It had taken five house elves two hours to get her into her formal whites and prepare her hair.  It took three elves only an hour to undo it all.  By the time she was scrubbed, her hair washed and dried and her robes safely stowed away, it was nearly two o'clock in the morning.  She was finally alone in the room her grandmother had lived in while she was here, in a massive bed that she had to use a small step to get into, much like Professor Snape's bed back at Hogwarts.  She was just about to climb up when someone knocked on her door.  Curious, she went over and opened it a crack.  Alex's smiling face grinned back at her.

"Hi.  Can I come in?"

"Sure."  She stepped away from the door and he came in, balancing a silver tray that held what looked like steaming mugs of hot chocolate and some sweets he had salvaged from the kitchens after the party.  He shut the door behind him and with her back to him as she was walking away, she didn't see him turn the lock. 

Hermione clambered up onto the massive bed, where Alex soon joined her.  He handed her the tray before climbing up himself, then took it back and set it on the bed between them.  "I thought you might like a little something before sleeping.

"I'd love something.  I'm starving."  And she was.  With all the dancing, there had been little chance to eat.  She eager claimed a chocolate dipped biscuit and bit into it.  The buttery confection inside seemed to melt on her tongue.  They sipped their chocolate and devoured the sweets in silence, until the last crumb was gone.  Then Hermione set the tray off onto a bedside table while Alex reclined on his side, propping himself onto his elbow, his kidskin gloves playing with the satin coverlet. 

"Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"

"For the most part.  My feet were killing me, but Twinkle rubbed them down with something after my bath."  Her short foot rub by the house elf had done more to banish her discomfort than Malfoy's, and hadn't been nearly as disconcerting.  She was in danger of getting caught up in those confusing moments again when she felt something warm brushing against her hand.  She looked down and saw Alex's leather clad finger brushing against her smooth, uncovered hand.  "Oh, I'm afraid I still haven't gotten used to the whole glove thing."

"You're lucky in that."  He was staring at her hand for a long moment, and then looked up.  She felt her breath catch in her throat as he turned those deep, velvet eyes onto her.  "Hermione, have you thought about what I asked you this morning?"

"Oh… that."  She licked her lips, unable to look away from him.  "Well, yes I have.  I…I want to, but I'm afraid you might get hurt.  I've read that sometimes the visions can last for days."

He sat up and moved a bit closer towards her.  "I'm willing to risk it, Hermione.  You're young, like me.  We don't have long and complicated lives behind us, a lot of memories to cloud up things."

"I've had a rather exciting life, Alex.  Some of it quite terrifying."

"And I've had rather boring life, one that might as well have been spent in prison."  His eyes seemed darker, and out of the edge of her vision she could see a bit of lace on the front of her night gown flutter, stirred by his breath.  "I'm not afraid."

He smelled of soap and chocolate, just as she figured she must smell at this moment, and looking into his eyes gave her that curious feeling again.  "What do I do?"

He smiled and pulled away, sitting up straight so he could pull off one of the gloves.  Her eyes moved to his hands, mesmerized as he tugged at the kidskin one finger at a time, eventually pulling the long glove from his fingers and revealing a soft, pale hand with long, tapering fingers.  They looked like the hands of an artist, as though they should be holding a brush, or molding clay.  She watched his hand as it drifted down, the fingers lightly stroking the smooth skin on the back of her own hand.  He traced each finger with his own, and then glided them over the back of her hand and wrist.  As though on its own, Hermione's hand turned over so that his skin brushed the inside of her wrist, and she let her fingers curl to stroke the inside of his.  Alex gave a shiver that made her freeze.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine.  That… I think I must be ticklish."  He pulled their arms over so that they could both lay down, their arms over their heads, hands and fingers drifting lightly over each other.  About six inches of space was between them as they looked into one another's eyes.  He smiled at her, a soft of glazed look in his expression.  "This is your wand hand.  When you hold it to your side, at the ready, you like to run your thumb over it, feel the smoothness of the wood.  You've often got ink stains on your fingers, but that isn't so bad now that you've learned a good scouring charm to get rid of them."  He licked his lips, the pink tip of his tongue winking into sight for only a second before he gave a little, almost soundless gasp, and smiled more.  "You like to run your fingers through the fur of your familiar.  It's thick and fluffy, a violent shade of orange.  You like to feel the vibration under your hand when he purrs.  You've held a lot of books.  Your favorite ones are bound in leather.  You like to run your hands over them for long moments before you open them, caressing them like a lover."

Her throat had gone oddly dry while listening to his whispers.  She swallowed hard.  "What do you know about lovers?"

