The Lost Years

Summary: After the war, Harry and Hermione's friendship was greatly altered. Now, five years later, they meet again for the first time and the flame begins to rekindle. H/Hr

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its affiliated characters. That all belongs to JK Rowling.

Author's Note: So sorry this took so long! I had most of it written for weeks and just couldn't figure out how to end it. I hope it satisfies. The next chapter will be up soon, although I'm back in school so there might be longer waits. Thank you so much for the support!

Six

I wake up to the smell of bacon and the feeling of sunlight pooling into the room. Harry's cotton sheets feel magnificent against my naked body, and as I shift a little to get my hair out of my face I am immediately welcomed by a sore feeling in my groin. I bite my lip and lean back into the pillow, and my eyes trace the outline of the Gryffindor crest on the molding above me.

I slept with Harry, and I'm happy. Honestly, aside from being a little sore I haven't felt this wonderful when I've woken up in forever. I feel like I could climb the Matterhorn, or skydive, or run barefoot through the Sahara. I am smiling despite myself and I pull the blanket up a little so it is drowning me in warmth and comfort, and I take a deep breath. It smells just like him, and my happiness grows.

The door opens and Harry walks in holding a wooden tray. I smell the coffee and bacon and sit up a little. My stomach growls and Harry smirks. I didn't realize how hungry I was. He sets the tray in front of me and I smile widely as I take in the arrangement of strawberry waffles, bacon, coffee, and a small yellow flower in a delicate glass vase. I almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, but the look on Harry's face stops me. He seems edgy, as if waiting for my approval. I realize that's probably exactly what he's looking for. He wants to know if I regret what happened, if I'm going to run out like before, or if I'm going to sit in bed with him and eat the lovely breakfast he cooked me. Taking a bite of the waffles would be a sign to him, a promise of a chance. I feel apprehension begin to rise because I don't want Harry to think we're going to be a lovey-dovey perfect couple now that we had sex, but I can't deny the fact that I'm not as upset or terrified as I thought I would be. My lip rolls between my teeth and I decide I want to try to put the past behind me, but it doesn't stop my hand from shaking as I cut a piece of waffle and stick it in my mouth. It tastes incredible, almost as good as the scone from the French bakery, and I see Harry let out a sigh of relief.

"Morning," he says. Once I swallow my bite I smile at him.

"Good Morning," I reply. "Thank you so much for this." I add, gesturing to the tray. He nods.

"Figured you might be hungry." He chimes, and I notice a slight purr in his voice which causes me to blush.

"Did you eat anything?" I ask and he smiles.

"Don't need to." He tells me and I roll my eyes.

"Don't be daft. Here." I say, and cut a piece of waffle for him. I hold out the fork, intending for him to take it, but he just stares at it and I feel my heart begin to race. Does he really expect me to feed him? I don't want to. That's a VERY couple-esque thing to do, but I also know if I don't it might seem like rejection to Harry. I'm not ready to be a couple, but I don't want to push him away and ruin any hope I may have of being one eventually. Sighing, I edge the fork into Harry's mouth and he bites down, pulling back lightly and taking the piece of waffle with him. I roll my eyes as he chews, acting like he is severely judging the texture and taste.

"Not bad!" He exclaims when he finished and I just shake my head and sip the coffee. He is sitting at the edge of the bed and it looks like he is about to fall off, so I pat the side next to me and he grins. He doesn't say anything, but he quickly walks around and sits down beside me. I eat for a moment in silence and I hand Harry a strip of bacon which he takes gratefully. I am rather aware of the fact that I am still naked and the sheet is barely covering my breasts, but I suppose it's something he's seen before.

"Have you ever been to the museum here?" he asks me as he chews the bacon. I look over at him.

"Don't think so." I reply, sipping my coffee once more. Harry beams.

"You would love it, 'Mione. We should go sometime today." He tells me. I nod and give him a smile. I set the coffee down.

"I actually was thinking I could try and look at that flat, maybe. I can't stay in the hotel for much longer, and I should probably try to find a job, too…"I say, although the last part is more to me than to Harry. He watches me and reaches over, lacing his fingers in mine.

"Listen, I have a spare room –" he begins and I nearly choke on waffle.

"Oh, no, Harry, I couldn't!" I cut off, and he gives me a knowing look.

