we should give this, this thing between you and me, a go. See where it goes, one day at a time. As long as we promise not to let it ruin our friendship if we were to… end it.”

Hermione bit her lip, staring past his shoulder with a thoughtful look on her face, and then her eyes clear and she smiles at him—that tender smile she reserves for him only, and that has been absent since he acquired the Prince's book.

Oops, there's something else they need to discuss.

“I'd like that, Harry.”

But maybe later.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

They move along with this new relationship slowly, regardless of how it started. It's for the best, they think; that first kiss (snog) had been a reaction of suppressed feelings and hormones, this—the hand-holding, the smiles, the gentle kisses that are not necessarily on the lips, the shared looks, everything is about them exploring a new level of their long-established relationship.

It is all done in secret, mostly. They still share secretive smiles and looks that conveyed more that many words, the usual light touches they used to exchange increase in number and frequency, and they can even get away with holding hands, but only very briefly, after all, they are best friends, so of course they will hold hands sometimes.

It's all done in secret because Harry thinks the world should, for once, mind its own business and let him enjoy a part of his life without broadcasting it before he got to fully experience it. He wants this part of his life to be his, doesn't want to see his picture and Hermione's on the Prophet's front page with an unsavoury story. No, this is one thing he's not willing to share just yet. Hermione complains, however, but eventually relents and agrees to Harry's request. They will keep it a secret, and maybe it's best that way, it will keep the gossip at bay—at least for now.

The Prince's Book is discussed much later, mainly because Harry doesn't know how to bring up the subject without it going downhill; he waits until after they come back from Christmas break. In fact, neither broaches the subject until they're on their first date on Valentine's.

Although, the term “date” is not accurate, because Ron tags along, and they don't make anything official. But they do manage to slip away undetected once Hermione says something about needing to buy some books and Harry latches onto that, saying something about needing some books too. Ron leaves pretty quickly after that, saying he'll catch up with them later.

So, that's how they end up walking through bookshelves, not really seeing anything but waiting to have enough privacy to talk (and hopefully, Harry thinks, to snog). Finally at the back of the store, they stop and Hermione turns to look at him with concern.

The words he's been meaning to tell her get stuck in his throat, so he simply reaches into the pocket of his robes and pulls out the Prince's book. Hermione stares at it as he sets it on the shelf next to them and pushes it in her direction.

“I didn't expect—I never wanted this to cause a rift between us,” he says, watching Hermione going through the pages of the book. “But it did, and even though now we're okay, I… I want you to have it and, I don't know, apologize. I guess.”

Hermione closes the book, a contemplative look on her face, and then she glances at him nervously. “I should be the one apologizing, Harry. I acted out of line over this book, but it's just…”

He closes the small distance between them and slips his arms around her waist, bringing her body close and trying to reassure her with his embrace. “It's fine, Hermione.” She tries to protest, he knows, he can see the fight building in her eyes, but he stops her. Kissing her lips softly. “Let's just say you were having a bad year, yeah? I was having a bad one, too, last year and you didn't give up on me, so… I wasn't going to give up on you.”

She smiles softly, which prompted him to grin, but before Harry can claim her lips once again, the sound of footsteps approaching makes them move apart and pretend to be engrossed with the books on the shelves. Some girls from Ravenclaw stop at the end of the aisle, stare at him, turn to giggle among themselves and then leave. He sighs relieved before turning around, intent on finishing this conversation with Hermione so they can do something more date-related, but the words get stuck in his throat.

“Uhm…”

Hermione gives him a coy smile, but the intense look on her face sends shivers down his spine and makes his mind go blank. Her eyes speak of promises—wonderful, wonderful promises and… bloody hell?

“Still think the girls whisper about Quidditch?”

Her smile turns into a sultry smirk, an expression he honestly never thought he'd see on Hermione's face, but one that leaves him all hot and bothered. His face lights up with an intense blush and as he watches her close the distance between them, Harry wonders where has Hermione been hiding this side of her these last few years. Because, bloody hell, if the Yule Ball had been an eye-opener, this—this would most certainly place Hermione among the most desired girls in Hogwarts.

But as soon as her arms wrap around his waist, the vixen disappears and a much more appealing sight replaces it: his Hermione—bossy, bookish, and endearingly shy when it comes to romance.

“I, uh… All good, then?” he ask, picking up the conclusion of their talk.

She nods and kisses his lips lightly. “Perfect.”

“Brilliant.”

They do manage to make the most of their “date”. They steal a few kisses while in the bookshop and Harry thanks their luck at not getting caught because he's soon realizing how very easy is to lose himself in Hermione—her warmth, her scent, her lips… They even manage to hold hands once they meet Ron at the Three Broomsticks; the place is packed with students and teachers alike so it's ridiculously easy to make an excuse to touch her or grab her hand. Ron's still trying to come to terms at being the one ending the relationship with Lavender, so he's easily distracted and often wondering aloud if he should “take her back”.

All things considered, it is a good first date.

~

~

~

The soft touch of lips moving over his jaw brings him back from memory lane and Harry finds himself staring into a pair of chocolate-brown eyes.

“Hullo,” he says.

This prompts a smile from her, beautiful and happy. “Welcome back. Did you enjoy your trip?”

For several seconds, he is thoroughly confused by her words. What trip? He hasn't gone anywhere, and was about to tell her as such but then he catches on. And smiles. “Well, it was quite pleasant, so yes.”

Hermione hums softly, kissing her way to his lips. “It's late. We should head back to Gryffindor Tower.”

He threads his finger through her hair and engages her into a deep, sensuous kiss. Harry can feel her begin to surrender to the kiss, but then Hermione groans a little and pulls back, sliding off him and to her feet.

“Seriously, Harry. It's way past curfew. We need to go now, and we need to be careful.”

Heaving a sigh, Harry stands up as well. “I have my Cloak.”

“And the Map?”

“Er…”

Hermione sighs affectionately and pats his cheek. “See? Now let's go.”

Harry unfolds his Cloak, shakes it once, and then motions Hermione to step closer. He grins, because now that they're older, bigger, the Cloak in a tight fit, in fact, Hermione has to be pressed against him for it to cover them completely. It's nice, really nice. And he's about to comment on that when he catches Hermione's eyes, she rolls them while trying to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

His grin widens, because, of course she knows what's going through his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The funeral has finally come to an end.

Harry sits under the shadow of a tree overlooking the Black Lake. His mind going numb as it revisits the lasts few days, and he wonders… where it all went wrong?

One moment he is actually learning something useful about Voldemort, about how to defeat him, and enjoying his relationship with Hermione and the present semester, and the next… the next moment he's going on a dangerous quest with Headmaster Dumbledore that actually ends up with…

“God…”

Everything is different now. With Dumbledore gone, Voldemort will not waste time in subtlety or elaborated plans to lure him out of Hogwarts; he will most likely… Hogwarts isn't safe anymore, he knows this much.

And with the quest adding weight to his already overloaded shoulders—he's not safe, no one around him is; no one who's befriended him is.

Harry buried his finger into his wild hair and fists his hand, resisting the urge to pull hard. “God…”

“Harry?”

Slowly, he lifts his head from his knees and turns pained eyes towards Hermione, he stares. He remembers her embrace the night Dumbledore died, her attempts at sharing his pain and not let him wallow in guilt. Her soothing whispers as he clutched her body, pressing her against him to try and assure himself of her safety. He remembers her pained sobs as Dumbledore's tomb was sealed shut, and yet, she was more concerned about his suffering than her own sorrow.

“Oh, Harry…”

Hermione closes the remaining distance between them and wraps her arms around his waist, valiantly supressing her tears, he knows. She's the most wonderful person to ever be part of his life, and from now on, she'll be a greater target because of him.

Resolute in doing the noble thing, Harry allows himself one last moment of this—of Hermione's warmth and love, and then he's pulling away, the words tumbling out of his lips. “Hermione, I… I think—”

“You want to break up with me,” she says, stating his thoughts as simply as possible.

However unnerved he is by that, he doesn't show it and sadly nods his head instead.

“Well, too bad, because I don't want to.”

But, unsurprisingly, not even this could be easy for him.

It takes him a few seconds, but by the time he processes her words, the panic is rising up within him. “Hermione, I don't think you understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly, Harry.”

“No! Dumbledore's dead! Snape betrayed him. There's nothing preventing Voldemort from coming after me now, from hurting those I love, I—I don't want him coming after you. Hermione, I don't want this happening to you, I don't… want to stand at your funeral,” he says, his voice dropping as he reaches the end. “At least not until you're old and have had a chance to live your life to the fullest.”

Unfortunately, if he thought his speech had changed her mind, he is grossly disappointed.

“And you think I want to stand at your funeral next? That I don't want you to live your life as well? Harry…” she says, grabbing his hands to prevent any further retreat. “I'm not letting you push me away in a misguided attempt to protect me.”

“It's not misguided. He'll know you are my girlfriend now, Snape and Malfoy will tell him and then he'll… he'll hurt you just to get me, I—Hermione, I don't want you to be a target.” He closes his eyes and the image of the Headmaster falling off the Astronomy tower flashes by, and then he's doing his utmost best to stop his imagination from switching the old man with the girl standing in front of him now.

But Hermione will have none of his excuses, though. “Are you listening to yourself? I'm already a target, Harry. I've probably been one since First Year,” she says, stressing out her words. “I'm your best friend and that's been common knowledge around the Wizarding World since Fourth Year. Not only that, but in case you've forgotten, I'm also muggleborn. Those two things alone make me one of the primary targets, being or not being your girlfriend won't change that. So why are you letting him rule this part of your life as well? Why are you letting Voldemort take what little happiness you have now?”

“I…”

Well, he… had somehow forgotten that small, little detail of Hermione being his friend first, and muggleborn too. And that little fact leaves his speechless.

Hermione, of course, take advantage of this. “Harry, this noble side of you, while endearing, is also very frustrating. But your saving-people-thing is mostly part of the Boy Who Lived, and Harry, if I had wanted to date the celebrity I would've told you so. I didn't. I don't.”

Harry blinks at her, slowly, his mind going over her words and revelling in the sensation of some of the pain going away. Hermione moves in again, hugging him tightly, and pressed a kiss to his jaw.

“I only ever want to be with my best friend Harry, so please, stop being noble and tell me what our mission is going to be. I want to be prepared for anything.”

He let his doubt go and returned her embrace, pulling as closer to him as possible. And it suddenly dawns on him that, had his girlfriend been anyone else, they would've probably let him go, thinking he wanted to be the hero (when in reality, all he wants is take Hermione and run, run, run to a place where Voldemort can't find them—a place where she'll be safe).

But not Hermione, no. Of course she'd cling to him with everything she has, being loyal to the very end.

Is it any wonder why he loves her?

“Horcruxes,” he says at last. “Our mission is to find Voldemort's Horcruxes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finis.

.
.
.

Well, that's it with this hbp-au!verse of mine. `Till next time.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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Er… Oookay. THIS is a first to me, not the smutty part but… better read to find out. So. That being said.

THIS IS A NC-17 RATED FIC. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDERAGE PLEASE. I REPEAT. THIS IS NOT FOR KIDS, SERIOUSLY, NO-NO FOR MINORS.THIS IS COMPLETELY SMUTTY AND I KNOW I PROBABLY MADE A LOT OF MINOR CURIOUS BUT I'M OBLIGED TO WARN YOU. I PERSONALLY THINK EVERYONE SHOULD READ WHATEVER THEY PLEASE, BUT PLEASE BE A LITTLE BIT RESPONSIBLE AND, IF YOU'RE UNDERAGE, AT LEAST MAKE SURE YOU'RE ALONE BEFORE YOU START READING.

Sorry for the capslock, but it was necessary. Anyhoo, a bit more info before you go along, this is an au post Goblet of Fire, so as far as canon it follows it up `til the end to book 4, after that it's all me. Not that there's gonna be much about the other year or the war against Voldemort, but I mention some things so, yeah.

Title: “voyage of a voyeur”

Rating: NC-17

Words: 5,438

Characters/Pairings: Terry/Padma, Harry/Hermione

Theme/Prompt: #098 - bathroom

Warnings/AN: post-gof seventh year au. In which Ayumi decides she doesn't want Sirius to die, and does not need horrorcruxes. Now, guess who's the voyeur.

Summary: In which an unlikely pair discovers an even more unlikely tendency.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Padma gasped, gripping the top of the low wall separating the changing area from the bath in the Prefects' Bathroom. She let out a loud moan as Terry managed to push his shaft between her legs, rubbing it against her pulsing sex through the soft fabric of her robes. Every few seconds, when the angle of his hips was just right, he would rub against her clit and, Merlin, it felt wonderful.

Her eyelids dropped close.

Terry's thrusts became erratic as well as his groans became louder, but it didn't matter much; she made sure, with a few well-placed charms, that the two of them were unheard and completely invisible to all who ventured into the Prefects' Bathroom. She took in a shuddering breath, feeling herself get close to coming undone, and vaguely listened to Terry's half-hearted pleas to let him fuck her while he fondled her breasts.

Padma shook her head and felt him bit down on her shoulder to suppress a moan. One of his hands wandered down past her navel and homed on her clit, rubbing and pinching and—Merlin, she was so close.

“Oh… HARRY!”

Her eyes snapped open in time to see the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, thrusting one last time into the welcoming sex of his best friend, the Brightest Witch of Hogwarts, with enough force to lift her bum off the marble surrounding the pool-sized tub; and maybe that wasn't enough because the Brightest Witch of Hogwarts had her legs wrapped around the Chosen One rather tightly while her hands squeezed those perfectly shaped buttocks.

“God… Hermione…”

Harry's arms trembled and a second later finally gave into the weight of his upper body; he collapsed into Hermione with a thud, earning a soft groan from the brown-haired girl lying under him. Harry moved his hands to caress her tights, prompting her to untangle her legs, and Hermione loosened her hold on his arse but didn't let go.

The sight of them, clearly enjoying their post-coital bliss, made Padma remember exactly how she ended up in this situation. And she came.

~

~

~

Being a Seventh Year Ravenclaw, Padma Patil had an image to uphold.

NEWTs were nearly six months away, but being a proud member of the House of the Bright prompted her to begin preparing for those exams from the very moment she set foot on the Hogwarts' Express. But the main motivation to drive herself up the wall studying, and the motivation of all her housemates, was the hope to surpass the grades of Hermione Granger. Knowing, of course, that that feat was not attainable was a source of endless frustration and stress among her housemates.

Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor Seventh Years didn't care, nor did they try, to score higher than Hermione Granger. But for them, Ravenclaws, it was a limitless source of shame that a Gryffindor, a reckless and impulsive Gryffindor, would surpass them with so much ease.

Now, Padma had nothing against Hermione; the girl was a delight, if a little bossy, and always seemed eager to help anyone in need. She would be eternally grateful of her and Harry for creating the Defence Association, or how the Weasley Twins had so eloquently dubbed it, Potter's Army. It was because of them that the students of Hogwarts managed to survive the War when Voldemort brought it upon them at the end of Sixth Year.

Padma knew she and Parvati survived only applying what Harry taught them during the DA (or was it PA?) sessions; and those lectures were obviously designed by Hermione.

See? She had nothing against Hermione Granger.

But it frustrated her to no end to see Hermione breeze by this term with seemingly no effort what-so-ever! One would think that with no War, no mortal danger chasing her, and no death sentence hanging above Harry's head the Head Girl would spend all her free time in the Library revising for NEWTs, but no… she barely spent an hour a day after class, an hour! And not only that, no. As if falling behind Hermione's perfect scores wasn't bad enough for them, Ravenclaws, now they had to stand back and watch as Harry Potter finally decided to apply himself, following Hermione's scores as a close second; the only class were he surpassed her being, of course, Defence Against the Dark Arts.

No matter, that was neither here nor there.

What Padma needed right now was a long soak in the magnificent tub of the Prefect's Bathroom, some time to relax and forget all about her academics failures. Granted, Parvati thought she was mental, having the third place of highest score in the whole freaking school was nothing to be ashamed of, but her dear sister didn't know what it felt like to work your arse off studying only to fall third after two students that were rarely seen studying nowadays, or rarely seen at all, period.

Ah, but again, that was neither here nor there.

Finally reaching the door of the Prefects' Bathroom, Padma casted a quick glance at the parchment attached to the door and frowned. The parchment had a simple purpose: record the name of the last person to enter the bath and alert the students that the bathroom was currently in use. She kept frowning at the name displayed in bold letter while considering her choices; on the one hand, Padma didn't want to wait for the bathroom to be free as the wait could be really long, but on the other hand, she didn't want to confront a most likely naked Terry Boot and ask him to leave.

After a short debate within the realm of her mind, she decided not to wait around for the bath to be free, besides, as Padma saw it, she was stressed enough to warrant such action and she could always harass Terry into leaving. With a firm nod to herself, she gave the password and made her entry as silent as possible, there was no need to alert her fellow housemate of her presence just yet.

The lights surrounding the tub, which resembled a large marble pool, were dancing merrily in their place and thus casting a dark shadow into the dressing area, where she was currently in, while giving a soft glow to the bathing area. The steam rising from the tub made the place look very ethereal.

There were soft, peculiar sounds coming from the bath that Padma ignored in lieu of reaching the stacks of towels as quickly as possible, she was starting to get nervous about what she was going to do, when the sight of a silhouette made her stop. Drawing out her wand (she rarely went anywhere without it after the War), Padma approached the figure cautiously and relaxed once she saw it was only Terry.

Her fellow Seventh Year classmate didn't seem to hear her or notice her in any way, he remained standing next to the low wall separating the dressing and bathing areas, silent among the shadows, as if he were entranced by the tub or something. He was facing away from her, directly facing the tub, so Padma surmised she needed to make her presence known in the obvious way and then proceed to harass him into going back to Ravenclaw Tower.

But as she raised her hand to tap his shoulder, Padma looked past him and further into the bath, and was rendered speechless.

Because right there, sitting near the shallow end of the pool-sized tub with her eyes closed and moaning softly and facing them, was a very naked Hermione Granger.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Terry's infatuation with the appointed Head Girl was a well-known rumour among Hogwarts' population. Really, it was no secret he practically worshiped the floor Hermione walked on, as it was no secret that, other than being friendly acquaintances, Hermione didn't even give him the time of the day.

So, to catch Terry doing… this, being a peeping-tom, was, in Padma's (and certainly in every girl's) opinion, outrageous!

Quickly, Padma casted a Silencing Charm, covering a ten feet radius, around them, following with a powerful Privacy Charm and a Notice-Me-Not and a Cloaking Charm to make them invisible for good measure before rounding on Terry, placing a well-aimed slap across his face. That seemed to snap him out of his voyeuristic tendencies rather effectively, as he blinked a few time before his eyes widened in shock.

“P—Padma!” he exclaimed, hastening to pull his robes closed.

However, Terry wasn't fast enough and Padma saw how truly despicable his actions were, as his state of arousal was still very obvious through his closed robes. She really didn't need to be a genius to know what had transpired before she slapped him. Aiming another hit, Padma was stopped rather forcefully by a panicking Terry, who kept stealing glances at the naked girl in the tub.

“Padma, I—I can explain! Just, keep quiet—” said Terry in hushed tones, but she was having nothing of it.

“How could you?! How CAN you!? Spying on Hermione like this and—and… Have you ANY idea what will happen to you once Harry and Ron find out about this!?! Because they will! He will! Harry is going to beat you into a bloody pulp if not outright KILL you!!”

Terry looked truly scared after she finished screaming, casting a quick glance at Hermione and frowning briefly in confusion, he turned his pleading eyes to her. “Padma, please, I… Please don't tell Harry! I—this isn't what it looks like! I didn't come here to spy on her, truly! I didn't know she was in here until I was making my way to the tub, and then… I…”

Padma snarled at him, not caring to hear his excuses, what he'd done was inexcusable! “Then what? You just couldn't resist the free show?” Padma snorted in disgust at his guilty expression, feeling slightly sorry for him, but not really that much to actually have an impact on her. “Harry's reaction aside, what do you think Hermione would've done to you if she saw you? She isn't going to stay in that tub forever, you know. And before I came here, there was nothing stopping her from noticing you voyeurism.”

“I'm not—”

Whatever Terry was going to say, was interrupted by a gasp followed by a loud moan coming from the tub, making both, she and Terry, look in Hermione's direction.

It was a sight to behold.

Padma, she could assure you, was completely straight. Her only appreciation of the female body was in a pure objective way, where she could look at another girl and say if she was attractive or not, if this hypothetical girl could be desirable, and so on. It was what every girl, and woman, did when asked about their opinion on the matter; and because it was perfectly normal for a straight girl to appreciate the body of another girl without sexual desires.

Thus, the jolt of desire she felt running down her spine, along with the blush settling on her cheeks, came as an unexpected and a little bit unsettling surprise. But, really, she couldn't help it.

Hermione had arched her back, displaying her breasts in all their glory, while throwing her head back as another moan tore past her parted lips. The tops of her knees could be seen surfacing the water and there was no mistaking where her hands were (and what they were doing, Merlin, one only needed to follow their path until it was lost under the water and between her spread legs). Her left hand surfaced, making a beeline for the opposite breast, kneading and squeezing it once she made contact. Her nipples were painfully erect and she pulled and pinched at the right one as if she were angry with it.

Out of the corner of her eye, Padma could see Terry trembling with desire and clenching his fists, probably in a feeble attempt to not… stroke himself at the sight of the brunette currently squirming from pleasure in the tub. She wanted to berate —probably slap— him again, but she found herself sharing and enjoying his voyeuristic tendency at the moment, if her tight nipples and the moisture between her legs said anything.

Terry breathed in, trembling slightly before addressing her. “Padma… do you… do you think Hermione would let me… help her?”

“He—help her?”

“Yeah, you know… get off… I just—I don't think I could keep watching and… not do something to…”

Padma swallowed and took in a shuddering breath; her mind already leaping ahead and picturing both she and Terry helping Hermione… relax a little. “You… you want to go in there and take advantage of her? She'd kill you… Harry will kill you.”

“No, I… I don't mean that, but maybe if I ask her nicely she'll… want to? You can join too.”

She wanted to be insulted that he thought she would want to partake in such activities—a threesome! Right! As if—ah, but she never even got the chance to deny it in her mind, for Padma (and Terry) was utterly distracted by the Head Girl. Again.

Hermione let out another orgasmic moan and shuddered briefly, she tensed for a few seconds and a single name escaped her trembling lips before her body went limp, sinking into the water until only her head was afloat.

“H—Harry…”

Her lips twisted into a wry smile, realizing she should've known Hermione would masturbate to whatever image of the Boy Who Lived she had stored in her brilliant mind. Padma shook her head, thinking somewhat sadly that such revelation shouldn't come as a surprise, only she didn't know if the disappointment she felt was due to seeing her unreachable dream of getting Harry Potter crumble (because, really, when it came to Harry's affections, who would—could compete with Hermione Granger?), or knowing for sure that there would be no threesome in her immediate future that featured the lovely Head Girl.

Merlin, I'm not gay, thought Padma, almost with desperation, but still mentally urging Hermione to bare her body to her eyes and, maybe—perhaps, let her touch it as well.

“Oh, bloody buggering shite.”

Ah, it seemed Terry wasn't taking this revelation any better than she; he probably was taking it worse, what with him fancying Hermione and all.

“I guess that answers your question of whether she'll want you to… you know,” said Padma, remarking the `you' and ignoring the fact that he had invited her to join as well.

His erection, Padma noted, was not as prominent as it had been seconds ago. Understandable, really, after all who'd be aroused after hearing the person one fancied moaning the name of another? Certainly not her; especially not her.

“You never know… It might have been a mistake,” but even as he said that, it was obvious he didn't believe it.

Padma sent him a pitying look before closing her eyes; she needed to regain some semblance of control or who knows what she might do… and with whom. Thinking back on what Terry said, Padma realized that Harry and Hermione weren't the only ones blindsided by their own delusions, because the level of obliviousness her fellow housemate was displaying equalled only that of the couple in question. This was the proof the whole school had been waiting for, or at least part of it. Now they only needed to catch Harry wanking off and see who his dream-girl was.

Turning to face the boy next to her, she prepared to deliver her best comforting words, while still berating him for being a peeping-tom, when his sharp intake of breath and narrowed eyes and painful expression stopped her.

“Oh, no fucking way.”

Spinning around, Padma could only agree on his choice of words, because… what she saw now, that… was a sight to behold.

A black, messy haired man emerged from the steaming water until he was waist-deep in the tub; Hermione's legs were still placed on his shoulders but not for long; grabbing hold of her knees, he slid them down to his elbows and let them hang there. The man was facing away from them, but there was no mistaking that unruly, raven hair: Harry Potter in all his muscled and naked glory (and what a glory it'd be if she could see his front). From the angle of the tub Padma could still see Hermione quite clearly as the brown-haired girl smiled lazily at the responsible for such an orgasm (now, how he accomplished that, was a mystery).

Just then, Harry spoke. “Are you relaxed yet?”

“Mm…”

“Told you that Gillyweed would come in handy.”

Ah, well, that explained everything.

Drops of water travelled down a well-toned back, following the hard planes that were Harry's muscles now, and Padma yearned to let her tongue pick them up. Walking ahead, she gripped the low wall in her hands as the longing to be there in the water, with them, tried to claw its way out of her chest. No, no, no, thought Padma, I'm stronger than this.

Hermione sighed in content, and freeing her legs from Harry's grasp, she sat up straight on the steps of the pool, the water reaching bellow her breasts. She reached out to him, placing her hands gently on his waist and urging him to move closer. Harry chuckled, but relented nonetheless; he moved onto one of the steps and his hips were levelled with Hermione's face and if Padma tilted her head just so, she'd be able to see the tip of his cock brushing against the Head Girl's chin.

“Your turn, Harry.”

“Are you sure…? Do you want me to sit on the edge of the tub?”

Shaking her head, Hermione gave him a seductive smile as her hands slid down to grab his bum. “You're just where I want you.”

Squeezing his arse, the Gryffindor Head Girl moved onto her prize. Harry breathed in sharply, failing to stifle a groan, and grabbed her shoulders. At first, it was obvious he was doing his utmost best to not thrust his hips forward, but eventually lost the battle of wills raging inside him as, snaking his right hand into her curly hair, Harry began swaying his hips in time with Hermione's movements.

The bath was soon filled with muffled moans and groans, and Padma leaned forward in the wall, wanting to see how much of Harry's cock Hermione could take into her mouth. Suddenly, someone pushed her until she was bending over the wall and started fumbling with her robes.

Alarmed, Padma turned to look over her shoulder and shrieked. “What are you doing!?!”

But Terry wasn't listening, his eyes were focused on the couple in the bath, all the while his hands were busy fighting with the knot of her robes. Padma wanted to fight him, she really, really wanted to, but the situation was so arousing and… naughty. And a part of her was enjoying it (the tart in her as Parvati liked to say), because as Terry tore open her robes and pushed the back up over her arse, rubbing his straining shaft against her buttocks, she was getting progressively wetter.

“S—stop!”

But her protests were feeble at best, because Terry, his eyes still focused up ahead, pushed her knees apart enough to slip his throbbing member between her legs. She did, however, pushed him away when he tried to slip into her wet core.

Stumbling a few steps backward, Terry looked at her bewildered. He opened his mouth to object, maybe, or plead, but noises coming from the bath stopped him, and the both of them turned to look.

Harry shuddered violently, thrusting his hips forward and keeping his strong hold on Hermione's head, a deep moan tearing past his parted lips. When he stopped trembling, Harry pulled his hips back tentatively, and seconds later there was a soft popping sound and Hermione's face came into view. There was a pearly drop trailing down her chin as she gave Harry a wicked grin and then she swallowed, making a yum-ing sound that made the Boy Who Lived tremble again.

With a menacing growl, Harry pulled Hermione to her feet, making sure to rub their bodies together, and slammed his lips against hers, engaging her into a searing kiss. When they broke apart, gasping for air, he groaned again. “You… teasing wench.”

“You bring out the best in me, Potter.”

“May I impale you with the best of me then?”

Hermione grinned mischievously and stepped backwards, sitting comfortably on the edge of the pool once she reached it; there was a wicked glint in her eyes. And then, oh so slowly, she spread her legs, baring herself completely to Harry's (and her and Terry's) utmost delight. “Come and catch your Snitch, Mr Seeker.”

Ooh, she looks delicious—no, no, no, stop it, Padma!

Harry growled again (and Merlin, how utterly sexy he sounded), advancing on her. He used his hands to pull her legs further apart and when he dimmed it enough, grasped his cock with his right hand (and there, Padma got a wonderful view of that perfect appendage, so big and hard and—ooh) and positioned himself. One searing kiss later, and the Boy Who Lived was buried to the hilt into the welcoming body of the Brightest Witch of Hogwarts.

“It seems I caught you again, my lovely Golden Snitch.”

And the dance began.

Padma felt her body burning with desire and knew that if she didn't find some sort of release, soon, she might end up succumbing to Terry, and while she didn't find him repulsing, actually thought he was rather attractive if a little boring, she didn't want her first time to be… like this. And seeing them, Harry and Hermione, engage in what looked like a well-practiced act of lovemaking wasn't making things easy for her.

