A/N: Okay, back from holiday. Here is chapter 3. Thanks to my reviewers (Sarah, athenakitty, and dolphingirl79)

Chapter 3: Moving On

Graduation day was a bittersweet affair for all involved, but for Hermione Granger, the worst part was when Dumbledore mentioned Harry. He talked about Harry's service to Hogwarts as well as the entire wizarding community. Hermione found it hard not to cry during this part of the ceremony. Since he left, the day before graduation, Hermione couldn't stop thinking about Harry. She knew that he would owl her and that she could visit him anytime, but Harry's leaving was symbolic. It meant that he was moving on past her. She almost thought that he didn't want to go, but she was so stubborn that she couldn't tell him the one thing that would make him stay, the one thing he wanted to hear, and the one thing (she knew now) that was more true than anything else: that she, Hermione Granger, loved him, Harry Potter. She had it backwards all along. She didn't love Ron, not more than a friend. She loved Harry. He was the one she wanted to give her heart to. And now he was gone. And what was worse, she was still Ron's girlfriend. That was one thing she would have to take care of, Harry gone or not. It wasn't fair to Ron to stay with him and be in love with Harry.

Hermione was sitting across from Ron in the great hall, all of these thoughts flowing through her mind at one time. Ron was piling more breakfast food on his plate, muttering about not wanting to get hungry on the train home. Today they were leaving Hogwarts for the last time. Hermione didn't have to report to the Ministry for work for another two weeks, so she was going to spend some time with her parents, arrange a flat in London, and mostly think about Harry.

An owl shrieked overhead signaling the morning post. Usually the last day sees very little post because the students will be home soon, so neither Hermione nor Ron bothered to look up. They were both caught completely unaware when a familiar snowy white owl landed on the table in front of them bearing two letters, one addressed to each of them.

"Hey, Hedwig!" Hermione gasped, untying the letter addressed to her while Ron did the same to the letter on the owl's other leg. She opened the letter feverishly and read the words written by her best friend:

***

Dearest Hermione:

Well, I'm all set up in Milan. I live in a nice house just outside of the town. It's going to take some adjusting. I'm attempting to learn Italian. . . stress on the word attempting. I just wanted to let you know that everything's fine here. I'm on the floo network, so if you ever want to visit, just hop in the fireplace and say "La Grazia" and you'll be in my living room. That's the name of my house. Also, I've included a schedule for the rest of the quidditch season so you'll know when I'm home. Well, that's all I have time for now, I need to get ready for practice. My first game is this weekend. Congratulations on graduating top of the class, you have no idea how proud of you I am.

Love Always,

Harry Potter

P.S. I just want you to know, Hermione, that all I want is for you to be happy. I know that you've chosen Ron, and if that makes you happy, then I'll accept it. I have placed my feelings for you aside, and under no circumstances will they surface again. Thank you for being so understanding during the past school term.

***

Tears were running down her face. She had lost him. No, she had thrown him away. He came to her with his feelings, and she turned him away without even considering that maybe she did reciprocate. She had finally found who she wanted to live her life with, and she threw it all away.

"Hermione, are you okay? What does your letter say?" Ron asked her concerned.

"Just that he's all set up and plays this weekend," she said, trying to compose herself.

"And you're crying because of that?"

"I just miss him, that's all," she said.

"Hermione, something's wrong, I know it. Tell me, I'll understand."

She eyed Ron up and down, considering whether or not she should tell him.

"How do you feel about me, Ron?"

"What?" Ron asked, his face screwed up in confusion.

"Since we've been dating, how have your feelings for me changed? Do you love me? Do you just like me still?"

Ron still looked perplexed. "I don't know, you're just Hermione. Just Hermione."

"That's what I thought," she said. "Ron, I have to be honest with you. I don't love you, not the way a woman should love someone she's dating. I don't love you as anything more than just a good friend."

Ron looked surprised, but not hurt. "How long have you felt this way?"

"For some time now. I'm sorry, I don't want to hurt you."

"Its okay, Hermione. I know you don't want to hurt me, and I just want you to be happy. To be honest, I really kind of feel the same way about you, I just didn't know how to tell you."

Hermione screamed inwardly. If Ron had just said something sooner, then she could have been honest with Harry and he would have never left. She mentally shook her head; she couldn't blame this on Ron. After all, she was the one who lied to Harry.

"Look, you and I are still best of friends. Nothing will ever change that," Ron said.

"You promise?"

"Of course. C'mon, its time to go to the train station."

They walked together towards the train station in Hogsmeade arm in arm, talking about life after Hogwarts. Once they boarded the train and they were on their way back to King's Cross the conversation turned to their other friend.

"Do you plan on going to see Harry?" Hermione asked Ron.

"Of course, but probably not until I get my schedule lined up with work. I'll probably live at the Burrow for a while, but I don't want to stay there forever."

"I'm going to be getting a flat in London. You could room with me if you want."

"That would be great, Hermione. I'd have my own room of course?"

