A/N: Like always, thanks to my reviewers. You people keep me going.

Sorry I'm a day late posting this. I had French homework I had to take care of. Nothing like procrastination, eh!

I Never Lived

Chapter 4

Harry's friends had the chance to drag him to a bar August first. Ron, Neville, Dean, Harry & Seamus went to a wizarding bar a little after seven o'clock, and the four of them demanded to know what had occurred the previous night. Harry told them, reddening but satisfied, of Hermione's "gift". (He didn't once look at Ron's face). Dean, Seamus, and Neville, overcome with roaring laughter, were rapturous and probed him immensely. Ron listened with arms crossed and a neutral face, but did not comment. It was apparent his friends approved and were proud.

After his eighteenth birthday, Harry and Hermione's sex life blossomed rapidly. Although they were (rather) young, Harry argued this worked in their favor.

"We're young—we need the practice," he rationalized to her.

When Harry and Ron ceased living together the summer Harry turned 19, the Boy Who Prevailed got his own apartment. (The boys ended their boarding with each other on mutual terms and realized individual flats sounded appealing. After all, they had been roommates for eight years). That September was around the time Hermione began staying with Harry, unofficially. At the start of their living together, the first two months, Harry and Hermione made love every single night. They were learning, but they had an undoubtedly good sexual relationship. As time wore on and the couple came to be better and more comfortable, their relationship improved even more. However, Hermione noticed that Harry really enjoyed sex. That, though, wasn't a problem; she merely observed their shags were always unplanned, spur of the moment, and he preferred to have at least one every day (if he could). She had very recently, at the end of February in fact, implemented a shagging rule: four times a week, maximum.

"You can't make up rules for sex!" Harry exasperatedly exclaimed, gawking at her.

"Yes you can, and I did." Hermione answered, kissing him.

"But that ruins the point! And only four times? It's not enough—I'll die!"

"We've shagged enough since September to last a lifetime, even a wizarding one!"

"Hermione," he seriously began, "There is no such thing as shagging too much."

However, despite all of Harry's good fortunes, not all things went well after Voldemort's fall. Indeed, one of the most awful events in his life happened in late October (of his 18th year). Albus Dumbledore announced his resignation from his position as Hogwarts' headmaster on August 30th, which unhinged everyone. (A sad Minerva McGonagall took his place). Consequently, it was his death that shook Harry and virtually every other wizard who knew of him. There was no big scandal surrounding Dumbledore's death; he simply died in his bed while sleeping soundly. His funeral was held at Hogwarts and was attended by hundreds of people. Harry sat in the front row along with the Weasleys, McGonagall, Hermione, Remus, and a few others. It was a moving service and demanded tears from many faces; Harry found a couple had escaped from his own. It seemed as though the last of the war had been taken and, oddly enough, a sense of completeness had made itself known.

Another of Harry's mentors had left him, and quite possibly the most important. Plenty of tributes for Dumbledore were devised, including a whole section on him in Books, Bludgers & Batteries. A wizarding legend had died, but his legacy never would.

The trio's dinner date on Friday had gone exceptionally well. Ron noticed that his two friends were glowing upon arrival, wondered why, and then quickly dismissed the thought, having come up with a (likely) answered. (He found that the only way to keep his sanity was to believe that it was physically impossible for Harry and Hermione to have sex, end of story). Hermione was pleased with Ron's overall good behavior; the only small blunder came when they were leaving and he started to speak loudly, telling a joke about house elves and hippogriffs.

Harry and Hermione both had Saturday off. She wanted to just spend a nice day at home, getting minimal work done in the study and cuddling with her boyfriend. He, on the other hand, was deadly persistent about going to a Quidditch match. Ron and Dean had gotten ten tickets for the Falmouth Falcons, Bigonville Bombers game, and two were meant for Harry & Hermione. The other six were intended for Ginny, Luna, Parvati, Lavender, Seamus, and Neville. She went, a tad resentfully, and spent a lot of the time talking to her former roommates. (The males, Luna, and Ginny were bluntly keen on the game). The couple got home slightly late that night and let movies play on the television while they made out heavily on the sofa.

Unfortunately, Sunday meant work again. Hermione went to her bookstore happily, whereas Harry trudged to the Ministry wearily.

How pitiful is this? I'm only 19 and I already hate my job, he thought bitterly as he lazily flicked completed parchment in his OUT box. Being an Auror wasn't exactly as he had imagined it. There was a lot less fighting in the field and a lot more sitting at your desk, filling out papers. Maybe because Voldemort was gone, it was noticeably less exciting….

He continued to shift the parchment, slumping in a way, when a recognizable voice floated in his space.