Chancing a glance at the young man behind her, she saw him as expected: his eyes glued to the displayed scene inside the bath, his hands rubbing his cock furiously and very close to the point of no return. Making a swift decision, Padma grabbed his wrist, pulled his hand away from his jutting member and wrapped her hand around it. The look on Terry's face was priceless.

“I… Let's make a deal. We… can do stuff. You can touch me and you can rub this against me. I'll let you do whatever you want as long as this stays out, understand?” After Terry nodded his head vigorously, she began rubbing his shaft, mentally comparing it with Harry's. “If you let me watch them, I'll suck… I'll suck you some other time, okay?”

Terry's eyed widened, casted a brief glance behind her back, to which his shaft twitched in response to whatever he saw, and then nodded again. “O—okay!”

Nodding herself, Padma turned around, pulling down the back of her robes, “Just to be safe,” and set her feet apart to give his housemate enough room to… do his thing. Focusing her gaze on the couple, Padma couldn't help but moan at the sight of Harry's shaft moving in and out of Hermione's pliant sex, the girl already had a firm hold of his arse.

Seconds later, Terry was upon her.

~

~

~

After she'd ridden out her orgasm, and Terry had shot his load into her robes, Padma didn't have strength to remain standing, so she let gravity run its course and slid down the wall, pushing Terry to the side so he wasn't crushing her.

There were small gasps coming from the bath, but no other sound.

“Are… Are you relaxed… now, Harry?”

“Thoroughly… Enough to fall asleep… right now.”

Padma heard Hermione giggle softly and then the sounds of someone moving reached her as well, Harry groaned deeply as Hermione let out a small gasp. Then she spoke again.

“Well, as tempting as that sounds, we have to go back to the Tower.”

“Are you wishing you'd had accepted the Head Suit now?”

There was a soft splash, some giggling again and a faucet was opened somewhere.

“Not really, Harry. I would have had to share it with Ernie. And he's nice and all, but he's also the biggest gossip in Hogwarts second only to Lavender and Parvati.”

“Ahh, and our relationship would've made it to the Prophet's front page in no time at all.”

“Exactly. At least Lavender and Parvati gave me their word as Gryffindors that they would remain quiet until we decided to make it public. Now, hurry up, it's already past curfew.”

“So? I have my Cloak.”

“Harry! I'm Head Girl; I'm supposed to set a good example!”

“You have. I'm pretty sure every girl in school would love to be in your shoes.”

“I give detentions for this kind of behaviour, you know.”

“And how many times have you caught students doing what we just did.”

“Not once, but last week was a close call when I stumbled upon Draco and Daphne.”

“Yuck… So how many points are you going to take from me, Head Girl? Or are you going to punish me?”

“Ooh, I don't know, Mr Potter. Your Outstanding performance might sway me to give you some points, but then I would have to add the details to the report I do for the Deputy Headmistress.”

“Ah, and we can't have that, now can we?”

“Nope.”

“So, tell me then, as my performance was deserving of an Outstanding by your standards, and we both know how high those are, what will be my reward? Do I get to choose it?”

Padma couldn't see him, but she was almost certain Harry was giving Hermione a suggestive look. And apparently she was right, because right then Hermione made a huffing noise and the sound of light feet hitting the tiled floor followed soon after that. There was another splashing sound, and Harry was following his girlfriend back to the dressing area. Padma held her breath, hoping and pleading to the higher beings that her charms were still functioning, because just then the couple strode past her, heading for a set of benches across from where she and Terry were.

The charms were still working, because neither Harry nor Hermione seemed to notice them.

Hermione towelled her hair as dry as she could before pulling it up into a messy bun, and then proceeded to dry her body quickly. She put on her knickers, then her skirt, and sat down on the bench to slip on her thigh-high socks. “Pass me my shirt, love.”

What…? Padma thought, vaguely noticing Terry panting next to her, his cock twitching lightly.

“No bra?”

“No, I… learnt a charm that works like a bra. Pretty—Harry!”

Harry, who hadn't even bothered to dry himself, and instead sat watching Hermione dress, had reached over to grope one of her naked breasts. Hermione gave him a reproving look, but it didn't last and she smiled at him affectionately.

She didn't pull his hand away. “Harry, my shirt. And get dressed.” To make her point, Hermione grabbed the towel resting across his lap and placed it on his head, rubbing it once before retrieving her shirt from the hand that wasn't groping her chest. “Now.”

Harry gave her a smirk and then did as told. Minutes later, they were both dressed and ready to go.

As soon as the door was opened, Padma expected them to leave, but Hermione stopped instead, looking at the piece of carved wood as if it were going to attack her.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, love?”

“Did you close the door when you came in?”

Harry looked at her as if she'd gone crazy, a tender smile playing on his lips, but answered nonetheless. “Of course, it made a clicking sound and everything.”

He chuckled as Hermione hit his arms, clearly exasperated. “Prat. Let me rephrase that. Did you lock the door?”

“Er…”

Hermione gave a despairing groan and hit his arm again. “Harry! Anyone could've come in, and they would have gotten a free show!”

Harry laughed good-naturedly and slipped his arms around her waist. Hermione tried to resist, but eventually relented to his unspoken apology. “Relax, my love,” he said and motioned to the parchment stuck to the open door. “This paper alerts of anyone coming that the bathroom's occupied, right? They would've seen your name on it.”

Hermione simply arched an eyebrow.

He laughed again, holding up a silvery cloak. “My Cloak, remember?”

“Oh, so you spent half an hour watching me soak in the water?”

“Hey, I like to see you relaxing in the tub. It's a pretty sight.”

The Head Girl kissed him softly and stepped back grabbing his hand before starting to put out the lights manually. “Are you looking forward to this Christmas?”

Harry adjusted his cloak around his shoulders, and his body disappeared. “Oh, yeah. Though, I don't know what makes me more anxious, telling your dad I already married his little girl or…”

“Having him find out you've been shagging said little girl since the summer before Sixth Year?”

“Yeah, that. Don't suppose he'll let me kiss you good-bye before he kills me, do you?”

Hermione smiled gently, patting his cheek. “Oh, Harry. He's not going to kill you.”

“You sure?”

She laughed lightly as she started dragging him out of the bathroom. “Well, he didn't kill you this summer, did he? And he already knew by then that you've been shagging me senseless.”

Harry didn't answer, he simply looked back as the door was closing behind them, and for a moment, Padma would've sworn she saw the Boy Who Conquered smirk at her. The silence made itself present as soon as the door closed completely.

Taking a deep breath, Padma stood up and, feeling self-conscious, which was ridiculous considering what she'd been doing before, closed her robes and tied them quickly as she stepped away from the still unmoving Terry.

When she caught sight of his defeated stance, she felt a little bit guilty—and only a little bit. “Er… I guess… I'm sorry.”

The dark-haired boy shook his head and stood up as well, closing his robes at a more sedated pace; he obviously wasn't up for anything else tonight. “It's alright. I knew my chances of getting Hermione were never… good. I mean, if before tonight they were pretty slim—”

“Non-existent.”

“—and I only thought they were friends… Now that I know that they've been together—”

“Shagging for a year and a half.”

“—and are actually married, I… Oh, bugger.”

The slump of his shoulder was disheartening, but really, he had been a fool to believe he ever stood a chance against Harry Potter—no, sans that, against just Harry. Still, don't let it be said Padma was an unkind person that left her peers fall into depression.

“If it makes you feel better, it's obvious they love each other and will be very happy together. I mean, have you ever seen Hermione this happy? He's good for her. And you know better than anyone he'll protect her with his life.”

Terry sighed but nodded in acceptance. “You're right, I should be happy for her—for them.”

“Right, and… remember, she's not the only girl in the world. You'll find your perfect girl in time, Terry, don't worry,” said Padma, and pushing her discomfort aside, patted his shoulder affectionately. “If nothing else, remember I still own you a blowjob.”

Typical male, Terry perked up immediately at that. “R—right.”

Turning serious, Padma stated clearly some ground rules. “Terry, we'll have to take an oath to never speak of what happened tonight, okay?”

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

Remembering Harry's smirk, which she still believed was a product of her imagination, she decided not to say anything to her housemate. “I don't think they saw us, but still, I think it'd be wise to avoid both Harry and Hermione until we're sure we won't say or do anything that might betray what we know.”

After taking the oath, Padma told him, in no uncertain terms, to go back to Ravenclaw Tower because she wanted to bath. But before he left, she offered him something else to think about that didn't involve Hermione or Harry.

“I'll let you know when we can… stumble upon each other here in the bath.”

All in all, it had been an interesting and very revealing night. Certainly in more than one sense.

It was a real shame there wouldn't be another chance for a repeat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Finis.

Yeaaaaaah. So, was it good for you? :P

Some clarification. Because Harry followed Hermione wearing his Invisibility Cloak, the “parchment” on the prefect bathroom's door did not register his name, thus, going blank and making anyone else believe the bathroom was unoccupied.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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THIS, is what happens when I've got nothing better to do (quit job, here). Pointless fic, with no plots whatsoever.

But, yeah, it's kind of funny, or at least I think so. And while it could have been smutty, it's not. Rating is for the use of somewhat adult language.

Enjoy!

Title: “it's only a tiny little step”

Rating: R

Words: 6,023

Characters/Pairings: Harry/Hermione, (brief) Lavender and Parvati

Theme/Prompt: #096 - bet

Warnings/AN: post-ootp sixth year au. In which there's a bet, a much too curious mind, and Harry.

Summary: “Only if you let me touch those.” Harry should've known something like this would happen. Really, he should have.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It all begins with a simple comment.

From Lavender.

You don't know what was said, only that it was enough to spark Hermione's competitive side and prompt her to seek you out and… well, you're still trying to understand her request.

~

It's only been two weeks since the start of term, a couple of hours after Quidditch try-outs, and you're already stressed out.

Funny, one would think that after defeating the Dark Lord, the Gods would pity you enough to let you live a normal life, but no. Of course not. No can do, can they? Nope, you're Harry bloody Potter, so no normalcy for you at all. And since there's no Dark Lords lurking around, the Fates thought it fair to send you a horde of crazed fans instead.

Crazy, desperate, and dangerous fans (if their attempts at filling you up with Amortentia tells you anything, it's that they're dangerous).

So, you find yourself making use of one of your Quidditch Captain's privileges: the Prefect's Bathroom. At the very end of today's practice, you remembered Hermione's word from early in the summer, about how your new status of Captain gave you the same privileges when it came to the Prefect's Bathroom.

Now, as you let the hot water relax your muscles, you think you've never been more grateful of Hermione, because you know, if she hadn't pointed out this little fact, you wouldn't have found out on your own.

It's because of these very thoughts that you're not really surprised when she suddenly appears next to the giant tub as if summoned. You are, however, very much struck dumb when you see her wearing nothing but a towel.

“Um…”

“Do you mind if join you?”

Her words are simple, but for all that's holy, you cannot seem to register their meaning.

“Um…”

Hermione gives you a timid smile and it's fortunately enough to snap you out of whatever stupor you fell in. Nodding quickly, you scoot over a little (not too much, lest she think you're trying to get away from her, but enough to make it seem like you're giving her some room) and thank all existing Gods for the layer of foam above the water.

Not wanting any kind of misunderstanding, you keep your gaze on the foamy surface until you're positive Hermione is under the water, at least neck deep. The water ripples around you as she lowers herself into it and you count till ten, and think of several disgusting things to keep yourself from reacting to her presence. Moving your gaze upwards, you count some more and take a quick glance to your side, only to catch a glimpse of a towel—her towel, and this time you can't stop it from happening.

Bugger.

You slid down the tub until the foam reaches your chin, and pray that Hermione passes your blushing face as a reaction to the heat and not to—er, better not go there.

“So… was it that bad, the try-outs, Harry?”

“What?”

Her question startles you, forcing your hands to grip the edge of the step under you to prevent any kind of… inappropriate behaviour. You turn to look at her and find her pretty eyes (wait, what?) and soft smile directed at you. Hermione looks expectantly at you, waiting it seems, but you don't know what for, so you simply tilt your head to the side in confusion.

“So?” she prompts after several seconds have gone by.

“So?”

“Harry,” she huffs, and her hand shoots out of the water and grabs your chin, making you freeze up and she forces you to look directly into her eyes. “You were fine before you went to practice today, but now, you're stressed. So, I'm asking you, was it that bad?”

“The—the try-outs? Quidditch?”

You're trying to grasp the meaning of her words, but all you can focus on is the hand gripping your chin and how it might feel gripping your—NO, not going there. Nope. Not at all.

Completely ignorant to your inner turmoil, Hermione simply nods and slides her hand across your cheek affectionately. “Yes, the Gryffindor try-outs.”

Quidditch. Yes, that's a safe topic. You can handle Quidditch. You cannot handle Hermione's incessant need to touch you while in the bathtub, naked. “Uh, yeah, yeah. It was… awful, the try-outs. Most of the applicants were girls and not even interested in Quidditch.”

Hermione smiles, and pulls her hand away, giving you a respite. It's enough to give your mind some peace so it can focus on the conversation (never mind that a little voice in the back of your head keeps reminding you of how utterly bewildering the setting of this chat is).

“I think some of the girls weren't even in Gryffindor.”

Hermione giggles a bit (a surprising fact, indeed), but suddenly there's no longer any tension and it's almost like you're sitting in the Common Room. Only, your mind can't forget the fact that you're in the Prefect's Bathroom, naked, sitting very close and you're sporting a raging—yeah.

Still, all that aside, you think you can relax (a little).

“I meant to tell you before, but Harry, it's not Quidditch that's popular,” she says, smiles and bumps your shoulder (and only now you realize she's much more closer than seconds ago). “It's you. You've never been more popular, and honestly, you've never been more fanciable.”

Ah, well, there goes your chance at relaxing.

You shake yourself mentally, frantically searching for a safe topic of conversation to avoid a potentially uncomfortable situation. “Oh, well, er… Wha—what brings you here? I mean, not that I mind—”

Hermione arches her eyebrows in surprise, blushing a little, so you hasten to clear any confusion. But, really, there isn't any.

“—and I don't mean that in a bad, or perverted, way, just—uh.”

“It's okay, Harry,” she says, smiling at you, but her blush remains and—and it does things to you.

“Well, I… you know why I'm here, so I thought it would be only fair to ask.”

At this, her blush intensifies, and now you're curious. She averts her gaze, but you try to keep eye contact. Whatever it is, it must be important for Hermione to decide to come in here.

“Well, what is it? You obviously want to ask me something, something important, or you would have waited until I got back to the tower.”

“Well, yes, but no, I mean… Yes, I want to ask something of you, but no, it really isn't important although it couldn't wait,” she pauses, sends you a brief glance, than averts her gaze again. “I couldn't wait or I would have lost my courage.”

Now, you are truly intrigued. Whatever it is, it must be huge for Hermione never loses her courage in the face of something. “Well, then, go on. Ask me.” You realize you're urging her purely out of curiosity, because you want to know what has her so flustered.

It can't be that bad, you reason, this is Hermione you're talking about! The most sensible, responsible—

“I want you to show me… your penis.”

—say what?

~

So, yeah, you're still trying to understand.

Hermione had fled the bathroom shortly after that, you remember. Oh, you remember her fleeing form rather clearly, as she had been rather naked at the time, probably forgoing the towel in her haste to return to her dorm.

But you don't remember what made her flee. Probably your stuttering, for you had stuttered, a lot, or your staring, yeah, that must have been it.

Either way, she fled, and you were left with a raging hard-on and the lovely image of your best friend's naked body glistening with water drops all over. That and, well, the knowledge that she wants to see you naked.

Well, no, not naked. She just wants to see the family jewels.

See? Not a pleasing thought, not at all.

Of course, you know Hermione is going to broach the subject again, but due to her… hasty retreat last week, you hadn't expected it to be any time soon. So, yeah, you are pretty shocked when you open the door to your dorm to find her sitting in your bed, a heavy-looking book propped up on her bent legs, and looking as if she owned the place.

“Uh, Hermione?”

The only hint of discomfort you see is her reddening face, other than that, she is the image of peace. “Hello, Harry. Go on to have your shower, don't let me keep you.”

“Oh—okay?”

Befuddled, you do as requested, dully noting Ron striding into the room only to halt at the sight of their mutual best friend. You don't know what happens next, what is said, because you close the door to the bathroom and proceed to take a shower. Once you're showered and dressed in a pair of red, gold-trimmed sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, you step out of the bathroom only to find the dorm empty except for Hermione.

“Where are…?”

“I told them to make themselves scarce for a few minutes,” Hermione says, closing the book on her lap a little too forcefully. “I didn't think you'd want an audience for this talk.”

“Oh.”

No, really, you don't. Because by the looks of it, Hermione is either angry, or very angry; there's no other reasonable explanation to her eerily calm demeanour and—

Oh, God, she's going to berate me for what happened, but… but… I didn't do anything!

“Well…” you begin nervously and start to fidget once she stares for a little too long.

Of course, before you can start apologizing for, for whatever it is you did to offend her, Hermione blushes bright red and averts her gaze, muttering something you can't quite catch.

“Hermione, I… I didn't quite catch that.”

Your tone is soft, soothing, hoping to calm her and keep her calm before she explodes on your arse (or makes your arse explode, whatever comes first).

A deep breath later, and she's talking again. “I said, have you thought about my request?”

Her blush, if anything, seems to intensify, and, feeling utterly surprised, you think you're most definitely dreaming, it's just—surely, she couldn't possibly have said that.

“You mean… you still want to?”

Her timid nod floors you, so much so, you have to lean on the bedpost of your bed to keep standing. And now you're faced with a decision, you can agree right away (and, really, you want to) or you can be noble and decline (which is a big no-no) her offer. Such a complicated decision, so much to think—

“Yeah, okay.”

—or not.

Hermione looks surprised with your answer, and it makes you wonder if she actually expected you to refuse (and shouldn't you be doing that, you know, for the sake of friendship and Ron and… stuff?), but recovers quickly and scoots over to the edge of the bed; then, she waits.

“Er, well, how… how do we do this? Standing…?”

“Standing, yes,” she says quickly and stands up, closing the little distance between you with a few steps. “Um, well…”

You swallow the lump in your throat and try to stomp down the urge to flee; fisting your hands spasmodically, you decide to be a Gryffindor and charge ahead. “Should I…?” You let the question trail of, motioning vaguely with your hands to your lower regions, your mind already conjuring up disgusting images to stave off whatever reaction this is wont to elicit in you.

She opens her mouth to talk, the closes it, her eyes lock with yours, then they drift down to your nether regions, she blushes and looks up again. “Can I…?”

“If you want to, yeah.”

“Alright, then.”

Her hands tremble slightly, she's nervous, but then, so are you. Her fingers push aside your t-shirt, leaving your navel on plain sight, and then they trail down, brushing your skin but not really touching it, until they reach its destination. Your mind is reeling, forcing disgusting upon disgusting image to stand out (Snape on a dress, Snape on a bikini) and drown out the voice urging you to tell Hermione it is okay to touch—

“I… ready?”

You nod, your voice is going to fail you if you try to talk, so you nod.

She acknowledges your consent, and this time her fingers do touch your skin, caressing it lightly before slipping under the waistband of your sweatpants. You shiver and struggle to think of anything (Snape and Dumbledore in a bikini, Snape and Dumbledore taking off each other bikinis) but the pretty girl whose hand is slowly tugging at your pants. Your eyes go up to the ceiling and you bite your lower lip when Hermione finally pulls the fabric away from your waist and stops. Vaguely, you wonder if she's going to push them down to your ankles (and that's an image you do not want to think of right now!), but as it is, your sole focus is in preventing an unwelcomed reaction.

“Oh…”

Of course, her soft voice, filled with wonder, makes you look down, at her, at her scarlet face and shining eyes and parted lips as she stares and—and her other hand is moving, pressing against you navel and sliding down and—dear God.

Your dick twitches and lurches up.

~

Hermione had fled again, leaving you as confused as she left you in the bathroom.

It confuses you even more when the following weeks she acts as if nothing happened, as if she had not, well, seen your privates. Of course, that is only when Ron or someone else is around, because as soon as you two are alone, she flees again with a bright red blush colouring her face.

It takes you time, and surprisingly a lot of planning, to corner her and have a chance to talk. Because you need answers! You want to know what made run away and, more importantly maybe, what made her ask such a thing from you (not that you're complaining, but hey, you're curious).

Your chance presents itself during study break. And it's easy, as you expected. After all, little matters more to Hermione when she's surrounded by books, especially those books that have yet to be explored.

You find her at the very back of the Library, the aisle before reaching the Restricted Section. She's perusing an ancient-looking book, completely unaware of her surroundings, and you think of how vulnerable she is right now. Good god anyone could come back here and—

“Harry!”

—startle her.

Hermione looks wide-eyed at you, one hand holding the book she's been reading and the other placed firmly on her heaving chest (don't stare, boy, at least not for too long). It only takes her a moment to realize she's alone with you, and she starts looking for a way out, like a cornered animal. However, before you can even think to block her way out, Hermione seems to resign herself to whatever is going to happen.

“You want to talk about what happened… in your dorm?”

Her voice sounds nervous, but she's looking determinate, if a little flustered to be alone with you.

Clearly not expecting this to be that easy, you remain speechless for several second, before nodding. “I… was just curious, that's all.”

“Okay. Um, what…?” Hermione motioned with her hand, willing you to fill in the blanks of her question.

“I was curious about your reaction, I mean… you asked me, Hermione, and yet… you've run away both times. What's up with that?”

“Ah, well. I was just embarrassed.”

Whatever you looked like after she says that must have been pretty pitiful because Hermione rushes to your side and pulls you into a comforting embrace.

“No, no! Not because of you! Oh, Harry, don't take it the wrong way. This is all me, I swear!” One last squeeze and she lets you go, looking more like the Hermione you've known for years for the first time in days. “It's just—I think I've made a mess of everything.”

You're about to reach for her hand and try to comfort her (though, you still don't know why she's upset), when a fit of giggles coming from behind you makes you freeze. Turning around you see Parvati and Lavender glancing from you to Hermione and back before dissolving into a fit of giggles again. You try to catch Hermione's eyes and somehow convey your need for privacy, but you can only stand and watch as she gathers her books before making a hasty retreat.

The two giggling Gryffindor girls approach slowly, smiling a little too smugly for your comfort, until they stand one at each side of you.

“Hi, Harry,” they say in unison.

“Um, hi.”

Lavender gives her friend a pointed glance, obviously an unspoken sign, because Parvati presses closer to your side and gives you an enticing smile. Your stomach clenches, and not exactly in a pleasant way.

“So, Harry, how does it feel to be Quidditch Captain,” says Parvati, running her fingers lightly up your arm in what you believe is a sensual caress. “Any good?”

You swallow, and as politely as you can, extract your arm from her grip. “Er, yeah. Um…I have to… bye!”

Not caring if it looks like you're running, because you are, you hasten to leave that secluded area of the Library. Only, as you're walking away, you hear something that makes you freeze—again.

“Are you sure Hermione asked him?”

“Of course, Parvati. Didn't you see them? Hermione was all flustered. Besides, I persuaded Ron to tell me.”

“He knows?”

“No, not about the bet. But he told me Hermione has been acting a bit off as of lately, especially around Harry.”

You pull out your Invisibility Cloak and wrap it around you, and slowly, carefully, make your way back to the aisle where your classmate are gossiping. You don't dare look around the shelf for fear of something happening that would make the girls stop talking. God, you know it's wrong, but Hermione's behaviour has had you going nuts, and here is a chance to understand what the hell is happening to your best friend.

“Lavender, that doesn't mean anything. For all we know, she just stopped denying her feeling for Harry and doesn't know how to act around him anymore.”

“Oh, she stopped denying her feelings alright, but she also asked Harry to let her play with his special wand.”

Wait, feelings? What feelings and what special wand? I have no special wand.

“But still, how do you know she didn't ask Ron?”

“Because Ron is not capable of keeping it quiet, he would be strutting about the school with a shit-eating grin on his face and, maybe more importantly, he would be bragging. He'd brag about it and lord it over all the boys in the Tower, especially Harry.”

“Uh, you're right. Ron's not subtle at all… Oh shite, she did ask Harry! He'd never gloat about something like that, especially if Hermione's image is on the line! Oh, bugger…”

You nod firmly at Parvati's statement, because yes, you would never do something that could endanger Hermione's image.

“Disappointed?”

“What was your first clue?”

Oh, hell, you so want to look around the corner to see the girls' expressions. You can only guess so much, and even if you are pretty certain Parvati sounds sarcastic, you need visual confirmation. Maybe you should just leave now while you still—

“Hey, no need to get bitchy with me. I'm not the one fondling Harry Potter's family jewels.”

—come again?

~

You sit in front of the fireplace, ignoring all the lively chatter going on around you as you ponder about the recent discoveries you've made.

Lavender made a bet with Hermione, you still don't know the specifics, but it somehow relates to her request. Parvati fancies you, or at least finds you attractive and is disappointed that Hermione got to you first and… and…

And Hermione has feelings for you. What kind of feelings, you don't know, but certainly not platonic feelings or she wouldn't feel uncomfortable after what happened in the dorms.

Bugger, you need more information about all this, but the only person you could think to ask is Hermione and she's been avoiding you since the day in the Library. Lavender and Parvati are a no-no, or you'd have to admit to eavesdropping on their conversation.

Just then, the portrait slams open and in comes Ron and Hermione, neither looks happy, in fact, Hermione looks ready to snap.

“Hermione,” you call.

And she does snaps.

“What?” She doesn't go further than that, and taking a few calming breaths, she addresses you again. “Sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to snap at you, but… it's been a hard day for me.”

As she says this, her eyes move towards Ron who tries to look as unconcerned as possible while still managing to look guilty. But, really, you don't have the time nor the energy to care now.

“Right. Can I have a word with you, in private?”

Maybe, you sound too serious, because your question draws the attention of everyone currently in the Common Room. Hermione looks surprised, but then slowly starts to become nervous.

“Right now?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, I…” Her eyes dart around, probably trying to find an excuse or maybe help to avoid this, but she finds nothing, everyone's too curious to do anything. “Alright, then.”

You grab her hand and lead her up the stairs to your dorm. You say a silent thank you when you find it empty and quietly close the door behind Hermione. She sits on your bed and pretends to straighten the creases on her skirt as a way to avoid meeting your eyes. It astonishes you, sometimes, how well you can read her.

“So, tell me about this bet you did with Lavender,” you say, and probably it's not a good idea.

But you realize it too late as Hermione covers her face with her hands and groans in what you can only suppose is shame. That her whole demeanour suddenly sags in defeat alarms you and you hasten to reassure her.

“I didn't mention it to make you feel bad! I just… was curious I guess.” Tentatively, you sit by her side and place a hand on her shoulder. “I really didn't mean to make you feel any more uncomfortable than you already feel around me…”

Well, wow, way to kick up the pity act.

It works though, because Hermione raises her head, gives you a little smile, and then grasps your hand in hers. “It's okay, Harry. It's just… you weren't supposed to find out about the bet and… oh. It's silly.”

“Tell me anyway.”

So she does. She tells you how Lavender had purposely talked aloud of how she could get any bloke to drop their pants at the blink of an eye. And how she was going to make it her personal challenge to get as much boys to do that as possible (and, hell, cocktease much, Ms Brown?) here at Hogwarts, starting with their year.

That's when Hermione's tale got interesting.

“She knew I was listening, Harry, and she flaunted the fact that Ron was going to be the easiest of you all and, dammit Harry,” Hermione looks very agitated as she takes a deep breath. “She asked me how to go about convincing you!”

“What?”

“As if I would know! As if I would tell her!”

She jumps to her feet at this point, and starts pacing like a caged lioness right in front of you. Hair all wild, cheeks flushed, chest heaving, and even sporting a half-crazed look.

You think she looks beautiful.

“And when I refused to answer, she goes and says I probably wouldn't know a thing about how to seduce a guy and how I would never have the nerve of even asking one to drop his trousers—I couldn't help it, Harry! I hate when people think of me as nothing but a walking encyclopaedia, but to hear it from a girl with whom I've been sharing a room for over five years? A girl I thought, while not best friend forever, was at least my friend and knew me better than that? I just couldn't help it.”

You grab her wrist and make her sit down; because her pacing is making you dizzy and her ramblings are quickly losing all and any sense.

“So, that's it?”

Hermione shakes her head and turns to give you a sheepish glance. “No. She… she dared me to… you know.”

Her incoming flush is endearing, but your curiosity triumphs over you teenage boy desire to kiss her and—good God, Hermione is rubbing off on—yeah, okay, just not that way. Right, yeah, back on track.

“Ask a bloke to show you his penis?” You finish the question with a simple hand gesture.

But far from nodding, and agreeing verbally, Hermione blushes bright red and shakes her head. “No. She actually dared me to ask a boy to let me touch his, you know.”

Several seconds go by in silence, you try to wrap your head around the fact the Hermione has to actually touch you (well, she didn't say that, but if she already asked you to show, certainly, the next logical step will be…) there, but fail—or maybe not, if the twitching in your groin means anything at all.

“I, um, right. Well… uh, what—I mean, how will she know you actually…?”

“She has an enchanted… object to determine if the task was complete or not. I only need to touch it to prove it.”

“Er, that's… ingenious.”

Another prolonged silence falls upon you.

Then you talk. “So… what does that mean…?”

