Disclaimer: All characters belong to JK Rowling.

A/N: I cannot thank you guys enough for your responses to the last two chapters! I've loved reading your comments! I have loved writing this story much to the detriment of my work…Anyway! A lot of you asked about what the Srinivasans said to each other at the dinner party in the last chapter, so I'll go ahead and let you in on the secret.

"Yeh aadmi paagal hai?" Dr. Srinivasan whispered to his wife.

"Shaayad sirf ajiib. Paagal nahi," his wife muttered.

This translates to:

"Is this man crazy?" Dr. Srinivasan whispered to his wife.

"Perhaps just strange. Not crazy," his wife muttered.

As you can see, it wasn't about how they suspect that their hosts are secretly witches/wizards, as some of you thought. They know absolutely nothing about the magical world…though that could change…not making any promises.

As for the other use of Hindi later in that chapter…I think I'll have to go ahead and leave that a mystery. Sorry! I'll just tell you that it was about Harry and Hermione.

Also, British readers: I have taken some artistic liberties in describing Oxford University in this chapter. If you've been there and know what it's really like, forgive me!

Last, this chapter is about some important mental hurdles Harry and Hermione must cross. It's just the tip of the iceberg for them really. But, this is the beginning of them realizing they have complex feelings for each other that the word "friend" fails to encompass. Enjoy!

I want to give special thanks to a few of you who have consistently given great reviews. I can't begin to tell you how much they mean to me: ashleymd7, uneeum, REV042175, and Chevalier de Brillieu.


Chapter 11: Attraction

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that 's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes.

-Lord Byron (1788-1824)

Harry stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. He had never been a vain person, but tonight his appearance warranted extra examination. Or, more accurately, his lips did.

They seemed normal. Nothing outwardly different about them.

He slowly brought a hand up and touched his bottom lip.

His lips were not too thick or too thin. A soft pink color. Average male lips, really. Quite normal in every way.

But they were not normal.

Minutes ago, they had been pressed against Hermione's lips. Her tongue had slipped past them. And he had done the same to her. These lips had pressed themselves against her neck, into the hollow of her collarbone.

He had felt her shiver.

Harry sighed. He had replayed what had happened in the foyer of Hermione's home upwards of fifty times and each time it seemed equally unbelievable.

They had kissed. Again.

And this time they couldn't cast it off as stress or a lapse in judgment.

True, they had both been drinking, but neither of them had been close to drunk. He had asked for a kiss and she had consented. They had done it of their own volition, knowing full well what they were doing.

Yet, the kiss had turned into something…something indescribable. It wasn't a kiss goodnight or a playful kiss between a fake husband and a fake wife. Indeed, amid all the pretense and deception for the Muggles, his kiss with Hermione felt like the most honest thing that had happened that night…

"What are you doing?" Ginny's voice asked from behind him.

Harry spun around, lowering his fingers from his lips.

"Nothing," he said quickly.

Ginny gave him a strange look but she moved towards the sink. Turning on the taps, she began rinsing her face.

Harry glanced at his wife.

Not for the first time, a voice very much like Hermione's whispered in his ear: Coward.

Harry grimaced and strode out of the bathroom.

Cowards. That's what Hermione said they were if they didn't ask themselves what they were doing.

He had delayed it once, but now he was going to have to let himself think about what kissing Hermione actually meant…in all of its messy and confusing glory.

Tomorrow, I'll go to her office and apologize, Harry resolved. I'll explain…I'll explain what happened.

Yet, what could Harry say to her that could explain his actions?

He quickly realized he had two options: a lie or the truth. He would have to choose which one to tell her.

Option One: A Lie

Harry could tell Hermione that he had drunk more than he thought? That he had let the charade of being married go to his head? That he was overly stressed at work and had found an outlet in all the wrong places…

But these were all lies. Knowing Hermione—or knowing how she knew him—she wouldn't buy it for a moment.

Option Two: The Truth.

So, what was the truth?

The truth, in its utmost simplicity, was that Harry wanted to kiss her. He didn't think it was an exaggeration to say he actually loved kissing her. Kissing her was so…so very different than anything he had experienced in his life.

Kissing Cho Chang had been awkward as fuck.

Kissing Ginny was exhilarating, at first, and then became quite lovely.

Harry had had three girlfriends (and several more flings) after breaking up with Ginny for several years. Kissing each of those women was different in its way. But none of them were particularly meaningful to him.

But, kissing Hermione…

Harry let out an enormous breath as he stumbled towards the bed. He sat down slowly and began taking off his shoes.

Here is the Truth. The truth with a capital "T." And it is devastating.

Thirty minutes ago, at the age of thirty-seven, he, Harry Potter, had experienced the best kiss of his life.

It was the sort of kiss you could get lost in.

The sort of kiss you wouldn't mind doing until your lips chapped themselves into oblivion.

The sort of kiss that makes your whole body shiver like its been dunked in ice water.

In the height of the kiss, Harry had lost all sense of himself.

He had felt…whole and complete. He had felt… what was that word? It was a word he never used to describe anything…

Transcendence, Harry thought. That's what it was like. Transcendence.

But, why? Why did it feel like that?

Well, because it was illicit, Harry had to admit. It was forbidden. I haven't kissed anyone other than my wife in fourteen years. Kissing Hermione is different because she's the first person…the first person with whom I've crossed a non-negotiable line. That line you promise never to flirt with again as a married man.

Harry placed his head in his hands. He suddenly felt wretched.

I've hurt Ginny. I've hurt her... I've hurt Ron. And I've…I've cheated? I haven't slept with anyone, but kissing someone who's not your wife is cheating, right? That's all it is. It's cheating. I can't…I shouldn't whitewash it.

Harry trailed his hands down his face. His fingers brushed his lips again.

He tried to marshal his thoughts into some comprehensible order.

Hermione. Kissing her is so different because it's forbidden…and it's new. Yet, I've thought this before. When I first kissed her, I thought the reason it consumed me so much was because it was new. But I've kissed her twice now—three times, if you count the hospital. Shouldn't the novelty be wearing off?

Novelty and illicitness. Does that explain why kissing Hermione is so…so fucking amazing? Does that explain the whole of it?

No…no, it doesn't.

He landed upon the truth.

Hermione's kiss is special because she is Hermione. I've grown up with her. She's my best friend. She means more to me than just about anyone. Kissing her has special meaning because she has special meaning to me.

So that's what it is, then? Harry asked himself. The formula for a transcendent kiss is one part novelty, one part illicitness, and one part kissing someone who is exceptional in your eyes? Someone like Hermione?

Harry heard the taps switch off in the bathroom. He scrambled and quickly slipped under the sheets, placing his glasses on the bedside table. Ginny emerged a moment later.

He pretended to be asleep.

This must make sense, right? Harry thought desperately. This explains it. If I was married to anyone else it would be exactly the same. Say if I married Luna… and I kissed Ginny, I would feel exactly the same way towards Ginny as I feel now towards Hermione. Kissing Ginny has lost two of those qualities—novelty and illicitness—and that's why kissing her isn't comparable to kissing Hermione.

Yes, Harry thought. That makes sense. It's not because I have unique feelings for Hermione—it's because the circumstances of our kiss were so unique.

Relieved to come to his conclusion, Harry felt reasonably sure that he could walk into Hermione's office tomorrow and tell her this truth: that she was wonderful, but kissing her was simply an amalgamation of circumstances that had the effect of fabricating a feeling of transcendence within him, thus compelling him to act in kissing her once again.

Wow. It sounds complicated when you say it like that. Should it be that complicated?

He smirked despite himself. Well, at the very least, Hermione will be impressed by my thought process.

Harry listened as Ginny moved around their dimly lit bedroom. He heard her place her earrings on the dresser and a moment later she pulled back the sheets and slipped into bed.

