Disclaimer: Ms. Granger, Mr. Potter, and all the rest of the characters belong to JKR. No infringement intended.

Author's Note: Thanks so much to those who have read and commented/reviewed!

After a great deal of thought, I have switched the rating on this fic to M. Initially, I had rated it T, as I know some readers assume that an M rating implies smut. I still do NOT intend to write anything too explicit. However, I've tried to convey a very honest tale of two teenagers, with all of the raw emotions and psychological confusion they are working through. After this chapter, part of the exploration of their relationship and feelings will have to involve elements of physicality. And I want to be able to write frankly about that, without worrying about what exactly a rating implies and without artificially staying away from profound aspects of emotional intimacy because I can't mention physical intimacy.

I've also been posting this story on AO3, which has a "Mature" rating category. That's what I intend to follow here (not "Explicit," which is technically against the ToS anyway). For those who avoid more mature storytelling, know that I crafted this chapter in a sort of "T+" style to give a somewhat satisfactory conclusion to the previous cliffhanger. But in future chapters, there will be moments that reference "adult" situations. (Frankly, I considered switching the rating to "M" earlier, as we've already had a chapter dealing with intense emotional/psychological trauma involving a character basically forced to commit a kind of suicide. From my perspective, that's a more "adult" issue than some discussion of sexuality, but for some reason ratings tend to be more obsessed with sexual content than anything else.)

In any case, I hope the rating change isn't too disruptive for most of those who have followed this so far. And I of course appreciate any comments and reviews.

Chapter 8

Hermione let out a shriek as she dropped the mirror to the ground. The hundreds and hundreds of tiny lights circling her gradually grew in size, creating a dazzling display that refracted the sunlight all around her, not unlike light streaming through a stained glass window. Moments later, the larger ones began to break off, assuming the shape of various tiny boats and ships, each displaying some unique colorful sails buoyed by the wind toward the river. The group made an arc through the the air and started to splash down in the water, forming a miniature armada, the magical streaks of color around them contrasting with the dull brown of the risen river.

Hermione's initial surprise and fear had turned into awe and confusion at the glimmering lights now sailing downstream. She simply stood with her mouth agape while Harry rose and chuckled as he walked over toward her.

"You should have seen the look on your face," he said, sporting a grin.

She could only stammer short incomplete sentences in confusion. "What was…? Where did…? It's beautiful, Harry. How did you...? Wait!" She turned toward him with a stern expression. "No magic!"

He chuckled again, shaking his head. "The challenge was for twenty-four hours, beginning at nine o'clock on your birthday, as you'll recall. Take a look at your watch." Hermione glanced down; it read 9:25. "The mirror was previously charmed, it's true—some of George's best work. It took him days to sort out the details of the effect, but no magic occurred during the designated period." Harry bore a mischievous look; he seemed mighty pleased with himself, though Hermione was eyeing him carefully. "I adhered to all the rules," he added, clearing his throat. "The enchantment was inactive for all the time we were here. Even a skilled Auror wouldn't have been able to detect any magic."

"Sounds like you bent the rules a bit to me," Hermione replied, though curiosity began to overtake her as she watched the tiny sailing vessels continue to dissipate. "I love this magical armada, Harry. But why? I know we were talking a little bit about sailing yesterday, but I don't understand why you did this. There must have been thousands."

Harry glanced again to her before he put his hand on her back, joining her as they both looked downriver. "Well," he said nonchalantly, "if Helen's face could launch a thousand ships, surely her daughter's namesake is worth at least ten thousand."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Just for a moment, she was rendered speechless as her eyes began to grow watery. But suspicion raised its head and forced all other emotions out of the way. "That's very clever, Harry. Far too clever, in fact." Her eyes narrowed. "And you've just been waiting to spring that line on me?"

"Well, I thought I'd try it out at a pub first," he laughed again, "but you can only use it to pick up beautiful, brilliant women named Hermione. That unfortunately narrowed its utility—"

"This isn't a joke," she interrupted abruptly. Hermione shoved him hard in the chest, irrational anger and hurt growing inside her as she turned and walked briskly away toward the river.