“What does that mean, what?”

“For me?”

Oh, damn, Potter, that is so not cool. And the fact that you feel like dying only reinforces that thought.

Hermione suddenly looks nervous, and it gives you a small grain of hope that you didn't screw things up.

“Well, I didn't… think you'd be comfortable with this, so I tried to get things back to normal,” she says, and it rather explains her behaviour for the past few weeks. “Besides I don't think you'll find me arousing.”

You know, you're completely certain, that the last sentence is not meant for you to hear, but you do and now feel compelled to right her faulty logic. After all, she is the one that shows up before you in your dreams wearing nothing but her birth suit.

“You're wrong.”

“Eh?”

“Hermione, you might not believe but I find you incredibly attractive and… You don't know but, in the Prefects' Bathroom, you had me on edge the whole time trying to conceal a raging hard-on. And it was the same the last time we were here. You didn't see it because you closed your eyes before it happened, but I—”

“Really?”

Her expression makes you stop, because she looks vulnerable and hopeful and pleased and embarrassed, and that confuses you more than anything this world has ever thrown your way.

“You really mean it, Harry? You're not just saying that to avoid hurting my feelings?”

“Yeah. I… kind of have the image of your naked body burned into my brain.” Her tilting head and confused expression make you blush this time (and just how weird is it to be talking about this with your best friend). “You left in a real hurry that night in the Bathroom.”

“Oh.” She fidgets nervously, averting her gaze briefly before locking her eyes on you; her blush, it seems, has become a permanent fixture on her face. “Harry… would you mind—would you let me…?”

You swallow, and you really, really want to (or not) deny her—for the sake of friendship, for the sake of Ron—but then you remember her glorious naked body, glistening with water drops, and the wonder on her face as she pulled at the waistband of your sweatpants. You remember the worry she displayed at the prospect of messing things up between you two and—and the surge of affection you feel now and the hope that these “feelings” she has for you are, well, real.

Because that would be great, that would be brilliantly perfect. Best friends in love, and hey, you are supposed to be the Hero of this story so it's only fair you get to marry the Heroine (and let's forget, for now, all these thoughts about marriage).

“Only if you let me touch those.”

Hermione arches an eyebrow, prompting you to explain your statement with only her expression. You understand, of course, and point at her chest. Her eyes drift towards the ceiling, deep in thought, before focusing on you seconds later.

“Alright.”

~

Neither of you get to touch anything as Ron interrupts before anything can happen. But the promise is there, you both want it, only the perfect time is needed.

The first Quidditch match is a success, but instead of attending the party, you pull Hermione back before reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady. She questions your actions, but you say nothing and lead her to the Room of Requirements.

Neither of you is surprised to find a bedroom behind the door provided by the Room. Although, it is a little shocking how… enticing it all looks. The bed looks like you assume look all of Hogwarts bed, only larger and… white. It's all white. The curtains (the sheer curtains, you realize), and sheets, and bedspreads and—yeah. It all looks so… pure and innocent and not at all what you expected considering what's about to happen.

So, what? It's not like we're going to shag or anything, just… we'll just touch each other's private bits, `tis all.

That thought, however, doesn't prevent the blush climbing up your neck. “Well…”

“Let's undress?”

Hermione blushed scarlet as the words leave her mouth, but she looks resolute, so you nod and both walk closer to the bed, facing away from each other you start to remove your clothes. Your robe goes first, your sweater, tie, and shirt follow. You bend over to untie your shoes and remove your socks, and then straighten up and unbuckle your belt. When your hands are undoing the buttons of your trousers, Hermione's voice halts your movements.

“You know… I always thought that the first time I did this would be with… my boyfriend.”

You stop, turn and stare at her for long seconds. Hermione turns slowly and stares back. She wearing nothing but her underwear and a white, unbuttoned blouse, and she looks beautiful. There's this troubled expression on her face that goes away after what seem a long and hard internal struggle, then she's smiling timidly at you as she holds the blouse close and waits for you to say something.

And as it's been the norm as of late, especially around Hermione, you blurt out the first thing that crosses your mind.

“Alright, then.”

Hermione blinks a couple of times, tilting her head in confusion as she prompts you silently to elaborate. You do.

“Would you like to be my girlfriend?”

Then again, you always did prefer not to beat around the bush. That aside, this whole situation must have been troubling for Hermione for her usually bright mind does not seem to catch up with your question as she only keeps blinking in confusion. So, you sigh, walk the few steps to close the distance between you and grab her hands, letting her blouse to fall open.

“Wow…”

Alas, your admiration of her body is not meant to last, as her incredulous voice startles you. “What do you mean—girlfriend?”

“Well, I guess my question should be more along the lines of would you like to make it official, girlfriend of mine?”

“Wait—what—official?”

You smile, thoroughly amused by her stuttering. After all, it's not every day one gets to see Hermione Granger stutter. You wonder if you can render her speechless. “Yes, well, haven't we been dating for years now? All that is left to do is make it official and, yeah, get the benefits of dating.”

She's going to rebuke you, you know, but then she stops and seems to think about it and then her eyes widen and she looks at you, shock written in every line of her lovely face (you're getting to corny, Potter). You smile.

And then you think. Before now, you didn't believe it important, the way the two of you acted around each other. Hermione always seemed to care more for you than for Ron, it showed, in the way she always looked after you, the way she went out of her way to help you, even when it went against her instilled habits. And the physical contact, the hugging, the hand-holding—the kissing-on-the-cheek.

You want to reason, she kissed Ron on the cheek too, but then you think, it was just the one time. You? Lost count of how many times she's done it to you, she's always been so affectionate.

Of course, you reciprocated. Not as enthusiastically, but in your own little way. I mean, you don't really like people touching you unexpectedly, but with Hermione it doesn't bother you in the least, in fact, you welcome her advances with much gusto. She's always your first choice when you seek comfort or advice; it's always her the one you go to talk, even if it's just idle chatter.

Really, it's a wonder it took you this long to realize it.

“Oh, Harry. We have been dating for years!”

“Yeah. I mean, other than not having snogged or… shagged, we've done pretty much all there's to do in a relationship.”

Hermione looks contemplative for a while, then slowly, she frees her hands and slide them around your waist, pulling your bodies together. “You, Mr Potter, are a cheater.”

“What?”

There's a wicked glint in her eyes as he hands travel around to the front of your trousers. “Yep. Cho Chang, rings any bells?”

A hard tug later, and you're standing with your pants around your feet.

“Well, Ms Granger, I like to think we were on a break around that time of my life. Besides, you encouraged me. If you hadn't pointed it out to me, I would've never noticed her advances.” You smirk, and making use of your Seeker reflexes, pull her blouse off. “Also, don't forget, I cut the one date I had with her short for you.”

“Good, Harry, you can learn.”

A blink later, and both of you are standing in nothing but knickers and boxers shorts. Her fingers play with the elastic band of your underwear, but her eyes are fixed on your own; she looks nervous, even when doing her best to hide it. You smile and caress the skin of her waist in an attempt to make her relax, only just succeeding.

“So, um, we're together now? For real?”

“Only if you want to,” you say.

“I do.”

Whatever tension remains, slips away as she smiles at you and wraps her arms around your neck. Without needing any prompting, you close the little distance between you and kiss her lips, wrapping your arms around her and pulling her flush against your semi-nude body.

As far as second kisses go, this one is perfect, gentle and loving, slowly building up to passionate and needy. It's perfect, and you can only wish to live long enough to keep enjoying them.

When you part, you both are breathing heavily, but sporting identical smirks. Then, it stands to reason why people say boys are a little slow in some areas of life, as Hermione is the first one to talk.

“So… I'll let you touch mine if you let me touch yours?”

Of course, you always were proud of your quick reflexes, allowing you to react promptly. Thus why your only response (the perfect response if her moans are anything to go by), is to draw her into another earth-shattering kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

finis.

Yeah, er, was it good…? :)

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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A warning, before we start. RON'S FANS STAY AWAY! There, done.

Now, I've been reading a LOT of fics over at ff.net, where most HHr writers hate Ron with an ASTRONOMICAL passion, and while I don't condone bashing of any kind (I'm of the mind-set that, if it can be avoided, don't write a character you don't like), this same writers do it in such a way that's impossible not to, well, like them.

So, yeah, that aside, doesn't mean I'll be doing that HERE. I'm not. At least, I think I didn't in this one.

Anyway, I've been reading too many fics of that kind, and much of them settled on the timeline of the DH, specifically around the Battle of Hogwarts, and this kind of popped up. It wasn't out of nowhere, per se, simply as a response to how I felt when reading a certain section of that chapter, you know, the RHr kiss. I mean, the way Hermione sounded so… un-Hermione-like there was disturbing. But then, I think a lot of the last two books was disturbing, so nothing new there.

Also, the paragraphs/dialogues/sentences/etc in BOLD were taken from the books, word for word. Copy/Paste and all that stuff.

Um, yeah, so, Ron's fans, you've been warned.

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Title: “high treason”

Rating: PG-13

Words: 6,403

Characters/Pairings: Harry/Hermione, (brief, almost not there) Ron/Hermione

Theme/Prompt: #094 - war

Warnings/AN: dh-au, set during ch31 - the battle of Hogwarts. In which Ayumi tries to fix the disturbing feelings she gets when reading this particular chapter in a plausible way (and, really, do it like it should have been done).

Summary: In which Harry discovers a most disheartening truth.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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As soon as he heard the word bathroom he knew where his two best friends were, he also realized they had no way of getting into the Chamber of Secrets without a Parselmouth, ergo not without him. Cursing under his breath, at their recklessness, he turned around and started running, all the while lamenting the lost time. If only they waited for him, if only he'd remembered to tell them about it, but he'd forgotten; how could he not! Hermione had explained to him all about being a Parselmouth in their Second Year. Oh.

Well, there, no wonder I don't remember.

But, Hermione, certainly she would've remembered… then again, they'd all been very stressed these past days, so… Well, no use in placing blame or pointing fingers. The important thing was to reach the Girls' Bathroom as fast as he could, for it was only a matter of time before Voldemort arrived with his army of Death Eaters and whatever other creature decided to join him.

“Almost there, almost there,” he kept mumbling under his breath. And just as Harry had turned the corner to the hall that led to the Bathroom's corridor, he was met with a strange sight.

Ron and Hermione were running towards him, arms full of brooms and some Basilisk's fangs. He stopped and stared, and his best friends reached his side, panting and smiling proudly. Something rang in the back of his mind, warning him about the wrongness of this scene, and the ringing became louder and more annoying as Hermione explained how they had entered the Chamber and—

“It was Ron, all Ron's idea!” said Hermione breathlessly. “Wasn't it absolutely brilliant? There we were, after you left, and I said to Ron, even if we find the other one, how are we going to get rid of it? We still hadn't got rid of the cup! And then he thought of it! The basilisk!”

“What the — ?”

“Something to get rid of Horcruxes,” said Ron simply.

Harry's eyes dropped to the objects clutched in Ron and Hermione's arms: great curved fangs, torn, he now realized, from the skull of a dead basilisk.

“But how did you get in there?” he asked, staring from the fangs to Ron. “You need to speak Parseltongue!”

“He did!” whispered Hermione. “Show him, Ron!”

Ron made a horrible strangled hissing noise.

“It's what you did to open the locket,” he told Harry apologetically. “I had to have a few goes to get it right, but,” he shrugged modestly, “we got there in the end.”

“He was amazing.” said Hermione. “Amazing!”

—and that wasn't right. Slowly, anger began to boil inside him, pushing at his limits, begging him to let it out. He looked at them and thought of the past two years. He thought of Hermione's horrible behaviour towards him most of their Sixth Year and her incredibly erratic moods this year. And of Ron's behaviour this year—his betrayal. Something started tugging at the back of his head, almost as if urging him to remember something. Something…

"Amortentia doesn't create actual love, of course. That's impossible. But it does cause a powerful infatuation or obsession. For that reason, it is probably the most dangerous potion in this room."

…oh, shite.

His hands curled in, digging his nails into his palms painfully, and he gave the pair of them an icy stare. Hermione blinked, calmly, almost clueless, but Ron… Ron looked down right terrified.

“Do you take me for a fool?” Harry asked, and strode forward purposely.

“He—hey, what is it, mate? We just told you—Hermione saw me, how can you not believe us?” As he stammered his response, Ron backed away, taking Hermione with him and that act only served to push Harry further over the edge. “No—now, shouldn't we warn the—the house-elves? I mean, we—we don't want any more Dobbies, do we?”

Hermione went suddenly tense and dropped the fangs on her arms with a clatter. She moved towards Ron quickly, arms spread wide in a clear intent to hug him, but Harry was quicker and managed to intercept her mid-sprint by wrapping an arm around her waist and placing a hand over her mouth. The voice of Professor Slughorn still ringing inside his head.

Ron looked livid for a second, then he paled, eyes widening as he kept moving back. His hand twitched but Harry flicked his wrist and had his wand pointed at him. After a few seconds, Hermione seemed to snap out of whatever trance she'd fallen into and looked alarmed between him and Ron.

“Harry?” she asked, sounding worried and fearful, but, he realized, she wasn't afraid of him, because she pressed closer into his chest and gripped the arm embracing her waist tightly.

“Come on, Ron, let's go back to the Bathroom so you can show me your brilliant imitation of Parseltongue,” he snarled, and started walking forward, wand still trained on the redhead as the three of them moved back to the Girls' Bathroom.

“What are you talking about, Harry? There's no imitation of Parseltongue! It's a language based on vibrations, not sounds, it's why non-speakers can't copy it. I told you about this on our Second Year!”

Harry turned his head to Hermione slightly, gaze still locked on Ron, as he answered. “I know that. But Ron insists that he could imitate the sounds and you corroborated his story just a few minutes ago. Have you forgotten already?”

Hermione gasped and started trembling. “Oh God…”

He never got to inquiry about her sudden agitation, because just then they arrived into the Bathroom. As soon as the door closed, Myrtle flew out of her cubicle, making Ron pale further.

“Oh, back again? Did she catch you already? I told you she would,” she asked, looking straight at Ron.

Hermione suppressed as sob, and the ghost turned her focus on them, smiling when she caught sight of him.

“Oh, hello, Harry. Did you know? He used the Imperius Curse on her a while ago,” said Myrtle, pointing first at Ron and then at Hermione. “They barged in and he started making horrible hissing sounds in front of the sink. Nothing like you, Harry. And when she pointed out only you could make it work, he turned his wand on her and, boom! He placed her under the Imperius.”

Myrtle giggled as she floated around their heads. Ron was pressed against the opposite wall, as if trying to pass through it, deathly pale and shaking, while Hermione burrowed her trembling form into him, mumbling denials.

“What did he say when he casted the Imperius, Myrtle? Please, I need to know,” said Harry, forcefully, doing a monumental effort to control his ire.

Dammit, there wasn't time for this! Why the hell would Ron do something like that, right this moment when loyalty meant everything to him?

“Ooh, well, he told her to forget his failure and say they did enter the… Chamber, and that he was the one to make it happen by speaking Par… Par…”

“Parseltongue?” prompted Harry, becoming more anxious and angry by the second.

“Yes! Parseltongue! He told her to say he was amazing.”

The way Myrtle said the last word reminded Harry of the way Hermione had said it while she was going on and on about how brilliant Ron's idea was. But the ghost wasn't finished yet. And Harry would soon realize his best mate stopped being his best mate a long time ago.

“He did something else too, but by then there was so much noise! And he had blown up those sinks over there,” said Myrtle, point at the other side of where the entrance to the Chamber's tunnel was. “So there was so much dust! But he definitely did something else to her, because when the dust cleared he was pointing his wand and muttering. Hmm, he transfigured the rubble into some fangs and brooms—don't know why, Harry, but he did.”

The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the happy humming of Myrtle and the occasional sob from Hermione. Harry took several deep breaths before turning to look at Ron. He didn't know it, but his magic was flaring around him, surrounding him and Hermione.

“How long…?” Harry took another calming breath, urging himself to relax lest he did something he might regret later. “How long have you been feeding her Amortentia?”

Hermione gasped and turned her head to Ron so fast, he thought she might have pulled a muscle. Ron swallowed, but said nothing; his silence only served to confirm his doubts.

Harry snapped. “HOW LONG!”

“After Slughorn's first class…” mumbled Ron. “I… I told him I wanted to understand the individual components of the Potion and he gave me some… for… for research purposes…”

“And? That must've ran out eventually, and Hermione's been unusually obsessed with you for almost two years now,” Harry snarled, taking a threatening step towards Ron, and he would have probably kept walking, had Hermione not grabbed him into a hug.

“I mail-ordered some more at the end of the year, before—before the attack. And then I… I asked Mum to help me brew a homemade love potion. She asked me why and I told her it was for Neville, because he was so shy around this girl he—ARGH!”

Harry couldn't listen anymore, and fired a bone-shattering hex at his left knee. Ron howled in pain, but he was beyond caring now. There was no time, however, to deal with the traitorous bastard, so he quickly stunned him and tied him up. Then, he threw him into one of the cubicles, and told Myrtle to keep an eye on him until it was all over.

At last, he turned to Hermione, who looked as if the world had literally ended before her eyes.

“Hermione?”

“How could he do this?” she asked, turning her teary eyes on him. “How could he do this to me, Harry, to us?”

Doing something he thought he should've done a long time ago, when she spent night after night crying in the tent, Harry pulled her into his arms and let her weep for a while. “I don't know, but… No more, Hermione, he gets no more chances.”

Hermione shook her head. “Everything… All this time, everything could have been so different…”

“Look, we don't have time for this now. We'll deal with him later. Now we have to find a way to destroy the Horcruxes, but first, we have to gather everyone in the Great Hall, especially Madam Pomfrey.”

He waited a few seconds for her to compose herself, and then they left the Bathroom. At Hermione's suggestion, he sent Prongs ahead of them to contact McGonagall and inform her of his decision.

~

They arrived at the Great Hall seconds before the remaining members of the Order and the DA, along with those students that decided to stay behind and fight. Not surprising, none of those students were Slytherins.

Unluckily, before he could explain their situation, Mrs Weasley pounced on them, smothering them with her hugs and then her questions.

“Harry, what is going on? Where is Ron?”

Her worried expression, along with those of the rest of her family, would have once made him feel terribly guilty. But after what transpired between the youngest Weasley son and Hermione, Harry simply couldn't find it in him to care.

“Ronald Weasley if bound and locked in a secure location within the Castle,” he replied instead, his voice flat.

This, of course, brought everyone's attention to him and the silence that followed didn't last long. It was, however, Mr Weasley the one who spoke.

“What happened, Harry?”

His voice was not the soft baritone he was used to, this hard tone surprised him but didn't deter him.

“You will know soon enough,” said Harry, and then turned to Madam Pomfrey. “I need you to check Hermione.”

The nurse, too shocked by the situation to reproach his attitude, nodded and closed in on Hermione. Pulling her wand, she paused briefly. “What should I check for?”

It was Hermione the one to answer that question. “Amortentia,” she said in a small voice, but still loud enough for everyone to hear.

The collective gasp rang loud around them, and Madam Pomfrey hurried to perform the diagnosis, paling rapidly at what she found. “Oh, dear Merlin…”

“Well?” prompted Harry, anxious to hear if Hermione could be fixed.

“There are traces, but they are old and no longer influencing her as it should; probably, she stopped consuming it months ago.” A pause, and the woman flicked her wands in intrinsic patterns. “There is another trace, stronger, of a weaker love potion, probably homemade,” she said, and someone gasped off to the side. “But Miss Granger's magic has been fighting it and the potion is losing its control on her.”

Harry nodded, partially satisfied, and then turned to the Weasleys. “Ron did it. He confessed and said he started giving it to her at the start of Sixth Year.”

“That explains her behaviour last year,” said Neville, looking at Hermione. “How could we miss it?”

“But there's more, isn't there?” said Mr Weasley.

Harry nodded.

“What else, Mr Potter?” demanded Madam Pomfrey, hovering over Hermione ready to snap at anyone who dared to stand too close to the girl.

“I'm not sure. Ron casted the Imperius on her. And he did something else, a spell of some kind. Maybe a compulsion charm?”

The nurse nodded and waved her wand some more. “There are some compulsion charms, very basic, and… another that's trigged by something.”

Harry paused at that, thinking back to the moment on the corridor, when Ron said something with too much emphasis, something about Dobby—We don't want any more Dobbies, do we—why, the bloody bastard. “Can you fix it?”

The look Madam Pomfrey gave him would have made him recoil in fear, but as it was, Harry was too angry and riled up with Ron's betrayal to feel intimidated by anything. He could barely keep his magic under control and wasn't about to let anyone prevent him from getting his Hermione back.

Madam Pomfrey shook her head slightly at seeing her glare fail, and set to work on the girl standing in front of her. Mr Weasley tried to apologize to him, but Harry stopped him, saying he didn't do anything and shouldn't apologize for his son's betrayal. The other Weasley boys looked upset at this revelation about their brother and Ginny and Mrs Weasley were distraught. A quick word informed all those curious of his attitude that he had not the time, nor the energy to deal the Ron right now, as there were more pressing matters at hand.

“Done,” announced Madam Pomfrey after a while.

Harry turned to face Hermione, staring into her eyes, and finding only despair and sadness in them, but it was his best friend Hermione Granger the one staring back; his Hermione, the one he thought he'd lost somewhere around the summer of '96. He reached for her, pulling her into a hug as she took several breaths to prevent the tears gathered in her eyes.

“Hey…” he whispered.

“He ruined everything, Harry, everything I wanted to do last year…” said Hermione softly, her voice partly muffled by his jacket.

“It's okay, you can do it after this war… after it's over. For now, let's focus on what we have to do, yeah?”

Hermione nodded and pulled back reluctantly.

Harry stared at her a few seconds longer, before turning to the gathered crowd. They all looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to lead them; Harry loathed to think so, but really, what else was there to do when the bloody Prophesy singled him out in this War? Taking a deep breath, he spoke. “As of right now, we cannot defeat Riddle for good because he's immortal,” he said, and immediately raised his hand, forestalling any kind of interruptions. “Hear me out! Hermione, Ronald and I went on a Hunt to find the objects that allow Riddle to chain himself to this world.”

In the following pause, Colin Creevey asked the question most of them were wondering. “Who's Riddle?”

Harry blinked perplexed and turned to Hermione for some sort of guidance. The girl must have taken pity on his lost expression, because she stepped forward to stand to his left, and faced the crowd.

“Riddle is the muggle last name of You-Know-Who.”

The stunned silence worked on their favour as Harry continued his tale. “He made six of this objects, three have been destroyed, one is in our possession,” at this point he motioned for Hermione to show them the cup, dully noting the gasp coming from Professor Sprout and several other Hufflepuffs, “another is hidden within Hogwarts, and the last is with Riddle.”

“How do we destroy these things?” asked Neville, putting emphasis on the `we' and it was clear from the determinate looks on everyone's faces that he spoke for all.

“One way is Basilisk's venom, but since I killed the Basilisk five years ago, I doubt there's any venom left in its fangs.”

“We've been using the Sword of Gryffindor, but it was stolen from us by someone we thought was a friend, so we're pretty much stumped right now,” added Hermione, shifting nervously.

Mr Weasley opened his mouth, his face showing his distress, so Harry was quick to put his doubt as ease. “It wasn't Ronald, Mr Weasley. It was Griphook, a goblin we rescued from Malfoy Manor.”

There were shocked gasps from everyone around. Understandable, as the Wizarding world knew of the goblin's high morale and their value of honour, and to have their saviour be betrayed like this—unthinkable.

“What shall we do, Harry?”

Harry looked at Luna, the one who had voiced his concern, and took the time to actually think before charging forward, as it was his custom. His eyes swept around the eager faces, all his friends and all ready to help. It was at this point that he understood he didn't have to do this alone, keeping this secret had cost him too much—Hermione had been tortured, he'd almost been killed, Ron had abandoned them and then, betrayed them. No, it was time to have a little faith in those who deserved it, as were several of those gathered around him now.

“Right,” he said, turning to Hermione. “Take Neville, Professor Flitwick and any Ravenclaw in here to the Room of Requirement to search for the Diadem. But be careful, let no one touch it lest something happens,” he told her, then grabbed her arm and pulled her closer, adding in a whisper, “the Diadem is where I hid the Prince's Book. Just think `I need a place to hide my Horcrux' and you should be fine.” He watched in silence as Hermione left the Great Hall with those mentioned before turning to those left behind. “Professor McGonagall, can you lock down the Castle?”

“What do you mean, Potter?”

“Lock down Hogwarts, rise all its shields or wards or whatever. I need you to do that, to make sure no one enters or leaves without your knowing. I need you to make sure all the remaining Slytherins stay locked in their Common Room; I just don't want to take any chances with them. I need to know if you can do that to protect those inside the Castle and to give me time. Riddle is coming, but I need time. That's all.”

Professor McGonagall pursed her lips in thought, before nodding her head. “I can do that, but I must reclaim my position as Headmistress first, and that can only be accomplished in the Headmaster's office.”

“Okay, fine. I was going to talk with Professor Dumbledore's portrait anyway, so… Come on,” said Harry, moving towards the door, but was intercepted by Remus.

“What about us Harry?”

Professor McGonagall stopped by his side, giving him a pointed stare that never failed to make him feel like a misbehaving first year, but Harry looked at Remus thoughtfully and then pulled the Marauders' Map from his pouch.

“Divide and conquer. Use this and round up any misbehaving student out of their Common Rooms and escort them back there,” he said, handing over the blank parchment; his expression turned sombre. “Several of those Slytherins are Death Eater, Remus, so I don't want you to hesitate if they resist—no,” he cut the oncoming protest quickly. “No. They're not children, they're not innocent or redeemable like Dumbledore said. They wouldn't hesitate to hurt you, or anyone else in this room, so don't give them the benefit of doubt. Your hesitation only gives them a chance to kill you.”

That said, Harry turned and walked out, McGonagall following his lead.

“What made you change, Potter? Last year you were all for following Albus' steps,” she said quietly as they hurried through the now deserted halls.

“I don't really know. It's something that's been building up since Christmas last year. Hermione and I were almost killed by Riddle's pet and then Hermione was tortured and—and then Ron's betrayal…” Harry bit his lip trying to come up with a good explanation of his sudden change of heart, because he had been all for following Dumbledore's steps before, so what changed? “I can't say for sure, but maybe the fact that we're at War—that these bastards will stop at anything to kill us finally caught up with me. I'm not saying let's go on a killing spree like they do, but… putting them to sleep is not an option if they can wake up. We have to put them down, permanently.”

~

Minutes later, McGonagall had regained control of the School and stood frozen next to him, staring in unblinking disbelief at her one-time dear friend. Harry, instead, stared blankly at the old man, waiting… for the disappointing feeling that never came.

It should surprise him, but somehow, Harry couldn't really come up with the energy to do so. It's just—he suspected. He'd been suspecting this since around Christmas, he just hadn't wanted to believe it.

This, however, this latest revelation, crushed whatever respect he had for the old man. And, surprisingly, it made Harry look at things from a different perspective. Whatever was expected from him, Harry decided right there and then, he'd finish this his way.

“Harry, I must insist—”

“You must insist nothing, Old Man. If I have to go down for your bloody puppet show, I'll do it my way. If I have to go down, I'll go down with a bang,” said Harry, turning on his heels and storming out of the office.