"You CAN, actually, and it would save you a lot of headache." He says. I bite my lip, and Harry sighs. I can tell he understands why I'm reserved to the idea and he gives my hand a small squeeze. "We don't have to be a couple, 'Mione. Roommates. Separate rooms. If you don't want to live with me because you aren't ready or something, I understand! We can visit the flat later. But if the reason you're saying no is because you think I am going to act like your boyfriend and treat you like we're a couple living together, I promise you it won't be like that. I just want to help." He says. I swallow hard and look Harry in the eye, where there is nothing compassion. He is always so damn compassionate. My brain is telling me to say no, that all it is going to do is lead him in a direction I'm not ready for, but I can't stop my heart from fluttering at the idea of living with him. This is totally and completely stupid because a week ago I was completely against this whole concept. A lot has changed since then, I suppose, and I muster up my courage and give my head one single nod. Harry smiles in approval and sneaks a bite of my waffle. "Finish up. We got a museum to go to." He says and smiles at me before crossing into the bathroom and turning on the shower.

He is so calm. He's acting like sleeping with me is something we do all the time, and he hasn't kissed me or made any sort of gesture to imply it even happened apart from holding my hand. And offering to let me move in, but even that was more out of friendship than sex. I smile. This is why I love him. He never pushes things, but lets them develop naturally and when they do, he just accepts it. Part of me wishes I could be more like that. I overanalyze everything and look at it all from a logical point of view. Half the time success if found by belief, not proof.

I think about that thought for a moment. I don't need proof to know I love Harry. I believe and know that, but I do need proof that a relationship with him won't hurt people. Especially him. I need to see how things are now that the dynamic has shifted and we've, well….You know.

"No. I know you feel the same way about him, Hermione. I've seen it. If you leave now, you will destroy the little bit of him he was able to hold onto when you left before. "

"Because he loves you. He always has."

I didn't want to believe what Ron had said. It is scary, unfathomable, and above all, something I completely believe to be dangerous. As I hear Harry turn the water on, I can't deny the fact that it's probably true. The half-eaten waffles in front of me say so. The way he was waiting for me to bring up what happened, probably because he knows my reservations about it, say so. His face definitely says so. His eyes, his voice, his kiss. Oh, God, his kiss. It all says so. He loves me.

I decide that I have to get dressed and I make my way out of his bed to see my clothes lying askew around me. I can't even find my shirt, and after I get my jeans and bra back on I grab one of Harry's t-shirts and throw it over my head. My make-up is smeared and I frown, wetting the pad of my forefinger with my tongue in desperate attempt to clean it off. It sort of works, but I am left with a bag under my eye. Sighing, I resort to ignoring it completely and running my fingers through my hair, hoping to tame the locks some. That too proves useless, and with a groan I collapse onto the bed face-first.

"You look fine, stop fretting." Harry says, and I lift my eyes up a bit so see him smirking at me with a towel wrapped around his waist. I roll my eyes.

"That was quick." I say to him in reference to the shower. He shrugs.

"Was in a hurry." He replies with a slightly sadistic grin. I let out a laugh and sit up, my hair falling about my face and forcing me to blow it out of the way.

This is nice. Simple, flirtatious, friendly bantering. It's how I remember Harry. It's how I remember us, before it all went wrong. I find myself blushing at the recollections, and I see Harry's eyes travel slowly down my body.

"That's mine." He points out, his voice soft and kind.

"I- I'm sorry, I don't where mine is and—" I start to say. Harry's brilliant emeralds shine as if they were diamonds as he listens to me, and with a small shake of his head and the twitching of his mouth, forming a fantastic smile, he silences me.

"Keep it, please. Looks better on you anyway." He says. My blush deepens. I see his Adam's apple bob and our eyes meet, a spark igniting instantly.

Suddenly, I have to suppress the intense desire to run away once more. We are completely tip-toeing around this, and neither of us seems to want to take the first step toward something. I know why I don't. I'm not entirely convinced this is a good idea, and I'm actually feeling a little nausea by the sensation he is giving me. He seems afraid of pushing me away, at least that's the only explanation I can think of. If I know Harry, it's a sound one. His eyes are digging deeper into me, and I feel my heart rattle against my chest.

"Hermione?" he whispers. His voice is like snowfall. It's soft, light, pure, yet it's icy. The coldness that is edged around my name sends a chill down my spine and makes my head begin to spin. I have to take a breath to steady myself because his eyes are cutting into me as well. I feel vulnerable and on display with no hope of turning back. The time for that was last night, before my lips met his.

"Yes?" I manage to say, and Harry's eyes begin to burn they are staring at me so fiercely. He doesn't look angry, just determined, but the ice is still covering his words as he speaks next.

"I know that look."

