Disclaimer: I own nothing! And oh yeah, I used snippets of songs in this fic. One of them is "My Funny Valentine," words and music by Richard Rogers and Lorenz Hart. The other song is "Cry to Me," by Solomone Burke. It's funny how listening to K-Earth rids Writer's Block. (and if you haven't read a fic called precisely that, Writer's Block, its up at Astronomy Tower, and I suggest y'all read it)

Chapter 10: Cry to Me

"Why did it have to be raining the day we finally got to Venice?" Hermione pouted angrily. The dream team was currently taking shelter inside the Basilica di San Marcos,  which did provide a good distraction the first hour they were there, but was now quite frankly getting a bit boring, especially to Hermione, (how odd!) who wanted nothing more than to take a ride on a gondola.

"I say blast this bloody rain and get on with the sightseeing!" Ron exclaimed, and rushed out into the rain.

"Ron you git! You'll catch a cold!" Hermione yelled at him.

"Come on you guys, the rain is great!" Ron emphasized this fact by opening his mouth to the sky and tasting the water merrily.

Harry shot Hermione a look and tentatively stepped out into the piazza.

"Honestly, sometimes I feel like your mums!" Hermione snapped at both of them.

Harry grinned at her and blew her a kiss. "Come on! The water is great!" Harry half laughed, half yelled. It indeed was great. It wasn't like the cold, dreary English rain; this rain was warm, and oddly comforting. It tasted of sweet ambrosia and soothed a world- weary soul.

Hermione, who could never resist the beckoning of Harry's laugh, ran after them, covering her head with a blue guidebook on Italy. ("Rome, Florence, and the Venice: The Three Pearls of Italy")

With a naughty glint in his eye, Harry snatched the book away from her, leaving Hermione exposed to the rain.

"Harry you prat give it back" Hermione screamed, lunging at Harry, who quickly threw the book at Ron.

"Ron catch!" Harry yelled, and Ron indeed caught it. Hermione then moved to get it away from Ron, but Ron threw it back at Harry.

And so they began a childish game of monkey in the middle, in the pouring rain, in Venice, Italy, in front of St. Mark's Basilica, or more precisely, in the Piazza San Marcos, much to the amusement of passersby (and to the chagrin of some of the clergy).

After a while of this game, (where Hermione's consternation reached such great levels that she did some accidental magic. Harry's glasses flew off of his face and landed in a puddle. Thankfully, they didn't break), the rain stopped and a sudden ray of sunlight illuminated the piazza.

"Wow…" Ron exclaimed, amazement clearly evident in his voice.

The Piazza San Marcos is bounded by buildings on all four sides, making this square, well, rather square (more like a rectangle, really.) To the east of the square is the Basilica, and to the west the Napoleonic Wing. The long buildings to the north and south are the Procuratie (which served as the living and working quarters of the Procurators of St. Mark.) Completing the square are the very famous Belltower, and the Clock Tower with its great bronze bell.

But the remarkable architecture is not what made Ron gasp, or Harry's jaw to drop, or Hermione's eyes to get slightly teary-eyed. It was the effect of the sun…the sun popping out of the clouds, bathing the square in light.

The piazza looked ethereal, almost heaven like in the sun's glow. The Basilica, the Napoleonic Wing, and the Procuratie being very white indeed, looked remarkable under the sudden appearance of the sun. People were flocking out of cafes, museums, and out of crowded alleyways to catch a glimpse of this remarkable sight. This was Venice at its best; Venice the Queen of the Adriatic, enchanting all who have the privilege of walking around its squares, gazing at the architecture and history, traipsing on its bridges and gliding along its sea.

With a lump in his throat, Harry quietly said, "Well then, I suppose you want to take a tour of Venice on one of those boat things?" He was still clearly awestruck by the sight before him.

 Around them, everyone was going back to normal, the piazza that was abandoned during the freak thunderstorm was now bustling and moving as if nothing had happened.

"I suppose so," Hermione said faintly. The ethereal effect quickly dashed by the sudden noise that the incoming crowd was making.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron quickly began walking toward the harbor, Hermione a bit afraid that now that the rain had cleared everyone would be rushing to get to a gondola and that there would be none disposable by the time they got there.

It was strange how rain can obscure the image one has of a setting, or how one's vision can be marred by it. Upon first arrival in Venice, the dream team could see nothing but wanting to get under some sort of structure to shelter them from the rain. Now with the simple fact that it had stopped, they were finally seeing Venice for what it really was, a remarkable center of culture and history, and a damn feast to the eyes.

It normally didn't take one long to walk from the center of the piazza to the harbor, but finally being able to admire their surroundings made the trio's trek rather long, (much to Hermione's displeasure). Harry and Ron insisted on stopping ever so often to admire something or other, and one thing in particular seemed to catch Harry's eye.

It was a lion.

Right in front of the harbor, in what is called the piazetta, stood two pillars. One pillar had St. Todaro ("St. Theodore, one of the first patron saints of Venice!" Prof. Dorset would later lecture) on top, and the other column had the Lion of St. Mark.

The Lion of St. Mark, the winged, brave, fearless, Lion of St. Mark. It was put there to protect the city, the Lion being the epitome of courage and ferocity. Harry could only stare at it. True, it wasn't as moving as the Lion of Lucerne, but this lion had a character all of its own. The Lion of Lucerne was a lion defeated; this lion was a lion defiant. Wings outstretched, ready for battle, this lion seemed to give Harry a renewed sense of purpose; he was here, not on a holiday, but because something had to be done, by him, as it always seemed. And at the same time, the lion gave him courage to go forth, and Harry began to wonder if maybe it was put there as a sign. After the ominous sight of the Lion of Lucerne, the Lion of St. Mark gave off a welcomed hope.