"Wotcher, Harry." He looked up to see Tonks standing in his doorway, a Tonks with short, curly brown hair. She was still an Auror, but had climbed her way up the ladder; she was supervisor of a set group of younger Aurors, Harry not being one of them.

"Hi Tonks," he responded.

"You look absolutely excited," she smiled.

"Always am." Harry half-grinned.

"At least you're almost done."

"Yeah. It took me two weeks to finish!"

"Those are only some of the perks of being in this department," Tonks noted, "I'll let you finish before Medwick comes along and screams at the both of us for, heaven forbid, talking."

"Bye Tonks," he bid, smiling.

"Cheers, Harry." The witch then left. There was no doubt that Joseph Medwick would have punished them if he had caught them "dilly dallying".

Medwick was an interesting wizard. He was an older man, expected prompt, precise, perfect work from his employees, and gave new meaning to the word strict. He was the Head Auror and abhorred excuses. Harry would have anticipated disliking him but, strangely enough, he did like Medwick. Harry highly respected his boss for some reason, but knew a part of it was that Medwick didn't give a damn that Harry was Harry Potter. He treated him no differently than any other person he came in contact with, and it was refreshing.

The Boy Who Prevailed was daydreaming about chasing a Snitch, something that increased with every passing day, when he heard someone say:

"Psst!" Harry looked up and saw Dean standing enigmatically next to his door.

"Dean," He walked inside quickly and shut the door, "What's up?"

"I'm not supposed to be down here, exactly. But Ron was really busy and he wanted you to have it. So, I volunteered to risk my job by slipping away and delivering it." Dean explained. His friend stared at him.
"Bored, were you?" Harry wondered.

"A little," he smiled, "But if your Head sees me, I will be in for it. He's mental!"

"That's Medwick," confirmed Harry.

"New Quibbler issue. Here." Dean tossed a copy on his desk. As usual, Luna Lovegood's influence on the magazine was lucid. She was an editor for the publication and would take her father's position in a few years. Ron constantly received The Quibbler before the public did, and in turn his friends did as well.

"Thanks." Harry said, dragging it closer.

"Riley sends his greetings," Dean smiled, "You know he still wants you for Quidditch, right?"

"Of course. He never fails to talk to me when I'm up there... or anywhere else in the Ministry…"

"Ah, he's just convinced he'll get you to give up the life of an Auror for a Quidditch team." Harry did not answer. Bert Riley, whom he had met in his last year at Hogwarts, was a scout for the League and favored Harry immeasurably. He was one of the most enthusiastic people Harry had ever met.

"Yeah, well…" he mumbled.

"Everyone knows you should be playing, mate. Why don't you?" Dean remarked. Once more, Harry kept quiet. Instead, he shrugged.

"So, how was your date with… Samantha?" Harry pondered, changing the subject. (He was done with his work).

"Oh, it was cool. She's fun. I'm gonna ask her out again for Tuesday." Samantha Nickson was a half-blood witch Dean had met in Diagon Alley. She was a petite, pretty, black 20-year-old and they had been on two dates. He had not had an actual girlfriend since his break-up with Bethany King a year ago.

"You should take her to a game." Harry commented, stretching.

"Yeah, I want to, but I'll hold off for a bit. I know she likes Quidditch, but I want to see just how much," he told him. There was a knock on the door.

"Erm… who is it?" Harry questioned.

"Terry," came the answer.

"Come in." Terry Boot walked in. He had been in their year at school, but in Ravenclaw. He had trained alongside Harry to become an Auror.

"Hey Harry, Dean," he acknowledged. Dean nodded, "Medwick sent these over, Harry. Well, they were actually ready for you yesterday but I think he forgot you weren't in." Terry dropped a massive stack of parchment on his desk.

"More reports," Harry exclaimed, "I just finished those! What's he on!"

"Sorry," shrugged Terry, "Later, then." He left the office.

"I oughta shove them up Medwick's arse." Harry growled, glaring at the pile. Dean laughed lightly.

"Well, if you're able to eat lunch, I'll be in Ron's office with Seamus. See you!" he remarked. He moved for the door, but as he was about to exit, Joseph Medwick appeared.

"M-Mr. Medwick! Sir!" Dean stammered, taken aback.

"What are you doing down here, Thomas?" the wizard demanded, leering at him. His long, dark gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

"Er, I… I was j-just reporting a suspicious wizard who n-needs to be watched. He, uh, has a past of fraternizing with dark wizards, and is a new hire in m-my department," the old Gryffindor lied.

"You know to file an inquiry with Laurent, then! Potter is not Laurent! Goodbye!" Medwick barked.

