Author's Note: Inspired by Pablo Neruda's sonnet XC, which everyone should read because it's absolutely beautiful. This was originally five parts, but I shortened it because the last two parts were irrelevant and I just didn't like them. This story is unbeta-ed, so you've been warned. High rating for a little love action and use of the f-word. Huzzah!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Summary: The whole world is moving and I'm standing still. H/Hr, with a dash of R/Hr.

The World Spins Madly On

I dreamed that I died: that I felt the cold close to me;
and all that was left of my life was contained in your presence

"XC" --Pablo Neruda

I.

Friday, May 16, 1997

6:45 am, Hogwarts Dungeon

"Fuck."

You flinch as Ron's hand comes down on the table with a hard thud, sending the Marauder's map and surrounding papers flying into the air. No one says a word, and for a moment time is still--papers suspended in their downward descent. The parchment falls to the floor, a soft hiss of sound as they slide one over the other. Beside you, Remus runs a bony hand over his face, lacing his fingers in matted hair, more gray now than you've ever seen it. There's smeared blue-purple under his eyes, and you wonder briefly when the last time he had a proper nights sleep was. Most likely well before you had yours.

"We're not--we don't have enough men," Ron says, voice hollow. No one says anything, then McGonagall whimpers and suddenly all around the room people begin to talk at once, voices loud and over lapping, straining to be heard.

"--but surely there's some way we can--"

"Are you absolutely sure we don't ha--"

"--an owl, to let them know we--"

"--into temptation, but deliver us--"

It takes nearly an hour to quiet everyone down. Through it all you do nothing but sit quietly, your small hand wrapped in Harry's larger one. His grip is tight, deathly almost. The tips of your fingers went numb long ago, but you don't bother to pull your hand away. Harry needs this comfort, and so do you.

You watch as Ron talks quietly with Moody and Remus, all three of them hunched over the Marauder's Map. Their fingers jab and poke at the weathered parchment. No doubt their planning something. You find it almost funny that Ron's become the lead strategist. He can't seem to get his potions work done, he takes classes he knows he can slack through, but when it comes to planning ahead and strategizing he's your go to guy. You almost feel like laughing, but that would be inappropriate at a time like this.

Ron glances up from the map to look your way. His eyes meet yours, and something passes over his face as he takes in Harry beside you. Your stomach twists and knots as Harry's grip tightens over yours. Your gaze shifts from Ron to Harry, and you find that they've locked eyes. Harry looks cool and detached, and Ron's brows move together as though he's trying to puzzle something out. He catches your look, and offers a wan smile before turning back to Moody. Harry release your hands the moment Ron looks away, and you flex your fingers to get the feeling back.

"This is all messed up," Harry says, resting his elbows on the table, and dropping his head into his hands.

You don't respond, just sit there. You can't think of a thing to say. Honestly, what can you say? Sorry Harry, but you're right. We're absolutely fucked. I'm not sure we're going to win this thing. That'd go over real nice, your sure. An hour passes, and almost everyone's gone off in pairs to complete whatever task Ron's given them. You still haven't gotten one. Neither have Harry, or McGonagall.

On the other side of the dungeon, Ron's opening old wardrobes and trunks. He pilfers old potion bottles, and texts, puts the odd magical knick-knack on the table, and hands scrap pieces of parchment over to McGonagall. She scribbles short messages on them, and piles them up on the center of the table. Ron abruptly turns to look at you, and you sit up a little straighter, waiting for your orders. He glances at McGonagall, and she gives him a small nod.

"We're going to the owlery."

You nod and stand. McGonagall hands the two of you the scrap bits with their hastily etched notes, and you shoves as many as you can into the pockets of your robe. With one final glance at Harry, you let Ron take your hand and lead you out of the dungeon. The walk to the owlery is made in silence, and on the way you can't help but compare Ron's hands to Harry's. It's not a fair comparison, but you decide you like Harry's hands more.