When Harry, Hermione, and Ron finally got around to exploring Venice fully, Harry would find lions in very different places; a lion on the clock tower, lions in paintings battling dragons, lions with crowns on their heads. These various depictions of lions gave Harry a sense of belonging, and Venice quickly replaced Lucerne as Harry's favorite city. 

"Harry, we can stare at the lion later on!" Ron protested. He too was getting impatient about getting a gondola; it looked like wicked fun to be in one of those little boats.

Harry slowly nodded and Ron and Hermione had to drag him toward the harbor.

******

"You want me to pay you one hundred Euros to take a ride on that thing?!" Harry bellowed in frustration. "Do you think I'm stupid?"

The tall, rather tanned man laughed heartily. "No bambino, I don't think you're stupid. However, if you ask one of my colleagues, you'll see I give you fair price."

Harry did indeed take the man's advice; he rather stubbornly walked up and down the harbor asking the gondoliers how much they charged for sail. Some charged 150 ("it's a long tour sir!") some charged 200, others charged 99 ("this is a short tour however, and my gondola is a little broken…." ) 

Finally, defeat in his eyes, Harry walked back to Hermione and Ron, who were chatting pleasantly with the tall, tanned man (his name turned out to be Giorgio). "All right, you win. 100 you say? It better one of those long, thorough sails, or else I'll have your head."

Giorgio laughed at the young boy. "You? Have my head? I highly doubt it. But come, step into my boat." He said merrily. He offered Hermione his hand, and she blushed slightly as she took it. "Bella," he said to her with a grin. "Is this bella yours?" Giorgio turned to Harry suddenly.

Harry blushed and nodded slightly.

"Lucky rascal," Giorgio said as he pulled out of the harbor. Hermione crouched into her seat, hiding her face behind her hair, feeling slightly embarrassed, but pleased.

Giorgio turned the gondola sharply to the right. After sailing straight for a while, he began giving a brief lecture, "This is the Grand Canal," he began, "Venice's major waterway. It is 4 kilometers long, 50 meters wide and 5 meters deep. This first bridge is the Ponte degli Scalzi, which was built in 1834…"

And so Giorgio continued, speaking of the buildings on either side of the Venetian banks. He spoke of the Palazzo Pesaro, the Galleria d'Arte Moderna, the Palazzo Rezzonico. He seemed to be quite the Venetian scholar, well versed on everything and anything Venetian. 

"Now we shall turn off the Grand Canal and into one of the many little canals Venice is famous for." At this point he made a sharp left turn, and passed under a little bridge where people were standing and waving to them. Harry, Hermione and Ron waved back, and realized that the people waving to them were Professor and Mrs. Dorset.

"I wonder if they are going to take a trip on one of these? I know they'd enjoy it immensely." Hermione enthused. She knew she was enjoying this immensely. Venice was beautiful, it really was. To think all this art and history was focused in so small a place, in a dozen little tiny islands that make up Venice. 

Giorgio continued his dictation. "On my right you shall see the house of Marco Polo, the famed explorer, who was said too..."

"Wow! Marco Polo lived there?" Hermione asked, impressed. Harry looked pleased as well, but Ron just looked confused. "Who is Marco Polo?"

After a while Giorgio grew quiet, and all that was heard was the gentle rush of water as the gondolier swiftly rowed through the narrow canal. On occasion other gondolas would pass by, filled with happy families enjoying the sites, or young lovers enjoying the romantic setting that is Venice. Hermione couldn't help but squeeze Harry's hand tightly, enjoying the air hitting her face, romance riding in the breeze.

The trio was astonished to hear Giorgio break out into song, but what was even more astonishing was the fact that he actually sang well. He was a classic Italian tenor, and he belted his song out as if he were a forlorn man destined for ill-fated love.  

When Giorgio finished, the trio clapped merrily and Ron whistled wildly. Even the people passing by in other gondolas clapped and cheered.

"You three are lucky," Giorgio said impishly. "I usually only sing after a bottle of red wine."

******

Something about this place made Harry long to be back in the cool alpine air of Austria.

The hotel they had staid at in Austria, the Bonalpina, was brilliant. It looked like something you'd see in a Bavarian movie, and the little alpine town surrounding the hotel was very charming, and very quaint. Harry longed to be back there, in the snow where it was cool because right now, the bloody heat was killing him!

"Great Merlin's Ghost, I feel like I'm in an oven!" Ron exclaimed, pulling at the collar of his shirt.

"It's not that bad, honestly. I think it's just an overwhelming contrast to the cooler climates of Switzerland and Austria," Hermione said lightly. "And you didn't really feel the heat in Venice because although the rain was warm, it still kept the temperature cooler." She was currently standing on a bench, bent over a brick wall, taking pictures of the many olive trees that surrounded the small town of Assisi.

"Hermione, are we going to waste our entire visit here taking pictures?" Harry asked his girlfriend in amusement. He had to admit, however, the sight was breathtaking. The light, silver-green leaves of the Olive trees seemed to glitter in the afternoon sun. It seemed like the hills were dotted in fields of gold.

"Well, what shall we do then?" Hermione cast a glance at Ron, who was rubbing his belly.

"I'm hungry." Ron pouted grudgingly, he was expecting Hermione's snide remark on his "always being hungry." He was happily surprised, however, when he heard Hermione jump up and agree. "Oh goody, so am I! I vote for pasta."

"I second that," Harry added, clasping Hermione's hand and already walking away.

"Pasta it is then," Ron muttered under his breath, following his two very eager friends.

******

After a lovely lunch at San Francesco, a small and comfortable restaurant on the Via San Francesco, Harry and Ron turned to Hermione to form the day's activities.

"Oh honestly," she mumbled. "We are in Assisi for goodness sake. The best thing to do when here is to visit the Basilica dedicated to its patron saint!"

