DISCLAIMER; HP belongs to JKR. The story line and all new characters, new character development, new developments are my intellectual property.

A tragic-comedy +a little romance+a dog+

Camellia: the sometimes 3 headed wonder pooch. As a guest star.

A/N This story will contain anti Weasley sentiment, or a cast of Weasley reprobates :) But also some nice Weasley. This chapter is Mature although the others migh not be. Not sure if it will be all published, it is all written though. I previously published it but it was deleted by a hacker before it was finished, this version is highly modified.

Don't cry for me Hermione.

Just Harry

She was immersed in planning the trip to America, what fun, just the two of them. She was just sure this was the time when Harry's glasses would be clean enough to see the witch in front of him, and he would not be under the 'influence' so to speak.

Pansy, bless her heart, took her shopping in their attempt to give a not so gentle push to the Boy-who-lived-on denial; or as Pans would say: The-boy-who-lived-under-Molly's-Apron.

"Hermione, why don't you save all the money and effort? Just go and 'stumble' into Harry's room in the middle of the night; 'al fresco,' yeah, sleepwalking, anyway you are a certified sleepwalker, and then jump on his bed into his arms. He won't know what hit him." Pansy suggested as Hermione tried a little black number.

The dress was made out of jersey with a bit of Lycra and wool, the jersey was scrunched and re-structured with all over stitching, a thing of art.

The black beauty hugged her body like a second skin. The low cut cowl at the front nicely displayed a promise of delectable breasts. It was backless, almost, thin leather straps, adorned with real water pearls stained black and dark Austrian crystals, crisscrossed the back, that at the lowest point could not go down one more millimeter.

"No knickers," both witches exclaimed at the same time and laughed, rather naughtily. The sleeveless dress displayed her toned arms, and it hit to her mid thigh, along with the dress she would wear a totally transparent wrap, YAY. It would go perfect with the three inch short boots with the open toes and small mirrors. He was a one dead wizard.

"So, have you comnsidered my idea? The one of finding yourself on his bed?"

"Nah, he will throw a blanket on me and pretend he is blind without his glasses. I have tried, done it, and failed. He is the master of see-me-not when he wants it."

The witches and the Muggle sales clerk laughed. "Imagine, I am such a fool, I planned it all. I pretended that I had closed myself out the room when answering the phone out in the hallway. Of course, I would say that I had forgotten the wan-I mean the key inside the room." Hermione continued talking, unaware of the smiling crowd gathering.

"And there I was, freezing my bum off. I came in his room and started shaking him. Poor dear sleeping prat, a charitable thought briefly crossed my mind. But I was already thinking, "oh God, I will be inside his bed, tonight." Please Harry I am freezing, can you get up? I know it is late, but I need help I am locked out my room." Finally the git wakes up ready to help, slides on his glasses, the light comes on, and his face looks at me tormented, and as if I were on fire, and somehow his glasses slide to the floor, convenient eh?" Hermione tapped her foot, already annoyed at Harry.

""Why you are standing here like that, na.., "he croaked, looked away and pointed at me, he had lost his glasses and his speech, that was clear. " Well," I answered, "I'd just undessed when the Flo, I mean phone..." never mind; and I asked if he would help me. He pulled out the quilt off his bed, in one fluid motion, and threw it on top of me while looking the other way. Putting out the flammable material so to speak, once the vermin was trapped, me being the vermin on fire, he comes running and wraps me in it, as if I was a baby. I guess he had put the fire safely out. And then sits me on the bed, finds his glasses, and well you imagine the rest, that was it." She shrugged her shoulders looking deflated and then laughed.

Everyone joined the laughter at the same time. They knew he was a git, who would resist the beautiful petite twenty something young woman who was now trying sexy nightgowns.

"The poor boy, he must either be blind or maybe gay?" Some helpful woman offered her unwelcome advice; neither she thought, just Harry.

"Poor Ron, he loves you." Pansy said later while drinking tea at Hermione's and Harry's flat. She sounded a little bitter since Ron was her ideal wizard; he had cleaned up really nice. Pansy would help him buy his clothes, teach him how to be polite, but he remained clueless. Just wanted or though he wanted Hermione, and he stayed perpetually under the influence of the two Weasley witches.

"Poor Ginny she has always wanted to be the wife of the BOY. Molly, my second mother, I do care for her," Hermione sounded annoyed, "Hell, I know that I cannot live without her puddings, but could with her plans for my wedding, to Ron that is." Hermione's discouraged voice remarked, "What is the sense, I am just wasting my time."

The crime or SURPRISE

Harry and Hermione realized their mistake the moment they left the Burrow the night before traveling. Harry had convinced Hermione to stop by the Burrow to say goodbye. Ginny's histrionics and guilt-trips, combined with Molly's dire predictions of doom and disaster, failed to yield any results, however the damage was done, and the travelers had sealed their own doom.

Yup, the fate was a done deal, she was about to waste her valuable time and her parents' money.

They arrived at NYC, the Big Apple, and the first 58 hours or so, were wonderful minus some interludes. She could not believe they had made out Heathrow after the drama at the Burrow, Ginny clinging to Harry like he was going to the gallows, Molly drying her tears, forget that, don't go there. Hermione told herself.

