Between the Lines

Tinsadisaster

Summary: Harry and Hermione travel alone now, unaccompanied by Ron. Sparks fly, words are said, and friends become ... more than friends. HPHG

Disclaimer: I don't even own some of the cheesy pick up lines that I decided to insert into this chapter... so pretty much, I own nothing that involves Harry Potter world.

Author's Note:

I'm honored and amazed and grateful (damn, look at that onslaught of and's) for all the reviews that I've received for the last few chapters of Between The Lines. Surely, I never realized that this little plot bunny of mine would ever result into something as successful as it has turned out to be. Thank you for new subscriptions to alerts and whatnot, and to reviewers especially (who did not AK me for my lack of skills in sex/smut writing, thank Merlin!), and everyone else that somehow found their way onto my stories' page. Keep reading, keep reviewing! I love it when I check my mail and I see all the alerts from . Honestly, I do.

WARNING:

There's some extreme flirtation in this chapter. It's not sugary-sweet, so I don't feel the need for a plastic bag or something to yak into, but if you feel it is necessary, grab the proper materials before reading a single world of this chapter. Oh, and there are implications of naughty stuff going on, but unless you can figure out these implications, I guess this a safe chapter -- but then again, if you're not old enough to think of those implications (according to ), why are you reading this?! Otherwise, enjoy!


God created the flirt as soon as he made the fool

Victor Hugo

She learned to say things with her eyes

that others waste time putting into words

Corey Ford


He supposed it was a matter of proximity.

It had been a while since he had the privilege to touch another person, let alone find himself in that sexual position with a girl. He knew he was in this extraordinary quest for impossible things, but his body was an impossible thing to control as well. He couldn't control the dreams he found himself dreaming, nor the surprises that came up, literally, in his lap on cold, winter mornings. He certainly couldn't control the sudden thoughts he'd been thinking about his best friend, but he tried to ignore them, for the sake of the journey, as well as her innocence.

"Innocence? What innocence? Any sign of that went out the window the day we..." found himself whispering, as he twirled a dead stick that resembled the broken halves of his wand, with his fingers, absolutely tired of the boredom that came along with the silence and feeling of confusion that seemed to be as common as the leaves that fell lifelessly onto their makeshift tent.

It had been a few days since The Incident, as Hermione officially named it. Harry was surprised that she would even name the event, knowing for sure she would have remembered to "forget" in order to move onto more important things, such as saving the world and keeping Harry alive long enough to luckily stumble upon a helpful clue.

"Are you still brooding over The Incident, Harry?" a slightly shrill voice called out, somewhere in the near distance. He looked over his shoulder and there she was, frumpy winter cap and all, the sudden object of his dreams' affection.

"You really had to name it, didn't you?" Harry said, a bit amazed that she could act so normally under such abnormal conditions. Here he was, albeit on the borderline between reflective and obsessive on something that happened days ago. Perhaps it really was proximity that made him so hot and bothered.

"Well, as significant as it is, it being my loss of this so-called "virginity," I thought it proper to name it. I can barely remember how many days ago it was, and that's horrible, right? I'm a girl. I'm supposed to remember these things. Mum used to talk to me about them, these milestones of womanhood, she called it." Hermione didn't ask for permission, but naturally shoved her way into a seat on the rock that Harry was sitting on.

"Milestones of womanhood? Are you serious? That sounds awful," he said, with a ghost of a wince playing on his face. "I can't believe your Mum talked to you about that stuff. I had to learn everything through locker room talk and the older Weasley sons. Imagine the humiliation that I had to go through, just to listen to what I needed to know about pleasuring a girl, as Fred liked to phrase it."

Hermione made a face, and Harry knew he had said too much. He looked away awkwardly, and decided to keep his mouth shut, unless he let even more embarrassing tidbits of his pathetic life spill. If anything ever indicated that Hermione was a good friend of his, it had to be this: he was discussing the issue of sex with her, a girl, and didn't feel like he was going to keel over and die in shame, which led to the question of exactly how this topic came up.

"The way I see it, we're teenagers. And as corny as it may sound, the professors are right. We've got raging hormones, and huge imaginations, and a desire to explore."

Harry nodded, not wanting to elaborate on his opinions about what raging hormones, huge imaginations, and desires to explore usually led up to.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, suddenly letting her gloved hand cover his numb fingers (he had forgotten where he put his own gloves) in a loving gesture. He found himself a little bit closer to her, on the rock, than he originally thought. He liked to think his body was just clinging towards her warmer temperature, but he wasn't a complete idiot. He knew exactly what was going on.

"I think that whatever happened those few days ago ... was not an accident. And like you said, I do not regret it. And ... I think that .. Well..." She looked away into the distance, looking at anything but him, because she couldn't muster up the courage to say the rest of the sentence.