For a moment, everything was silent. He could hear her soft breathing from across their enormous bed. Harry almost wanted to sigh in relief that there would be no more talking tonight. His mind was too much of a mess to deal with anything right now.

Then, he heard Ginny shuffling over to him.

"Harry?" she asked softly. "You awake?"

"Mmm," Harry mumbled, pretending to come out of slumber. "Yeah?"

"Oh, sorry," she said. She slipped her arm through his and laid her head on his shoulder.

"I saw that necklace Hermione was wearing…" Ginny said offhandedly. "Did you get that for her?"

"Yeah," Harry murmured.

Ginny was silent for a moment.

"Why?" she asked.

"Well, it was her birthday, wasn't it?" Harry said, hoping his voice sounded normal. To him, it sounded a little shaky.

"I don't remember you giving her such an elaborate gift before," Ginny said, her voice taking on an accusatory note despite her efforts. "Don't you usually get her a book or something?"

Harry shrugged. "I just wanted to give her something special this year. You see…"

Harry was about to explain about the Callahan case, but Ginny interrupted.

"Oh, yes," she said sarcastically, "because everyone's thirty-eighth birthday is such an important milestone..."

Ginny removed her arm and shifted away from him.

Harry turned his head to look at her, but she was gazing out at the moonlit window, a hurt expression on her face.

Harry reached out and found her hand under the covers.

"Hey," he said, smiling slightly. "If you want, I'll get you a necklace on your thirty-eighth birthday."

Ginny turned her head. She made a derisive noise but smiled.

"That's right you will," she said.

Before Harry could stop her, she leaned over and pecked him on the lips.

"Goodnight, darling."

"Goodnight, Gin," he replied automatically.

Ginny moved towards her side of the bed. Everything became still once again.

No. It doesn't compare…


At nine the next morning, Harry was quickly striding towards Hermione's office.

His plan was set. He would tell her exactly the conclusion he had come to last night. There would be no lying. It might be awkward, but she would understand. She was Hermione. They would move on and everything would be fine…

"Chief Potter!" the receptionist inside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement cried upon seeing him. "So wonderful to see you, sir!"

"Hi Rochelle," Harry said, smiling. "Is Counselor Granger in?"

"Yes, sir, I think so," the young witch said. "At least I saw her when she came in at seven."

Harry nodded and moved into the anteroom. As he passed down an aisle of wood-paneled cubicles, several lawyers called out to him in greeting.

Harry tried to smile back, but his nerves were getting the better of him now. His plan might be in place but what if…what if she was angry with him?

Harry stopped before her office. Taking a quick breath, he knocked.

There was no answer.

Harry waited a moment and then tried the doorknob. It was locked. He quickly peered through the fogged glass. The lights appeared to be off.

Anxious now, Harry strode towards Lakey's office. It was two doors down. Lakey's door was ajar but no one was inside the office.

Confused, Harry spun around.

"You," Harry said commandingly. "Do you know where Counselor Granger is?"

A stunned, young lawyer stared back at him.

"Er, I… no I don't, Chief Potter," he said. "Would you... would you like me to find out for you?"

"Yes, please," said Harry, digging his hands into his pockets.

The lawyer quickly ran off, waving a friend to his side and whispering something.

Harry waited outside Hermione's office, pacing agitatedly.

After a few minutes, the lawyer returned.

"Er, sir? Chief Potter?"

Harry nodded.

"She and Director Lakey are in a meeting at the moment. Would you like me to tell her you're here?"

"Uh, yes," Harry said. "If that's not too much trouble."

The young man scampered off again and Harry waited. His stomach was in knots now and his neck felt exceptionally warm. Some of the lawyers were beginning to stare at him. It seemed to take ages before the man returned again.

"Sir?" the lawyer said nervously. "She says she can't meet with you right now. She won't be able to meet with anyone today."

"What?" Harry said, alarmed. "Did you talk to her?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did she say?"

"She said she was in an important meeting and can't meet with you," the lawyer repeated anxiously as Harry's expression turned dark. "Would…would you like me to give her a message from you?"

Harry looked past the lawyer and down the hallway. Hermione was not there.

He sighed after a moment. "Just, just tell her…I came by."

Harry did not wait for the lawyer to respond. He spun on his heel and walked, unseeingly, towards the exit.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Fucking shit. Motherfucker. Fuck!

He had never been turned down from seeing her. Never. Boardroom meetings were known to break up because he wanted to see Hermione.

She's…she's angry with me.

Harry barely noticed that people were saying 'goodbye' to him as he exited the department. As he strode towards the AD, he became consumed in a heady mixture of hurt and fear. He climbed the dais to his office in a haze and when he sat down behind his desk, placed his head in his hands.

She's angry with me. What if she doesn't forgive me? What if she thinks I want to do it again? That's…I didn't even get a chance to explain myself. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She can't be mad at me. She just can't be.

Harry was driven to distraction the rest of the day. He waited anxiously for some sign that Hermione was willing to see him. Every time an interdepartmental memo flew into the AD, Harry looked up. Yet, by seven o'clock that evening, so sign had come.

As Harry put on his cloak to leave, he thought briefly of returning to her office. Hermione worked late; she was likely still there. Yet, he stopped himself.

If she wants to see me, she'll come find me.

Yet, by the next morning Harry was desperate again.

I'll stop by her office. I'll force her to talk to me. I don't care about my theory anymore. I'll just tell her I was horribly drunk and I took advantage of her. It won't ever happen again. I'll say whatever she wants…so long as she forgives me.

Thus, a shaky Harry walked into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement a second time. He barely acknowledged the greetings thrown in his direction.

As Harry approached her office, however, he felt his heart drop. This time, the lights were clearly off inside. The door was locked. Harry glanced down the hallway at Lakey's office. His door was also closed, the lights off.

A pretty witch in light purple robes passed him.

"Chief Potter?" she asked cautiously. "Are you looking for Counselor Granger?"

"Uh, yes."

"Oh, she went out to Gloucester today with Director Lakey. They had to present some papers to the Wizengamot there."

"Oh," Harry said numbly. "Do you know when she'll be back?"

"I think they're supposed to be there the whole day, but perhaps they'll come back early?"

Harry nodded. "Thank you."

The woman smiled hesitantly and left. Harry wondered if she thought it was strange that Harry didn't know where Hermione was. Harry certainly found it strange. He always knew where Hermione was.

Now Harry couldn't even look forward to getting his daily report on Hermione's security from Yvain and Cassy. They would be with her in Gloucester.

Harry growled to himself.

Fine. I'm not going to go running around the country to apologize to her. She can come find me when she's ready to talk…

The next morning, Harry rolled out of bed. He hadn't been able to sleep at all and he felt as though he had swallowed several gallons of doxycide.

It was Friday. He had not spoken with Hermione in two days…maybe a record for them, not counting her seventh year at Hogwarts.

Ginny was starting to notice.

"Darling, are you all right?" she asked as Harry dragged himself into the kitchen.

"What?" Harry said, blinking. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sick? You look very pale."

"I said I was fine," Harry said tersely, moving towards the coffeemaker.

Ginny didn't say anything. She returned to reading the Prophet.

Harry only had the energy to pour himself some cereal. He sat down across from Ginny and began desolately stirring the little flakes in the milk. The spoon made a high whirring sound on the bottom of the bowl.

Ginny looked at him over the paper.

"Do you need to go to St. Mungo's?" she asked reproachfully.

Harry picked up his spoon. "No."

Ginny watched him for a moment as he slowly ate his cereal.

"Well, maybe this will cheer you up," she said. "You know the annual Prophet Christmas party?"

Harry grunted.

"Well, this year it's going to have to be a pared down affair while the newsroom is being renovated. It'll be more like a cocktail party instead of the ball it usually is."