His eyes came back into focus with a couple of blinks.  His impish grin came back.  "A lot more than I should.  I sometimes take my gloves off when I shouldn't, when I'm exploring the house on my own.  I keep coming across different memories, snatches of lives lived by our ancestors."  His eyes twinkled.  "Haven't you ever wondered why there are so many Wiggentrees?  It all has to do with an apparent inability to keep our trousers fastened." 

"What?"  Hermione started to giggle, she couldn't help it.

"It's true.  I've only found a few places inside the house where someone hasn't been intimate with someone else.  Husbands with wives.  Cousins with their mistresses.  Young girls with their tutors and a few young boys with theirs.  Just last month I was checking out an old linen closet on the third floor and found a memory of a cousin, looked to be around my age, with the school marm hired to teach him magic.  She had to be at least ten years his senior.  He had her pinned to the wall of the closet with her skirts and petticoats bunched up around her waist and his trousers down to his ankles, keeping her held up there by nothing more than his pounding into her over and ov…"

Hermione's free hand had shot up and clamped over his mouth.  She was shocked and scandalized, of course, but there was also the annoying fact that she could picture what he was saying.  The rational part of her mind reminded her that Alex had been sheltered for most of his life and therefore probably didn't realize that you didn't speak of such things in polite company.  "You need a better keeper.  You're turning into a regular little voyeur."  She jerked her hand away quickly when he licked her palm, wiping it dry on the coverlet.

"Is it really voyeurism when the subjects have been dead and buried for so long?"  He traced lazy circles in her palm above their heads.  "Wanna hear what I came across in the gardens?"

"No."  Her answer was sharp, but she didn't move away from him.  There was a twinge of curiosity, but she tamped it down.  Instead, she watched as he lifted his other gloved hand to his mouth and began to pull at the fingers with his teeth.  Using his mouth he pulled the other glove off, and then reached down to touch her free hand.  He closed his eyes as he played with her fingers.

"You don't use this hand as much, mostly to carry books while leaving your right hand free to perform more complicated tasks.  You have a habit of crossing your arms when you're irritated with someone, like a barrier they have to cross to get through to you.  You've been to a ball before.  There was a boy from another school who was your escort.  He was nervous, shy even though he shouldn't have been.  He was famous, but he asked you instead of someone else. Well, no surprise there.  You're wonderful.  Why wouldn't he?"

Hermione blushed and looked way, flattered by the bold assessment.  She felt his fingers trail up her hand and over her wrist, then slide under her arm to rest on her waist as though they were dancing.  "He twirled you around the floor for the entire dance, doted on you like some precious treasure.  Smart man, that one.  He saw what no one else could."

"His name was Viktor Krum."

"The Seeker for the Bulgarian National Team?  Impressive catch, Cousin." 

"It didn't work out."

"I know.  I see that part.  Too bad, but if you ask me, he's the one who botched it.  You were only a few months away from fifteen and he was trying to push you into a magical betrothal bond.  What could he have been thinking?"

"People move faster where he's from."

"And he did try to change your mind, I see.  He tried to kiss you to his way of thinking before you went home."  Hermione blushed and lowered her eyes, not realizing that Alex had moved closer to her until she felt something soft and warm brush her lips.  She gasped and her honey colored eyes locked onto a pair of deep, chocolate brown ones that were now much closer.  Alex leaned in again and pressed his lips to hers a second time, but this time they stopped to linger a moment.  There was something odd about that gentle kiss.  It was light, but it felt like so much more.  Hermione shivered from it, and noted that the gentle pressure from his touch also felt different, as if his skin was on fire. 

"What's happening?"  She pulled back from Alexander and looked at their joined hands.  Slowly, she unlinked their fingers and traced his hand.  The fiery sensations were starting to fade, as well as the other worldliness of the touch.  "What was that?"

Alexander took a slow, deep breath, his eyes focusing on their hands.  "That, I suspect, is what being a Wiggentree is."

"I don't understand." 

"It's something I've seen hints of when I found memories around the estate.  On occasion I've caught whispers between different relatives when they came to visit the main house and I was in one of my hiding places.  I don't fully understand it all, but from what I've been able to piece together, sometimes when two people with the family 'gift' make physical contact with one another, they sort of… share senses."

"Share senses?  Is the gift supposed to work like that?"

"Only between those who have it, I think.  Those of us who are really finely tuned can touch another family member and know everything about them in an instant, like Aunt Lucille.  She can take off her gloves and touch any family member, and immediately know everything they've ever done and even what they're thinking at that moment.  Her stronger gift calls out to the one in the other person and they sort of… connect."