"Wait—what?" he cried. "Wait! Hermione?" He called after her. "I don't get why you're upset. I mean, you're the one who told a lie to us, to everyone. For years! Your parents said they've only once or twice been to see a Shakespeare play since they were at university."

Hermione sat down on a fallen log overlooking the river, sensing the cold dampness of the wet wood soaking into her pajamas. But at the moment, she didn't care. She took deep breaths, trying desperately to settle herself and find control.

Harry approached her cautiously, taking a seat next to her on the log. Her eyes were a bit wet when she closed them, steadying herself with her breathing. Harry didn't say anything further. As her eyelids gradually rose, she chewed her lip, preparing herself for what she had to say. She owed Harry an explanation; he was obviously confused—and rightly so. She had never revealed to Harry what had truly made her cry that day a month before when Ron had left suddenly.

"It's hard to say this," she began, "but… Ron never once told me I was beautiful. Or even pretty. That is, he said I looked nice a few times, like at Bill's wedding, but always as though it was a surprise that I might actually appear attractive. I mean, I know he liked me, but I certainly don't look like Fleur... or even Lavender."

"Hermione, don't—"

She ignored his interruption. "It's just—I thought I was okay with it. I mean, obviously he was attracted to me in some ways. I thought that he really knew me and liked me for who I was, so those superficial things didn't matter. But when Ron and I had our last fight, he... well, he said I'd have a hard time finding someone else to put up with me." She took a breath. "He said he had grown used to me, but that I was mental."

"I'm going to kill him." Harry gritted his teeth, starting to stand up. "No, I'll turn him into a—"

She grabbed his wrist. "Stop! Harry, sit down. Please listen." He took a few breaths, nodded, and settled beside her again. "He was immediately sorry he said it. I said some really nasty things to him that I regret, too. We were both hurting." Harry placed his hand on her back, gently rubbing it, waiting for her to go on.

"But that's not it," she continued. "What you said before—I'm sorry. After all your sincerity this morning, it's hard to explain." Hermione took a pause, uncertain how to begin. She felt embarrassed by her overreaction. "You see, I grew up having this name that no one knew and even fewer knew how to pronounce. But when I was a little girl, my dad taught me that it was Greek, that there was this queen named Helen of Troy, who was so lovely and beautiful that the ancient world went to war over her. And I was named after her daughter. All parents want to tell their kids how lovely they are, and my dad had his hyperbolic way of talking about everything."

Harry nodded, listening intently.

"Anyhow," she said, wiping her eyes, "The kids in my school mostly knew who I was, so my name wasn't unusual to them. But one summer when I was about eight, my parents took me on their first extended holiday in France. They had found some sort of daycare camp for me to go to for a week or two, which also gave them some time to go on adult excursions. One day at camp there was some kids' tour to go to a nearby museum. You can imagine that I was excited. The tour leader was normally a teacher during the school year, I think. She was calling out names as we gathered, and she said my name wrong, as most people did. 'Hermy-own' or something. I've heard at least a dozen different mispronunciations. And I said I was 'Hermione.' She gave me this sweet look and said, 'That's such a lovely name. Where does it come from?' And you know how I was when I was younger—I loved to answer things. So I told her the whole story about Helen of Troy and how she was the most beautiful woman in the world. And I was named after her daughter Hermione, whom Homer described as having the beauty of Aphrodite the Golden."

She sighed, taking another deep breath. The Horcrux had exploited that memory last year inside her; Harry deserved to know. "I'm sure I came across as some pretentious kid showing off my knowledge. But one boy yelled over at me and said, 'And that's supposed to be you? The most beautiful in the world? Look at her teeth! I mean, just look at her face!' And half of the kids started laughing." She blinked several times, trying to hold the tears at bay. "I ran from the room as fast as I could and hid in the bathroom. I just wanted to hide my face from everyone forever." She halted, now closing her eyes, willing that decade-old scar of shame to pass.

