Can't Pretend
A/N: The title of Can't Pretend is taken from Tom Odell's single of the same name, released on his debut album Long Way Down from 2013. I encourage you to take a listen if you haven't already. The story alternates between Harry and Hermione's point of view.
Love, I have wounds
Only you can mend
Feel, my skin is rough
But it can be cleansed
And my arms are tough
But they can be bent
And I wanna fight
But I can't contend
Oh, feel our bodies grow
And our souls they play, yeah
Yeah, love, I hope you know
How much my heart depends, yeah
I guess that's love
I can't pretend
- Can't Pretend by Tom Odell
1
Harry
There were only a few stragglers left that Monday evening in the Gryffindor common room. Most of them were irritated when a loud and obnoxious Sir Cadogan, having migrated from his portrait in the Divination corridor, once again recited his dangerous escapade against the Wyvern of Wye, a creature that closely resembled a dragon and liked to terrorize much of West Country in the Middle Ages. Verbose as he often was, the medieval fool brandished his sword flamboyantly, swinging it hither and thither so that his armour clanged together. He even drove away a group of first years when they criticized his fat pony grazing in the grass.
Harry rolled his eyes, tempted to cast the Silencing Charm so that he could have a little peace and quiet whilst he finished his essay for Care of Magical Creatures. Because of N.E.W.T.s, Hagrid was plowing through the material quickly to make sure he covered everything that they were going to be tested on. Though a roll of parchment was due on the Yeti the day after next, Harry wasn't making much progress. He blamed Sir Cadogan for his troubles. The only thing he had written was that the Yeti was one of the community's worst kept secrets due to it being seen by many Muggles over the years. The International Task Force had a permanent base in the Himalayas to help control the situation.
"You haven't finished yet?" a voice asked. Harry looked up to see Hermione staring at him expectantly.
"Sir Cadogan has been going on about the Wyvern of Wye for the last hour," Harry grumbled, pointing his quill.
"Again?" she asked, sitting down. "This is like his dozenth time doing so. We should talk to Professor McGonagall to see if we can have him permanently removed from Gryffindor Tower. It'll be better for him to disturb Trelawney with his Knights of the Round Table rubbish than us. It's not like she has anything important to do than make wooly predictions from those ridiculous tea leaves of hers."
Harry snorted, "Don't let Lavender hear you say that. Apparently, Trelawney's offered her an apprenticeship if she does well enough on her N.E.W.T.s. Ron's going spare just thinking about it."
"The blind leading the blind," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "Where is Ron anyway?" she asked, looking around. "Did he finish his essay already?"
"Doubt it," Harry replied. "He's probably too busy shagging Lavender in one of the broom cupboards." It was only last week when Harry and Hermione found Ron and Lavender in a very compromising position whilst doing their rounds. Filthy phrases were spilling from his mouth as Lavender switched back and forth between moans and yelps. Peeves thought that the broom cupboard was haunted. Harry tried not to feel jealous about their salacious exploits, yet this proved to be rather difficult. Instead of Ron and Lavender hiding away in the ancient and doddering broom cupboards Hogwarts had to offer, it should've been Harry and Hermione doing so.
Since the Prefects' meeting aboard the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of term, Harry had come to the realization that he was attracted to Hermione. A failed relationship with Cho and a failed relationship with Ginny made him see more clearly than before. And he was sure that Hermione felt the same way. But because of their commitment as Head Boy and Head Girl, along with N.E.W.T.s to account for, they hadn't taken advantage of the arousal that nearly pulsated between them. This irritated Harry, disliking the space that separated him from her. He needed to crack on if he wanted a chance to ask Hermione out on a date.
"They're both a little hopeless, aren't they?" she said, wiping her hand across the table as if there were crumbs. "Kind of like you, actually."
He looked at her, "Er, what're you on about?"
"Dobby told me that you know your way around the kitchen, baking in particular."
"Silly bugger," Harry murmured. "When did he tell you this?"
"A couple of minutes ago," Hermione said. "I was able to knit more hats and socks for him. He has a whole collection of them now!"
She paused, gazing out the window. The setting sun lingered over the horizon, turning the sky into an amalgam of blues and pinks. Harry thought that Hermione was beautiful sitting across from him, the candlelight on the table magnifying her attractiveness tenfold. His erection awakened from a deep slumber, stirring in the cavity of his trousers. They soon became uncomfortably tight but give him a break. He was a teenager whose hormones malfunctioned time and again. It didn't take much for his John Thomas to stand at attention. His seventeen-year-old body responded to hers in ways it never had before. She controlled him with frightening ease.
"How about a wager?" Hermione suggested.
"Wager?" Harry repeated, eyebrow cocked above the rim of his glasses.
"Forgotten about the dueling tournament in Defense Against the Dark Arts, have you?"
"Bollocks," he said. "We're the only two left."
"Exactly!" Hermione responded. "And that's what I want to wager. If I win, you'll have to bake a Simnel cake to prove your baking aptitude. We're pretty close to the Easter holiday as it is."
"For all of Gryffindor house?"
"No, just me," she corrected, smiling.
"Fine, but if I win, I would like to take you on a date," Harry said.
"A date?" Hermione asked, looking a little surprised. "I don't suppose it's anywhere in Hogsmeade, is it? Madam Puddifoot's, perhaps, otherwise known as the haunt of happy couples?"
"Not exactly."
"Where then?"
"You'll just have to wait until after the Quidditch Cup," he replied.
"Of course, we can't forget about that now, can we?"
Harry shrugged, "We're bound to beat Slytherin as it is."
"Perhaps, but I don't think you'll be so lucky with the dueling tournament."
"You think Advanced Against the Dark Arts is going to help any? There's only so much you can read. Not to mention, it goes too much into the theory of things. The author barely touches on the practicality aspect of what it takes to win a duel."
"Well, I'm glad I have a chance to prove you wrong."
"Try not to get your hopes up too much. I would hate for you to be disappointed with the outcome."
"I like to think I'm pretty good, all things considered," Hermione said. "Malfoy's still in the hospital wing being tended to by Madam Pomfrey."
"That was some nice spell work of yours, turning his knob into a tentacle!" Harry exclaimed. "The bloody thing had suckers all over it!"
"Maybe I'll do the same to Ron," Hermione said. "That way, he won't have any excuses about his homework. I cannot believe that after all this time, he still puts it off until the last minute. Seven years later, and the twit's learned absolutely nothing!"
"Now's your chance to teach him a thing or two," Harry said, nodding his head at Ron and Lavender as they stumbled through the portrait hole. They were giggling as if they'd been struck by a Tickling Charm. He smiled when Hermione grabbed her wand.
2
Hermione
On Friday, Harry and Hermione were paired together in Herbology to extract the seeds from a venomous tentacula. The dueling tournament final in Defense Against the Dark Arts was next, Dean and Seamus acting as arbitrators and collecting a shedload of money on who will come out on top. The Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws all participated. Even the professors, house-elves, and ghosts joined in. Instead of galleons, sickles, or knuts, however, Sir Nicholas bet his own head. It was about to come off anyway. Currently, Harry was the favorite, much to Hermione's chagrin.
"I'll go first," Harry said, putting on a pair of protective gloves and sticking his arm inside. He swore when the venomous tentacula clamped down around him.
Hermione, who was staring hungrily at Harry's biceps, was smacked across the face when the vines of the barbaric plant swung around wildly, resembling a miniature version of the Whomping Willow.
"Damn thing," Harry grunted, trying his best to reclaim his arm.
"Need any help?" Hermione asked, barely avoiding a barrage of spiky, spore-like balls that the venomous tentacula spewed at her.
"Unless you want to use a Severing Charm, there's not much you can do."
"If I did, Professor Sprout would have my head."
Across from them, Michael Corner was trying to untangle a jungle of vines that was wild in Lisa Turpin's hair. He concluded that they might have to lop a good chunk of it off.
"Don't you dare!" she screamed, tears in her eyes.