If he had to go down, he'd do it in a blaze of glory.

~~~

While part of her mind was busy inspecting every nook and cranny of the RoR, looking for the Diadem, the other kept reliving everything she'd lived since her Sixth Year. She analysed every memory, every thought, every word uttered by her and to her. And it always came down to the same conclusion, it must have been the morning before the Quidditch try-outs—the day Ron started feeding her the love potion.

She had been complimenting Harry, of course she had, telling him how fanciable he was. That must have been the catalyst, what pushed Ron to do what he did. He must have done so while no one was looking, and even if someone had seen him handling her drink, why would they think anything wrong of him? Ron was their best friend!

“No more, Hermione, he gets no more chances.”

“No more chances…” she mumbled.

Hermione knew Harry felt wronged, betrayed, but she didn't think he could ever understand how she felt. The level of betrayal in her eyes was astronomical compared to what Harry felt, because Sixth Year was the year she had resolved to make a move on Harry, seeing as he was completely clueless about girls. That's why she'd complimented him before the try-outs, it was all part of her plan, to get him to notice her as a girl he might, one day, fancy.

But Ronald Weasley ruined it, and not only ruined it, but stole her choice from her and forced her to make a fool out of herself as she tried to pursue him while he snogged Lavender.

“It was all a game for him…”

“Oh, I don't think so.”

Hermione started and quickly turned around, pointing her wand at a smiling Luna. “God—Luna! Don't do that again, I could've hexed you—or worse!”

Luna merely smiled at her before glancing around distractedly. “Mmm. I think Ronald had true feeling for you, but his jealousy of Harry consumed him so much he stopped caring about his feelings and started plotting ways to keep Harry from being happy. You see, he's as clueless as any male when it comes to girls, but he had it worse by being constantly in the shadow of his brothers and he never really moved past that stage where it was okay to pick on the person you fancied.” Then, as suddenly as her appearance was, her expression turns solemn. “I'm not condoning what he did, nor am I excusing him. What he did was despicable and horrible, but not completely unexpected due to his upbringing and other circumstances.”

She could see the quirky Ravenclaw wanted to say something more but held it back, and simply smiled at her again in her unique way as she informed her that she'd found the Diadem. Hermione followed her until they came to a desk filled with cauldrons and books and broken broomsticks—and a box. As her bead-bag started to hum, Hermione knew they'd found the Horcrux, as the cup seemed to resonate with its par.

That, of course, brought another unpleasant thought forward, which she immediately squashed before it took its proper form. Some things were better left untouched.

Carefully, Hermione opened the box, nodding as she identified the Diadem, then closed it and placed it into her bag. She made her way to Professor Flitwick and announced their success, to which the miniature Professor nodded before casting the Sonorus spell, and telling everyone it was time to go back to the Great Hall.

Regardless of what had happened just over an hour ago, Hermione felt truly excited about finding the Horcrux. Now they only needed to find a way to destroy the two in their possession and kill Nagini, and then end Voldemort. Funny, how it all sounded oh so easy but was so very bloody hard.

But still, it was one step closer to ending the War.

Of course, as it had been the norm as of late, the jolly mood didn't last long, for as soon as the small group entered the Great Hall, it was crushed by the depressed atmosphere around those present. Only two girls noticed the missing person.

“Where's Harry?” asked Hermione and Luna, both girls turning to look at each other, though only Luna smiled in amusement.

McGonagall pressed her lips into a hard line before answering, her expression sombre. “It seems Mr Potter is not coping well with the information he acquired from the portrait of Albus. He left the office shortly after the end of the conversation and hasn't returned yet.”

“Oh, dear,” said Luna, in her dreamy fashion.

Hermione, however, was not so calm about it. “But where is he?”

Remus tapped her shoulder and showed her the map. “The Astronomy Tower.”

He barely managed to utter the last word before the bushy-haired girl ran out of the Great Hall, not even bothering to stay as McGonagall related what had transpired in the Headmaster—or rather, Headmistress' Office.

She ran through the deserted halls non-stop, even when her legs started to ache and her lungs screamed for a break, Hermione kept on going. Not much later, she stumbled upon the first steps of the spiral-staircase that lead to the top of the Astronomy Tower, and had to stop a moment to catch her breath as she found herself close to hyperventilating. Her hands and knees now scratched, it hurt all the more when she began climbing the steps, but still, her desire to find Harry and make sure he was okay overrode everything else.

Half-way up there, she had to stop again, only this time for different reasons. The Castle was so silent, that she could hear the sounds of the night, along with the lazy splashing of the Giant Squid. But more than that, Hermione could hear the mumbling of someone—of Harry, talking at the top of the Tower. She held her breath briefly, trying to calm down because she didn't want to be a liability to the boy who had the task of saving the world thrust upon his shoulders.

That was when Hermione heard it, and her heart stopped.

“I'm ready to die.”

~

Hermione remembered clearly the day she'd realized her life was closely entwined with Harry's; the day she realized she could not live without him.

It was Third Year, right after Harry had cast a corporeal Patronus and driven away the horde of Dementors attempting to suck their souls. It was when Harry climbed on Buckbeak's back and turned expectantly to her, hand outstretched and ready to pull her up with him. It was when she was, for several seconds, frozen on the spot, looking at the fearsome beast and dreading the prospect of being up in the sky. It was when, against her better judgement, against her ingrained fear of heights, she grasped Harry's hand and let him pull her up behind him.

It was when she wrapped her arms around him and even through the haze of terror managed to do what was expected of her simply because rescuing Sirius meant that Harry would have a chance to get away from his relatives and be, finally, happy.

Only, it was after the announcement of the Yule Ball that she realized her feeling for her green-eyed best friend were more than platonic, more than sisterly feelings. Because the first thought that went through her head was that she wanted Harry to ask her, that she wanted to spend the night in Harry's arms, dancing, even if her feet would suffer later. The way Hermione saw it back then, sore feet were but a small sacrifice to spend the evening in his company.

But her attempts didn't work. And at the end of the year, her kiss didn't do the trick either. Then she thought she'd have time to make him see her as a girl during their Prefect rounds during Fifth Year (because, hey, of course Harry was going to be Prefect), only to be disappointed upon finding out he didn't make it. Then came Cho, and she realized Harry was just like any other boy when it came to girls, completely clueless, so a much more direct approach was needed.

She was going for the direct approach in Sixth Year, hoping to convince Harry to let this one year be a normal one, but her plans were ruined again. By Ron. Again.

And now, now that she was finally free of potions and compulsions and all outside influence, she found herself in the middle of the War. Trying to think of ways to keep Harry alive, because, dammit, she wasn't going to let him die! Not now that she finally had her chance! Not now that she was finally free to love him with all she had…

So when she heard those words, she ignored the protest of her battered body and sprinted up the steps, stumbling through the door to find Harry with the Snitch in one hand whilst looking at the other. Her outburst made him turn to her, wand faltering when he realized it was not an enemy, but then he looked at her with so much sorrow in her eyes that Hermione could no longer restrain herself.

Tears gathered in her eyes and she rushed into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck and sobbing into his neck. He was going to say something but Hermione stopped him when she pulled back only slightly and then kissed him.

Her first kiss. It could have been perfect—with the perfect setting. As it is, it was wonderfully bittersweet. Because—Harry kissed her back.

There was no burning desire in the kiss, just tender passion and resignation—desperation. When they parted, Hermione was crying in earnest and Harry seemed to be doing his utmost best not to break down as well.

She knew what he was going to say, she didn't want to hear it, but there was no stopping it when she couldn't even talk properly.

“I'm a Horcrux,” he said, his breath catching as he tried to stop the onslaught of tears. “The seventh Horcrux. Hermione…”

“No,” she sobbed, shaking her head. “No…”

“Dumbledore knew… All this time and he didn't do anything—he never trained me to fight that monster because he knew I had to die!”

Hermione pulled back from him, grasping his arms and looking desperately into his eyes. “There must be another way—let me find another way, Harry, just—just… Please, this can't be, not now.” She suddenly felt like the weight of the world was crushing her, which must be nothing compared to what Harry must feel, and for the life of her, Hermione could not think of a different outcome for this new twist in the plot. “I can't believe he'd do this, setting you up—”

“—to be the sacrificial lamb? Why not? It certainly makes sense, the way I've been raised—like a pig for slaughter.”

Their depressing thoughts threatened to consume them. Harry pulled her in for another hug, one of the rare occasion where he initiated such affectionate contact, and it only served to break her heart. It almost felt like he was getting ready to say good-bye, for good.

She looked up at him, into his gorgeous eyes—she always loved his eyes, and thought she could understand James Potter for falling so thoroughly for Lily Evans. These were eyes that bewitched you without mercy, eyes that, once they caught you, they didn't let go. And really, Hermione was just fine by being their prisoner.

“I love you, Harry,” she said, figuring it was now or never. His surprised look urged her to clarify her meaning, just in case there was any doubt. “I love you. I have since pretty much the end of Third Year. I've been falling for you since I saw you jump on the back of that Troll. I—I thought, it's now or never, eh? I don't want to be pessimistic, but I just can't let you d—die without knowing and…”

She couldn't keep going. First, because her body started wracking with sobs again and second—second, because Harry was kissing her as passionately as he could amidst their mingled tears.

“I wish,” said Harry, after breaking the kiss. “I wish I'd realized what you really mean to me sooner. I wish I'd seen you—really seen you before all this blew up in our faces… God, how I wish things were different…”

Hermione latched onto the fact that he seemed to reciprocate her feeling, even if there was no verbal confession, and made a decision that could be considered idiotic and rash, but really—it was now or never, so… yeah. “Harry… how much time do you reckon we have left before… before he arrives?”

The black-haired boy blinked for several seconds, then closed his eyes briefly, a grimace marring his face before it cleared and his green eyes were peering down at her again. “A couple of hours, perhaps. He seems to be checking for his Horcruxes, and growing more anxious by the second. I really doubt he'd rush up here if he discovers what we've been doing.”

She nodded and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Winky,” she whispered, and the soft pop that indicated the arrival of the little house-elf was reassuring. “Winky, is there anyone in the Head Girl's room?”

“No, Miss. Headmistress Kitty didn't offer the position to anyone else.”

Harry gave her a curious look, but otherwise remained silent and let her do the talking. He was probably curious about hearing of a private room, but now was not the time to answer his question on this matter.

“Would you, please, take us there?”

As way of an answer, Winky simply grabbed their legs and popped them away, and then they were standing in the middle of an empty room, alone. He sent her another curious look, but Hermione only smiled at him, a little sadly, but still genuine enough for him to know she meant it.

Then she stepped back and started taking off her clothes.

Gasping, Harry made to grab her hands, maybe to stop her, she didn't know, but he stopped and stared as layer after layer of clothing fell to the floor until all that separated her from complete nakedness were her green knickers. “What—Hermione, what are you doing?”

“I love you, Harry,” said Hermione. “And I don't want to have any more regrets. We wasted these past two years, though not by choice, but still; years we could have had together and, Harry, if we had gotten together then, this—this would have happened a long time ago.”

He swallowed but didn't make a move to indicate he wanted her to stop. When she reached for the waistband of her knickers, Harry finally reacted and started pulling off his clothes too. She was pleasantly surprised to see he was going commando, less barriers that way. Once naked, Harry pulled her into his arms again, letting his hands wander slowly over her body, as if to give her time to back off.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Hermione, are you really sure?”

She looked into his eyes, seeing longing and raw desire and hope and—and. So, she kissed him and pushed him onto the bed, straddling his hips. “Yes, I am absolutely sure.”

Hermione thought, before succumbing to the mindless bliss induced by Harry, that all of this would be perfect, were it not for the death sentence hanging over their heads.

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To be continued… next chapter.

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Well, it IS supposed to be a oneshot, but it kinda-sorta grew larger than I intended, pushing 15k words. I had to cut it in half… and I still HAVE finish the other half, :P

So, that's it for now, tell me what you think? Oh, and the issue of Ron shall be sorted at the end.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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Well, this definitely pushed the 15k words I told you about, and went over 16k. Anyway, here the conclusion.

Ron's deal is solved, sort of, as is the whole deal with Love being the Power He knows not and the Hallows. I know, it doesn't say much, but I don't want to give the plot away.

Again, Ron's fans, you HAVE been warned.

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Title: “high treason ii”

Rating: PG-13

Words: 8,937

Characters/Pairings: Harry/Hermione, (one-sided, disturbing) Ron/Hermione, (kind of brief) James/Lily, (mentions of) Remus/Tonks

Theme/Prompt: #094 - war

Warnings/AN: dh-au, set during ch31 - the battle of Hogwarts. In which Ayumi tries to fix the disturbing feelings she gets when reading this particular chapter in a plausible way (and, really, do it like it should have been done).

Summary: In which Harry gets his happily ever after, sort of.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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Harry played idly with a lock of brown hair, twirling it around his finger before letting it spring back to its original place.

Just over an hour ago, Hermione had pushed him onto the bed, and after a bout of passionate kissing and groping and fondling, they made love. Of course, she told him about a girl's first time, so he had made sure to help her reach her orgasm before he entered her (who would've thought, that Parseltongue would be useful in such a setting?), because after that he was pretty much lost to rational thoughts. And while their first instinct had been take a nap, they talked, or rather, she made him tell her what had happened after she left to look for the Diadem.

He'd told her, everything, every word exchanged between him and their once Headmaster.

And now, here they lay, basking in the intimacy that came with cuddling the one you loved after a perfect first time. If only the timing wasn't so screwed.

“You were looking at something when I reached the top of the Astronomy Tower,” said Hermione, softly, as her hands let go of the sheets and trailed over his chest.

Harry hummed, before turning to her and giving her a searing kiss. “I found something curious inside the Snitch.” His hand snapped towards their discarded clothes and something soared out from underneath. “Here,” he said, handing her a small rock.

Truth was, he hadn't had the time to take a good look at it before Hermione appeared before him, so he didn't know what it was. But by her shocked expression and the little gasp that escaped her, Hermione knew and she wasn't accepting it well.

He disentangled himself from her and watched her roll onto her back as he propped up on his left elbow. “What is it?”

Hermione blinked, but turned the rock in her hand and showed it to him, pointing at some engravings in there. “The symbol of the Hallows. Harry, this is the Resurrection Stone!”

His hand trembled when he reached for it. Harry knew what the Stone meant and what to expect if he used it, but… would it be right? Would it be selfish of him? “I…”

She smiled at him tenderly, tears starting to gather in her eyes before she wiped them away. “I—I think you should do as your heart tells you, Harry. I'm in no position to understand what this means for you, how you feel, but I know you and… I think you should go for it, if only to know how they are.”

Harry stared into her eyes for several seconds, and then leaned down to kiss her again, pouring as much of his love into the kiss as he possibly could. When they broke apart, he sat up and clutched the Stone to his heart. Hermione followed suit, pulling the sheets to cover her chest, and gave him a reassuring nod. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and wished and waited. And then, Hermione gasped.

His eyes snapped open and his breath caught in his throat.

Because lo and behold, James and Lily Potter, along with Sirius Black, were standing a few feet away from the bed, smiling and looking happy.

~

Since he was a child, every time he pictured meeting his parents, it certainly wasn't like this. Naked and in bed with his best friend (the right one, mind you) after having using a magical artefact to bring them back from the beyond—great, now he sounded like Trelawney.

“Hey, Pup! Hermione, lookin' good!”

He swallowed his tears, trying to steady his resolve for he did not want his parents to hear him stutter. Not that they would care, mind you, but still.

“I must say, Padfoot, you were right. She is lovely! You have good taste, Pronglet! But then, you are my son, so…”

Sirius laughed good-naturedly, a laugh brighter than any other before. “Yes! The Potter men's taste in women is legendary. Always the brightest and prettiest of the lot!”

In a sudden movement, the auburn-haired woman slapped both men in the back of their heads. They both looked sheepish after that. Harry felt a delicate hand slip into his own and knew Hermione was giving him the support he needed for doing this.

“M—Mum? Dad?”

Lily smiled and it took all his will-power not to break down crying.

“Yes, Harry, it's us.” She, too, looked on the verge of crying as she accepted the comfort provided by the bespectacled man standing next to her. “My boy, we missed you so much…”

“Why don't you two get dressed before we talk? That way we avoid any potential embarrassment,” said James, then he shared a playful smirk with his brother of pranks.

“Not that we mind. Hermione is very beautiful after all,” said Sirius, wiggling his eyebrow suggestively.

On pure instinct, Harry grabbed a pillow and threw it at his laughing godfather, and watched in melancholic amusement how his mother rapped Sirius on the head again as she forced the men to turn around.

The pillow, of course, went through them.

The teens hastened to dress, as their little haven was broken and the reality that there wasn't enough time hit them hard, fumbling with their misplaced garments and trying to abate the blush climbing up their necks. Once they were done, they moved around to sit on the foot of the bed. Harry hesitated only briefly before grabbing Hermione's hand. She startled and gave him a surprised look, to which he answered with a little smile before turning his focus on the ghostly adults.

“We're done.”

The adults nodded and turned back to face them.

“So, why did you summon us, son?”

It really was disconcerting how right people had been all these years, because looking at James Potter felt like looking in a mirror—except for the eyes, his father's eyes were hazel coloured instead of green. Their solemn expressions told Harry they expected some kind of answer other than wanting to see them, but—he had none.

“I really just… wanted to see you, meet you. I don't know if you're aware… but today will be the last day of the Blood War.” Harry got a far-away looks on his face as he frowned. “Riddle will die today.”

The ghostly adults closed some of the distance between them and the teens. His mother looked like she wanted to reach out and embrace them, but held back with a resigned sigh. The grim determination on their faces caught his attention.

“We know, Harry. One of the perks of being dead is that we're allowed to watch over our loved ones, once in a while. Because I sacrificed myself for you, it gave me the added bonus to feel whenever you were in need, so I could choose when to watch and give you as much a sense of safety as I was able.” His mother paused, and averted her gaze. “I am sorry for what my sister did to you, my son.”

“That's… ah.” Harry swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and smiled in what he hoped was reassurance. “That's okay. It's not your fault, really. I'm fine now.” And even if he truly wasn't, he was not going to say so.

His father smiled at him, his eyes shining with unshed tears and pride for him. “How you grew to be so kind, Harry, is a real wonder. A miracle. But, we're glad, and most importantly, we're proud of you.”

Not being comfortable with the attention and praise, Harry blushed, much to the amusement of all those present. “I—uh. It wasn't just me, I had help growing up,” he said, and smiled at the girl sitting by his side. “Honestly, I couldn't have done it alone.”

Unbeknownst to him, his ghostly family shared a happy smile. But then, things turned sombre again.

“Harry, you do know what it took for the Snitch to open, right?” asked Sirius, moving the conversation to some grim matters.

Harry didn't want to spend this time with them talking about depressing things, but he supposed they must have something to say to him about the War, or else they wouldn't bother mentioning it more than in passing. “From what I gathered, what I could discern from all the shite Dumbledore told me, it was supposed to open once I accepted my upcoming death.”

Not bothering to hide the scowl in his face, Sirius replied. “It's more than just you accepting death. The Snitch would only open once you were ready to die for someone else. You have to be willing to sacrifice yourself.”

As soon as those words were uttered, Hermione gasped and tightened her grip on his hand. “That—that… that meddling, Old FOOL!”

“Hermione?”

“Harry,” she said. “He wanted you to die willingly to give us the same protection your mother gave you.” Hermione halted his attempts to talk by covering his mouth. “But, Harry, for the protection to work, there has to be some sort of ritual. It's not a simple sacrifice, because every mother in the world would do that for their child, there has to be something else!”

“She's correct, Harry,” said his mother. “I performed a ritual on you, as a last resort, and good thing I did too. Without it, my sacrifice would've been meaningless. As would have been yours if you'd have gone and done what Albus wanted you to do.”

“But then why would he keep insisting…?”

“Because, as we said, he's an Old Fool, that saw no more than his idea of the Greater Good,” said his father. “Albus became so obsessed with Tom Riddle; he stopped caring about everyone else. He became so fixated in correcting his own mistake that he no longer saw that sacrificing the innocent to redeem the guilty is wrong.”

“That, however, doesn't mean he's wrong when he says you have to die,” added Sirius. “As cold as it may sound, it's necessary. You do have a piece of that monster's soul in you, and the only way to destroy it is for you to die, Harry. And it has to be Riddle himself the one to do it.”

“The Prophecy,” said Harry, finally realizing the meaning of those words. “Either must die at the hand of the other… Only I can kill him, and only he can kill me.”

Sirius nodded.

“So…” Hermione said, paused, and tried to blink back her tears. “So there's no other way to do this. Harry has to—”

Harry swallowed again and let go of her hand to wrap his arms around her. He had hoped that his parents might have had a solution to that little problem, but it didn't seem so. So this was it, his sole purpose in this life was to die a Hero and hope to drag the Villain down with him.

“You know, if there's one thing Albus was right about, it's his theory about the Power he knows not,” said his mother, smiling lightly at them. “I'm sure you're familiar with the saying: Love always triumphs in the end?” When they nodded, she continued her speech. “Well, it's true. Harry, you are a very powerful wizard. But your most powerful weapon at your disposal is Love.”

As his mother said this, she looked from him to Hermione and back. His best friend turned lover didn't notice, as her face was pressed against his neck, but he did, and he couldn't help but blush, despite the severity of their situation.

“You have the Power to win this, Harry. We know. We can't tell you now, but you will find out very soon.”

“Well, then, what can you tell me?”

His parents and godfather smiled mischievously. A rare sight, considering they were death and, soon, so would he.

His father smirked. “Remember what you beautiful mother just told you. Love always triumphs in the end. Now about what we can tell you…”

“You, Harry, are the master of the Hallows. The Master of Death,” said Sirius, a shite-eating grin on his face.

~

All talk ceased the moment they stepped through the doors. Nobody looked too anxious, so Harry supposed they knew they weren't in danger—or rather, that they weren't in immediate danger.

Of course, the fact that they brought along the Sorting Hat may have something to do with the prolonged silence.

McGonagall recovered first, and arched an eyebrow at him. “I took the liberty of informing everyone present of what transpired with Albus, Harry. I hope you don't mind.”

“Uh, not really, Professor, they were going to find out anyway. Saves me the time, actually,” he said, figuring it was better this way, just to get that out of the way. “I have thought long and hard about it, all of it. And, with Hermione, we've come to the most beneficial decision for us.”

“You've found a way to destroy these object without sacrificing yourself?” asked Remus, looking hopeful and fearful at the same time.

Sighing, Harry thought it was best to get that, too, out of the way so they could start focusing in the battle ahead. Oh, how he wished he had better news. “Actually, Remus, there's no way around that. I have to die so Riddle can become mortal again. But!” Harry stopped the outcries of protest with his raised hands. “But, as I said to Dumbledore, I don't pretend to go down quietly. I'll cause as much ruckus as possible.”

“What Harry means, is that we plan to destroy the myth behind the so called Dark Lord, to demoralize his followers and thus allowing us to defeat them faster and with as few casualties as possible on our side,” explains Hermione, her expression as blank as possible in which Harry knew to be an attempt to control her emotions.

“Hermione, how can you be okay with Harry's death?” exclaimed Ginny, taking a step forward, a seething look on her face.

Harry braced for the explosion that would sure follow. That would come from Hermione herself.

“Okay?” Her voice, as well as her whole demeanour, became icy with rage. “You, stupid little girl, think I'm okay with his death? You think I haven't gone around this issue since I found out Albus Bloody Dumbledore's PLAN? Of course I'm not okay, Ginevra! But there's no time left and Dumbledore didn't care to look for another solution and he knew more about this than anyone else in this damned world!”

Ginny cringed back as if struck, and turned her face away in clear shame.

Neville looked at him pensively for a while, and then he spoke. “So how would that work? Anyone can kill you or…?”

“Riddle himself has to do it. Anyone else, and it won't work,” said Harry.

“It's the way fate works, Harry,” said Luna, drawing everyone's attention to her dreamy smile. “If he's immortal, so are you.”

“But there's still the problem of the other objects. How do we destroy those?” asked McGonagall, and blinked in surprise when Harry simply lifted the Sorting Hat and placed it in his head.

We meet again, Harry Potter. I still stand by my words, you know, you would have been great in Slytherin.

I doubt it, your decision was influenced by Riddle's piece of soul in me.

No, you are mistaken. When I first sorted you, I was measuring you up. Not Tom Riddle's soul. Just you and your ambitions and potential to be extremely cunning. As it is, I do not regret choosing Gryffindor in the end. You did well there.

Er, thank you. But, I didn't bring you here to chat, I—

You need assistance.

Well, yeah. The first time you helped me, you brought the Sword of Gryffindor to me. I was wondering if you could tell me how you did that.

Ah, foolish boy, do you not hear when people talk to you? Did the Headmaster not tell you that help will always be found in Hogwarts for those who need it?

I'm not quite inclined to trust his words now.

Ah, yes. Most unfortunate, that. But it is true. You only need to ask.

Okay, then, he thought with finality. “Hogwarts, I need your help.”

As soon as his words passed his lips, he felt a heavy object hit his head with a loud thunk! sound. Harry yelped and yanked the Hat off his head, it fell to the floor with a clatter while he rubbed the soreness off. And there, handle glistening under the candle light, lay the Sword of Gryffindor.

“That's…”

Someone said something, but he could only focus on the Sword. Hermione bent to retrieve it, and gave him a disbelieving smile.

He smiled back. “Told you it would work.”

While everyone marvelled at the sight of the Sword of Gryffindor, Harry thought this was just one-step closer to ending it all. He'd taken measures to take the Elder Wand from Voldemort and prevent him from becoming its master once he died by the wanker's hand. And also had a plan in motion to utterly destroy his army. Now all that was left to do was to wait for the Dark Wanker to arrive and hope his parents and Sirius were right when they said that Love always triumphs in the end.

~~~

Hermione watched the sneer on Voldemort's face turn into a look of horror as the Elder Wand flew out of his hand.

Right into hers.

Silence reigned over the yard of Hogwarts' Castle as people stared the scene unfold itself in shock. For several eternal seconds, nothing happened. Then her hand snapped up and a white beam shot forward, going through the chest of a shocked Antonin Dolohov—and leaving only a fist-wide whole in its wake. The Death Eater hit the ground with a dull thud.

Then all hell broke loose.

It felt good to know her idea of keeping the battle out in the open was a success, this way, the Castle remained relatively unharmed. This way, they had an escape route and could lock themselves in should the worst happen. What made it better, however, was the fact that Harry's idea to ask the Sorting Hat for a way to help them keep the magical creatures on Voldemort's side off the Hogwarts grounds was paying off.

She had no idea Hogwarts possessed such powerful wards. It made sense though, the times in which the School was founded… And considering all the centuries of powerful witches and wizards coming and going through its halls, obviously, this place was impenetrable under the right command. It showed, in the way the Giants and the Acromantulas and the few Werewolves that were unfortunate enough to be on the frontlines were simply disintegrated before their eyes.

The battle raged on.

Off to her right, Hermione caught sight of Bellatrix casting the Killing Curse. She didn't stop to think who the victim was going to be, as making good use of the Elder Wand, Hermione casted what could possibly be the most powerful Shielding charm ever seen in the last century. The Curse rebounded and Neville Longbottom rushed forward and stabbed the crazy bitch with the Sword of Gryffindor.

So much power; Hermione felt intimidated, but it was the lesser evil, compared to the notion of Voldemort holding this power. Besides, it would only last twenty-four hours. That had been one stipulation she'd insisted when Harry said he would relinquish the Hallows to her, and after much glaring, Harry had agreed.

Sirius and the Potters had spent the better part of an hour explaining to them how the Hallows worked and, upon reconsidering the Tale of the Three Brothers, assuming it was true and James had said it was, Hermione came to the startling conclusion that they were right. There could only be one true Master of the Hallows, the one in possession of the Invisibility Cloak.

“The Wand can be obtained by conquest. The Stone by simply finding it,” said James. “But the Cloak, it can only be obtained by heritage, it will only change hands within one family. The family of the youngest brother: Ignotus Peverell. You visited Godric's Hollow, so you must know what I mean.”

Of course, she'd known. It had taken Harry a few minutes to suss it out, but Hermione had caught on right away. Harry possessed the Invisibility Cloak, before him, it had belonged to his father, and before that—Harry had figured it out by then, while she sat stunned, he voiced the single thought running through their heads.

The Potters were the last descendant of Ignotus Peverell; Harry was his last descendant and the rightful Master of the Hallows.

“However, due to the necessity of your expected death, you must take measures to prevent Voldemort from attaining full ownership of the Elder Wand,” said Lily, continuing where her husband had left off. “You must relinquish the power to someone else, temporarily. That way, when Voldemort k—kills you, the Hallows will be safe, and you will have a chance to defeat him for good.”

“But if I am the Master, can't I just stop Riddle from using the Wand?”

“If he kills you, the Wand will answer to him until you claim it back. It will not be as powerful as it is when in possession of its rightful Master, but still powerful enough to best anyone in a duel or fight,” explained Sirius.

She'd had to intervene by then so Harry would understand the need to keep such a powerful weapon out of Voldemort's hands, but then he surprised her saying he'd relinquish the Hallows to her. After seconds deliberating, she'd agreed, on the condition that it only be for twenty-four hours.

“After all,” she'd said, “it's more than enough time to end this.”

After that, Lily had guided them through a simple ritual to transfer the ownership of the Hallows to her, condition included, and seconds later, the three ghosts had vanished from sight. Harry stood next to her for several long and silent seconds, before turning to her and saying they would need a plan. She nodded, gave him her wand, telling him she expected it back in a day's time, and then put her brilliant mind to work.

Now, the time had come.

Voldemort let out an enraged scream upon seeing his most avid follower fall in bloody mess, like a common muggle, and casted the Killing Curse at her. Even though she knew she could block it, she never had time to react as Harry leaped in front of her and took it square in the chest.

Time stood still.

And she watched the boy she fell in love with hit the floor with a soft thud, for a fraction of a second his eyes lit up with an inexplicable blaze and then it was gone, his vacant gaze locked on hers. Vaguely, Hermione noticed someone yell that the Dark Lord had fallen as well. Her focus, however, remained on Harry, urging him to blink, to stand up, smile his boyish smile and tell her it was all right.

Only a few seconds passed, but it certainly felt like ages. She thought she'd be prepared for this, but she never expected it to—to hurt this bloody much.

Hermione heard another enraged scream, and someone yell to surrender now that the Dark Lord had finally killed Potter. She heard the response of those who stood by Harry in the form of lethal curses, much to the surprise of the Death Eaters.

Then, suddenly, Hermione was brought back to the present when the tip of a wand pressed against her temple. She blinked away her tears as her eyes refused to leave the still form of Harry and his dull green eyes. In the darkest corner of her mind, where her usual logic had no command, there was a muted murmur, like a praying. She could feel herself praying silently, but for what exactly? With the praying came a slight, weak tugging in her chest, like her heart calling out to someone and—oh, she knew who that someone was. The tugging became stronger with every second, the murmuring prayers louder, and Hermione could almost feel it—feel him.

The hissing, cold voice of Voldemort broke through her desperate hope and filled her with dread. “Filthy mudblood, you shall join him soon.”

