I wake up for no reason the following morning and groggily, I untangle my limbs from Hermione's and move off the bed.  After giving brushing her hair from her face and giving her a soft kiss without waking her, I stumble down the stairs, miraculously not falling, and past the living room into the kitchen.  I eye the fireplace, and am reminded that I had to call my mother.  Crookshanks peers up at me knowingly.

"You're very annoying for someone who doesn't talk." I say to him.  He flicks his toilet brush tail at me carelessly.  That cat makes me wonder sometimes.

I make a mental note to see my mother, get a glass of water, and head back upstairs to Hermione.

She shifts slightly in her sleep as I crawl back into bed next to her and cuddle against her.

"Talk to Mrs. Weasley?" she asks, her voice raspy.

"No."

"You can't avoid her forever."

"I'm not avoiding her."

She opens one eye and regards me doubtfully.

"Let me just let last night sink in first."

"Okay," she laughs. "But tell me again you're not avoiding her."

"I'm not."

"Harry…"

I sigh, "Hermione, I can't do anything about the fact that she disapproves of our relationship."

"You can talk to her."

"I could talk to her until I'm blue in the face. What is that going to accomplish?"

"More than silence. More than us sneaking around."

"We're not sneaking around. She knows."

"Are you going to tell her we're sleeping together?"

I shake my head.

"Why not?"

"Because it's none of her business?"

"So what happens when she comes here the next time? We act like nothing has changed between us? I go back to my bed?"

I pull her against me.

"No. Hermione, she knew this was going to happen. I don't feel the need to discuss it with her. Can't we just leave it as an unspoken understanding?"

She brings her hands up to trace along my facial features.

"With Mrs. Weasley?"

I sigh.

"What do I say to her?"

"I don't know, Harry. Maybe explain to her that this isn't something we're doing because we're bored or lonely or horny."

"Wait, that last thing doesn't sound unreasonable…"

She punches me in the shoulder lightly.

"Oh, so now the truth comes out."

"It's part of it," I admit.

"Really?"

"I've never wanted another woman as much as I want you."

"Because you've had so many," she teases.

"It's not about how many I've had. It's about how many have made me feel this way."

"So I'm are exceptional, huh?"

"You're the only one who's ever made me feel like I couldn't breathe and like I could do anything at the same time."

"Wow."

"What?"

"If you'd told me that earlier, we never would have had to go through the whole list fiasco."

I shake my head, chuckling.

"You knew you wanted me all along. The list was just a way to confirm what you already knew."

"You think so?" She is laughing at me now.

"How could you resist me?"

She pretends to think this over and presses her body, warm and willing, closer to mine in response.

"You made it difficult," she says and gives up the fight.

*

I'm reluctant to get out of bed, but we still have lives to lead, places to go, people to see. Work, cooking, cleaning, eating, those things are completely unconcerned with our romantic pursuits, and unimpressed with the fact we'd rather be having horizontal fun. It's humbling actually to know that even though everything changes, more things stay the same as well. Hell, maybe nothing changes at all, but our perceptions of things do.  Here I am, thinking too much again.

Even though I'm not complaining, I got very little sleep last night and trying to pay attention to anything is torture. I make people repeat things to me three times at least, and even so, a good part of it never sinks in. By the time I return home, I'm ready to collapse on the couch, and lie there unconscious for a good many hours.

Apparently, he has the same idea, because half an hour later, he's home and groans when he sees my feet sticking up over the arm rest.

"You stole my spot."

"Tough. First come, first served."

"But you love me."

"So?"

"So, move over."

"You know, if you'd brought your own couch here, like that one your fans shipped to Ron's flat, now we wouldn't have this problem."

"That would be encouraging them. Budge over."

I move a little bit and we squeeze together, side by side.

"I talked to my mom." He says and rubs his eyes.

"And?"

"She wanted to know about Christmas, when I was coming...who was coming with me."

"Christmas is four months away."

"You were going to go home, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I want to be home, at least for Christmas itself. I know my dad would love for me to hang around for a while."

