"Find a place inside where there's joy, and the joy will burn out the pain." - Joseph Campbell

Chapter Ten

Hermione woke up before Harry, which was good because she didn't want him to witness the morning Hermione quite yet. And, after the previous night, her hair must have looked quite a sight. Where was her wand?

She was comfortable where she was, her back pressed into his front with his arm draped over her side. She felt supremely content, even lazy. And loved. Her body was tingling as she remembered the feel of his hands on her skin. He'd been so gentle, caressing her, worshipping her.

If her parents could see her now. She chuckled softly to herself. She had to get up. She had to get into the bathroom and get ready to face this day of all days, but she just couldn't bring herself to do it.

Hermione Granger was resolved to remain where she was for the rest of her life. She had decided.

When Harry started to stir behind her, Hermione let out a pleased sigh. "You're awake," he murmured, his breath hot on her neck.

"I rather think I'm dreaming," she murmured back.

"Is that so?" he asked, sounding slightly amused. He ghosted light kisses along her exposed shoulder.

"Hmm."

He gently blew on the skin of her neck as he snaked an arm under her and drew her closer to him. "Can we just stay here forever?" he asked softly, as if he'd read her mind.

"We can't."

"Please?"

She almost gave in. The sound of his voice, the pleading in his tone; she almost said yes to every request he ever made. But she couldn't. They couldn't. "Ron will be arriving soon," she said, putting her hands over his on her abdomen. "Then what?"

"He can watch."

Hermione laughed out loud, absently pushing back into Harry. He let out a groan that confused her for a moment. But then again, she didn't need to be a genius to figure just what was up with him. She even blushed at the thought, which was embarrassing enough given their activities of the night before.

"We should get up, yeah," he said. "We should definitely get up." Quite quickly, Harry rose from the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Hermione felt very cold, with the warmth of his body suddenly gone. She didn't move though. She heard him turn on the shower and she just listened to the sound of the running water, her eyes closed and the smell of him all around her.

Based on what Ron told her about the happenings of the previous night, she needed to hear sounds, otherwise she would probably break down the door. Her anxiety paralysed her until Harry finally emerged from the bathroom. All he was wearing was a towel around his waist. Hermione didn't know why it shocked her. There was nothing remotely surprising about towels and bathrooms, but she was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was naked underneath that towel. And, after last night, she felt charged.

From her position on the bed, she watched him as he moved across the room, gingerly picking out a set of clothes from what Ron had bought for him the day before.

"Stop staring at me," Harry said, not even looking at her. "It's nothing you haven't seen before. Or touched."

Hermione said nothing as she carefully got up off the bed and stretched her arms up in the air. When she turned around, Harry was staring at her. "What?"

"You're beautiful, Hermione," he said, his eyes scanning her body. Her pyjamas didn't leave much to the imagination but that wasn't even a problem. His hands already knew her body well enough. Every inch.

Hermione moved around the bed and walked towards him. She didn't stop though. She merely lifted her fingers and ran them across his chest as she made her way to the bathroom, grabbing her bag and eventually closing the door behind her.

The steam was pleasantly welcoming. It clouded her mind, invariably clearing it. When she left her parents' house the day before, she'd never expected this. Coming to Diagon Alley had just been an excuse to see Harry. Sure, she'd needed to get school supplies but, really, it was all about Harry. And now, she'd just spent the night being held so protectively in his arms.

It was only one night, she knew, but how could she possibly go back to sleeping alone now? It felt too good to give up.

Hermione didn't take her time in the shower, her mind and body subconsciously wanting to see Harry as soon as possible. She shook her head at her own thoughts. If she wasn't careful, she was sure she would end up addicted to him.

When Hermione emerged from the bathroom, she found Harry standing practically where she left him. He was dressed in clothes that actually fit him: blue jeans, a checked shirt and a brown woolen jersey. He was staring at the bed as if it had just insulted him in some way.

"Harry, what are you doing?" she asked, looking at him curiously.

Harry waited a beat before he looked at her. "I want to be back in that bed with you," he said softly. "I never want to leave here, Hermione."

