Author's Note: Warning – this is a long one. It took me a while to write but I'm happy with the way it came out, so bear with me. Thanks to my reviewers: MyLegoglas99, Michiko, Autumn Night, sew2100, Hyperwhich, ChicGeek, FallenAngel42, skoN, gohanSJ3, LittleLily, Blue eyes, Ronin, SycoCallie, lisbeth-1703, maddy, GothicTemptress, thefly, Individualists, wicked-women, SexsiPrincess, zodyaz, jazzyjellybean, Mandy, Faeryspryte, Princess Relena, Sarah Weaver, Hermione Princess, and Takeda Lee. Whew! Hope I didn't leave anyone out. I need and crave your feedback. Hope you like this one. – babygrrl
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"Aren't you a precious widdle boy? Can I rub your tummy?"
"I beg your pardon?"
The witch sitting behind the desk in the storage locker gave a start of surprise, and with a start of his own (and no small amount of relief) Harry realized she had not been speaking to him. What he had assumed was a lumpy and misshapen orange sweater she had been knitting turned out in fact to be Crookshanks. Harry closed his mouth, which had fallen open in astonishment. The normally testy animal lay on his back in the witch's lap, paws splayed in ecstasy as she fed him from a package that read "Merlin's Magical Mousie Treats." The magical mousies squeaked and wriggled quite realistically as Crookshanks devoured them.
Hermione poked her head around Harry's shoulder. "What's going on? Oh. I see he's won you over, has he?" She gave the witch attendant a knowing smile. When they'd left earlier, the witch, who was wearing a glowing name tag that read "My name is Hilda. Ask me about our monthly discount rate!" had been extremely reluctant to take charge of the cat. Harry didn't quite get how the love fest had come about, as Crookshanks was not exactly the Mr. Personality of the feline world. However, he recalled all the ways in which he had benefited from Crookshanks' abortive escape attempt and vowed to buy the contrary little beast a case of Magical Mousies when they got back to Hogwarts.
Hilda went off to fetch their things. She bid Crookshanks a somewhat teary farewell (Harry refrained from rolling his eyes), and a short while later, he and Hermione found themselves outside the train station. It was evening now, and although it had been a relatively warm day, it was cooling fast. Hermione shivered slightly, and Harry, trying valiantly not to think about what the cold did to her breasts, put an arm around her. "Okay, love?"
Hermione turned slightly and nuzzled his neck. "Mmmm, how come you're always so warm?"
"Warm? If you keep doing that I might start sizzling like a bloody side of bacon." He jumped a little as her hands, which were freezing, found their way up under his sweater and played lightly against his stomach. He tensed, reflexively and he heard her sharp intake of breath.
"Why Mr. Potter, I do believe someone has been watching his Abs of Steel video."
"Actually," Harry grinned, "it was Dudley's. They got another letter from the school nurse at Smeltings. It seems they don't stock uniforms in size 'Oh my God it's moving towards us' so Aunt Petunia is cracking down again. Diet, exercise, the whole deal."
Hermione stifled a snort. "Well, whatever it was, I am impressed with the results. In fact, I am really looking forward to a more thorough . . . examination." Her hand slid slightly lower and now it was Harry's turn to inhale sharply.
"Hermione!" Harry sounded outraged, but his eyes went dark. Firmly, he removed her hands from his clothes. "There are people around."
"It didn't exactly bother you before," Hermione pointed out. "At the amusement park, the bus stop, outside that department store – I think we gave that window dresser a bit of a shock, and oh yes, let's not forget the restaurant . . ." She was ticking the locations off on her fingers like some kind of grocery list and her eyes sparkled mischievously.
"That was different. I have a very great deal of self control, you know. I'd have to, wouldn't I? To live with the Dursleys all this time and not turn the lot of them into great, fat toads? But I think you should know that I am dangerously near the breaking point."
"What, you don't like that?"
"Are you mad? I love that. I love it so much that I could compose several lengthy and very horrible sonnets extolling the virtues of your little hand doing precisely that. However." He pushed a hand through his unruly dark hair and took a deep breath. "I think we both know that I really, really want – no, make that need – to make love with you. And by God, I will find a way to make that happen when we get back to Hogwarts. Either that or the top of my head will burst into flames."
"Harry." Hermione fought down a wave of what could only be termed sheer female smugness. "I want to tell you something."
"Oh, lord. You aren't changing your mind are you? Because if you're thinking of doing that, I must warn you that I can be very persuasive. Also, I am not above begging and being really annoying."