"Not to worry, Madam Pomfrey will make it right again," Professor Sprout consoled, ready to use the Severing Charm herself.
"You excited?" Harry asked.
"For what?" Hermione replied, tearing her gaze away from Lisa. Her sobs echoed around the glass walls of the greenhouse.
"The dueling tournament," he answered.
"Nervous, are you?"
"Only in your dreams."
Since the beginning of term, Hermione scoured the books in the Restricted Section, looking for advanced spells to use in order to win the dueling tournament. She drove Madam Pince absolutely batty, probably because it prevented her from spending more time with Filch after the library closed. Harry was better than her in Defense Against the Dark Arts. He always had been. It was a natural skill he possessed, and she envied him for it. Hermione watched him blaze through the competition, impressed by his determination and prowess. She supposed that Harry would make a fine addition to the Auror Office working alongside his dad, popular because of his charm and good looks.
"Come on, Won-Won!" Lavender cheered next to them, clapping her hands together. "Only a couple of more seeds and we'll play hide the sausage after dinner tonight!" Ron, whose sexual activities had been delayed because of Hermione's crafty spell work, accidentally banged into the worktable. It collapsed, forcing everyone whose arms were trapped in the venomous tentacula down onto the ground. Harry swore again, while several of the girls screamed in panic.
"Don't get your knickers in a twist!" Professor Sprout said, holding a handful of Lisa's hair. She waved her wand and the table rose to its initial position.
After Herbology, Hermione departed for the loo. If she wanted to win the dueling tournament, she was going to have to use every advantage that was offered to her. That's why she transfigured her skirt to be shorter than what was normally allowed, her thighs on full display. When she met Harry on the dueling platform at the front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, his eyes were about to fall out of his head. After Professor Lupin erected protective enchantments in case of a spell gone astray, Harry stared at Hermione's legs shamelessly. Had he no couth?
"When you're ready," Professor Lupin said to them.
Harry struck first, casting the Expulso Curse. Hermione blocked it, sending a streak of purple flame at him. Harry was forced to conjure a silver shield to hide behind, only for it to shatter shortly after, splintering into a hundred tiny pieces. Unfazed, he waved his wand at the shards so that they spun around like a tornado at Hermione. She transfigured this into a wall of stone. It rushed back towards Harry. Fracturing the stone wall into large blocks, Harry hurled the debris at her. She blocked and dodged the onslaught before turning the remainder of them into an army of canaries. They sung a battle hymn as the birds bore down on him, their wings outstretched so that they resembled yellow paratroopers. With a flash of light, Harry merged the canaries into a large stag. It charged at Hermione, antlers aloft, before she made it disappear in a wisp of smoke.
They stared at each other, breathing heavily. Hermione noticed that Harry was staring at her legs again. No couth indeed. Slinging at lightning bolt at him, he cast it aside, scorching the protective enchantments around them with a black gash. She twisted and weaved through a myriad of hexes Harry threw at her, the Confusion, Deterioration, and Weakening Hexes the most prominent. She responded by charming the books from a nearby shelf to attack him. They flapped over, their pages rustling like leaves across a forest floor. Harry knocked them away, red and white sparks detonating from the tip of his wand. Pointing at the tassel tiebacks that were wrapped around the window curtains, he bound Hermione's wrists with them. She struggled, managing to turn the floor under Harry's feet into ice. His arms flailed around in circles as he tried to keep his balance, Hermione throwing the tassel tiebacks off her in the meantime.
She furloughed three Stunning Spells at him, missing by mere inches. With a grunt, Harry waved his wand in a large arc. A tidal wave cascaded towards her. Hermione supposed she looked Lilliputian against the oncoming rush of water. But she cast a Shield Charm so that the water skirted around, sloshing up the sides of the protective enchantments before disappearing. Sending a blast of wind at Harry, he was forced backwards several feet, his robes whipping around ferociously. With a great deal of effort, he cancelled the spell and unleashed a barrage of icicles at her. Hermione ducked and rolled out of the way, waving her wand so that Harry's belt turned into a snake. When its forked tongue poked and prodded the surrounding air, Harry got rid of it easily. He threw the Finger-Removing Jinx in retaliation. Hermione conjured another Shield Charm, protecting herself from the Pimple Jinx that followed shortly after.
Before she was able to counter, her tie blindfolded her eyes. Yet, Hermione was still able to dodge the volley of Disarming Spells Harry used against her. She transfigured her tie into a pair of gloves, sending them at Harry. A fierce tug-of-war ensued when the gloves grabbed at his wand. While he was distracted, Hermione moved in for the final assault. It was three-step approach she had been planning for weeks now. She cast a spell that turned Harry's hair into a colony of tiny bats. The girls nearby shrieked as the bats flew in the air. Lavender fainted. Flushing with embarrassment, Harry felt his head that was now void of the same kind of hair that he inherited from his dad. Hermione brandished her wand like one would a horn, blowing into one of its ends. A translucent gold cloud emerged, fogging Harry like mist in the early morning. He had no chance to avoid the Stunning Spell that Hermione pitched, red and vibrant and as it ripped through the space between them. Harry fell over, defeated.
Ignoring the uproarious applause coming from the rest of the seventh years, Hermione rushed over to him, using the Reviving Spell. Harry stirred feebly, blinking his eyes open as if awakening from a deep sleep.
"Are you okay?" she asked, a little worried.
"Give me a minute," he groaned, lying back down. His arms and legs were spread far apart as if he was getting ready to make a snow angel, minus the snow that is.
"Don't worry about him," Professor Lupin said from over her shoulder. "I'll see to it that he gets to the hospital wing. Congratulations, by the way."
"Thank you," Hermione smiled, ducking her head.
"I think fifty points apiece is in order."
"That's bloody fantastic," Harry said from the floor.
"Come on," Professor Lupin started, "Madam Pomfrey is going to want to take a good look at you." After he helped Harry to his feet, he yelled, "Class dismissed!" There were more cheers as the seventh years gathered their things and left. Many commended Hermione and her quick spell work, including Neville who apparently bet a few quid on her winning.
And though she was happy with the outcome, Hermione couldn't help the disappointment that flared deep within her. Yes, she was very much looking forward to Harry's Simnel cake, but she was also very much looking forward to going on a date with him. It was only Hermione's competitive streak that kept her from intentionally losing the duel. Because she did consider doing exactly that. Why? To put it simply, she fancied him. Over the summer holiday, Hermione promised herself that she would tell Harry how she truly felt about him. She promised the same thing over Christmas. Now, first term had long passed. And the clock was ticking on the time that was left. They were dancing around each other as teenagers often do. Sighing, Hermione wondered if she could afford to be greedy. N.E.W.T.s were obviously important, but Harry was dangerously close to knocking those examinations off the pedestal that she had placed them on. He was her Achilles heel, and it was time that she do something about it.
3
Harry
Harry was no stranger to the hospital wing, his injuries on the Quidditch pitch forcing him to become an interim dweller under Madam Pomfrey's ministrations for the past seven years. While it only took a couple of minutes to grow his hair back to the messy bird's nest it usually was, Madam Pomfrey insisted that Harry stay under her care until she was satisfied that the Stunning Spell hadn't had any lasting effects. After all, it wasn't normal for Aurors, let alone Hogwarts students, to be hit with such a potent spell. So here he was, admiring the sound of the raindrops lashing against the windows and echoing all around the hospital wing. Because it was nighttime, fires in the brackets stenciled black shadows across the walls. Some looked like deformed creatures lurking behind the curtains.