She walked towards him, sensing that he was thinking something very profound. She probably shouldn't have left him alone so soon after… After what? What had happened last night? He'd given everything of himself, bared his soul for her to see. She had to know he would be vulnerable.

Harry reached out for her and placed his hands on her waist, drawing her close to him. He rested his forehead against hers.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asked softly, his breath tickling her nose.

"You can tell me anything, Harry," she whispered back.

"You, Hermione Granger, are the kind of girl people write books about."

Hermione just stared at him, their breath mingling in front of her. She didn't think a greater compliment existed in this world. Not for her, at least.

"I love you," he said simply. "I wish I had more words, better words to explain just what you mean to me, but I don't. This is it, Hermione. This is what you get. I'm just a boy. Just Harry. And I love you. Is that enough? Am I enough?"

Hermione's heart twisted painfully. "Of course, Harry. You are more. You are so much more."

Harry kissed her gently. It was long, slow and tantalising. "I have half a mind to ask you to run away with me," he said, his voice barely audible. "I could spend the rest of my life with just you."

"It wouldn't be that exciting," she said, trying to ease the severity of his tone.

"You've already made for an exciting summer, Hermione; I'm sure life with you would be just as amazing, if not more. I honestly don't think there would be a day that I wouldn't be happy."

"Are you happy right now?"

"Always. With you." He kissed the tip of her nose. "Just, please don't open that door."

Hermione slipped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him tight. She wouldn't let go. She couldn't. "I know the world is a scary place," she whispered to him; "but you're not alone, Harry. Never alone. Never again."

With Hermione, he felt safe. She knew everything now, and she was still here; still holding him. She knew it all; the good, the bad, the big and all the small things.

Harry was reminded of it again. Hermione Granger was it. She was all; the one for forever. Just in this moment, he knew it to be true: they belonged to each other wholeheartedly; never to belong to another.

When Ron arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was in a considerably better mood. It helped that he'd just been thoroughly kissed. Hermione would have to school him about learning to hide it better. There was just something about his face that was always a dead giveaway. How would they ever survive stealing kisses at school when he could barely keep the goofy grin off his face?

Ron raised his eyebrows suggestively at the both of them but he said nothing. Hermione wondered how he would respond if she did end up kissing Harry in front of him? She wouldn't try it, but it did make her wonder.

"Mum's expecting us later," Ron informed them while they were having breakfast, with Tom silently watching over them like their very own protector. "We should probably get our supplies for school today, seeing as yesterday was such a bust ."

Harry shrugged. "Sorry ."

Ron smiled kindly at him, leaving words unsaid. They were starting to do that quite often. It was as if Ron took a page out of Hermione's book.

Hermione took the opportunity to make plans. Oh, how she loved to make plans. She asked them each questions, mainly about their subject choices. Harry, admittedly hadn't spent enough time deciding and Hermione didn't push him. Not yet, at least.

After breakfast, the trio headed into Diagon Alley, with Hermione leading the way. It was easier for both boys if they just allowed her to take control.

They had several days before they had to board the Express and Hermione wasn't sure she even wanted to. She really didn't want to have Harry live in what she believed was slowly becoming a toxic environment. Or already had.

Umbridge had pretty much ruined their fifth year, and Dumbledore had let her.

Dumbledore.

Hermione could only wonder what their Headmaster would try to do once Harry was back at Hogwarts. She hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Harry about what had actually happened with the Order. If anything she was a bit embarrassed of her own words and actions. Her rage had been uncontainable.

It still was sometimes.

Once Hermione deemed their days' proceedings successful, they shrunk all their supplies and, with barely a word spoken about it, made their way to the Burrow.

Molly received both Harry and Hermione with as much gusto as Hermione supposed she reserved for her oldest sons when they visited their childhood home. It was overwhelming.

Hermione couldn't be sure how much Molly Weasley had been told about just what happened the day before, but Hermione wasn't about to ask. She also didn't ask if Ron told anyone in his family that she and Harry were together. She'd worried only of Ron's reaction and nobody else's.

What would Ginny say? Hermione suddenly wasn't so sure she wanted to share a room with the youngest Weasley. But then, would Molly ever actually let her share a room with Harry? Hermione even laughed at the thought.