Harry pulled her closer into his side. "I... I didn't know. Your dad said—"

"How could you know?" she interrupted. "I've never told a single soul about it. The tour leader finally found me and explained to me that kids say cruel things, which I knew already. To most people, I was the weird kid who went off to read books by herself. But I begged her not to tell my parents. To me at that time, it was the special thing that my dad said about me, and I couldn't bear for him to hear what happened. I never did get to the museum that day; the leader made up some excuse about how I was feeling sick when my parents picked me up."

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the rush of the river, before she continued. "So, after that I vowed never to tell anyone the real story about my name again. A year later or so I happened upon a reference to A Winter's Tale and decided if anyone ever asked, I'd talk about Shakespeare. You'd be amazed how that immediately shuts people up: everyone seems to think they should know about Shakespeare. So if they haven't heard of that play or that character, they don't ask a lot of questions to avoid looking stupid."

She had calmed down again, a weight seemingly gone from her. Now Harry really did know everything about her. Hermione glanced over at him, as he was apparently contemplating what to do or say. Turning her gaze back toward her lap, she closed her eyes, sad that she had ruined a beautiful moment. "I'm sorry I lied about it, Harry," she went on. "I mean, I never directly lied to you, even about that. It's just—by the time we became friends, I had hinted to a couple people at Hogwarts about Shakespeare, and I felt like it was such a minor thing that I never explained it to you."

"You shouldn't be sorry," he replied laconically. Only a few seconds passed before he took her hand in his, and stood up, pulling her with him. He started leading her back toward their camp.

"Where are we going?" she asked, wondering what he was planning next. She wasn't sure whether she was more embarrassed by the actual story she told or the fact that it still caused her to get upset so many years later. Regardless, she couldn't take it if he pitied her. But she soon realized he was leading them to their tent door. "What are we doing, Harry?"

But he didn't say anything. He dropped her hand to unzip the door, then stepped in, again pulling her to come with him. As she stepped forward, a breeze picked up and a chill passed through her, causing her to shiver. Harry motioned for her to go inside as he quickly exited to retrieve the blanket she had dropped earlier.

Not sure what to expect, Hermione had seated herself cross-legged on their unfolded sleeping bag, which she was smoothing out as Harry entered. By now, she figured that he wasn't going to say anything until he wanted to, so she just waited as he crawled in, zipped up the door, and zipped the windows shut as well to keep the cool breeze out. Finally, he sat down himself, sitting crossed-legged directly in front of Hermione, mirroring her.

She had dropped her gaze to her lap, still stewing about her recollections and how ridiculous she must have sounded, getting upset about something that happened over a decade ago. She couldn't look at him. Part of her thought that perhaps Ron was right about her being mental.

Harry reached out and lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him, before he took both of her hands into his own, holding them between their laps. Hermione wasn't sure she could take much more of his silence and staring. But finally he spoke. "Do you remember Cho Chang?"

"Of course," she replied in confusion. That was certainly not what she had expected him to say. "I mean, remember her? We were in school together for years. We ran into her this summer, just a couple months ago."

"Sorry," he muttered, blinking slowly for a moment. "What I mean is, you remember her... and me?"

She rolled her eyes. "Harry, the whole school knew about you two. What's your point?" Hermione wasn't sure how talking about his liaison with the obviously beautiful Cho Chang was supposed to make her feel better.

He cleared his throat. "Well, she gave me my first real kiss. I mean, the first one like..." His voice trailed off, and Hermione struggled to understand what he meant by that. She wondered if all the times she had kissed him on the cheek or on the forehead were also "real kisses" to him.