Harry and Ron stared at her with blank faces. "Oh come on," she rolled her eyes at them while tugging them both towards the nearest Assisian.  "Quale senso al Basilica di San Francesco?" She asked a young man selling red roses casually.

Harry felt his jaw drop, and he saw Ron's was doing the same thing.

*You speak Italian?* He thought to her.

*Not really, I just know a few phrases to get by.*

Harry was awed by how Hermione found new ways to impress him everyday.

"Just go straight up," the man said gently, and in English, to the great shock of the trio. "I understand English, you don't have to speak Italian." There was a twinkle in his eye and a bemused expression in his face. He didn't really look at all Italian. Then it struck Harry that this man wasn't Italian at all. His skin was too fair to be Italian. If he were Italian he'd be more tanned would he not? Giorgio was very tanned, and very tall, and he spoke his English with an accent. And then there was this distinct feeling that he knew this man, but where did Harry know him from?

And then he saw it, plain as the nose on his face. His hand…there was a black serpent on his hand…just like the one on the salesman that sold the Greek Book to Ron. But he didn't look like the salesman, no, he did not. Sure, he resembled the salesman, he could see it in the angles of the man's face, but no, he looked very much like someone else…

"Thank you sir…" Harry said slowly. He had very quietly begun to inch away, tugging Hermione along with him.

"Harry, what are you doing?" Hermione asked, quite surprised at Harry's rudeness.

*Walk away, * he heard her say in his head.

*What? Why?*

*Just walk away! Trust me!*

Hermione, who had now gotten slightly alarmed, gave the man a wan smile and began tugging Ron along to follow. As soon as they were a good distance away from the man, they began to run at full speed, all the way up the inclined street until they reached the Basilica's square.

Panting, Hermione turned to look at Harry. "Harry, what was all that about?"

Gasping, Harry answered cryptically. "That's the guy, he's the one…"

"The guy? What guy?" Ron asked. He had just eaten, a lot, and that run didn't do any good to his full stomach.

"Ron, remember the guy that sold you the book? He had a serpent on his hand, remember? Well, that quasi-Italian guy over there had the same mark on the same hand. So maybe, that is the same guy that sold you the book." Harry finished, collapsing unto the nearest bench.

"Ok, so why exactly did we run away from him? Maybe he could have given us answers regarding the book or something," Hermione said, collapsing right next to Harry.

"Or maybe he just likes snakes?" Ron added.

"Don't you think it strange that we happen to run into someone that looks like someone who supposedly doesn't exist, on this weird pilgrimage that we're on, when he was the one that started it all? And then Ron, remember when you said you saw black cloaks outside in Switzerland? (Harry blushed slightly at the memory) Maybe you saw him? Maybe he is following us, trying to stop us. Maybe he'll lead Dumbledore to us or something! Or maybe he wants the caduceus for himself, no way am I allowing anyone to get near it!" Harry finished with a flourish. By this time he was standing, pacing the bench, much the amusement of passersby.

Hermione pulled Harry back down. "Stop pacing why don't you? People are staring."

"I'm sorry," Harry muttered absently.

"I, for one, think you're overreacting." Hermione said, rubbing Harry's shoulder a bit.

"You're right, we should go back and interrogate him." Harry said, standing up quickly.

"We're going down the little hill again? Are we gonna have to walk back up?" Ron asked, slightly chagrined at the prospect.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly".

******

"He is gone," Ron said matter of factly once they reached the place they had last seen the flower vendor, or whoever he was. Even the flower cart wasn't there anymore.

"Well, we might as well go look for him," Harry said. They started their search by asking an old man with a bandaged hand who owned a nearby shop if he had seen the flower vendor.

"Well," said the man in highly accented English. "Today there are no flower vendors on this street, especially at this time of day. Usually the flower market is on Tuesdays and Saturdays in the morning time, when the flowers are freshest." The man said this with a kind smile. "If you are looking for flowers however, I think I might have one here."

The kind old man awarded Hermione with a beautiful red rose, and a map of Assisi. "A beautiful flower for a beautiful girl." Here, the old man chanced a wink at Harry who blushed slightly.

"Thanks!" Hermione exclaimed, beaming. She made a mental note to put a charm on the rose to keep it eternally fresh. 

"What happened to your hand?" Ron blurted out, after staring at the man's hand, which was heavily bandaged.

"I fell down the hill that leads to the Basilica di San Francesco." The man said gravely, clutching at his hand. "I used my poor hand to break the fall."

Ron gulped.

******

"Well that was fruitless," Ron said as they began the climb to the Basilica di San Francesco once more. He was trying to deal with a mixture of emotions, annoyance at having to climb and go down this little inclined street a million times that day, apprehension of falling down it like that poor old man, and aggravation at the Italian climate. Then again there was the fact that they had seen no more of the mysterious flower vendor with the serpent tattoo, and now he felt disposed to add a heightened paranoia to the list. 

"I know," Harry said, who was kicking himself mentally for being such a paranoid prat.

"Come on, lets forget about serpent hand guy and enjoy Assisi!" Hermione sighed as she sniffed her flower. "After all, we still have our plan. No weird stalker person is going to obstruct it."

Harry quietly asked himself who this girl was and what had she done to his girlfriend. Hermione was usually the worrywart of the group, and here she was being carefree. This was a welcomed change, she deserved to be happy for a while. All he ever seemed to bring her was apprehension. 

The trio walked toward the Basilica fervently, a sort of manic need to have fun and enjoy themselves seemed to settle itself over them. Maybe it was the only way to distract themselves from thinking paranoid thoughts…

Once they finally reached the entrance to the Basilica, they heard far off chanting in the distance.

"Monks!" Hermione squealed, "Don't they sound amazing?"