Would anyone really believe that all she wanted to do was sleep in the same bed as him?

Even Hermione barely believed it. They were building towards something, she was sure. She could feel it. Every time he looked at her; every time he so much as touched her; there was something. It wasn't really anything she could explain, but she found that she wasn't remotely afraid of it.

This was Harry Potter. He would never willingly do anything to hurt her.

To her, Harry was quiet when they first arrived at the Burrow. He looked and felt conflicted, even awkward, as he was, as usual, the centre of Molly's attention. After dinner, he disappeared into his room and Ron got almost as antsy about his absence as Hermione did.

Without a word, they both stood up, excused themselves and went to find Harry. The wizard in question was lying on his back on his bed, reading a letter.

As Hermione walked towards him, she recognised her own handwriting, but the sudden rush of affection was quickly squashed by concern. What letter was that? Hermione almost forgot that Ron was also in the room as she climbed onto the bed beside Harry.

Taking the cue, Harry opened his arms for her and she snuggled against his chest. Harry didn't say anything as he handed the letter to Hermione and pulled her in tighter against him, his eyes automatically closing.

Ron stood awkwardly for a moment before he made a decision. Using his wand, he moved the other bed to be parallel with the bed on which his two best friends were lying. He also lay down and stared at the ceiling. He couldn't be sure what it was but they were all different. As much as Hermione professed that nothing would change; something definitely had.

In this moment, Ron knew that the change had nothing to do with Harry and Hermione's new relationship. If anything, it had everything to do with the trio's new understanding of just what had been going on. Ron and Hermione now knew, and Harry knew they knew.

For the longest time, the three of them just existed in silence. Hermione read through the letter he'd been reading, trying to figure out why this specific one was chosen for this moment. It was a letter she sent him from after he told her about the Prophecy, and after she assured him that she liked him.

The words she knew he'd been reading were near the end.

I had an epiphany this morning, Harry. It's about you and me. I think I finally figured out why you and I are perfect for each other. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm under no illusions that it will always be smooth sailing, but a girl can dream.

The thing is, Harry, you and I, we're complete equals. We understand each other completely. We have mutual respect and we don't get in petty fights (though I think we may yet get in some massive ones as the years go on). Everyone already thinks we're dating, so… why not give the people what they want?

I'd always choose you, you know? Given the choice between you and anyone else in this world, I would choose you in a heartbeat. Without question.

I don't care that you're famous, or special or the Chosen One. I don't even care that you're fated to kill the Dark Lord. What I care about is that you are safe and happy and good. And that you're those things with me.

We want the same things. I know that I want a future with you. I don't want one if you're not in it. I have so many plans for us, Mr Potter. Exciting plans.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. This was Harry holding onto a future, with her. Gently, she folded the letter and placed it between her hand and his chest. There was nothing she needed to say at this point. They'd both said all they needed to.

It was Ron who broke their silence. He had to get something off his chest.

"Harry," Ron said, his voice cutting through the air. He rolled over onto his side to look at his best friends, to find them both already looking at him. He felt surprisingly calm, lying there, seeing them together. They seemed to fit perfectly.

"All right, Ron?" Harry prompted, his voice low in volume. It was almost as if he didn't want to disrupt the atmosphere too much.

He cleared his throat. "I think my parents knew," he said sadly. "Not the extent, I don't think; but they must have had an idea. I mean, if the Order knew then my parents had to have known." He sat up quite suddenly. "I just, I can't believe they would let it happen." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm so sorry, Harry… If I'd known," his voice caught.

A moment later, both Harry and Hermione were up off the bed and wrapping their redheaded friend in their arms. Too much had already happened to the three of them in just the five years they'd known each other.

Harry and Hermione had many moments, but this one, well, this one belonged to the trio.

It was only the beginning though.

They had an even greater War that they still had to win.

"Hey, Potter?"

Harry was surprised to find Hermione standing in the doorway of the room that she shared with Ginny. She was just standing there, looking at him strangely. "Hey you," he said, smiling at her.

"Come here a minute," she said, gesturing him forward with one of her hands.

Harry didn't move. "Why?"

"Just come here."