But what happened next, no one saw it coming.

~~~

Regardless of everything he'd been told, of the Wand's power, Harry couldn't really stop his body from reacting when he saw the green light rushing towards Hermione. It was an act of instinct, really, jumping in front of it. He didn't think until the very instant before the Curse hit him.

And then everything went blank. Ha, so much for going down in a blaze of glory.

He'd thought, for a moment, that when people died they stopped feeling. But he certainly felt the hard floor when he impacted it. He also felt the cold at finding himself completely nude. The darkness surrounding him was the only clue that he was no longer in Hogwarts, but where he was, exactly, he didn't know.

Until the lights went on… everywhere, and he realized he was sitting in the floor of Platform Nine and Three-quarters.

“Erm…”

Out of nowhere, a lump of clothes fell into his laps, and there, standing in front of him with highly amused looks on their faces, were his parents and godfather.

“Erm…”

“Eloquently put, Harry. Now dress, I doubt you want us to see you naked,” said James, as he motioned for the clothes on his lap.

Harry nodded quickly and waited for them to turn around before rushing to get dressed. Minutes later, they were all sitting on a bench, looking at the steam puffing out of the Hogwarts Express' engine. Harry was tempted to ask why they were at Kings' Cross, well, he was going to ask, but in the sense of knowing if he was there because he was there or not.

“So, I died?” he said at last, cringing at the tactless way it came out.

Still, his parents and Sirius simply laughed.

“No, Harry, you're not dead,” said his mother, scooting closer to him and pulling him into an embrace. “My son, the last time I held you, you were but a babe.”

He had to bite back the onslaught of tears.

His father rested a hand on his shoulder. “We're sorry to have you worried, Harry, but it's been so long since we last held you… I simply couldn't deny Lily, or myself, the opportunity to spend a few moments with you.”

Harry smiled at his father, feeling relieved, if not a bit confused still. “So, I'm not dead?”

“No, Pup,” said Sirius, sounding somewhat grim while ruffling his hair. “This situation is complicated enough as it is. But if you wish to go with us to the next great adventure, all you have to do is board that train.”

He really didn't need to answer that, his parents and Padfoot knew the answer, if his regretful smile said anything. However, even though their claims assured him of his not-death status, there was a underlying feeling of unease. Harry resolved to broach the subject later and enjoy this time with his parents and Sirius.

“Where's the Horcrux, anyway?”

All three adults pointed at an ugly… thing writhing on the floor a few feet from them. Well, that was… interesting. Tearing his eyes away from it, he focused on his family. He wanted to know how much time he had before he did… whatever was expected of him, because he wanted to make the most of it.

His mother, though, seemed to read his mind. “We have time, Harry, enough to answer your questions and still enjoy a long overdue family time.”

“Tell us, what do you want to know?” asked Sirius, his smile implying that they would answer truthfully.

“You knew I wouldn't die? And if so, why not just tell me?”

It was his father the one who answered, managing to look sheepish and troubled at the same time. “We were being selfish, Harry. At least in part. It's true that we couldn't outright tell you what would happen, but we could have implied the truth.” His father made a pause, seeming to gather his thoughts before focusing his gaze on him. “The thing is, Harry, your situation is very unique. You see, the Killing Curse takes a soul and rips it out of its, let's call it container, yeah? But it has to be a complete soul, not just a fragment. So, while the Horcrux was destroyed, it's still not enough to meet the requirements of the Curse.”

“Your case is unique, son, because by all means you should be death. There isn't supposed to be a way around it, not for anyone,” said his mother. “But then, not anyone has the Master of Death, or should I say, Mistress of Death, willing them to go back to the world of the living.”

Harry blinked slowly, then his eyes widened in comprehension. “Hermione? She's calling for me?”

“In a way, yes. But it's more like her magic, fuelled by her love for you, reaching out to get you back,” said Sirius. “Can't you feel it, the tugging in your chest? We were told you would feel it.”

He opened his mouth to say no, he didn't feel any tugging, when he became aware of soft buzzing sound on the outskirts of his conscience and—there, there it was, the tugging in his chest. Weak, perhaps alarmingly so, but getting stronger bit by bit. “Oh.”

The two men sighed in relief while his mother smiled in what was obviously triumph. It seemed to him she had known all along he would feel it, whilst his father and Sirius had their doubts.

“What?” he asked, feeling sort of left out.

His mother laughed merrily. “Oh, nothing really. It's just these two were doubting your ability to feel her call as well as her love for you. I didn't, though, call it a woman's intuition but I knew she would love you enough to pull this off, maybe more. Just like you love her, of course.”

The blush rushed up his neck, lighting up his whole face, leaving Harry completely embarrassed and yet, unexpectedly happy. At least this showed his mother approved.

“Hey, I didn't doubt her love for him, I just didn't think it would be enough,” protested his father, looking as embarrassed as he felt. “I just thought they were too young to pull it off, but hey, I was wrong, which is good, so no harm done.”

Sirius gave him a sheepish smile. “I never got to watch you enough to be sure, I mean, I knew you'd end up together, it's was too obvious, but, like Prongs said, I thought you were too young to pull it off.”

“Oh, so, that's how I'm going to survive?”

“You have to answer her call, Harry, that's how you will survive,” said his mother.

Oh, well, isn't that simple. He honestly thought he'd have to go through some crazy trial to go back to her and all, like it was the norm in his life. Maybe, among of all the craziness surrounding his life, this had ought to be simple, just to give him a respite.

“Okay, then, I get it. But, how does that make you selfish?”

“We wanted to spend some time with you, without the heart-breaking knowledge that we couldn't touch you,” said his mother, pulling back only a little to give him a watery smile. “So, by not telling you how you'd survive, you would come here, and we would be able to hug our son one last time.”

“Oh, well, then I'm glad you didn't,” said Harry, smiling at his family and pulling them all into a hug. “I always dreamed of doing this.”

When they broke apart, they were all smiling. But it was his father the first to break the silence, showing why he was recognized as one of the greatest pranksters in the history of Hogwarts.

“So, Harry, explain something to me. What is this about you falling into bed with the first girl who throws her knickers at you?”

~

The first thing he heard when he became conscious again, was the sibilant cold voice of He-Who-Must-Forever-Be-A-Torn-On-His-Side.

“Filthy mudblood, you shall join him soon.”

Harry reacted accordingly.

With Hermione's wand grasped firmly in his hand, Harry felt it and understood all the hassle about his ability to Love being his most powerful weapon, because as those hateful words reached his ears, an overwhelming warmth swept through his body—his desire to banish the threat to Hermione, to his loved ones, to be able to give them a peaceful life rushed through. His hand snapped up and he felt a powerful surge of energy leaving the wand. He opened his eyes just in time to see a bright, golden beam rush at Voldemort, blasting his left shoulder away and sending him flying a few feet back.

He understood, really, now as he rose to his feet, how it all worked. And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. Of course, of course. Raw power wise, they were equals. The skirmish in the Graveyard proved it as much. And it will always be like that; if Voldemort grew stronger, Harry will too. By marking him, Voldemort also gave him unintentional immortality, just like Luna said. And as Dumbledore had explained it, however he loathed to admit it now after all he'd learned, it was Voldemort inability to understand something as fundamental as Love that would give him the edge he needed to win.

But the Horcrux in him had screwed that, and he'd had to get himself killed in order to make Voldemort mortal again. Yet, it was worth it, because with his death, the Prophecy was fulfilled, even if he ultimately got lucky again. The Prophecy was fulfilled and now it was only a man against a boy. Both using someone else's wand and standing utterly exhausted.

Just a man, who had nothing else to lose but his life, against a boy who stood to lose everything, and who was ready to fight to save it all.

The silence reigned as he stood up, all fighting stopping as people watched the Boy-Who-Lived survive a second Killing Curse. The remaining Death Eaters looked scared, seeing the actual proof that their Master could simply not kill this boy, while his friends looked elated that he had, once again, cheated death.

Harry merely stood next to Hermione, and then slowly pushed her behind him, not wanting to risk her life and let someone get a lucky shot. No, now that he knew the truth about their relationship, he was fully prepared to enjoy it for as long as she wanted him. Hopefully, it would be a long many years from now on.

“Well, I can't say I'm surprised you failed again, Tom,” he said, but even his blatant insult went unnoticed. Maybe, he shouldn't goad him, but catching sight of Nagini lying death not far from then, he felt he could do at least this much.

Everyone watched in silence, waiting for the final duel. Voldemort did not stand, his expression a mask of terror as he clutched his bleeding shoulder. Harry could see, he'd already won, just like his parents had said. Voldemort's only hope was the Elder Wand, but with it in Hermione's possession, he was nothing. With the Prophecy fulfilled, all the greatness and power he possessed abandoned him, one piece of soul at a time, and with so many of his followers death or otherwise too weak to stand, he had nowhere to fuel his magic anymore.

It was a little disappointing, actually.

And it was time to end this. Harry levelled his wand between the monster's eyes, and all those around him held their breaths. Then he let his magic do his bidding, and another golden beam came forth, fast and blinding and devastatingly powerful.

And Lord Voldemort was no more.

There was going to be no trial, no chance of redeeming himself; the way his head exploded in a bloody mess of gore was proof of it. And when Harry turned his piercing, green eyes to the remaining Death Eaters, none of which were part of the former Inner Circle, they all dropped their wands and surrendered, not wanting to end up like their Master.

Disappointing and very, very anticlimactic.

Harry heard a sob behind him and he turned on his heels in time to receive the tightest hug Hermione had ever given him. She broke down then, arms around his shoulders as she cried her fears and doubts and relief away on his shoulder. Vaguely, he noticed the Professors and Order members secure the Death Eaters and start taking them out of the way, while the DA members and students crowded around him and Hermione giving their heartfelt gratitude.

God, he felt exhausted, he only wanted to crawl into bed and sleep until his body shouted no more. Hopefully cuddling Hermione, if—

Looking past the sea of people surrounding him, Harry caught Arthur's gaze and immediately knew what he wanted, so pushing through the well-wishers, Harry walked towards Mr Weasley, Hermione in tow.

“Mr Weasley,” said Harry, as way of initiating the conversation.

Mr Weasley smiled tiredly at him, and nodded. “First of all, thank you, Harry, for saving us.”

“It's nothing, really. I just did what was right.”

“Yes, of course… Now, I know you probably wish to go rest, but I wanted to know where…”

—oh, well, time to face that issue like a Gryffindor.

~

Funny how, in the end, things never really went as planned.

Just take the end of this War for example.

He'd been planning to go down with a bang, and instead he did it protecting Hermione, however unnecessary that was, and probably it was for the better that way. He'd been planning a whole strategy to fight Voldemort one last time to death, even devising what to do if the bastard succeeded in killing him a second time, only to face an anticlimactic end to his life-long suffering at the hands of Voldemort. And now, he'd expected to face Ron with a clear head after a well-earned rest, but instead he was being forced to do it now.

And it wasn't that he couldn't refuse Mr Weasley request, he could, he probably should, but he thought he owned the man who'd been kind to a skinny little boy for no other reason that he was his son's friend. Because, hey, Lee Jordan was the twins' friend, had been for three years, and while not hostile, Mr Weasley had never been as kind and welcoming as he had with him.

So, yeah, he kind of owned him for that.

Harry nodded and told him to wait a moment, before turning to Hermione. She was still shedding tears, but no longer crying loudly. He pulled her into a hug and told her to go find Tonks and see if she and Remus were okay, and to wait for him with them. Hermione hesitated only just, but in the end relented and walked away, but not before giving a small kiss on the lips.

He stood motionless for a few seconds, pulling his feelings under control and leaving his face devoid of all kind of emotions before turning to Mr Weasley. The red-haired man gave him a curious look, his blue eyes shifting from him to the retreating form of Hermione and back, but said nothing. Harry motioned for him to follow and started walking back towards the Castle, and kept walking all the way to Myrtle's Bathroom. Once they got there, Harry walked to the stall at the far back of the bathroom and dragged Ron out.

Not surprising, he was awake but too weak magically and physically, to leave this place. The pain from the knee Harry broke must have taken its toll on him, because he was bordering unconsciousness. Recalling a spell Madam Pomfrey performed on him to dull the pain whenever he was in the Hospital Wing, he casted it on Ron and shook him into awareness.

Harry regretted doing it immediately.

“Come back to gloat, Potter? Did she tell you how good we shagged last summer and during the Hunt, or did she cried and said I forced her? I didn't, and she screamed like a bitch in heat every time I made her cum.” Ron snarled at him, his face twisting the same way Malfoy's face did when he sneered. “Every night, Potter. Sometimes with you sleeping in the adjoining bed!”

Harry watched his former friend smile cruelly at him, completely ignoring the man standing beside him. Mr Weasley gaped, clearly having difficulties believing this—this person could be his son. Harry simply regarded Ron with a cold stare, thinking what could possibly had happened to him while in that cubicle, to say that, but ultimately not really caring. The green-eyed boy blinked and then smiled.

“How long did it take you to come up with those words? Did you really think I'd believe you, Ronald? That I would trust you enough to disregard Hermione's integrity like this?” He laughed in cold amusement, revelling a little in the shocked expression on the Weasleys' faces. Better throw them for a loop before letting them see the rage seething under the surface. “That's the first thing I asked Madam Pomfrey to do when we left you here, Weasley. After everything you've done, I wouldn't put it past you to try something like this, so I had Hermione checked. Ask your father here, he was there.”

Ron snarled again, lunging forward but stumbling when ropes appeared out of nowhere and wrapped tight around him.

Harry smirked. “And even if I hadn't done that, I would still know you lie. Because a couple of hours ago, Hermione asked me to shag her and I did. Several times in fact.” He didn't like to imply that such a wonderful moment was a convenient fuck, but until he could ensure Hermione's safety for good, it was better if the world thought they were just best friends looking for comfort. But assuming people suspected what they'd been doing before going back to the Great Hall (after all, he had left them the Marauders' Map and that thing just didn't lie, overlapping dots spoke for themselve), he thought it was for the best.

Nobody needed to know just what she really meant to him yet.

“So, you see, I know she was a virgin.”

Ron started trashing about, completely ignoring his shattered knee, trying to get free of his bonds, but couldn't. He was fuming, glaring daggers at him. “You, son of a BITCH! You get everything I want! Why couldn't you just have DIED? Let me go! I'LL KILL YOU MYSELF!”

He arched an eyebrow, mildly surprised at the redhead's reaction. However, by now Mr Weasley had snapped out of his shock and advanced menacingly towards his son.

“Enough, Ronald!” he snapped, but was ignored.

“SHUT UP! IT'S ALL HIS FAULT! HERMIONE WAS MINE; SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MINE! I SAW HER FIRST! HE RUINED EVERYTHING, HE MADE HER IGNORE ME IN FAVOR OF HIM!” Ron kept trashing, twisting his body in his attempts to reach Harry, hoping to hit him. “YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO END UP WITH MY SISTER! BUT YOU HAD TO RUIN THAT TOO AND MAKE HER GET OVER YOU!”

That, caught his attention, and obviously Mr Weasley's too, but the older man beat him to it as he grabbed Ron first and hauled him to his feet.

“What is that supposed to mean?” said Mr Weasley, slowly, menacingly.

Ron seemed to have lost all meaning of right or wrong, he glared at his own father with unadulterated hatred. From where he stood, Harry saw, for the first time, the glint of madness in his blue eyes, madness that had reared its ugly head sporadically for the last two years, but that he had always dismissed as being something uniquely Ron.

Apparently, he'd been wrong.

“I had no choice! They left me no choice! Ginny stopped loving him and Hermione was all for making him fall for her, and I knew—I knew he would! I had to, I had to dose them all with Amortentia or there would be no Happy Weasley Family!”

Ron didn't get to say more, as a flash of red later and he slumped to the floor. Mr Weasley was looking down, anguish written all over his face at such revelation. He flicked his wand and levitated his bound son, nodding at Harry before stepping out of the bathroom.

Harry blinked a couple of times and then raced after them. “Mr Weasley—”

“We're going to press charges, Harry. What he did… It cannot go unpunished. Hermione has a right to seek justice, as do you. And Ginny… There's no excuse for what he did, to you and his own sister, I…”

“I know, it's just… I think—something is wrong with him. I'm not saying to spare him, pat his head and tell him not to do it again. He needs to be punished, because he committed a crime. Simple as that. But I truly believe that there is something wrong in his head. He… he didn't use to be like that…”

Mr Weasley gave him a tired smile and nodded. “I will speak with Shacklebolt about what he confessed and… I will ask Poppy to check him for anything.”

That said, Mr Weasley walked away.

Harry leaned on the wall outside the bathroom and closed his eyes, feeling more exhausted than after killing Voldemort. A part of him, a tiny part, whispered that he should forgive Ron because he obviously wasn't in his right mind, hadn't been for the past two years. But then another part, a stronger part, reminded him of Fourth Year and the Triwizard Tournament, and of Third Year and how he blew out of proportions the issue with the Firebolt.

This was Ron, the real Ron. Maybe no one saw it coming, but the hints had been all there. Ron was never too mentally stable, always quick to anger and jealousy, always insecure, always complaining about being the shadows of his brothers yet doing nothing to remedy it.

A light touch on his cheek startled him, and Harry opened his eyes to find the concerned face of Hermione hovering over him. He smiled weakly at her, grasping the hand caressing his cheek. “Hey, you…”

Hermione stared at him intently for several seconds before returning his smile with one of her own. She hesitated briefly, and then settled on his lap, burrowing into him and seeking comfort. He embraced her right away, pulling her closer and sighed.

“The Weasleys want to formally apologize to you, for what happened…” she said softly.

“I told Mr Weasley there's no need, it wasn't their fault.”

“I know, I told them the same, but they insist.” Hermione paused, shifting until she was straddling his lap; she got comfortable against him again. “Madame Pomfrey checked Ginny, and found traces of Amortentia, very old traces, but there nonetheless. She also checked… him, but other than bruises and magical exhaustion, there was nothing wrong with him. Except for a light case of dementia. He's losing his mind, and according to Madame Pomfrey, has been for years now.”

Harry sighed again. “And no one knew… Still, it explains a lot.”

Hermione hums softly against his shoulder. “Kingsley was going to administer Veritaserum when I left. I just couldn't—I needed to find you. I don't think I can bear to know our friendship was faked from the start, not alone.”

For a moment, he was amazed at how good it felt to have Hermione in his arms. Cuddling, just like this. Sure, with Ginny it had felt good, too, but this… this was something else. He unwrapped an arm from her and, gently, tilted her head back with one finger. Leaning in, he kissed her.

“You're not alone,” he said. “You have me now, for as long as you want.”

“What if I say I'll want you forever?”

He smiled and kissed her again. “Then you'll have me forever.”

~~~

It was only a month later, once they had managed to sort out their most pressing business, that she and Harry finally had some free time to go find her parents.

A month in which they, with lots of help from the new Ministry of Magic, managed to settle the problem with Gringotts and the destruction they left in their wake whilst escaping. A month in which Harry finally claimed his full inheritance, from both his parents and Sirius. A month in which they became the official godparents of one Teddy Remus Lupin. In which Harry locked two of the three Hallows away, and had her erase the memory of doing it.

A month in which, after a particularly passionate bout of lovemaking, he told her that she was the reason why he survived the Killing Curse, that the love they shared had truly overcome death itself and helped him return to her. The fact that she being the current Master/Mistress of the Hallows at the time allowed it to happen was irrelevant, but Hermione liked to keep the more romanticised version of that tale as the actual memory.

And finally, a month in which they attended the trial of one Ronald Bilius Weasley.

Hermione sighed, and shakes those thoughts away, because she really didn't want to trouble herself anymore. She had enough problems of her own to keep thinking about the boy who used to be their friend.

A pair of arms wrapped around her waist just as a pair of lips pressed against her neck. “You promised not to think about it, remember?”

She smiled, turning within his arms and returning his affectionate embrace. Hermione placed a kiss on his lips before nodding her head. “I know, but I can't really help it.”

“Tell me about it,” said Harry, giving her a disarming smirk.

Her expression turned pained, and she could tell he tried not to let the sigh escape his lips. “I—I know I shouldn't worry, but, Harry… I just want to know, was it all a game to him? Was he ever our friend at all?”

Regardless of what Luna had said merely a month ago, the doubts lingered. It was one of the reasons why they'd gone to the trial. But that question never came up, which wasn't unexpected as it wasn't really related to his crimes. They'd asked him what he'd done, what he'd planned to do. They'd asked him why he'd planned it, but never—Hermione knew Shacklebolt only did it to spare any further shame and pain to be brought upon the Weasleys, but still. All questions were too specific.

Never, they'd never asked since when.

Ronald's answers had implied both that he'd never been their friend and that he had. His answers as precise yet ambiguous as the questions. All of it pointed at the end of Fifth Year, probably after Sirius' death.

But Harry thought otherwise. So did she.

“Do you want the real answer, Hermione, or just my opinion?”

“Just give me something, Harry, please.”

He sighed and remained silent. Hermione didn't push him, he would give him an answer, of that she was sure, after all, Harry had interacted with Ron longer than she had after his ultimate treason. He had talked with him, he knew more of his reasons for doing a one-eighty than her.

“I think—I truly believe he was our real friend until at least the summer before Fourth Year. Then, maybe, everything started spiralling downwards for him at the World Cup. Remember how worked up he got over the Omniculars, how he didn't want to own me nothing? Honestly, I think he had the valid reasons to deny my gifts, reasons I admire, but it's not charity if a gift comes from a friend, right? I mean, I bought you one too, how was I not going to do the same for him? From then, it was probably a slow descend into madness, jealousy and hatred, and no one caught it until it was too late.”

Standing there in the kitchen of her home, Hermione sighed and then voiced her fears in regards to the one who'd been their friend. “I just can't help but think I failed him, that I should have seen the signs sooner, I…”

Harry pulled her tighter against his body, as if trying to shield her from the guilty they were both feeling. She couldn't see his face, but knew her pained expression mirrored his.

“Yeah, me too.”

They stood there, wrapped in each other's arms for several minutes before deciding to go to sleep. They had an early start the next day, and with the long flight ahead of them, it was better to be well rested. Calmly, they made sure to lock the doors and windows before climbing the stairs.

Tomorrow was going to be a long day. Hopefully the first of many in this new stage of their lives.

Together.

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The end.

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For now. I hope this didn't disappoint, I don't know I just always have trouble ending a fic, it's like my mind says “keep going lest you ruin it!” but then turns around and says “finish it now lest you screw up!” So, yeah.

I hope you all enjoyed it. And just to clarify, I said it to a reviewer, and yes, Ron using Amortentia has been thoroughly abused and it's pushing OOC for Ron, but as a HHr writer, I HAD to use this plot at least once. It's the law.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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This idea comes from my desire to see if I can make a R/Hr relationship work. Turns out, I can, but only for a while before my shipping heart starts to take over the fic and write H/Hr. Other than that, it came out of nowhere.

Also, it WAS supposed to be a SHORT oneshot, 3k words at most, BUT it kind of slipped away from my hands and turned out to be 12k words, I tried.

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Title: “when the idea clashes with reality”

Rating: PG/PG-13

Words: 5,998

Characters/Pairings: (friendship, for now) Harry/Hermione, Ron/Hermione

Theme/Prompt: #093 - Uniform

Warnings/AN: dh-au, post-ch36. Rating is mostly for strong words, the occasional kiss, really, there's nothing that goes above PG but I'm being cautious. Also, this is NON-epilogue complian. Obviously. Also, for those who are worrying about the amount of R/Hr in this, it's not much, and I don't go into details or anything.

Summary: Sometimes the idea of someone is better than the actual person.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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She should've seen it coming, but this whole situation kind of sneaks up on her. Completely unexpected and thrilling. Exciting.

Frightening.

Because it's not supposed to be like this. There are rules to consider, people to think of, standards to meet. And a whole bunch of equally ridiculous excuses that simply cannot be ignored as of now.

Somehow, though, it doesn't seem too difficult to ignore it all in lieu of charging forward like a freaking Gryffindor.

Of course, it all is a by-product of unfulfilled expectations, disappointment. A case where the idea of something is sometimes—definitely better than the actual thing. In this case, however, the something is actually someone.

~

She thinks, honestly, she shouldn't be surprised that their relationship starts to dwindle even before it actually takes any real shape. Ron is resolute in his refusal to return to Hogwarts, going as far as quickly accepting the chance to enter the Auror Academy when Minister Shacklebolt offers it to him and Harry, thus effectively cutting the time they could have spent together short to a few sporadic visits during the weekend. And that only assuming Headmistress McGonagall will allow her to visit Hogsmeade outside Hogsmeade weekends.

Not a promising, or encouraging, thing for a budding romantic relationship.

And as if that isn't enough, when the end of May had arrived, and Harry had presented her with a plane ticket to Sydney, saying he'd arranged it with Shacklebolt and the Australian Ministry of Magic to track down her parents and fix their memories, Ron had refused to accompany her, stating that his family needed him. The Weasleys did need all their children together after Fred's death, so Hermione had been okay with his answer, understanding his reasoning. She hadn't, couldn't begrudge him that.

It's what he'd said after that had ticked her off, that he didn't want to spend more time than what was really necessary in the muggle world. Oh, she knows his comment hadn't been a slight to her parents, but more to… the obvious necessity of minimizing the use of magic that going to Australia would imply. It hadn't upset her, no, just… she'd just been ticked off, that's all. And it hadn't been so bad, really, as she'd managed to get a promise out of him to visit her for the next two month she'd be with her parents sorting everything out.

Only, all his visits had been with Harry in tow, and while that hadn't bothered her, she wanted very much to spend time with her black-haired best friend too, by the end of the two-month holidays Hermione had started to get the distinct feeling that Ron visited her because of Harry rather than he bringing their friend along.

Still, she'd pushed all that aside and decided to make the most of their time together during August, as she'd been due to board the Express to Hogwarts come September 1^st while he went to the Auror Academy. It had been okay, for the most part, at first. They'd started “dating”, but the awkwardness had remained; they had nothing much to talk about other than Harry and that would've been a blow to any kind of romantic atmosphere. Then, the Break-Up had happened. Harry seemed to be done with Ginny for good, and she'd obviously sided with Harry while Ron went back and forth between siding with his best mate and with his sister, and soon, their dates had started to become disastrous when the topic of Harry and Ginny became impossible to avoid and they ended up fighting and—

—well.

Needless to say, September 1^st has finally come, and Hermione is already at odds with her boyfriend.

Definitely not a promising, or encouraging, thing for a budding romantic relationship.

~

She walks down the path to the entrance of the School, crossing the front yard and enjoying the sunny day. Hermione smiles, for no real reason, as she approaches the gates. She wonders why Headmistress McGonagall had insisted that she take the rest of the day off. Sure, she has no more classes today, but it is NEWTs year, and she promised herself to prepare for them early in the year so she wouldn't have a panic attack like she did during OWLs.

Still, no reason to sacrifice her study day only because it's her birthday. Luna and Denis are planning to throw her a party on Friday, her parents can't come into Hogsmeade and Ron had sent her an owl last week apologizing for not being able to visit her today, too busy with his Auror training, and had promised to make it up to her this Saturday.

So, yeah, she has no desire to go out of the castle on this day, as she has no one to spend it with.

These are the thoughts circling her head, as she decides she'd go to the village to buy some new books she hadn't been able to get before boarding the Express, when the silhouette of a man, leaning against one of the stone pillars flaking the gates, comes into view.

The man, dressed in simple black robes, is facing away from her; his hood is pulled up so she doesn't know who he could be. She stops briefly and then keeps walking, supposing that if the stranger really posed a threat to the School, he wouldn't be standing in plain sight.

It could still be a trap, though, so she makes sure her wand is accessible in her wand-holster.

Her faltering steps must have made more noise than expected, because the stranger straightens up, pulls back his hood and turns to face her. His messy black hair and sparkling green eyes are the first things to register in her brain, then comes that unmistakable mischievous smile.

Hermione can't help herself, and screams.

“HARRY!”

He grins at her and opens his arms, bracing himself for her tackle. It doesn't take her long to run the remaining distance between them and jump into his arms, hugging him tight; vaguely, she thinks, this is the first time Harry receives one of her hugs with open arms, accepting it instead of resigning to it.

“Hey, Hermione!”

He laughs softly, probably at her enthusiasm, but it's warranted, as she hasn't seeing him since the Break-Up. He pulls her closer to him, squeezing his tight, before loosening his hold a little, enough to pull back to look at her. And immediately, his eyes go wide and his mouth falls open. Hermione gets the distinct feeling that whatever he was going to say, gets lost in his surprise, because what he blurts out then, and by the intense blush that takes over his face, obviously isn't mean for her to hear.

“Wha—Hermione, wow! You look fantastic! Bloody b—brilliant!”

An honest comment. She knows because Harry never says anything to her that's not true, he might hold back some things, but everything he says is the honest truth. So, yeah, she blushes, not because of his words but his unreserved enthusiasm when saying the words. And before it can get awkward, they start laughing, and she loves that things with Harry are always like this. That no matter what, they can move past awkward moments and serious discussions and remain as close as they've always been. The disaster of the past two years notwithstanding.