Harry grunted again, severely uninterested.

"So, I was talking to Jonathan and Liesel from the Enchanted Life section and they were interested in whether we would host a party for New Year's?"

Harry looked up. "What? Why?"

"Well, I think they thought it was a shame that there will be no ball at the Prophet this year. And I mean, we do have a ballroom here at the house that we never use. The last time we had a true party was when Lily was born."

Harry stared at her. He knew what she meant by "party." She meant over six hundred people. She meant drinks and schmoozing and dancing. She meant an event.

"Er, do you really think that's a good idea?"

"I know what you're thinking," Ginny said quickly. "And I promise, it wouldn't just be for the Prophet. You can invite people from the AD, Ron can invite the guys from the shop…and Hermione from Magical Law Enforcement."

Harry just stared blankly at her.

"That's a lot of work. Didn't we have a party here two years ago?"

"Well, that was mostly for family," Ginny said distractedly.

Harry couldn't argue with that. When you invited the entire Weasley clan to something, you usually got around a hundred people.

"Oh, Harry," Ginny sighed whimsically. "We have such a huge, beautiful home! It's shame we aren't really using it! Wouldn't it be nice to have it full of people on New Year's Eve? We could watch the fireworks from the balcony…"

Harry looked down at his bowl, more interested in the soggy flakes than this conversation.

"So, what do you think?"

Harry shrugged, bringing his spoon to his mouth. "We'll have to clean."

"I know," Ginny said excitedly. "But we can hire some people for that."

Harry glanced at her. "As long as we keep them away from the study. You know I have sensitive files in there."

"Right, right," Ginny said offhandedly. She got up and walked towards the sink.

"Well, maybe you can go through the house and make sure you've put away all the things you don't want people to find. You could get Ron and Hermione to help. Didn't they offer once?"

At the mention of Hermione's name, Harry felt his stomach turn…

"Er, yeah. I think they did."

"Well, then it's settled!" Ginny said happily. "I'll start mentioning it at the Prophet. People will go mad when we tell them!"

"Mad?" Harry repeated dimly.

Ginny gave him a patronizing smile. She came forward and embraced him from behind. "Come on, darling. You know any party we throw is going to be big. We'll be turning people away at the door. Oh, you'll have to invite the Minister…"

Harry sighed, her arms heavy around his shoulders. "All right."

Ginny squealed and kissed his cheek. "Wonderful!" she said, standing up straight. "Well, I'm off then. You feel better, okay? You look horrible."

Harry glared at her darkly. She laughed and moved out of the room.

With Ginny gone, the room became quiet. The children were already off at school. He stared back at his bowl. The flakes had turned the water a pale brown.

His mind returned to its usual fixation. Hermione.

He was dreading stepping into the Ministry today. He desperately needed to see her. Yet, the prospect of speaking to her was truly frightening. More than anything, he wished he could return to those moments before their kiss. When they had been laughing, talking amiably. When she had not been mad. When she had smiled at him.

He wanted her back.


Harry was vainly trying to work his way through a few files before lunch when Gwen popped her head into his office.

"Chief," she said urgently. "Commissioner Hewett is on the tellie-phone for you."

Harry turned and looked at his Muggle phone. It was almost completely hidden by rolls of parchment. He rarely used it except to talk to the chief of the London Police.

Harry nodded and Gwen closed the door. Harry picked up the receiver.

"Commissioner?" he said.

"Chief, this is Jack. How are you, sir?"

"I'm well, thank you," Harry lied. "What can I do for you?"

The sound was scratchy. Yet, since the AD was located on the first floor of the Ministry, it was still close enough to the surface of Muggle London that the phone still functioned.

"I got a report in from Edinburgh today. Thought you might be interested."

Harry grabbed a sheaf of parchment and a quill. "Go ahead."

"You remember that bloke you were trying to catch last month? What was his name? Darren Rudge, or something?

"Deedrick Rudge?" Harry asked quickly, his heart going cold. This was the former Death Eater Callahan had been sent to find the night he tortured the Camerons. Here was Rudge again, popping up unexpectedly…

"Yeah, that's the one," Hewett said. "Well, apparently someone saw him in Edinburgh last night, or at least someone that fits his description."

"Okay," Harry said scribbling. "Who saw him? What's the description?"

"It was just some old woman. Her name is Ethel Hardwick, if you're interested," said Hewett. "She said she heard someone rummaging around in her bins late last night. She called the police, but by the time they arrived whoever it was had vanished. They took her report, in any case. She said the man was bald and had a long scar running up the back of his head. Sound like your man?"

"It does. How did this report get to you?" Harry asked, surprised a minor incident in Edinburgh had reached London so quickly.

"Well, I know how much trouble this git has caused you," Hewett said. "And I…heard about the Camerons. I put out a special notice that anyone matching Rudge's description should contact London Police immediately."

"Thank you," Harry said sincerely. "I'll send someone over to interview her, see if we can learn anything. Address?"

Hewett gave it to him.

"You'll send one of your…better Aurors, right Chief?" Hewett asked awkwardly. Harry could hear the concern in his voice.

"The best. I'll go myself, if you like."
Hewett laughed. "Oh, I didn't mean it like that. Send who you like. Talk to you soon, Harry."

"Bye Jack and thanks."

"It's no problem."

Harry hung up the phone. He sighed, looking down at the sheaf of parchment.

Harry had to confess he had barely thought about Deedrick Rudge since the Callahan incident. His mind had been so focused on the disgraced Auror and Hermione that the Death Eater had been pushed to the back of his mind.

So, now Rudge was in Scotland going through people's bins? What did that mean?

He would have to send someone to find out.

Harry glanced out the window into the Auror pool. Yes, Commissioner Hewett was right. He would have to send someone trustworthy this time. Sure, Harry had trusted Callahan but he wasn't going to take chances the second time around.

Harry decided he would send Durkheim. Besides Gwen, there was no one else he trusted more in the Auror Department.

Harry got up and began rifling through a file cabinet, looking for Rudge's file. There was a soft knock on the door.

"Come in!" Harry called over his shoulder.

Someone opened the door.

"Hi."

Harry spun around. It was the voice he had been waiting to hear for two days.

"Her-Hermione!" Harry almost shouted. He could feel himself blushing as he backed into the file cabinet. "Uh, hi. Do you…Do you want to come in?"

Hermione glanced at the couch.

She shook her head.

Harry tried to read her expression. She was looking at the floor, her hair shielding her face. She was wearing a soft white blouse with an olive, tweed skirt. She looked beautiful.

"I was going to take a run tomorrow," she said softly, "down by the River Isis. Do you know the place?"

Harry nodded slowly. "By Oxford?"

"Yes," Hermione said, still not looking at him. Her entire attention seemed to be consumed in fiddling with the lock on Harry's door.

"Would you like to come with me?" she asked, slowly locking and unlocking the door. "It'd be better going with you than having Yvain and Cassy follow me around."

Harry stared at her, surprised by the request. She still wasn't looking at him.

"Uh, all right. That sounds fine," he said nervously.

"Is nine in the morning all right?" she asked. "You can come to the house and we'll apparate from there."

"Sure," he said. He desperately needed to tell her he was sorry. "Hermione, I'm—"

"Okay, I'll see you then," she said, cutting him off.

She turned out of the room before Harry could respond.


The following morning, Harry got dressed in a state of nervous agitation.

From his closet, he removed a grey, long-sleeve under-armor shirt and a pair of black shorts. The shirt clung to Harry's skin, showing his chest, broad shoulders, and abs. Harry sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on his trainers.

Ginny was still asleep.

Harry sat quietly on the bed for a moment, listening to Ginny's breathing. He thought about what he might tell Hermione.

What did she want to hear? What did she need to say to him? Would she…would she forgive him for what had happened on her birthday?