"Yes sir!" Dean said, all but running past him. Medwick turned to Harry.

"Get going with those new reports, Potter. Do not dilly dally! I'll take these." He waved his wand and the completed ones flew in his arms. Without another word Medwick left. Harry gritted his teeth and, with his wand, angrily slammed his office door.

Ron never did come to understand why Harry and Hermione kept a television and telephone in their apartment. He didn't comprehend that they were "useful Muggle inventions", and always looked past the fact that both of his best friends grew up in Muggle homes. They had a wizard wireless but a stereo as well, and this too confused him.

"The telly-phone is completely pointless." Ron bluntly pointed out.

"You only say that because you still cannot successfully use it." Hermione retorted.

"Why would I want to? All those numbers, strange voices coming from the other end… give me an owl any day." Even though Ron disagreed with their household appliances, that didn't stop him from avidly watching the "TB", or "tebby". It, at least, kept his interest.

"George told me that it was just miniature Muggles trapped in a box when I was seven," he relayed, eyes fixed on the tube.

Nevertheless, the main reason Harry and Hermione had a phone was for her parents. The Grangers kept in contact with their daughter very often, and she had given them Harry's number because that is where she stayed. To ensure Harry never answered the phone when they called, and thus start an avalanche of trouble, it glowed blue when they were the ones on the other line. Mr. and Mrs. Granger had no idea their daughter was living with her boyfriend; they thought she was actually dwelling in her own flat. Hermione felt badly about deceiving them, but she knew they would explode with disapproval either way.

Hermione had been in the apartment for a little under five minutes when she saw a blue light near the kitchen. She had gotten home a few minutes ago, at five, and knew she'd be alone for awhile. (Harry continually got off work later than she). She let her hair down as she strolled over to the phone.

"Hello?" she questioned.

"Hello dear," came her mother's soothing voice.

"Hi mum."

"How are you?"

"Oh, I'm all right. I just got home." Hermione told her.

"How was work?" asked Emily.

"Great, like usual! I absolutely love my job."

"That's wonderful, dear. I think your father and I are ready for another visit to your shop," Hermione's parents had only been to Books, Bludgers & Batteries twice. Emily gave a small laugh, "I just love bragging to everyone that my little girl has her own business, and she's not even 20 yet!"

"Mum…," she murmured, rolling her eyes, "I had help."

"Even so. We're all just so proud of you Hermione, for everything."

"I know. Granny practically cries every time I talk to her." The brunette grabbed an apple from a bowl on the counter and began eating it.

"Well, I have a question for you, dear." Emily stated.

"Hmm?"

"What do you think of having dinner here later in the week?"

"Of course, mum." Hermione said.

"Oh, but you have to bring Harry."

"Oh, yeah… right." The Grangers had socialized with Harry many times, and Emily just adored him. Samuel Granger, unfortunately, had the curse of every father with a girl has: finding it difficult to entirely like the boy she brings home. Mr. Granger was civil with Harry, but Harry continued to be unnerved by him.

"He hates me." Harry miserably concluded one night, after seeing a movie with them earlier in the afternoon.

"No he doesn't, Harry. Trust me, you'd know if he did. In fact, I think he's warming up to you! It's simply going to take a little more time," she assured.

"Sure, mum—sounds great," present day Hermione remarked.

"Good! I'll call you back on Tuesday," her mother said.

"Okay. Tell dad I love him."

"I will. Goodbye sweetheart."

"Bye mum." The Granger women hung up. Hermione hoped Harry was having a good day at work; the thought of facing Samuel Granger for two hours would not precisely make him smile.

Hermione was curled up on the couch with an 1800 page book and classical music pouring from the radio when Harry suddenly appeared by the front door. (It was 6:08).

"Harry," she said, looking up and smiling faintly.

"Today was bloody fantastic," he sarcastically reported, walking down the hall to their bedroom. Hermione grimaced softly. So, the good mood was a no go.

"And tomorrow, I won't get home until nine because I've got four hours of training after my shift ends," he continued when he came back, having changed out of his robes, "Aurors have to train for three years after they start! Just think, only two more to go!"

"I know Harry." Hermione coaxed, putting down the book and getting up. She went to the kitchen and he followed.

"I'm going to be so damn sore." Harry grumbled, planting himself next to the refrigerator.

"Are you hungry?"

"Starving. I didn't get to eat lunch!"

"Here," Hermione had taken a plate of food out of the oven and handed it to him, "I've already eaten."

"Thank you," he sighed gratefully, kissing her cheek. He sat at the table and, this time, she followed.

"So, um…," commenced Hermione, carefully, "I talked to my mum earlier."

"Yeah."