He sighs. "Would you come with me for a couple of days?"

"I don't know, things are weird still, since it's so new."

"It won't be new in four months."

The truth is, I'm scared of Mrs. Weasley. Not scared in that she appears in my nightmares, but scared in the sense I almost feel like she's got a wand at my head just waiting to go off on me. It's not fair, the woman has never been anything but motherly and wonderful to me. But now I'm sleeping with Harry, and that changes everything.

"I have some appearances this week, I was thinking of maybe coming clean about us."

"I thought you'd been dropping hints."

"Yeah, but I'd just like to say that I'm dating you, that we're together. I think it would be better than to show up back home in a couple of weeks and essentially blindside everybody."

I'm quiet, and he apparently finds that disconcerting, because he sits up a bit, resting on his elbows.

"What?"

"Have you thought about telling your manager about this?"

"Why would I?"

"I don't know, damage control?"

"Hermione, now you're just being paranoid. Nobody is going to care what we do on our own time, I don't even think my fans really care whom I date. They probably gave up on the idea it would be them."

"Harry, you know I love you, but that's possibly one of the stupidest things you've ever said."

"Why?"

"You'll see."

*

I still think she's paranoid, but I agree to discuss it with my manager before I announce it to the world. Hermioine also wants time to fill her family in on the change in our relationship, reasoning that it wouldn't be fair for them to find out about it when they turn on the local news.

She presses me to tell my family and friends too and I joke that I'm sure my mother has bemoaned my fate to all of them already. She shakes her head and laughs.

Friday night after work, we go out to dinner and I tell her that my manager is now fully aware of where she and I stand. She arches an eyebrow and waits for me to expand on his reaction.

"He said we should keep it to ourselves.  Ron says so too."

She nods, "I thought he might say that."

"I don't agree with them."

She sighs.

"Harry, why do you think that they said that?"

"Jealuosy?" I joke.

She shakes her head.

"Hermione, it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks."

"You're wrong."

"Why?"

"Because you're famous.  You're famous three times over. Image and impressing your fans is important. If you don't do that, do you realize how many angry housewives, old ladies, teens, and preteens will go ballistic?  Not only on you, on me too!  You've already gotten hate mail towards me.  I know it has nothing to do with Quidditch, but the media will trash you until your forced to live at Knockturn alley away from everybody."

"Would I still get to be with you?"

"Yes," she smiles.

"Then that's all I care about."

"You're not being rational, Harry.  I already told you I'm not your 'image type'.  I'm not a hot blonde.  I've got bushy hair and I'm puny - "

"You're a million times more beautiful than anything on this planet."

She blushes severely. "I love you and I want to be with you but I just don't think this is the right time to flaunt what we have.  I'm sure we tell the public soon, but for now just our family and friends.  We have to be rational – "

"I don't want to be rational. I'm in love."

She tries to hide the grin that is spreading across her face. She looks away and tries to remain serious and focused.

"You may be in love with me, but not everyone is."

"A sad oversight on their part," I comment. "But that's rather fortunate for me. I don't like sharing."

She shakes her head. "Honestly, can you please be serious about this?"

"Hermione, it's not a big deal. Honestly. If people don't like it, so what? That doesn't change my feelings for you. Does it change yours for me?"

"No, but that's not what's at stake here."

"So crazy little Kelly or Tiffany or whatever doesn't like it. So what?"

"So there are a lot of crazy people out there. You should know that. That life size sculpture of you made by fans from Bertie Botts Beans is still sitting in Mrs. Weasley's attic.  People have 'Potter Shrines'.  People you don't know have named their baby boy 'Harry' and girl 'Harietta'.  You've gotten mobbed by fans.  They tried to take pieces of hair!"

"So they'd stop, right?"

She sighs, "Harry, you're missing the point."

"What is it?"

"This could come back to bite you in the behind if we go public with it."

I shake my head.

"I don't care. You're the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me and I don't want to hide it."