"But that doesn't explain why everything felt so different just a moment ago."

Alex smiled at her gently and laced their fingers back together.  "But it does.  Sharing senses.  You felt what you felt; my touching you, but you also felt what I felt, what your hand feels like to me.  But it goes deeper than that.  I feel what I feel and what you feel, but I also feel what you feel I feel."  He paused, frowning in consideration.  "That gets complicated, talking about it like that.  Look at it more like… standing between two mirrors.  You see a reflection of a reflection of a reflection."

"Doubling again and again into infinity.  That's why your hand felt so hot."  It was complicated, and somewhat exciting.  "But you were seeing my past."

"I was seeing your history with my 'gift', which can be considered a sixth sense, but our other five senses were locked in the moment, here in the present.  There wouldn't be room for anything else."

"So… one Wiggentree touches another, and the stronger gift rules out?"

"Something like that."  He leaned forward again as if to kiss her, but she moved back a bit.  "What?'

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea."

"What are you afraid of?"

A good question.  What was she afraid of?  "Losing myself?"

Alex's smile became gentle.  "I won't let that happen."

"I'm beginning to think that you're not as innocent as you look."

"No one in this family is as innocent as they look."  He leaned forward again and pressed his lips softly against her own.  With an almost surprising swiftness, she became aware of the reflected sensations again.  She felt his fingers on her skin, the silk of her skin under his fingers, and was aware of both a dozen times over.  Their skin felt fever hot to her, and she knew hat it was the same for him.  His lips were soft as silk against hers, whereas she knew that her own lips were slightly chapped from days spent trudging from the castle to the greenhouses for Herbology and therefore slightly roughened against his.

Something hot and moist brushed against her lips and she could taste the remnant of the hot chocolate lingering there on his tongue.  Her lips parted as if answering a command, and he began a somewhat hesitant exploration which quickly grew bolder.  A sensation like two lengths of wet velvet rubbing against one another assaulted them both, wringing a whimper from deep within her throat.  She was aware of how fine the muslin of her gown felt beneath the fingers of his hand as he ran caressed her arm, moved over her shoulder, up her neck and tangled his fingers into her hair.  His other hand was still entwined in hers as he shifted their weights so that his torso was laying more atop hers then to the side.

Daniel dragged his mouth from Maria's lips, trailing hot kisses along the line of her jaw and down the slope of her neck.  Her rich, ebony tresses were like silk against his fingers as he untangled them and trailed his hand downward, starting to nudge the lace of her gown over her shoulder, even as her own fingers slipped into the front of his robe.

Hermione gasped as she pulled herself back into the present.  It took her a second to get her bearings, and then she shifted a little to move her collarbone away from Alexander's mouth.  The motion caused her nightgown to shift further off of her shoulder where he was holding it.  She blinked up into his confused expression.  "What was that?"  She became aware that her right hand was nestled inside his night robe, fingers flat against the fine fabric of the sleep shirt underneath.  She pulled her hand out as though he were made of fire.

"Just a memory.  I've seen that pair before, though never in here.  He caught a lot of trouble for marrying her, a witch he found in Spain.  She had the Sight, foresight instead of hindsight.  The family felt it was too close to our own power to be safe."  He smiled and lowered his face to nuzzle the length of her collar with his nose, but she drew back.  "Relax, it's only a memory, a shadow of the past.  They can't harm us."

"This is a really bad idea."  It was difficult to think with him touching her.  The compounded sensations were taking longer to fade.  "We should stop this."

"Just a little longer, Hermione.  I promise I won't let it hurt you."  He moved up as she was about to protest again, silencing her with a kiss.  She fell into the whirlwind more quickly than the last time.  She felt herself begin to fly away, but it was difficult to care when her entire body felt as though it were aflame.

Fiona was newly recovered from their last child and their forced celibacy had been hard on them both.  Her hands worked with a fevered pace to remove the fabric that kept her from touching her husband, longing to be with him again.  He was reluctant to stop kissing her long enough to remove the night shirt over his head and returned to his task the moment she had claimed the garment and thrown it aside.  Her hands returned to his body, savoring the feel of his skin under her fingertips.

For someone so slender, he was very well muscled.  Hermione's hands moved of his back and shoulders before moving down to run over his chest.  She felt the shiver in him as her hands grazed the sensitive places where he would normally be ticklish.

Maria's nails dug lightly into his shoulders as he continued to work the gown downward over her torso, leaving a trail of light nips and moist kisses in the wake of the muslin and lace.  She had thought Englishmen to be cold and uncaring in bed, but her husband was always proving himself to be as passionate as any Spaniard.  Her head arched back as he claimed the tip of her breast with his mouth, her fingers curling into his hair.