"And, well, she wants dinner company later in the week—namely us." Harry looked at her. (A quarter of his meal had already vanished). He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off.

"It'd mean so much to her, Harry! And you know just she loves you!"

"Yes, but your dad can't stand me! I'll have to fidget under his eye for a whole evening," he commented.

"That's not true! You just have to try with my father! And the fact that you even bother to spend time with him impresses him, I know it!" she argued. Harry exhaled, looking at his food.

"Okay, Hermione, I'll go. I know what it means to you," he conceded. And if he was honest with himself, the Grangers were agreeable people. What was more, dinner was the least he could do. I've only corrupted their daughter, he had thought numerous times, she's lying to them about living with me, and I took her virginity when she was still 17!

"Thank you," smiled Hermione. She stood up and kissed his lips, "I'm sorry about your awful day at work." She paused briefly, and then kissed him again.

"You taste like food." The Muggleborn left the dining room and went back to her reading. Harry watched her go, and then stared at his plate. He picked up his fork, ate three bites, then put it down again. He pushed back from his chair and stood up.

"Hermione, I know a way you can make me feel better…" Harry called to her.

Harry and Ron walked down a street in Diagon Alley. It was their lunch hour break and they were running an errand. Actually, Ron was running an errand, and it was for his mother. Harry had simply joined him on his tromp.

"I don't know why she had me do it," the youngest Weasley son complained.

"Stop gripping and be a good son." Harry grinned.

"Fred, George, and Bill all work in Diagon Alley! Why couldn't she ask one of them?"

"D'you think we have enough time to go and see them?"

"I dunno. We've got 45 minutes left, we still need to eat, and Fred & George love wasting people's time." Harry's plan to score a pity shag from Hermione the previous night did not go as planned. In short, it didn't happen. It had been the perfect way to end the perfect day. Harry had been very disgruntled as they laid in bed, and Hermione noted "You're trying to be angry, but it's funny and cute", as she laughed. Her giggles only made his mood worse, which sequentially only made her laugh more.

The two best friends walked into a general potion shop, where they sold liquids ranging from cleaning solutions to poisons.

"Mum needs three bottles of that one…stuff," Ron muttered, looking around, "Merlin, why couldn't she get dad to do it!" Harry shook his head and moved to help search for Molly's cleansing concoction.

"Whatever you need, Mr. Potter, it's free," someone shouted. He looked behind him. A stout wizard in an apron was grinning broadly, "Anything you're getting—no charge!" Harry offered a forced smile in recognition and resumed his walk. How was he supposed to get rid of his abundant money if no one would accept it? His landlord had even tried to let him live in the flat for free…

It took Ron about ten minutes to find what Mrs. Weasley needed. As Harry drew closer to him, from sauntering around the store, he asked him a question:

"Hey, Ron—what Quidditch team does Malfoy play for? I never really knew, or bothered to remember." (He had just seen a bottle of Broom Sheen, which apparently kept your broom gleaming for sixty days straight).

Ron was looking peculiarly at a small, extravagant bottle of an ice blue liquid in his right hand.

"Speaking of that prick…" the redhead mumbled.

"What?" Harry inquired.

"Er, Malfoy played for the Holyhead Harpies," he clarified, speaking louder and looking at him, "Not anymore. Quit, or something."

"Oh. Well, what are you looking at?"

"A poison called the Sixth Sense," Ron replied. Bells immediately began ringing in Harry's head, "Didn't you—"

"Make a potion with Malfoy called the Sixth Sense? Yes—I did! It was an assignment for Snape!" Harry declared. He recalled Draco Malfoy saying that he wanted to market the poison when they were 17 and still at Hogwarts, and he had told him he could do whatever he wanted with it. And that includes drinking it. Harry looked thoughtfully at the bottle. Well, it looked like he had gone and done it.

"Yep. Says right here on the back—that wanker's name," Ron pointed out, "Doesn't mention you, though."

"I don't care. I basically told him he could have it." Harry responded.

So, after months of absence, Malfoy had slipped his way back into Harry's life.

A/N: I had three things I had to say, or clear up, and I left them back in my room. (I wrote them down). I'm not going to get up and go get them, so it'll have to wait til next chapter.

Oh! Wait! Just remembered two! Heck yes! Whose awesome?

I don't know if JKR ever says how much older Tonks is than the trio. Wait, I lied again. I just saw, right now, on the web that she was born in 73. That's cool though, 'cause I was assuming she was about 7 or 8 eight years older. Yay me! I get two points. (Lol. I know I'm a dork). The other thing is that I don't know if English people say TV, so that's why I added the "tebby" for Ron. It's his equivalent to telly.

Okay, that's all.