"Monks? Is that a type of animal?" Ron asked nonplussed.

Harry had to stop himself from bursting into laughter. "Ron, lets just visit the Church."

******

"Well, it is rather darker than St. Mark's isn't it?" Hermione whispered in Harry's ear as they explored the church. It indeed was darker, and a bit drearier as well. St. Mark's can be classified as being a loftier church, it looked bigger because it was more wide than it was long, while St. Francis' Basilica was longer than it was wide. They were currently inside the "lower church," where climbing down some stairs one can descend into a crypt, and find St. Francis' tomb. On display were also various artifacts once owned by St. Francis himself (like his brown robe.)

Climbing back up, and walking out and around the church, they entered the upper church, which was brighter and broader than the lower church. Here, the famous frescoes depicting St. Francis' life by the remarkable artist Giotto could be found. Hermione spent a long period of time examining the art, ooh-ing and ahh-ing over its brilliance.

After examining the church and eating a gelato while stretching out in the green grass in front of the Basilica, the trio traipsed down the little hill (Ron clutching is hand protectively) toward the entrance to the medieval town of Assisi, and boarded the bus. Next stop: Rome.

******

Years later when Harry remembered his first quasi-trip through Europe, he would always remember Rome. Rome, like Lucerne and Venice would hold a very dear place in his heart. He would always find billions of little ways to convince Hermione into taking impromptu visits to either of those three places, so that by the time they were along in their years, with a family of their own, they knew those three places like they knew London, and so did their children.

One clear image that Harry always had of Rome was the first arrival. They arrived in the early evening, the sun was setting, and Rome, with all its magnificent structures of the ancient world was the backdrop. All the colors of the setting sun reflected off these seven hills of gold, and Harry couldn't have enough of the site.

"Harry, you best hurry up and change so that we can get going!" Hermione yelled to him.

Harry was standing on the balcony of the hotel room he shared with Ron, staring out at this gorgeous site. They were staying at a beautiful hotel on the outskirts of Rome, on a high hill overlooking the city. This hotel used to be a nunnery, and it was very big, Italian marble everywhere you looked. It had its own chapel, and very green, very lush gardens. 

"I'm waiting for Ron to get out of the bathroom!" Harry yelled back at her. She was standing on a balcony right next to his. "Ron takes longer to get ready than you do sometimes."

"Are you ok with this arrangement Harry? Or should I warn Anastacia that you are going to have another nervous breakdown?" She asked with a smile.

Hermione was referring to the fact that again Hermione would not be staying in the same room with him, but instead, she would be staying in a room next door. This time however there would be a door adjoining the two rooms, a fact that made Harry less tense. They could always keep the door open.

"No, I think I'll be all right. Why aren't you getting ready?" Harry asked.

"I don't know what to wear," Hermione said, biting her lip self-consciously. "I didn't know we would be going to a semi-formal dinner thing. I only brought jeans and stuff, I'm going to feel terribly underdressed."

Tonight, their first night in Rome, was the night the whole group was to go out and have a night on the town, together, culminating with a semi-formal dinner on the Via Aurora, near Via Veneto, one of Rome's more fashionable sections.

"Hermione, are you a witch or not?" Came Ron's reply as he came out of the room and joined Harry on the balcony. "Honestly. Transfigure your clothes why don't you?"

Hermione stuck out her tongue and told them she'd be out later.

****

"Ok, maybe I was wrong. She is usually quite punctual." Harry mumbled as he paced the room. Hermione was late, granted she was only two minutes late, but it was very unlike her to be late at all. Ron was usually the late one.

*Hermione darling, Anastacia might very well leave without us you know?* 

He could feel Hermione roll her eyes at him, *She will not! Besides, I'm almost done.*

Harry sat back down and told Ron to stop tapping his feet. It was getting annoying.

Three minutes later, the door adjoining theirs burst open, and out stepped Hermione, and Harry nearly fell off the bed.

She was wearing a white lacey shirt, very Hermione-ish indeed. Completing the look however, was something he could never picture Hermione wearing, even in his wildest dreams. (Ok, maybe in his wildest dreams…)

 It was a black satin skirt.

The satin clung to every curve of her body. The satin was smooth; the satin was dangerous. The satin was causing Harry to think unthinkable thoughts. The satin was causing Harry's hands, that had a mind of their own, to twitch a bit. They were wondering what the satin felt like, or what the curvy hips under the satin felt like…

Then there were those fabulous legs that peeked from under the satin skirt. It was very horrible. She had great legs damn her. And he didn't notice this before? He had seen her bloody naked! How daft was he? Then again she was always wearing those dreadful robes, and he was constantly on the verge of losing his life. It made forgetting easier. Back in school he'd after see her without those robes more often…

And her hair, her hair was satin itself. It wasn't straight, not like during the Yule Ball. But it wasn't a mass of small curls either. Rather, her hair was more like a selection of a few, well-placed, thick, brown curls, pulled away from her face by two black sparkly barrettes. The look pulled together by the signature black Mary Janes. She looked stunning.

Apparently Ron thought so too because he had a look on his face similar to the one had during the Yule Ball. "You're letting her go out like that?" Ron asked, a lump in his throat.

"Huh?" Harry asked. He was pulling the collar of his white shirt, and somewhere along the inspection process his glasses fogged up and his hair got messier.

Hermione giggled shyly, and laced one arm around Harry's. "Don't we look handsome?" She whispered to him, placing a well-calculated kiss on his cheek. There was a little smudge of pink gloss on his cheek the whole night afterward.

"Huh?" Harry said again, the dazed look beginning to leave his face.

"She got you mate, she got you." Ron said as he slapped his friend on the back and quickly dashed out of the room, laughter all over his face.

"Let's go Harry, or we'll be late!" Hermione grinned at him, pulling him along the vast corridor outside their room.