"Harry!" Hermione shoved at him playfully. "Of course, I'm not changing my mind. I think I might be close to bursting into flames myself. No, what I wanted to tell you was that I haven't . . . I mean I've never . . . you know. Not even with Ron. I couldn't. I just kept seeing your face."
Harry was staring at her.
"Well. Say something, will you?" Hermione smiled nervously.
"I think I'd better hail the Knight Bus right now. We have to get back to Hogwarts and then I have to go look up banishing spells to use on my roommates. And on your clothes. In that order. Nothing permanent, you understand, just long enough for me to see if I can make you burst into flames. Several times." Harry felt around in his pockets for his wand. "You'd better stand back," he added, recalling the last time he had inadvertently hailed the bus and it had almost run him down.
Hermione obediently took a few steps back. Harry stepped to the curb and stuck out his wand.
At first, nothing happened. He was about to try it again when, BANG! The Knight Bus abruptly appeared, racing towards them. As it did, Harry noticed that two parked cars and a fire hydrant were obliged to leap out of its way. It appeared that Ernie, the driver, had not improved his navigational skills over the last few years. The bus gave no sign of slowing as it approached, and Harry grabbed Hermione by the arm, preparing to haul her to safety when suddenly the bus screeched to a halt directly in front of them.
"Neville, me old crumb! Fancy seeing you 'ere. Oi, Ern," the conductor, a man called Stan, Harry recalled, yelled over to the driver. He was thin and pimply-faced, with large, protruding ears. "You'll never guess 'oo it is! It's Neville." Beaming, he descended from the bus and began loading their trunks onto it.
"Neville?" Hermione was looking at Harry, her eyebrows raised.
"Long story. I'll tell you later."
"You're a slippery one, then, ain't you, Neville?" Stan elbowed Harry in the ribs and winked conspiratorially. "Not lettin' on 'ow you was actually 'Arry Potter and all. But then I guess you was travelin' incognito, huh? Undercover, like?" Stan looked at Harry hopefully.
It seemed to Harry that the man wanted him to say he'd been on some sort of secret mission or something exotic like that. The truth, which was that Harry had accidentally hailed the Knight Bus after unintentionally inflating Uncle Vernon's beastly sister Marge like the Goodyear Blimp and running away from home, did not make nearly as good gossip. He cleared his throat. "Yes, well, I'm afraid I can't say too much about that, Stan." He paused dramatically and lowered his voice to a whisper. "The Ministry, you know."
"Ohhhh. Right." Stan nodded knowingly. "I completely understand. Not to worry, Neville. Me and Ern 'ere knows 'ow to keep a secret."
Hermione, who had watched this little exchange with growing interest and amusement, now let out a sort of strangled cough. Stan blinked, noticing her for the first time. "And 'oo's the bird?"
Hermione opened her mouth indignantly to reply, but Harry cut her off. "Miss Granger and I are traveling together. Due to circumstances beyond our control, we missed the Hogwarts Express this morning, so you see we are in a bit of a bind." He gave Stan bland smile.
"Well you 'appen to be in luck, mate. We're just about full up, but we've got one vacant bed left. Cost you extra, though, I'm afraid."
"Extra?" Harry was confused. The triple-decker Knight Bus was unusual in that rather than seats, it had beds. As far as Harry remembered, they had all looked the same, though. "Why should it cost extra?"
"New feature we added last year. The 'Oneymoon Suite." Stan had led them up the narrow wooden staircase to the third deck. Harry could see that every bed was indeed occupied. When they reached the rear end of the deck, however, they came to section that was curtained off from the rest of the bus with thick purple velvet drapes, which were embroidered all over with little gold crescent moons. Inside, Harry could see what appeared to be a waterbed, covered with red satin sheets and fuzzy pink, heart-shaped pillows. All that was missing was a mirror on the ceiling and some very cheesy "porn music" as Ron would call it. Harry's heart sank as he thought of what Hermione's reaction would be to this tackiness.
"Thank you very much," Hermione was saying as she handed Stan the outrageous 30 sickles he demanded ("Includes Privacy Charm as well. Good bargain, that."). "I'm sure we'll be very comfortable." Harry didn't know how she managed to make a word as ordinary as 'comfortable' sound suggestive – maybe it was the wink she threw him – but suddenly he wasn't bothered at all by the bordello-like décor. In fact, he found himself wishing there was a mirror on the ceiling. Maybe a hot tub.
In a few minutes, Hermione had neatly levitated all their stuff into the overhead storage bins. Harry lay back on the bed, his hands behind his head, enjoying the view as she worked.