Hagrid visited, dropping off a plateful of his famous rock cakes. They were left untouched next to Harry's bed. Ron and Lavender visited as well, a small detour they took on their way to shag. They wanted to leave no broom cupboard unturned before they left Hogwarts, tittering like annoying birds when they slipped away hours ago. Trying not to think that it was he and Hermione slipping away instead, the dueling tournament proved to be a major cock-up, hadn't it? Hermione most likely utilized her entire arsenal of spells to win, including that Flight of Fancy rubbish that caught him completely unawares. When cast correctly, the Flight of Fancy makes one hallucinate their deepest desires, kind of like having a lucid dream. Harry was powerless when images of Hermione seductively removing her school robes played in his head like a film reel. And that ridiculous short skirt of hers didn't help matters any. Concupiscent like never before, he was close to making a mess in his trousers.
Sighing, Harry started on his History of Magic homework. They were learning about a French wizard, Pierre Bonaccord, the first Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards. He campaigned for the rights of mountain trolls in Liechtenstein, who were poorly managing the mountain troll population as they wreaked havoc on Muggle settlements. As a result, Liechtenstein boycotted the committee altogether, believing Pierre to be as thick as the mountain trolls he sought to protect.
At the end of the ward, the doors to the hospital wing swung open. Harry looked up and saw Hermione on the other side. Her eyes scanned the empty beds, finding his last. She approached cautiously, tiptoeing as if she expected Madam Pomfrey to come barreling out of her office, castigating Hermione for disturbing one of her patients so late at night. If anything, Harry was positively delighted that Hermione had come to visit. It was true that his pride had been damaged as a result of the dueling tournament, but she had been a formidable opponent. He was bored to tears all by himself, the thick-headed mountain trolls offering him little intrigue.
"I guess congratulations are in order," Harry said to her. Though going on a date with Hermione was now out of the question, he fancied her even more since she proved to be adept with her wand. Dueling was his specialty, and he had lost. It was a narrow victory yet deserving all the same.
"Thank you," she replied quietly, glancing over her shoulder. As a result, Harry cast the Muffliato Charm to keep their conversation private. "You weren't so bad either."
"Using the Flight of Fancy was clever. Was that your first time?"
"I've practiced it once or twice before," she said.
"On who?"
"Myself," Hermione responded simply. "There weren't many volunteers to choose from, you see." As she sat down in a nearby chair, Harry wondered what she hallucinated about under the Flight of Fancy. "I met your dad, by the way."
"Sorry?"
"He was having tea when Professor Lupin summoned me to his office chambers after dinner. He suggested I enroll in the Auror Training Programme after I sit my N.E.W.T.s."
"And what did you say?" Harry asked.
"I declined. As interesting as the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is, I'd rather stay away from criminal activity."
"Dad says that the rookeries in Diagon Alley have since expanded. Black market activities are run in the alleys between Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions, and even Ollivanders. That's why dad wants capable Aurors to stop these kinds of transactions from taking place in Diagon Alley and to stop them from invading places like Hogsmeade next. But applications for the Auror Training Programme have declined for years now. It makes sense though. The Magical Office for National Statistics said that the birth rate has been declining for years. The number of British seats on the International Confederation of Wizards is related to the size of the population."
"I see you've been doing your homework," Hermione said, nodding her head at his A History of Magic textbook.
"Apparently, the Minister and his support staff are putting together programs to try and spur the birth rate because he wants more voting power."
"It's unlikely the tosser is qualified with such things," Hermione said. Harry threw his head back and laughed loudly. "Well, it's true!" she defended. "Is Minister Fudge planning to enact social policies like providing subsidised childcare for younger children? Or how about a generous benefits system for larger families? What about female and maternal employment and paid parental leave?"
"Maybe you should have a go and run for Minister of Magic yourself," Harry suggested.
"Actually, I'm more interested in joining the Muggle Liaison Office in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes."
"Really?"
"Professor McGonagall told me that their responsibilities include introducing Muggle-Born children to magic. One visited my house in Hampstead to give me my Hogwarts letter. He explained so much."
"When was the first time you used magic?" Harry asked, pillowing his hands behind his head.
"Why do you want to know?"
"I feel like it could be an interesting story. Besides, reading about the International Confederation of Wizards can only keep my attention for so long. It's Friday night, and I'm stuck in the hospital wing of all the other places I could be."
"Ron hasn't come by?"
"Hours ago," Harry said. "He might still be in one of the broom cupboards with Lavender." He grinned when Hermione made a noise of disgust.
"I was just turning seven the first time I accidentally used magic," she began, eyes roaming upwards in thought. "My parents threw me a birthday party in the Heath, doing their best to bake a cake with literary characters from Jane Austen's repertoire. But since they are dentists, the cake was a sight for sore eyes." The smile Hermione wore turned into a frown. "As I suspected, Lucy Steele arrived at the Heath shortly after I did, towing along her gang."
"Who's Lucy Steele?" Harry asked.
"This horrid girl from primary school. She used to tease me because I hadn't any friends," Hermione replied. "Technically, she was right. I only talked to a boy named Henry. Lucy ostracized him when she alleged that he liked to pick his nose."
"So why did Lucy go to the Heath in the first place?"
"We had the same birthday. Lucy brought a cake as well, one that was purchased from Dunns Bakery all the way in Crouch End. Of course, it was of Paddington Bear. No one paid any attention to my Jane Austen cake which my parents worked so hard. I sat with them and Henry, while the rest crowded around Paddington Bear. I was upset with the whole situation and lost control."
"What happened?"
Shrugging, Hermione said, "Paddington Bear exploded."
"Poor Paddington," Harry grinned.
"Yes, I felt badly for him. But Lucy got what was coming to her. The marmalade preserve made a mess of her hair. She had to get rid of several inches."
"That's a little vindictive for a pair of seven year olds, don't you think?"
"I didn't do it on purpose," Hermione said. "At the time, I had no idea magic existed."
"And look at you now," Harry said, "winning dueling tournaments like nobody's business. It's impressive."
"Would you say that going on a date with you is equally impressive?"
Caught off guard, Harry was slow to respond.
"I'd imagine," he nodded.
Worrying her bottom lip, Hermione said, "I want to give you another chance. I still expect a Simnel cake, but if Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup, I'll accept your invitation to go on a date. If you still want to, that is."
"What's changed your mind all of a sudden?" Harry asked, elated.
Before she could respond, Madam Pomfrey bustled from out of her office and said, "Let's see how you're faring, Mr Potter!"
Hermione stood to her feet and fled the hospital wing, ignoring Harry calling her back. He slumped against his pillows in defeat, cursing Madam Pomfrey's ill-timed inspection.
As Madam Pomfrey examined him for any lingering effects of the Stunning Spell, she whispered, "Give it a little more time. Miss Granger will come around eventually."
Surprised, Harry asked, "You know that I fancy Hermione?" He thought that the hospital wing was too far removed from the rest of Hogwarts to participate in the petty gossip that was prevalent in the corridors between classes.
She smiled, "It's not much of a secret, is it?"
4
Hermione
It was the start of the Easter holiday when Harry led Hermione down a stone corridor that was lined with colorful paintings of food. She was grateful for the small fires that flickered on top of the torches around them because they most notably advertised Harry's buttocks in front of her. Hermione's eyes were helplessly drawn to them, flaunting around in those tight trousers of his. She briefly wondered what they looked like without any clothing garments to shield them from view. The entrance to the Hufflepuff common room was on their right, guarded by a pile of large barrels that were tucked away in a shadowy, stone recess.
"There's only one place in Hogwarts to bake the perfect Simnel cake," Harry said, stopping in front of the painting that was of a giant bowl of fruit. Hermione watched as he reached up and tickled the green pear. It snickered before turning into a door handle.
"I suppose you forgot about the Room of Requirement," Hermione replied, stepping over the threshold.
"Rubbish."
Once inside, the house-elves there mobbed Harry and Hermione like they were some kind of celebrities, clamoring for their attention. Some bowed while others curtsied, wearing tea towels that were stamped with the Hogwarts crest and tied around them like a toga. Suddenly, Dobby forced his way to the front of the pack, shoving a couple of house-elves violently out of the way. They crashed into a mountain of brass cookware nearby, causing an avalanche.