Harry looked around to make sure they were in fact alone in the corridor. "Hermione?" he sounded skeptical.

She raised an eyebrow. "Harry, a word to the wise, when your girlfriend tells you to come here, you come here. Got it?"

He nodded dumbly as he moved towards her. Once he was close enough, Hermione put her hands on either side of his head and studied his features quite intensely.

Then she smiled. "All I wanted to tell you was that you have something on your face," she said calmly.

"Oh."

"Shall I get it for you?"

He nodded. "Please."

Hermione was smiling when she reached up and kissed him sloppily just under his left eye, her tongue darting out to taste him.

Harry chuckled as his hands automatically moved to hold her waist. "Did you get it?"

"Hmm," she sounded, narrowing her eyes. "I don't think so. Let me try again." She turned his head to the side and practically ran her tongue up the side of his face, making him squirm.

He refrained from wiping at his face with his hands but he did tilt his head to use his shoulder. "Did you get it now?"

She bit her bottom lip. "Just about."

Harry watched her for a moment, before he exaggerated a gasp.

"What?"

"I think some of it transferred to you," he said, eyeing an invisible spot on her chin.

Hermione's hands moved to hold his shoulders. "That's tragic. Are you going to do something about it?"

"I suppose," he said, sighing. "It's the least I can do." He dropped his head and nuzzled his nose against her cheek, just breathing her in. Then, expertly, he ran the tip of his tongue along the length of her jaw, loving the sweet taste of her skin.

Hermione moaned softly, her fingers working their way into his hair and pulling his head up. She brought her lips to his and they shared their first kiss since arriving at the Burrow. They made magic together, Harry was sure, and he could barely stop himself from pushing her up against the doorframe and deepening their kiss.

There was more he wanted to do as a sudden burning desire threatened to take control of him, but the sound of a girl's squeal stopped him from letting his hands roam.

Harry and Hermione both froze, their breathing haggard. Hermione, however reluctantly, unfisted his hair and allowed him to step away from her. They both knew that the squeal belonged to Ginny. Harry took hold of Hermione's hands for a moment, squeezed and then left her to deal with the redhead on her own.

Hermione just glared at the back of his head as he walked away from her. She glanced at Ginny, who was beaming from ear to ear. Then, shaking her head, Hermione followed after Harry, blatantly ignoring Ginny. She wasn't quite ready to answer whatever questions she probably had.

Hermione went through the empty living room, retrieved a book and headed to the kitchen. Thankfully, it too was empty. She busied herself by making a cup of tea. It was therapeutic in some regard, but all she could really think about was Harry's perfect mouth.

Hermione was quietly sipping her tea at the kitchen table when Ginny joined her, sitting down opposite her and smiling knowingly. The older witch took a deep breath, closed the book she was reading and made a point of looking at the redhead.

"Okay then, Ginny," Hermione said, sighing. She was ready now. "Go ahead. Ask your questions."

Ginny leaned forward, unable to contain her obvious excitement. "So… You and Harry, huh?"

Hermione lifted her cup of tea and took a tentative sip. "Yes. Me and Harry."

"How long?"

That was a loaded question. "I'd say, about this summer," she admitted.

"The two of you spent the night together at the Leaky Cauldron."

It wasn't really a question so Hermione didn't feel obligated to respond.

"So… Did you guys, umm, you know?"

If Hermione had been sipping her tea, she probably would have spat it out in surprise. "Ginny!"

"What?" the redhead asked innocently. "It's an obvious question," she pointed out. "I mean, if you could see the way you two look at each other sometimes… Seriously, it's like you're always trying to undress each other with your eyes."

Hermione blushed furiously at that, dropping her head and sipping her tea. She calmed down enough to look at Ginny again. "No, we haven't done that," she said calmly. "But, ever since we spent that night together, everything just seems so charged lately."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," she said, shifting slightly. "Everything we do, even everything we say suddenly just feels so sexual. And intense. I can't explain it."

Ginny was frowning but she seemed genuinely interested. "Example?"

Hermione didn't even know why she was still having this conversation. "He can be doing nothing, really, and I'll just want to jump him. The other day, he was literally just drinking pumpkin juice and there was no telling what I would have done. And yesterday. Merlin, yesterday!" She huffed. "We were brushing our teeth, Ginny. Brushing. Our. Teeth. What about that is even remotely sexy?"