"Close your eyes for a second, Harry. I want to change my clothes."
"Nope." Harry grinned. "I'm not going to miss a second of this."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine then. I was going to surprise you, but . . ." She pointed her wand and herself and muttered, "Vestimentum permutatio!"
Harry goggled. The sweater and skirt she had been wearing vanished, and in their place was . . . Good God. Hermione stood before him in a wispy creation of sheer champagne colored silk. It was – barely – supported by two tiny lace straps. Creamy lace trimmed the neckline which plunged nearly to her navel and also ran along the hemline, which just skimmed the tops of her thighs. Thighs, he noted, which appeared to be encased in matching sheer stockings and a garter belt.
"What do you think?"
"Think?" Harry croaked. "God, Hermione, there isn't a drop of blood left in me above waist level. I'm surprised I can still breathe. Look at me over here!"
And Hermione saw that he undeniably did like her outfit. The thick Muggle jeans did very little to hide the fact that Harry liked her outfit a lot. She thought of some of the things she had heard Parvati and Lavender whispering about in the library when they thought she wasn't listening. It looked as if they had been telling the truth. The little bimbos. Unconsciously, she pursed her lips in disapproval.
"Eep!" She found herself flung backward onto the bed, pinned there by Harry's very strong, very male and very aroused body. Instinctively, she arched her hips to meet him and saw his eyes go nearly black.
"I warned you before about looking prissy like that." His lips trailed along her neck, making her shiver. "If you're going to do that while wearing things like that, you're going to have to pay the consequences." He bit her earlobe. "That is some very pretty lingerie, Hermione. Now, if you want to keep it, I suggest you take it off. Because in about two seconds I'm going to rip it off you." He shifted slightly to allow her to sit up. She could feel the tension as it ran along the muscles in his arms.
She started to reach for the fastenings on the garter belt, but he reached out to stop her. "Uh-uh. That stays on."
Hermione swiftly slid the silky garment over her head and let it fall to the floor by the side of the bed. "Now you," she said, laying back.
Harry was looking at her as if he were burning her image into his brain. She could actually feel his gaze as it traveled over her breasts and down her stomach, to the place where she ached for him. He whipped off his sweater and T-shirt. Oh my. Abs of steel, indeed. Next went his jeans and boxers (that answers that question, thought Hermione) and then . . . "Oh, wow." Hermione didn't realize she had spoken aloud. "Can I – can I touch you?" Being a girl, and having Lavender and Parvati as roommates, Hermione had read her share of trashy romance novels. She had always thought that the word magnificent was a bit of overkill, but seeing the physical evidence of Harry's desire for her, there was simply no other word for it. And the girls had definitely been conservative in their estimates. She reached to take him in her hand.
"Not yet, love." Harry was breathing as if he'd just run a marathon. "Don't, or this will be over before we've even started."
"What do I – I mean, I'm not sure what to do here." Harry knew how much that admission meant, coming from Hermione, who generally knew everything.
"It's all right, 'Mione. Trust me."
Harry gazed down at Hermione's lush form for a moment longer, torn between the desire to touch and to keep looking. He didn't think he'd ever get enough of seeing her like this. He took a moment to fervently bless whoever it was that had invented garter belts, and then, he lowered himself onto her body. He felt her spread her legs to make a place for him and instinctively, he pressed his arousal against her, enjoying the sweet torment of that friction. Go slow, go slow, the thought repeated like a mantra in his head. This is her first time. Make it good.
He pressed his mouth to hers and felt a shudder rip through him as her tongue snaked out to meet his. He could have happily stayed there for hours, but he had a lot of territory to cover. Suppressing a smug grin at her mew of protest when he lifted his head, he began trailing his lips down her neck, while one hand came up to cup her breast. His mouth followed. Only when she was gasping and making incoherent little sounds did he resume his downward journey. Every once in a while, she made an effort to reach for him, but he wouldn't allow it. Powerful wizard he might be, but he was also only a man. There would be time for that next time.
He pressed a series of kisses over the soft skin of her belly and Harry felt Hermione's slight hesitation when he reached her navel. "It's all right, love," he said, and continued his work.
The romance novels were right, Hermione thought. It might actually be possible to die of pleasure. The frustration she felt at not being able to touch Harry – every time she tried, her hands were firmly pinned to the bed on either side of her by his large ones – was far outweighed by the indescribable sensations she was experiencing. His skillful fingers, lips and tongue were driving her out of her mind. She felt her breath coming faster and faster and thought her heart might be about to burst. Little pinwheels of light were spinning inside her eyelids. Once again, Harry pinned her arms to the bed, his hands like bands of iron, and helplessly, Hermione shattered.