Hermione hugs him tight again and kisses his cheek before breaking the embrace. “Thank you, Harry. I'm really glad my decision is, so far, well-received,” she says, still blushing bright and fingering the source of his shock, her cropped hair.

It had been an out-of-the-blue decision. Only yesterday, actually, she'd been studying with Luna in the Library, her hair kept falling over her eyes, when Luna commented that if it bothered so much she should cut it, or at least tie it back. She had simply stopped writing her essay, looked up at Luna, and asked her if she would cut it for her. And Luna, in her lovely, quirky way, had smiled pleasantly and nodded, saying they should probably go to the RoR because she doubted Madam Pince would appreciate the mess.

And that'd been that. Later, after dinner, they'd gone into the Room and Luna had cropped her hair, leaving her with a fairy-like haircut that actually looked lovely.

As many have said throughout the morning. The difference now is that Harry is important to her, so of course his opinion would cause more of an impact on her. That's all. Really.

Harry stares at her longer than usual, smile still in place, and then he gets closer and reaches up to touch her hair, waving his fingers between her locks almost absentmindedly. When he pulls back, he looks sheepish but compliments her again. “Well, I meant what I said, however unintentionally, you do look great.”

Hermione smiles and pressed another quick kiss to his cheek before looping her arms through his and starting to walk down the path towards Hogsmeade. “Yes, well, I tried. Now, tell me what you were going to say before I shocked the daylights out of you.”

He grins in amusement, pushing their shoulders together and shoving her gently to the side. “Happy birthday!”

“Really, that's it?”

“Well, it is your birthday, right? I haven't gone insane enough to confuse my best friends' birthdays, and I'm pretty sure it was Ron the one getting a belated birthday party this past summer.”

His grin is infectious and she can't help but grin back. Of course, he's telling the truth and it makes her happy that he managed to get the day off to come and see her, but Hermione can sense there's something else he's not telling her. “Why are you really here, Harry?”

“Ah, well, there is something else,” he says, his smile turning nervous. “But I'll tell you over lunch, yeah? I haven't eaten nothing since breakfast and that was seven hours ago.”

She gasps and then gives him a glare that actually conveys her worry for him. “Harry! You can't go on without eating a least a little for so long! You promised me you would take care of yourself.”

“Hey, sorry, I usually eat a snack mid-morning, but today I kinda got caught up in everything I've been doing. Sorry.”

Hermione sighs, but drops the glare, and smiles again. “It's okay, I guess, I should've known you had a good reason. Now, come on, I'll make sure you eat an extra-large lunch. And then you can tell me all about this mysterious reason for being here.”

He laughs good-naturedly, but offers no resistance when she all but drags him down the path, picking up their speed as they approached the village. Within minutes, they are stepping into the Three Broomsticks, being greeted by Madam Rosmerta. As soon as they're seated and place their orders, Hermione sends a pointed glance at Harry.

“Ah, well, no use in prolonging it, eh?”

“Of course not, Harry, you know I'd break you eventually.”

They share a laugh until Hermione thinks she's waited enough and motions him to go on.

“Ah, okay then. The thing is, I was going to come to Hogwarts eventually during this week, as I needed to sort some business with McGonagall—I mean, Headmistress McGonagall,” he says, amending his slip rather quickly when she sends him a disapproving glance. “I only chose today, because I know it's your birthday and I wanted to spend it with you, seeing as you can't see your parents and Ron wasn't able to get the day off.”

“Thank you, Harry, that's very considerate of you,” says Hermione, but then frowns as the bit related to Ron springs forward in her mind. “But how come you could get the day off and not Ron? Aren't you both in the same Auror training program?”

At this, his expression turns puzzled, and he tilts his head to the side in an adorable way (and why is she noticing that anyway?), before replying. “Didn't Ron tell you? I'm not taking the training program, Hermione, I don't need to.”

Hermione starts, and blinks a couple of time in clear shock. “But—how—why?”

Harry blushes and fidgets nervously in his seat, almost as if afraid of her reaction—or perhaps embarrassed? “Oh, well, um… When Kingsley offered us the opportunity of getting into the Auror Academy, at first I accepted. But then… after you left for Australia, I got to thinking, and decided that I wanted to enter the Academy on my own merits and not because I'm the bloody Boy-Who-Lived, so I told Kingsley that I would accept if he let me take my NEWTs.” Here, he makes a pause and laugh nervously; the food arrives and Harry waits for them to be alone again before continuing with his tale. “Well, he agreed. What I honestly didn't expect was to actually pass the NEWTs.”

“Which ones did you take?” asks Hermione, unable to control neither the proud tone of her voice nor the admiration probably showing in her face.

“Oh, um, the ones I needed to be an Auror, obviously. Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Defence, Potions. I also decided to take Muggle Studies. I got four O's,” he says, grinning, while at the same time managing to sound both proud and embarrassed at the same time.

“Oh! That's great. Congratulations, Harry!” Hermione grins at him, reaching over the table to squeeze his hand briefly before returning to her lunch. “So, if you passed, then why aren't you training with Ron?”

Harry takes his time to answer that question, and they both eat some of their lunch, obviously very hungry. After swallowing a half his bottle of butterbeer, the green-eyed boy resumes his tale.

“That's just it, Hermione. I failed to pull all the required NEWTs; I got a D in Potions,” he says, and raises his hands to forestall her barricade of questions. “I thought Kingsley was going to accept the fact that I didn't qualify, but he made me a deal. He said he would test me to see where I stand in the training program, and then he would accept my decision to wait a year before applying to be an Auror.”

“Okay…”

“And as it turned out, I kind of… aced that test too. As far as advanced magical combat, I don't need to go through the three-year training program, I can become an Auror now if I so desired. The other two disciplines taught during training, my abilities in “Stealth and Tracking” and “Concealment and Disguise” are pretty good, that I only really need more practice in those, more field experience.” Harry pauses for a while, picking at his remaining lunch, before raising his eyes and giving her a desperate look. “So, you see, I'm all set to be a full-fledged Auror. Kingsley said he would contact a Potions Master to instruct me so I can pass that NEWT, and to teach me the few potions I need to know to be an Auror, as everything else can be learned on field. As far as Kingsley is concerned, I'm fully qualified to be an Auror now.”

It's then that realization dawns on her, and Hermione reaches over to take his hand again, only this time, not letting go. “But you don't want to be an Auror now, do you?”

Harry sighs, looking as exhausted as he did after the Battle. “No, I—Hermione, I've spent the last seven years of my life fighting in one way or another, be it to save my own life or someone else's. I just defeated a Dark Lord to save the freaking world, and I'm tired. I just want to be normal, and live a peaceful life. Being an Auror won't give me that, I know it won't.”

“Oh, Harry…”

“I told Kingsley the truth, and to my utter shock, he knew how I felt but told me he couldn't really accept my refusal for now.”

“He's not forcing you, is he, Harry? He can't do that!” Hermione gasps and soon feels the all too familiar rage that bubbles up within her every time someone tries to make Harry a push-over.

“Oh, no. He explained to me why he can't accept my refusal, and I understand. So we worked out another deal,” he says. Harry quickly finishes his lunch, probably foreseeing her reaction at not eating properly; surprisingly, he has yet to let go of her hand (or is it the other way around?). “He will give me this year, to properly study Potions with an instructor of my choice, and on my spare time, I will assist some training exercises in the Academy. I will also help in whatever mission he needs me to. If at the end of the year, I still refuse to be an Auror, he will let me be.”

Hermione nods contemplatively for a while, her lunch long forgotten but it's alright, as she will have a full dinner to go to later. Then something strikes her as odd, something Harry said, and the way he said it. “What kind of missions?”

He cringes and looks away; her chest contracts painfully in response. “I'd hoped you wouldn't notice that.”

“Harry, no…” she says in a pained whisper.

“It's okay, Hermione. The War delivered a great blow to the Auror Department, especially after years of being neglected. They have to capture those bastards and Kingsley thinks I'm the best to help them do it.”

“But isn't defeating Voldemort enough? Why must you keep endangering your life?”

Smiling lightly, Harry scoots his chair until he's next to her, and slides an arms around her shoulders in a comforting hug. “It's really okay, Hermione. I'm not going to be doing it alone, even Kingsley will go along sometimes. And it's not like I'll be going right now, or anytime soon. They need to find them first.”

Hermione nods, resigned to the fact that there's nothing she can do short of tying him down to make him change his mind. Luckily, and because she knows Harry can't deal well with sad-on-the-verge-of-breaking-down females, he moves on to the more positive news of his visit. And succeeds splendidly in cheering her up as he tells her the good news.

“Really? You'll be coming back to Hogwarts?”

“Only for Potions, though. I already spoke with M—Headmistress McGonagall this morning,” he grins, bumping their shoulders together. “Nice, eh? We'll be taking Potions together, just like the good ol' times!”

They share another laugh. When it's obvious neither is going to order dessert, Harry pays for their lunch, ignoring her complains about it with great amusement, and then they're off to stroll through the village.

The damages from the Battle months ago are almost over, they villagers having been doing such a good job that, if one didn't know what had happened, the few buildings still in repair could pass of as having suffered a bout of accidental magic. Harry watches it all with a troubled expression, only showing a smile when people recognized him and approached to express their gratitude. Hermione smiles at him encouragingly, surreptitiously grabbing his hand to show her support and understanding, because even through it all, victory and celebrations, Harry remains keenly aware of those who were lost during the final confrontation. And, perhaps, what pains him most, is the knowledge that his last link to his parents died, leaving behind an orphaned baby, whom Harry has promised to care as if he were his own.

Honestly, with everything he's had to deal in this live, Hermione can't fathom how it is that Harry remains to be so selfless and kind; not that it matters to her, as it's one of the things she loves and admires most of him.

After they've walked enough, Hermione mentions in passing how she'd planned to spend this day before she realized Headmistress McGonagall had played her to meet with him. So, Harry, stating his lack of a proper present, offers to pay for everything she planned to buy. She protests, but he, in his most obstinate fashion, ignores her again and does as he pleases.

“Honestly, Harry,” says Hermione as they walk back to the Castle, her pockets full of presents from her best friend. “You really didn't have to.”

“Oh, after everything you've done for me, Hermione? This is nothing. Besides, you know money isn't an issue for me, and if I can make my best friend happy with it, I'll spend it gladly.”

She tries to glare, but as always, he flashes his mischievous smile and Hermione feels her resolve crumbling. “You're too cute for your own good, you know that?”

Harry laughs. “So I've been told.”

At last they arrive at the Gates, and Hermione turns to him, giving him a happy smile before it drops along with her good mood. Harry sighs, but closes the distance and embraces her tightly.

Hermione returns his gesture with as much force as she can muster, doing her utmost best to suppress her tears. Because it's absurd to cry now, just like he said, it's not like he'll leave now. “You'll tell me when it's time for these missions, won't you? You'll let me when you come back?”

“Of course,” Harry pulls back a little to look into her eyes, grinning at her. “How about this? After every mission, I'll come straight here, and you can tag-team with Madam Pomfrey and fret all you want over me, eh?”

Her only answer is a tremulous smile and a tiny nod, but it's enough for him. Harry tightens his embrace once more, kissing her forehead before pulling back.

“Well, I'll see you on Monday,” he says, and then vanishes with nary a pop.

~

Considering everything, Hermione thinks it was rather foolish of her to expect anything else. Maybe it was her mistake, maybe not, but if there's one thing that she knows, is that Ron should've moved past his jealousy a long time ago.

She's excited to see him, and why not? He's her boyfriend. So, when Saturday arrives, Hermione is ready to meet Ron, even going as far as putting on some make-up, something she loathes to do. They meet at the Three Broomsticks, share a brief kiss, and then they decide to take a nice stroll before having lunch.

Everything goes well for a while; they hold hands and smile a lot. Ron shares all the things he's experiencing during Auror training, all the new things he's learning and enjoys telling her how he's the best of the lot, and how he wishes he weren't alone. He goes on and on how in only a few days it was decided he didn't need the whole three-years of training and how he'd been moved up a year.

“Can you believe it, Hermione? I'm taking an advanced class of combat!”

It's great, seeing him this happy about his accomplishments. So when he asks her what's new with her, making an off-handed comment about how much boring it must be for her now that he's not around, which Hermione ignores because, really, after seven years of danger, boring is actually good. So, she tells him about her recent accomplishments, which can be summarized in perfect essays and perfect scores. She tells him of how Headmistress McGonagall insisted in giving her the Head Girl position, trusting her to do the job, and how she resolved to avoid stressing over her NEWTs, even though she's preparing for them already.

“Harry came a few days ago, for my birthday.”

And that's when everything starts to go downhill.

Ron frowns, his anger barely concealed, and ask why. She doesn't realized his mood change right away, so she tells a very short version of his reasons for the visit. Only that he's going to start taking Potions classes with the rest of the Seventh Years, as a deal he made with Minister Shacklebolt. When Ron ask why, again, Hermione notices his deepening frown and the downward twist of his mouth.

“Harry passed the exam to become an Auror, didn't you know? Kingsley wanted to give him to position right away, but Harry insisted that he should do it like everybody else, so he took his NEWTs when I was still in Australia, failing only in Potions. Kingsley insisted that he be a full-fledged Auror, even without his Potions NEWT, but Harry still refused. So they made a deal, which is why Harry coming back to take Potions.”

“He told me he was going to quit. Why would he change his mind about it and not tell me?”

The anger she detected in his voice makes her frown in response, and Hermione stops walking, forcing Ron to stop as well. “He did quit, but Kingsley is not accepting it.”

“Of course not, they can't bloody lose the Boy-Who-Live, can they? No, Harry Potter must be a full-fledged Auror without even going through the proper training, that's how—”

“He is training,” snaps Hermione, cutting his tirade short. She pulls her hand back from his hold as if burned and glares angrily at him. “He's training harder than you, actually, but even so, he doesn't want to become an Auror anymore. You should be worrying about why your best friend decided to drop his dream career instead of whining about unimportant things that seem unfair only in your perfect world, Ronald.”

He's going to say something, she's sure, but her glare hardens and Ron shuts up instead. They stand awkwardly for a few minutes before he mumble that they should go have lunch before it gets too late. Hermione nods and spins around to retrace their steps, stubbornly refusing to give him her hand even when he tries to take it.

Things only get worse from there.

Lunch after that is an strained affair. Ron tries to talk, but she's too worked up over his apparent jealousy of their best friend, unwarranted because for all the things Ron feels jealous of, Harry has never wanted any of it and, as if that weren't enough, his rewards so far have been nothing compared to the loses he's suffered through the years. And to make matters worse, it seems that, for Harry, it'll be a long time before the good times start outweighing the bad.

As it is, after she finally lets go of her anger enough to tell Ron of the other reasons for Harry's visit, he gets angry again, and she snaps as it is the norm when it comes to Ron. Needless to say, Hermione ends up storming out of the Three Broomsticks in clear rage, without so much as a good-bye to her boyfriend.

That's when Hermione starts to wonder why she even bothers, their relationship obviously too flawed to work, but the answer is always the same. Giving up now, after pursuing this relationship for so long, will feel like a failure.

And Hermione hates failures.

~

The following weeks are uneventful compared to those days. Hermione settles into a fairly pleasant routine, spending Mondays studying with Harry in the afternoon, then again on Sundays when they go have lunch with her parents, something that Harry argued at first, saying it's family time but ultimately buckling under her and her mother's pleas.

She doesn't speak to Ron until a week before Halloween. When it's him the one to surrender first, sending her an owl with a very sweet and very heartfelt apology, informing her that he hadn't been able to contact her sooner do to his schedule and how he had smoothed things over with Harry. So, Hermione agrees to meet him the Saturday before Halloween, stating in her answering owl that she expects no more tantrums like that one.

Everything is, once again, great to begin with. Ron is apologetic and Hermione apologizes as well. They smile and share a deep kiss and then link hands and go on to their date.

Only things turn sour faster than before.

Ron tells her this is his first full weekend off, and that it will be the last until next year around his birthday, and that they should spend tomorrow together. She hates to do so, but has to decline his invitation, feeling terrible when his expression falls, so she makes a snap decision that pushed the good mood over the proverbial cliff.

“You can come to my place? My parents are planning to have a barbecue and you can get to see Teddy again, he'll be there.”

Later, she realizes, it was her fault. She knows how insecure Ron is when it comes to Harry, but honestly, he should've really moved past that. And she isn't going to neglect her friendship with Harry to appease her boyfriend, especially when that boyfriend is also Harry's best friend.

“Teddy?”

“Lupin. Teddy Lupin, you know, Harry's godson?”

“Harry'll be there?”

“Of course. He brings Teddy over every Sunday to give Andromeda some time to herself.”

You see, that's the wrong thing to say, but Hermione doesn't think she should censor the things she says just to avoid upsetting Ron, especially when he wouldn't extend the same courtesy, and more importantly, she shouldn't have to hide such things from him. He's her boyfriend, Harry's their friend. Unlike Ron, he doesn't have a family to spend Sundays with, so she felt it only natural to invite her to spend it with her family.

However Ron doesn't see it like that, and again he gets bitter over the fact that Harry gets to spend more time with her. What can she say to that? She isn't going to apologize for wanting to finish her education properly, and she did warn him that with him training to be an Auror, they would have very little time to spend it together.

“But why is he spending Sundays with you?”

“Not just me, Ron, my parents are there too, and Teddy as well. What do you want me to do? Send him away to spend the day alone?”

“He could go to the Burrow…”

“Can he? Wasn't your mother the one to tell him to leave and not go back until he fixed his problems with Ginny? Which is just another way to tell him he's not welcome unless he's dating your sister?”

“Well, he shouldn't have broken up with her! They were doing fine!”

“Harry wasn't happy! Ginny didn't make him happy and was trying to push him to be something he detests! What is the matter with you? You saw how miserable he was.”

“But why does he have to latch onto you? You're my girlfriend, you're supposed to pay attention to me!”

“Kind of hard to do it when you're not even here.”

The accusations keep going back and forth and this time, it's Ron the one storming out.

Hermione pushes it all aside for the next two days, then it's her the one to surrenders and sends Ron an owl, apologizing and asking him on another date, promising not to bring the topic of Harry ever again to herself.

She thinks this time it's going to be fine, honestly, as Ron replies two days later saying he was free on Saturday for a while and that they should have lunch together in Hogsmeade. She thinks it's going to be fine, because she's going to do her best not to bring Harry into their chats.

She thinks it's going to be great. Only it isn't, because the morning of All Hallows Eve, the Headmistress gives her a piece of parchment with two sentences written on it.

They found Dolohov. Don't worry, I'll be fine.

Those eight words mark the end to her relationship with Ron; she just doesn't know it yet.

~

November drags by, painfully.

Her date with Ron, while not a disaster, isn't great.

She's too distracted, too worried about Harry. Imagining every possible scenario where things go wrong and that monster take her best friend away from her, each one more terrible than the last. Ron tries, but he too is distracted and, really, Hermione realizes that once they've caught up on each other's day-to-day lives, they have nothing else in common to talk about.

Well, nothing but Harry, and she already promised that she isn't going to mention him to Ron again.

The lack of conversation prompts him to want to kiss, but after a half-hearted attempt in a secluded spot in the Three Broomstick, during which Hermione doesn't feel any of the butterflies that were there during their first kiss, that she pushes him away and excuses herself claiming a need to go to the bathroom. It's a lie but she locks herself in anyway, feeling horrible for treating Ron so poorly and terrified that she might not see Harry again.

Splashing some water on her face, Hermione scolds herself for thinking like that, that it hasn't even been a day and that she should go back to her date. But everything's ruined by then. Her mind can't stop wondering horrible things, and Ron no longer seems interested in resuming their kissing. Even the kiss they share as they part ways feels off, but Hermione can't reason why so she ignores it.

November drags by, without news about Harry.

As the month comes to an end, even McGonagall starts looking anxious. Hermione knows Kingsley isn't part of this mission because the Headmistress has regular meeting with him about financial matters regarding the on-going repairs of Hogwarts. It only makes her more worried, as she doesn't know who accompanied Harry, or if he even went with someone at all. And why won't she worry, when this is the very man who, not only almost succeeded in killing her, but killed Remus as well?

Her studies are her only refuge, that, and the constant company of Luna, who assures her that if Harry said he'd come back, then he would. It helps, talking with Luna; she distracts her enough for Hermione to focus on her classes and homework.

But as the days drag by, Luna, too, proves to be too much.

“I don't know how you do it, Hermione. Long-distance relationships are hard enough on their own, but when you are in a relationship with someone and you're not even compatible? You must be either the most in-love woman in the world, or the most stupidly stubborn.”

Hermione ignores those comments, most of the time, for a while.

But when she's sitting on her bed, reading Ron's three-sentences letter, and trying to come up with a proper letter of her own, she thinks stupidly stubborn defines her accurately. Not that she's going to admit it to Luna, or anyone for that matter, but there.

Because now, as she wonders why she even bothers, her usual answers isn't there to satisfy her anymore.

November drags by, slowly turning into December, and her last date of the year with her boyfriend is as awkward and bland as the last one.

They meet as usual, only now they both hesitate clearly before kissing briefly. They forgo the stroll and go right to lunch. All attempts at conversations wither and die as nothing takes hold. Ron fidgets nervously all through the day and Hermione feels inexplicably guilty to be spending the day having fun when Harry could very well be dying. Never mind that she isn't actually having any fun.

After spending minutes in awkward silence, the redhead makes a weak attempt to invite her to spend Christmas with him at the Burrow, but she declines saying she already promised her parents. It shows in the way he doesn't protest her claims how he really doesn't want her there. It surprises her, that such realization evokes nothing in her, just acknowledgement of a fact.

Their date is cut short, as, obviously, they aren't in the mood for anything at all. They part ways much the same as the met, only there's no kiss and only a mumbled good-bye.

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To be continued…

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The second and last part will be uploaded sometime next week. Comment are welcomed!!

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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Behold, the second part. The conclusion to this twoshot. I hope you all enjoy it!! I certainly did when I wrote it, specially how I handled that whole—yeah, okay, can't say without spoiling the end.

Also, you know, I think this is the first fic, in a while, where I've been fair to Ron, pushing aside my urge to bash him into oblivion.

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Title: “when the idea clashes with reality”

Rating: PG/PG-13

Words: 6,510

Characters/Pairings: Harry/Hermione

Theme/Prompt: #093 - Uniform

Warnings/AN: dh-au, post-ch36. I suppose, while I still think the rating is for caution, there might be a section that warrants it. We'll see. Again, remember this is NON-epilogue compliant, so everything follows canon up until the very end of ch36, as stated before. Is there any more R/Hr? Mm, you'll have to read to find out, but here's a clue: their relationship is running its natural course.

Summary: Sometimes the idea of someone is better than the actual person.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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Their date is cut short, as, obviously, they aren't in the mood for anything at all. They part ways much the same as the met, only there's no kiss and only a mumbled good-bye.

~

Christmas break arrives without much preamble.

As she promised, Hermione goes home to spend it with her parents, bringing along not homework but the painful truth that it's been over a month, and no one knows anything about Harry. So, imagine her surprise, when come Christmas Eve, there's a sharp knock on their door and when her mother goes to answer, she returns smiling with none other than Harry Potter in tow.

Well, Harry plus Teddy.

Hermione stares for several long, eternal seconds, and it's not until Harry gives her a nervous grin, muttering an apology that she reacts. Vaguely, she notices how her mother takes Teddy from Harry's arms before moving aside, just in time for Hermione to slam into the warm, solid form of her best friend.

Then, of course, she's crying.

She ignores her parents' silent retreat, focused solely on Harry and all the bandages he seems to hide under his clothes, on the way he holds himself with care, as if everything still hurt, and yet he still returns her hugs with as much enthusiasm as his abused muscles can muster. Perhaps anticipating the question she cannot as of now speak, Harry mumbles his apologies and explains how he had kept his word, going to Hogwarts as soon as he could, only to find out she wasn't there. He tells her how Madam Pomfrey had simply refused to let him go until he was properly healed, something McGonagall had agreed to.

“I spent this past week practically chained to a bed, courtesy of our resident Healer, and was just given the okay this morning.” Harry releases his hold on her, pushing her away slightly to brush away her tears, and smiles apologetically. “I was going to come here right away, but Kingsley asked to see me and it couldn't wait, hence why I'm here in full Auror regalia.”

It's just then, when he points it out, that Hermione realizes Harry is wearing his Auror uniform. She steps back, standing at arms' length, and through the remaining tears stares at him. Harry's wearing a pair of snug-fitting black trousers, with a pair of equally black, trekking boots. A burgundy, high-collared shirt covers his upper body and over it, he wears a black, red-trimmed cloak; it buttoned down to his waist in what Hermione can see as a way to give his legs room to manoeuvre freely. An Auror badge shining proudly over his heart.

He looks… smashing, she thinks idly, while her logical mind takes over the conversation, stopping any other bouts of tears. “Is this really the Auror's uniform?”

He blushes, smiling somewhat sheepishly (and why does she care if he looks cute like this?). “Well, when out in missions. The official uniform is fancier and comes in white instead of black. Since I'm not an official Auror, I can't be given it, so Kingsley settled for this.”

As they're no longer hugging and Hermione still feels reluctant to let go of him, settling for keeping a firm hold on his hands, she leads him over to the couch and they sit side by side. “How come Teddy is with you, then?”

“Ah, that. Kingsley told me that Andromeda has been worrying sick about me and that I should go see her ASAP. I really wanted to come here instead, but I figured I could spare a few minutes and drop by her house, and see how she and Teddy were doing. Turns out, a few minutes turned into a couple of hours as she talked me into staying for dinner.”

Because he looks guilty and Hermione hates is when Harry blames himself for something he had no control over, she leans forwards to give him another of her Harry-only hugs, but her mother interrupts them, leaving Hermione out of balance at the unexpected disappointment she feels.

“Oh, so you won't be staying for dinner?”

Harry turns his sheepish smile on her mother. “I'm sorry, Mrs Granger, but I'm not good at saying no to crying women.”

Her mother gives them a knowing smile, one that Hermione cannot quite decipher, and starts ushering them into the kitchen. “Then you will stay for dessert, won't you? After all, Hermione has been worried sick as well.”

Dinner turns out to be a much more lively affair than what she thought it'd be an hour ago. With Harry and her parents commanding most of the conversation as Teddy wriggles happily on her lap, trying to grab more of the fruit her mother had cut up for him; the little Lupin had latched on her as soon as her bum touched the chair, which prompted her mother to comment on her affinity with children. This caused her father to make a sour face, mumbling something about someone being too young and Harry—and Harry simply smiled at her, saying it was a little unfair that his godson seemed to like her better than he liked him.

When it's time for dessert, Teddy decides to move over to Harry and let him feed him some of the pie her mother made before he starts to dose off. Her mother, reacting quickly, ushers them out of the kitchen, halting Harry's attempt at offering his help to wash the dishes whilst saying he probably wanted to talk some more with her before it were time for him to go back to Andromeda's house. After a few minutes of Harry's insistence and her mother's refusal, Hermione grabs his arm and takes him to the living room.

They sit side by side again, enjoying each other's company under the Christmas lights. Harry lets out a sigh and leans further back in the couch, completely relaxed in what it's probably years; he has a contented smile on his face as he gently bounces a sleeping Teddy on his lap. She smiles because it's a beautiful sight, seeing her friend at peace, finally, fills her with a warm feeling and makes her want to laugh and cry at the same time.

The lights from the Christmas tree bounce off his glasses, creating an entertaining show and that's why Hermione can't take her eyes off him. Nothing else. Really. It's not because she feels entranced by his calm expression, or that she thinks he looks extremely handsome in his Auror uniform, or that just now she realizes that the butterflies-fluttering-in-her-stomach sensation she's been getting around him is probably due to some very non-platonic feelings. It's not because she's been thinking about him non-stop since he left her that note on Halloween, thinking her life might just end if he didn't come back.

No, of course not. She simply thinks the lights make funny patterns on his face. That's all.

“I'm sorry I couldn't see you before I left on Halloween…”

It's only a soft whisper, but nevertheless Hermione is startled out of her musings by the sound of his voice.

“I really wanted to… But they didn't give me much time to do anything other than say yes before it was time to leave.”

Hermione smiles, even if he can't see her. She shifts in her seat, folding her legs under her and tuning to face him more comfortably. “It's okay, Harry. I figured something like that happened,” she says, resting her head on the back of the couch. “I'm just glad you sent me that note, even if it had me worried, at least I knew what had happened.”

“Hmm…”

Maybe it's the serene, almost intimate atmosphere surrounding them, or that she finally feels happy in what feels like ages. Maybe it's the sleepy feeling sneaking up on her, or the akin connection she feels with Harry now. Whatever the reason, a soft voice, one that sounds remarkably like that of the very friend sitting next to her right now, starts whispering, urging her to cave under her wishes and lean forward—to charge like a Gryffindor and kiss the boy-almost-man at her side.

Be a Gryffindor. Go on, be a Gryffindor.

Averting her gaze lest she do something foolish, something she really wants but knows, although Hermione can't remember why, it's wrong. Her eyes land on a lone mistletoe hanging from the doorframe leading to the kitchen. A fresh, yet lonely looking mistletoe.

Do it, Hermione. Be a Gryffindor and kiss him, you know you want to. You've always wanted to.

Really, she has.