Harry hated to admit it, but he felt panicky. After two days of not speaking to his best friend, and then to have her abruptly invite him for a run…well, Harry felt very ill at ease about it. And this was coming from someone who hunted down dark wizards for a living…

Harry sighed and stood up.

He walked down the long bed to Ginny's side.

"Hey," Harry said lowly by her ear. "Gin, I'm leaving."

Ginny mumbled. "Wha?"

"I'm going for a run…with Hermione. I'll be back before noon, all right?"

Ginny opened her eyes briefly.

"Hermione?"

"Yes."

Ginny didn't answer for a moment. "Okay," she finally said, turning onto her other side.

Harry touched her shoulder and then walked swiftly out of the room.

A moment later he was standing on the doorstep of Ron and Hermione's home. The morning light gave everything a slightly bluish tint. He knocked on the door and quickly wrapped his arms around himself to keep warm.

Hermione emerged a second later, as though she had been waiting just behind the door.

"Hermione," Harry said softly.

"Hi," was her only reply. She closed the door.

Harry briefly took in her appearance. She was wearing black leggings and a navy blue tank top covered by a loose, grey pullover. Her hair was tied in a messy ponytail atop her head.

"H-how are you?" Harry tried.

"Fine. Are you ready?" she asked brusquely.

"Yes."

Hermione held out her hand and Harry hesitantly took it. Her fingers were warm. A moment later he was being whipped through the air, Hermione pressed against his side.

They landed in a heavily wooded park. The sound of a river could be heard in the distance. Otherwise, it was exceptionally still.

Without a word, Hermione stepped away and began stretching. Harry watched her for a moment, vaguely wondering if he should speak. His brain seemed to decide on staying quiet and Harry slowly began stretching himself as he gazed at Hermione from the corner of his eye.

She progressed from touching her toes, to swinging her arms, to rotating her neck. In the soft morning light, she looked angelic. The pullover disguised her slim frame, but Harry could see the lovely outline of her legs.

Hermione had taken up running after graduating from Hogwarts. Harry knew that Hermione did not see herself as an athletic person—she had always thought she would live the sedentary life of a student. But, being on the run from Voldemort had changed that. When Hermione had lived with Ron and George immediately following graduation, running was one of her few escapes when things became too overwhelming in their flat. She now ran two or three times a week.

Harry finished stretching and watched as Hermione lifted her arms over her head one final time. When it looked like she was done, Harry decided to speak.

"Hermione," he said cautiously, "I just wanted to tell you…"

"Harry," she said, placing her hands on her hips and looking down at the ground. "Let's just run."

He stared at her.

"Okay," he said, resigned.

Hermione was not going to speak to him until she was ready.

Thus, they took off running.

The pathway was shaded by trees that tangled into each other, creating an arch over the path. Harry looked to his right and saw the River Isis. It was the branch of the Thames that ran through Oxford University. The school was still out of session and tourist season was winding down. Thus, the whole area was nearly deserted. In the distance, Harry could hear the hum of a leaf blower and a siren coming from the town.

Hermione kept her eyes fixed on the path. Her face was tight, though she seemed to relax slightly as they both found their stride. Harry slowed down so as to stay by her side, letting his footfalls mirror hers.

After running for nearly twenty minutes without talking, Harry was beginning to feel anxious. The morning haze had dissipated in the sunlight and he was beginning to sweat. She had still not looked at him. She barely made a sound, in fact, just the light puff of her breathing.

Still, he kept by Hermione's side, waiting for her to speak.

As they turned around a bend in the trail, the university came into view. Straight ahead, there was a botanical garden and a distant tower. Despite the atmosphere, Harry nearly smiled looking at it. If he squinted, he could almost imagine it was Hogwarts with its turrets and cold stone. Perhaps this was the closest Muggles could get to Hogwarts—and indeed, Oxford did have a certain magic about it. A magic that only comes when something is well over a thousand years old…

"You see that tower over there?" Hermione said at last.

"Yes," Harry replied quickly.

"That's Magdalen College. Let's race there, okay?"

Harry glanced at her, upset she still refused to look at him. He decided to try a different tack.

"All right, but you know I'm faster than you," he said casually.

She finally cracked a smile. "No you're not."

"Hermione, c'mon."

"You're not," she repeated. "I'm just as fast as you."

"You're not, but fine."

Hermione might have rolled her eyes, but he couldn't tell.

"On the count of three, okay?" she said.

"Right," Harry replied, preparing himself.

"One—two—THREE!"she cried.

And they were off.

Harry and Hermione each ran at their full strength, their feet kicking up the pebbles on the path. Harry could not stop smiling as he ran alongside Hermione—his whole body felt lighter knowing they could at least enjoy a friendly race.

For about fifty yards they were neck and neck, but then Harry began to pull away. Vaguely satisfied, he decided to slow down a bit so that she could keep up.

"Oh, fuck you!" Harry heard Hermione laugh out from behind him. "Don't you dare slow down for me!"

Harry laughed and ran at full strength again.

The tower was fast approaching and Harry surged ahead. At last, Harry reached the outer wall and touched the stone. He spun around, breathing hard. Hermione was a few yards behind, her cheeks red with exertion.

Yet, she smiled at him as she approached. She touched the wall as well, collapsing against it and placing her hands on her knees.

Harry put his own hands on his hips. "Told you," he panted.

"Damn chivalrous bastard you are," Hermione breathed. "I used to be better…"

Harry laughed. "You're good…I'm just better."

Hermione glared at him for a moment. "Well, excuse me. It's not in my job description to work out like it is in yours. I'm not paid to exercise."

Harry simply smiled. He turned and spied a bench underneath an alcove of trees near the path. It faced the river. Looking back at Hermione, he made a decision.

"Let's go sit down over there. We should rest a bit," Harry suggested, pointing towards the bench.

Hermione nodded and Harry held out his hand. She did not take it.

A moment later, Harry and Hermione seated themselves on the bench. Both became quiet, their eyes on the river as their breathing slowed.

The river did not have a natural bank, but more of a walkway of stone. There were a few long, skinny boats moored along the wall, sloshing in the current. It was late morning now and a few Muggles were strolling and jogging along the bank.

Hermione sighed. Unzipping her pullover, she slipped it off her small frame. Now she was simply wearing a tank top with her leggings. Harry tried to ignore the newly exposed skin, but found himself staring a bit.

Then, Harry noticed something.

Cradled in the slope of her neck was his necklace. The wing'd victory necklace. She was still wearing it. This, more than anything, calmed Harry.

She was not angry enough with him to stop wearing his necklace…

"Have you ever been to Oxford?" Hermione asked suddenly.

"Uh, yes," Harry said, dragging his eyes back to the river. "Once or twice. There are a few wizard families in the area—I think one of them actually teaches here. I came for an Auror assignment once…I didn't know about this running path, though. It's very nice. I can see why we came here."

Hermione stared at the water. "I didn't bring you here for the running path."

"Oh?" Harry replied as casually as possible.

"No," Hermione said softly. She was quiet for a long moment. "Did I…did I ever tell you I wanted to come here as a child?"

"To Oxford?"

"Yes," she replied slowly. "When I was seven or eight, I was told Oxford was the best university in the country and I decided, then and there, that it would be only place I would go." Hermione laughed. "I was going to study literature and political philosophy. I even knew what those subjects were back then. I was going to play field hockey and have lots of friends and get accepted to graduate school. It would have been….well, lovely."

Harry glanced at Hermione. It was the first time he was hearing this.

"But then," Hermione said, digging the toe of her trainer into the ground, "well then…I got my Hogwarts letter."

She sighed.