Bloody hell, Harry thought. This is going to be a long night.

******

"Could you just stop staring at her for one minute, and come and look at this?" Ron asked Harry laughingly. Clearly, Ron was amused by Harry's reaction to Hermione's current state of dress.

"Huh?" Harry asked. He was watching Hermione as she talked to an Italian painter, who was trying to paint the scene in front of him.

The scene in front of him, however, was rather hard to paint. It was the Fontana de Trevi, one of the most frequented tourist destinations in Rome. Hundreds of people were in front of it, romping about, having a joyous time, causing the poor frustrated painter to lose his sense of concentration. The British girl in the satin skirt wasn't helping things either.

Ron pulled Harry away from Hermione and the painter and dragged him over to the Trevi Fountain. "Don't you find the architecture fascinating?" Ron asked, impressed with the grand scale of the masterpiece.

Harry's ears pricked up at this, "I think this whole European trip thing has gotten to your head. When did you begin to appreciate art?" Harry asked, ducking a smack from Ron.

"Agrippa built the aqueduct where this thing stands," Ron explained. "I've always wanted to see it. I once found a picture of Agrippa hanging in Hogwarts, saying he never wanted this thing built. Pity." 

Harry could only stare at the fountain in all its glory; the sculpture of the god Oceanus riding a seahorse drawn seashell, and all the tritons lolling around, and wonder why Agrippa could ever mind?

"Isn't it breathtaking?" They heard Hermione say behind them.

"Indeed," Harry said.

"If you throw a coin inside, legend holds you'll one day return to Rome." A flower vendor said behind them.

"Umm…thanks…" Harry said. He reached into his pockets and produced three coins, and handed one to Hermione and one to Ron. They each took their turns throwing their coins in, and awing over the imposing work of art. 

"Let's explore the rest of the piazza before dinner," Hermione said, turning to walk on, but a hand on her shoulder stopped her.

"A lovely lady such as yourself should not walk on without a lovely rose." It was the flower vendor, the one who told them to throw the coins into the fountain.

Hermione nodded shyly, but before she could go on the flower vendor handed her a long stemmed red rose. "Have a nice night," he said with a wink, and walked off.

"Its strange how Italian men seem to want to give away flowers," Hermione muttered lightly. She shrugged and laced her arm through Harry's awaiting arm.

After a short exploration of the Piazza de Trevi, the trio heard Anastacia's loud voice beckoning them to dinner.

******

"I think this is the best pasta I've ever had," Ron said as he devoured a forkful of Salmone.

They started off their dinner at the Piccolo Mondo with a plate of Fettuccini Alfredo. They followed that with a dish called the Tagliatelle Carciofi, which is pasta with artichokes, olives, spinach, and garlic. The actual main course was a dish called Salmone, fresh pasta with salmon, leeks, spring onion and cream.

They sat at a table with the Dorsets and the Carters, (Ron sitting between the Carter twins, looking very smug). The table next to them was occupied by the newlywed Bingleys, the two old British Dames (who kept pinching the waiters' bums every time they passed, much to everyone's amusement), and Nigel and Indira. The last three tables were occupied by the Chow Family, and Anastacia and Fezzik.

"Would you care for another glass of wine?" Ron asked Harry as he poured himself another glass. Ron had already downed three glasses of red wine, which Harry didn't like very much. He, as well as Hermione, preferred the softer flavor of the white wines.

"Ron, do you really think you should be drinking so much?" Hermione asked him, a critical edge to her voice.

"Oh shush it you! I wager you've had as much as I have!"

Hermione blushed at the reproach. True, she had let herself go on the wine. Upon first entering the restaurant and seeing the tables set up with different varieties of wine all over, she didn't really know if they were allowed to drink wine or not. But then she didn't see any other drinks offered, and figured why the hell not? The Italians don't really care anyway…

Hermione poured herself another glass and drank haughtily, a challenge in her eyes as she glared at Ron. Ron chose to ignore her, and fixed his eyes on the ceiling.

"This is good wine," Harry said as he poured himself some more. "I've never had any before today."

"Neither have I," Ron said. "I once took some of dad's Fire Whiskey once. Harsh stuff that is! Makes wine seem like water…"

After a pleasant dessert of tiramisu and a variety of fruit, the evening's entertainment began. First, a man came in and sang an opera piece, the same song Giorgio sang during the Gondola ride in Venice. Then a woman came in and did her piece, then they did a duet. After that, a band came in and played a lively rendition of the Tarantella, and various other Italian classics.  

Soon, the band regrouped on the balcony, and began playing light, smooth, instrumental jazzy songs. Melancholy jazzy songs, songs meant for dancing, close dancing. The kind of close dancing that is meant for lovers, the kind of close dancing that is so close, you're practically sharing shoes.

 The first couple to go up was the Bingleys. They were soon followed by Indira and Nigel, and the Dorsets.

Harry, who had been giving Hermione surreptitious glances all night, now took the moment to finally give her a thorough stare.

She just sat there, sipping her wine, looking very much like Aphrodite with a cup of Ambrosia. She was unconsciously swaying to the music a bit, a dreamy expression on her face.

"Hermione, wannadancewithme?" Harry asked, a blush on his cheeks, although one can't be too sure if it was caused by shyness, Hermione's beauty, or the wine…

Hermione gave him an angelic grin and nodded.

When she nodded, Harry finally understood the full implications of what he just asked her to do.

Did he just ask her to dance? What on earth possessed him to ask her to dance? But he couldn't dance! He was sure he'd make a fool of himself up there, he, being rhythmically challenged, and she, being a very good dancer. But she looked so beautiful, and he knew she wanted to dance. How could he not ask her to dance?

