A/N: My apologies, my apologies! I know I haven't posted in about 76 years, but I have an excuse! (I still feel horribly about it, however). School and work have been kicking my derriere; I've been flooded with crap to do and haven't had time to sleep, let alone time to write. I do believe the torrent of crap has ended, for now, and so I have found time to actually get back to my story. I've missed it terribly. So again, I'm sorry. College really sucks. So does work.
Lemme see… oh, thanks to new reviewers, of course. I wanted to say to call me brit—their love scenes will be more intimate. In fact, there's one in this chapter! I just don't want to rush into anything. And it's also rated M for swearing, which will also come later. So no worries. All right, let's get started shall we, HP fanatics?
I Never Lived
Chapter 5
Harry's prediction proved to come true. He was terribly sore and stiff when he returned to the flat on Monday night, but was even more put out to see that Hermione was not there. (He needed her for magical healing and plain comfort). Deciding that she was either at her own apartment or the bookstore, he fell back on the sofa and remained there, immobile, for 30 minutes. Harry was too exhausted to eat, and barely had enough strength to move from the couch to his bedroom. He took a bath (trying to ignore the feminine implications and focus on the fact that it soothed his muscles) and then went straight to bed. It hadn't even been ten o'clock yet, but Harry felt alone without Hermione there next to him.
Voldemort might have been dead, but he still found a way to torment the Boy Who Prevailed. Harry had had a clear head after defeating the Dark Lord, but about a month after doing so he began to have disturbing dreams about Tom Riddle. They continued to occasionally trouble Harry and he experienced one that night. Apparently his thrashing and groaning had been a more severe case, because a soft voice and two hands had awoken him.
Harry opened his eyes to see Hermione lying beside him, supporting herself on her arms. He looked at the digital alarm clock, blurrily, and saw that it was 12:37.
"Are you all right?" she asked in a hushed tone.
"Uh, yeah…" he murmured.
"Another dream?"
"Yes." She didn't say anything else, but kissed him. He kissed her in return, glad she was home. He wondered when exactly she had gotten back and then quickly disregarded it. The point was she had—who cared? (Hermione had actually returned at 10:10 and gone to sleep an hour later). They didn't say another another word and went back to sleep, this time Harry knowing she was near at hand.
He awoke to the sensation of fingers running lethargically through his hair and sunlight beating against his eyelids. Memories of the previous day lingered in the back of his brain and he erased the last of them. Hermione was encircled in his loose arms and playing in his hair with shut eyes. Harry smiled.
"Hi," he said. A pretty smile lit her face.
"Morning," she answered.
"How long have you been up?"
"Less than ten minutes. Are you okay?"
"Of course." Hermione opened her eyes to see his green ones looking at her. She grinned and moved closer in order to kiss him. He immediately tightened his hold around her waist, anticipating a (happily accepted) morning snog.
They kissed one another slowly—teasingly. Hermione enjoyed catching Harry's bottom lip between her teeth and then playfully licking his tongue; she knew that it perturbed him somewhat, in a good-humored fashion. What she didn't fully know was that it turned him on with a speed that was alarming.
After she had done it a second time, and he had positioned himself on top of her, he pulled up from their enticing kissing game.
"Don't do that," Harry instructed, trying not to get himself worked up, "If you're not going to…"
"Going to what?" Hermione innocently wondered. She, no doubt, knew what he was insinuating and he could tell by the seductive tone of her voice—she fooled no one. This only further fueled his sex drive.
It's been three days since we've last done it. Three days, he thought heatedly.
"Hermione," commenced Harry, burying his face in her neck. (He had suppressed a groan), "Friday was the last time—Friday. Please." He had started placing impassioned kisses on her throat and was whispering in her ear.
"Please; I can't believe you'd reduce me to this. Please."
His hand had "slipped" (been craftily planted) between her legs and deliberately rode the slope of her curves, then removing her underwear. His fingers seemed to be warming her up, for she was responding by making small whimpers of pleasure. This technique was his reinforcer, in case she needed convincing, and elicited a great reaction from her when it had found its destination.
"Harry!" she gasped, clinging to him.
"Yes?" he hurriedly persisted, needing an answer. Hermione could feel him against her, ready to go. A flush crept on her cheeks and she suddenly wanted it as much as he did.
"Yes," she inhaled, nodding, already finding it difficult to breathe, "Yes!"