Ginny was laughing. "Maybe it's because your parents are dentists," she offered, clearly amused.

Hermione sighed, knowing that wasn't it. "I think I just love his mouth," she said seriously. "He has a great mouth."

"I bet he does."

Hermione just looked at her.

Ginny turned about as red as her hair. "Sorry, but he just looks like he does," she said. "Get used to it, Hermione. When we get back to school, there are going to be countless girls fawning over Harry Potter. Now that the Wizarding public knows the truth about his face-offs with You-Know-Who, what did you expect?"

"It also doesn't help that he's grown a foot this summer, does it?"

Ginny grinned. "No it really doesn't."

"Nobody would ever actually try anything with him, would they?" Hermione asked, her voice dropping of its own accord.

Ginny sensed her worry. "I'm sure they'll back off once they know he's taken."

"Because he is," Hermione concluded. "I know it and he knows it. That's all that really matters, right?"

Ginny didn't say anything, but she did nod.

Hermione would take it. There was nothing to worry about. Harry belonged to her the same way that she belonged to him. It was literally that simple. Just thinking of the raven-haired wizard twisted her insides in a very pleasurable way. She had half a mind to go and find him just so she could look at him, possibly touch him. He was somewhere in this very house and yet she found herself missing him. It was almost painful, her desire to see him.

Pathetic.

As if he could somehow sense that she was itching to see him, the wizard in question strolled into the kitchen, looking particularly delicious in a tan t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. He was wearing only socks, which Hermione repeatedly told him not to do.

"Don't you own shoes, Harry Potter?" she asked, eyeing him as he made his way towards her. He came to a stop behind her and bent down to kiss her cheek.

He lingered to whisper in her ear. "Why would I wear shoes when I get to hear you scold me in that sexy voice of yours?"

Hermione shut her eyes tight enough to stop herself from making an embarrassing sound. "Harry," she hissed.

He chuckled softly, his breath tickling her cheek. "Why, Professor Granger," he murmured against her skin. "Scold me at your peril."

Hermione just shook her head, lifted her hand to his face and pushed him away. "I'm trying to have a conversation here, Harry," she said.

He returned his mouth to her ear. "There you go again, scolding me," he whispered.

She could barely take it as she pushed his face away again, her fingers brushing over his handsome features. She glanced at Ginny, who looked to be thoroughly enjoying Hermione's torture. "Does Dean ever do this to you?" Hermione asked.

"It's more the other way round," Ginny replied, winking. "Your resolve is much stronger than his is apparently."

Barely, Hermione thought. She could feel Harry's breath at her ear, on her skin, tempting her. He was evil. He knew exactly what he was doing and he was enjoying it. Hermione could already feel herself giving in. Abruptly, she stood up and stepped away from the table. Without a word, she took hold of Harry's hand and pulled him out of the kitchen.

Harry just followed as she led the way up to his room. Words would do neither of them well at this point. Something was happening. Something electric.

The door was barely closed before they were grabbing at each other. Harry put his hands on her waist and pushed her back against the bedroom door where he proceeded to kiss the air right out of her lungs. He took hold of her hands and lifted them above her head as his lips moved from her mouth to suck at the skin of her neck, receiving all kinds of welcoming sounds in response.

Hermione managed to free her hands and immediately started to pull on his t-shirt, signaling that she wanted to take it off. Harry obliged, raising his arms to make it easier. It didn't get caught on his ear this time. She was getting better at this. Once the fabric was gone, her fingers started to roam; to touch him, to feel him. It was practically unbearable.

Harry kissed her lips once more as he ran his hands down her upper body. He knew his girlfriend had curves; the kind that drove him crazy, but being able to touch her was turning his brain to porridge. Suddenly, Hermione Granger was a drug and no fix would be satisfactory.

Without asking permission, he lowered his hands to clutch at her thighs. Hermione obliged by lifting her legs and wrapping them around his hips, as he pressed up closer against her, the friction almost too much to handle. He tasted sweet, but a fiery sweet that made her clutch onto him even tighter, as if she was holding on for dear life.