"Harry Potter!" Dobby said in a high voice, bowing so low that his skinny nose poked the floor. Hermione was happy when she saw that Dobby was wearing the hat and socks she had sewn for him.
"Is it ready?" Harry asked.
"Yes, it is! Right this way!" Dobby replied. He tore through the horde of house-elves, assaulting them with the bat-like ears of his.
"Hey, watch it!" one of them yelled, shaking a tiny fist at him.
"Dobby baked the Simnel cake for you, did he?" Hermione asked, hoping she was wrong.
"He just got the ingredients ready. Come on." He took her hand and pulled her away from the rioting house-elves. They went to the far end of the kitchen where Dobby gestured towards a wobbly table where the elements patiently waited, bouncing from one foot to the other as if he badly needed the toilet. "This is great! Thanks, Dobby," Harry said to him.
"Anything for Harry Potter!" Dobby exclaimed, fat tears of happiness plunging down his cheeks.
"Let's get started, shall we?" Harry put on an apron and looked surprised when Hermione asked for one as well. He started by cracking three eggs in a large bowl, telling Hermione to add one hundred and seventy-five grams of the soft butter. He followed with self-raising flour and light muscovado sugar. "Put in two teaspoons of the mixed spice there," he said, grabbing three cups of apricots, cherries, and sultanas. Fifty grams of ground almonds and three tablespoons of milk finished the ingredients for the cake.
"Where did you learn how to bake?" Hermione asked, watching Harry mixing everything together.
"Mum taught me. Before she started working as an Unspeakable, she considered opening a bakery in Diagon Alley. I would've been chuffed if that had happened."
"You still like treacle tart?"
"There's nothing better," he replied, licking his lips.
"Since my parents are dentists, I didn't eat lot of sweets growing up. I did manage to choke down a Double Decker once. It was revolting."
"Bit dangerous for you, isn't it?"
"If your Simnel cake is good enough, maybe you could open a bakery yourself in Diagon Alley. Or did you have something else in mind?" she asked, thinking about the Auror Office.
"Actually, I'm hoping to play Quidditch professionally," he responded. "You remember Oliver Wood, right? He said that Puddlemere United is looking to add to their reserve team."
"Didn't Celestina Warbeck sing Puddlemere United's anthem, Beat Back Those Bludgers, Boys, and Chuck That Quaffle Here?"
Harry nodded, "And donated the proceeds to St Mungo's."
"The Daily Prophet reported yesterday that there was a broomstick crash over the River Mersey in Liverpool that involved three dozen people. It was the last night of her Flighty Aphrodite tour. Her bodyguards had trouble with how many Bridging Charms were cast towards the stage, many people hoping to get her autograph. I'm pretty sure they're being sold throughout those rookeries in Diagon Alley you told me about for vastly inflated prices right about now."
"Poor Mrs Weasley," Harry remarked.
"She's a fan?"
"Listens to her every Christmas, according to Ron. He said that Fleur wasn't too happy about spending time at the Burrow over Yule."
"I can't imagine Lavender will be any different."
"Think they'll end up married?" he asked, skeptical.
"Anything's possible," Hermione said. "But I would hope that Ron will find someone that's less silly and sentimental. Can you imagine what she'll be like under Trelawney's apprenticeship? Ron hated Divination as it was! She'd drive him impossibly mad."
"Did you know he's interested in working with Fred and George? Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes has taken off far more than they imagined."
Hermione considered this and replied, "That sounds like a pretty good idea. You know that Ron has never been proficient in academia. I think it'll be a good fit for him."
"And what do you think about me playing Quidditch for Puddlemere United?" Harry asked, starting to divide a golden block of marzipan into thirds.
"As long as I'm invited to watch, I don't have any problem with it."
"Thought you didn't like Quidditch?"
"I don't, but I would go to see you play. Their stadium is located along the River Piddle in Dorset, right?"
Harry grinned and said, "I'll be sure to get you your own premium suite. After each game, we'll enjoy three courses of fine dining with champagne or house spirits. Included are complimentary British dairy cheeses served with smoked salmon and horseradish crème fraîche. Fruit scones too. It'll be just the two of us. Sound good?"
"If you can pull it off."
"Don't worry, I will," Harry said. He spooned half of the cake mixture into the bottom of a tin, rolling one-third of the marzipan so that it slipped comfortably on top. The rest of the cake mixture was distributed evenly above that. "Stand back a little," her told her, using his arm as a barricade. He waved his wand, conjuring red and orange flames that prowled over the cake like an inferno. "Without magic, it would've taken about two hours to bake at one hundred and forty fan."
While the cake cooled, Harry rolled a second marzipan disk, which he put on top of the cake after Hermione brushed it with a warm, apricot jam. "Now we have to flute the edges all the way around like you would a steak and kidney pie," he said. "Like this," and pinched the sides. After this was done, they glazed the marzipan with a beaten egg before placing eleven marzipan balls in a circle. And to make the top of the cake a light brown colour, Harry gestured for Hermione to conjure a second set of flames. He then cut three pieces, giving one to Dobby. Dobby was so grateful that he began to cry deliriously.
"This is absolutely delicious!" Hermione announced.
"You sound surprised."
"I am," she said truthfully. "Didn't know you had it in you."
Harry scoffed, "That's a little offensive."
"Sorry," Hermione mumbled between mouthfuls.
The kitchen was large enough to accommodate a cricket match between the house-elves, the middle of the space crowded as the bails behind one of the batsmen were dislodged, ending the current inning. In the back, a game of whist was being played, while another house-elf had a bottle of White Rat Whisky in each hand, staggering around so that his sagging belly was unruly all over the floor. But Dobby didn't contribute to any of these activities. After finishing his cake, he went over to supervise the Cornish pasty platoon that was being prepared in the brick fireplace for dinner. He began humming Weasley is Our King, the same song sung by all of Gryffindor house when Ron stopped enough goals from Ravenclaw to help them qualify for the Quidditch Cup.
"Are you about ready for N.E.W.T.s?" Harry asked.
"I still have loads of studying to do. Hopefully I can get a lot in during the Easter holiday." Hermione looked over at him. "I suppose you'll be practicing for the Quidditch Cup?"
"There's a lot riding on a Gryffindor victory."
"Yes, because I can't imagine losing to the Slytherins. Malfoy would never let us hear the end of it."
"Don't worry about that dickhead. He's still angry over the fact that you beat him in the dueling tournament," Harry replied. "And this Saturday, he'll be even angrier when I catch the Golden Snitch before he does. Gryffindor will win the Quidditch Cup, but more importantly, we'll be going on a date."
"In the kitchens?" she asked, pointing at the floor.
Harry shook his head, "I had a little something else in mind."
5
Harry
Neville was rather fond of the Quibbler, ignoring claims that its editor, Xenophilius Lovegood, was a seriously unbalanced man. It was a poorly kept secret that Neville fancied Luna, telling his classmates off if they called her Loony instead. Hell, he received a week's worth of detentions for punching Crabbe in the face. Ron enjoyed pulling his pisser, finding it bizarre that Neville was infatuated with someone who was as dotty as that of her father. But he didn't care, deciding to take it all in stride.
The night before the Quidditch Cup, the Gryffindor Quidditch team had a particularly grueling practice session. Harry showered and went up to the dormitory. He initially planned to meet Hermione in the library after she offered to look over his History of Magic essay on Emeric the Evil, but his comfortable four-poster was too much of a temptation to ignore. It called to him like a siren song. He passed Neville's open trunk and snatched the latest edition of the Quibbler, figuring the drivel printed in the monthly tabloid might make him fall asleep faster. The cover expressed excitement that there was a Crumple-Horned Snorkack sighting near Dunnottar Castle in Stonehaven. Movement was west towards the Scottish Highlands. And that night, Harry dreamt of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. The elusive magical creature haunted the deep abyss of sleep that took him.