"Anyhow," Harry continued, "the strangest thought passed through my mind right before she started to kiss me. I started counting the freckles on her nose." He paused for a moment, breaking eye contact with her and looking down at their joined hands. "Afterward, I couldn't figure out why I'd focus on such an odd thing at that time. I mean, I was nervous and attracted to her and wanted to kiss her, so why pay most attention to her freckles?" His right thumb was now making slow circles on her left hand, as he continued. "It took me a few months to sort it out, but one day it finally came to me." His eyes rose to meet hers again. "The one person I spent the most time with in the world, the only one I had ever really been so close with before, was you. And I was so used to your face, with those few freckles just in those places..."

She had to glance away. Harry's gaze was embarrassing her now. "Lots of witches have freckles, Harry," she said quietly. "Ginny has loads of them."

He let out his breath. "Ginny is a Weasley. All of them look like that. They have freckles everywhere, hundreds of them. But please look at me," he pleaded. She slowly turned her eyes back to his. "I spent a lot of time with her, but I really don't know the details of Ginny's face. I couldn't tell you how many freckles Cho has." His voice dropped lower as he went on. "But I know every one of yours. I know where every single scar is, even the ones you hide. I know that you hunch your shoulders down and lean just a tiny bit to your left when you walk, even when you're not carrying a bag with a dozen books in it. I know that you lost a little too much weight last year during the Horcrux hunt—I see it in your face and your arms and in your legs—and you still haven't gained it all back because you are putting too much stress on yourself."

He closed his eyes for a second and pressed his lips together. When he opened them again, his look was one of pure adoration. "Hermione," he went on, "I know every part of you from your head to your toes to the exact position of the callouses on your hand from writing too much with your quill." Keeping his gaze steadily on her, she felt his thumb move on her right hand to touch the side of her finger and rub the coarse skin gently. As he did so, he released her other hand and cupped her cheek, rubbing his thumb near her nose. "That freckle, there, is darker after all the sun we had yesterday."

"Harry..." she breathed, as she closed her eyes, reveling in the caress from his hand. She struggled to believe what he said, to try to comprehend. All of those years they had spent together, working closely, and he was always just there, usually paying attention to her, sometimes rather intently focused. She always assumed his frequent looks to her were for her assistance, because she was always the first to help him when he needed it—but had he really been studying her?

His hand moved back to smooth her hair, a bit wild from the earlier breeze. Hermione's eyelids gradually rose again to see that his green eyes had become darker. As he tucked a strand behind her ear, he continued, "I didn't know what all this meant at first, other than that you were so familiar that you were always with me, always on my mind. But in the past year, spending so much time with you, I finally started to figure it out."

He began to shift his weight onto one leg as he moved closer, kneeling before her. Threading his hand through her hair, he gazed deeply at her, before he gently tilted her head and leaned in. Hermione's eyes slipped shut as she moistened her lips and realized what was about to happen. She could feel his hot breath close to her as he hesitated a moment. The boy she met on the train, the boy she grew up with, the strong powerful man he had become, the most famous wizard in the world, was about to...

And then his lips were on hers, pressing ever so gently as she felt like she was melting into him, joining with the softness and warmth and taste of him. Her hands ascended to wrap around the back of his neck and pull him closer. His lips continued to move slowly and languidly against hers for several seconds in a rather chaste kiss, like a caress from the softest velvet, before he pulled back. A sigh escaped her mouth as she lamented the loss of contact, savoring the fresh new memory for a couple seconds before she finally opened her eyes to see his look of concern through his broken glasses.

"Is this... okay?" he finally said.

"Okay?! Merlin, Harry!" She could barely breathe, her heart was pumping so fast.

"I mean... if we..." he stammered, "I'm afraid once this starts—"

But she was having none of that now. Hermione pulled him toward her with force, crashing their mouths back together. Kicking her legs out and leaning back, she dragged him with her, joined at the lips, as they landed with a thud on the tent floor. She merely pulled back for just a fraction of a second to yank his glasses off and toss them aside, mumbling, "I'll fix them later," as her lips were already on his again.