"And once I got it…there was really no question in my mind that I would go to Hogwarts. It explained the unusual things I had been doing for years," she said, her voice becoming softer. "I had also thought…at the time…that it explained why I had no friends. I had thought, if I go to this place—Hogwarts—I will finally be around people like me. I would be happy. And I would learn things I had never dreamed possible. Oxford and all my previous ambitions sort of…flew out the window when that Hogwarts letter flew in. And I didn't look back for eight years…"

"Eight years?" Harry repeated.

"Yes," Hermione said, smiling slightly. "I've never regretted going to Hogwarts…especially after I met you and Ron. I had this eight-year love affair with magic. But…I did regret it all once. I regretted, to some degree, that my ten-year-old dreams were not going to happen. Do you know when I regretted it?"

Harry shook his head.

"It was at my Hogwarts graduation ceremony."

Harry's brow furrowed. "How do you mean?"

He didn't remember Hermione being anything but incandescently happy that day. Harry and Ron had attended, of course, to see Hermione, Ginny and Luna graduate. Hermione had been the class speaker. She was noted in the program for being the most accomplished student at Hogwarts since Albus Dumbledore…

"It was on the stage, right after I gave my speech," Hermione said, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "I was watching the other students receive their diplomas. They were all smiling, bursting with enthusiasm and hopes and all that. But, in that moment, I felt…exceptionally old."

"Old?"

"Yes," Hermione continued. "You forget that I was a year older than all the other students there. Sure it was only by a year, but sometimes a year can make all the difference, you know? When you're eighteen and surrounded by seventeen-year-olds, life can be a little…isolating. That's how I felt most of my seventh year: isolated. I didn't have you and Ron. I didn't have any of my former classmates. It was difficult at times."

Harry watched her, understanding. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but she seemed lost in thought.

"Besides," she said, smiling softly, "after the year we spent on the run, everything about Hogwarts seemed less…important. Less vital."

Harry emitted an artificial cry of indignation. "Hermione! What are you saying? School not important?"

She simply smiled. "I know…I guess I sorted out my priorities after all, didn't I? My heart just wasn't in it that last year at Hogwarts. I was merely studying out of habit, not desire. I felt adrift and, frankly, a little lost..."

This time Harry reached out and let his hand cover hers. She stared at his hand for a moment before she slipped hers out.

"Anyway," Hermione said, "it was on that stage that, for the first time in eight years, I thought about what my life would have been had I never learned I was a witch. And I thought it might have been okay…Perhaps I would have been on my way to Oxford and then onto some notable job or some notable graduate program. And that…would have been nice." She sighed. "The Muggle world certainly has more opportunities for post-secondary education anyway..."

Harry nodded absently. There wasn't a huge demand in the wizarding world for tertiary schooling. Most wizards entered an apprentice program for their chosen career. There were only two wizarding universities in the world, one in France and one in the United States.

Hermione didn't say anything for a long moment. Harry followed her eyes to the water, where a young man was pushing a boat down the channel with a pole.

"You're probably wondering why I'm telling you this," Hermione said, staring intently as the boat passed. "I don't have a good answer…other than the fact that unmet expectations seem to be a constant in my life. Or not so much 'unmet' as that things don't go the way I expect them to…do you understand?"

"Vaguely."

Hermione finally turned to face him. She looked at him seriously, but her eyes were soft.

"Harry," she said. "I'm so sorry I avoided you this week. I was told you came by my office a few times. I just…I just wasn't ready to see you. I needed time to think, to put my thoughts in order. Can you forgive me?"

"Of course," Harry found himself answering even before she had finished.

All of his anxieties and resentments from the past three days seemed to fade as he gazed into Hermione's eyes. She hadn't meant to hurt him.

Harry understood that about her. Sometimes Hermione simply needed time to think on her own. It was an aspect of her personality that hadn't changed in the twenty-six years he'd known her.

"Good," Hermione sighed in relief. "I was worried you were upset with me…"

Harry smiled reassuringly. He thought briefly of touching her hand again.

"But, Harry," Hermione continued, sending him an anxious glance, "we have to talk about what happened—about what happened on my birthday. We both know it was…wrong. We could pass off one kiss as a chance, but a second kiss is a pattern. A third would be…"

Wonderful? Harry thought before he could stop himself. "Habit?" he suggested instead.

Hermione smiled slightly. "Yes. Habit." She paused. "So I need to ask you an important question—a question I really need you to answer honestly. I want us to be completely honest with each other, starting now. Promise?"

"Yes," Harry said, nervous again.

She took in a shaky breath.

"Harry…are you and Ginny having any…problems that might have caused you to act out with me?"

Harry's brow furrowed, surprised by the question. He had not expected Hermione to ask about the condition of his marriage…but perhaps that was a logical question.

"Uh, no," Harry answered honestly. "Things have been normal between us. Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Are you sure?"

Harry wracked his mind. Sure, there was the fight over the Prophet's treatment of Hermione. Sure, he had thought of Hermione while having sex with Ginny. Then there was the fact that Harry knew the best kiss of his life had been with his best friend and not his wife… But, in essentials, things were fine. He and Ginny were still behaving normally.

"Yes," Harry replied. "I'm sure."

She sighed and turned to look at the river.

"Why do you ask?" said Harry curiously. Then, it hit him. "Are you—are you and Ron having problems?"

Hermione, who had been staring at the water, let her head drop between her shoulders. She took a very long time to answer. When she did speak, she raised her head but continued to stare at river.

"I don't know," she said softly. "You know better than just about anyone that things between Ron and I can get pretty nasty…But even knowing that, things have been different recently."

"Why?"

Hermione shrugged. "I think it partially has to do with Rose's leaving. You know that Rose is a daddy's girl. Ron just adores her. I mean, he loves Hugo just as much, but Ron and Rose have some bond that I've never been able to have with her. I think…I think losing her has hit Ron pretty hard."

Harry nodded. Ron would never admit it to Harry, but Harry had also noticed a certain sullenness within his best friend whenever the conversation turned to Rose. Ron missed his daughter dearly.

Hermione continued. "The other thing is that Ron doesn't like the idea of me becoming Deputy Director of Magical Law Enforcement. It's not because he doesn't want me to succeed," she said quickly, noticing Harry's expression. "He just thinks now isn't the time. He thinks I'm already over-worked and that if I was made Deputy, it would only be a matter of time before I'm appointed John's successor. Then, I would have even less time for him and Hugo. He just worries about what it will do to the family…which is a completely legitimate concern…"

Hermione trailed off. She fiddled with the zipper of her pullover.

Harry didn't say anything. She was being incredibly forthright with him, and it didn't feel like she was done.

"I've had to infer all this, mind you," Hermione said, her voice shaking. "Ron won't come out and tell me what he thinks. I know he doesn't want to hold me back from what I want. But, the fact that he can't tell me his concerns…well, that worries me too."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked quietly.

She glanced at him and then sighed. "You'll think this a bit strange. Ron and I still fight, but these days we fight less and less. In fact, most of our fights happen in front of company, almost like we're putting on a show. But when we're alone in the house, it's as if neither of us has the energy to carry on as we used to. And I worry because, as contrary as it sounds, fighting used to be how Ron and I confronted things, major things. Our hopes, worries, expectations. Now, we just talk about errands we need to run, the children's activities, what's for dinner and the like…completely meaningless, trivial things." She rubbed her temple. "I'm afraid we have a problem, but we're both too tired to figure it out."

Harry stared at her, shaken by this revelation. And it wasn't because it sounded like Hermione and Ron had problems—it was because it sounded so similar to his marriage with Ginny.

He and Ginny were not known to bicker constantly. But they never truly talked to each other either. At least not about the things Hermione had described—hopes, ideas, fears. Work, the children, and errands dominated their conversations as well. But wasn't that normal? That's what married couples do. Why was Hermione talking like there was something wrong with that? Like something more should be expected?

Hermione glanced at him.

"Can I ask another question?"