Once all the notes are secured to an owl, and they've all taken flight, you let Ron kiss you. His lips are chapped, and they move forcefully against yours. Quick, crazy kisses, the kind the two of you shared this past summer, before everything blew up in your face. You don't get caught up in the feeling, and when he drags his lips across your jaw, down your neck, you push him away.

"We should get back."

Ron just looks at you, and it breaks your heart. He looks as though he's just lost something. The two of you start back towards the dungeon, and it isn't till your half way there that you notice you're not holding hands.

II.

Friday, May 16, 1997

5:23 pm, Head Girl's Quarters

There's a tentative knock on your door, and you call for the person to enter. There's a creak of hinges that you keep forgetting to charm silent, and Harry's standing in your room.

"I just wanted to see how you were," He says, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. A nervous tick of his.

"Fine."

"Okay. I just--you know," He fumbles. "So, good. You're good. That's--" A sigh.

You close the book you've been reading and motion him over. He tosses you a grateful look and sits down beside you, the mattress sags under the added weight. Your hands crawls over the burgundy bedspread to latch onto his. He turns to look at you, and your heart thumps a little faster.

"Hi."

"Hey," Your voice cracks on the word, and suddenly you're crying. Harry untangles your fingers, and cups your face. Tears slide down your cheeks, and wet his palms. His eyes meet yours, and they're electric green. A bright, bright green that you'll remember forever.

You lean in first, your lips barely brushing his. A soft, shaky exhalation of breath, and you're lost. Completely and utterly lost, because he's kissing you now, and it nothing like you've ever experienced before. It's soft, and sweet, nothing like how Ron kisses you. Harry's kiss is languid, as though he's drinking you in, taking his time to taste and savor every bit of you. You don't want this to end, fear the end, wish it won't come. You lean back, the two of you easing further onto your bed. He's got his lips pressed firmly to a spot just bellow your ear now, and a warmth pools itself below your navel.

One of his hands slides down your neck, over the curve of your shoulder, and brushes the side of your breast, leaving a bundle on nerves in it's wake. You grip his shoulders, fingers bunching up the knitted Weasley jumper he's wearing. He lets you pull the sweater over his head, and his shirt and glasses go with it. They fall to the side, and neither of you can be bothered to see where they land. You take your time examining the planes of his chest.

Small fingers trace his collar bone, the dip in the center, the mole just to the left of the dip. You lean up to kiss it, and Harry's head falls forward. You splay your hands on his chest , run them up and down, trace pearly scars you never knew he had. You trace the brown nipples, until they're two hard little pebbles, and Harry makes a grunt of a sound that makes you extremely pleased with yourself. The trail of black hair bellow his navel catches your attention, and you circle his belly button, dip your finger in. The pad of your index finger follows the trail of hair down to the white band of Harry's boxers, peeking out from his jeans. His stomach tightens under your touch, and the pool of warmth grows bigger, begins to boil.

Harry pulls back, seats himself between your legs and just looks at you. You're sure your face is flushed. He keeps his eyes locked onto yours as his fingers trace the hem of your pajama top, then slip under. Your eyes flutter shut as he pushes the shirt up to just bellow your breasts. His hands slide down to your hips, and you give something between a whimper and a moan as he leans down and kisses just bellow your bellybutton. An electric zing shoots straight between your legs, and your eyes fly open.

"Harry," You manage to choke out, as he trails kisses along the edge of your pajama bottoms, tongue tracing the cotton line that separates him from what your mother calls your precious gift. Merlin. Your floating in an ocean now, body alternately relaxed and strained on a sea of sheets. Your whole body goes slack, limbs too heavy to move as Harry nudges your bottoms down your hips, over you thighs. He kisses your knees, traces a scar on your calf, squeezes your ankles. You can barely gather enough energy to help him along, you're going to drown in this, you're sure.

Harry crawls back up your body, his weight heavy and warm against yours. He places soft kisses across your jaw, on your chin, the corner of your mouth. He kisses the tip of your nose, eyelids, forehead, hairline. Your grip is weak on his arms. You're nothing but putty.