Her parents were footing the bill for this to be big fiasco; the Titanic's maiden voyage, so to speak, that was doomed to fail before it started. She should have gone for the 12 days Caribbean cruise with Pansy.

The Grangers had given her money for the 5 star hotels, expenses, shopping money, and the other travel outside of the award portion of the trip. They also upgraded their airfare from business to First Class, Harry had been thrilled. She came from a low upper class old family, and being the only child the sky was the limit, they footed all her follies. That was the mildest thing she could say about this trip later on. The Weasley women were a force of nature to be reckoned with.

This 'vacation' was multipurpose. They would pick up an award for the trio, for their role in ridding the world of a dangerous monster. The ceremonies would happen at the tail end of the adventure. Seven glorious days and eight nights together, and ALONE, her dream come true.

Ron was playing a game in California and was unable to play catch-up, thank Merlin, until the day before the Private Award's Ceremony at the White House with their President, Bush was the name. The Britain's ambassador, Prime Minister, Kingsley, the Royal House's representative, and a few more wizards and Muggles would be attending. Her parents, both stuffy grandparents who would make Lucius Malfoy proud, the Weasley, shivers, and some of her closer friends and relatives would also be there.

Their clothing, to be worn during the two days Galas and social events, mostly private, had been donated by several European designers, all magical of course. The award was also monetary; she was told each would receive the equivalent of 300,000 Galleons each, a vacation home, a muggle car, a yatch, horses, and assorted sundries, all donated by the American Wizardry Community. This would be the second largest award they had received.

They went out clubbing, the next day they arrived. They had been playing tourist nonstop, eaten, shopped and took naps. They comfortably held hands, or their waists, when walking, of course Hermione was getting ready to attack him and ravage him, just wait, she kept telling herself. In retrospective she shouldn't have waited.

Around 10:30 PM (22:30), they went out with a couple of Ravenclaws, friends of Luna, Luna and some other yanks, all wizards, who preferred the Muggle clubbing scene. They were all studying magical moving pictures composition at an Ivy League university's magical campus.

Some progress had been done; the night was full of promise. Lots of slow music was being played, and Harry had eagerly joined the bumping and grinding. Hermione had worn the little black dress that by the way she had worn sans undergarments, very short tights, silk stockings to mid-thigh with sexy visible lace, the short boots, a cashmere short coat, and a light shawl around her shoulders. It was a little chilly. She looked so hot, that Luna's strange roommate, a witch looking sort of green and yellow, kept hitting on her, and at least 20 other men and some hot women, had asked her to dance.

Her smoky make up glittered, the new hair style and highlights courtesy of an incredible wizard salon, and the dress combo, were hot witch enhancers that made wonder-boy super hard. He'd nearly swallow his tongue when they met at the sitting room in their suite to wait for Luna. He kept shifting uncomfortably on his chair and could not take his eyes away from her. "Lovely dress, you look very hot, bound to break one or two hearts."

This clinched her suspicions, that it wasn't his wallet but a suspicious large bulge he kept trying to hide behind his mid length overcoat. He had insisted on wearing it while they waited, never mind that the heating was uncomfortably balmy. This made the inner vixen yap excitedly.

The competition was adding needed encouragement for Harry to act. At one point, Hermione had gone to the 'ladies room,' an American term and pulled off the short tights, too warm to dance. Not really, but why miss chances for runaway fingers.

The dancing went as expected after a few cosmopolitans, a long island ice tea, Harry ordered after too many hard drinks, thinking it was some sort of tea, and the rest was history. If not for Hermione's high body alcohol content the night could have ended in her favor.

The one certain thing, was that Harry wanted her. Their bumping and grinding left no doubts in her mind. His hands got well acquainted with her breasts, her thigh and the road in between. Following Pansy's directions, she practically sat on his lap all night, tables too small, they had to, somehow, sit six at a table for four.

He pressed his sizable erection on the dance floor, taking advantage of the darkness of the club. Then they sat down, and he kept biting and kissing her neck, and her back. His fingers covered by the short shawl, found their way to Nirvana. The first time, thanks to the dark, she climaxed, not a mind blowing one, but a nice one. She kept pressing her bum against him, discretely, but she could hear his ragged breath, and felt his fingers trembling. His eyes stayed closed. She didn't want the night to end.

At one point he moved her a little to the side, pulling his zipper open, brought her hand inside his pants. Feeling her grabby hot hand, he bit her shoulder hard to control his moans. He had gone commando, bad wizard, two were playing this game. She felt him dripping, and naughtily brought one of the fingers into her mouth, licked it, and whispered in his ear, "Intoxicating, delicious."

At this, he moved her and stood her up, right after he had pulled up his zipper. Leaving a large bundle of bills on Luna's hand (he knew that she was broke, he gave her a couple thousand,) and said his good nights. They got their coats, and kissed all the way out the club, his mouth was heaven, what a kisser, every second, they would stop, nobody knew them, and kissed and rubbed their bodies, not too discrete. "Hermione, love, I am not going to make it, have pity, stay away from me till we get to the hotel."