In his dream, Harry slipped out from behind the tree line of the Forbidden Forest at night. The crescent moon sliced through the sky like the blade of an axe, a treasure chest of stars spilt around it. The shadows from the towers and turrets of Hogwarts stretched towards him like black sails from a pirate ship. It was as if they were trying to lure him past the shores of an ocean that stretched farther than eternity. But Harry felt the presence of another. He thought that the shadows of Hogwarts were playing tricks on his mind. The deformed grounds only consisted in this conspiracy. The Forbidden Forest paid him no favors as an impenetrable blackness hooded the foremost trees, making it seem like it was housing a large monster, one with a gold horn on its head and purple fur everywhere else. It was the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, cursing itself for letting its meal slip away. Harry sprinted towards the front door of Hogwarts in a hurry. The problem was that they were locked. Magic didn't exist in the cosmos of sleep. Trapped, he was horrified to see the Crumple-Horned Snorkack suddenly burst from the Forbidden Forest. Trees were tossed in the air like rice at a wedding. Blood was already barbaric in his gnashing jaws.
"You can't run from me!" the Crumple-Horned Snorkack roared. "I am hungry and need to eat!"
Harry woke with a start, jumping as if he'd experienced a hypnic jerk. With his heart galloping like the colt and filly racehorses in the Derby at Epsom Downs, he glanced side to side, noticing that the red curtains around his four-poster were closed. Loud and raucous snores filled the dormitory, Ron taking the grand prize.
"It was just a dream," Harry said, finally realizing that he was still in the sanctuary of Gryffindor Tower, safe from the Crumple-Horned Snorkack. "Damned thing," he muttered, talking to the Quibbler lying next to him. Rubbing his eyes, Harry grabbed his glasses and stretched his arms high above him. After banishing the Crumple-Horned Snorkack from his mind, he was excited for today because of the Quidditch Cup. Gryffindor's victory over Slytherin would confirm his date with Hermione. Harry couldn't wait to have dinner with her, the beautiful vistas of Hogwarts in the background.
Likewise, his housemates were obsessed with winning the Quidditch Cup but for an entirely different reason. The animosity between the Gryffindors and Slytherins was part of a legendary feud. It was a superiority kind of thing. And during the Easter holiday, there were enough brawls between Gryffindor and Slytherin enthusiasts to try and avoid. Most had to be taken to the hospital wing for a wide variety of eccentricities. In particular, the Gryffindors were proud that Madam Pomfrey was flummoxed by the number of Slytherins sprouting lion manes around their faces and lion tales from their bottoms. Wherever Harry went, he was ringed by his own personal bodyguards for protection. Annoyed, he tried to tell them that while kind, their services weren't necessary. It was Ron who reminded him that Seamus had been taken to the hospital wing after an especially nasty incident with a couple of Slytherins near the portrait of drunken monks in the Charms corridor. Seamus vowed revenge.
After shaking Ron awake, Harry led him down to the common room where the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team was already waiting. Ginny sulked in the corner, arms crossed over her chest as a type of protection for the unrequited feelings she still had for Harry. It was awkward playing together, but Harry's love for Quidditch supplanted such awkwardness. Ginny tried to get back together with him on several occasions, prompting Harry to give their relationship a second chance. He immediately declined, saying that he didn't feel that way about her anymore. Consequently, Ginny stopped talking to him. But it didn't matter. Harry fancied Hermione. He was quite susceptible to the most incredible wanks in the Prefect's bathroom, thoughts about shagging her getting him off.
In the Entrance Hall, Harry grinned when he saw Hermione coming from the direction of the library. It was like a fortunate stroke of serendipity that he would run into her before the game. He pulled away from his teammates, ignoring Ginny glaring daggers at them. She could piss off for all he cared.
"A good day for Quidditch, wouldn't you say?" Harry asked, noticing the red and gold rosette attached to her robes. "The weather's perfect."
"Nervous?"
"I didn't get much sleep if that's what you mean." Thoughts of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack slipped down his spine. He resisted the urge to shiver. "But I have a pretty good feeling that we'll take care of Slytherin with no problem at all." Taking a step closer to her, Harry said, "I was thinking that maybe we could go on that date of ours tonight."
"That's only if you win," Hermione replied. "Otherwise, I'll take a break from studying and read this." She held up Quidditch Through the Ages. "Sounds interesting."
Harry laughed, "It's more than that. There's loads the book goes over."
"Read it all the way through, have you?"
"It was one of the few things that kept me awake during History of Magic." Hermione only rolled her eyes. "So, how about some breakfast?"
"I had a bacon butty already-,"
"A bacon butty?" Harry asked. "Are you hanging out of your arse?"
"Oh, shut up," Hermione said, smiling a little. "I didn't know you could be so crass." Looking over her shoulder, she continued, "Besides, did you see Ginny stomping into the Great Hall just now? I don't think she's quite over you yet."
"That's too bad since I have my eye on someone else."
"And who might that be?"
"You're the one who received ten O.W.L.s. That's got to count for something, right?"
Before Hermione could respond, Ron interrupted, "What are you two doing out here? Getting ready to snog?" He yelped when Hermione sent a Stinging Hex at him.
"That's none of your business," she snapped. Turning back to Harry, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "Good luck."
Harry watched her go outside, eyes on her hips as they swayed side to side. It was erotic and seductive, stimulating his senses so they began firing on all cylinders. He wet his lips.
"Let's focus on winning the Quidditch Cup first, shall we?" Ron asked from behind him. "I can't wait to see Malfoy's face after you catch the Golden Snitch out from under him." Slinging an arm over Harry's shoulders, he said, "Come on, there's a full English that has my name on it!"
6
Hermione
Hermione had a serious problem with the Gryffindor Quidditch team uniform: they were terribly fit. The scarlet robes, dark trousers, and boots did wonders to anyone lucky enough to wear them. Yet, therein was her problem. As the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Harry was required to wear the same Gryffindor Quidditch team uniform like everyone else. And Merlin did he. Potter spanned across the back of his shoulders like Tower Bridge, while just beneath it, the number 7 closely resembled Big Ben. And the dark trousers he wore shaped his bum as nicely as parents would hug their children.
Harry should consider himself fortuitous that Hermione hadn't reported him to his dad at the Auror Office because it was positively criminal how fanciable he looked! And when Harry caught the Golden Snitch amidst a nasty pileup that Malfoy inadvertently caused, he smiled at her. When he did, Hermione felt like someone who missed a step when going down the stairs. Her heart fluttered and went airborne. The butterflies in her stomach went on a rampage, similar to how bats would the inside of a cave. If Hermione was a piece of chocolate, she would've melted like a fondue. Move over Professor Lockhart! Harry was sure to be the next recipient of Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile Award. How could he not?
After the Quidditch Cup was over, Gryffindor winning by a comfortable margin, Hermione maneuvered around the traffic jam of students towards the changing rooms. Her intention was to congratulate Harry on a job well done, believing it was proper that she do. However, upon her entrance, Hermione's mouth fell open. You see, Harry was without a top. And his body was on full display for her to appreciate and enjoy. She wished that she had a camera to take a picture! Broad shoulders framed a lean body of muscle, with a chest like two fluffy pillows and an abdomen that resembled a set of stairs. Small forests of bruises and cuts were separated by clearings of white skin. His trousers were snug over his narrow hips, reaching down to the black socks on his feet. Not to mention, the band of Harry's grey boxer-briefs was visible too.
"Enjoying the view, are we?"
Hermione mentally shook her head, looking at Harry who had a mischievous grin on his face.
"Don't flatter yourself," she replied, choosing to ignore the fact that she had been salivating only seconds before. "I assume you're used to it though."
"I'm not an exhibitionist," he said. "Apart from the lads I share a dormitory with, no one at Hogwarts has seen me without a top."
"What about Cho? And Ginny?"
"All we did was snog. Can't say it was anything special, either."
"There's a rumor going around that you have a tattoo of a dragon on your chest. Romilda Vane insists it's a Hebridean Black from Hebrides."
Harry held out his arms so that she could get a good look at him. When he bounced his pecs, Hermione went weak at the knees.