Harry entered her without further delay, groaning exultantly. He gripped her hips and began to work her, as she placed one hand on his chest and the other on his shoulder. Hermione kept up with Harry for a good while, but eventually was lost to his increasing energy and let him lead.
As they approached the peak, her hands clutched at his back, digging into it. She had gone from moaning, to minor and major wailing, to no breath at all. Harry quickened his pace and gained more zeal, like often, and when he at last came, she called out his name.
They only rested for about two minutes before Hermione left the bed and went to take a shower, noting they had to be at work at eight. (It was a little past 7:30). He laid there for a few more minutes and then got up to go eat a quick breakfast. Harry was extremely content (now). He had a large grin on his face as he walked into the kitchen and began to hunt for food. He knew the one sure way of him having a terrific day everyday was to have a morning shag. Like today— it was going to go well because he had had sex. The only problem came in the form of his lover; he knew there was no way on Earth that Hermione would consent to doing it every single morning. Well, if she did not want Harry to be happy going to work and therefore perform badly, he would let it rest on her conscience.
His focus fell on the kitchen table as he munched on his toast and drank his apple juice. Another sly smile crawled on his face as he recalled something: he and Hermione had shagged on the table, twice. One minute had had been playfully tickling her, against her will, near one of the chairs, and the next minute they were on the surface having sex, with Hermione holding him for dear life and moaning uncontrollably. They often did it in unusual places, but that could be attributed to the reality that the urge often came out of nowhere. In Harry's opinion, however, the unconventional places were the best ones. We've done it on the sofa, but that's pretty normal, he thought, the bathroom, the study, in the shower, the kitchen—oh, the kitchen was nice!
After Harry was done mentally noting every corner of the flat where they had shagged, he went back to his room. Yes, today would be good… and he had, of course, forgotten about his promise to eat dinner at the Granger's that week.
It took Harry only ten minutes to prepare for work, whereas Hermione found herself rushing and not fully ready when it came time to leave. She looked a bit disconcerted when she walked into Books, Bludgers & Batteries, and was still in the process of putting her hair up.
"Looking a little flustered, Hermione love," Natalie commented from her desk, "Lovely morning with Harry?" She blushed and unsuccessfully tried to give an answer. Well, yes—she had had a romp with him earlier, but that wasn't the reason she appeared windswept. She let it go and went back to her office.
When Hermione's lunch hour came, she went to find Talia so they could go eat together at a nearby café. Natalie would have joined them but her lunch break for that day was an hour later. As they came from the second floor and headed for the door, talking lively, someone came up behind them.
"This is the worst shop I've ever been in! The service here is abysmal! Workers taking breaks whenever the fancy strikes them!" the person declared. Both witches turned around to see another witch, smiling. Her red hair framed her pretty face.
"Ginny!" Hermione cried. They hugged each other.
"Hello Talia," the sole Weasley daughter greeted.
"Hi Ginny!" she responded.
"What are you doing here?" wondered Hermione.
"I supposed I would come and eat lunch with you. I mean, it's been ages since I've seen you!"
"I know! Saturday was decades ago."
"Exactly!" They laughed lightly as they left the bookstore.
"How's work Ginny?" Talia questioned.
"Uh, beginning to be boring and repetitive," she told her.
"You're already tired of your job?"
"Yes."
"But you're only 18!"
"I've been doing it September, that's long enough to know I can't stand it," Ginny reasoned, "And I'm not the only young wizard who hates their job—Harry does too." Ginny was an Obliviator in the same department as Neville.
"Harry doesn't hate his job." Hermione said, looking at her old housemate.
"All right then—he greatly dislikes it," she shrewdly smiled, "There's no denying it, Hermione." The brunette sighed, recognizing her friend's point.
"So what do you want to do?" Talia inquired.
"That's the ironic thing," the redhead laughed, "I want to be an Auror! I don't understand how he doesn't like it."
"You'd make a brilliant Auror! You should do it, Ginny."
"Yeah… I'm going to ask Harry and Tonks for their help. Perhaps I'll be able to start training in May or something."
The three young women came to the restaurant five minutes later and chose to sit outside and dine. (The meals seemed to operate on the same system as the one at Hogwarts' Yule Ball; you spoke what you craved to the plate).
"Oh, right. I'm supposed to let you know we're having a Weasely supper on Sunday, Hermione, at the Burrow. You and Harry are expected there." Ginny reported.