Turning to face Harry again, she finds him in the same position. For a moment, she wonders if he fell asleep, and inches closer to see for herself. Hermione leans closer, and hovers nervously over him for several long seconds. “Harry…?”

His eyelids flutter briefly and he tilts his head in her general direction, giving the answer she wants; he's awake. “Yeah…?”

She says nothing, instead closes the distance between their faces and brushes her lips over his; she pulls back a little and watches as he opens his eyes, giving her a mildly shocked look, to which her only response is a soft whispered word. “Mistletoe.”

He nods, staring at her for a long moment, his eyes shining from within before he closes them. Hermione follows his lead and leans forward again, this time pressing a firmer kiss on his lips, and stays there. This one feels real. A beat later and their lips part and brush against each other's, in a slow passionate caress. The world vanishes around her, her focus narrowing on Harry and the way his lips moved under hers. Her right hand lifts from her lap, moving until it slides over his shoulder and neck and her fingers are treading through his unruly hair.

The kiss is wonderful and terrifying, because a tiny part of her knows it shouldn't feel like this; she shouldn't feel like this.

Harry catches her lower lip between his teeth, drawing a soft gasp out of her and making her blood hum with anticipation. But of what? She doesn't know, nor does she care, so Hermione decides to respond in kind, nibbling on his lips and hoping she can evoke the same reactions in him. There's no tongue-battling involved, yet Hermione can honestly say this is the best kiss she's ever had, if the tremors racking her body indicate anything at all. One of his hands, his right hand, fall on her thigh lightly, smoothing over it and to her hip, then around to her back until it finds that small patch of skin where her woollen jumper has ridden up.

She moans, Hermione knows she does, but he swallows the sound and flattens his hand on the small of her back to bring her body closer to his, until she pressed into his side. An uncomfortable positions, but when she's about to tell him about it, his hand slips under her jumper and caresses the warm skin lightly with the tips of his fingers. Her train of thoughts derails rapidly after that and all she can feel is his lips on hers and his hand caressing her skin and the desire to crawl into his lap.

When their tongues finally get involved, Hermione waves goodbye to the last remaining of her complaining logic.

It won't occur to her until much later, that the only mistletoe in the room, is perched several feet away from their heads.

~

Their relationship doesn't change because of that. Except for one thing, of course.

The tension.

No one notices anything, granted during the next few weeks Hermione realizes they're both pretty darn good actors. But she notices, and Harry notices, and that's enough to make it impossible to ignore it.

The kiss breaks suddenly when Teddy shifts on Harry's lap, whimpering a little. They don't jump apart, as it's the common occurrence in such situations, no. They break the contact between their lips, stare into each other's eyes, and watch as realization of what just happened dawns on each of them. Hermione sits back, the colour draining from her face at the implications of her actions. Harry, looking as pale as she does, stands slowly and faces away from her.

For several long minutes, neither says a word, until Teddy whimpers again, and Harry hastens to thank her for dessert and asks her to thank her parents as well before he's walking out her front door. She stays there, staring at the place he had occupied next to her on the couch, feeling dread curl its icy claws around her heart as she thinks she might have ruined the best relationship she's ever had, before she moves to do as Harry requested.

She finds her parents sitting on the back porch of their house, only now realizing they most likely saw it all, and tells them that Harry left. Her mother gives a sympathetic smile, that Hermione doesn't want to think about, and bids her goodnight.

She doesn't sleep much that night.

Her fear, however, proves to be unfounded, as Harry returns, with Teddy and Andromeda, the next morning. Her parents welcome them gladly, excited to have a baby with whom to celebrate Christmas morning again. She doesn't know how to act until it's obvious that, whatever happened between them, Harry decided to put it behind him and act as always.

It hurts, surprisingly so, because obviously, forgetting about it is the best. She has a boyfriend, thinks Hermione, a sweet, if sometimes volatile, boyfriend. She shouldn't be kissing other boys. She shouldn't be wanting to kiss other boys.

Harry smiles and jokes and laughs and is so very Harry that something twist in her chest painfully, because even though she responds in kind, smiling and joking and laughing and being herself, it hurts to think this is his way to say: it was a mistake.

But, hey, she pushed her silly crush for him to the side once. She stomped down whatever non-platonic feelings she had for him once.

She can do it again.

~

It seems after Dolohov, all the remaining Death Eaters that escaped the Final Battle are fairly easy to catch.

She knows this only because, after coming back from Christmas holidays, every few weeks, Harry arrives at Potions with his Auror uniform and a tired look on his face. Hermione worries he's not sleeping enough, but when she asks, Harry smiles and tells her it's nothing and that he'll catch up during the week. Duly, she notes that the green-eyed boy looks as good as he did that Christmas Eve in his uniform, and that she's not the only one noticing, as the other girls are practically salivating over him every Monday.

Even Luna comments on it, in her own way, but leaving Harry blushing even though he ends up laughing with the quirky Ravenclaw.

Yet, the tension is still there, simmering under their normal behaviour, and seeming to be ready to stay for good.

Her attempts at distracting herself in thoughts of her boyfriend backfire spectacularly, too. Because the exchanging-of-letters with Ron is as bland as it was before Christmas break, and the three dates they managed to have before Valentine's are as uncomfortable as well. She tries, of course, and so does Ron, but the spark, or whatever it was that they had, is gone. And no matter how much kissing Hermione forces on herself and on him, it isn't coming back.

And then there's Harry. And the fact that her mind shows no mercy on her tortured soul and plagues her dreams with images of their kiss and what could've been had Teddy not been there. Of the softness of his lips and the warmness of his hand and how very thrilling it all was. She dreams and dreams and dreams. But most of all, she remembers all the feelings he evoked in her with one simple kiss, feelings that are absent when it's Ron with his mouth pressed against hers.

Her relationship with Ron dwindles and dies even before it starts, but she still presses on because she's stubborn and if Harry doesn't want her, at least Ron does.

It's this thought that helps her through her dates with Ron and it's what makes her say yes when, after their last date the Saturday before Valentine's, he tells her of how George would be going to Romania and thus had asked him to look after his flat—the very same flat they'd have to spend the weekend before his birthday alone, together. It's all set and Ron leaves that evening with a smile on his face, even though she can't muster the courage of kissing more than his cheek after realizing just what she had agreed to.

But it all goes to hell the next day, Sunday evening, February 14^th, when she's returning from her weekly meeting with her parents (minus two this time), only to find Harry waiting for her at the Gates.

Harry, who's standing there, seeming nonchalant, a bouquet of roses in one hand and a box of chocolates on the other. He straightens up as soon as he sees her, and gives her a longing look, filled with so much pain. He waits for her to be within reach before he hands over his presents, red roses and chocolates, before he grabs her and pulls her into another toe-curling kiss. Then, just as suddenly, pushes her back and pops away after she's safe within the wards of Hogwarts.

The Gates close with a loud clang, but Hermione doesn't notice. Her mind is fixated on the pained look of Harry's face, the longing, the presents she holds in her arms—the kiss.

She cries, silently, in regret—because this, Hermione knows, might just be the final blow that breaks the entity the Wizarding world knows as the Golden Trio.

~

In the end, even her idea of the blow up is grander than the actual occurrence.

She arrives early in the morning, before the opening time of WWW. She knocks and waits for Ron to answer, hoping he's already awake because she dreads the idea of Verity, the cashier girl, to see her waiting outside and get the wrong idea. Even if the wrong idea used to be the right idea a couple of weeks ago. Fortunately, she doesn't have to wait long. Unfortunately, Ron perks up so much at seeing her and smiles so brightly at her that Hermione can't help but feel like someone plunges a knife in her chest and starts twisting it. Especially when he leans over to kiss her and she turns her face away, forcing his lips to land on her cheek awkwardly.

Ron looks bewildered, but invites her in nonetheless, closes the door of the shop firmly behind her. Hermione avoids his eyes steadfastly, trying to keep her resolve from breaking, because she's probably minutes away from hurting him and she doesn't need to make him feel bad if she starts crying. She knows, his anger will be warranted.

The trek up the stairs is stiflingly silent. Ron's expression moves from surprise to concern to confusion to resignation and back, never staying for long on one. She wants to appease his swinging moods, but if she starts reassuring him then he might get the wrong idea and—bugger. Oh, bloody fantastic. Why, oh why, didn't she listen to her mother when she said that dating one best friend without being absolutely sure about him would be a disaster? Why?

Bugger.

Maybe because I actually thought it was the sure thing.

When they finally reach the flat, which is just the upper floor of the shop, Ron leads her to the small living room and they sit on the couch.

He fidgets nervously before giving her a tremulous smile. “So… er, what… what's up?”

Hermione cringes at his nervous, hopeful voice, and turns her gaze on him briefly before dropping it to her lap. “We… need to talk.”

And, really, that's all it takes.

“You're breaking up with me, aren't you?”

She winces and fists her hands, because the dejected tone of his voice tears at her heart and she wants to say no, she won't break up with him. She wants to reach over and hug him and kiss him just so he would stop being so sad, she wants to push her feelings aside and look at this logically and just go with the original plan for this weekend and—she can't. She can't ignore, she can't pretend anymore.

“Ron… it's not—”

“Please, Hermione,” he cuts her off. “Don't insult me and give me that `it's not you, it's me' load of shite.” He shifts away from her, curling his hands over his legs, a pained frown set on his face.

Sighing resignedly, Hermione nods, accepting his words because that line has been dropped so many times, by so many people, it's had long ago lost its meaning. “Yes, you're right. Because it is you, but it is me as well,” she says. “It's you and me, separately and together. It's this bland relationship we've fallen into. It's the shallow kisses and conversations. It's the absent spark between us and how everything started to feel off. It's how we can't even spend a day without diving right into an argument that's one word away from blowing out of proportions. Ron…”

She pauses only due to the sudden lack of air, never expecting this to turn into such a rant. She'd thought to come over, explain her feelings, try to spare his, and break up with him. Clean and simple. Now, she doesn't want to keep going, he looks so hurt, but Hermione supposes that if she's hurt him this much, there really isn't anything else that might be worse.

“It's… how this relationship ended even before it started.”

She is wrong.

Ron takes a deep breath, blanching and looking like someone just gutted him, the pain sharp in his eyes, yet he refuses to face her. “I—I didn't know you… felt that way…” He swallows and stands up, walking across the room towards the window. “Why didn't you say something? This… this can't be something sudden, I know you, Hermione, this isn't sudden!”

“No, no it isn't,” she concedes. “But it's not exactly surprising, Ron, even you must have felt how wrong everything was.”

“Of course, I felt—I just didn't want… I thought if we tried harder…” He spins around, looking pleadingly at her, and it's all she can do not to break and surrender so he would just stop hurting.

“We did. We did try, harder than most would, but it didn't work. We only ended up fighting more.”

Hermione stands, and makes to move closer but Ron recoils from her feeble advances, slumping against the wall next to the window facing Diagon Alley.

“Since when…?”

She winces and averts her gaze, knowing things will start getting truly unpleasant now. “The weekend after my birthday,” she whispers and prays. She prays Ron won't make the connection, because that's the crux of the matter, when it all started for her.

Her birthday.

But, of course he does; he knows and it shows in the way his face twist in agony. “Does this have… anything… to do with Harry?”

“Yes.”

It pains her, greatly, because she cares about Ron a lot, he's her best friend and she might even love him, but—but the thing is, Harry still comes first, both in her heart and head. Harry will always be the most important best friend, and the most important boy—man in her life. And that can't be if she's trying to form a relationship with someone else. She knows, but that's the truth. In the end, if she wants to look for a relationship somewhere else, with someone else, she would have to forsake her relationship with Harry. Maybe not to the point of stopping being friends, but enough to make her heart stop skipping beats every time he so much as smiles at her.

She can't do that, it would kill her. Hermione knows—she has tried.

Ron growls menacingly, but doesn't move from his place, instead pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Why, dammit, why? He gets—”

“Don't,” she snaps, probably harsher than she intended, but Hermione knows what he's thinking and it truly enrages her. “Don't you dare say he gets everything. Everything what, Ron? Everything you want? Are you really that shallow?”

He growls again, glaring at her, but remains quiet.

“Everything he has, Harry never wanted any of it! All he's ever wanted is—is what you and I have, a loving family.” She takes deep breaths to calm down, and the silence that follows proves to be too much for her, so she makes a hasty retreat. After all, she doubts she even needs to say the words—

“So, that's it? It's over?”

—or maybe she does, just to avoid any potential confusion.

“Yes, Ron, it's over. We're over,” says Hermione, walking quickly to the door. “I'm sorry. I'll see myself out.”

As she walks into the cold, brisk morning air, and start walking to the Apparition point of the Alley, Hermione realizes she never got to tell him about the kisses, as she'd planned to come clean with him. But, obviously, right now it's for the best. Better let Ron cool down before telling him she cheated on him with his best friend, maybe then the damage between the young men won't be so bad.

But, oh, how wrong she would be.

~

As soon as he steps into the Potion's classroom, sporting a black eye, a cut lip, and a bruised jaw, Hermione knows she's made a mistake about not staying to relay the full story for breaking up with the youngest Weasley son.

Still, his injuries don't deter Harry from greeting her with a smile on his face and, because she knows Harry better than she knows herself, Hermione's certain he thinks he deserved the beating.

After leaving Ron she goes straight to her parents', and then spends the whole day crying on her mother's lap as if she were that little girl that was bullied in school again. Her mother smiles sympathetically, brushing away her short locks from her face and providing the comfort that only a mother could give. Making soothing noises and whispering reassurances. She waits until Hermione stops crying to speak.

“I know, honey, that I could have spared you all this pain, if only I had told you what your letters told me since you became friends with those two boys,” she begins. “Your heart, Hermione, decided whom to love a long time ago, it was just your head the part that needed to catch up on that. I wanted to tell you so much when you left for your Sixth Year, but I know you. I'm your mother; I know how your head works and how you would react if I had said you were in love with Harry when your head had decided you wanted to date Ron.”

“Mum…?”

“You needed to realize it on your own. How else would you learn from your mistakes?”

Hermione wants to complain, to tell her it wasn't fair of her, withholding information, but she knows her mother is right. She would have gone into a deep sea of denial because her mind had already made a choice back then. Not anymore, though.

After dinner, her mother sends her back to Hogwarts with a bag full of letters and a promise to spend the following Sunday doing whatever she wanted, as they had made plan for tomorrow in lieu of her prearranged absence. Hermione regrets briefly that she'd told her parents to cancel this week's Sunday lunch, but she decided to spend it reading the letters and seeing for herself if she'd really been that obvious without her noticing.

And her mother turned out to be right; rereading the letters, her growing feeling for her black-haired best friend are obvious.

She feels thankful that the letters kept her mind mostly occupied, because from the glares she receives from Ginny, her Break Up is already public news. And while she had hoped Harry remained oblivious, his bruised visage speaks for itself. And she doesn't get to ask anything as Harry mouth a quick later before turning his focus on Slughorn, who probably thinks the injuries are from a secret mission, as does the rest of the class.

Fools.

Only later doesn't really come until they're walking down the path to the Gates of the School, which is good, as this way there would be less chance of someone eavesdropping on them. Hermione waits, patiently, for him to begin telling her what happened. It takes a while, but as the Gate comes into view, Harry starts talking.

“Ron came to see me yesterday morning. And this,” he says, motioning to his black eye, “was his way of greeting.”

“Oh…”

Harry grins a little, trying not to stretch his lips too much. “It's okay. Honestly, at first I thought he'd gone insane, but then he started yelling and—well, I couldn't exactly fight back. I deserved it, really.”

She shakes her head, looking regretfully at him. “Harry, you don't—”

“But I do. Hermione, if some bloke, friend or not, kissed my girl I would react the same. It's a men thing.” He grins again, wider this time, even though it must hurt his lip, and bumps their shoulders playfully together. “Besides, it's you. And if you were my girlfriend… I'd react worse than Ron did.”

“But, Harry, I kissed you. You were just the unsuspecting victim and—”

He snorts and shakes his head, stopping in the middle of the path and making her stop as well. “I assure you, I was no victim.” Harry averts his gaze for a moment, seeming to contemplate his next words before he turns his solemn eyes on her. “I… wanted to kiss you, Hermione, even before Christmas. I just never did because, well, you had a boyfriend, which happened to be my best mate. Also, I never thought you'd ever see me like that.”

“You wanted to—since when?”

“Ah, well, you see,” he blushes, averts his eyes, and then gives her a sheepish smile. “I realized something over the summer, it… it was one of the reasons why I broke up with Ginny. I realized that I had this fixation with your lips, I mean, I'm always watching them move when you talk and… well, that, and while you were away with your parents, I felt your absence with a visceral awareness. But I only started wondering what it would be like to kiss you, and wanting to do it, on your birthday.”

Now it's her turn to blush and she has to repress the need to squirm uncomfortably. “Was it the haircut?”

Harry startles, but then he breaks into a hearty laugh, stopping when he finds himself short of breath. “Sorry, but—no, well, kind of. It's not necessarily that, but it certainly made an impact.” Again, he lifts his hand, treading his fingers through her short locks with a content smile. “I loved your hair, wild as it was—”

She laughs gently at this blatant understatement. “Harry! It was a disaster!”

“—but it kind of kept your face hidden behind all its action.” His lips twitch when she laughs again, making her feel great knowing that she makes him happy, as he obviously feels great that he makes her happy. “Now everyone can see how lovely you really are. The Yule Ball gave us a glimpse of what was there, just hidden, but now it's all on display. You look beautiful, Hermione.”

“Thank you,” she replies, her cheeks alight with the bright blush that refuses to go away.

They resume their walking, slowly meandering down the path, until finally they reach the Gates. As Hermione is about to, regrettably, say her goodbyes, Harry rounds on her with this intense look on his face, his green eyes shining with longing and so much hope it leaves her breathless.

“How long does a bloke have to wait to make a move on his best mate's ex-girlfriend?”

“Wuh—what?”

Harry presses on, even with her apparent befuddlement. “Just to seem decent. Would a month do?”

“I… I don't think the men are supposed to care about seeming decent,” she says, a little hesitatingly, and it only takes her a second to realize what her words imply.

His surprised look tells her he got the implication loud and clear. The fact that he closes the distance between them faster than she can blink is lost on her, considering her senses are currently drowning in him. “So, can this bloke make a move like, right now?”

“I think, but… there are a lot of people who're going to be hurt deeply by it. And some might even frown upon this b—bloke.”

Oh, God, has his closeness always evoked this kind of reaction out of her? Or has it been dampened by the immediate danger they've been during the previous years? Because Hermione certainly feels like she's been like this forever.

“Would it be selfish of me to say that I don't care what people—what they think, Hermione?” His question is whispered over her lips, the words washing over her like a lover's caress and—God, she's getting cheesy—it's obvious Harry got tired of playing the third-person game.

She leans forward slightly, their lips brushing but only just. “I think… you've earned the right to be a little selfish, Harry.”

The words have barely left her lips when his crashed against them. But the kiss is brief, merely an instant of brushing lips, because the sudden touch makes Harry pull back with a pained hiss, and Hermione flutters her eyes open to see him touching his bleeding lip lightly. If that isn't enough to break the enchanting atmosphere surrounding them, the laugher that bubbles out of her unexpectedly certainly does.

Harry sends her a withering glare for a few moment before he, too, break down laughing, although less enthusiastic.

“Obviously, you'll have to wait for that cut to heal properly before making your move,” she says at last, grinning amusedly at his chagrined expression. “But, honestly, Harry, I meant what I said. You have earned it.”

He smiles widely despite his bleeding lip and nods. “Well, I guess I will wait until this is healed. Then it's fair game.” Harry grabs her left hand, swinging it from side to side. “So Miss Granger, I'm afraid I have some important business to tend to this Saturday, but… are you free on Sunday?”

“Oh, I'm afraid I must decline, Mr Potter. You see, I already made plans with my best friend.”

“Ah, he's a lucky bloke.”

“Yes, I should say so.”

The bleeding stops, finally, and after checking the little wound won't open again, he smirks at her. “Saturday next week? I'll take you to a romantic dinner.”

“It's a date, then,” she says, pecking his cheek.

~

Honestly, she should've seen it coming.

Predictably, their relationship status spreads faster than the actual thing. But only three persons express disapproval and, one of them, open hostility. Those persons are Ron, Ginny and, not surprisingly, Molly. Ron, they can understand, as his pain is still fresh, because hey, Hermione barely waited a week before going on a date with Harry. Ginny, though, is arguably understandable as well, she has feeling for Harry still, and Hermione screwed up whatever chance of them getting back together.

It is Molly, however, the baffling one. She has no say in their decisions to date whomever they wanted, nor in their lives; they're not her children after all, no matter how much she wants it.

Fortunately, the rest of the Weasley clan are pretty accepting of their decision. Their only complaint, a valid one, thinks Hermione, is her faulty timing to end her relationship with Ron; two days prior his birthday, way to ruin it for him.

All the drama aside, her relationship with Harry is perfect.

Intellectually, of course, she knows that's not true. They argue, and disagree more often than not, given their stubbornness, but they talk to each other, and their inability to hold a grudge allows them to forgive and forget rather easily. Of course, the perk of knowing each other better than they know themselves helps, because then they're capable of avoiding confrontations that could be potentially disastrous.

They have the one thing they lacked with their past Weasleys; they actually communicate, they share their fears and expectations, they understand each other.

So, while their relationship might not be perfect, it certainly feels so.

Also, the snogging is fabulous.

“Harry?”

Her voice is soft, she doesn't want to break the intimate atmosphere surrounding them. Sitting in front of a roaring fire in the RoR, while cuddling her black-haired boyfriend, is not the way she'd envisioned spending their last night at Hogwarts (well, her last night, as he would be leaving for his place soon), but Hermione considers it way better than her actual thoughts, either alone or partying the night away with her fellow Gryffindors.

Yes, this is definitely better.

“Yeah…?”

He sounds sleepy, and she loathes to think she'll have to send him off to his flat soon. Would it really be so bad if he were to spend the night here…? But no, as tempting as that thought is, Hermione isn't about to betray the Headmistress' trust by sneaking a boy into her private room. Besides, this is her last night here, and by tomorrow…

Blushing brightly, even though Harry can't see her, Hermione turns in his embrace until she has a clear view of his calm face; his eyes are closed and a serene smile graces him lips, if it weren't for the fact that he actually answered her call she'd thought he's asleep. And maybe he is, but still… she needs to tell him something, even if he's not aware of it as of now.

Hermione takes in a shaky breath, and buries her face in the side of his neck, gathering up her courage. Remember, like a Gryffindor, she thinks and then she speaks the words that have been locked within her for too long.

“I love you.”

Harry's breathe catches in his throat, and that's the only clue as to his wakefulness, because he remains otherwise still. And silent, so very silent that Hermione starts to doubt her decision to confess her feelings for him. She tries not to be a pessimist; berating herself and thinking he must be in shock or something, because other than his parents, she doesn't think anyone has ever told him that.

But then, her worries prove to be silly, as Harry pulls back enough to give her a sloppy kiss before letting out a breathless laugh. He kisses her again and again and again, until they're both breathless and then he presses their foreheads together, giving her the most loving look Hermione has ever seeing on his face.

“I love you, too.”

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The end, for this one.

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Weeeeeell. Was it good? I liked how it turned out, but I still want to hear your thoughts on it. After all, while I write mostly for myself, it's always good to hear what other people think about the random things the come out of the writer's head.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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It's been ages since I updated this, at least, it feels like it. I had to re-write this oneshot a lot, in fact the first time the story was completely different from this. But I like this one better though, so I let it stick.

Anyway, I couldn't exactly miss my chance to write a re-do of the Yule Ball, eh? So, I hope you enjoy.

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Title: “the obligatory dance”

Rating: PG

Words: 7,412

Characters/Pairings: Harry/Hermione

Theme/Prompt: #092 - Tradition

Warnings/AN: gof-au, yule ball. Because there comes a time where every H/Hr writer must do something about the Yule Ball. This one revolves almost completely around Harry, Hermione and Harry's feeling for Hermione. Features a competent Dumbledore, a redeemable Ron and a git-ish Krum (though only in passing).

Summary: In which Harry wonders how he went from asking his best friend to the Ball to escorting Cinderella. There are also silly crushes, a misunderstanding and a shocking realization. And then, a goodnight kiss as the clock strikes midnight, or after that.

Disclaimer: The Usual.

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He'd been prepared to avoid the whole Yule Ball thing, really, but then Professor McGonagall has to go and drop the bombshell on him.

Bloody. Hell.

He is a Champion, ergo, he needs to attend. With a partner, of the opposite sex. And dance. And spend the night together. Like a date.

Harry scurries off as fast as he can to Gryffindor Tower, palms sweaty and nearly hyperventilating.

Bloody. Hell.

They want him to dance? In front of the whole school? With a girl? Isn't being forced to compete in this stupid Tournament enough? He doesn't know how to dance! He doesn't even want to go to the Ball! And even if he does decide to go, where would he get a date when he can't even talk to the one girl he fancies?

Bloody. Hell.

Harry needs his friends. Hermione! Yes, she'd know what to do. She'd help him, as she always has before. There's his solution, certainly, Hermione can find a way to get him out of this, if not, she'd help him somehow to… to do something. But upon entering the Common Room, Ron pounces on him and sends him into a panic when he starts saying how they need to go and ask the best looking girls before they run out of options. That brought the issue of it being a date back to mind, and Harry thinks of Cho, and he starts hyperventilating again, getting impossibly flustered. A shame, because the pretty Chinese girl is not even there with him and if this happens at the mere thought of her, what would happen when he actually stands in her presence?

I'll get tongue-tied, wither and die of embarrassment.

As his thoughts turn to more and more embarrassing situations, in which he asks Cho and she laughs (sometimes alone, more often than not in front of everyone in school) and rejects him, Ron keeps his tirade and begins dragging through the portrait hole in their search for pretty girls.

Harry can already sense the impending disaster.

~

He's right in his earlier assertion.

The whole endeavour is a huge disaster.

And they don't even get to ask anyone, which is rather sad.

It's only then that Harry realizes that girls move in packs. Before, he never noticed because the only girl he's close to is Hermione and she's always with him and Ron. But now, seeing them huddled together, pointing and giggling and being generally scary, he wonders how the older blokes managed to get girlfriends. Obviously, the only option is to approach the group and ask the girl to talk privately, but then her friends will exchange glances and giggle, or laugh if the girl refuses outright.

He should be counting his blessing that Hermione is not like most girls, otherwise he really doubts he'd have ever talked to her (and that, right there, is a very depressing thought, considering how important she is to him).

He and Ron are walking towards Hagrid's hut, hoping to hide from the onslaught of giggles surrounding the grounds and halls of Hogwarts, when they're ambushed by the Gryffindor Quidditch Team (minus Oliver) and Lee Jordan. They older Gryffindors are all laughing, and Harry guesses correctly that they're laughing at them, as they envelop him and Ron in tight hugs.

“Why the long faces, ickle-fourthies?” the Twins exclaim, in stereo, and then laugh again as Ron blushes scarlet.

Yes, they definitely know of their predicament.

Incredibly so, the teasing and good-natured banter soothes his worries somewhat, and Harry smile slightly, appreciating their effort when he sees the three Chaser girls smile back at him as they pat his head. Just in time too, as he can appreciate the humour in Ron's whining when he starts complaining about the unfairness of it all, and how are they supposed to find dates when the good-looking girls are never alone? The Twins tease their little brother enough for him to snap, and accuse them of giving useless advice, as they obviously don't have dates.

The Twins grins in response as Alicia and Angelina answer in sync that they do have dates. Even Lee Jordan nods as he points to Katie.

Ron blushes in anger and tries to stomp away, but his brothers grab him and pull him to the ground and proceed to tickle him until the youngest male Weasley screams for mercy.

That's when Katie points out the one thing both he and Ron had overlooked in their desperate attempt to get dates; a rather simple fact, truly brilliant in Harry's opinion.

“Why are you even going to this much trouble to get a date, Ron, if you're going to ask someone you barely know just because they're pretty and then will most likely spend the rest of the night standing next to a wall being all awkward and flustered? The whole point of this Ball is to go have fun! So you should ask someone you're comfortable with, a friend!”

“Yes, ickle-Ronniekins—”

“—we're all going—”

“—as friends!”

Harry doesn't stay long after that, because as soon as his brain processed that information, he realizes both his mistake and the solution he's been waiting for. Turning around quickly, he yells a quick thank you to Katie and starts running back to the castle. The last thing he hears before he gets too far away from the group, other than Ron's loud protest and persistence that he has to have a hot date, is the Twins joyful exclamation.

“See? Harry understands!”

~

He finds her, of course, in the Library.

Harry had feared he might have to run all the way to his dorm for the Marauders Map, but for the umpteenth time he's glad Hermione can be so brilliantly predictable.

She's sitting alone at their table (and he feels a small pang at the thought that, since he no longer has to sit for his exams, he's been avoiding the Library like the plague, thus giving Ron an excuse to do the same), and approaches her quickly. He's so eager to reach her that he forgets for a moment where he is and knocks over a chair rather hard, toppling it over and causing an overly loud bang to echo within the silent walls of the Library.

Hermione looks up, startled, and blinks in surprise when she sees him standing not too far from her. There are glares from all directions, but the one that worries him is Madam Pince's as it clearly says that one peep out of place and he'd be banned from her Library. Not a good thing now, even if he knows Hermione would follow him outside.