"Doesn't look like I have anything of the sort."
"So why aren't you wearing anything?"
"Just finished in the shower," he answered. "I have a date with someone special tonight."
"Will you tell me where is it that we're going?"
"You'll have to wait a bit longer," Harry said. "Meet me in the Entrance Hall at eight."
To pass the time, Hermione went to the library and spent the rest of the day reading Quidditch Through the Ages. Ordinarily, she never would've picked up a book on such trivial matters, but the table of contents piqued her interest. Besides, it wouldn't do any good to study for N.E.W.T.s, not when surges of nervous energy erupted up and down her body like sizzling snares. Harry without a top did strange things to her. The common room was undoubtedly noisy and rambunctious as the Gryffindors celebrated their Quidditch win. Hermione didn't fancy that type of setting, especially when she had a good book to tuck into. Thus, she found solace in one of the many hideaways the Restricted Section offered, enjoying the peace and quiet around her. It was only when Madam Pince shooed Hermione away did she notice the sun disappearing behind the horizon, abandoning the luxurious sunset in its wake.
She went to the Entrance Hall and spotted Harry immediately. His maroon jumper and dark jeans were hard to miss. He paced against the tide of students heading to dinner, seeming to be a little apprehensive. Ron and Neville walked by, clapping him on the shoulder in support. Harry barely acknowledged them for his eyes landed on her.
"Sorry I'm late," she said hurriedly. "I was reading in the library and got distracted."
"Don't worry about it," he replied, more apprehensive still. "Was it Quidditch Through the Ages?" he asked as they exited the front door. A midnight blue hued overhead.
"Yes," Hermione answered. "But I'm having trouble believing half of the information presented. For instance, the 1473 Quidditch World Cup."
"Between Flanders and Transylvania," Harry nodded. "Definitely the most violent Quidditch World Cup of all time."
"So it's true that all seven hundred known fouls were committed?" she asked.
"Including ones never seen before: the attempted decapitation of one of the keepers with a broadsword, transfiguring one of the chasers into a polecat, and when the Transylvanian captain released one hundred blood-sucking vampire bats from under his robes."
"That's mad!" Hermione exclaimed.
"Not as much as the 1809 Quidditch World Cup, also known as the Attack of the Killer Forest."
"Niko Nenad had that much of a temper, did he?"
"You're on about a bloke who beat himself over the head with his own broomstick and set his own feet on fire whenever he was frustrated. Not to mention, his teammates barely stopped him from strangling two referees."
"The Quidditch World Cup was played between-,"
"New Spain and Romania," Harry inserted, completely at ease talking about all things Quidditch. His apprehensiveness from before was done away with. "Being that Niko was one of the beaters for the Romanian National Quidditch team, he purposefully hit a Bludger out of the stadium and into a forest on the edge of the West Siberian Plain. It's been speculated that he paid local Dark Wizards to help him if Romania was losing, which they were. The trees came to life and attacked the stadium, killing several people. It took seven hours to contain the mayhem."
"And Niko was killed, trampled to death by a violent spruce," Hermione added.
"It isn't hard to believe that something up here," and Harry used his finger to ring his temple in small loops, "wasn't quite right."
"What about the Tournament that Nobody Remembers?"
Smiling, he said, "Even though the 1877 Quidditch World Cup was supposed to be held in the Ryn Desert in Kazakhstan, there isn't any recollection of it taking place. That's why is called the Tournament that Nobody Remembers. But one of England's beaters, Lucas Bargeworthy, was missing all of his teeth. Canada's seeker, Angelus Peel, had his knees on backwards. And the Argentinian National Quidditch team was found tied together in the basement of some pub in Cardiff."
"Any idea what happened?"
"There have been a few theories," Harry said. "The first is that there was a breakout of Cerebrumous Spattergroit."
"One that causes confusion and memory loss," Hermione supplied.
"The second is that the Goblin Liberation Front cast a mass Memory Charm, making everyone forget about the Quidditch World Cup."
"The timeline matches. The Goblin Liberation Front was active in the 1870s, attracting anarchist witches and wizards."
"Have you read about the 1974 Quidditch World Cup yet?" Harry asked.
"About Royston Idlewind?"
"He was one of the chasers for the Australian National Quidditch team and one of the reasons why Australia won the Quidditch World Cup in 1966. Funnily enough, that was the same year that England won the FIFA World Cup, beating West Germany in the final. The Minister for Magic at the time, Nobby Leach, denied any interference from our lot."
"Wasn't Royston hit with hundreds of jinxes from witches and wizards when he played Quidditch?"
"The Broom Jinx, Impediment Jinx, and Sea Urchin Jinx were the most common," Harry said. "Because of this, he hated large crowds, claiming that they were the one thing he hated about Quidditch. As you can guess, he didn't receive much sympathy, less so when he was appointed as the International Director of the ICWQC in 1971."
"ICWQC?"
"It's the International Confederation of Wizards Quidditch Committee," he explained. "As the International Director of the ICWQC, Royston passed regulations to try and manage crowd levels. The most controversial of which was banning all wands at the Quidditch World Cup except those of ICWQC officials. Fans weren't too happy about this and threatened a boycott. However, they soon realized that empty stadiums were exactly what Royston wanted. So they decided to use the dissimulator."
"You mean the instrument?" she asked, following Harry away from Hogwarts. They were headed for the towering beech tree that stood alone on the edge of the Black Lake, its branches twisting and turbulent over the quiet waters.
"Heard of it before?"
"Of course," Hermione said. "It's made of multicolored tubes, emitting loud cheers and puffs of smoke in a team's national colors."
"That's what the crowd used at the 1974 Quidditch World Cup," Harry went on. "It was a game played between Madagascar and Syria, attended by three hundred thousand people. All of them had dissimulators. When Royston appeared in the Top Box, the dissimulators blared raspberries before turning into the wands everyone transfigured before entering the stadium. Humiliated, Royston resigned on the spot. And Syria won hours later."
"So he retired?"
"I think so," Harry replied. "He tried making a case for himself during the 1990 Quidditch World Cup. My parents wanted to take me but couldn't get tickets in time. Apparently, after Canada and Scotland played for five days, the crowd was getting a little restless. The ICWQC officials nearly had a riot on their hands. Royston claimed that if his suggestion to ban wands at the Quidditch World Cup had been taken seriously, the threat of a riot wouldn't be at all credible."
"The 1990 Quidditch World Cup," Hermione started. "Didn't the seeker for the Scottish National Quidditch team-,"
"Hector Lamont," Harry said.
"-blame his dad for not giving him longer fingers? And that if he had longer fingers, he would've caught the Golden Snitch?"
"Nice chap, isn't he?"
Laughing, Hermione asked, "How many times did you read Quidditch Through the Ages? You know an awful lot."
"As much as you read Hogwarts: A History," Harry answered. "It's your favourite book, isn't it?"
"Very much," she confirmed.
When they reached the beech tree, Hermione saw a tattered blanket spread across the ground. The candelabra in the corner illuminated a wide variety of foods atop it including pork and ham pies, quiche lorraine, and a spring green salad. Butterbeer accompanied the picnic, the tankards hot and foaming.
"Oh, Harry!" Hermione gasped. "You did all this?"
"Dobby helped here and there," he replied, rubbing the back of his neck. "Is it too much?"
"Not at all! It's beautiful! I wasn't sure if you were having me on about not going to Hogsmeade, but I prefer this much more!"
"There's an eatery called the Badger's Greasy Spoon between the Magic Neep and Zonko's Joke Shop I considered."
"The Badger's Greasy Spoon?" Hermione repeated.
"Its name comes from the founder of Hogsmeade, Hengist of Woodcroft," Harry said. "He was driven away from his home by Muggle persecutors in the Middle Ages. When he went to Hogwarts, he was sorted into Hufflepuff. And Hufflepuff's emblematic animal is the badger." After a pause, he added, "My parents went there on their first date."