He stood up and offered her his hand, which she took gratefully. Ron just sorta sat there and snickered. Harry was going to make a fool of himself… 

As they made their way toward the dance floor, Harry tried to focus on the decorative elements of the restaurant to keep his mind occupied; he did not want to think about how big of an idiot he'd look like on the dance floor.

The restaurant, which was a very classy restaurant, the walls painted a pale peach with mirrors all around and chandeliers hanging all over the place, was fashioned so that that dance floor was situated on a very large balcony from which there was a lovely view of the city. The balcony was surrounded by trees on two sides, adorned with soft white lights and lanterns hanging overhead. A couple of Romanesque sculptures were thrown about here and there for accent.

When they finally reached the dance floor, a very handsome young man in a white tux and sleek black hair stepped up to the microphone.

My funny Valentine…

"Hermione, I'm afraid I'll make a fool of myself, dancing."

"You won't make a fool of yourself."

Sweet comic Valentine

"If you tell me my father was also a professional dancer, then…"

"Oh shut up and dance with me!"

You make me smile with my heart

And as they slowly swayed to the jazzy music, Harry's hand on Hermione's waist, Hermione's hands on Harry's shoulders, making sure to keep a chaste distance between them, Harry concentrated his hardest on not stepping on Hermione's feet.

"Harry, just relax. You won't step on me."

Your looks are laughable

"How do you know I won't?"

 
Unphotographable

"Trust me."


Yet you're my favorite work of art

At this point, Hermione took a step closer to Harry. Harry gasped at her sudden closeness; he could smell her hair, it smelt of coconut and roses. He couldn't help himself; he wrapped his arms around her waist, and she, in turn, wrapped her arms all around his neck. Very subtly, she planted a light kiss on his lips, then lowered her head and let it rest on his shoulder.

Is your figure less than Greek?

It was funny how they fit together; every inch of their bodies seemed to come together like a puzzle. He remembered how awkward it had been dancing with Parvati at the Yule Ball; her limbs poked him in all the wrong places when they danced. Hermione, however, felt perfect against him.

Then there was this strange, tingly feeling covering every ounce of his body as he held Hermione against him. It was as if his cells were rejoicing at the contact, of having her there completely next to him, chest to chest, hip to hip. He was very aware of her, of the curve of her waist, the rhythm of her movements, the warmth of her body. All these sensations just exploded all around him, giving him that distinct feeling only Hermione can produce.

Is your mouth a little weak?

And that wasn't the only thing. Strangely, he knew how to dance. Or was it that he knew, or his body knew? Oddly, he felt as if maybe it was his body that was leading in the dancing, not his mind. It was as if his body was so in tune with Hermione's, it didn't need his brain to be dictating what it should do next.

When you open it to speak

Are you smart?

And then it hit him, like a ton of bricks. Something so obvious from the start, that he began to think that maybe he was more daft than he previously thought.

Trust.

But don't you change one hair for me

It all began and ended with trust did it not? This whole thing, his whole life, was based around that simple virtue. Trust.

His whole life he never trusted anyone, not until Ron came along. Then Hermione happened, and she trusted him enough to know that he'd save her from a giant troll, and countless other things…

But in fourth year, when nobody believed him, when nobody trusted his side of the story, she did.

Not if you care for me

And that brought about the surge of mutual trust that made itself evident during the summer, when his friendship with Hermione deepened, and which led him to where he stood right now.

Trust.

Stay little Valentine stay

It was why his mind chose hers, because it trusted hers. And now so did his body, his body trusted hers, relied on hers somewhat. It was amazing, the feeling of knowing exactly what she was feeling, what she would do, how she would do it, yet not being conscious of it because it melded into his own feelings and actions. It was magic.

Each day is Valentine's day

******

It was a subdued group that trekked the long flight of stairs up to their bedrooms. Ron went off to bid goodnight to the Carter twins, while Harry and Hermione lagged around in the hall in front of their rooms.

Something in the air was different between them; Hermione felt it coming off Harry in waves.

It was like the night after Hermione was sick. That night there had been a change, after that night there was an altered state to their relationship. Before then they weren't really Harry and Hermione; they were still Harry and his best friend Hermione. The night she was sick they shared an intimacy that was unrivaled and unchangeable, and that allowed them to grow together.

Tonight was no different. Tonight, out on the dance floor, there had been that same feverish sense of enlightenment. Harry had this big epiphany, and it translated itself to Hermione. They knew there was something different tonight, something changed, as things change in all strong relationships…

When Harry finally gathered enough inner strength to bid her goodnight, Hermione stopped before entering her room. "I'll be waiting for you," she said softly, but clearly and full of meaning.

Harry gulped, stared into her big brown eyes, and wondered if he was hearing what he thought he was hearing. Did she just? No, she couldn't possibly have…

*Yes I did*

*Get out of my head Granger!*

Hermione giggled, and walked over to bestow Harry with a lingering kiss on his lips.

*You were saying?*

Harry had a dazed look of sorts on his face, and Hermione, triumphant, sauntered into her room and slammed the door shut.

Women…Harry thought, rolling his eyes as he fumbled with the key to enter his room, somewhere along the way that dratted card into slot, thingamohbobber thing had become a complicated process.

*I heard that!*

*Beautiful women!* Harry thought with a grin to appease her.

*You better be thinking that Potter!*

He was happy to know that no matter the heaviness of the mood, he was still able to banter with Hermione. Hermione…

He couldn't wait to go to her tonight. But he knew he'd have to tell Ron, and he knew it was going to be hard to do so. This was it, wasn't it?

His train of thought was stopped by the entrance of Ron, who had two very large lipstick smudges on each cheek. His hair was a bit disheveled, and the crisp white shirt he had neatly tucked into black trousers was now missing several buttons and was half tucked in and out.

"Sorry I'm late mate," Ron said, not looking sorry in the least.