"Well, I just thought that there's been enough regret floating around between us. And I think what we did was perfectly natural, perfectly normal. I'm glad you feel the same way about it. I had a great time. I hope you did too," Harry said, with a mischievous glint in his emerald green eyes, and in a surprisingly confident manner. He could steal singing eggs from dragons, escape death by a single hair on his head, and catch enough snitches in Quidditch matches to enter the major Quidditch leagues, but given the objective of being mature in a conversation about sex, with a girl, he would've chosen the three previous feats before even considering the fourth.

Hermione blushed, as Harry watched the ends of her lips curve in a similar mischievous way. She threw him off guard as she confessed, "Well... I don't mind it if... we ever find ourselves in that position again. I have to agree with you this time, Potter. I definitely had fun." Harry's eyes widened, as she stole a kiss on his lips and proceeded to run away, at a painfully slow pace, given the snow and her lacking athletic ability.

Having recovered from her confession, as well as her thievery, Harry stood up and chased after his girl friend. He was feeling nostalgic at the event, remembering similar days like these at Hogwarts, when all that mattered was the fresh powder that fell from the sky and the unsuspecting targets that were asking to be attacked with snowballs. He remembered the days where the flashing red hair, in sharp contrast to the white snow, would be somewhere nearby, and all he wanted to do was throw a snowball at this former flame of his, sending an implicit idea that "Hey, I'm just like the little boy at primary school, who used to pull your pig tails because I secretly liked you." In those days, a swivel of that head of red hair would produce Ginny's face, but in this moment, at this particular time, all he saw was Hermione.

Just Hermione.


They had stumbled upon a small field of green grass (something rare in the winter), and decided to take a rest from the quest, or at least Harry was. He was jogging around and doing pushups, trying to bring his cold fingers back to life. Hermione rolled her eyes, feeling grateful no one was around to witness her friend looking like he was imitating the way Viktor Krum hopped about near the Lake during the mornings of the Trials, sans obsessive fan girls and fan boy, if she recalled.

Harry was throwing his weight around, pretending to throw spells at invisible enemies. Hermione's wand still felt foreign to him, but he stopped crying over his broken wand ages ago. If he ever learned anything about this journey, it was that if something doesn't work, then tough luck, move on and adapt. Deciding to involve Hermione in his role playing, he marched over to where Hermione sat Indian-style, with her face in her hands. He poked at his friend with her wand, letting the wand manipulate a lock of her hair. He badgered her to join in his fun.

"C'mon Mione. Stop sulking. It's so unbecoming on you," joked Harry, who was one to talk about sulking. He even admitted to her once, that for a straight year, he felt sorry that he yelled practically everything that ever came out of his mouth. If Rita Skeeter was around to record his every word, she would have run out of ink and gotten tired of the constant capitalization, as Hermione smartly commented.

"Potter, where did you get this newfound, insane burst of energy, eh? It's near freezing and here you are, jumping around like a rabbit that went through Fred and George's experiments."

"Let's just say I'm feeling a bit vindictive. Someone stole something from me earlier today, and I'd like to punish her," he playfully said, knowing that his banter was sneaking its way into outright flirtation. He didn't feel ashamed at all, and that was why this strange new relationship with Hermione just felt right. There were no feelings or thoughts forcing him to act in a certain way, as with Cho and their horrible first and only date, or with Ginny and their awkward moments in the shadows of the Hogwarts castle. He didn't have to be anyone but Harry Potter, and that was what comforted and scared him at times. Would he ever feel this way with anyone else? Or better yet, did he want to?

Hermione took longer than necessary to respond, because she had everything to say about what she did, but nothing to say at the same. Sure, Harry looked particularly handsome, as he reminisced on the rock. Plus, it had been days since their last interaction. No one ever got hurt by taking advantage of objects in their surroundings, right? Objects or available people to enjoy confusing moments with?

Deciding to join him in the playful banter, she stood up and faced him (or rather strained her neck to face him, that tall bugger!). She leaned her head a bit to the right, and smirked, watching Harry's eyes light up with amusement at her decision to comply to his request. "Well, someone was just being too enticing for his own good, so I had to do something. It was only natural," she offered.

"Oh, so it's natural to go around stealing things from people, eh? I never thought you a thief, Hermione, but then again how much do I really know about you? I've only known you since we were eleven years old. I mean, you really could've picked up some nasty skills in your first decade or so of life," Harry said, throwing up his hands in exaggeration.

Hermione's mouth formed an "O" as she listened to Harry's attempt at suave flirtation. He was good, but she was better.

"I don't know, Harry. It might be you. You were always such a bad influence on little ol' me. You had me sneaking out late at night, when I should've been asleep in my bed, like the other girls in Gryffindor. I lied to people, prepared potions, and even had to throw some spells at my own friends. I don't know. People say I'm the brightest witch of our age, but my guess is that you made me this way. What else have I known, with all your seven years or so of influence? You're lucky that was all I stole from you -- heaven forbid, I stole something else of importance -- like for example, your innocence!" she said.