The last bit of rational thought in her head screamed at her to pull him away, but the compounded sensations of the taste and texture of her skin along with the heat of his mouth upon her instead made her cradle his head in her hands.  Her back arched, pressing her torso against him.  The pounding in her ears was like the sound of two heartbeats, but that wasn't possible.  It couldn't be possible.

Juliet was young enough to be his daughter, but she was the first woman he had desired since he had lost his beloved wife.  Twenty years was a long time to go without companionship, but he was not yet ready to commit to another marriage.  The flaxen haired witch didn't seem to mind the lack of a ring or vows.  For the moment she seemed content with their affair.  Slender fingers helped strip him of his clothing with practiced ease as he moved his way back up the length of her body to kiss her.

Alexander kicked the last few inches of his sleep pants off using his feet just as his lips reclaimed hers.  His hands were busy pushing the soft night dress further down and over her hips.  Both of them were beyond caring about right and wrong, neither entirely certain where each of them ended and the other one began.  It was all confusing, like a whirlwind, a glorious vortex that blended their souls and psyches together into one person.  Between the two of them they managed to shed the last of the fabric separating them, their skin fever hot as they pressed themselves together.  Seeking to perhaps move them both upon the bed so that their legs didn't hang off the side as they currently were, Alexander reached out towards the headboard, seeking the solid, old wood for leverage.  His hand connected with its polished smoothness.

She cherished him, though perhaps not in the way that she should.  He was of a stronger build than Him, his shoulders more broad and his arms heavily muscled from a lifetime of hard work.  His physical form made her feel safe and protected, even though he could not keep her safe from what she feared most.  What was his relation to her?  A third cousin?  Maybe a fourth cousin.  She was beyond caring.  He was a wizard, but he had been blessed not to have the family 'gift'.  It was safer that way; he couldn't see what was happening to her.  Helena sighed, letting her head fall back against the pillows as Bartholomew ran his lips over her neck, his olive skin a dark contrast with her too-pale complexion.

Both of them broke off with a gasp, their heads turning to where Alexander's hand still clutched the headboard.  Hermione swallowed, hardly daring to believe.  "That was her."

"I know."

"Who was that with her?  Do you know that cousin?"

Alexander frowned.  "I'm not sure.  He'll be in the family records at least."  His dark eyes were contemplative.  "Did you feel all of it?  She was already scared; she was comparing him to…"

"Voldemort," she finished.  Swallowing again, she let her hand move up and travel over his arm.  "Can you call it back?"

Alex turned his gaze back to her.  Neither seemed to care at the moment that they were both naked and gasping, their bodies still shaking from the force of the shared senses.  This was far more important than either of them.  "I can try."

Hermione smiled and brought her hand back, brushing one of his errant curls back and tucking it behind his ear as he closed his eyes.  His brow furrowed in concentration, his hand still clutching the wood.  She nibbled her bottom lip as she waited, wondering for the first time if Alexander was able to call up his abilities at will, or if it was just the luck of the draw.  She was about to ask him when they lost themselves again.

He had asked her questions, of course.  He had wanted to know why she was so thin, why there were such dark circles under her eyes.  She had forced a smile and tried to wave off his concern.  Bart had always been such a sweet person, always looking out for her when she was younger.  He was older than she, by about six years, and had just finished his studies at Oxford.  Her handsome, older cousin, distant enough to be a good prospect for romance.  If she had been allowed to make her own choice, this was the type of man she would have selected for herself.  Strong, calloused fingers were exciting on her smooth skin and she liked the tickling sensation his mustache gave her as he slowly kissed and tasted his way down her body.  A silly giggle escaped her lips as he ran the mustache over the flat of her stomach just before he moved lower.  She frowned, confused as to what he may be doing, and then she gasped as he lowered his mouth to that secret place between her thighs.  Tom had never kissed her there, had never taken the time to make her feel cherished and special.  His way was to dominate, overpower.  He gave nothing of real love and affection.

But she had no patience for tenderness.  She wanted to feel clean again, to feel whole.  She wanted to be loved by someone who actually saw her as a person and not as a possession or a slave.  She lifted up enough to grip his Bart's shoulders, trying to pull him back up to her.  He was bigger and stronger than she was, but he took the hint.  Only, he moved slowly and at his own pace, ignoring her whispered protests.  When he finally did make it back to her mouth, he kissed her.  She could taste herself on his lips and tongue, but it didn't disgust her as she might have feared.  She returned his kisses happily, savoring the feeling of his heavier form pressing her down into the mattress and pillows.  They had to be quiet lest they wake the rest of the house.  The family would not understand it and she couldn't possibly tell them why.  She couldn't possibly explain to them why she needed this. 