Nothing could have prepared her for what she was feeling now. Within seconds, they were kissing much more deeply, with her arms flailing about, moving with their own volition, grasping at him everywhere. She wasn't sure if there was any magic involved, but it was like sparks of electricity were flowing between them, urging them in desperation to find ways to be even closer.

A minute later, he pulled back again, now breathing fast. "Hermione," he panted, trying to catch some air, "What's gotten into us? I've dreamed about this happening, but—"

Harry's trademark taciturn nature was choosing this moment to let up. As she looked up at him, this gorgeous man with the wild hair, the only semi-rational thought she had was that there were already far too many seconds passing by without his lips on hers. "We've been talking for hours. Just shut up and kiss me, Harry." She pulled him down again, needing to feel as much of him as possible.

He needed no further invitation and finally joined her frenzied energy as both of his hands struggled to find ways to pull her closer, moving from her hair and face down her body. Soon, she nudged him off of her, and he rolled them both into a more comfortable position on the hard ground that lay under their the tent. Hermione wrapped a leg around his while they continued, trading kisses, side-by-side. As the minutes passed, the frantic element of their initial embraces gradually slowed. Hands were now leisurely exploring each other's bodies, while they periodically stopped to stare in amazement at each other, to verify that this was really happening, before their lips demanded to be joined once again. This cycle went on for a very long while as they began to relax together, their mouths locked so long at times Hermione could feel her jaw begin to tire—but she couldn't stand one instant apart. Any moment of pulling back just caused them to begin again, savoring every second of contact, both murmuring blissful noises as they relaxed in each other's arms.

After a long time, Hermione rolled onto her back, a feeling of fatigue setting in after their long night and all the earlier tension. Harry pulled himself up against her, resting on his side, his head propped up on his hand as he gazed down at her. Only a few seconds passed before he was cupping her face again with his other hand, then tracing a line down her neck and shoulder, making a chill pass through her. He then reached for the blanket, spreading it out over both of them as he settled back into his previous position.

Hermione simply couldn't take her eyes off of him, occasionally grinning widely as she contemplated what had happened. Then her smile would infect him too, and he'd look back at her with an expression she'd rarely seen: he looked truly and undeniably happy. They both seemed to exude silent laughter. She could only wonder at how it had taken them so long to do this, to discover the most incredible thing she had ever felt.

But she eventually broke the silence and series of idiotic grins they were sharing, as she grew serious. "Harry, I really don't mean to sound insecure, but after what happened with Ron, I just—I can't lose you. I've never had a lot of friends, but I don't think I could survive without you. And while this…" She paused to run her hand from his cheek down to his neck, marveling at her beautiful boy, "… is more amazing than I could have possibly imagined, I don't want it to ruin what we have. If you still want to stop and pretend this—"

He put a finger over her lips. "I will never hurt you, Hermione. You've never left me, and I will never leave you." He touched her head ever so gently, fervently stroking her hair with that adoring look again that made her heart ache to feel him close again. "Do you want to pretend this didn't happen?"

"No." She had to close her eyes again as she shook her head, silently wishing that she could just keep experiencing this moment for eternity. She never wanted to forget it. But when her eyelids rose again, she still needed to ask. "Harry—were you really serious about all that talk before? About freckles and..."

His hand moved to cup her cheek, interrupting her, as those gorgeous green eyes displayed his sincerity. "I meant every word. Do you finally believe me?"

She simply couldn't deny that they'd just spent nearly an hour lost with each other, the world utterly forgotten. Hermione had heard other girls talk about "snogging sessions," but this seemed—simply beyond that. The word didn't seem to apply: it didn't seem enough to describe the beautiful sensations she felt. After that initial frantic burst of desire, Harry's caresses and gazes and kisses had turned into their own language, a kind of physical discourse silently expounding on his affection for her.

Hermione nodded up at him and was rewarded when he bent down and gave her a gentle kiss, setting her heart aflutter once more.

"Good," he said, relaxing and lying down next to her, their faces almost touching on their shared pillow. "Just this morning, I must have spent fifteen minutes like this looking at your face as you slept. You were so beautiful with the early morning sun streaming in."