Harry lay with his head pillowed on Hermione's thigh and tried to catch his breath. The sound, the feel, of her as she went over the edge had nearly caused him to follow. Once again he called upon the image of a naked Dudley doing jumping jacks in order to regain his control (finally something to thank that flabby git for). It was disgusting but effective. No sooner had he pulled himself back from the brink then he felt Hermione's hands threading themselves in his hair. They grasped firmly and yanked him upwards.
Again he found himself cradled between her legs, looking down into her impossibly beautiful eyes.
"Now, Harry. Please."
He hesitated, knowing that this was the point of no return. This was the end of their friendship as they had known it. The last few hours had changed everything but this . . . There was no going back after this. "Hermione, are you su – "
Hermione cut off his question with a thorough kiss. She grabbed another handful of his hair. "Potter," she said, somewhat breathlessly, "don't make me hurt you." She angled her hips upward, causing him to slide forward. "Now, love. Now."
That was all Harry needed. Putting his weight on his elbows and resting his forehead against hers, Harry closed his eyes and thrust home. He heard her gasp softly and willed himself to be still as she adjusted to him. But then, oh, wow, that was her moving against him. She wanted him, possibly as much as he wanted her, but he doubted it. The hot, velvety feel of her and the knowledge that she was not just willing but eager nearly ended him again. Naked jumping jacks Dudley was not doing the trick.
"Don't hold back, love. Come to me now."
The sound of those whispered words banished the last of his willpower. Over and over, he drove into her. He heard her whimpering, felt her nails clawing him, urging him on. She was close, he knew it. Just a little more and then . . . Burying his face against her neck, he thrust hard one last time. He felt her explode around him, and this time, he went with her.
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"Vestimentum permutatio, eh?" The two of them lay sprawled in a tangle of limbs and ugly satin sheets. Hermione's head lay on his chest and Harry's arms were curled protectively around her. He thought that if they stayed that way forever, it would be just about right.
"Did you like that, then? I practiced."
Harry snorted. "As if you didn't know how much I liked it. I almost . . ." He paused, his green eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, practiced?" He pictured Hermione prancing around for Viktor Krum in tiny scraps of lace and silk.
Hermione hit him in the shoulder. "Alone, silly. Not that it is any of your business. It so happens the only person I could ever imagine doing that little trick for was you. And you can take that ridiculous grin off your face now."
"Actually, I don't think I can." Harry tightened his arms around her. "It seems to be a permanent side effect. I'll just have to bear it somehow."
They lay in silence for a few minutes, feeling the lurch of the bus as Ernie terrorized more inanimate objects. A thought – the first one since Hermione little quick-change demonstration – suddenly occurred to him. Now that the bloodflow was restored to his brain, Harry was able to recall a few things. Things he hadn't thought of at all earlier.
"Erm, Hermione?" He paused uncomfortably. "We weren't exactly, um, careful just now, were we? I should have been better prepared."
Hermione looked amused. "That's just dawned on you, has it?"
"I – I'm really sorry, I . . ."
"Shhhhh, it's okay, Harry. Madame Pomfrey taught all the girls how to do Prophylactic Charms in 5th year. We're fine."
Harry let out the breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "Oh. Well. I guess that's okay, then." Another thought occurred to him, and he rolled them over so he was on top of her. "So, if we were so inclined to engage in another round of . . ."
"Sweaty, animalistic sex?"
"Quite. If we felt the urge, so to speak . . ."
"We're all set."
"Right, then," said Harry, busily nibbling at the hollow of her neck.
Hermione let out a loud, irritable screech. Startled Harry jerked back, only to realize that the screech had not come from Hermione. He glanced toward the window, where the sound seemed to have originated, and saw that a rather annoyed Hedwig was hovering there. He reached over to open the latch and let her in.
There were two messages attached to her leg. The first was from Ron, addressed to both of them, which read, "Dear Harry and Hermione: Don't worry about it. Fleur and I will manage without you somehow. I'll tell McGonagall you were delayed. Oh yeah, Fleur says to say hi. Best, Ron. P.S. If this turns out the way I think it will for you guys, all I have to say is, about bloody time. Have fun, R." Hermione blushed as she finished reading the note. Harry just threw back his head and laughed.
The second message was for Harry from the Ministry of Magic. He hesitated before opening it, feeling Hermione's eyes on him. "Go on, what it is it, Harry?"