Smiling apologetically, Harry forces himself to relax and closes the remaining distance separating him from his best friend. Hermione smiles at him when he sits by her side, and places her quill down, an expectant look on her face.

Of course, she knows he has something important to say.

“Are you going to the Ball with someone, Hermione?”

Her sharp intake of breath tells him that whatever she expected, it isn't this. “What?”

Harry fidgets in his seat a little before steeling his resolve, chiding himself mentally for being nervous because this is Hermione, his best friend, he shouldn't feel like this, especially if he's only asking as a friend. “I—uh. I mean, do you have a date for the Yule Ball?”

Frowning in confusion, obviously, she's trying to surmise his motives for asking such a question, Hermione answers anyway. “Well, no, not yet. No one's asked me.”

“Do you want to go…?” Harry curses mentally as his voice trails off, unable to complete the sentence, and wondering why as, he reiterates, this is Hermione.

Tilting her head to the side (a little voice is whispering something in the back of his mind, but he squashes it), and nods. “Well, yes, I do want to go. I'd really like to, but I don't want to go alone, and as I said, no one's asked me yet.”

Resisting the urge to slap his forehead, Harry closes his eyes and breather deeply. Well, it's okay, she didn't catch his invite, that's fine, he can still fix that.

Not that you've been very forthcoming now, have you, Harry.

Fighting down the blush attempting to climb up his neck (and what is it with him now?), Harry looks at her, meeting her inquisitive glance, and smiles tentatively.

Hermione, of course, smiles back.

“I… well, erm… that is…”

“Spit it out, Harry.”

The humour lacing her words, and the grin trying to break free on her face gives him the much needed push, and he finally feels himself relaxing (see, just Hermione, nothing to worry about). He grins at her shamelessly and runs one hand over his hair, knowing for sure it ended up messier than it already was.

“Well, as you are available, would you like to go to the Ball with me then?”

Before he can even add the “as friends” part, an important part mind you, Hermione surprises him with an enthusiastic hug. Their cheeks are pressed together and he can feel her happiness in the way she giggles against his shoulder in an attempt to drown out the sounds, and it's by far the longest and tightest hug Hermione has ever given him.

He kind of… sort of… likes it.

“Oh, Harry!” She whispers excitedly, her breath hitting the side of his neck. “Of course! I'd love to go with you to the Ball!”

After it's clear Hermione doesn't think of letting him go, and because he doesn't want to look to idiotic sitting there with his arms hovering mid-air, he slowly, awkwardly places them around her. His mind is reeling, filled with questions as to her enthusiasm. “Really?”

“Yes! Oh, I'm so happy you asked me!”

Harry's not sure, well, yeah, he can understand her joy on the matter as she obviously wants to go to the Ball and before him no one's asked her, even he is kind of happy because it means he has a partner to accompany him to the event that won't mock him openly when he failed dancing spectacularly. But, does him inviting her really warrant such a display of… happiness and affectioness (is that even a word)? Yeah, sure, Hermione's always been rather affectionate with him, hugging him and touching him, seemingly intent on providing all the physical affection he lacked as a child. And it's fine, he appreciates it; he's grown to like it, to expect it. He can't remember now a time when Hermione hasn't hugged him good morning/night, when she hasn't touched his arm in understanding.

He honestly thinks he'd miss it if she ever stopped, prays that it never does.

But now, something about her sudden joy seems different to him, although, Harry can't pinpoint what is, exactly. So, he lets it go, figuring it's due to her enthusiasm to being able to attend the Ball.

It's at this moment, that he realizes that all eyes are on them; every student currently in the Library, foreign or not, is staring at him and Hermione. Feeling the blush climb up his neck, and knowing how embarrassed he'll be once the students realized he's blushing (probably speculating about a fancy between the best friends), Harry hastens to remind Hermione of their surroundings.

She lets him go, reluctantly, but with a bright smile that does things to him. But then all goes back to normal when she smirks and asks him a rather important question.

“Do you know how to waltz, Harry?”

“Uh… what?”

And just like that, whatever weird things were going on between them are gone, as Hermione laughs softly and Harry grins sheepishly, accepting the light slap on his arm as he obediently listens to her making plans to teach him how to dance.

“Because, honestly Harry, I know we'll have fun going together, regardless of anything,” she says, grins wider. “But I do want to dance some, though I don't fancy letting you maul my feet. The least we can do is teach you enough to save my feet from unnecessary pain later.”

Their interactions back to normal, everyone surrounding their table returns to their homework, thinking the hug was simply another manifestation of Hermione's friendship, as it has always been. He's glad, and really hopes no gossip will come out of this, as he doesn't want Hermione being embarrassed or humiliated because of him.

Sharing one last smile with him, Hermione returns to whatever it is she was doing, while Harry takes only one moment to decide to stay and keep her company. So, he folds his arms over the wooden table and rest his head on them, allowing the sound of quill scratching over paper soothe his previous worries away.

~

It's on the weeks leading up to the Ball that Harry realizes he had grossly underestimated the Hogwarts' rumour mill.

The firsts few days after he asked Hermione to the Ball had gone by in relative peace; Ron had been upset, at not having a date yet, even when Harry tried to appease him saying there still was time. His red-haired friend scowled and went off to sulk, mumbling something that Harry thought sounded a lot like “though she fancied me” and “been me”. Not understanding, and if he'd been honest with himself, he really didn't want to understand, he brushed off his attitude and concentrated on the upcoming lessons Hermione had scheduled for them. Those dancing lessons.

But then, a week after the announcement of the Ball, he realized how very mistaken he'd been at thinking no one would think of him and Hermione being more than friends. Because the Slytherins started, very suddenly, and very quickly, to spread tales of what happened in the Library, twisting the true until it sounded something like his professing undying love and, later Harry would learn, still make it so that everyone thought Hermione had used some sort of dodgy and dark way to entice him.

And it only got worse, when Viktor Krum asked Hermione and she declined, and when Ron loudly argued with her over her choice and then turned on him for going behind his back and snatching the girl he fancied. Hermione had solved the argument with Ron rather quickly, if a bit harshly, but then Harry thought he deserved it, saying she didn't fancy Ron and why would she, with the lousy way he always treated her.

“And, honestly, Ron, how can you say you fancy me when all you ever like to do is antagonize me and whine about my nagging you? How, when not a week ago you were happily, and loudly, saying you wanted the hottest girl to go to the Ball with you?”

That had shut him up quickly, and all those in the Common Room had to nod in agreement, some mumbling Ron had a really nasty way of showing his fancy for a girl who supposedly was his friend first, what with all the times he upset her and fought with her over petty things. Even his brothers and sister, had to agree with Hermione.

That Ron refuses to talk to her now, and by extension him as, for once, Harry chose to side with Hermione, is regrettably but not nearly as upsetting as it was right after Halloween. Which is weird, but Harry surmises he's more worried about what will happen to Hermione now that all these nasty rumours are flying about.

His worries proved to be well-founded, as only three days before the Ball, an article of everything that's been happening since that day in the Library, nasty rumours included, made an appearance in the morning edition of the Daily Prophet, by Rita Skeeter. And it is only due to his worry, and his forethought of asking Dobby to ensure nothing happened to Hermione, that she avoids a rather dangerous hate-mail that very same morning when one of the letters exploded in front of her.

Dobby is quick enough to pop in and raise a shield to protect Hermione, also managing to prevent whatever it is that exploded from reaching him as well.

Next to him, Hermione pales considerably, obviously recognizing the substance sizzling on the table before them, and Harry can feel his mounting anger at the cruelty of the Wizarding World, to do this to a girl merely because of a stupid article from a woman who heard nothing but rumours? He so wants to clench his fist tightly, but Hermione had grabbed his hand in an attempt to reassure herself. He turns to give her a smile, which she tentatively returns, before letting him go. Soon, they're ready to leave the Great Hall, thoughts of breakfast far from their minds, when Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall approach them.

The ancient wizard takes one look at the mess that one letter causes, and at all the other fluttering envelopes that Dobby had brilliantly contained, and frowned darkly. Professor McGonagall simply presses her lips into a thin line, her stern visage turning truly frightening.

But none of this matter to Harry. Someone had tried to blatantly hurt his best friend because they believe the pack of shite the Prophet wrote, and he wants the people who are supposed to ensure their safety to do something about it.

So, in a voice barely recognizable, he speaks loudly and clearly. “Are you going to do something about this, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore looks at him, then at Hermione, his gaze a steely blue now that the usual twinkle is gone from his eyes. “Rest assured, Mr Potter, Miss Granger, that I will personally see to this matter being fixed. The intent to harm is obvious, and I cannot… It will be fixed.”

The Headmaster waves his wand, conjures up a wooden box and forces the letters inside before sealing it. He strides out of the Great Hall, McGonagall following close behind.

Harry grasps Hermione's hands this time, and leads her away too. Deciding it better to be somewhere else, alone with his best friend, if only to make sure no one tries anything here at Hogwarts too. Their first class isn't until much later in the morning, Potions no less, so he needs to gather his strength if he has to face a double lesson with Snape.

Suddenly, a tug on his hand makes him stop and snap out of his angry musings. He turns to see the smiling face of Hermione.

“Thank you, Harry,” she says, quietly. “If it weren't for you, I'd probably be in the Hospital Wing right now.”

Inexplicably, he feels himself blushing. He rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. “It was Dobby who protected you, not me, Hermione.”

Her smile widens as she reaches to give him a hug. “But only because you asked him, because you were worried even when I told you to ignore it.” She pulls back a little, her smile still in place. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm actually glad you didn't listen to me about this.”

That statement helps him go back to normal, feeling himself relaxing, moving away from the foreign feeling that engulfed him when Hermione expressed her gratitude. “Well, I must say, it is a rare day when Hermione Granger doesn't scold me for being stubborn and reckless about something.”

“Oh, you were hardly reckless. Stubborn on the other hand…”

He laughs and feels great when she starts chuckling as well. And feeling even better now that he doesn't feel weird around his friend anymore, as it's been the norm as of late, since he invited her to the Ball actually. But just when he thinks all is well, Hermione does something that leaves him speechless and feeling flustered and nervous and weird again.

She kisses his cheek.

~

Finally, the night of the Ball arrives.

After a couple of eventful days (in which he'd fought Malfoy when he tried to insult Hermione, resulting in Hermione having to go to the Hospital Wing to fix her teeth, and as an added bonus, because Snape had assigned him detention and he made enough of a ruckus about it, Dumbledore got involved and managed to rein in the Potions' Master, apparently, in a permanent way), Harry finally stands at the foot of the stairs leading to the girls' dorms, waiting for Hermione.

He catches a glimpse of Ron sulking near the fireplace, and feels a little pang of guilt. The youngest Weasley boy hadn't managed to get a date in the end, and thus, not wanting to turn up to the Ball alone, decided not to go. However what little guilt he feels, Harry manages to push away, reasoning it's Ron's own fault for going about getting a date the way he had, wanting the prettiest girl instead of choosing someone he knows. Even more, he doesn't even know why he's sulking about it, it's not like he's been eager to go, Harry hadn't wanted to go (and probably would have gone still, if he'd found out Hermione's desire to attend, just so she wouldn't have been unhappy later) but has to for being a Champion.

He thinks, correctly, that Ron's sulking mainly because even Ginny has a date, as Neville had asked her after he found out Hermione was unavailable. His red-haired friend is probably feeling lame at being left behind even when his baby sister is going to the stupid Ball.

Well, no matter. There isn't much he can do, especially as Ron is still hell bent in ignoring him for stealing his girl.

Honestly, Hermione is not a possession. And how can he say he fancied her with the rotten way he always treats her?

“I'm ready, Harry.”

So immerse in his thoughts, he fails to notice her arrival. Harry smiles nervously, feeling anxious for the upcoming evening, and turns around to greet and give a friendly compliment to his date, when he actually sees her.

He freezes, then his jaw drops, and all anxious thoughts of the Ball fly off his head.

Oh…

Harry's oblivious to everything but Hermione now. He doesn't see the darkening look on Ron's face, nor does he hears the surprised murmur that breaks among the younger students. He ignores the encouraging words from the Twins as they leave with their dates, nor the double thumbs-up Ginny sends Hermione as she walks out with Neville. Even the high-pitched giggles coming from Lavender and Parvati go unnoticed.

Seriously, all Harry can focus on is the lovely girl standing in front of him, wearing a pretty blue dress (and later, he would learn the actual name of the colour is periwinkle blue) made of some kind of floaty material that shows Hermione is, without a doubt, a girl. Her hair is done up in an elegant, and obviously very complicated manner; looks glossy and soft and some loose tresses fall nicely around her face and neck (and wow, who would have thought, her neck is… pretty). She's smiling, and while he had already noted the difference before (Hermione told him what Madam Pomfrey did), Harry still finds it lovely.

Well, there goes his chance of not making a fool of himself; he feels so nervous now!

Hermione arches a pretty eyebrow (oh, he doesn't think he'll ever think of her in any other term other than pretty now), he feels his cheeks warming rapidly, and then she giggles and closes the distance between them; she hugs him and he tenses up, but Hermione is squeezes his waist until he relaxes. And he does, eventually, after what feels like an eternity.

“Alright?”

Harry swallows, feeling somewhat better—normal now. His cheeks still feel warm, but not so much, so he nods, and smiles shyly. “Alright.”

Finally, much to Harry's relief (and regret), his pretty best friend releases him and steps back a little, seizing his arm instead as she starts leading him out the Common Room. “We better hurry, the Ball is about to begin and you can't be late.”

Again, he nods, and as they walk down hallways and stairs, nearing the Great Hall and encountering a few other couples on the way, his brains kicks into high gear and Harry blurts out what he's been thinking for the last couple of minutes. “You look gorgeous, Hermione.”

She blushes, averts her gaze, and gives his arm a little squeeze. “Thank you, Harry. You… you look very handsome as well.”

Knowing she probably feels as flustered as he does (even if she hides it better) makes him relax considerably and regain the sense of normalcy. He has no illusions, though, about going with just a friend to the Ball now; he actually feels like he's going with a Princess—Cinderella.

The thought shocks him, but Harry acknowledges its relevance.

Yes, Hermione is his best friend. And, yes, she is a very pretty girl as well.

Maybe not obvious pretty, but pretty nonetheless.

The fluttering in his stomach seems to confirm his scattering thoughts.

~

The Ball, as everything in his life, is unpredictably predictable.

The Champions are the last to enter the Great Hall, and are led to the Head table where they will dine first, among the Ministry Officials and the other relevant people of the Tournament, such as the Headmasters and Headmistress.

The food is great, the talk is amicable. Because Harry really doesn't want to talk with Percy, he does his utmost best to try and be part of Hermione's conversations with first Cedric, then Fleur, Viktor (which prolonged only because the Bulgarian Champion seemed reluctant to drop his chat with Hermione), and lastly Cho. That one is uncomfortable, yet enlightening for Harry. Because while at first he seems incapable of controlling his blush and stuttering, once Hermione starts animatedly to talk about OWLs with Cho, he becomes less entranced with the pretty Chinese girl and more fascinated with his best friend.

It's funny, how before now, Harry had never really paid attention to the way Hermione just seems to light up when talking about something of interest for her, when learning something new.

He likes it; the way her eyes sparkle and the permanent sunny smile on her face and the light blush dusting her cheeks. He likes it, and he really can't help but think just how pretty Hermione is when in her element.

Soon, though, conversation has to stop as the food is gone and Dumbledore is prompting everyone to clear the floor as it is time for the Champions to follow tradition. Time to dance.

Harry swallows and fidgets nervously as Hermione sort of leads him to the dance floor, he tries to look enthusiastic, and fails, but his dear friend smiles at him, steps closer than necessary, and whispers reassurances in his ear. She believes in him, she says, knows he'll do great because they have been practicing.

“It's alright, Harry, I'm here.”

That's really enough for him.

The first dance, a waltz, goes great; he's no dancer, that's for sure, and while Hermione is good, it's still not enough for them to glide over the dance floor graceful and masterfully. But they know each other better than anyone, and Harry's grown so used to dancing with Hermione after weeks of practice that they do move in synch, which is really more than what can be said for the other Champions. They move in synch, so Hermione's feet are spared the torture, and they actually look good.

The next dance is modern, and fast-paced, not needing for each couple to really touch, and that's fine with them. Hermione looks happy and enthusiastic and he can't really ask her to stop when she's obviously enjoying it so much. So, they dance, and dance, fast songs, some other waltzes, and even some slow songs (which, in Harry's opinion, are brilliant as the required movement is minimum and… he likes to have Hermione that close to him). And after what feels like a billions song later, they stop to go get something to drink.

“Are you having fun, Harry?” Hermione asks suddenly, turning her pretty eyes on him.

He blushes, inexplicably (or maybe not, as he's been feeling kind of weird all night with her, but good weird), and smiles at her a little. “Honestly? Yeah, it's been great. And… I guess I ought to thank you for it, Hermione, if you hadn't said yes…”

If she hadn't said yes, he would've end up here with someone else, feeling all awkward and probably spending the night brooding and sitting at one of the tables.

Hermione gives him a look, telling him that she understands, that she knows, and smiles. “Ready to dance some more?”

He's not really ready, but she wants to, so he nods.

That's how they spend most of the night, alternating between dancing and taking short breaks, until Hermione begs for a longer breaks as she says her heels are killing her. Harry chuckles but agrees with her, and leads her to one of the unoccupied tables, telling her to wait and rest some while he goes for some drinks.

And it's as he grabs a couple of bottles of butterbeer that things turn a rather sour turn.

~

It starts with Ron appearing out of nowhere, but looking rather regretful. Harry's dubious of his intentions but, seeing no way out of this confrontations, motions with one of his hands to prompt his friend to talk.

Ron begins mumbling an apology, before launching into a very confusing rant that's supposed to explain his behaviour for the past days. Harry follows up until he says something about mixing up feelings and then gets lost.

“Ron, hold up! I don't think I understand what you're trying to say…”

The red-haired boy blushes, and shifts nervously on the spot. “I just wanted to apologize for being a prat these past days… You see, after the blow up with Hermione, the Twins explained some things to me, that helped me understand what I was really feeling, and I realized I was mixing up what I felt for Hermione with something else entirely…”

Harry nods, feeling apprehensive, because he really doesn't fancy hearing his best mate proclaiming his undying love for Hermione. “And what's that?”

“It turns out… what I feel for Hermione is the same as what I feel for Ginny… I was kind of confused, because Hermione isn't related to me, and I really thought I fancied her, but I don't. Yeah, I hate seeing her with other blokes, but it's in the same way I hate seeing Ginny with other blokes.”

At this, Ron glares at someone on the dance floor, and as Harry follows his line of sight, he chuckles lightly upon seeing Ginny dancing with a very flustered Neville, still both looking really happy.

“So… you, like, see her as a sister?”

Ron sends him an amused look, but nods. “Well, yeah, mate, that's kind of what I just said.”

“Oh. Well, good. But, you need to apologize to Hermione as well.”

“I know. I just hope she doesn't hex me or something.”

“Oh, she won't.”

It feels good to be back to being friends with Ron. He doesn't have many friends, and Harry would loathe to lose his first friend over a petty fight. Looking around, he frowns when he can't see Hermione among the tables and starts to worry until Ron growls menacingly next to him, drawing his attention to something else on the dance floor and he feels like growling himself.

Because there's Krum, dancing with Hermione, not a slow song, but not moving much as they seem to be engaged into an interesting conversation and looking like he's doing whatever he can to move closer to his best friend. Closer than what is appropriate and closer than what the song warranted.

So, you see, that's when things turn sour.

Harry tries to be okay with it, really, he does. Hermione can dance with whomever she wants, honest. They only came together as friends! No big deal, she can dance with Krum. Of course she can, she probably feels guilty for rejecting him and that's why she agreed to dance with him. Tis not like she'll go off with Krum to… to—somewhere! And it's not like she has to stay with him all night, the Champions are not needed anymore, so Harry can perfectly go now. After all, he didn't even want to come.

Yet, for some unfathomable reason, Harry feels like something is tearing at his chest, making it hurt something awful.

And then things get worse.

“That son of a—”

Harry stops listening, stops seeing anyone but Krum and Hermione. Krum who's leaning over Hermione, closer, closer, his intent clear—and Hermione who's blushing and looking adorably bewildered…

“—bloody wanker!”

Quickly, not wanting to see anything, feeling as if his chest is about to burst open, Harry turns around and leaves the Great Hall. Belatedly, he hears Ron's voice screaming at Krum, and maybe the Twins are screaming as well, and someone is calling his name. He ignores it all, and runs as soon as he reaches the hallway, away from there, and hopefully, away from the pain.

~

He knows he couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes sitting by the lake, yet is unsurprised that Hermione found him.

Quietly, she sits next to him, drawing up her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She says nothing, doesn't seem to move at all, though Harry has the distinct feeling he is being watched.

Then, she talks.

“Are you too mad at me?”

Her voice, barely a whisper, wavers as it carries across the short distance separating them. And Harry's first instinct is to tell her no, and really, he isn't. But he's not sure what he feels either. Is he mad? Yeah, but not at her, he realizes, at himself. For being presumptuous, for being blind.

For being an idiot.

“No, I could never be mad at you…”

“You were last year.”

“But I kinda had an excuse then, and it didn't last… I just was an idiot in letting Ron dictate when to make up with you.”

“And now?”

“No, Hermione, honest.”

She nods, and Harry can tell that simply because he hears her shifting next to him. A part of him wants to tell he to go away (go back to Krum, he thinks bitterly), to leave him alone for a while. But another part, the part that acknowledges the fact that Hermione is a very pretty girl, the part that knows why he feels the fluttering in his stomach even if he doesn't want to admit it, wants to let her stays, wants to ask for her comfort. Let her hug the pain away.

He does neither and soon the silence becomes unbearable.

“Why did you run, Harry?”

Her question is unexpected, so he answers without really thinking.

“Didn't really fancy seeing you snogging Krum.”

His heart skips a beat, his mouths dries and Harry knows he said the wrong thing. Feels it in the suddenly eerie silence surrounding them now. What is wrong with him? But, of course, he knows what, he just doesn't know how to fix it—how to make it go away.

This isn't supposed to happen…

“But I didn't—I didn't even let him get close to—”

Her words come out in a rush, and Harry can't help his startled look as he turns to face her. Hermione looks at him with a frown forming on her face, staring at him speculatively, her head tilting to one side and looking entirely too adorable for his sanity.

Merlin help me.

“I didn't even want to dance with him,” she says softly.

“Then why did you?”

“He said he asked you, and that you said it was okay as you wanted to fix the rift with Ron,” she pauses, her frown deepens. “When I looked at you, you were talking with Ron and seemed to be on the mend, and Ron confirmed this later, but at the time I didn't think much of it and I thought it wouldn't hurt. Besides, it was only going to be one dance.”

“He lied to you,” he says, growling menacingly again, and tries to resist the urge to go and—and do something to the Bulgarian Champion. Something not at all nice.

“Yes, well, I know that now, but then… He tried to kiss me, but I pulled away before he got close, and then Ron and the Twins stepped in. It got kind of messy after that.”

Harry chuckles, deeply hoping the Weasley boys managed to do some damage to the broody Seeker, and belatedly realizes Hermione is now looking at him as if she's just come to some grand conclusion.

It makes him squirm uncomfortably.

Her frown relaxes then, her gaze softening and a soft smile turning up the corners of her lips. It's an expression he's familiar with, as he's seen it directed at him a few time, especially when, according to Hermione, he's being adorably clueless. But there is something different, he doesn't know what, but he can sense it in the way his heart started pounding against his ribcage.

Oh, Harry really doesn't want to put a name to what he's feeling now.

Slowly, letting out a light chuckle, Hermione scoots closer to him, and wraps her arms around on of his, snuggling his side. “I never really considered coming to the Ball with anyone but you, Harry.”

“O—oh, okay.”

She giggles, hugs his arms tighter (making him aware of her developing figure in the process). “So don't you go brooding, because I'm not going to ditch you for a pompous Quidditch player.”

He smiles then, happy to hear that but not really knowing why (or he does know, but doesn't want to think about it). “Do you… want to go back, Hermione?”

“Maybe in a few minutes, I'm quite comfy here, you know.”

His smile widens and he nods his answer, letting her snuggle into him as Harry's honest enough to admit he enjoys it (even if he's not quite honest to admit why).

~

They never do go back to the Great Hall, although, the quietness of the night allows them to hear as the last dance is announced, and feeling like he owns her this much for making her miss some of the event she'd been so eager to attend, Harry stands up and pulls Hermione along with him.

“Last dance,” he says, smiling tentatively when she gives him a confusing look.

Hermione smiles as well, and steps closer, looping her arms around his neck as the soft music reaching them is obviously a slow song. Blushing brightly, and feeling incredibly thankful for the darkness surrounding them, Harry places his hands on her waist. He debates with himself briefly, and then moves his hand further into her back until he's embracing her close enough to erase all distances between them.

Her only reaction to this is to place her head on his shoulder, exhaling a soft sigh.

They revolve on the spot, in accordance to the slow tempo of the music, neither eager to break the intimate embrace, nor wishing for it to end.

Harry tries to understand his reaction to this; his hear is hammering in his chest, his stomach feels full of fluttering butterflies, his hands are getting sweaty yet he doesn't feel any of the panic-induced numbness he associates with these feelings he has… The only other girl that's made him feel like this is Cho, and yet the panic is always present with her, the fear of making a fool out of himself—but not now, he's nervous but not enough to become a fumbling fool.

It's all so complicated.

He's first instinct is to turn to Hermione for help, but as she's the one instigating all these confusing reactions, Harry doubts she'll be able to help (or fears she might, that she'll figure it out and tell him, that she already knows, and then he'll no longer be allowed to ignore it), so he does nothing. Tries to figure it out himself, yet resolute to ignore the obvious answer. Because that can't be it, it just can't. It's not possible, he's not allowed to—

The music stops.

Hermione doesn't seem eager to break the intimate embrace, and he won't be the one to do it either, unfortunately, the warming charm that had been placed on the grounds start to fade and the chilling air hits them both, forcing a shiver out of the girl in his arms.

“Um…”

“Let's go back?”

Harry nods, stepping back and quickly discarding his outer robes and giving them to his lovely best friend. The bright smile he receives in exchange is worth the sudden cold assaulting him from all sides. Grabbing his arm, Hermione hurries them over to the Castle and then to Gryffindor Tower. The only stop the make is when Cedric caught up with them, which is good as Harry got advice on how to solve the screeching of the Egg.

Sooner than expected, they're standing outside the entrance to the girl's dorms; he feels thankful that the Common Room is devoid of any students, as it's just past midnight, but surprisingly disappointed that it's time to part. Hermione still looks at him in the same fond way as before, when they were out by the Lake, smiling patiently, as if expecting something.

He struggles to talk, clearing his throat a few time before managing it. “I… I had a good time, Hermione, thank you.”

“Oh, Harry, I should be thanking you… But I had a good time, too. I'm very happy that you asked me.”

“Me too.”

He gets the distinctive feeling that there's something he should do now, but doesn't know what. Rubbing the back of his neck, Harry averts his gaze to the side, suddenly too nervous to meet Hermione's eyes yet not really wanting to say goodnight. Her expression hasn't changed, he can tell, but now she smiles in that way that tells him she knows something he doesn't but should, as it's royally obvious.

Eventually, she giggles and steps closer to wrap her arms around him, leaving him befuddled. “Goodnight, Harry. And thank you again for a lovely evening.”

“Tis okay,” he says, hugging her back. “Goodnight.”

Instead of pulling back though, Hermione leans back a little and moves back in, and his thoroughly shocked brain is a second too late to realize why.

She kisses him.

Not on the cheek, no. This is mouth-to-mouth contact. Soft, warm lips against his own. A real kiss, along with all the other benefits involved, such as a tight hug that leaves no doubt his best friend is growing a fine pair of…

Only a second. But then he closes his eyes and pulls her even closer to him and tilts his head to the opposite side. And kisses her back.

It is over fairly soon, even if for Harry it feels like ages, and Hermione is quick to mumble goodnight again and dash up the stairs to her dorm. It takes him a few more seconds standing there, arms still hovering mid-air, before his brains kicks up the thought processes again.

“Oh, bollocks…”

His cheeks burn up, and he hides his face in his hands with a pitiful groan. Again, thanking the Gods for the Common Room to be empty. And it's just—he feels so stupid! Of course this is the answer to his jumbled questions. Of course it is this obvious. He can't even count it as a sudden realization, because he's known for weeks now, but chose to ignore it!

“I fancy Hermione…”

Feeling properly beaten, he starts wracking his brain, trying to find a solution for the imminent disaster that's about to happen (because, surely, Hermione can't feel—), when it hits him. The real realization.

She'd kissed him. On her own volition. And her look, her smile, when they sat by the lake…

“She knows…” he whispers, shocked, then grins. “She fancies me back!”

The instant turn his volatile mood takes is, for once, welcome. For once, Harry is actually looking forward to the next day.

For once, since the goblet spat his name on Halloween, he feels truly grateful for the way his luck works.

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the end.

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I haven't read it over, at least not the last part, so if you find any mistakes, please let me know! Thanks!

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