She rolled her eyes. "Harry, you don't have to keep saying these things. I do believe you, but you don't have to overdo it. "

In response, he turned onto his back beside her, letting out a sigh. "I'm absolutely serious. You don't realize what I meant before. Once I figured out how much I needed you in my life, I just couldn't stop looking at you sometimes." She reached out and took his hand again, entwining their fingers together while he kept staring up at the tent ceiling. "And it's really funny what you said the other week about checking your freckles," he continued. "After Ron left us last year, some days I'd just sit for a few minutes and watch you sleep. At first, I was checking to see you were okay when I'd come in from a watch or something. You had been crying so much at first, I wanted to see whether you had been upset again." She squeezed his hand a bit at that. "But then I found I couldn't stop. I think you only caught me once when you woke up unexpectedly, and I made some excuse. When it got out of hand, I thought up an absurd story if you didn't believe the other ones, about counting your freckles to be sure you weren't some polyjuiced impostor."

Hermione started to giggle, shaking her head. "You thought I'd buy that? Polyjuice doesn't change the number of freckles people have, Harry!" But she was already missing the contact from his body, so she turned on her side and snuggled up to him, wrapping her leg over him and resting her head on his chest.

"Well, I know that," he replied, "and obviously you know that, but it's the kind of stupid misconception someone could have. I expected you to say that precise thing to me, just like you did now. Well, maybe without the giggles." He chuckled, looking down at her. "You know how you love correcting people. I was sure that would be enough to distract you from the fact that I had been staring at you."

She now stared back at those mirthful green eyes, another silly grin growing on her face. She felt so exuberantly happy, she didn't even know how to express it anymore. "I guess you do know me well," she said as her hand began to leisurely trace circles around his chest. "In any case, you now have my permission to gaze longingly at me whenever you want, as long as you don't mind if I do the same with you."

His hand caught hers, and she looked back up at him. He smiled broadly, replying, "I think that deal is only fair," before raising his head to encourage their lips to meet once more.

They fell into a contented silence for several minutes. Hermione stifled a yawn, and Harry mimicked her. After a few moments, she started to pull away from him, explaining, "I don't know if it was that fact that we were up for half of the night or the, um… excitement of this morning…" She playfully raised her eyebrows at him as another grin crossed her mouth. "Or maybe it was that enormous breakfast you served, but I think I might like to have another nap." And to be honest, part of her just wanted to get him to snuggle around her again, like he did last night.

Harry turned on his side toward her. "Where are you going?"

She had barely moved two inches away from him, but that distance was clearly too much for them at this point. "I was just going to get comfortable. I like to sleep on my side."

Harry gave her a mischievous smirk. "Okay, then. Let's get comfortable and do it properly this time." He sat up a bit and began to pull his shirt over his head. Hermione stared at his bare chest, contemplating his scars before she was distracted by the muscles that came into view. She had felt them before as she was cuddled up to him, but Auror training the past couple months was clearly doing very nice things to his body.

Harry caught her leering at him, and his smirk turned devilish. "Now who is staring?" he chuckled.

Her cheeks felt warm, but she couldn't resist reaching a hand out to run gingerly over his chest, accepting his lighthearted smile as permission to touch the newly exposed skin. "Harry, what are you doing? I did say I needed a nap."

"And you said we needed to get comfortable. I'm just following through with the pattern you set last night. That was comfortable, wasn't it?" He began to unbuckle his trousers.

She smirked back at him, then chewed her bottom lip as she contemplated how far this would go. "Yes, I agree," she said after making a decision. She slipped off her pajama bottoms again, a lot more nimbly than she had put them on this morning. He was now staring at her bare legs, her hips and knickers still mostly covered by her long pajama shirt. While the sun had warmed their tent, the air was still a bit cool, and she shook off a slight chill as she watched Harry rather eagerly disrobe next to her.