They were lucky, they caught a cab after a few minutes, and "You cannot have sex in my car, I am a decent, family man. I will have a wreck if I have to look at you two…these foreigners." the eastern European looking driver reprimanded them, in a thick accent, forgetting that everyone in NYC is a foreigner.

Neither of them heard him, they were far gone. Harry had Hermione side ways, half on his lap, while trying to figure out how to get her in the small confines of the car. They probably reeked of sex. Who cared? Yes, he had climaxed at least once, she was certain.

The hotel's reception night clerk was the start of bad omens. "Yes, you have one message, to Mr. Potter?" Harry read it quickly, crumbled it, and threw it in a waste basket. Whatever was written, started sobering up the one BOY-that-was-randy very fast, but he kept his mouth shut, he knew no to ruin the best night of his life.

It was the sudden sickness that destroyed any chances she might have had. It started at the lift ride, the pull at the start, made Hermione want to die. Holding her mouth, kept nodding her head to Harry who kept trying to get her, all she wanted was to run and throw up.

The night could have been hers, if not for the liquor. Hermione should've known better, mixing drinks never agreed with her. And instead of monkey sex, her night was spent back at her own room holding a waste basket, not being able to locate the sobriety potion. It could have been the sushi, or was it the nachos, or the empanadas? Or the mojitos, cosmopolitans, and long island ice teas. Go figure, she only had a couple of each.

Next day was, "Don't cry for me Argentina" at Broadway, which Hermione was dying to see. She was singing all the songs softly, making Harry chuckle more than once. They held hands all evening, you know the dark. He even wiped her tears, whispering thenprophetic, "Don't cry for me, Hermoine," and he smiled.

He nuzzled her neck hoping for a replay of the night before. The entire day he had been playing with her hair, holding her hand, but keeping a little distance. This was the big chance. But maybe there was some truth in omens and divination; his words would become reality sooner than she could have ever expected.

They went to a cozy Mexican restaurant right off Broadway, and after two gold tequila margaritas premium, they were feeding each other bites, and their knees would touch. They were debating about dancing, but the mix of the food and tequila, made Hermione reconsider. She decided to go back to their hotel to "talk about their plans". Which really meant, not more playing, let's do it.

Tonight she was wearing very skinny silk and wool stretch pants, with a wide belt scripted with runs, and a buckle made out of half of a horse shoe, flattened and enameled in a crystalline colour, a fitted mid hip matching jacket with a leather collar matching the belt, clingy old rose low cut silk top, flat shoes, and leather and stone jewelry. She looked amazing; he knew that, he could see many heads turning, a feat in a city so full of beautiful, nice dressed people.

In the taxi to the hotel, once again Harry's inhibitions had lowered, tequila and darkness, a deadly combo. He sat glued to Hermione. He grabbed her leg and threw it over him while rubbing it, close to the juncture of her thighs. He kept imagining those breasts all night. He could see her nipples through her thin bra, at the restaurant, could not wait to feel them once again. He also remembered her sweet juices, but looking at her trousers, he knew it was not to be. At the hotel, yeah, he could wait, but her little hand, yes, oh Merlin.

The ride was longer than last night, he had figured at least 30 minutes. One arm snaked around her shoulders, and brought her head to rest on his chest. His hand went under her shawl, and his fingers leisurely touched and massaged her nipples, that felt as round pebbles. He slowly grabbed her hand and urged her her pull his zipper down; he hissed softly when she reached in for him. She played with him the entire ride, oh yes, indeed.

His eyes stayed closed until they arrived. Her pants were white, and she wondered if they would appear wet since pressed against her, and she wished for a shawl. She pulled her hand out when they approached the hotel and also pulled up his zipper.

He held her hand and kissed it with great tenderness, "Thanks, love, in a minute I want more than my fingers inside you, a payback with interest. I can barely wait," he whispered, his voice hoarse and sexy.

Ginny and Ron were in England, and he was right here with her. Something was changing, and he liked it, all of his bits liked it. The message had said in three to four days, and he was afraid of Hermione's reaction. He was desperate to be inside of her, his body was all want and need. We could see her face as he entered her, gods, he was about to push her against a wall. Tonight he didn't care about anyone else, his eyes had opened; he could see her crystal clear, and damn them all, she would be his tonight.

Arriving at the hotel, they stopped at the lobby for messages, about their travel. They waited for news for a change in plan to leave first thing in the morning. Harry, knowing bad news would arrive if they didn't leave. So he had proposed for a change of plans. He was getting smarter, maybe?

"Ah, Mr. Potter, yes, here is something with your new travel arrangements; they were brought by courier early. Ah, someone is waiting for you at the sitting room to the left of the elevators. I have here, a note, he read it aloud, Your Friends, SURPRISE!" His heart nearly came out his mouth...BUGGER, he wanted to run.

At this Hermione's hopes went down the drain, she had a feeling of doom spreading from her head right down her toes. And judging by Harry's now greenish complexion she was right. "Harry, Mimi, SURPRISE". Four ginger heads turned towards them, Molly, Arthur, Ron and Ginny. Hermione fainted.

A/N Oops.