"So you decided to break tradition then?"
Laughing, he replied, "I wanted our first date to be a little more intimate." Hermione swooned as Harry's attractiveness spiked precipitously. "Come on, let's get started."
They sat close together, preparing their plates. Above them, the sky dimmed considerably, a conurbation of stars glittering harum-scarum. The middle of the Black Lake tinged green because of the Merpeople Village, while on the far side, lights were zippy in the parts of Hogsmeade that were still awake. It resembled a miniaturized version of London in a weird sort of way.
"Ah, I was wondering when you were going to show up," Harry suddenly said. Hermione looked around and saw the underbrush nearby puffing and wheezing as if it was alive. Before long, a fat cat emerged with difficulty, the branches barely affording its plump body passage.
"Who's this?" Hermione asked, smiling at the orange tabby. Stripes raced across its back like a tiger.
"This is Rusty," Harry introduced, scratching the side of its neck. "I named him." Rusty leaned into his touch, purring loudly like the rumbling of a motorbike. "I think he's a stray. Found him lurking around after Quidditch practice a week or so before Easter."
"He seems exceptionally well fed."
"I like to give him food," Harry shrugged. "Hagrid's fond of him, and I even saw Dumbledore slip him a few treats after dinner once." Rusty sat between them and touched Harry's arm with one of his white-gloved paws. "You're hungry, aren't you? When are you not, you muppet?" He called for Dobby and when the house-elf appeared, asked, "Do you mind bringing Rusty's dinner?" A few seconds later, Rusty attacked the food plate that came into sight. "It's beef with a little gravy," Harry told her. "He's also fond of chicken and turkey."
"Maybe we should introduce him to Crookshanks," Hermione said. "Although, he might get a little jealous."
"Best keep them separated then. We don't have much longer until we're finished with Hogwarts."
"Are you sad about leaving?"
Harry thought about this and said, "Not really. It was fun and all, but I think it's time to move on. And what could be better than playing for Puddlemere United? If we're good enough, we'll be playing for the League Cup. The Montrose Magpies have won the bloody thing thirty-two times now."
"Professor McGonagall must be proud." At Harry's questioning glance, Hermione said, "It's her favourite team."
"A Scot supporting the Scots," he replied. "She must've been gutted after hearing about Fabius Watkins."
"Who's he?"
"Former Quidditch captain of the Magpies. Not long ago, he was involved in a freak collision with a Muggle helicopter and died instantly."
"That's tragic!"
"It was terrible to hear about," Harry agreed.
In front of them, Rusty made quick work of the beef and gravy that remained on his plate. He then began cleaning himself, licking his forepaw and scrubbing his face with it. Hermione thought he looked absolutely adorable no matter how much he weighed. At the very least, she guessed that he was well over a stone.
"You have any plans for the summer?" Harry asked.
"I was thinking about exploring Scotland a bit more," Hermione responded, leaning back on her hands. "Considering Hogwarts is located in the Highlands, why not, right? There's Arthur's Seat, Calton Hill, and Dean Village in Edinburgh. And I hear the Isle of Skye, Loch Lomond, and Oban are worth the trip." She sighed in contentment. "How about you?"
Harry didn't hesitate when he said, "I want to cycle around Dartmoor."
His answer was so unexpected that Hermione was momentarily lost for words. She sputtered around like a divvy, making Harry grin. Truthfully, she found his response to be bizarre as cycling around Dartmoor would be the very last thing she expected of him.
"Would you really?" she finally managed.
"Is it so hard to believe?"
"Kind of. Do you even know how to ride a bike?"
"I had a couple of tries when I was younger, but my dad preferred that I ride a broom instead." Harry downed the rest of his Butterbeer and continued, "I want to camp out there for a couple of days, pitch next to a river or stream to sleep better at night. It's like a dream just to get away from everyone."
"You haven't been before?"
"I had a terrible time with Ginny last summer. She complained about how boring everything was, appalled that I brought a Muggle tent to sleep in. She offered to go and fetch Perkin's tent. We used it at the Quidditch World Cup, remember?" Hermione did. "Last I heard, the poor chap has still got lumbago. Not that she cared any. Drove me spare. We stayed for an hour or so, and then came back. I never got to properly enjoy it." Harry paused, the nighttime shadows growing long over them. Because of this, he waved his wand and conjured several candles that pitched themselves in the trees. A yellow sphere hemmed the area. "Did you want to come with me?" Harry asked.
Hermione looked over at him and responded, "To Dartmoor?"
"We could take a brief holiday after N.E.W.T.s, going to Dartmoor and then Edinburgh, with the Isle of Skye, Loch Lomond, and Oban on the itinerary. Or we could switch it up if you prefer, see Scotland first and Dartmoor second. Maybe it'll be fun to go as-,"
"Yes?" she interrupted.
"A couple," Harry finished, gauging her reaction.
Hermione was quiet for a moment before asking, "Is that what you want?"
"Listen," he started, putting his plate to the side. He ignored Rusty coming over and sniffing what was left. "I hate that it's taken me this long to realize that I fancy you when I've known since last term. I don't want to leave Hogwarts without letting you know how I really feel." He swallowed. "But if you're uncomfortable, just forget about it."
"I don't want to," she said. "Not unless you want take it back, that is." Hermione grabbed his hand. "Do you?"
"No," Harry answered instantly, "I don't want to take it back at all."
"Why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because I had no idea how you'd respond."
"So you were afraid?"
"Worried is more like it," he corrected, petting Rusty as the cat snuggled his big body in the middle of Harry's lap. "There were so many things to consider, and I would hate to feel like I pressured you into something that you weren't ready for. I admired you from a distance and thought that that was enough."
Since meeting on the Hogwarts Express seven years ago, Harry and Hermione crossed and re-crossed their old tracks like figure skaters, meeting again and again within the hallowed corridors of Hogwarts castle. And every year that passed, they grew along with their relationship. It slept peacefully, bidding its time to grow and nourish under the rainfall that was so prevalent in the Scottish Highlands. And though there were storms to weather, they did so with ease. Whirlwind romances were hardly romantic if they lacked what Harry and Hermione shared between them: adoration, love, passion. It was all there, a parcel waiting to be unveiled to its recipient. All Hermione had to do was to reach out and take a chance. Harry made his intentions known. He fancied her. And she fancied him back. It was scary to admit, baring her feelings that she managed to suppress for a long time now. But the more she thought about it, the more assured she felt with Harry. He was different from his peers, and that made him all the more attractive. This is what she wanted.
"I like you too," Hermione whispered. "The only regret I have is that I wished I would've told you sooner. I was silly not to."
"We were silly," Harry said, "but not anymore." He leaned over and kissed her. When their lips met, Hermione closed her eyes and was lost in a dazzling exhibition of blooming, star-like clouds that erupted just behind her eyelids. She softened against him, relishing the way his lips felt against her own. They were curious, like navigating some unexplored territory. She couldn't get enough, taking from him what he took from her. They finally found their way towards a harmonious equilibrium. The hunger they felt was for each other and no one else. They were finally free to savour relationship bliss, beasts of a burden no more. And all it took was a picnic on the shores of the Black Lake. It was the culmination of a bet that Harry had lost, and one that Hermione sought to rectify by giving him a second chance.
Harry moved over Hermione, Rusty scurrying away to give them some privacy. She gasped when she felt his erection pressing against her. It was erotic, her clitoris throbbing from the interminable contact. Lightheaded, she felt like a marionette as her arms snaked around his shoulders to bring him closer than he already was.
When he discarded his jumper and jeans, Hermione said breathlessly, "It's my first time." Curiosity getting the better of her, she already read about losing her virginity, unaffected by her fellow housemates who shed their own virginities like butterflies shed their cocoons. However, the agreed upon theory that the hymen broke or popped was incorrect. Instead, the hymen stretched or thinned over a period of time. Thus, any pain she thought might occur was baseless, particularly since people responded differently to pain. In contrast, she might feel a little discomfort, something she fully expected given how big Harry's erection was. It lurked within his grey boxer-briefs, itching to get out.