"And if we I, or we, can't make it?" Hermione pondered, though she had every intention of going. It would be nice to see all of the Weaselys together.
"Mum will die from a broken heart and all the credit will go to you," she casually said. The ex-Head Girl grinned, "I'm sure Fred's brining Angelina, but I don't know what Ron said about Luna."
"He'd better come with her, and you'd better invite Richard! You don't bring him around enough." Richard Cullen was Ginny's boyfriend. He was a Scottish wizard who worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and was two months younger than Ron. (She and Colin had broken up at the start of their seventh year).
"There's a reason for that," Ginny explained, "I have a father and six brothers, and Ron's the absolute worst."
"Well, Ron acts like a primitive beast at times. Isn't Richard trained to handle him?" Hermione quipped. Talia smiled and Ginny laughed appreciatively.
Hermione was not the only one who received a visit from a member of the pureblood family during her break. As Harry was planning to leave his office and head up to Ron's, two old men with massive amounts of white hair ambled inside. He stared at them, eyebrows raised.
"Er… can I help you, sirs?" he hesitantly asked.
"Yes, you can," one replied.
"We want to take a hit out on someone," the other added.
"Excuse me?" Harry said, in bewilderment.
"A wizard named Ronald Weasley."
"What!" His door then closed on its own. He went right for his wand, knowing something was wrong. The old men threw something into their mouths and moments later morphed into Fred and George.
"Pip pip Harry!" Fred grinned. The Boy Who Prevailed relaxed.
"You arseholes," he smiled. The twins laughed.
"Would you have helped two old gentlemen take our dear brother out?" George inquired.
"No!"
"Going to his office, were you?"
"Yeah." Harry answered.
"We'll come with you."
"Change back into old men, then. You know what'll happen if Medwick sees you."
"New product," George revealed, holding a tablet up, "Like it? It's much faster than Polyjuice Potion and you control the time, though you can't choose whom you change into."
"It's genius." Harry stated, meaning it. Fred and George never ceased amazing him.
They threw their invention into their mouths and transformed back into the old wizards, winking at Harry. They had to be in disguise because, technically, the twins were not allowed in Auror headquarters—they had been given a ban. In January, Medwick snapped and roared that if he ever saw Fred & George in his domain again, he would personally haul them off to Azkaban. He had tired of the twins distracting his workers and bringing disorder whenever they visited headquarters. Fred and George had been thrilled upon receiving the prohibition and considered it their crowning punishment to date.
Harry and his elderly counterparts left his office, and not long after were in Ron's. The owner had been working on a report of some kind with his food spread on his desk.
"That's enough of that," (regular) Fred claimed, snatching the parchment away.
"Hey!" Ron exclaimed.
"It's your break, you prat!" George reminded him. He shrugged and reached for his meal.
"We stopped by Ginny's department but she was gone," remarked Fred, throwing himself on the couch.
"Yeah, I was talking to her and she said she's right sick of her job." Ron noted.
"Really?" Harry questioned. His best friend nodded. Well, at least he wasn't alone.
"That's because you all are slaves to the Ministry man," George told them, "Should have done like us and pursued a hobby."
"Hermione did." Harry commented.
"So did I! I love my job. Quidditch—what more could I ask?" Ron said.
"You're still the Ministry's bitch." George quietly stated. Ron did not hear him; Harry stifled a laugh.
"Oi, you." Fred began, finding a Knut in the cushions and throwing it at his younger brother.
"What! You sodding wanker!" Ron vehemently responded. He hurled it back and missed.
"Did you tell Harry about Sunday?"
"Mum wants you to come to dinner on Sunday. There. Yes, I told him."
"It's going to be a Weasley affair. Mum's demanding everyone's presence since it's been too long that we've all been together. Her words." George reported.
"An opportune day to torment Percy," his twin smiled.
"And Fred has to announce his engagement." Ron's drink came flying out of his mouth and Harry's jaw dropped.
"Prick!" Fred shouted crossly at George.
"Your what!" Ron asked, gaping.
"You're engaged to Angelina!" inquired Harry, also gawking.
"No," Fred answered, glaring at his mere image, "I'm not! Well, not yet…"
"What happened to being too young?" Ron pondered, smiling.
"We're 22 next month—I'm not that young. And I'm pretty sure I don't want to date another girl—it's too much trouble. And I was just thinking about it!" His voice suggested he wanted the topic dropped.
"All right, all right."