"It's all right,"  Harry replied with a grin. "No need to explain what you were doing."

Ron, who had been rummaging through his bag for his pajamas, threw one of his shirts at Harry's face.

"Umm…Ron?"

"Yeah Harry?"

"I'm going to stay with Hermione tonight."

When Ron heard those words, he froze in place. Very slowly, he sat on his bed, and stared at the floor. "Umm…sure? Ok, yeah…that's…that's fine it is."

"Ron…"

"I don't mind at all, its fine, all fine…"

"Roooon…"

"I don't mind at all, I'm ok, really I am, I'm.."

"Ron!"

Ron stopped his babbling and looked up at Harry.

"Are you sure you're ok with this?"

Ron took a moment to collect himself, "I'm fine Harry, you go to her."

Harry let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Thanks mate."

Ron gave him a half smile, one that really didn't reach his eyes. Harry was about to step into the other room through the adjoining door, but Ron's voice stopped him.

"Harry?"

Harry's hand stopped on the doorknob. "What is it?"

"Well, its just that, umm…you, her, er…Are you sure?"

Harry blinked a couple of times and sat down on his bed. "Sure?"

"Well," Ron stammered. "Are you sure she is the one, you know? I mean, you're only 15, both of you, and you have your whole lives ahead of you, and…are you sure its her?"

Harry took a second to think before he responded. Was it sure it was her? Of course he was! More sure of anything he was ever before in his life…. 

"Ron," Harry began, his voice a little shaky. "All my life I never felt loved. I know I must have felt love at some point in my very early childhood, but when I moved in with my aunt and uncle that emotion ceased to exist in my life. For 10 years of my life I never felt love, I never felt trust, I never felt friendship or gratitude or affection. Can you imagine yourself living 10 years like that?"

Ron shook his head emphatically.

"Then I came to Hogwarts, and I met you, and you were my friend, and you accepted me unconditionally, and I had never before in my life felt that." 

Ron blushed a bit, but let Harry continue.

"And then Hermione came, and she was like you, she accepted me unconditionally. And we were happy together, the three of us, all going off trying to get ourselves killed every year, but always living through it because we had each other. I was never happier before in my life.

Harry's happy expression sort of clouded over at this point, "Then we got into fourth year and things changed. It was like second year all over again, no one believed me. No one thought I was telling the truth. In second year it was bearable, actually, I hardly noticed, all that mattered to me was what that you and Hermione believed me, and you did, you two stood by me when everyone else was against me. But in fourth year it was different wasn't it? You weren't there for me were you?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak but Harry stopped him.

"Let me finish, I need to get this out. In fourth year Ron you failed me, you failed me. And I know I outwardly forgave you for it, in my heart I have also, but I never really discussed it with you. It's something that's been eating away at me for a year already. Ron, things changed between us, you know they did, I know you sensed it in the beginning of this year."

Ron looked as if he was about to interrupt again, but stopped himself.

"The only person that believed me was Hermione. Hermione. You don't understand how important it is to me to be accepted, something I never felt growing up, and she trusted me unconditionally. I didn't even have to explain myself to her, she just believed me and accepted me and was there when I needed her. Do you know she stayed up until two in the morning helping me with my summoning charm for the first task? Naturally, I didn't laugh as much with her as I did with you, but that isn't the important thing. The important thing is that when I was with her I felt loved. And I loved her so much for it…"

"But it was only friendship then. I felt a friendly gratitude for her. I didn't really begin to fall in love with her until summer. Summer…summer changed things Ron. The Triwizard tournament left me scarred, I was really broken then. I remember when Dumbledore approached me about Auror Camp, he claimed it was to 'take my mind off grievous thoughts,' but deep down I knew it was just training for things to come. I remember asking him if you or Hermione were going to accompany me, and I remember feeling sad that you couldn't make it, but I felt a relief so immense when he told me Hermione was going."

"It was just the two of us Ron, and it wasn't awkward. I remember the first few days without you in fourth year were strange, how could we be a triumvirate without you? But then it got better, it did, and this summer it was like I didn't feel your absence. She really is a different person during summer; she wasn't constantly worry about homework and all that. True, she was still Hermione, 'Harry! We need to practice that first aid spell again, we're getting tested tomorrow.'  But she was different; I was different. I remember the warm summer nights; we would stay up on the front porch of our cabin, lying on the hammock. We were always squished together, but still oddly comfortable. We would take turns reading to each other from The Chronicles of Narnia, I found myself fascinated with those books and I was grateful she brought them with her. Other times we would just sway back and forth, listening to music on an old, busted up radio. She really likes old music from the 50s, 60s, and 70s, and I sort of found my appreciation of it from her.  Most of the times however, the only music we had was the chirping of the crickets and the small, gentle laps the lake would give. On those nights I found in her my confidant, the one person I trusted with everything (almost everything)."

"With her, I finally found the courage to voice the events of the end of fourth year. At that time I hadn't really told anyone about what happened, except for Dumbledore and Sirius, and that was right after it all happened. I didn't really have a time to grieve about it openly, with another person. I would have told you Ron, but I just couldn't. I remember the night it happened I was lying in the infirmary and feeling the need to burst into tears, but I couldn't, all the while I was wishing you would turn away so I could. It was then I realized it wasn't the same between us Ron, I didn't feel that unconditional acceptance anymore, you somehow tore that away when you refused to believe me and spent your time mad at me when I needed you the most."