Bart moved his lips from her mouth towards her ear.  He liked the way she shivered when he toyed with the tiny earlobe there.  One of his large hands caressed her leg, urging her to bend it.  She did, letting it slide up and over the firm curve of his buttock as he shifted his lower body, probing her entrance.

It was the pain that brought them both crashing back to reality.  Both of their bodies had gone rigid at it, but that had only served to drive him fully in.  Hermione's eyes blinked hard, gasping for breath as she stared, wide eyed at the ceiling above her.  She wasn't sure if Alex was breathing at all.  She could still hear both their hearts beating in her ears, fast and furious and very frightened.  Both of them were fully aware they had just stepped over a line they were never meant to cross.

"I'm sorry," she heard him whisper, his voice shaking.  "Hermione, I'm so sorry.  I thought I could stop it."

She could feel his heart breaking and her arms tightened around him reflexively.  "Shhh… it's all right."  But was it all right?  She couldn't blame him, not entirely.  She was the older one, if only by a little less than a year.  She was supposed to be intelligent and she knew the safeguards put in place to protect him.  She should have been more forceful when she had questioned the wisdom of their actions, but she had let her thirst for exploration and experimentation get the better of her. 

The most difficult part was that they were still physically close, pressed together down the entire lengths of their bodies, and joined in the most intimate of ways.  The closeness kept them from being able to shake themselves free of the shared sensations.  Thinking to begin to remedy the situation, Hermione tried to shift herself in order to get more leverage to help Alex move away.  Instead of helping, it only hindered.  They both got a feeling of concentrated discomfort from her body trying to adjust to the fullness now inside her, which was all but overwhelmed by the sensations of pleasure that came from him.  Again they froze, trying to compose themselves.  It appeared that they were stuck.  The slightest movements played havoc with their senses and neither of them had the real life experience needed to understand that the longer they remained as they were the more Hermione's untried form would be able to adapt to the situation, lessening both their pain. 

She licked her lips, guilt beginning to attack her from within.  The correct thing to do, the proper thing to do, would be to quickly push him away and demand that he return to his own room.  That option held guilt as well, since she truly did believe that this was as much her fault, if not more her fault, than it was his.  On the other side of the coin, however, was the undeniable fact that the damage was already done and what was gone could not be reclaimed this late in the game.  To shove him away now would leave them both with an uncomfortable night before them and a nasty little voice in the back of her mind couldn't keep from pointing out that this may very well be the only opportunity that Alex would ever have to know this type of closeness.  As she held him in her arms, she compared both options and eventually came up with a familiar string of thoughts, only this time the thoughts were her own.

She turned her head a bit and whispered soft against his ear, his head still buried against her shoulder, still too ashamed to move.  "We'll have to be quiet.  We mustn't wake up the house."

He finally lifted his head to look at her, his expression heartsick and his eyes shining with tears.  She could still feel him in her mind and knew that he was torn between elation at what was being offered and sadness that it had all come this far.  She offered him a slight smile that she hoped was encouraging before tilting her head to kiss him.  He was hesitant at first, but he soon grew bolder.  Their decision made, they both allowed themselves to fall back into the vortex, allowed themselves to become lost in the storm of sensations.  If either of them had ever had prior experience they might have thought it odd that their loving lasted as long as it did.  It didn't occur to them that the very thing that allowed them to eventually cast aside the last few remnants of shame had their bodies and nerve endings so confused that fulfillment was kept just out of reach.  When one of them finally did break through that last wall that kept them from the end, and afterwards neither was able to separate who had reached that point first, it caused he other one to fall over the edge as well.  Alexander was able to bury his head in her shoulder again, his moans vibrating against her skin as she fought to keep her teeth clenched, holding back her screams.

When it was over, they pulled away as quickly as their desires allowed, Alexander rolling over to the far side of the bed.  They stared at one another in silence across the expanse of the dampened covers, not daring to let even so much as their fingers touch for fear that it would suck them both in again.  They stayed that way for an unknown amount of time, until Alexander was finally able to pull himself away from her bed, reclaim his scattered clothing and leave her.  Neither of them spoke as he did so. 

Hermione pulled herself together long enough to dig her wand out of her trunk and murmur several charms to freshen the bedclothes and clear the smell of sex from the air.  She went into the spacious bathroom attached to her bedroom and brushed her teeth twice before returning to her bed.  With her body still thrumming, sleep did not come easy for her.