Harry tore his mind away from his thoughts. "Sure."

"I'm sorry… it's sort of a personal question," she said, embarrassed. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to…"

Harry looked at her expectantly.

"Do you-Do you mind my asking when was the last time you and Ginny had…sex?"

Harry laughed awkwardly, again startled by her question.

"The last time?" he repeated.

"Yes."

Harry searched his mind and then felt his stomach drop. The last time he and Ginny had had sex was the day he first kissed Hermione. The night he had pictured Hermione while he made love to his wife.

"It…uh, it was about two and half weeks ago," Harry stammered, looking away from her.

Hermione considered this for a moment.

"How often do you have sex?" she asked bluntly.

Harry shrugged. "It's been less often recently. But on average, I would say once or twice a week. I mean, we have weird sleep schedules. She usually goes to bed later than me and I wake up a lot earlier."

Hermione nodded, seemingly satisfied.

They both passed into silence, watching a Muggle couple jog past their bench. Hermione's silence peaked Harry's interest, however. He wasn't entirely sure why he wanted to know the answer to this question.

"Can I ask when you and Ron…last had sex?" Harry said, watching Hermione from the corner of his eye.

Hermione glanced at him, as though judging whether he was serious. For a moment, Harry thought she wouldn't answer, which somehow sent a flicker of anger through him. Hadn't she asked for honesty in this conversation?

Finally, she sighed. "You…promise not to judge me?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "No. Why would I do that?"

"Just…never mind," she said, looking down at her feet. "The last time Ron and I had sex was on his birthday."

Harry stared. Ron's birthday was March 1st. They hadn't had sex in over six months.

"Oh," was all Harry could say.

"I mean, we have weird sleep schedules too!" Hermione said quickly. "I'm always at the office by seven, so that means I go to bed by eleven. Ron can go into work whenever he pleases, so he usually sleeps in and stays up late. Plus, it's been the summer until about now…so with the kids home, there are less opportunities, you know?"

"Right."

As Harry remained silent, Hermione grew increasingly anxious.

"I knew you'd judge me," Hermione said sarcastically, smiling slightly. "Men are always up in arms when they think they deserve sex…"

"No," Harry protested. "I didn't say anything, did I?"

Hermione still looked distressed.

Harry sighed, looking at her seriously. "Hermione—I mean, you shouldn't feel bad or judged just because you haven't done it in a while. Sex is supposed to be…something you want to do, right?" Harry said lamely. "Do…do you not want to do it?" he couldn't help asking.

Hermione shrugged. "Yeah, sure. I mean, sex is fine."

"Fine?" Harry repeated, slightly affronted for all mankind.

Hermione smiled slightly. "Okay, it can be really fine. Even great occasionally."

Harry considered her for a moment. It was not exactly a glowing review of sex.

"It doesn't sound like you care for it that much," Harry said offhandedly. "Do you not have the desire or something...?"

She cut him off, indignant. "Hey! I have the desire. I do. I mean…c'mon, I have a multi-setting showerhead. I have the desire."

Harry's brain slipped into a catatonic state.

"What?" he asked numbly.

Hermione gave him a scathing look. "What? You thought I didn't masturbate?"

Harry jumped off the bench.

"Hermione Granger!" he shouted, running both hands through his hair.

Harry desperately tried to stop them, but they came anyway.

The images. The images. Hermione. In a shower. Masturbating. Suds. Oh fuck's sake.

"What?" Hermione said, laughing now. "You asked!"

"And this is what you tell me! That, that you're some serial masturbator?"

"Serial? Please."

"Well, how often then?" Harry demanded, not sure why he was so worked up about it. He tried to focus on her face but those glorious images…they were bubbling up in the back of his mind.

Oh, God. Am I really getting turned on right now? Harry thought frantically. How fucking old am I? Thirteen?

He looked down at himself.

And I'm wearing running shorts. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Harry turned towards the river.

Dolores Umbridge eating ice cream. Dolores Umbridge eating ice cream.

Hermione had not answered his question. She was looking at him, perplexed.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, fine!" Harry said, still not facing her. He took a few quick breaths. "Are you going to answer my question?" he asked despite himself.

"You're asking how often I…masturbate?"

"Yes," Harry said tightly.

"Oh," Hermione said, perplexed. "I don't know. Maybe two or three times a week, when I'm not in a rush in the morning."

"Ah," Harry said, closing his eyes.

Hermione laughed awkwardly. "Sorry if that's alarming. Maybe I should have realized… But, certainly you must have assumed? Many women do…"

Harry nodded, his eyes still closed as he batted away the sudsy visions pressing against his optic nerve. It wasn't the fact that women masturbated that bothered Harry. It was that one particular woman masturbated. Harry didn't want to admit it, but he knew he would probably end up thinking of Hermione doing just that tonight…

Fuck.

Harry, still feeling not quite presentable, kept his arms tucked around him, his knees slightly bent. In his state, he did not hear Hermione approach him until her hand lightly touched his shoulder.

Harry spun around. Hermione was smiling.

"Look," she said calmly, "the reason I brought it up was because I obviously need to fix some things with Ron. And I know that, right now, the absolute worst thing I could do would be to continue indulging this…strange inclination that seems to have overtaken us recently." She looked down. "I won't pretend that kissing you wasn't…wonderful. But, I think we should promise each other that it will absolutely never happen again. Is that all right?"

Harry understood everything she said, but only one phrase stuck out in his foggy mind. She thought kissing him was 'wonderful.'

With her face so close to his, and his own face still warm from the previous topic, Harry couldn't help but be honest with her. That's what she had requested from this conversation, after all.

"I thought…kissing you was wonderful too," he said in a rush.

Hermione briefly glanced at him. Her cheeks seemed to color. She took a few steps back.

"Well, thank you," she said lightly. "I'm glad we agree. Just because we enjoyed it, though, doesn't mean we should ever, ever do it again. Ever."

Harry agreed quickly. "Right. It's just wrong. Completely wrong."

"Completely."

They stared at each other for a moment before Hermione cleared her throat.

"Should we…keep walking then?" she asked, taking a few steps down the path. "There's more to show you…"

Harry nodded still staring at her as she turned away.

In that moment, Harry realized there was a choice. He could keep silent right now and things would hopefully return to normal between them. They would perhaps spend another hour wandering the campus before they returned for lunch. They would see each other at work and pretend that nothing had happened between them, that they were simply two great friends with no awkward history of unplanned snogging sessions.

Or, he could speak.

As Harry watched Hermione walk slowly down the path, he realized what was wrong with this conversation. Hermione was too focused on the outside factors that had caused their most recent kiss: her problems with Ron, Rose's leaving, stress at work. Harry knew these things were important, but wasn't there something to be said about the internal factors? The fact that it was not just two people kissing, but that it was them? Harry and Hermione? Two best friends who had suddenly found themselves kissing each other?

Was something like that entirely explainable by marriage problems?

Harry stared at Hermione a moment longer before he decided. If he didn't ask now, he would never have another chance.

"Are you attracted to me, Hermione?"

Hermione spun at the sound of his voice. She stared at him, as though frightened. After a long moment, she spoke.

"Yes," she said shakily.

Harry blinked, his chest tightening with pleasure.

"Are you attracted to me?" Hermione returned quietly.

"Yes."

Hermione remained silent, kicking the dirt with her feet. Yet, Harry was sure he saw her cheeks color again.

"And why is that?" Hermione asked, no meeting his intense stare.

"Well," said Harry, taking a few steps towards her, "because you are beautiful, if we're being honest."

Hermione let out an unintentional laugh, still looking at the ground. "Well, you're very handsome."

"If you say so," Harry said, vainly trying to read her expression.