"You'll regret it."

"I don't think so."

. . . .

When we get home, I offer to draw her a bath, but she declines, telling me that I need to stop stalling and call Mrs. Weasley.

"If I do, can we talk about that bath?"

She shakes her head, laughing.

"Have you called your family?" I ask her.

"I was just going to."

She steers me in the direction of the living room and then goes upstairs to use her cell phone.

. . . .

"Hi Mom."

"Harry," she greets me. "Nice that you're returning my call."

"Sorry," I say sheepishly. "I've been busy."

"I've seen Ron several times."

"I'm sorry," I apologize again.

"There must be a reason you're talking now."

"There is."

"Spit it out."

"I told Hermione I love her."

She's got her stone face on and it has a matching stone silence.

"She loves me too."

Isn't that good news?

"And you didn't just say it, did you?" She sighs and I almost expect that she's reaching for a bible or something.

"No."

She sucks in a breath.

"Now what?"

"Now what?" I repeat.

"Yes, Harry. Where do you go from here? Seeing as how you haven't made a commitment to each other. What happens next?"

"I don't know, Mom. Does everything need a linear plan?"

"In this case, it would be nice."

"You like Hermione, don't you?"

"I love her, Harry."

"What's the problem then?"

"She's a near-perfect girl. But people will think she's not right for you."

"Why not?" I demand.

"Because."

"Because we were best friends were so long?"

"That's part of it."

"Because she's not a hot blonde?"

"No."

"Yes," I insist. "That's what it is. You don't want me with her because she's not some hot blond girl that the reporters would love."  I'm being unreasonable, and I know it.

"You know that's not true. It's not about what I think, Harry. It's the way it is. It's what other people think."

"What people? Who?"

"Others."

"In our family, others? My friends? I don't think it's my friends. Who, Mom?"

"People. What do you want, a list?"

No, not that.

"I want to know who has a problem with this."

"You'll see," she says cryptically. "You'll find out, Harry."

I'm frustrated by this conversation and hurry to end it. I tell her I have to go and I'll write her in a few days. I leave with a sense of dread and wonder how Hermione is doing upstairs.

*

"So, do we get to gossip like old times?" My mom wants to know as soon as she picks up the phone.

"I wouldn't mind sitting across the kitchen table from you. And having ice cream."

"So, are you going to tell me what's up, or do I have to beg?"

I settle down on my bed, and pull a pillow up to rest against it. "I just wanted people to know I was seeing Harry, or that we were seeing each other so that nobody has to find out things about me in the newspapers."

"You're a grown woman, you don't need my permission to go on a date."

"I know, mom, I was just hoping you'd be fine with it."

"I am."

"And that we're living together?"

"You were living together for months."

"Yeah, but you know..."

"Hermione, would anything I told you change how you feel or what you were doing on your own time?"

I sigh. "No."

"Then, that's it. Honestly? I think he's a nice boy, he's a hell of a lot nicer than the last one you brought home with the horrid eyepiece. I think he might be in over his head with you, but I've thought that of any guy you've dated."

This makes me laugh. "Why?"

"You're you."

"Oh, alright."

"How is Mrs. Weasley taking it?"

"Not really all that well. She doesn't like that neither of us is moving out."

"Has she asked you?"

"She asked him. I'm not moving out. I love him, and I'm not using that statement as a defense or anything like that, but come on, isn't it something?"

"Then don't worry about it. Enjoy it, be two young fools in love.  Will you bring him home for Christmas?" She always makes me smile

"I don't know, we haven't decided yet. But I'm definitely coming home for turkey.  You are coming for my birthday, right?"

We chat for a little while longer.  There must be something in my voice that she recognizes as happiness, because while I never expected her to throw a temper tantrum, I did think that she would at least express some disapproval over something regarding my newfound romance. But nothing came, and for that, I'm feeling like I'm on cloud nine right now.