My jaw feels like its bolted shut as I try to let the saliva pass through me. I want to open up and ask him what he is talking about, I want to get this whole thing settled but I don't know where to start. I just stare at him, taking in all the power he is managing to have, feeling as small as I did the first night we reconnected.

"You want me to step aside so you can shower." He says. My eyes widen.

"Wha—" I start to say, and Harry breaks out into a smile.

"Haha! You just have to ask, you don't have to sit there in silence! Go on, it's all yours." He says and moves away from the door frame. I'm gawking at him, trying to understand why he would stare at me with such intensity over such a silly notion. I wonder if he was trying to cover up something else entirely, especially when I see him eyeing me carefully as I stand up and cross to the bathroom.

His shower feels better than the one in my hotel. Once I'm finished and I'm redressed in Harry's shirt and my jeans, I find him waiting for me on the bed. It's made, and I notice the brilliant blue color of the comforter. The more I stare at it, the calmer I begin to feel. Which is a good thing, considering Harry stands up and entangles his strong fingers in mine, grinning from ear to ear.

"Museum?" he asks. I nod and together we venture off to Harry's Porsche, the museum waiting for us.

He was right. I love it. The grand cases hold a piece of every period of history from ancient Egyptian artwork to the tiara of a Romanov princess. There are feather headpieces from Native American tribes, African masks and costumes from Laurence Olivier's Hamlet. Everywhere I turn there is something colorful catching my eye, a giant array of artifacts glistening beneath an area light. Half of the time I don't need to read the plaques, must to my satisfaction and Harry's amusement. I giggle and laugh as I watch him try to pronounce the French words on a plaque describing a piece of Napoleon's armor, and eventually I take pity on him and read it out loud. He grins and shakes his head in awe before grabbing my hand and leading me down an ornate hallway toward the exhibit he really wants me to see.

"Harry –" I begin to protest as he covers my eyes with his hand, and he lets out a small chuckle.

"Trust me, 'Mione." He whispers and we stop walking. "Okay, open." He says, lowering his hand to his side.

My jaw drops and my breath escapes my mouth in one fluid second. The sign to my right tells me that before me stands a replica of Jane Austen's bedroom. There is a small writing desk in front of a very plain white window with a small curtain blowing in an automated breeze, paper and quill on site ready for use. The ground is old wood and creaks as I take a step further. A small bed sits to my right with a beautiful quilt and feather pillow, beckoning me to lie down and take a nap. Across from it rests an armoire, polished oak, with brass handles that shine against the light sneaking in from behind the window.

"Harry…Oh, my god." I say. "This is amazing." He nods.

"It's a traveling exhibit. It's only here for another week, but it has her original manuscripts in a case by the desk, see?" he says and guides me toward it. Sure enough, beneath the glass are bundles of faded ink on yellowed paper, curling at the edges. They are wrapped in string that looks as if it hasn't been touches in two hundred years, and I feel my heart skip a beat.

"Are those hers too?" I whisper, gesturing toward the bonnet and handkerchief that are displayed on the shelf below. Harry nods enthusiastically.

"That quilt was hers too." He says and I feel my eyes drift back toward the bed. I shake my head in utter amazement and wrap my arms around Harry's waist. He squeezes me to him as I take a deep breath, intoxicating my mind with his scent.

"I can't believe I got to see her manuscripts!" I squeak into his chest. As he laughs I feel his heartbeat race, and it brings a blush to my cheeks. "Why aren't other people here?" I ask. Harry's eyes dart to the ground and he almost looks sheepish as his eyes meet mine again.

"Well, even in this world I have some connections and, er…I might've rented the exhibit for half an hour so you could fully enjoy it. I know how much books mean to you, and I know that the first book you ever read was Pride and Prejudice, and I thought you might really like it." He says with a small, tender voice. I'm speechless as I look at him, and before I know it I'm placing a hand on his cheek and drawing small circles on his perfect skin.

"You..Harry…You are too amazing for words." I whisper. I want to kiss him, I want to pour out my heart and soul to him as he stares at me with those brilliant green eyes. Something is stopping me, but it's something I'm finding incredibly easy to suppress the longer he looks at me. This is the moment he's been waiting for, I can tell, and there is a voice in my head telling me he isn't going to be the one to make a move. He wants to see if I'm ready to try this relationship out, he wants to know if I am ready to move forward and experiment with something we were so close to having yet so far from actually reaching. This game is now in my hands, and I start to feel panic rise in my stomach.