"That's the last time I tell you anything." Fred grumbled to George.
Hermione returned to the apartment at exactly 5:07. After she had changed, she called her parents' house to check if dinner was still on. It was: the next night, in fact. Not a minute after she had hung up, Harry came home. He continued to be in the good mood that originated in the morning.
"How was today?" she asked.
"Much better than yesterday," he replied, kissing her, "I saw Fred and George and they told me about dinner at the Burrow—"
"On Sunday. Yes, I saw Ginny and she told me as well." Harry nodded.
"Let's eat now—I'm hungry."
"Erm, since we're on the subject of dinner, Harry, you haven't forgotten about my parents, have you?" Hermione wondered. Yes, he had. All of the anxiety came rushing back to him and his mood started to change.
"Oh.. .yeah," he rather dejectedly responded. He was going to have to be in Mr. Granger's intimidating company. She immediately began making assurances and told him not to worry, that things would go well, and that everything was okay.
"It's okay." Hermione guaranteed as they stood on the doorstep of her childhood dwelling, Wednesday evening.
"Please stop saying that Hermione," Harry murmured, staring at the door, "It's not helping much."
"Sorry." She then pushed the door in and they walked inside the front hallway.
"Mum? Dad? We're here!" she announced.
"In the sitting room, sweetheart," came her father's voice. Harry grimaced faintly and Hermione took his hand, taking a right and leading him to the living room. (The kitchen was to their left and the staircase was directly in front of them).
"Hello dad," she greeted when they walked in. She hugged him and left a kiss on his cheek.
"Hello dear. Your mother's upstairs," Samuel remarked. He then turned to Harry, who felt like a deer in headlights, "Harry."
"Mr. Granger." They shook hands, and the older man's eyes never left the younger's face.
"Call me Samuel. I think I've told you this before." To Harry, her father's eyes seemed to be saying, "Don't you dare call me by my first name. You haven't reached that point yet! And I know you've been violating my daughter; I'll get it out of you somehow".
Harry strove to keep his expression neutral and not give anything away such as, "Yes, yes! It's true! I'm sorry! We did it just this afternoon! We both came home on our lunch hour, and we shagged right by the door! We didn't even bother to go to the bedroom! And she's living with me! I'm a horrible person, I know!".
"It seems a little disrespectful to me, sir." Harry carefully told him.
"Perhaps in due time then, eh?" Mr. Granger suggested, studying him. Harry nodded, smiling weakly. Hermione was beaming inwardly, feeling that her boyfriend was doing well.
Emily Granger came down shortly thereafter and greeted Hermione & Harry jovially.
"Into the other room! The food is already on the table," she instructed, waving them away with her hands. They sat in the kitchen at the table meant for four. (The dining room housed the larger table reserved for larger gatherings).
The repast was superb, and Harry found that he was much more at ease with Mr. Granger with the Granger women there. He even managed to keep good conversation. So when Emily recruited Hermione to help her bring over the dessert (lemon tart and tea) from the other side of the room, Harry was not precisely happy.
"So, Harry, how is your career at the Ministry going?" Samuel asked, once his child and wife were gone.
"Er… well, Mr. Granger…" he lied. Well he couldn't tell him the truth, could he? It would not sound promising to say he had started dreading his job and thought about quitting at times.
"Are you sure? You didn't sound too convinced," the older man observed.
"No, it's… great! So how's your practice?" Harry wanted a new topic.
"Just fine, thank you. I enjoy it. I suspect you and Hermione see a lot of each other?"
"Yes."
"Every day."
"Yes, sir..." Okay, this was an even worse topic.
"Visit one another a lot, do you," Samuel gave a small sigh, "I remember what it's like to be your age and in love. You are in love with my daughter, aren't you? Otherwise you'd simply be having fun with her." Harry could feel the sweat on his back and neck as he stared helplessly at Hermione's father, not knowing what to say. Oh, how long did it take to carry sweets across a room?
A/N: I wanted to say some things. Things! J/k. Anyway, Dumbledore's death—he died for numerous reasons, but mainly because he was old and weary. :Dramatically: His heart had seen too much! Oh, and in chapter 4, I put the wrong 'whose' somewhere. It shoulda been 'who's'. Eh. Too lazy to find it.
It may not seem like this story has a plot, but it does—trust me! The ball should start rolling in chapter sept—seven, in French. Well, that's all. Next week, I shall post. (Ho! Talking like Yoda the great)!