As soon as I'm off the phone, I run downstairs to share the good news with him, but don't find him in the living room, so it's back up the stairs. I hear water running in the bathroom, and I figure he's probably decided to run me that bath. I push the door open, and see him sitting on the edge of the bathtub, splashing his hand in the water, testing its temperature.

"Harry, it's okay, you don't have to do this."

"I'm running a bath for myself." He sighs, takes his wand, and creates a layer of bubbles about a foot thick.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He turns the water off and takes off his shirt, then sheds the rest of his clothes and hops in. I'm left sitting on the toilet. He hasn't invited me in, and looks too upset for this to be your standard seduction, so I wait around, figuring he'll talk to me eventually.

"So, I'm some heart throb or something." He says.

"Right..."

"People are stupid."

"What people?" My heart sinks just a little.

"Just people, around, ones that look normal but then you find out they're stupid."

"There are a lot of stupid people in the world." I agree.

"I'm probably one of them too, for not figuring it out earlier." He takes a breath and submerges his head under the water. At first, I think he'll pop back up any second, but when he stays under for a while, I decide he's hiding.

And I was having such a good day so far.

*

When I emerge from the water, she is still sitting on the toilet seat and I wipe the droplets of water away and open my eyes, my eyelashes spiky.

"I was about to cast a bubble head charm if you stayed down there a second longer."

"Mom thinks people will have a problem with this." I can't look at her.

"They will," she agrees.

"You're okay with that?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"No," I sigh. "I guess not."

"The thing is, Harry, people will always have a problem with something. If you're trying to live up to somebody else's standards, are you living up to your own?"

"No, but I don't think it's fair."

"It's not fair. Who said life was fair?"

I groan at the tired old line and she smiles.

"I think I love you," I whisper.

She leans in to kiss me and tangles her fingers in my spiky wet hair.

"I love you too," she says, her shirt damp from pressing against my wet flesh. She pulls away. "Are you going to be able to handle this?"

My hands come up out of the soapy water and reach for her.

"My shirt!" she squeals, laughing when it goes from damp to drenched.

"Mmm," I nod. "You should wear white shirts more often."

"You're terrible!" she chides, still laughing.

I rub my thumb along her rigid nipple, watching fascinated as it responds to my touch.

"I changed my mind," I tell her.

"About?"

"I didn't just draw this bath for myself."

She shakes her head at me.

"I'm clean."

"No, you're not."

"Harry!" Her voice echoes in the bathroom as I pull her, fully clothed, into the water.

She grabs at me as she struggles to get out of the soapy water but only succeeds in getting more wet.

"My clothes are ruined," she complains.

"Then you should take them off," I suggest.

I help her out of the bath and then out of her sopping wet clothing and when she is as naked as I am, we climb back into the bath together.

I grab a washcloth and squeeze some body wash onto it and take my time as I rub it against her skin.

It isn't long before my attentions achieve their desired effect and she grinds her lower body against mine, silently begging me to stop teasing her.

"I need you," I breathe against her neck, my breath as hot and damp as the steam enveloping the room.

"No,"

I sigh, frustrated.

"Not… not in here."

I breathe a sigh of relief.  She moans and I lift myself away from her body and shakily get out of the bathtub. I hold a hand out to her and lead her into my bedroom.

"It's still clean," she notices and flashes a grin at me before I hungrily kiss her and remove the grin.

She pushes me toward the bed and makes short work of uttering her spell and then I'm inside her, thrusting deep and withdrawing and she wraps her legs around me and urges me on.

When we stop moving and I roll off of her and pull her to my side, she kisses my temple.

"Come home with me at Christmas," I whisper, half-asleep.

"That won't put your mom in a very festive mood."

"She'll get over it. I want you there. I want to celebrate with you and be with you and I want them to know you and know that they're wrong."

"Who?"

I sigh, "I don't know. But I need to, Hermione."

"So I'm your test?" she laughs, her voice sleepy.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I feel like I should be."

"Because your fans don't love me?"

"Yeah."

"But you do?"

"Yeah."

She kisses my eyelids closed.

"That's all I can ask for."