"It's mine too," he said.
And under the inky black sky, Harry and Hermione were lost in the throes of passion.
7
Harry
With N.E.W.T.s fast approaching, Harry found himself studying as much as he ever had over the past seven years at Hogwarts. Although he planned to play for Puddlemere United, his parents stressed that he still had to sit his N.E.W.T.s and do well in them. They threatened to throttle his neck otherwise. Thus, he and Hermione were always in the library, their books and notes in havoc around them. Madam Pince didn't like the mess, usually spying on them from behind the shelves so that she could look for an excuse to throw the both of them out. Ron sometimes joined in, dejected that Lavender spent much of her time with Trelawney as she continued on with Ornithomancy, a branch of Divination that involved reading omens from the actions of birds, whom Trelawney referred to as Seers of the sky.
And while Harry loathed studying, spending time with Hermione was his much-deserved comeuppance. It was no secret that the Head Boy and Head Girl were now in a relationship. Ron supported them, as did Hagrid who sent them a beef casserole as a gift that contained no less than a dozen talons from some winged creature. On the other hand, Ginny was furious, casting the Bat-Bogey Hex at anyone who happened to cross her. McGonagall gave her detention for a week, pickling rat brains of all things. But Harry didn't care about her. She was a distant memory in his mind, quickly fading from view. Instead, he came to know more about Hermione than previously thought. For instance, she absolutely hated unsuspecting snogging sessions. Harry learned this the hard way when he dragged her behind a tapestry on the third floor. Her quick reflexes jinxed him so that leeks sprouted from his ears. She apologized after realizing it was him.
"Do you think it would it be better to come up with a schedule on when we can snog?" Harry asked her, whispering in case Madam Pince happened to be lurking nearby. They were deep in the Restricted Section, studying for History of Magic which was their first examination in a couple of days. They had just gone over Bodrig the Cross-Eyed who led the Brotherhood of Goblins, advocating for goblin rights including carrying and using wands. When this was refused, a riot broke out in Chipping Sodbury by transfiguring the litter bins and post boxes into wildebeests. Bodrig fled to France when the Ministry of Magic put a bounty on his head.
"It's better than sneaking around unawares," Hermione replied, distracted.
"How about we study for ten minutes and snog for five?" he asked.
"That's ridiculous!"
"I thought so too," Harry said, scratching his chin. "Okay, how about we study for five minutes and snog for ten?"
"Do you want us to fail our N.E.W.T.s?"
"Wouldn't worry too much about that. I'll support us, playing for Puddlemere United and selling baked goods on the side."
Hermione put down her parchment and asked, "Are you sure you want to play Quidditch professionally? A bakery doesn't sound like a bad idea. Your Simnel cake was excellent."
"It was, wasn't it?" he smiled. "But playing Quidditch is something I've always wanted to do. Even Dad regrets not trying out. He was a brilliant chaser in his day."
"Does he fancy Puddlemere Untied too?"
"Not at all," Harry shook his head. "He likes the Wigtown Wanderers from Scotland. The original team consisted of seven siblings that were the children of the local butcher, Walter Parkin. They won most of their games because Walter would attend each one, holding his wand in one hand and a meat cleaver in the other."
"A little barbaric, don't you think?"
"Don't worry," Harry said. "If I remember correctly, no one was dismembered." He paused, twiddling a quill between his fingers. Hermione returned back to her notes, her eyes moving so fast that he momentarily thought that she had gone cross-eyed. Despite the fact that N.E.W.T.s were terribly important, Harry was becoming more and more impatient about snogging Hermione. She was his girlfriend, after all. "How late are you going to study for?" he asked.
Checking her watch, she replied, "Well, the library closes in a couple of minutes-,"
"Brilliant! It's about time we take a break! You want to head up to the statue of the one-eyed witch?"
"What? Why?"
"There's enough space behind the hump for a nice snog."
"How incredibly romantic."
As it was, Harry and Hermione spent a long time letting their tongues mix and mingle together, the one-eyed witch providing them with ample cover. When they resurfaced fifteen minutes later, they were in a right state: Harry's glasses and tie were askew, while Hermione's hair was like a savage wasteland, a love bite already on her neck. Since then, they spent much of their time studying first and snogging second. Other times, they snogged first and studied second.
When the weekend came, Harry and Hermione started confiscating a slew of potions meant to aid in concentration, mental agility, and wakefulness with N.E.W.T.s, Baruffio's Brain Elixir amongst them. They also learned about an underground market for dragon claws, of which many seventh years believed would give their brains a boost. And the night before the examinations were set to begin, the examiners arrived at Hogwarts, led by the elderly Professor Marchbanks. She was still a little deaf, loudly reminding Dumbledore that she tested him in Charms and Transfiguration almost one hundred years ago to the day. He ushered them away to the staffroom for tea and biscuits.
Over the next two weeks, the seventh years sat their theory examinations in the mornings and their practice examinations in the afternoons. The rest of their time was devoted to studying for their other classes. Sleeping was optional, even frowned upon by some. Therefore, many had to be administered the Dreamless Sleep Potion to ease their fears of failing everything. Madam Pomfrey was understandably overwhelmed.
Confrontations and fights were prevalent in the corridors, Harry and Hermione having their first row after realizing she confused tīwaz and ingwaz in Ancient Runes. Harry tried to make her feel better when he told her he didn't remember the details regarding Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration.
"How can you have forgotten?" Hermione asked harshly. "We went over it loads of times!"
"I had a lot on my mind-," he started.
"Don't you dare say that you were thinking about snogging again!"
"I wasn't!"
They didn't speak to each other for hours afterwards, holed up in their respective dormitories. Hermione was the one to reach out later, offering an olive branch when she invited him to have dinner with her atop the Astronomy Tower. Dobby personally provided them with fish and chips and treacle tart for dessert. Of course, they snogged like mad lovers a short while later. Harry gave Hermione another love bite to add to her growing collection.
Before long, the End-of-Term Feast was upon them. And though it was expected for the Head Boy and Head Girl to attend, they had other plans on how to spend their last night at Hogwarts. While the rest of school was in the Great Hall enjoying the many different foods prepared by the house-elves, Harry and Hermione were on the fifth floor by the statue of Boris the Bewildered, a lost-looking chap with his gloves on the wrong hands. They spoke the password to the fourth door on the left of poor Boris and entered the Prefects' bathroom.
Inside was the familiar bath the size of a swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor, a diving board at one end. The grandiose chandelier overhead was swarmed by flaming candles, making the many-colored jewels set into the handles of the golden taps dazzle blindingly. The white linen curtains that hung the windows were like standing ghosts, while a pyramid of towels was nearby.
"Mind telling me what we're doing here?" Harry asked, remembering the fantastic wanks he had of Hermione in the very same place. The Flight of Fancy was a wonderful spell he perfected on himself.
Hermione turned to him and said, "I was thinking about doing something I've always wanted to." She went over and turned on the water along with almost all of the taps. Kaleidoscopic colors exploded around them, bubbles swirling in the air like embers from a fire. "Have you ever gone skinny dipping?" she asked, taking off her robes. "Don't worry about the mermaid," she continued, removing her other clothing garments. "She's asleep on the rock," and pointed to the large painting where soft snores emanated from.
"I was worried about Moaning Myrtle, actually," Harry replied, paralysed at seeing Hermione's naked body in front of him. "Might try and spy on us from the taps, claiming we're flouting public decency laws or some other rubbish."
"She probably thinks everyone's at the End-of-Term Feast," Hermione said. After a quick kiss to his lips, she pulled away and dove into the bath. Harry was amused as he watched her swim around, the soap forming together so that they resembled large icebergs in the water. Hermione plowed through some of these, scattering them apart. "Aren't you going to come in?" she asked.
Needless to say, Harry made quick work of his clothes.