"Of course."

~~~

At that very moment, Harry Potter was showering in the Q.C. (Quidditch Club) Milan locker room. It had been a grueling five-hour practice, but Harry was beginning to believe that he could make it in this league. Coach Alessandro seemed to like him. He was a tough coach, but it is a tough league. Harry understood this.

He stepped out of the shower and dried off. His other teammates were at their respective lockers, changing into their street clothes. One of the chasers, Bianca, approached Harry. She was about five years older than him. He was the youngest person on the team, and she was the second youngest. Harry had the strange feeling that she liked him. Not that that was a problem, Bianca was a very nice Italian beauty. As tall as Harry with olive skin and dark hair that fell to the middle of her back, and her eyes were almost the color of pure gold. She spoke perfect English. In fact, she had to interpret anything the keeper, Ferruccio, said to Harry and vice versa.

"So Harry, where are you headed?"

"Back to my house, I guess," Harry said. It still felt weird to say 'my house.' In fact, adjusting to life in Italy was much harder than Harry had anticipated. He missed his Hogwarts, his friends, but especially Hermione.

"Why don't you come with me and my friends? We are going to dinner and then dancing," said Bianca. "That is, unless you can't dance."

Harry almost busted out laughing. The last time he tried to dance, he walked all over Parvati Patil's feet all night long. He looked at Bianca appraisingly, arguing with himself as to whether or not he should decline. Truth be it known, he was planning on going home and looking at photos of Hermione until he cried himself to sleep. Maybe a little distraction would do him good.

"Who all will be going?" he asked.

"I'll be there, of course," she said, raising her eyebrows at him. " So will Gisella, Anne and Claire."

Gisella, Anne and Claire. Bianca's sister and their two French best friends. Harry has had the pleasure of meeting all three of them. They are just as beautiful as Bianca. . .almost. Harry sighed.

"Come on, Harry. I've known you for almost a week, and you're always sad. When you aren't at practice, you're at home, pining over a girl who doesn't love you."

Harry flinched at her words. She was right. All he did was practice quidditch and cry over Hermione. And Hermione didn't love Harry, not like he wanted her to. Even after writing her and telling her he put his feelings aside, he still longed for her. Not anymore. No, he needed to move on with his life. After all, Hermione has her own life now too, why shouldn't he finally have his. He was a young man. He never got to be a kid; Voldemort had taken that joy away from him. He'd be damned if he let Hermione take away what was left of his youth.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I just wanted for you to come and have fun," she said as she began to turn. Harry grabbed her arm.

"No, I'll go, just let me change."

"Great. Yeah, hurry up, we'll all be waiting for you outside of the locker room."

Harry changed into the nicest clothes he had with him. He looked at himself in the mirror, which said, "Well, it'll have to do." He did a quick deodorant check, and finally grabbed his bag and exited the locker room. He walked out to find four of the most beautiful witches he'd ever seen waiting for him. Ron was right when he said it in their fourth year, they don't make them like this at Hogwarts.

* Well, except for Hermione. *

Harry mentally kicked himself. Why was he thinking of Hermione when he had four gorgeous witches taking him out to eat and dance? He knew why, but that was no longer an excuse for Harry. He had loved Hermione for years, but it wasn't going to happen.

"'Ello, 'Arry," said Anne with a smile. "Bianca says zat you will be joining us tonight."

Harry couldn't help but smile. Maybe getting Hermione off of his mind won't be that hard after all. If anyone can help him, it's the four women standing before him. Anne stood a head shorter than Harry. She had short hair as black as Harry's and the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. Her skin was pale and looked as fragile as porcelain.

"Yes, I will be," Harry managed.

"Good, I waz wondering when we would get to finally spend time with the man Bianca goes on and on about," said Claire. Claire was about an inch taller than Anne. She had blonde hair and her eyes were the color of the sky. Her tan skin fit perfectly over her body that, Harry noticed, curved in all the right places.

"Can I aparate to my house before we go? I need to drop off my bag," Harry asked. Bianca's sister Gisella seemed aggravated by the delay, but she nodded her affirmation. She was almost identical to her sister, only slightly shorter. Harry left with a pop. The girls spent the next few minutes talking about him.

"Hez much sexier than in ze piturez in my school books," Said Anne.

"Yes, he is one fine specimen," said Bianca.

"Well, Bianca, is he off limits to the three of us?" asked Gisella.

"Tonight, I want Harry to have the time of his life. It is up to us to get his mind off of that English girl. Whoever Harry chooses to spend his time with is fine with me."

Seconds after she finished saying this, Harry reappeared with the all to familiar noise of someone apparating. "Okay, I'm ready to go."

~~~

Dinner had gone well, and now Harry found himself sitting at a table in a trendy wizard disco. He was nursing a bottle of butterbeer, watching his four female companions out on the dance floor. They were dancing together to the loud club music pumping over the speakers. This was the first time Harry had ever been to a place like this. It made the Three Broomsticks look like the Hogs Head.

Harry was constantly being asked by women to dance. He wasn't sure if they recognized him as "Harry Potter: The-Boy-Who-Lived," or "Harry Potter: New Seeker for Q.C. Milan." Either way, he had garnered himself a lot of attention from the female population upon entering the club. He politely declined each offer not wanting to be rude, but not really wanting to embarrass himself on the dance floor either.