"Hey! From what I remembered, and I remember absolutely everything pertaining to that Incident, you were willing. Last time I checked, the definition of stealing implied that the victim was unwilling of the theft. I think you enjoyed my thievery, just fine, don't you think? ... Oh, is little ol' Mione blushing? Or no, no, can't be. That would mean that you acknowledge that I am right, you are wrong, and you are a witch with naughty thoughts in that big brain of yours," Harry replied.

"Oy, you think you're so cute, don't you?" Hermione lamely responded, not wanting to accept defeat in this battle of words and feelings.

"Well, someone thought I was 'just too enticing' earlier today, so that must mean I must be somewhat attractive to the opposite sex," Harry said, thinking that this banter was getting him frustrated in a different sense than the normal connotation of the word. He turned around, hoping he'd have time to regain his composure, before facing Hermione again.

"Ack!" was all he heard, as he felt a body shove itself onto his back, forcing both of them to fall to the ground. With his deft and agile Seeker skills, he quickly turned around mid-fall, grabbing Hermione by the waist, to make sure he would take the majority of the pain of the impact, once they hit the wet grass. And just like that, they found themselves in another compromising position.

"Merlin, Hermione. If you wanted some of me, all you needed to do was ask. But no you always make it so difficult. Here I am, partly winded, and there you are, looking as red as a tomato. Tsk, tsk."

"You forgot to mention the other part, Harry," she said, squirming slightly as Harry used his upper body strength to pull himself in a sitting position. It was a bit of a struggle, given that he had about a hundred and ten pounds of girl in his lap.

"Oh, and ... will you stop squirming?... what is the other part?" Harry said, trying to fix his glasses, as they were nearly fell off in their tussle. He knew very well what Hermione was insinuating, but he was having a hard time already, willing himself to keep his hands to himself.

"I've got you exactly where I want you... and let's just say you're very happy to see me, because that's definitely not my wand in your pocket." Hermione presented her wand, in her hand, and smirked at Harry, who never guessed that this friend of his was such a plotter.

"You're a tease, Hermione Granger. An awful, thieving, tease," Harry said, deciding that this moment was bound to happen. He let one of his hands slowly drag itself up his friend's neck, taking its place in the wild tangles of her curly yet soft hair. He stared at Hermione, waiting for her to be entranced as he was by their gaze, before swooping in for the kill, or rather, the kiss. Hermione's eyes widened, and any retort that could have possibly come out of her mouth was drowned by the sudden onslaught of Harry's lips.

Harry let himself fall completely into the kiss, closing his eyes and putting a little bit of attitude into it, so Hermione decided to just play along. She kept her eyes open, as she responded to every demand he made of her, moaning and biting his lips just to keep up with his energy. For a second, she saw his eyes glance at her own, sending a message of extreme desire. From then on, she realized she had no right to be analyzing the kiss, and decided to just dive heart-first into this thing she could not comprehend, this particular moment in time that did not need a reason to happen.

Hands wandered, finding buttons and layers of clothing that immediately fell away, and skin touched skin. Lips left kisses down necks, placing soft touches on collarbones and shoulders, and body parts dangerously lower. Backs arched, fingers grazed hips, and moans escaped as inhibitions flew and dispersed, like dust in the wind. Hips connected, breaths were taken away, and thrusting was involved, but never ever did the connection between brown and emerald green eyes ever break -- as solid as the ground that carried their weight, as unrelenting as the wind that started to pick up, and as moving as the vision of her honey brown hair flowing wildly with the wind against the crayon blue sky, as they moved in unison in the ancient art of intimacy.


Another pair of eyes watched in the distance, wondering what exactly was going on, because his eyes must have been tricking him. There was no way what he was seeing was real -- just like a mirage in a desert, the conditions of his weary body, mind, and soul were playing tricks on him too. If his eyes were operating right, then his mind was registering a young man and a young woman getting to know one another in a grass field in the middle of nowhere. And if he really was in his right state of mind, that young man was Harry Potter and that young woman was Hermione Granger.

But no, he must have really been seeing things. Because Harry Potter and Hermione Granger did not do what those two were doing, in that grass field in the middle of nowhere.

He would know -- he was Ron Weasley, and though he was not known to be completely observant of his surroundings, this definitely wasn't real.

But if this was not real, why did he feel like his heart was being squeezed by a hand of a giant? Surely, it wasn't heart burn or indigestion, or any other feeling he felt before, similar to to this sudden pain in his chest. Why did he suddenly feel the need to cry? The last time he cried was when one of his brothers accidentally punched him in the nose, but this was worst than that -- a terrible pain in his chest, tears running down his face, and a sudden desire to kill anything sunny and cheerful within a one-mile radius of his location among the trees?

He didn't hate his friends, but in this moment, he certainly did not like them. And he couldn't decide which friend he hated the most -- the one who he thought would never betray him, especially since they had a romantic history, or the one he never suspected she'd betray him with, the only wizard he knew that felt more like a brother to him than his actual brothers by blood.

He would never forgive them for this, no matter how much he missed them both.

Not this time.