"I hated seeing you with Ron," He says, teeth tugging lightly on your earlobe. Fire runs through your veins, and you nudge your hips forward, feel Harry pressed against your thigh. "I hated that he could touch you and I couldn't. Sometimes, I even hated you."

The tears are back again, and Harry kisses them away. He covers your mouth with his, swallows your sobs. Your hands shake as you reach for his belt buckle, undo the button to his jeans, finger the zipper. He stops you suddenly, looks down at you with quiet eyes, and pulls you close. Your whole being shakes and trembles as he hugs you close, your clothed chest pressed against his bare one.

"I fell in love with you," You confess into his shoulder, and your whole body sags with relief as Harry holds you a little tighter.

III.

Monday, May 19, 1997

7:28 am, Hogwarts Dungeon

"Hermione stays here," Harry says. You turn to glare at him.

"No."

Everyone's silent. Ron casts dark looks between you and Harry, and Moody's looking at Harry with approval. You can feel anger well up inside of you. It burns and pricks, and you ball your hands into fists.

"No," You repeat. "No, that's not fair. This is as much my war as it is yours."

McGonagall stands near the dungeon door, and casts you a look you can't quite read. "It's for the best, dear."

Moody and Remus both nod in confirmation, and Shacklebot avoids your eyes. A sweep around the dungeon shows that everyone seems to agree that you should stay. Ginny gives you a pitying look, and Neville glances away when you look at him. Luna locks eyes with you, but you can't tell what she thinks, and it drives you mad. You let out a humorless chuckle. This all too much.

"What?" You bark. "Did you all discuss this when I was away?"

Harry straightens his shoulders as though prepared for a fight, and you slump back in your chair as though you've had the wind knocked out of you. Your mouth goes slack, and you can't seem to think properly.

"How dare you," You hiss out, voice deathly quiet. "You--you--"

"You're staying here, Hermione," Harry growls. You scoff.

"No. I'm. Not." The words come out clipped, and you can see Harry becoming frustrated.

"Damn-it , Hermione," Harry yells, his hands coming down hard on the table. The anger pulses off of him, fills the dungeon's every crevice. Everyone begins to exit, leaving the two of you alone to hash this out.

"No." It seems to be the only word you can say. You shake your head, "No, no, no, no--"

"I don't want you out there, okay!"

It's like a slap to the face, and you instantly deflate. Harry's shoulders become less tense, and he looks at you with pleading eyes.

"I need you to understand," he says, and his voice is quiet. "I can't have you out there. If I know you're in trouble--Merlin, Hermione, remember what happened at the Department of Mysteries? I can't--I need to know your okay. If something were to happen I don't think--I just--"

He's made his way around the table, and now he's crouched beside your chair. His hand comes to rest on top of yours, and you turn to look at him. He looks tired, more tired than you've ever seen him.

"Promise you'll come back," You beg, and you hate how pathetic you sound.

Harry doesn't respond, just leans in and kisses you. You shut your eyes, and tears trail warm paths down your cheeks. It's a soft, sweet kiss. A sad kind of kiss, a goodbye you can't seem to say with word.

"I can't promise you that," Harry says, and you swallow the words whole. Feel them bump and jostle their way down your throat.

"I hate you," You manage to choke out as Harry traces the contours of your face, tries to remember every shadow, dip, and curve.

"I know," He kisses your nose. "I'm sorry--" kisses your eyelids, "I'm sorry--" the corner of your mouth, "I'm so, so sorry--" kisses you fully know, a sweep of tongue and clink of teeth.

"I hate you," You keep repeating, over and over like a mantra, until you almost believe it. "I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate youhateyouhateyouhate..."

The World Spins Madly On: Title of a song by The Weepies, off their album Say I Am You.

"The whole world is moving…": Lyric from "The World Spins Madly On" by the Weepies, off their album Say I Am You.

"I dreamed that I died…": Excerpt from Pablo Neruda's sonnet XC.

"Into temptation, but deliver us…": Excerpt from the Lord's Prayer.

Review? It'll make me happy. Even if it's "Wow, that sucked", because then I'd at least know someone's reading this.