"Shut up, Harry," Hermione said gently. "You're handsome. You're over six feet tall. You're still incredibly fit from all your training. The grey hair on your temples only makes you look more…distinguished. You've become more handsome as we've gotten older. It's not the same for women."

"I don't know what you mean," Harry said, genuinely confused. "You've always been beautiful. I don't see any change in you."

Hermione did not respond. Her hands were twisting inside her jacket.

"It's all right, isn't it?" Hermione whispered after a moment. "It's all right that we find each other attractive?"

"Yes," Harry said, reassuring himself as well as her. "It's all right. It doesn't mean anything beyond the fact that we've both held up well for our age. You more than me, of course."

Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling despite her reservations. "I'll take the compliment only because I know I don't hold a candle to Ginny."

Harry's grin faltered. The injection of his wife into the conversation diffused the warm glow Harry had been enjoying since learning Hermione was attracted to him.

Hermione took Harry's silence for assent.

"She is gorgeous," Hermione said casually, returning her gaze to the path.

"She is," Harry agreed slowly. "I kind of picked up on that during her Quidditch matches. The Harpies have a very dedicated male fan base…"

Hermione nodded, smiling. "Well, I'm sure you picked up on that before her Quidditch days, as well."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose I did."

They became silent again.

"Why did you ask?" Hermione said suddenly, an edge in her voice. "What does it matter if we find each other attractive?"

"Well, shouldn't it matter?" Harry said, slightly defensive. "You seem to want to blame everything on your issues. Shouldn't it count for something that we might have kissed because we are attracted to each other?"

"No!" Hermione sputtered. "Part of marriage is self-control. I've been attracted to people now and again, but I don't go around kissing them because I am married!"

"Yeah, but I'm not some guy you see passing on the street."

"What are you getting at?" Hermione demanded, crossing her arms in front of her.

Harry glared at her for a moment. Then, he sighed, passing a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Hermione," he said, resigned. "I just…I'm sorry. You might have kissed me because of what's happening with you and Ron. I just kissed you because I wanted to…which is a shit reason to do anything, I suppose."

Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide. Neither of them spoke for a moment, until Hermione sighed and crossed the space between them.

She smiled slightly as she reached down and took his hand.

"Hey," she said gently, "no matter our reasons, we both fucked up, right? It doesn't matter as long as we don't do it again. We've hurt Ginny and Ron and that's what's important here, okay?"

Harry nodded, not meeting her eyes.

"So, we agree?" Hermione asked, squeezing his hand. "No more snogging. Period."

"Right," Harry said, returning her reassuring smile. His next words seemed to push against his lips without his consent. "It won't be easy though."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Not kissing you. It won't be easy," Harry admitted. He had a feeling he was taking this too far.

Hermione blushed scarlet and released his hand. "Well…uh…" She cleared her throat. "Well, don't worry…I'll be there. I'll make sure you don't…don't kiss me again."

"I guess that's true," Harry laughed awkwardly.

Hermione laughed as well, returning her hands to her pockets and kicking the dirt with her feet. "Er, so do you want to walk around?" she asked again.

"Yeah, sure."


Harry and Hermione continued their walk along the river.

More boats were floating in the channel now. They were full of tourists being shunted down the river by young drivers with long, skinny oars. As noon approached, the weather became unseasonably warm. Hermione tied her jumper around her waist.

"You're still wearing my necklace," Harry noted nonchalantly as they rounded a bend in the river.

Hermione looked down at the delicate chain and briefly touched it with her hand.

"Well, I do like it," she said honestly. "I thought about taking it off to go running, but then I just put a Locking Spell on it and an Impervious Charm so it won't get rusty when it gets wet. Only I can take it off."

Harry nodded, pleased. He liked seeing his necklace tucked in the graceful arc of her neck.

"This place is beautiful, isn't it?" Hermione said, gazing off at another college of grey stone.

"It is," Harry agreed. "It's almost like Hogwarts."

Hermione smiled. "I guess I can see that."

She looped her arm through his as she directed him towards a low bridge on their right. They crossed it and began walking in the direction they had come.

"Do you miss it?" Hermione asked quietly.

"Hogwarts?" Harry answered softly. "Yeah, I guess I do." Then, he shrugged. "I'll be going up in April for recruitment week, in any case."

Hermione laughed. "Couldn't you send someone else? You know everyone hates recruitment week when you come for the Auror Department. No one shows up to our meetings. They all just want to see Harry Potter."

Harry laughed.

"Hey, I don't go every year," he said, taking mock offense. "Besides, it's not like the AD can accept all its applicants. I'm really just going so I can bother James and Albus."

"Of course," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Well, maybe I'll go too, then. Rose should know she's not entirely free of me yet!"

Harry chuckled.

They walked in silence for a while, Hermione's hand securely tucked into the crook of Harry's arm. There were less people on this side of the river.

Harry found himself glancing at Hermione quite often. She seemed content, her eyes darting around to take in the scenery. Her gorgeous lips were pulled into a soft smile.

Harry was just going to mentally rhapsodize on the beauty of her hair when Hermione removed her hand and slid it down Harry's arm. She entwined her fingers with his.

She gave him a playful grin.

"You see that boat mooring over there?" she asked.

Harry looked ahead. Sure enough, about a hundred yards away there was a small overhang on the path that led down to several boats.

"Yeah," Harry replied.

"Race you!" Hermione shouted, whipping her hand out of his and sprinting down the path.

"Hey!" Harry laughed. "Not fair, Hermione!"

Hermione's laughter floated back to him. She was already far ahead, but Harry gave chase, pushing himself beyond his usual pace. Soon they were neck and neck. In the final few yards, Harry pulled ahead of Hermione and touched the mooring.

"Ha ha!" Harry cried triumphant as he jogged back to Hermione, who had collapsed against the mooring. "Don't try and pull that on me, Hermione. I'll just win anyway."

"Yeah, yeah," Hermione said, getting to her feet. There was a dangerous glint in her eye. "You win again, Harry Potter."

Harry, momentarily entranced by the seductive spark in her eyes (to him anyway), failed to realize what Hermione was doing. A second later, she had shoved him hard with her shoulder and he went stumbling into the river.

The water was frigid.

"Ahh!" Harry shouted, bobbing to the surface. "What the fuck, Hermione! It's September! You can't throw people into the Thames in September!"

Hermione was laughing uproariously, her hands on her knees. The surface of the water was covered with autumn leaves that stuck to Harry's skin. Fortunately, the water was not very deep and Harry's toes easily skimmed the bottom.

Hermione was leaning against the mooring now, clutching her stomach.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, swiping at her eyes. "You were so smug, how could I not!"

She devolved into giggles again.

Harry, teeth chattering now, found himself smiling at the sight of her. He loved it when Hermione laughed—that wondrous, unguarded laughter he so rarely heard from her. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to have his revenge…

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, swimming towards the bank. "Help me out of here. It's freezing."

Hermione watched him suspiciously. "Why don't you just use the deck right there," Hermione suggested, pointing to her right. "That'll be easier."

"No. I want your help."

"Oh no," Hermione said, smiling. "I know what you're doing…"

"Come here, Hermione," Harry said innocently. He held out his hand.

Hermione laughed again, edging away from the bank.

"Ha ha, Harry. You think I don't know that trick?"

He smiled devilishly at her. "Well, here's my trick."

Harry raised his hand out of the water.

"Accio necklace!" he shouted. Hermione might have placed a Locking Spell and Impervious Charm on her necklace, but she had not made it un-Summonable…

Dragged by the necklace, Hermione's feet were swept out from under her as she flew towards Harry. She screamed as she hit the water.

"Oh, shit! Oh, fuck! It's cold!" she yelped. "You little…!"

She blindly reached out towards him, thrashing as much water as she could.