Somewhat reluctantly, Harry unrolled the parchment and read: "Dear Mr. Potter: The Ministry is pleased to announce that you have been found eligible for our accelerated Auror Training Program which will start October 31st of this year. While it is unorthodox for someone of your age to be admitted to the Program, there is precedent for it. We have already contacted Albus Dumbledore, who has assured us that your academic standing is sound. Taking this into account, as well as the letters of recommendation we have received from Raymond Moody, Arthur Weasley, and Sirius Black, we see nothing to prohibit your acceptance, provided you pass the proficiency test at the end of September. Professor Dumbledore has indicated that you will be given academic credit for your Auror Training and that your participation in this program will not prevent you from graduating with the other members of your class. You have until September 15th to send us your completed enrollment form. Regards, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic."
Hermione, who had been reading over his shoulder, looked up at him, white-faced. "And just when were you going to tell me about this, Harry? That's fourteen days you have to reply."
"Hermione." Harry gripped her shoulders. "Don't turn away from me. Look at me! Hermione, I wasn't trying to hide it from you. I never really thought there was a chance I'd get in. And I certainly never thought we'd be together like this. You have to believe me."
"If the letter of acceptance is arriving now, you must have applied before the end of last term. It's odd how it never came up in conversation, seeing as you weren't trying to hide it from me." Hermione was bitter. "And if you had a recommendation from Arthur Weasley then Ron must have known about this, too."
Harry looked uncomfortable. "Well, actually . . . Ron did know. He, um, applied as well."
"WHAT?" Hermione now looked ready to spit bullets. "The two of you . . . and you didn't even . . . of all the bloody-minded chauvinistic . . ." She was choking with rage.
Her wand lay on the table next to the bed and Harry discreetly moved it out of reach, in case she was thinking of hexing him. He hadn't seen Hermione this angry since Fred and George Weasley had rubbed Zonko's Enchanted Enlarging Cream all over her chair in 5th year, causing her rear end to swell up like a hot air balloon.
He knew he was taking a chance, but he grabbed her hands and was relieved when she did not pull away. He could feel her practically vibrating with fury. He waited until she raised her eyes to his.
"All right. Talk."
"Hermione, do you believe that I love you?"
Her shoulder twitched impatiently.
"Well, do you?"
"Yes, I do. You fatheaded jerk."
"Okay then. You have to believe me when I tell you now that whatever I did or did not do, I did it to protect you."
Hermione didn't bother to reply to this, but contented herself with a scornful look.
"Hermione, love, I'm telling you the truth. I told you I was afraid to tell you my feelings. That was true. But I wasn't only afraid of ruining our friendship. I was afraid of putting you in danger. No, hear me out. You know what these last few years have been like. The Dark Lord has risen again. We've been successful so far in small skirmishes against his Deatheaters, but I can feel that something big is coming. And I think I can safely say that yours truly will likely be in the thick of it."
"But Harry, I can help you! Haven't I always?"
"You don't get it, do you? Voldemort took my parents from me. He's taken the people who mattered the most to me before. When he killed Cedric . . ." Harry's voice broke slightly. "When he killed Cedric, he took a piece of me, too. We weren't even that close. But it hurt. Hurts. Still." Hermione winced, and he realized that he was gripping her hands so tightly that his knuckles had whitened. He relaxed his hold but did not let go. "He knows, don't you see? Now he knows how to get at me. Not by attacking me directly, but by harming those around me. Those I love."
Hermione felt the familiar pain, just beneath her breastbone. The one she felt when she knew that no matter how many books she read or how many ideas she or Ron came up with, it was Harry who would have to face the demons alone. Alone the way he had always been. She wanted so badly to spare him that. Not just the danger, although she would gladly have given anything to be able to protect him, but the loneliness. She could see it in his eyes now, and it made her ache.
"I applied for early acceptance into the Auror program because I refuse to be an easy target. Voldemort is getting stronger. Everyone knows it. The Deatheaters are being called. He will come for me, and soon."
Hermione shivered and opened her mouth to tell him that it wasn't true, that the disappearances of the Dark Lord's old cohorts were probably a coincidence. But she wouldn't lie to him any more than he would to her. She looked into Harry's eyes and what she saw there made her shiver again, but not with cold.
"I intend to be ready for him, Hermione. Let him come."
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Again, they lay entwined, Hermione's head resting atop Harry's chest, his arms curled protectively around her. Sleepless, she listened to the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek and felt his slow, even breathing stir her hair. She lay there in the dark as the Knight Bus raced toward Hogwarts and made plans to send an owl of her own come morning.