Last night was amazing. If I'm being completely honest, it was better than I remembered and it was something I want to do again. Often. But I still can't accept that I'm not going to hurt him and that's where the rub lies. The seconds are ticking by faster than I want them to and I feel Harry start to tense up. His arms are loosening their hold on me, and suddenly the panic switches from that of worry to that of fear. Fear that I will lose him, fear that he will hate me forever. Fear that if I don't do this, I will never have another chance to.

He deserves more than me, though. I am a train wreck who can't love without hurting. It's ridiculous of me to wish Harry to wait for me to be ready for this, and it's stupid of me to treat him so badly and expect him to welcome me with open arms.

His eyes give him away, though. He'd wait a thousand years if he had to. And I know, despite my fears, that I would wait two thousand. There is no turning back.

I selfishly lift my body up with my toes and place a gentle kiss on Harry's lips. He relaxes and his hand comes up to cup my cheek delicately, and after a moment I break away and give him a smile. I'm way past too deep. I am trapped. I am madly in love with him and for all I know he could be madly I love with me too, and no matter what I tell myself I know I am not going to walk away. So when Harry wraps his arms around my waist and hugs me to him, where I feel his cock start to twitch against my leg, I give him a husky growl and kiss him fiercely. He pulls away after a moment and I whimper, which makes him grin wolfishly.

"You have a room to explore." He says breathily. "I would hate for this to go to waste." He says. I raise an eyebrow at him and place my hands on my hips.

" I have a feeling, Mr. Potter, that there may be a double meaning to your statement." I tease. His hand flies to his heart and his face contorts into a wounded look, mocking me the same way I mocked him. I feel my desire grow in this playful atmosphere, and I decide to make him suffer in the most delicious way possible. "However, there are cameras…" I point out, and Harry's eye searches in the top right corner. He blushed and gives me a cheeky grin.

"So?" he says seductively. I shake my head very slowly and take a step closer to him. I lean into his ear and rest my breasts over his arm, making him shudder as I say,

"So…I'm going to explore this room and afterwards, I'll take you home and we'll see what else might need exploring, hm?"

He gives me a quirky smirk.

"Explore away, Granger." He says, and sinks into a rocking chair by the armoire. I sigh.

"Harry, you aren't supposed to sit in the artifacts!" I scold. He smirks.

"I love when you get bossy." He says with a little shimmy of his shoulders. I try hard to keep down the laugh that wants free, and instead I roll my eyes and bend over right in front of him as if I had to tie my shoe. I hear his sharp intake of breath and turn around.

"Get out of the chair and you can explore that later." I say. He nods.

"Okay!" he says, a little too enthusiastically. I burst out laughing and his cheeks turn crimson. "Sorry…" he says. I smile at him and turn around so I won't make him feel worse, and I pretend to look at the manuscripts and quill before the throbbing in my groin is almost unbearable.

"Harry." I say. "We have to go. Now."

He is all too willing to oblige, and I can't deny the guilt I feel that he went through so much effort to let me have that exhibit to myself, and I am leaving early so we can go shag. He doesn't seem to mind though, and he finds it hard to keep his hands to himself as we drive back to his house.

We have another night together, and it is even more brilliant than the night before. I find myself awake in his arms and the alarm clock reads 2:23 a.m. I know I need to be asleep. I know that tomorrow is going to come faster than I think and I know that, eventually, I'm going to have to get my things out of the hotel room. I'm still wearing Harry's old t-shirt, and because of that everything around me smells of him. That, and the fact that I am currently wrapped in his muscular arms.

Apprehension is still rearing its ugly head, but considering we've now spent two nights in a row together, slept in the same bed, and snogged each other till our lips almost bled, I suppose we're heading down the path I wanted so desperately to avoid.

Then again, did I really want to avoid it?

If I did, I wouldn't be here. I have a very decent hold on decisions, and I know that if this was something I truly did not want I would have walked away.

My mind is screaming all these thoughts to me, and eventually I remove myself from Harry's grip and walk to the bathroom. I'm more aware that I'm moving in here as I look around the room, and my stomach threatens to flip over at that thought. He said we wouldn't act like a couple, but was that still true? Especially since I was the one who initiated tonight's rendezvous?

I stare at my face in the mirror and frown. Backing out would destroy him, and not acting like a couple would just be delaying the inevitable…Right?

I turn the knob for the cold water on and splash a little on my face. I can't tell if I'm thinking straight, and when I open my eyes again I make a very conscious, very sudden, very insane decision.

I'm going to ask Harry to be my boyfriend.

A/N: Thanks for reading!