After Harry was stripped down to his boxers, he climbed back under the blanket, patting beside him as she had done last night to encourage her to join him. But his eyes grew wider as she slipped her hand under her shirt. "I really did mean to take a nap," he said, not looking away from her for an instant.

"You said comfortable. This is how I get comfortable." She maneuvered her arms around inside her shirt and managed to get her bra off, slipping it out and putting her arms back through her sleeves. She was sure she now had Harry's full attention, as she lay down beside him, facing him. "Well, now. Ready for that nap?" She gave him a quick peck on the lips.

He stifled a yawn, looking a bit like a tired little boy with his disheveled hair. He was utterly adorable. "Yes."

She turned over to face away and backed up to snuggle against him, encountering a familiar feeling on her bottom.

"Erm, sorry," said Harry. She wiggled her bum at him again, now a bit thrilled to know this wasn't just some random reaction. "Hermione!"

"Boys are funny," she giggled. She turned her head back a little toward him, speaking over her shoulder. "But are you okay? You don't need to apologize. But I... I understand this can be a bit... uncomfortable. If you need to, well, do something... that is, I mean, I'm not sure I'm ready to—"

"I'm fine," he muttered. "I want to take this slow, too. Just don't do that again, if you want me to get any rest." He began to wrap his arms around her. "Comfortable, now?" he queried.

She sighed contentedly, loving the feeling of his warm body wrapped around hers. But she needed more. Hermione couldn't believe it, but she still needed to feel closer: now that the door had been opened with him, and now that she knew what she could have, it would never be enough. She wriggled out of his arms just a bit. "Almost. Just... since you got comfortable, I..." She couldn't believe her own boldness, but they were under a blanket already—it would be easy enough and not too revealing. In a couple seconds she had rapidly pulled her shirt over her head and maneuvered back against Harry, her bare back finally up against his chest in complete contact. "There. Much better." She could only imagine the look of shock he probably had on his face now.

Harry's hands didn't seem to know what to do. "Umm, Hermione?" he cleared his throat. "I thought we were taking this slow."

"Guys get to have their shirts off all the time. You said you wanted me to be comfortable, right?" He still seemed hesitant to touch her. She reached back and grabbed his arm, wrapping it around her waist. "It's okay. I'm still the same person. Just put the other arm under me," she said, as she raised her head and shoulders up a bit.

"Are you sure about this? I thought you might be more... uh... shy?"

"Just don't think about it, Harry." She pulled his arms together around her. This complete skin-to-skin contact with him was overwhelming, so warm, so comforting. It just felt so right. "Actually," she added, "I have a confession to make."

"Mmm?" Harry was nuzzling into the back of her neck, sending tingles throughout her body.

"I… well, to be honest, I actually prefer to sleep naked," she said.

Harry's head pulled back and raised up a couple inches. "You... that is… what?" he stammered.

She had to laugh at his absurd tone: he probably wouldn't have sounded more surprised if she suddenly revealed she was actually Hagrid polyjuiced to look like a nearly nude girl in bed with him. "It all started one summer when I was pretty young. We had several really hot, humid nights when I couldn't sleep. I complained to my mum, and she just told me to use the fan. So one night I was so uncomfortable that I just stripped everything off. And… I found I that I really liked it. The feeling of the sheets against my skin—completely free to move around without constricting clothing. For a couple years after that, I rarely slept in more than a pair of knickers. Even in winter, I'd prefer to snuggle up under a pile of blankets. It felt so comfortable."

Harry kissed her shoulder again while shaking his head. "I had no idea. Surely at Hogwarts—"

"Oh, of course I didn't get to do it much for years. My parents would let me alone in my room, but in the dormitories I just got used to pajamas again. Until this year, when I have my own room." She smiled to herself as she pulled Harry's arm tighter around her, a feeling of joy overwhelming her to share this sensation and closeness with the boy she had always loved. "Still, sometimes in the summers when I was back at my parents' house… or, at Grimmauld Place when it was so hot this August..."