"Okay," Hermione eventually said, pulling away and taking in as much air as she possibly could. She was completely breathless. "Okay," she repeated, untangling her fingers from his hair. "We, umm," she tried to speak, but the way he was looking at her made it very difficult to form sentences. Hermione knew that look.

He wanted her.

Badly.

She took a deep, calming breath. They couldn't. They really couldn't. He knew that. Not in Molly Weasley's house.

Reluctantly, Hermione unhooked her legs from around him and dropped them to the floor. Once she was standing on her own two feet, she started to think a little more clearly. It didn't help that he was still shirtless in all his glory.

"We can't keep doing this, Harry," she said, her lungs still failing her.

He said nothing, as he just looked at her, wanting her. He was still breathing heavily, the evidence of his arousal staring her right in the face.

She placed her hands on his bare chest and pushed him away from her so she could get a breath of air that didn't smell like him. It was useless, though, because the entire room smelt like him. She even contemplated casting a Bubblehead Charm on herself. "Say something," she said, frowning slightly.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked innocently.

"What was that all about downstairs?" she asked, rather accusingly.

He shrugged. "I figured, if you were allowed to bait me in front of your family, then I was allowed to do so in front of mine."

Harry said so much in that one sentence that Hermione actually stopped thinking for a moment. Claiming that his family was the Weasleys was the biggest thing, she reckoned.

"Wait, when did I bait you?"

"At dinner with your family," he explained, jogging her memory. "Your boy-toy, huh?"

She suddenly remembered, and felt herself blush at just what she had whispered to him at the table. She wouldn't dare repeat it, now that they were alone in a room together. She didn't even know where she'd found the guile to say such a thing to him, let alone in the presence of several of her family members.

Harry started to grin at her when he noticed that she remembered. "I wouldn't mind, you know," he said suggestively, even winking.

"Oh hush, you," she huffed, turning bright red.

"You're the one who dragged me up here," he pointed out.

"You're the one doing scold-worthy things."

He grinned. "You started it. All I was doing was walking around in just my socks. It's not my fault you get all flustered by something as small as that."

"I just don't understand why you're not wearing shoes!"

"Why should I?" he countered.

"But why aren't you?" she shot back.

Before he could offer another counter of his own, Hermione practically leapt into his arms, kissing him so fiercely he was sure she would split a lip. Harry stumbled back a bit but was able to right himself in time to give as good as he got. Her soft moans were vibrating in his mouth, making him feel all powerful. He, Harry Potter, was doing this to her, Hermione Granger.

It was addicting. He would never tire of this. Ever.

Harry lifted her up off the ground and she, once again, wrapped her legs around his waist, practically pinning him in place. For a moment, they both stopped to look at each other.

Harry silently asked the question, and Hermione used her own eyes to reply in the affirmative. She wasn't even worried as he gently set her down on his bed. He spent a moment just staring at her, trying desperately to memorise this moment. It was a big one for them.

While Harry studied her, she studied him. In just this summer, he had grown into someone she loved with every fibre of her being. It was overwhelming and deeply satisfying at the same time, and she was completely willing to give herself to him.

This was it, in her eyes. This boy, this man, would be with her until the Universe would have to tell them, 'No more.' Hermione could forget, just for a moment, that that day would probably come.

Today though, she had to have him. Now.

Absently, she reached for a wand - she wasn't even sure if it was hers - and cast several Charms on both the room and herself. It helped to be terribly self-aware, the bookworm that she was. She hoped Molly Weasley would forgive them of this.

"Come here," Hermione said, her gaze meeting his and her hands reaching for him.

This time, Harry did not hesitate.

And, as he kissed her, touched her, tasted her, and made love to her for the very first time; he could practically hear her silence as if she was telling him just what he needed to hear in that moment and for every moment to follow.

I love you. I love you. I love you. Oh Harry. I love you. I love you.

Over and over. He was hearing her words as if they were ringing in his head, forcing him to believe them; accept them.

And he did.

Her very intimate hold on him translated the truth of it better than any words ever could.

We'll be together until the very end, Harry. I love you. I love you. I love you.