The song ended, and the four ladies returned to the table.

"Harry, you aren't having any fun. Please dance with me," demanded Bianca.

"You don't understand, I don't dance," Harry proclaimed over the new song that started.

"Why not?" Asked Claire and Anne together.

"Because I can't. I've only danced once in my life, and I think the poor girl still requires crutches to get around."

All of the girls laughed except Bianca.

"That is a load of crap. I've seen what you can do on a broom. Believe me, if you can do that, you can dance. Come on," she grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him onto the floor. She was much stronger than she looked.

"Put your hands here," she told him, placing his hands on her hips. "Now look at my eyes, and just move to the beat. Less is always more."

Harry did just as he was told. He moved with the beat slightly, never moving his eyes from hers. Slowly, he gained more confidence and snaked his arms all the way around her waist to pull her closer. The feel of her body rubbing against his sent feelings to areas of his body that he only felt when dreaming of being intimate with Hermione. He had to concentrate hard to keep something embarrassing from happening.

As it turns out, Harry was quite good at dancing. He also enjoyed it very much. He danced with Bianca and her friends for hours. Finally, at four in the morning, Harry decided it was time to go home and get some sleep.

"Okay, its time for me to turn in."

"No, stay here wiz us," said Anne, trying to give Harry a sad face.

"Nah, I'm tired, I think I'll just head home."

"We'll go wiz you then," said Claire. This caught Harry off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"I think it's a good idea," said Bianca. "We'll go with you to your house. I want to see where the 'Famous Harry Potter' lives."

With a pop, they all five appeared at La Grazia. The outside was a beautiful classic Italian villa, deep red and gold in color. It had large, oak double doors with an ornate crest on each panel. In the center of each crest was the head of a lion with doorknockers hanging from the mouth. Harry waved his wand and the doors swung open magically. They entered into a grand foyer with a gorgeous crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Harry showed them around to the different rooms, the library, and the den.

"Does anyone want anything to drink?" he asked politely.

"I would like ze butterbeer," said Claire.

"Me too," said the rest of the girls in unison.

Harry went to the kitchen and quickly returned, levitating four butterbeers in front of him while he took a sip from his own. Harry and the ladies sat and talked for an hour before Gisella started to yawn.

"I've got to get some sleep soon, it's nearly seven a.m." she said.

She stood and hugged Harry, thanking him for a good evening and then disapperated away.

Anne and Claire both stood and did the same, leaving Harry and Bianca alone. Bianca stood and moved to the couch Harry was sitting on. She sat next to him and before Harry knew exactly what was happening, she leaned in and enveloped his lips with hers. Harry didn't know what to think. The kiss felt wonderful, but not perfect. Bianca was a phenomenal kisser, but something was missing. Bianca deepened her kiss, climbing on top of Harry and straddling him. Her lips were warm and inviting, yet still something was wrong. Then it hit Harry like a ton of bricks, Hermione. That's what was wrong, it wasn't Hermione. He could think of nothing he'd rather be doing right now, he just wanted it to be with Hermione. For all he knew, she was doing this very thing with Ron. That thought pained him.

Bianca's tongue was now inside of Harry's mouth, setting off a fire below his belt that he didn't expect. He panicked, and pulled away from her.

"Bianca, I'm not ready for anything like this."

"Why? What's the matter?" she asked.

"I've never done anything like this before."

"You're a virgin?" she asked, surprised that the 'Famous Harry Potter' had never been bedded by a witch.

"Yes," Harry muttered, hanging his head.

"Harry, its okay. Its nothing to be ashamed of."

He lifted his head to look at her. No, she wasn't Hermione, but Hermione was never going to be his. And, if he couldn't have Hermione, at least Bianca was by far the most beautiful witch other than Hermione he had ever seen.

"What the hell," he said, more to himself than her. He pushed his face forward and initiated another fiery kiss. This one was just as passionate as the previous. Bianca pulled away and lifted her shirt over her head, revealing her breasts. They weren't small, but not large either. Of course, Harry didn't have anything to compare them to.

"Take me to your bedroom," she told him in a heavy breath.

Harry lifted her light frame and carried her up the marble staircase and into the master bedroom. Harry had decorated this room to look like the Gryffindor common room, only with a beautiful four-poster bed on the far wall. He set Bianca down gently on his bed and then removed his shirt. Bianca ran her hands up and down Harry's abs before attacking the button on his trousers.

They made love until almost noon, then the slept in each other's arms for four more hours. When they woke at four in the afternoon, Harry cooked an almost gourmet meal for them. Over dinner they talked about the next days game. Harry was glad that Coach Alessandro gave them the day before each game off.

They both decided that Bianca should go home that night so they would both get good nights sleep before the game. After she left, Harry sat on his couch in front of the fireplace in his den. He had finally spent an entire night (or in this case, day) without thinking of Hermione. Maybe coming to Italy was the best decision he had ever made.