Harry had no trouble pinning her arms against his chest, one hand looping around her back. He chuckled as she continued to thrash against him. At least it was slightly warmer this way…

After a moment, Hermione quieted. "All right," she said, her teeth chattering as well. "I'm sorry I did that. Should have realized I had this coming…"

"Mmmhm," Harry mumbled, satisfied.

They became silent, the water lapping against their bodies the only sound. Soon, even that faded. They were very still as they gazed at one another.

Harry swallowed. The feeling of her wrapped around him—the only barrier between them a few layers of wet clothing—was intoxicating.

"See, right now," Harry said, his voice low, "I really want to kiss you."

Hermione's eyes fluttered down to his lips.

"Well, that's just tough luck, isn't it?" she said slowly whilst simultaneously pressing herself against him.

"I guess so," Harry said, his heart thundering as he felt Hermione lock her legs around his waist. He let go of her arms. She didn't push him away.

Carefully, Harry trailed his hands down to her waist.

"You'll just have to live with it," Hermione said alluringly, locking her arms behind his neck.

Harry was painfully aware that her breasts were pressed against his chest.

She bit her bottom lip as she gazed at him.

Was she trying to kill him?

Harry very nearly groaned aloud, but he remained silent.

Oh, how entrancing she was! Despite their conversation, he desperately wanted her to give him some sign that he could kiss her again. He wanted to feel her wet body against his, pressed even more tightly than it was now. He wanted to feel her lips moving against his, her lips on his throat, her lips moving lower…

To feel transcendence one more time…

"Hey!" someone shouted from the bank. "What are you two doing?"

Harry and Hermione turned sharply and saw a portly, middle-aged man looking on disapprovingly from the shore. He seemed to be some sort of groundskeeper.

"You get out of there now!" the man yelled. "The water's not for swimming!"

Before Harry could respond, Hermione giggled and dragged him underwater by the neck. She wrapped her legs even more tightly around him and pressed herself to his chest.

A moment later, Harry was swirling through the icy air. They had disapparated.


Harry gasped. A splashing sound met his ears, then the sound of Hermione's laughter.

"Wow!" Hermione said. "I'm glad that worked! I've never apparated underwater before."

Harry rubbed his eyelids and Hermione came into focus behind the water droplets on his glasses. They were standing on the front porch of Hermione's home.

"That was insane," Harry laughed disbelievingly. "That man is going to think we drowned."

Hermione shrugged. "Or that we're really good swimmers. I can hold my breath for a minute, you know."

"Can you?" Harry said, impressed. His feet were squelching inside his trainers.

Just then, the front door swung open. Ron appeared, bemused at the sight on the doorstep.

"What happened to you two?" he asked.

Harry chuckled again. "She threw me in the Thames."

He stared at them for a moment, as though they were crazy.

"Ew."

Harry and Hermione laughed. Together, the three of them stepped into the house.

Harry checked for his wand and, gratefully, still found it tucked up his sleeve. He removed it now and waved it over himself. He was instantly dry.

"So, did you guys have a nice run/swim?" Ron asked sarcastically as Harry and Hermione moved into the foyer.

Harry smile faltered slightly, remembering the compromising position he and Hermione had just been in. "Yeah, guess you could say so…"

Hermione nodded absently, her eyes on the stairs. "I think I'll take a quick shower," she said, untying her jumper from around her waist. "I'll be down a few minutes."

Harry and Ron watched as Hermione climbed the stairs.

"Eugh," Ron said, his nostrils flaring. "You really do smell, mate."

Harry laughed. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. It's not exactly the cleanest part of the river."

"What part was it?"

"We went to Oxford," Harry explained.

"Oh. Why? What's there?"

"Well, a university," Harry said simply. Harry realized that Ron had probably never heard about Hermione's connection to the school. He felt sure that he was the first person to hear Hermione's thoughts on Oxford. "They have a nice running path along the river."

"Oh, okay. Well, I was making breakfast. You want any?" Ron asked, moving towards the kitchen.

"Sure," Harry said, realizing he was hungry for the first time.

Hermione came down the stairs ten minutes later, her damp hair resting on her shoulders. The necklace still hung around her neck.

She sighed as she sat down in one of the kitchen chairs. "I'm absolutely knackered now," she said, pulling out her wand and lazily flicking it towards the icebox.

A flask of orange juice came soaring towards her hand, followed quickly by a cup.

Ron, who had been standing by the toaster with Harry, looked up as Hermione spoke. He suddenly smiled.

"Well, maybe this will get you excited," Ron said, moving towards the small desk in the corner of the kitchen.

Harry and Hermione looked at him curiously.

Ron rifled through the papers in the drawer before he found what he was looking for. "Consider it a late birthday gift," Ron said simply, revealing a white envelope.

Harry watched with a strange feeling of unease as Hermione stood up and walked towards Ron.

She took the envelope and pulled out two rectangular slips of paper with colorful writing.

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione cried ecstatically. She quickly embraced her husband, throwing her arms around his neck. "I can't believe it! Thank you!"

Harry, his heart his throat, asked, "What is it?"

Ron turned and looked at Harry. "I got her tickets to some show she's been wanting to see."

"Not just any show!" Hermione corrected him, grinning widely. "It's an opera and," she glanced down at the tickets, "it's for opening night! How wonderful! This will be amazing!"

"An opera?" Harry said, confused. "I didn't know you liked opera?"

"I don't particularly," Hermione said quickly. "My parents recently got into it and have been encouraging me to go. I mentioned it to Ron, so I guess now we're going!"

Ron nodded smugly. "I even had to use a telly-phone to get those tickets."

Hermione smiled at Ron, briefly rubbing his arm. "Well then, that is a big accomplishment."

"So-so you're going to sit through this thing too, Ron?" Harry asked.

Ron sighed, passing a hand through his hair. "I guess so."

Hermione laughed. "Well, it's certainly a better gift than last year's. A girl can only do with so much perfume. Thank you, Ron."

Ron shrugged, though he was smiling.

As Harry watched them, he felt his stomach turn over. He felt as though he were watching something incredibly private. His brief sojourn at Oxford felt like a dream, and watching Hermione with Ron was like rediscovering reality.

Underneath his discomfort, seeing his best friends together caused another emotion. Something very much like envy…

"Uh, I'm going to go," Harry said abruptly, trying to mask his agitation. "I should probably go help Ginny with lunch."

Ron nodded, but Hermione looked at him curiously.

"I'll see you both later," Harry said, walking out of the kitchen as casually as possible.

Once he was out of the room, Harry strode quickly into the foyer. His hand had just touched the front door when he heard Hermione's voice.

"Harry!" she called. He turned and watched as Hermione came to stop before him. The tickets were still clutched in her hand. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he lied quickly.

"Oh, okay," she said, still looking concerned. "I…I hope things are all right…between us?"

"Of course," Harry said, staring at a spot beyond her shoulder. "Why wouldn't they be?"

"Right," Hermione said slowly.

"Right, well enjoy your opera…"

Hermione laughed. "It's not until December."

"Oh," Harry said lamely.

Hermione continued to stare at him strangely. After a moment, she reached down and took his hand.

"Thanks for running with me," she said. "I'm glad we could talk."

Harry could only nod in response.

Hermione smiled softly. "Well, I'll see you later then?"

"Right," Harry said again, not meeting her eyes.

He reached for the doorknob and swung the door open. Hermione took a few steps back, waved at him, and proceeded towards the kitchen.

Harry watched her go.

"So, do you want eggs?" Harry heard Ron ask Hermione from the distant kitchen.

Harry sighed and closed the door behind himself.

A darker part of Harry wanted to revel in the fact that he knew Hermione and Ron had marriage problems, that they had not slept together in months, that she found him, Harry, attractive, and that kissing him was wonderful.

But, all that counted for nothing when Ron had the opera tickets and could offer her eggs in the morning. It counted for nothing when Ron was her husband.