"But I didn't feel the same with Hermione, no, not with Hermione, Hermione, who has been there since forever. She was there in first year when I passed the flames, she hugged me and cried for me then, and I remember how much braver it made me feel, and how much strength it gave me. I knew I had to come back out of there alive and with the stone; I couldn't fail her. And in second year when she was petrified, I felt so hopeless! I was sure I'd screw up without her there, but because she was petrified I fought harder to make sure she was safe. In third year she helped me free Sirius. I was so grateful and amazed that she would get through her fear of heights just to help me, just like she did this year. And fourth year, wow! I didn't want to go to breakfast the morning after the goblet incident, and it was as if she could read my mind even then, she showed up at my front door with a stack of toast in her hands."

"Ron, you can't tell me we're too young, too much has happened for us to be too young, and you can't ask me if she is the one. She became the one when I cried on her lap during those bittersweet summer nights, when her tears mingled with mine; she became the one when she fell on me in the library while we looked for a spell to get read of the stupid polyjuice mix-up; she was the one when she walked into our compartment during the first train ride to Hogwarts, when she fixed my broken down glasses and gave me that lovely crooked toothed smile. And Ron, I'm sorry if we've hurt you, and I'm sorry if I've ever done anything to fail you as a friend, and I want you to know that I forgive you for being a prat in fourth year, and I hope you forgive me too if I was one also, and I hope you also forgive me for keeping this buried inside for so long."

That being said, Harry's shoulder seemed to slump as if a great weight had been taken off of them.

Ron, on the other hand, looked as if he was about ready to cry, or hurl, or both. He couldn't look Harry in the eyes, and kept passing his hand through his hair and sighing heavily.

"Ron, I…"

"Just stop. Look Harry, I know that I've…what I mean to say is…I'm sorry." Ron looked up into Harry's eyes, his face a bit contorted, "I'm sorry for being such a prat, I didn't realize how much it must have hurt you, I guess I'm just self-absorbed that way." Ron said with a half smile. "And Harry, you have nothing to be sorry about."

Harry nodded once, and got up to go.

"Harry, just; be careful. Take care of her, don't you dare hurt her."

Harry nodded again and reached the doorknob that led to the other room.

"And Harry, you lucky bastard, you better tell me all about it in the morning!" Ron said this with a laugh and wink, which in turn made Harry laugh, and made him feel better than any sorrowful proclamations ever could.

******

When he entered her room and didn't find her immediately, it briefly crossed his mind that maybe she had changed her mind. But of course she was there, he found her on the balcony, naturally. He wrapped his arms around and she relaxed against his body.

"I heard you, with Ron."

"I know you did, I wanted you to."

They stayed like that for a few moments, Harry kissing her hair lightly, Hermione nuzzling Harry's chin with hers, the warm Italian air beating down on them lightly. What a startling contrast to the crisp coolness of Switzerland. Then again, everything about tonight was warmer than in Switzerland…

"Let's go inside," Hermione whispered softly in Harry's ear. She grabbed Harry's hand and led him inside, not minding to close the door leading to the balcony.

Once inside Harry and Hermione stood facing each other, uncertain of what to do next. It was different tonight; it wasn't like Switzerland where there was a surrealness to their actions.

This was it, nothing was going to stop them tonight; Ron wasn't going to burst in screaming Armageddon, this was actually it.

Hermione walked over to the small alarm clock/radio on the dresser next to her bed. She wanted to hear music. After changing a couple of stations, she finally found one she liked.

"Dance with me," she asked Harry as she walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Here?"

"Yes."

When your baby leaves you all alone
And nobody calls you on the phone
Ah, don't you feel like crying?

As they softly swayed to the music, Harry was taken back to the warm summer nights of Auror Camp. How had he been so daft?

Don't you feel like crying?
Well here I am my honey
Oh, come on you cry to me.

Hermione tentatively began unbuttoning Harry's shirt while still moving to the rhythm of the song. The song was slow, sensual, she had heard it many times during summer while resting in Harry's arms, while mourning and crying with him over events he blamed himself for unnecessarily. How could she have been so blind?

When you're all alone in your lonely room
And there's nothing but the smell of her perfume
Ah don't you feel like crying?

Harry was surprised to feel a wet warmth on his bare chest; Hermione was crying. He felt like crying too. As much as he wanted this to happen, he knew that this was it, this was the end. They were about to break the final barrier of friendship, a friendship that meant more to him than anything else in the world.

Don't you feel like crying?
Ah don't you feel like crying?
Come on, come on cry to me.

Harry reached down and fumbled with the bottom of her shirt, looking into Hermione's teary eyes. An unspoken agreement, and her shirt flew off. He grabbed a bundle of hair in his hands and took it off her shoulders, leaving way for him to kiss her neck softly. A sob escaped Hermione, and he pulled her closer to him.

Well nothing could be sadder
Than a glass of wine, all alone
Loneliness, loneliness, it's such a waste of time
Oh-oh yeah

*Hermione, are you…?*

*Yes, I'm sure.*

He kissed her forehead softly, rubbing his hand up and down her spine, feeling her shiver against him. With one click flick she was naked from her hips up. She was so warm against him, so perfect it hurt.

You don't ever have to walk alone, oh you see
Oh come on, take my hand and baby won't you walk with me?
Oh ya

When he finally found the presence of mind to take her to the bed, he marveled at how willingly she offered herself to him. She was so beautiful, and she was it. She was it, and that made him the happiest he ever felt. Nothing was going to take this moment away from him, nothing. She was the one, she always was and she always would be and it made him feel confident, and ready, ready to meet anything that came their way. The crying would end now, the feeling of loneliness, the manic need to feel accepted; it would all end now. The constant anxiety and fear of things to come would end; now they had each other and with each other they could face anything.

When you're waiting for a voice to come
In the night and there is no one
Ah don't you feel like crying?
Don't you feel like crying?
Ah don't you feel like crying?
Come on, come on cry to me.

******

Ok people, this is NOT the end as some thought! I still have another chapter to go, or possibly two…

I haven't decided yet.

Thanks for reviewing though!