Harry pulled back slightly again, lifting his head behind her. "Wait—you were naked… in our house?"

Hermione's heart admittedly skipped a beat at the wording—he apparently thought of it as "our house." But she tried not to make too much of it; they were roommates of a sort. "Harry," she said with a half-eyeroll, "I took showers all summer."

"Yeah, but this is different."

"How?" She turned her head and body just a bit to glance at his eyes, which seemed to have a mix of confusion and… something darker. Desire? Was that the look he had been giving her the past day? Just a bit frightened at the intensity of his gaze, she began to babble. "I don't know. I certainly didn't do it while Ron was there. But in the last weeks of August, it was so humid, and—"

"You were in the room next to me… in bed, without…" The fingers of his right hand were now absently tracing a pattern around her abdomen, raking back and forth while setting her skin on fire. "Wait, that morning when I came in unannounced and started asking you about your plans after you came back to Hogwarts—and you pulled the blankets up around you? You mean you were..."

"Yeah," she said, her voice a bit shaky, almost turning into a moan. She needed to put a stop to his apparently inadvertent teasing. How could he still have no idea of the effect he had on her? She turned back on her side away from him, settling his errant hand by clasping it and holding it still with her own.

"I sat on the bed and talked to you for at least ten minutes," he muttered.

"Harry, it's not a big deal..." Hermione had to admit to herself that she hadn't felt any anxiety whatsoever. With Ron around, she always felt a bit self-conscious. But she never felt like she needed to keep secrets from Harry; in fact, looking back, she had felt a little bit of a thrill when he had spent time in her room that morning. Had part of her subconsciously wanted Harry to find her like that?

Harry's tone still bore his confusion. "What if I had a nightmare and came over and crawled in bed with you?"

She laughed at his obsession with this idea. "Then I guess this would have happened a few weeks ago."

"What if Kreacher had come in?"

"Just stop talking, Harry." She reached down, took one of his hands, and placed it on her bare thigh. "Focus."

"Sorry, I just… I mean..." His brain finally seemed to register as his hand traced a little circle on her hip. "Wow… you feel so… soft."

Those nimble fingers of his began to caress her leg, causing her to squirm again. "Okay, maybe a little too much focus," she said, taking his hand in hers again. Part of her wanted to explore more, to feel him, to… but she was inexperienced and frankly a little scared. Not of Harry—but of how utterly out-of-control he made her feel. Just a few touches from his hands, and she was ready to do anything to keep that sensation alive. And she was admittedly a little embarrassed by her lack of experience: was she ready to have that conversation with him already? Hermione of course knew the mechanics of how things worked physically, but this was all so fast…

She forced her mind to settle. There would be time for all of that later. Right now, she wanted more of this. Biting her lip, she hesitantly asked, "Harry, would you just hold me—like last night?"

Harry finally pulled his arms close together around her, spooning up against her as tightly as they could be. He was just tall enough that his hips and legs could stretch beneath hers and make her feel like she was completely surrounded by him, every part of him pressed against her. Every part.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she said, a bit timidly.

At that, his lips caressed her shoulder repeatedly, causing waves of butterflies to course through her. "This is much more than all right," he said between kisses, wrapping her up in those strong arms, the ones she always had felt safe in. She could feel his chin then settle on her shoulder and his warm breath as he whispered in her ear. "This is... perfect."

They lay there for several minutes in silence, savoring the new closeness, the warmth and sensations of skin against skin. Hermione didn't want to fall asleep anymore: she wanted to remember every moment, every time that Harry squeezed her a little more tightly, every time he stirred and gave another soft kiss to her bare shoulder. After a few more minutes, he went quiet, and she felt a slight jerk of his body as he passed into slumber, his body relaxing around her.

Harry was absolutely correct, Hermione thought. "Right" wasn't anywhere close to describing this feeling: their bodies, finally cuddled together like they had always meant to be this way. It wasn't just right; the fit was perfect.